Aristophanes and the poetics of competition [1. paperback ed] 9780521764070, 0521764076, 9781107525948, 1107525942

Table of contents :
Half-title......Page 3
Title......Page 5
Copyright......Page 6
Dedication......Page 7
Contents......Page 9
Acknowledgments......Page 10
Abbreviations......Page 12
Introduction: proagon......Page 15
Chapter 1: From Thamyris to Aristophanes: The competitive poetics of the comic parabasis......Page 26
Thamyris and the poeticizing of competitive rituals......Page 30
Competitive poetics in the Archaic Period......Page 36
The parabasis and the poetics of self-assertion......Page 42
Poet, chorus and parabatic formula......Page 47
Parabasis and proagon: poetic self-assertion at the Dionysian festivals......Page 54
Comic parabasia......Page 60
Chapter 2: The competitive partnership of Aristophanes and Dikaiopolis in Acharnians......Page 70
Dikaiopolis and the politics of Rural Dionysia......Page 72
Telephos, Babylonians and the hazards of dramatic performance......Page 84
Aristophanes, acharnians and babylonians......Page 90
From synagonistai to sympotai......Page 97
Aristophanes and Cratinus......Page 108
Chapter 3: Aristophanes’ poetic tropaion: Competitive didaskalia and contest records in Knights......Page 111
Victors coming and going......Page 113
Comic didaskalia and the training of a competitive poet......Page 114
Inscribing poetic victory......Page 123
Political and poetic succession......Page 135
Knights in poetic memory......Page 146
Chapter 4: Intertextual biography in the rivalry of Cratinus and Aristophanes......Page 148
Wine, poetry and Archilochus in Cratinus’ biography......Page 152
Cratinus as drunk in knights......Page 158
Reformulating “Cratinus” in pytine......Page 160
The model of a perfect plot: wasps and pytine......Page 168
Chapter 5: Aristophanes’ Clouds-palinode......Page 181
Revision as recontestation......Page 183
Aristophanes’ clouds-palinode......Page 190
Aristophanes and the new rivals of the 410s......Page 195
A warning to the judges......Page 201
Dramatizing recontestation: second efforts in clouds......Page 213
Some conclusions......Page 222
Chapter 6: Dionysos and Dionysia in Frogs......Page 225
Dionysos, god of the Theater......Page 226
A Dionysian katabasis: the Eleusinia transformed......Page 233
The Underworld agon: a new paradigm......Page 247
The poet’s parabasis: Aristophanes and the contest of Aeschylus and Euripides......Page 254
Celebrating Poetic Victory......Page 269
Bibliography......Page 271
General index......Page 294
Index of passages......Page 299

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A r is toph a n e s a n d t h e p oe t ic s of c om pe t i t ion

Athenian comic drama was written for performance at festivals honoring the god Dionysos. Through dramatic action and open discourse, poets sought to engage their rivals and impress the audience, all in an effort to obtain victory in the competitions. This book uses that competitive performance context as an interpretive framework within which to understand the thematic interests shaping the plots and poetic quality of Aristophanes’ plays in particular, and of Old Comedy in general. Studying five individual plays from the Aristophanic corpus as well as fragments of other comic poets, it reveals the competitive poetics distinctive to each. It also traces thematic connections with other poetic traditions, especially epic, lyric, and tragedy, and thereby seeks to place competitive poetics within broader trends in Greek literature. z ac h a r y p. bi l e s is Assistant Professor of Classics at Franklin and Marshall College, Pennsylvania.



A r is toph a n e s a n d t h e Poe t ic s of Com pe t i t ion Z ac h a ry P. Bi l e s Franklin & Marshall College

 c a mbr idge u ni v er sit y pr e ss Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Dubai, Tokyo, Mexico City Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge cb2 8ru, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title:€www.cambridge.org/9780521764070 © Zachary P. Biles 2011 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2011 Printed in the United Kingdom at the University Press, Cambridge A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Biles, Zachary P., 1968– Aristophanes and the poetics of competition / Zachary P. Biles. p.â•… cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-521-76407-0 (hardback) 1.╇ Aristophanes–Criticism and interpretation.â•… 2.╇ Greek drama (Comedy)–History and criticism.â•…I.╇Title. pa3879.b355â•… 2010 882′.01–dc22 2010038969 i s b n 978-0-521-76407-0 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

For Jill, Hannah and Zoe Χαρίτεσσιν ὁμοĩαι

Contents

Acknowledgments List of abbreviations

page viii x

Introduction:€proagon

1

1 From Thamyris to Aristophanes:€the competitive poetics of the comic parabasis

12

2 The competitive partnership of Aristophanes and Dikaiopolis in Acharnians

56

3 Aristophanes’ poetic tropaion:€competitive didaskalia and contest records in Knights

97

4 Intertextual biography in the rivalry of Cratinus and Aristophanes

134

5 Aristophanes’ Clouds-palinode

167

6 Dionysos and Dionysia in Frogs

211

Bibliography General index Index of passages

257 280 285

vii

Acknowledgments

This book originated as a doctoral dissertation on Aristophanes’ Wasps Â�written under the direction of John Gibert. Though the study has undergone many changes since then, with regard to both the scope of the inquiry and the methods of interpretation applied, the warm enthusiasm and careful guidance Professor Gibert then offered have had an enduring effect. The present expansion of that study took shape primarily while I was a fellow at the Center for Hellenic Studies in 2004–5, where work was made easy by the excellent library as well as by the no less excellent company of the CHS director, Gregory Nagy, staff, and other fellows, above all Marc Domingo Gygax and Julius Rocca. At Franklin and Marshall College, the friendship and encouragement of my colleagues, especially Shawn O’Bryhim, buoyed me through work on the final chapters, and then the long process of revision and preparation of the final manuscript€– toward this latter Judith Chien was indispensable in her daily assistance in resolving various queries of style and format. Of the many colleagues I have had at other institutions, I single out the late Steven Lowenstam; apart from showing great generosity in his advice and criticism during my early contemplation of this project, his passion for teaching and learning made a deep impression on me at a critical point in my career. Ralph Rosen read an early draft of the first chapter and, as I have come to appreciate in him, helped me see problems in an entirely different light. Many thanks to the editors at Cambridge University Press, Michael Sharp, Laura Morris and Joanna Breeze, as well as my copyeditor, Nigel Hope, for their expert assistance and guidance through every stage of production. Special thanks are owed to the two referees for the Press for the obvious care with which they examined the manuscript; their good judgment and considered remarks saved me from pursuing several fruitless paths and alerted me to insights I had not fully appreciated. Needless to say, readers should not hold them accountable for any remaining oversights and errors. Of the two referees, Douglas Olson revealed his identity viii

Acknowledgments

ix

and later offered to play a more active role in the revisions; the book has benefitted immensely from his scrutiny of the entire manuscript on matters great and small. For his generosity and diligence he has my warmest thanks. To my wife and daughters I owe the greatest debt of gratitude for tolerating my absence and distraction over the years while working on this book, and bringing me much joy in life when I was not.

Abbreviations

ARVâ•›2

J. D. Beazley, Attic Red-Figure Vase-Painters, 2nd edn. (Oxford 1963) D–K H. Diels and W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, vols. i–iii, 6th edn. (Berlin 1951–2) FGrHist F. Jacoby, Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Berlin and Leiden 1923–58) GP J. D. Denniston, The Greek Particles, 2nd edn., rev. K. J. Dover (Oxford 1954) IG Inscriptiones Graecae (Berlin 1873–) K–A R. Kassel and C. Austin, Poetae Comici Graeci, vols, i, ii, iii/2, iv, v, vi/1, vii, viii (Berlin 1983–) Koster W. J. W. Koster, Scholia in Aristophanem, Pars I:€fasc. IA. Prolegomena de comoedia (Groningen 1975) LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (Zurich and Munich 1981–) LSJ H. G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek–English Lexicon, 9th edn., rev. H. Stuart-Jones (Oxford, 1940; suppl. 1968, 1996) M–W R. Merkelbach and M. L. West (eds.), Hesiodi:€Fragmenta Selecta, 3rd edn. (Oxford 1990) PAA J. S. Traill, Persons of Ancient Athens (Toronto 1994–) PMG D. L. Page (ed.), Poetae Melici Graeci (Oxford 1962) RE Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Stuttgart 1893–1970; Munich, 1972–) SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum TrGF B. Snell, R. Kannicht, and S. Radt (eds.), Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, vols. i–v (Göttingen 1971–2009) West M. L. West (ed.), Iambi et Elegi Graeci, vols. i–ii, 2nd edn (Oxford 1989–92) x

List of abbreviations

xi

References to ancient authors and works are according to abbreviations in LSJ. Abbreviations for periodicals follow L’Année Philologique, except where a more commonly used form is preferred and will be obvious (e.g., AJP instead of AJPh).

Introduction: proagon

How dramatic poetry came to be associated with Dionysos and his Â�festivals is a complicated question with no clear answer. What is certain is that by the time our evidence allows us to speak of tragedy and comedy as well-defined and distinct literary genres, they are included in a program of direct competition at Dionysian festivals. It would appear that the poetic agon was to some degree responsible for putting the genres on the cultural map, even if their cultic significance and literary antecedents go back well before this. For tragedy, official recognition came in the later part of the sixth century;1 for comedy we can be more precise:€the first victory belonged to the all-but-forgotten Chionides in 486.2 Thereafter, Dionysian competitions were the occasion for dramatic production in Athens, so that by the time Aristophanes began writing comedies the genre had been embedded in an agonistic context for about sixty years. Regardless of comedy’s form and character when Chionides practiced it, over the course of the fifth century the constant subjection of the productions to direct competition must have fostered experimentation and adaptation by individual poets. What we know as comedy through Aristophanes is thus likely quite distinct from its earlier form, though any assessment of the genre’s development must leave room for the dynamic of innovation operating through the re-expression of a tradition.3 On early dates of tragic production, see Scullion (2002). Suda (χ 318 = Chionides test. 1) reports Chionides’ victory eight years before the Persian Wars, and this can be accommodated to fit the inscriptional evidence of IG II2 2325 (Victors List), on which the five earliest names have been lost ahead of Magnes, who was certainly victorious in 472 (IG II2 2318.8) and achieved eleven victories in total; see Olson (2007) 382–4 for discussion. 3 Cf. Redfield (1990); Mastromarco (1998). Aristotle (Po. 1449 a37– b9) gives the impression that comedy’s form antedated in some respects the genre’s official inclusion in the contests, but also assumes that it did not amount to much before then, especially since it was only with Crates that real plots supposedly evolved. For genre as a moving target, see Mastronarde (1999–2000). 1

2

1

2

Introduction

The importance of direct competition for the development of Athenian drama has long been recognized, particularly in the case of comedy.4 For the most part, however, scholarly inquiry has been directed toward literary historical concerns, with interest in the comic corpus lying primarily in the comic poets’ frequent references to the festival context, which are accordingly mined to reconstruct festival programs, regulations, production histories, and the like.5 Considerably less effort has been made to understand the plays as competitive pieces in their own right. This study accordingly endeavors to use our knowledge of the competitive context to derive a framework for interpreting the plays themselves. While the discussion keeps one foot grounded in particulars of festival arrangements and makes use of whatever relevant details about rival poets and their work can be assembled, it is essentially literary-critical. Hence identifying allusions to the competitive background in the plays is only a first step toward demonstrating connections between the performance context and competitive themes that inform extended passages, whole plays, and various structural elements of the genre. The competitive poetics that emerges from this approach draws attention to ways in which the plays can be treated as creative responses to the competitions, designed above all else to help a poet realize his immediate objective of agonistic success over his rivals at the Lenaia or City Dionysia. In short, I argue that festival agonistics provide an underlying logic for the overall thematic design of individual plays, and that by analysis of them we can recover an important strand of the plays’ meaning for the poets and their audiences. An approach that pays attention to the interweaving of agonistic themes begins to capture the implications of Aristophanes’ description of dramatic performances at the Dionysia as “choral provocations” (Nu. 312 χορῶν ἐρεθίσματα). This may strike us as a bold characterization, but it appears less idiosyncratic in light of Plato’s reference to “contests of choruses” (Lg. 834e ἅμιλλαι χορῶν). The premium these passages place on the idea of Dionysian performances as confrontations between rival choruses€– and by extension, between rival poets, actors and choregoi€– is explained further by Thucydides’ distinction between his own history as a possession for all time and an agōnisma composed for an immediate Â�audience: κτῆμά τε ἐς αἰεὶ μᾶλλον ἢ ἀγώνισμα ἐς τὸ παραχρῆμα In large part because of comedy’s habit of referring overtly to its performative context and interests. A passage like E. HF 673–7, as discussed by Martin (2007) 54, suggests that a similar effect could be achieved in tragedy. For a more systematic analysis of competitive structures in tragedy, see Larmour (1999); Barker (2009). 5 Above all, Pickard-Cambridge (1968); Csapo and Slater (1994). 4

Introduction

3

ἀκούειν ξύγκειται (Th. 1.22.4). Thucydides is concerned with historical writing. But even if with the word agōnisma he does not have in mind contests at the dramatic festivals,6 it is enough that he treats the phenomenon as typifying a set of compositional objectives applicable to any competitive undertaking. In contrast with his own concern for a sophisticated reading audience, for Thucydides the agon, as a cultural paradigm, crystallizes the notion of audience reception in an extreme form, entailing an inescapable demand for authors to anticipate and orchestrate a popular response. As a natural consequence of this, an agōnisma is uniquely bound to an immediate audience (ἐς τὸ παραχρῆμα ἀκούειν). That idea has a corollary in Aristophanes’ reflections on the mechanisms of the agon in Wasps, where he complains that responsibility for the failure of the original Clouds lies with those in the audience who were incapable of recognizing the play’s comic and artistic virtues in the brief time the contest allowed (1048 τοĩς μὴ γνοῦσιν παραχρῆμα; cf. 1045 ὑπὸ τοῦ μὴ γνῶναι καθαρῶς).7 Unlike Aristophanes, who at one point shows himself grappling for a paradigm upon which he and his audience can agree (V. 54–66), Thucydides makes no attempt to situate his work between the two poles of literary taste, and embraces the risk of failing to gain wide favor.8 While the terms in which the two authors carry out their discussions become clearer by comparison, in the end the historian and the competitive poet thus part company, the latter bound to confront his rivals and appeal to his audience’s tastes and expectations. Although our limited access to the work of Aristophanes’ predecessors, rivals, and successors prevents us from fully appreciating the impact this dynamic atmosphere of competitive performance had on the steady shaping of comedy, his testimony about his own supposed superiority over other poets assures us of the central role competition played in the genre’s development. The theme of Aristophanes’ incomparable significance for the comic stage is repeatedly encountered in his plays, and will likewise be taken up and examined again and again in this study. But it is perhaps in the parabasis of Peace, performed at the City Dionysia in 421 (Pax Hyp. III), that the poet is most eloquent in identifying literary innovation as the distinguishing characteristic of what he offers the comic stage. The It is usually supposed that he is referring to sophistic debates:€Morrison (2006) 180. Compare Cratinus’ comments in fr. 360. In the Mytilenian Debate, Cleon likewise offers pointed remarks about the Athenians’ agonistic habits and underscores the pressure on an audience to be intellectually agile (Th. 3.38.6). 8 “The lack of a story-telling element will perhaps make my account less pleasurable” (Th. 1.22.4). Cf. Finley (1968) 44–5 and Gentili (1988) 169, who places Thucydides in “the vanguard of the new book culture.” 6 7

4

Introduction

engagement with his rivals is pronounced in this passage, beginning with the bold claim that, while other poets should be beaten for daring to extol themselves in a parabasis, Aristophanes must be allowed this indulgence, since he is the finest and most renowned of them all (734–8). The chorus go on to explain: For, in the first place, he was the only person to stop his rivals from incessantly ridiculing rags and waging war on lice, and the first to strip of rights and drive into exile that Herakles who kneaded dough and was constantly starving, fleeing, deceiving, and being intentionally beaten. And he did away with the slaves they always brought out crying€– all for this, so that a fellow-slave could mock his blows and then ask, “You poor thing, what happened to your skin? Did a bristle-whip attack your sides in full force and lay waste the landscape of your back?” Stripping away such rubbish and filth and low buffoonery, he created a lofty art for us and set in place the stones for a towering craft with grand words and notions and with jokes not commonly traded. Nor did he ridicule your average breed of men and women, but with a sort of Heraklean temper he assailed the greatest individuals, striding through the rancid odors of hides and the mire of hostile threats …



(Peace 739–53)

The evidence Aristophanes offers in support of his claim to be the most admirable poet of his genre gives the impression that he single-Â�handedly rescued comic poetry from the morass of trite routines relentlessly brought back on stage by his feckless rivals.9 Where they had been content to work within a range of received material€– rags, vermin, Herakles, and slaves€ – Aristophanes is a poetic visionary who ennobled the genre by, among other triumphs, introducing a loftier form of discourse and attacking major figures such as Cleon, as he goes on to assert in the sequel to these remarks (754–60). Needless to say, the discussion is carried out in exaggerated terms and is full of the customary distortions, which is itself only another indication of how the agon shaped the poet’s discourse about himself and his genre. Still, the basic mechanism for the transformation of a genre, on which Aristophanes’ contentions appear to be based, is not in itself unbelievable:€individual poets offer their own innovations in place of or alongside familiar features, and fellow poets take those innovations up His rivals’ contrasting lack of innovation may be hinted at in the parabasis’ opening verses, in which the chorus entrust their stage props to attendants and urge them to stay on watch against the thieves that lurk around the stage (729–31); cf. Olson (1998) 729–31n. Not surprisingly, other comic poets were similarly interested in the merits of innovation and tradition; see Sommerstein (1992) 17–19.

9

Introduction

5

and help establish them as part of a repertoire.10 Stripped of its self-serving tendencies, the picture Aristophanes paints is in accord with Aristotle’s summary account of the adaptations and experiments by individual tragic poets.11 In many instances, Aristophanes’ agonistic rhetoric relies on metaphors and expressions from other competitive contexts. Thus the implication of poetic engagement between rivals encoded in the passage quoted above becomes more conspicuous when Aristophanes’ leading claim in Pax 739, τοὺς ἀντιπάλους μόνος ἀνθρώπων κατέπαυσεν, is compared to the inscribed vaunt of a certain Sostratos for his “countless victories” in the pankration, the summary of which is rounded off in the final verse with:€ [πα]ύσας δ᾿ ἀντι[πάλους π]λ[εĩσ]τα ἐκράτεις ἀμαχεί.12 On the assumption that Aristophanes is only our first witness to this agonistic idiom and did not himself coin it, his assertion becomes more robust by situating rivalry in the Theater within a broader cultural paradigm of competition, casting the poet as a stereotypical victor performing familiar agonistic gestures. As chance would have it, Aristophanes’ remarks can be placed in a livelier and more immediate framework of agonistic posturing and competitive exchange thanks to the remark of a scholiast on Peace 749, who points out the similarity between Aristophanes’ account of his daring labors of literary reform and a description of Aeschylus’ role in the transformation of tragedy drawn from a comedy by Aristophanes’ older rival Pherecrates:€ὅστις αὐτοĩς παρέδωκα τέχνην μεγάλην ἐξοικοδομήσας.13 The language at certain points is close enough to suggest conscious borrowing (Pax 749 τέχνην μεγάλην … οἰκοδομήσας ≈ Pherecr. fr. 100 τέχνην μεγάλην … ἐξοικοδομήσας), and the odds of Pherecrates’ description being the earlier of the two are better than fifty–fifty, given the relative chronology of the poets’ careers and because a description of a tragic poet is more likely to have generated such lofty imagery.14 In that case, Aristophanes perhaps not only adopts the language of Pherecrates’ description but alludes to the circumstances in which it was delivered, for the wording of fr. 100 makes it clear that Aeschylus is speaking and is thus performing a gloating Cf. Emerson (1889); Heath (1990). Po. 1449a7–31; cf. Else (1957) 153–4. The historical basis of Aristotle’s summary is not beyond dispute; see Lefkowitz (1984) 152–3. 12 Hansen (1989) no. 811; from Sicyon, 356 bc. 13 ∑VΓLh Pax 749a (= Pherecr. fr. 100), identifying the verse as from Krapataloi. 14 Geissler (1925) 39; cf. O’Sullivan (1992) 15. Pherecrates’ earliest recorded victories belong to the early 430s at the City Dionysia (IG II2 2325.56) and mid- to late 430s at the Lenaia (IG II2 2325.122). 10 11

6

Introduction

encomium of himself in the very manner of Aristophanes in his play (esp. Pax 734–8). The difference is that, whereas Aeschylus’ vaunt comes from beyond the grave and in comparison with his poetic successors,15 the vitality of Aristophanes’ rebuke derives from his positioning against active rivals in the context of a poetic competition. And although we do not know if Pherecrates was among the competitors at the Dionysia of 421, Aristophanes’ allusion to him may have a point in any case; with Cratinus apparently out of the way by now (Pax 700–3), Pherecrates must have ranked among the most experienced poets still competing on the comic stage.16 Accordingly, one of the more striking images Aristophanes deploys in his declaration of what distinguishes him from the other comic poets is predicated on an idea first presented to the audience by one of his rivals, and the passage’s effect in delivery in the Theater of Dionysos is only fully appreciated when those associations are restored. No doubt many other instances where the dynamic of agonistic interplay underpins the relationship of Aristophanic comedies with those of his rivals can no longer be detected because of the limited evidence at our disposal. The essays in The Rivals of Aristophanes17 offered a muchneeded corrective for the study of Attic comedy, by attempting to reconstruct the broader literary and intellectual framework within which Aristophanes operated and from which he must have benefitted. The most far-reaching outcome of those contributions is the possibility of greater access to the genre by a path that does not necessarily begin and end with the one poet from whom we have complete plays. Even incremental advances of our knowledge in this direction have the potential to reshape our understanding.18 But the reality of the situation is that we will never achieve anything close to a reconstruction of the rich atmosphere of engagement between individual poets that the contests helped establish as central to the Athenians’ experience of comedy. Because I am interested primarily in how agonistic readings can help discover unified meaning in



15



16



17 18

The intertextual relationship of these passages with Ra. 1004–5 (see Dover (1993) ad loc.) is discussed in Chapter 6. See Krapataloi test. i and fr. 86 for other indications that the plot had an Underworld element. In Pherecr. fr. 100, παρέδωκα implies that bequeathal of Aeschylus’ literary estate is at issue. Pax Hyp. III. Acceptance of Luppe’s (1972) theory of five contestants, rather than the three regularly mentioned in the hypotheses (most recently, Storey (2002)â•›), introduces doubt into assessments based on this information. In any event, Pherecrates was active until at least the Lenaia of 420 (Pl. Prt. 327d; Ath. 218d = Agrioi test. i and ii; Geissler (1925) 42). Harvey and Wilkins (2000). The work of I. C. Storey, on Eupolis in particular, deserves special mention in this regard; cf. Kyriakidi (2007). Bakola (2008) and (2010) promises further results in assessing Cratinus’ poetry and poetics. This last appeared while my book was in press.

Introduction

7

the relationship of a discrete comment within a play to the play’s broader themes, I concentrate on Aristophanes first and foremost. To do the same with fragmentary plays is, with few exceptions (see below), impossible, at least if the circularity of allowing interpretation of a few fragments to guide our reconstruction of entire plays is to be avoided. Nonetheless, I take every opportunity to show how thoughts and expressions in Aristophanes’ plays are reflected in fragmentarily preserved authors, both on a general level and especially where self-conscious and direct contact between poets can be surmised and has real implications for how we interpret a passage or play. If this approach risks missing the cue for scholarly inquiry provided by recent work illuminating the poetry of Aristophanes’ individual rivals, I nonetheless maintain that applying the fragmentary evidence in a cautious way to buttress our analysis of Aristophanes is crucial for placing his plays in their original festival milieu and opening up their agonistic dimensions. An example discussed in more detail in Chapter 4 illustrates the persistent pressure and influence exerted on Aristophanes by his rivals, at both the micro- and macroscopic level, such that attention to such factors becomes a precondition for a meaningful understanding of the play as a whole. In the parabasis of Wasps (1049–50), the chorus offer the following comments on behalf of their poet: ὁ δὲ ποιητὴς οὐδὲν χείρων παρὰ τοĩσι σοφοĩς νενóμισται, εἰ παρελαύνων τοὺς ἀντιπάλους τὴν ἐπίνοιαν ξυνέτριψεν. But the poet is considered no less worthy among the sophoi if in driving past his rivals he crashed his idea.

Here τοĩσι σοφοĩς presents the segment of the audience Aristophanes hoped to appeal to most,19 while the corresponding form of his poetry is designated appropriately in the second verse€– with a para prosdokian that emphasizes the metaphor’s rhetorical purpose€– by the intellectualizing τὴν ἐπίνοιαν.20 Motivating the choice of metaphor is its intersection with the theme of festival competition, so that, as in the Peace parabasis, Aristophanes’ identity as poet is projected against the backdrop of rivalry in the Theater.21 But the implications go beyond a momentary portrayal Though, as Hubbard (1991) 116 points out, ultimately Aristophanes wishes full support from the audience. 20 At Eq. 539 it is Crates’ “most clever ideas” (ἀστειοτάτας ἐπινοίας) that allowed him to win the audience’s favor. Edwards (1990) 156 n. 6 comments on Aristophanes’ use of such terms; cf. Ruffell (2002) 147–8. 21 For the athletic terminology used here, see Taillardat (1962) 338 n. 4 (on παρελαύνειν) and 434; Campagner (2001) 81 and 255–6. 19

8

Introduction

of himself as a competitive poet. The term ἐπίνοιαν recalls διανοίας, used shortly before to refer to Clouds (1044), and the connection is reinforced by concentration on the sophoi, to whom, Aristophanes tells us (Nu. 518–27), Clouds was supposed to be especially appealing. In his tireless effort to distinguish himself from his rivals, therefore, Aristophanes took his literary daring with Clouds too far and, by recklessly exceeding the bounds of what was, in retrospect, agonistically prudent, succeeded only in crashing his “idea” and losing the contest. The shadow of his agonistic undoing underpins Aristophanes’ entire poetic identity as it is presented in this parabasis (V. 1015–17). But even that falls short of capturing the full extent of the competitive background’s influence on Wasps, for the parabasis only provides a full disclosure of circumstances underlying remarks made in the prologue (54–66) about the positioning of the play at a safer midpoint between the opposed poles of traditional humor and a more sophisticated and adventurous form of comedy, typified first and foremost by Aristophanes’ own previous productions.22 Wasps itself is thus characterized from the outset as an act of poetic retrenchment, undertaken in direct response to conditions that prevailed in the comic competitions since the City Dionysia of 423, when Clouds was defeated by Cratinus’ Pytine. Once again, it is by a rare stroke of good fortune that we know enough about those circumstances and the plot of Pytine to be in a position to trace the intertextual relationship of Wasps to Cratinus’ play, which is the form Aristophanes’ agonistic response for the Lenaia of 422 takes.23 As these examples indicate, overt references to the competitive context often provide the clearest guidance for interpretation of a play’s agonistic poetics. Metatheatrical and metapoetic passages accordingly figure prominently in the discussions that follow. Among these, the comic parabasis has pride of place, and its competitive underpinnings are the subject of Chapter 1, which attempts to locate this structure alongside competitive modes of discourse reaching back to the earliest surviving traditions in Greek poetry. I argue that antecedents and comparative The suggestion by Storey (2003a) that this passage refers to the entries for the Lenaia of 422 (Wasps, Proagon, Presbeis:€V. Hyp. I. 32–4), while attractive, strikes me as unlikely, given the clear implication that the passage responds to the failure of Clouds (accepted also by Storey (2003a) 285) and characterizes Wasps against the backdrop of Aristophanes’ career efforts, i.e., V. 61 referring to the extensive mockery of Euripides in Acharnians and V. 62–3 referring to the abuse of Cleon at the center of Knights. Rhetorically too, it makes little sense for Aristophanes to assure the audience that they will not get a Cleon play again, if the very point of the discussion is to present Wasps (alluded to in V. 62–3 according to Storey’s hypothesis) beside the other entries in the contest. See the analysis of this passage’s rhetorical structure by Paduano (1974) 18–19. 23 Biles (2002), re-presented here as Chapter 4; Ruffell (2002). 22

Introduction

9

models for Aristophanes’ competitive poetics are not confined by the literary genre in which he worked. Instead, his response to agonistic conditions and (to the extent we can generalize from the fragmentary evidence) that of other comic poets is best understood within a broader cultural framework of competitive ethics. Indeed, for the sake of this discussion it may be most profitable to think of Aristophanes not as a comic poet, but as a competitive poet working in a comic mode. Thus considered, the problem admits a breadth of evidence that helps shed light on the literary and social conditions from which Aristophanes’ competitive poetics emerged. Examining the parabasis as a mechanism of the competitions is of considerable importance for the chapters on individual plays that follow. But alongside this objective is one of identifying ways Aristophanes increasingly manages to integrate the competitive maneuvering betokened by the parabasis with the fantasy of his plays’ dramatic action. Although that shift in paradigms can be observed already in 411 with Lysistrata,24 the play I have selected to illustrate it in Chapter 6 is Frogs. The play’s more ambitious tackling of that objective operates through the interaction between features of Dionysos’ katabasis in the first half and the poetic agon of the tragic poets in the second half, from which a sense of Aristophanes’ agonistic posturing for the Lenaia of 405 is produced even without an “appearance” by the poet in the parabasis. My study is thus delimited at one end by a discussion of the comic poet’s most unambiguous resource for engaging rivals and eliciting the framing festival context, and at the other by the fullest dramatic expression of those ideals. The chapters in between focus on various other aspects of Aristophanes’ competitive poetics. Chapter 2, on Acharnians, addresses the merging of the poet’s competitive biography with the similarly agonistic experience of his hero, Dikaiopolis, giving particular attention to the metapoetic signals generated by themes of festival celebration and festival competition in the dramatic plot. That convergence of identities and of the agonistic narratives connected to them undergirds the remaining chapters.

24

In this play Aristophanes replaced the typical parabasis with a double syzygy featuring split choruses (614–705) bantering against one another in each structural segment in a way that epitomizes in dramatic terms the poet’s own description of “choral provocations” at the Dionysian festivals (Nu. 311–12). In particular, 614–15 and 636–7, which introduce each half-chorus’ first display, are modeled on the katakeleusmos of the epirrhematic agon and thereby intensify the antagonistic nature of the performance.

10

Introduction

Chapters 3 and 4 examine Aristophanes’ most important rivalry during the initial phase of his career, with Cratinus. Chapter 3, on Knights, treats the comedy’s interaction with the phenomenon of victory commemoration and record-keeping at the festivals. Reestablishing the place of these “paraliterary” contributions to the festival ambience, as the Athenians experienced it, reveals Aristophanes’ epinikian25 commentary on his victory over the veteran poet at the previous Lenaia and clarifies the rhetorical use he makes of this outcome to frame his encounter with Cratinus at the Lenaia of 424. Chapter 4 elaborates on this rivalry, exploring the intertextual responses (alluded to above) between Aristophanes and Cratinus in the sequence of plays represented by Knights, Pytine, and Wasps. Pytine is the centrepiece for my study; not only can we reconstruct the play’s dramatic action and thematic interests to an extent approached nowhere else in the corpus of comic fragments, but we can also place the significance of those themes definitively in relation to Aristophanes’ agonistic career. The dynamic of competitive response and adaptation that defines the relation of this play with the two Aristophanic comedies produced before and after it provides the clearest indication of what is missing from our understanding of other comedies of the period. The place of Clouds, discussed in Chapter 5, within Aristophanes’ competitive career is more ambiguous; the original play belongs squarely within his rivalry with Cratinus (it was placed third in competition with Pytine at the City Dionysia of 423), but the surviving version represents Aristophanes’ revisionary efforts some years later. My discussion focusses on the idea of revision as recontestation unifying the surviving Clouds and emphasizes the play’s agonistic positioning against the new rivals in the second phase of Aristophanes’ career. While attempts to identify features of the original and revision are at times unavoidable and in a few cases crucial for our understanding, they also serve a more holistic objective of showing how the play in the form we have it makes agonistic sense as a work of the 410s. Along with considerations based on the different insights provided by the chosen plays, the other factor affecting my selection of primary texts is access to sufficient supporting didaskalic and related information about the conditions of an individual play’s original performance to allow us Throughout I use “epinician” in its familiar application to victory songs by Simonides, Pindar, Bacchylides, and victory epigrams, and “epinikian” for the broader ambience of victory celebration and commemoration.

25

Introduction

11

to effectively recontextualize the comedies as “agōnismata intended for an immediate audience.” Although we rarely find ourselves in the informed position we are in with Knights, Pytine, and Wasps, the fundamental objective of all my chapters is to show how Aristophanes’ comedies “worked” in their agonistic setting.26 26

On a practical note, for the text of the plays and hypotheses I cite the individual Oxford editions where available, or (when noted) N. G. Wilson’s OCT. All dates are bc, unless otherwise indicated. Unless otherwise indicated, translations of Greek passages are my own.

Ch apter 1

From Thamyris to Aristophanes: The competitive poetics of the comic parabasis

In the description of Nestor’s contingents in the Iliadic Catalogue of Ships, the geographical locale of Dorion provides the opportunity for a minor departure from the theme at hand:€it was here that the Muses encountered the Thracian poet Thamyris (Il. 2.594–600), who had boasted that he could defeat anyone, even the goddesses of poetry themselves, if they competed in singing against him. The outcome was in some ways predictable:€in anger, the Muses made Thamyris blind or dumb,1 deprived him of his wondrous song, and made him forget the art of kithara-playing. Thamyris’ punishment, in other words, reverses the typical encounter in which the Muses bestow their gifts personally upon an aspiring poet-musician. Within the Iliad, his situation stands in stark contrast with Homer’s own thriving relationship with the Muses, on prominent display in the Catalogue itself, with its own elaborate invocation (Il. 2.484–93) that enables the singer to overcome the difficulty his material poses.2 As Andrew Ford in particular has noted, Thamyris provides a kind of aitiology for poetic agonism, and in this sense the story might imply that formal poetic competitions extended back well before Homer’s own time.3 At the very least, we can say that Thamyris in Homer signifies the trajectory for what became a dominant social ambience for poetic performance in the seventh and sixth centuries, as formal programs of poetic competition were established at festivals in cities and cult places throughout Greece.4 Between the middle of the fifth century and the early fourth, Thamyris was the subject For the longstanding debate about whether pēron refers to blindness or another form of maiming, see Whallon (1964); Brillante (1991) 431–2 (both with further bibliography). Blindness is specified by Hesiod (fr. 65 M–W), and this became the standard interpretation later on. For blindness as a motif in myths of divine punishment, see Buxton (1980). 2 Thamyris is opposed more generally to the idealizing poets of the Homeric poems, who perform alone in the tranquility of the feast (e.g., Demodocus, who performs his second song in Od. 8 (esp. 367–9) as a way of soothing the antagonism resulting from the athletic rivalry of the young Phaeacians with Odysseus). 3 Ford (1992) 96–7; cf. Schadewaldt (1959) 64; Maehler (1963) 16; Barker (1995), esp. 258–60. 4 See in general Herington (1985) 3–40, 161–6. For the variety of competitions in Athens, see Osborne (1993). 1

12

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

13

of a tragedy by Sophocles (with the lead role supposedly played by Sophocles himself), a comedy by Antiphanes, and very likely a dithyramb, and was the subject of ten surviving Attic vase paintings, whose treatment of him suggests that his myth had developed well beyond the scope of his early Homeric appearance.5 Perhaps the most intriguing evidence, however, for the way the tradition concerning him resonated for the tragic and comic poets comes from the parabasis of Aristophanes’ Knights (Lenaia 424), where the chorus, midway through their review of the career successes and failures of Cratinus (Eq. 526–36), offer the following description of their rival: νυνὶ δ᾿ ὑμεĩς αὐτὸν ὁρῶντες παραληροῦντ᾿ οὐκ ἐλεεĩτε, ἐκπιπτουσῶν τῶν ἠλέκτρων καὶ τοῦ τóνου οὐκέτ᾿ ἐνóντος τῶν θ᾿ ἁρμονιῶν διαχασκουσῶν 



(Knights 531–3)

But now when you see him making a fool of himself, you feel no pity, though his pegs have popped out, and he’s all out of tune, and his joints are agape.

Ancient commentators understood the passage to be referring to a bed (klinē), but most modern scholars believe that it is best explained as a metaphorical comparison of Cratinus to a lyre that has fallen to pieces.6 The terms τóνος and ἁρμονίαι certainly suit a musical instrument, even if the ἢλεκτροι are more difficult to identify. But the lyre’s broken condition is the metaphor’s most significant detail, and it is here that it recalls Thamyris.7 Whereas Homer had the Muses punish Thamyris by causing him to forget his skill at playing the kithara, by the fifth century that element of the tale had developed further:€Thamyris’ lyre was destroyed in the process of his undoing. The scene is preserved on an Attic hydria and was vividly described in Sophocles’ Thamyris:8 ῥηγνὺς χρυσóδετον κέρας, ῥηγνὺς ἁρμονίαν χορδοτóνου λύρας



(S. fr. 244 Radt)

S. frr. 236a–45, Vit. Soph. par. 5 Radt (cf. Trendall and Webster (1971) 4 and Wilson (2009)); Antiph. fr. 104. For a possible dithyramb, based on vase painting evidence, see Froning (1971) 82–3. [E.] Rh. 915–25, together with some of the evidence from the vases (esp. LIMC s.v. Mousai 92, with Apollo perhaps acting as judge), suggests that one noteworthy development of the myth was a fuller treatment of Thamyris’ encounter with the Muses in a formal contest; cf. Weiler (1974) 66–72:€Cillo (1993). 6 ∑VEΓ3ΘM Eq. 532. See especially Winnington-Ingram (1988) 257–9; Imperio (2004) 203–7. The attempt by Perusino (1982a) to reconcile the images is unsuccessful. 7 Bowie (1993) 65 n. 86, noticed the connection with Thamyris based on the broken lyre, but without commenting on the general relevance of the myth for the parabasis. 8 LIMC s.v. Thamyris 16 (440–420 bc). Pausanias could see the same scene represented in Polygnotus’ mural at Delphi (10.30.8) and in a sculpted monument on Mount Helikon (9.30.2). 5

14

From Thamyris to Aristophanes breaking the gold-bound horn, breaking the harmony of the string-stretched lyre.

Cratinus’ lost tension/tuning (τοῦ τóνου) and gaping joints (τῶν ἁρμονιῶν) in Knights thus find an obvious counterpart in Thamyris’ destruction of the joined structure (ἁρμονίαν) of his “chord-stretched lyre” (χορδοτóνου λύρας) as Sophocles described it.9 In this light, the reduction of Cratinus’ powerful comic voice to senseless chatter (παραληροῦντ’, Eq. 531, cf. 536) brings to mind Homer’s tale of how Thamyris lost his gift of song at the hands of the Muses (ἀοιδὴν θεσπεσίην ἀφέλοντο, Il. 2.599–600). Although these correspondences are suggestive, an even more compelling reason for believing that Aristophanes is drawing a comparison between his older rival and the mythical Thamyris lies in the circumstances of Aristophanes’ own career and their connection to the Knights parabasis. Cratinus had established his reputation in the dramatic competitions long before Aristophanes’ debut with Banqueters in 427, and was certainly the most successful poet on the comic stage in this period. But at the Lenaia of 425, Aristophanes’ Acharnians took first place over Cratinus’ Storm-Tossed, and a young poet of the next generation overcame the greatest one of the last. The Knights parabasis celebrates that victory by pointedly including Cratinus among some of the great comic poets of yesteryear, Magnes and Crates (Eq. 520–5, 537–40), and simultaneously represents an escalation of Aristophanes’ competitive antagonism with him (already apparent at Ach. 848–53, 1173), by suggesting none too subtly that the same results will obtain in the present festival, where Cratinus was once again staging a play.10 Like the fallen Thamyris, in the estimation of Aristophanes’ chorus Cratinus is past the apex of his competitive career and can no longer be regarded as a threat. So too, just as Thamyris’ competitive undoing was directly connected with his fall from favor with the Muses, in Knights Aristophanes sees Cratinus’ ruin€– and thus his own success€– as dependent on the favor of a newly fashioned female embodiment of patronage for the production of comic poetry, Komoidodidaskalia (Eq. 515–17). The ideas Aristophanes’ theater dominatrix embodies are of the utmost importance for understanding the organizing principle of this parabasis, for alongside Aristophanes’ pride in effecting the agonistic undoing of his most significant competitor, his acknowledgement through Plutarch (Mor. 455d), to whom we owe the fragment, makes it clear that Thamyris destroyed his own lyre in a fit of madness presumably brought upon him by the Muses. 10 Ach. Hyp. I. 32–3. For further discussion, see Biles (2001); Olson (2007) 21–2; below Ch. 3. ╇ 9

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

15

her of a dynamic atmosphere of uncertainty and change at the festival competitions is the ostensible cause of concern for the future of his own career (esp. Eq. 541–5). The preceding is offered as preparation for my attempt in the rest of this chapter to show that the ideals and tensions Thamyris’ myth expressed have a fundamental connection with the Old Comic parabasis, so that the allusion to him in Knights is far from coincidental. As noted already, the fact that Thamyris appears in Homer, with the implications of formal poetic competition in his tradition well enough established that they can be activated in a highly abbreviated and allusive manner, assures us that such competitions were already prevalent at that time.11 Through Thamyris, early Greek poets grafted a culturally pervasive nexus of attitudes and behaviors related to formal agonistic encounters onto the phenomenon of poetic performance. The ambivalent status of a competitive poet, emphatically presented even in Homer’s brief account, indicates that one factor shaping the tradition’s development was an interest in exploring and criticizing the agonistic ethos as Thamyris came to epitomize it. Thamyris thus represents a deep layer in the evidence for the development of agonistic poetry:€by carefully examining Homer’s account of him, we can recover an archetypal dilemma that impinges on competitive selfassertion and that in particular shaped the parabatic ethos of the comic poets. This conceptual framework in turn suggests a new explanation for the term parabainein itself, one that invests the term with an implicit recollection of Thamyris’ “moment” and is similarly conditioned by the sense of moral ambiguity attached to competitive pride and self-assertion. Thus explained, the comic parabasis can be seen to serve a deeply embedded function not just of poetic performance but of agonistic performance generally in Greek society. Whatever the parabasis’ origin and early significance for the development of Greek Comedy, by Aristophanes’ time the structure was adapted to a purpose competitive poets had been striving to accommodate for centuries.12 Indeed, Thamyris’ very name, as Nagy (1979) 311, observes, “seems to be the embodiment of the social context for poetic competition”; the root thamyris/thamyrizō (“social/political gathering, to gather/bring together”) reflects the semantic refinement of agōn/agō from “assembly” generally to the specific sense of gathering at a contest. Cf. West (1999) 375–6; Wilson (2009). See the uses of ἀγών at Od. 8.200, 258–60. 12 Bowie (1982) 27–8, summarizes scholarship on the origins and development of the parabasis, and sensibly points to the intractability of the debate. For more recent discussion, see Hubbard (1991) 23–40; Imperio (2004) 11–22. Even if the parabasis represents an original kernel of Greek comedy, we can hardly assume that it was static in form or function. 11

16

From Thamyris to Aristophanes T h a m y r i s a n d t h e p oe t ic i z i ng of c om pe t i t i v e r i t ua l s

Homer’s account of Thamyris is one of the insertions of tangential material through which the poet enlivens his astounding, if relentless recitation of the Greek contingents in the Catalogue of Ships: καὶ Πτελεὸν καὶ ῞Ελος καὶ Δώριον, ἔνθά τε Μοῦσαι ἀντóμεναι Θάμυριν τὸν Θρήϊκα παῦσαν ἀοιδῆς, Οἰχαλίηθεν ἰóντα παρ᾿ Εὐρύτου Οἰχαλιῆος στεῦτο γὰρ εὐχóμενος νικησέμεν, εἴ περ ἂν αὐταὶ Μοῦσαι ἀείδοιεν, κοῦραι Διὸς αἰγιóχοιο αἱ δὲ χολωσάμεναι πηρὸν θέσαν, αὐτὰρ ἀοιδὴν θεσπεσίην ἀφέλοντο καὶ ἐκλέλαθον κιθαριστύ 



(Iliad 2.594–600)

… and Pteleos, Helos and Dorion, where the Muses encountered Thracian Thamyris and deprived him of his song as he departed from Oechalia, from Oechalian Eurytos. For he boasted and claimed that he would be victorious, if even the Muses themselves, daughters of aegis-wielding Zeus, should sing. But in anger they made him blind, took away his divine song and made him forget his art of kithara-playing.

The details of this encounter remain obscure. But that the situation leading up to Thamyris’ demise, only alluded to by Homer, involved a competition between human poets is implied by the formulation of his vaunt:€“he would be victorious, even if the Muses themselves were to sing” (εἴ περ ἂν€… ἀείδοιεν, Il. 2.597–8).13 The Muses seem to be mentioned only as a rhetorical threat and do not represent Thamyris’ immediate or intended opponents; that they respond to his challenge and step up to face him14 is an unintended consequence of his boast. Hence the recoverable background for Thamyris’ mishap, whether inherited by Homer or invented by him, is a self-assertive performance against at least one poetic rival that reached its pitch with a foolish remark. The possibility that Thamyris’ provocation of the Muses served as a functional precursor of the parabasis becomes more compelling once the myth’s significance has been elucidated by two further considerations. In its formal structure and ethical implications, Thamyris’ myth bears a striking resemblance to the account of Eurytos offered by Odysseus at Odyssey 8.221–8: Schadewaldt (1959) 64 n. 8. ἀντóμεναι, Il. 2.595; the word marks adversarial encounters in Homer, especially when constructed with the dative (e.g., Il. 15.697–8).

13

14

Thamyris and the poeticizing of competitive rituals

17

τῶν δ᾿ ἄλλων ἐμέ φημι πολὺ προφερέστερον εἶναι, ὅσσοι νῦν βροτοί εἰσιν ἐπὶ χθονὶ σĩτον ἔδοντες. ἀνδράσι δὲ προτέροισιν ἐριζέμεν οὐκ ἐθελήσω, οὔθ᾿ Ἡρακλῆΐ οὔτ᾿ Εὐρύτῳ Οἰχαλιῆϊ, οἵ ῥα καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἐρίζεσκον περὶ τóξων. τῷ ῥα καὶ αἶψ᾿ ἔθανεν μέγας Εὔρυτος, οὐδ᾿ ἐπὶ γῆρας ἵκετ᾿ ἐνὶ μεγάροισι˙ χολωσάμενος γὰρ ̓Απóλλων ἔκτανεν, οὕνεκά μιν προκαλίζετο τοξάζεσθαι. I declare that I am far superior to the others, as many mortals as now eat bread upon the earth. But I decline to compete with the men of old, with Herakles or Eurytos of Oichalia, who rivaled the very gods in their skill with the bow. Indeed, mighty Eurytos met a sudden end, nor did he reach old age in his halls; for in anger Apollo killed him, because he had challenged him to compete with the bow.

The accounts share a point of direct contact:€Thamyris’ misfortune took place soon after he departed from the halls of the same Eurytos of Oichalia (Il. 2.596).15 That coincidence is accompanied by a more significant one, for the main components of the Oichalian king’s agonistic experience form a virtual doublet with that of Thamyris.16 Eurytos’ challenge to the god of the bow has a parallel in the singer’s competitive zeal, which likewise encouraged him to exalt himself so far that he assailed the superiority of the very divinities under whose patronage all poets excel. Eurytos’ formal challenge to Apollo (προκαλίζετο, Od. 8.228) is echoed in Thamyris’ challenge to poetic competition, which is likewise characterized as an assertive act of speech:€στεῦτο γὰρ εὐχóμενος νικησέμεν.17 Both myths articulate concerns about human excellence and the threat that self-confidence will give way to the folly that stirs divine retribution. More important is how that paradigm fits within the context of Odysseus’ story. Odysseus offers the example of Eurytos’ miscalculation as the capping remark of his own challenge to the young Phaeacians, but especially Laodamas and Euryalos, who had conspired to engage him in their athletic competitions. They succeed in this through a sequence of formal speeches directed at Odysseus; Laodamas first offers a mildly taunting invitation (8.145–51), then follows it up with an openly abusive Ford (1992) 98–9, is a fine discussion of the relationship between the two myths. Martin (1989) 229–30, hypothesizes that Thamyris represents a Herakles tradition centered on Oichalia. 16 E. Ba. 337–40 applies the same pattern to the Aktaion myth. 17 Compare the mock-heroic challenge to compete in dining in Euphanes fr. 1, with commentary in Olson (2007) 288–9. 15

18

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

provocation (8.158–64).18 The weary hero at last responds with a berating reply (8.165–85), before angrily casting a discus far beyond all the others (8.186–98). The freshly victorious Odysseus then makes his own lengthy and aggressively self-assertive speech, in which he proclaims his victory (8.202–3), extends an offer to compete in other events with anyone who wishes (8.204–13), and dwells on the past accomplishments that assure his victory in nearly any sport (8.214–20, 229). In this scene Odysseus emerges as the new champion, in some respects exchanging roles with Laodamas as he behaved moments earlier. But Odysseus’ proud claims, unlike those of his youthful rival, are marked by a distinct tone of restraint. His anger over Laodamas’ insults notwithstanding, Odysseus is tactful enough not to threaten his relationship with his host by competing with him in an athletic contest (8.207–11).19 Similarly, in his more general boasts of physical ability Odysseus observes limitations in the claims he makes. Of the men he knows personally, he would not compete against Philoktetes with the bow (8.219–20); nor would he compete with men of former generations, most notably Herakles and Eurytos (8.223–5), the latter of whom stands out for special treatment because of his untimely demise at Apollo’s hands. In the outcome, Eurytos’ status is ambivalent; he is as much admired for his mastery of the bow as he is condemned for the egregiousness of his final boast, and Odysseus’ point is less a matter of avoiding comparison of his own skill to Eurytos’ than of avoiding his folly in rivaling those superior to himself. The mythical paradigm thus serves to temper Odysseus’ eagerness to outshine his rivals, and it does so at the moment when Odysseus engages in self-assertive posturing of a sort that might lead a less cautious rival to repeat Eurytos’ miscalculation. How much light this can shed on Thamyris is a matter of speculation, though the similarities of structure and thought in the episodes encourage the attempt, as I argue below. But Thamyris too certainly stirs admiration as well as admonition, and it is difficult to resist interpreting his episode in light of Homer’s emphatic tribute to the Muses’ poetic authority, with which his Catalogue of Ships began (Il. 2.484–93).20 What I wish to emphasize for the moment is how the The progressively more hostile tone of Laodamas’ speeches is registered by Odysseus’ κερτομέοντες in 153 (on the verb, see Lloyd (2004)) and νείκεσέ τ᾿ ἄντην in 158. 19 Evidently rivals could be expected to act in a way that would not easily support friendship. Here the experience of Tydeus may be instructive (Il. 4.385–98):€his athletic victories over the Kadmeians while their guest resulted in bitter anger and an attempt on his life. 20 Implicit rivalry between Homer and the tradition or mode of poetry represented by Thamyris is suggested by Martin (1989) 229–30; Ford (1992) 97; Wilson (2009). Scodel (2004) has salutary remarks on agonistic readings of Homer. 18

Thamyris and the poeticizing of competitive rituals

19

model of Eurytos both represents agonistic speech and structures agonistic discourse by a competitor who recalls his paradigm, for boastful speech between rivals is likewise at the heart of Homer’s recollection of Thamyris, as a second consideration makes clearer. The verb that encapsulates Thamyris’ challenge, εὔχομαι, emphasizes the agonistic context of his vaunt. Leonard Muellner has shown that εὔχομαι€ – “to say (proudly, accurately, contentiously)”€ – was carefully adapted in epic language to suit the verbal exchanges that are a regular feature of the stylized encounters between heroes on the battlefield.21 A heroic duel is initiated when two adversaries step forward to take a prominent position ahead of the undifferentiated mass of the armies.22 This performative gesture alone can signal a challenge as effectively as what follows, when one hero offers a direct provocation by “calling out” (προκαλίζομαι/ προκαλέω) another.23 From here the two engage in a verbal exchange, in which they assert their identities by rehearsing their pedigrees, heroic exploits, and even relevant mythical background€– all in order to establish themselves as worthy adversaries.24 As Muellner argues, in addition to being the appropriate term for describing these encounters, εὔχομαι could itself articulate the superiority of a hero over his adversary.25 A slain enemy is accordingly an εὖχος for the victor, and becomes fodder for any subsequent performance of euchomai speeches.26 As Richard Martin’s analysis of the verbal strategies that operate within such performances makes clear, this verbal dueling is only slightly less essential to the conflicts between heroes than the physical battles themselves.27 Although εὔχομαι appears nowhere in Odysseus’ antagonistic encounter with the Phaeacian youths, the sequence of speeches between him and Laodamas nicely fits the paradigm of such exchanges, with Odysseus’ final challenge representing the capping assertion of what Muellner calls the death-euchomai formula, i.e., a gloating speech delivered over a Muellner (1976) 78 for the definition. On the structure of Homeric battle-scenes, see Fenik (1968). 22 E.g., Il. 3.16 προμάχιζεν ̓Αλέξανδρος, 22 ἐρχóμενον προπάροιθεν ὁμίλου μακρὰ βιβάντα, 31 ἐν προμάχοισι φανέντα (note Paris’ reversal of the gesture at 36–7); 6.120 ἐς μέσον ἀμφοτέρων συνίτην μεμαῶτε μάχεσθαι, 125 πολὺ προβέβηκας ἁπάντων. Cf. 20.178, 196–7. 23 E.g., Il. 3.19–20, 432–3; 7.50–1; 13.809. 24 Cf. Edwards (1987) 201–6. 25 Muellner (1976), with examples of the capping effect of assertions expressed by euchomai on pp.€ 76–7. Cf. p. 93:€ “When a hero εὔχεται, he says the most significant fact he can about himself.” 26 E.g., Il. 5.652–4; 7.81; 11.443–5; 16.623–5. See also Muellner (1976) 92–3, with discussion of the dovetailing of euchomai speeches from one conflict to the next. 27 Martin (1989) passim; for a succinct analysis of dueling speeches, see his treatment of the Diomedes and Glaukos scene on pp. 126–30. 21

20

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

fallen rival.28 The Phaeacian example is also interesting for how it transfers ideals of physical strength and agility in military encounters to the more controlled setting of an athletic contest.29 In a sense Thamyris completes this process by presenting an euchomai challenge in a contest that is no longer about physical prowess at all, but about intellectual superiority. Nonetheless, the verb imports into this setting all the implications of rivalry and self-assertion through speech that it has in the military context where the formula originates; indeed, Muellner includes the use of εὔχομαι in the Thamyris episode among his death-euchomai passages.30 The styling of the encounter in Homer’s rendering of the Thamyris tradition thus produces a startling effect via the introduction of the loaded term εὔχομαι into a new setting, where such dire antagonism was unexpected, and the self-conscious poetic maneuver this implies requires further scrutiny. In Homer’s account of Thamyris, the use of euchomai to portray an Â�assertive act of speech is taken over somewhat by the construction στεῦτο … νικησέμεν, i.e., “he vowed/threatened that he would be victorious.”31 It is reasonable to suppose that this phrase and euchomai are intended to strengthen one another and to amplify the tone of unrestrained presumption in Thamyris’ challenge. But this was the meaning euchomai itself had acquired as a marked expression for making a bold utterance,32 and this instance of euchomai fits into none of the formulaic combinations Muellner identifies and distinguishes between, based on the secular use of the verb in boasts and its sacral sense “pray.” In its appearance here the term is formulaically equivocal, and the ambiguity may go deeper:€divinities (the Muses) are at hand, and an activation of euchomai in its sacral sense should be considered.33 Prayer, specifically to the Muses, was an important element of Greek poetry and especially early Greek poetry, notably in poetic openings. Jenny Clay makes this point well:€“Formally, an invocation is a subspecies Muellner (1976) 93 n. 37, 97. In general, the Odyssey provides fewer examples of the euchomai formula, in part because of the difference of subject matter. But note the emphasis on formal challenge and public discourse in these speeches:€8.142 αὐτὸς νῦν προκάλεσσαι ἰὼν καὶ πέφραδε μῦθον (Martin (1989) 12, identifies muthos as the marked word for speech that signifies performance-Â�type speech-acts), 144 στῆ ῥ̓ ἐς μέσσον ἰὼν καὶ ̓Οδυσσῆα προσέειπε. 29 The emphasis in Laodamas’ first speech on kleos as it may be gained through athletic enterprises (8.147–8) allows the formal agon to stand as a partial replacement for military encounters. 30 Muellner (1976) 97. 31 Compare Hektor’s threats, as reported by Odysseus, to destroy the Greek ships and devastate the army (Il. 9.237–43). 32 This instance is accordingly not comparable to the pairing of euchomai with more regular verbs of saying (e.g., φημί¸ ηὔδα), since in these cases euchomai provides new and additional force. 33 At Il. 19.100 the fact that Zeus is the speaker addressing the gods determines the secular meaning against the use of the identical formula in sacral contexts elsewhere; see Muellner (1976) 93–4. 28

Thamyris and the poeticizing of competitive rituals

21

of prayer, which can be defined as a respectful verbal communication between men and gods.”34 For the Greeks, every poetic endeavor was the product of a poet’s partnership with the Muses, and the invocation at the start of a performance amounted to a sacred utterance that established communication with the goddesses and resulted in divinely inspired song.35 Nor was the Muses’ authority over poetry, enlisted through prayer, diminished in the case of agonistic performance. Within a sequence of dialogues structured on the model of a rhapsodic contest, Plato’s Hermocrates bids Critias to begin his speech-performance only after calling upon Apollo Paion and the Muses (Criti. 108c). Critias himself adds a special invocation to the Muses’ mother Mnemosyne (Criti. 108c–d), in the hope that he will gain the approval of their audience (τῷδε╯τῷ╯θεάτρῳ).36 The Muses’ authority over poetic contests is asserted even more directly by Corinna in the Contest of Helikon and Kithairon (PMG 654.19–22). Finally, Aristophanes draws attention to their role in the contest between Aeschylus and Euripides in Frogs, where after Dionysos expresses his wish to judge the contest mousikōtata (i.e., in a way most suiting the Muses), he directs the chorus to accompany his offering with a song to the goddesses (Ra. 871–4),37 and their response (Ra. 875–84) takes the form of an invocational prayer that summons the Muses as the appropriate authorities on such occasions.38 Within this scene, each poet is allowed to pray to the specific deities who will support his performance (885–94). That these formalities are observed in no other epirrhematic agon39 may be taken as a sign that they are a feature added by Aristophanes because he thought them likely to evoke the festival atmosphere of poetic competition. Clay (1983) 9–10. For prayer-openings, see Race (1992) 28–32; for the kletic prayer opening Hesiod’s Works and Days, see Clay (2003) 76–7, with bibliography. 35 Solon fr.13.2 West2 makes the association explicit:€Μοῦσαι Πιερίδες¸ κλῦτέ μοι εὐχομένῳ; so too Simon. fr. 11.20–2 West 2, Pi. N. 9.53–5, frr. 70a. 13–15, 70b. 25–6. Thus, according to Aristotle (Po. 1456b15–18), Protagoras criticized Homer for beginning the Iliad with an imperatival command to the Muses when he should have been praying. 36 On the contest structure, see Nagy (2002) 53–69. Note the emphasis on gaining victory and demonstrating bravery in Hermocrates’ comment to Critias. 37 Note 874 ὑπᾴσατε = “sing in accompaniment”; the song is a corollary of Dionysos’ offering and prayer (see Dover (1993) 65). Forms of euchomai at 872, 885, 889, 891. In Ar. fr. 348 the chorus express the poet’s confidence as their didaskalos that they can dispense with summoning (ἀνακαλεῖν … βοᾶν ἐς χορóν) the Muses and Graces, since they are already present, which in a parabatic context is probably tantamount to asserting either that the goddesses have lined up to support Aristophanes’ chorus in the competition or that the audience is their functional equivalent. 38 The same assumption is involved in Meineke’s reconstruction of Phrynichus’ Muses; see test. ii K–A. 39 Similar prayers for fair judging precede the domestic trial in V. 860–90 (not a comic agon), which again points to social context rather than a formal comic poetic structure as determining the prayers. 34

22

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

If these points tell us anything about the cultural ideals at stake in the Thamyris episode, something important has taken place for the understanding of competitive poetic performances. Thamyris’ fall from divine favor hinges on a display of agonistic pride at the moment when he should have shown humility by recognizing the Muses’ superiority, so as to gain their assistance in performing his song. Although the contextual triggers implied by the evidence considered above have independent validity, Thamyris’ violation of the poet–Muse relationship is expressed by the alternation of euchomai from one potential meaning to another.40 In effect, the self-assertive application of the term makes Homer’s audience aware of the absence of the term in its religious sense, which is crucial to the context.41 Under the influence of rivalry and competition, Thamyris loses all sense of humility, and his religious feeling about his craft becomes a self-destructive violation:€prayer is transformed into mortal defiance of the gods.42 All of this merely emphasizes the myth’s interest in the fractured relationship between Thamyris and the Muses stemming from his competitive identity. C om pe t i t i v e p oe t ic s i n t h e A rc h a ic Pe r iod At the moment when a competitor in any endeavor asserts his excellence and superiority, he treads close to the bounds of what is socially and religiously tolerable and risks offending those who witness his performance, be they gods or mortals. Praise, especially self-praise, can easily become unpalatable; when embarked upon indelicately, the Greeks saw it as likely to arouse divine jealousy followed by divine retribution.43 In Odysseus’ “parabatic” assertions in the athletic contest on Scheria, the example of Eurytos functions as a negative paradigm for what can happen when a Cf. Biles (forthcoming) for these ideas as they apply to a victory epigram. Even Thamyris’ reported boast, “even if the Muses themselves should sing,” only misapplies the invocational language of Homer’s own poetic opening, ἄειδε¸ θεά (Il. 1.1; cf. Od. 1.1). 42 A comparable effect can be observed in a fifth-century vase representation of the Thamyris myth (LIMC s.v. Mousa/ai 92 = ARVâ•›2 1171,1):€Thamyris’ mother Argiope is at an altar on which stand nine figurines, apparently representing the Muses themselves. (For the figure as Argiope, see Trendall and Webster (1971) 4; Brillante (1991) 439, and Wilson (2009) argue for a Muse.) Thus the idea of religious prayer to the Muses is still essential to the account, and the fact that appropriate behavior toward them is demonstrated by someone other than the poet only emphasizes the enormity of what Thamyris has done. 43 Praise of any sort was a sensitive matter, as Bundy (1986) 75–6, and Kurke (1991) 208–24, demonstrate for the poetics of praise in Pindar (e.g., O. 2.95–100; 9.38–9; P. 10.4, 17–30; N. 7.61–76; I. 7.39–44; fr. 171 (Bowra); cf. A. Ag. 468–70, 782–9; S. Ai. 758–77; El. 566–72; E. Or. 1161–2; IA 977–80; Gorg. 82 B 6, p. 285 lines 11–13; 11a (par. 32) D–K; Th. 2.35.2; Aeschin. 3.141; D. 18.128. Similarly, Ibycus (PMG 310) speaks of getting honor among men from sins against the gods. See the general remarks of Lloyd-Jones (1971) 56–7; Dover (1974) 232–5. 40 41

Competitive poetics in the Archaic Period

23

competitor goes too far in self-praise, and Odysseus is careful to avoid making the same mistake. Sensitivity about these matters only sharpened as time went on; by the Classical Period euchomai in the Homeric sense of boasting speech is replaced by terms built on kompos, the implication being that such performances are all noise and little substance.44 An anecdote about the fourth-century tragedian Astydamas is indicative of the problem. In commemoration of a victory, Astydamas was granted the privilege of setting up a statue of himself in the Theater; but the honor was immediately revoked when the council discovered that the epigram he produced gloated in the accomplishment.45 Tact was essential in such situations, as is clear in Hesiod and Alcman, who offer different solutions to the problem of engaging in competitive self-assertion while managing not to alienate the Muses as Thamyris did. Hesiod is the earliest self-acknowledged competitive poet, and the hymn to the Muses with which his Theogony opens is remarkable for the way it pays respect to the traditional divine patrons of song through extended invocation, even as it proclaims Hesiod’s own poetic virtuosity. Shortly after the opening invocation, Hesiod not only identifies himself by name (22), establishing himself as author and performer, but offers an elaborate account of his credentials. The express purpose of this act of poetic self-assertion is to argue for his uniquely favored relationship with the Muses, as demonstrated by their advice (24–9), their gift of a sceptre (30–1), and above all the voice of song with which they inspired him (31–4).46 For it is not only under their authority that Hesiod performs; as we soon learn, the poem he is on the point of unveiling is the earthly counterpart of a song the Muses themselves perform on Olympus (43–51 ~ 104–7). That song has already been received favorably by its divine audience (36–7, 40–3, 51), a point that has the protreptic effect of determining the human audience’s no less positive response to Hesiod’s own performance.47 Noticeably the Theogony itself is incorporated within Only rarely in tragedy does the root εὐχ- signify boasts as opposed to prayer; for the replacement of the former idea by κομπ-, e.g., [A.] PV 360–1; S. Ai. 770, 1122; E. Alc. 324, 497; Hipp. 978; HF 148, 981; Tr. 478; Hel. 393; cf. Ba. 339–40; S. Ph. 842 (which caps the activation of competitive ideals in 838 and 841). In Aeschylus’ Seven Against Thebes, the central exchange between Eteokles and the messenger who reports the speeches of the invaders adapts the idea of euchomai-speeches, in that the excesses of the Argive kompoi are exposed via comparison with the defending army’s restraint and respect for the gods; see Hutchinson (1985) 391n. 45 Paus. Attic. σ 6 Erbse = Astydamas II, TrGF 60 T2a and b. 46 See Griffith (1983a) 47–50. 47 A similar effect seems to have been sought in an amphora of the mid-sixth century (British Museum, B 260) that shows on one side Apollo playing the kithara, and on the other a human kitharist, who is a virtual double of the god in pose and so, it would seem, in musical ability; cf. Shapiro (1992) 65–6. 44

24

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

the biography Hesiod composes for himself, so that poet and poem are validated in the same instant. And as will be seen later, this convergence of the poet’s fictional identity with the themes of his poem lies at the heart of the Old Comic parabasis. Hesiod’s auto-allusion in the Theogony is all the more significant if, as West in particular has argued, this is the poem referred to at Works and Days 654–9.48 In that passage, Hesiod recounts how he competed successfully in the funeral games of Amphidamas in Khalkis, after which he dedicated his prize tripod to the Muses on Mount Helikon where, he says, they first introduced him to song.49 The inferred connection between this account and the Theogony appears sound, since the dedication emphasizes the Muses’ connection with Mt. Helikon and Hesiod’s encounter with them there, both of which are central points of the poet’s autobiography in the Theogony. Nor does it require much imagination to appreciate how Hesiod’s poeticized autobiographical account might have served him in the funeral contest. By asserting the divine perfection of his singing ability and establishing his individual identity in implicit contrast with his rivals, the account scripts a performance of “Hesiod” on the heels of the moment he came before the audience to perform.50 Given the self-assertive function of the Theogony’s opening, it is not surprising that signs of Hesiod’s competitive stance against other poets have been detected within the autobiography in the Theogony.51 But what is most noteworthy is the contrast between Thamyris’ behavior and that of Hesiod, who is careful to coordinate a robust assertion of his own poetic excellence with a resounding commendation of the Muses’ overwhelming authority. This tact helps explain why, upon achieving a poetic victory, he acknowledged his debt to the goddesses by dedicating his West (1966) 43–5; cf. Clay (2003) 47. The boasting quality of the passage is brought out by comparison to Homeric language:€see West (1978) 656n. 50 Morrison (2007) 58–9 explains Hesiod’s use of biography as a mechanism for preserving authorship in later reperformances by other poets. But the self-introductory effect makes good performative sense for Hesiod himself, given that he has travelled abroad from Boiotia to an audience in Khalkis, which may have been beyond the range of his reputation. For bards and local audiences, see Stehle (1997) 173–5. Compare also the promotion of the poet’s identity and excellence in the Hymn to Apollo:€at the choral contests in honor of Apollo (149–50), the Delian maidens who perform choruses will conspire with the poet to help his songs gain preeminence as belonging to the sweetest of singers (165–73). Thus in mid-performance the poet already claims to have the support of a representative group of the local audience. Cf. Stehle (1997) 184; Burkert (1987a) 54. 51 Between individual poets by Neitzel (1980); between regional and panhellenic tradition by Nagy (1990b) 45; cf. Rosen (1990). In defense of his own self-praise, Aelius Aristides (28.21 Keil) adduced the example of Hesiod’s poetic assertion in Theogony, describing it as “an encomium of Hesiod himself within the hymn in honor of the goddesses.” 48

49

Competitive poetics in the Archaic Period

25

prize tripod to them.52 But Hesiod’s actions simultaneously reveal that one effect of agonistic pressures in poetic performance was to encourage poets to develop strategies for drawing attention to themselves, in increasing contrast with the veil of anonymity the Homeric songs envisage through the tradition of Muse-inspired poetry. Hesiod relies on the conventions of invocation, but adapts and refines them to suit a new social context, in which poets performed with greater frequency, as formal competitions were established throughout Greece.53 Alcman is more forthright in acknowledging the counterbalancing forces of agonistic pride and a sense of restraint in moments of poetic selfassertion. His Partheneion (PMG 1) opens with a mythological treatment, which gives way in the second half to the chorus’ presentation of themselves both as a unified group of girls and in relation to two of their individual members, Agido and the chorus-leader Hagesichora. Though the interpretation of nearly every verse of the poem is subject to debate, the vivid self-presentation of the chorus and their leaders fits an agonistic performance context.54 In the second-to-last stanza before the papyrus breaks off (78–91), the chorus ask the gods to receive their prayers,55 placing the fulfillment of their performance in divine hands (83–4 [σι]ῶν γὰρ ἄνα | καὶ τέλος) and hoping especially to provide pleasure (88 Fανδάνην) to Aotis, presumably because winning the goddess’ approval is tantamount to having a successful performance.56 Their respect for divine authority is reasserted in the final stanza where, after apparently reaffirming their trust in Hagesichora’s leadership and offering her their obedience, they maintain that their own (or possibly the chorus-leader’s) ability to sing is inferior to that of the Sirens, since the Sirens are gods:57

Similarly, when the Ithacan bard Phemius attempts to save his own life by impressing the enraged Odysseus with his poetic worth, he asserts that he is self-taught (αὐτοδίδακτος δ᾿ εἰμί, Od. 22.347), but adds that a god supplies him with the themes of his songs. Cf. Ford (1992) 32–3, with bibliography; interpreted differently by Thalmann (1984) 126–7. 53 Seaford (1977–8) 85–7, discusses agonistic features of Pratinas’ Hyporchema (PMG 708) that can likewise be viewed as antecedents of the comic parabasis. 54 See in general Page (1951) 52–7; Herington (1985) 21. 55 Esp. 82–4; for the supplement [εὐχάς] in 82, see Page (1951) 8; Calame (1983) 341–2; Pavese (1992) 87–91. 56 On the problem of identifying the goddess, see Calame (1983) 343; Cyrino (2004). Allusion to competitive success in 87–9 is assumed by Pavese (1992) 88–9. For the sentiment as it may depend on agonistic considerations, compare the prayer for victory at Ar. Ra. 390–3. 57 In 96 it is unclear whether the chorus or their leader is the subject supplied by ἁ δὲ (see Pavese (1992) 92–3), or if this is a different subject altogether which would replace the negative adverb supplemented in 97 (see West (1967) 11). Still, the passage is an attempt to express humility compared to divine singers. 52

26

From Thamyris to Aristophanes ἁ δὲ τᾶν Σηρην[ί]δων ἀοιδοτέρα μ[ὲν οὐχί, σιαὶ γάρ, ἀντ[ὶ δ᾿ ἕνδεκα



(Alcman PMG 1.96–8)

But she is not more melodious than the Sirens, for they are divine, but against eleven …

The caution the chorus register here is somewhat at odds with the exuberance for their leader they express earlier and the positive consequences they insist her partnership will have for their performance.58 Indeed, in contrast with their refusal to engage in rivalry with the Sirens, immediately afterward, in the final lines of the papyrus, the chorus appear to claim superiority over other choruses of young people, comparing their own song to a swan’s (98–101). The text is difficult to interpret at this point, and this final consideration cannot be asserted with confidence. Even so, the effort by Alcman’s chorus to establish where their rivalry lies is not a fortuitous theme at this moment. On the one hand, the acknowledgment of divine superiority over mortals continues ideas found in the previous stanza, applying to their own performance the moral drawn from the mythological paradigm in the first half of the poem:€“there is such a thing as divine vengeance” (36 σιῶν τίσις) and “mortals should not attempt to fly to Olympos” (16). Furthermore, although the Sirens’ powers of song are ample in their own right and adequately express the ideal of performance to which a chorus might aspire,59 the significance of the adjective based on their name used in this passage may be clarified by Alcman’s conflation of Muses with Sirens in another fragment:€ἁ Μῶσα κέκλαγ᾿ ἁ λίγηα Σηρήν.60 According to Aelius Aristides, this verse comes from the beginning of a poem, where it was no doubt part of an invocational overture and represented the poet’s affirmation of his dependence on the Muses. Such an identification would be perfectly appropriate for the reference to the Serenides in fr. 1; even if certainty on this point is not possible, it is obvious that in that poem as well the Sirens stand as positive emblems of poetic ability and the chorus is eager not to overstate their abilities and risk offending divine figures of song. Their concern, in other words, acknowledges a situation where the recollection of The chorus’ remarks are at times self-deprecating, which Most (1982) 92 interprets as an apotropaic maneuver aimed at holding off divine anger. 59 See Pucci ([1979] 1998) 7. 60 PMG 30 = 86 Calame; cf. West (1967) 13; Calame (1983) 347. 58

Competitive poetics in the Archaic Period

27

Thamyris’ experience could serve as a cautionary reminder for poets in the same way that the story of Eurytos curbed Odysseus’ challenge in the athletic competition. Once the moral ambiguity of self-assertion is taken into account, Homer’s account of Thamyris’ pride and punishment can be seen to have an affinity with a divine institution described by Hesiod: καὶ Μοίρας καὶ Κῆρας ἐγείνατο νηλεοποίνους, αἵ τ᾿ ἀνδρῶν τε θεῶν τε παραιβασίας ἐφέπουσιν, οὐδέ ποτε λήγουσι θεαὶ δεινοĩο χóλοιο, πρίν γ᾿ ἀπὸ τῷ δώωσι κακὴν ὄπιν, ὅστις ἁμάρτῃ.

(Theogony 217, 220–2)

and she bore the Moirai and the cruel Keres, who pursue the transgressions of men and gods, nor do the goddesses ever give up their terrible wrath until they give harsh punishment to anyone who sins.

As Hesiod presents the situation, Thamyris’ insult to the Muses and the pattern of behavior it represents can be regarded as a variety of parabasia. The moral framework is much the same, even if in Thamyris’ case it is the deities directly concerned, the Muses, who vent their anger, rather than the Moirai and Keres, acting as a higher authority for delivering such punishment.61 By engaging in vigorous self-praise, Thamyris, unlike other figures discussed above, “overstepped” ethical and religious constraints and paid dearly for it.62 The close association between Hesiod’s term parabasia and transgression is what interests me here through its applicability to what Thamyris signifies as a figure of aitiological importance for the poetic agon. What I hope to show, is that these implications have a direct bearing on the conception of parabasia that Aristophanes and his fellow comic poets were operating under when they confronted their rivals before the audience at the Dionysian festivals.63 I begin with an examination of some of the ways the parabasis, as we find it in Aristophanes and the comic fragments, reveals its integral connection to poetic rivalry and takes a place alongside other competitive structures of the dramatic festivals. Hesiod’s establishment of the Moirai in this special capacity is necessary because the order thus established can then pertain to divinities as well as humans. 62 A. Ag. 789 δίκην παραβάντες, with Fraenkel (1950) ad loc., is striking because the immediate context focuses on the chorus’ problem of getting their welcome of Agamemnon right. 63 The framework can be observed in Ar. Clouds, where Strepsiades’ gloating encomium of his own achievement (1201–11) sets up his divine punishment when the Clouds ultimately reassert the place of the traditional gods (1454–61); cf. Macleod (1981). 61

28

From Thamyris to Aristophanes T h e pa r a b a s i s a n d t h e p oe t ic s of s e l f -a s s e r t ion

In an Aristophanic comedy, the parabasis usually comes at a central point, when the actors have left the stage and the chorus is alone in the orchestra. This element of the performance has attracted attention since at least the time of the Alexandrian Library, for one reason above all others:€the vivid representation of the poet often contained in the astrophic first half, called the “anapests” in Aristophanes, after its usual meter in his plays.64 During the parabasis, the chorus speak for the poet, turning directly toward the audience to address matters including poetry and politics. These passages are entertainingly informative in their ostensible biographies of the poet but are by no means fortuitous or incidental. In an important study, Gregory Sifakis examined the thematic patterns of the parabases and argued that their unifying principle was the comic poets’ attempt to persuade the audience to favor them in the contest.65 The point of everything said about a poet is to assert the excellence of his plays, the soundness of his political advice, and his moral integrity, and by contrast to expose the shortcomings of his rivals; and these stage biographies accordingly often end with an appeal for audience support.66 While other factors may have contributed to the assertive “I” of Aristophanes’ authorial voice in the parabasis, the feature is explained with some economy by appealing to the agonistic ethos firmly embedded in Greek society by the time of the earliest surviving literature, as argued above.67 My guiding interest in what follows is to view the parabasis in functional terms and reveal it as a mechanism of the agon.68 To this end, I first examine the way a parabasis activates the personality, or better put, a personality of the poet to make him a participant in the play’s performance and declare his interests in the competitive stakes of the festival program. I then argue that an understanding of how these objectives are reached can be shaped further by recognizing the formal implications of the term parabainein in the formula for introducing the poet’s appearance in the parabasis, and compare the evidence for the tragic proagon to show that In addition to the parabasis of the revised Clouds (in eupolideans), the comic fragments show that poets used many different meters; cf. Whittaker (1935) 188–90; Sifakis (1971) 34–5; Imperio (2004) 6. 65 The important themes are categorized by Sifakis (1971) 38–40, cf. 60. 66 Eq. 544–50; Nu. 560–2; V. 1051–9; Pax 765–74. 67 See in general Dover (1974) 229–34; Poliakoff (2001); Barker (2009) esp. 1–28. 68 Cf. Hubbard (1991) 32–3, though his programmatic statements in this regard receive limited elaboration in his discussions of the plays. 64

The parabasis and the poetics of self-assertion

29

the performance of the poet’s identity had an acknowledged place in the events leading up to the competitions at the Athenian dramatic festivals. Given the parabasis’ engagement with biographical details, a general statement of my understanding of the poet’s personality as it emerges there is in order. Because the stage biographies offered in surviving parabases are exaggerated caricatures filled with unbelievable claims, one tendency in modern criticism has been to treat them as pure poetic fictions.69 Our appreciation of these passages has been deepened by considering how the poet’s bantering and often pretentious tone enlivens the performance by interjecting elements of fantasy while adapting literary tradition; but this approach primarily addresses mode and does not necessarily bring us closer to understanding what motivated the poet’s appearance in the first place. If the imaginative quality of parabatic stage-biographies means that we cannot naively treat them as true-to-life portraits, we are not therefore compelled to reduce the notion of authorial persona to a literary trope with no bearing on real contextual considerations.70 Significant progress in this regard was made by Angus Bowie and Thomas Hubbard, who showed that the poet’s parabatic personality is invested with characteristics that pick up on themes and developments in the surrounding dramatic action, allowing the parabasis to interact with the rest of the play.71 This approach reveals the parabasis to be an interpretive focal point with considerable relevance to the experience of seeing and understanding a comedy in performance. Bowie’s and Hubbard’s identification of converging themes in the parabasis and the comedy as a whole can be redirected to show that the fictionality of the poet’s “biography” was directly relevant to the poetic agon. A poet does not address himself to the audience with the immediate purpose of simply explaining his play to them.72 Rather, in the process of asserting himself publicly he simultaneously draws out particular themes and features of his drama. His persona is conflated with characteristics of his play, and the parabasis achieves its E.g., Whitman (1964) 22; Harriott (1986) 25; Goldhill (1991) 196–201; and with greater literary nuance, Rosen (1988) 2–3 and 59–82. The problem has received new attention by Platter (2007) 94–8, and especially Major (2006), whose focus on parabatic alazoneia can easily be brought into harmony with the view taken here. The question of authorial voice lies at the heart of the ambitious treatment of satirical poetry in Rosen (2007). 70 Morrison (2007), esp. 30–2, helpfully adopts the notion of “quasi-biography” in discussing the role of poets/narrators in Archaic Greek poetry. 71 Bowie (1982); Hubbard (1991). 72 At any rate this rationale still fails to explain the emphasis on the poet himself, since choral songs in tragedy provide interpretive guidance by offering mythological paradigms and other directives without divesting the chorus of their dramatic identity. 69

30

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

most profound form of competitive self-assertion by showcasing the individual comedy with which he is competing. In the revised Clouds (esp. 520–36), for instance, the trials and tribulations of the original play at the City Dionysia merge easily with the experiences of the poet. Thus the qualities of sophia and sōphrosynē that are key to the discussion in this parabasis are as important, rhetorically speaking, to the identity of the poet as they are to the comedy itself, and it is these qualities that are supposed to win him the audience’s support. So too on a more general level, thematic resonances in a comic hero’s plight and the agonistic challenge of the poet allow poet and hero to highlight one another’s struggles and become intertwined, since in a real sense the poet’s success at the festival agon is bound up with that of his hero.73 The best example, however, of this cross-framing of dramatic plot and authorial persona for competitive ends of which we know, comes not from a play by Aristophanes, but from one by his older rival Cratinus.74 In response to the abuse he received in Aristophanes’ parabasis of 424 (Eq. 526–36), the veteran poet returned to the Theater in 423 with Pytine. In this play Cratinus took what may have been an unprecedented step, casting himself as the hero in a plot that reestablished his superiority as a comic poet in advance, as it turned out, of his actual victory at the Â�festival.75 In doing so, moreover, Cratinus pointedly usurped the very themes and ideas Aristophanes used to malign him€– intoxication, (lack of) poetic inspiration, failed sexual relationships, personified genre€– and developed them toward his own redemption. Pytine thus took its point of departure from the parabasis of another poet, but transformed an anticipated parabatic rebuttal into the dramatic core of the play.76 With Pytine Cratinus seems to have charted the farthest boundaries of the scope a poet’s stage biography offered for creative embellishment.77 Although the degree of historicity in these biographies will always elude Cf. Bowie (1982) 29; Olson (1996) 144–5; Rosen (2007) 80–1. Even outside the parabasis we sometimes find overt gestures that help us think of the poet as we witness the actions of his comic hero (e.g., Ach. 497–503; V. 650–1). The conflation of the comic hero’s agon and the poet’s is discussed in more detail in Chapter 2. 74 Cf. Wright (2007) 424–5, for a metatheatrical interpretation of Cratinus’ Dionysalexandros. 75 Nu. Hyp. II; cf. Biles (2002); Ruffell (2002). 76 From Cratin. fr. 213 we gather that Pytine called attention to Cratinus’ rivalry with Aristophanes, whether in a parabasis or elsewhere. 77 This idea is developed by Rosen (2000). Even if several vase-representations are not connected with Cratinus’ self-portrayal in Pytine, as some believe (Taplin (1993) 43–4; Bowie (1995) 116 n. 12, 121 n. 42), these still tend to confirm the degree to which Cratinus has transformed himself into a recognizable comic type. 73

The parabasis and the poetics of self-assertion

31

us, in what follows I attempt to disentangle and to some extent set aside strict issues of fact and fiction, by conceding that “the poet” is an identity that must itself be performed. I do not mean this in an abstract and condition-free sense,78 for the literary complexity a poet’s stage biography begets through its relationship with his play can be situated within the organizing and originating principle Sifakis identified in the poetic agon. To take again the most striking example known to us, Cratinus’ elaborate imaginary biography in Pytine was grounded in the real conditions of performance at a dramatic contest. His creative masterpiece of the poetic persona can only be appreciated fully when recognized for what it is:€an intensification of his own competitive poetics in the final stages of a long, successful career in the Theater, inspired by heated rivalry with a popular new poet.79 So too, Pytine demonstrates the suitability of treating this phenomenon as biography, rather than autobiography, since the persona might be as much a product of what rivals said as what an individual poet wished to proclaim about himself.80 The example of Cratinus in Pytine probably represents an expansion of the poetic resources available for parabatic exchange, and is thus important for the way it lays bare the ideals that underpin the parabasis itself. In an only slightly more poetically restrained way, the Aristophanic parabasis likewise situates the play’s fantasies within the immediate reality of the performance, by treating them as manifestations and attributes of the figure who may be regarded as the chief competitor at a dramatic Â�performance.81 The perceived need for a poet to perform his identity in this atmosphere prompted and probably went a long way toward justifying the gross exaggerations and downright lies he fixed on himself when obliged to Â�confront his rivals. Rather than focusing attention solely on the biography as fictionalized through incorporation within a literary creation, therefore, I suggest that we should consider how the play itself is grounded in a “Â�reality” experienced by a figure the audience knows actually exists as the poet. The parabasis is tantamount to a speech-act that instantiates the idea of “poet” in connection with his play within As in (e.g.) Goldhill (1991) 200–1. Cf. Zanetto (2006) 313. Cf. Rosen (2007) 251–5, for the potentially different responses to “the poet” in original and subsequent contexts. 80 Here the relationship of Ar. fr. 488 and Cratin. fr. 342 may be important for what they suggest about the elaboration of Aristophanes’ identity as sophos-poet. 81 Even allowing for the status of the choregos in the production; Wilson (2000). An instance like Alcm. PMG 39 allows us to suppose that the impulse to insert oneself within a choral performance by others had long been felt by poets quite likely within a competitive context (thus the emphasis on his own inventiveness); cf. Hes. Th. 22–34; hAp. 166–76. 78

79

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From Thamyris to Aristophanes

the competitive ambience of festival celebration, and the play is thereby fixed in a specific time and place and transformed into a kind of personal poetry. Themes of competitive self-assertion abound not only in Aristophanes but in comic fragments that either seem to originate in parabases or are at least “parabatic” in the sense that they take up matters of immediate interest to the poet and the performance of his play. In one case, Cratinus berates the audience for failing to give his plays the reception they deserve (fr. 360); in another, Eupolis deplores their preference for foreign poets over their own regional stock€– doubtless meaning Eupolis himself (fr.€392).82 The same poet had a chorus shout to the audience to wake up and cast the rubbish of the earlier performances from their eyes (fr. 205).83 Meanwhile, Aristophanes used the metaphor of wine to analyze Athenian tastes for poetry, with his own style presumably represented by the mild-bodied, flowery vintage currently most pleasing to the audience’s palate (fr. 688). In all these cases we can detect efforts to advance poetic programs through imaginative verbal strategies, often with open or implied comparisons to competitors.84 Such examples show how the poets became involved in the performance, fulfilling the role of rivals with paradoxically playful seriousness. Storey (2003b) 300–3, proposes that this was an antepirrhema of a comic agon representing Eupolis and another comic poet (Aristophanes?) as contestants, but his reasoning is liable to a number of objections. Although the defensive position adopted is appropriate for an epirrhematic agon, a defensive response on poetic themes is also at home in a parabasis; the parabases of Acharnians (ἀποκρίνασθαι at Ach. 632 is tantamount to ἀπολογεῖσθαι), Knights, Clouds, and Wasps are all defenses in their own way. Storey also points to the problem of referring σῷ λóγῳ to the audience, since we might expect the plural possessive adjective. The speaker clearly addresses himself to the audience as plural “you” five times in the first three lines and twice in the final two, making it clear that the addressee is plural. The argument represented by σῷ λóγῳ that is being criticized, namely preferring foreign poets, is associated with this same group in 3 and 7–8, so that no difference of position necessitating reference to a third party can be detected. And since this plural group is addressed throughout, were another contestant’s argument being referred to for the audience addressed to consider, we should find not “according to your (sing.) argument” but “according to his argument.” Compare Nu. 1043–5, 1058–62. Perhaps the shift in number was less disruptive if the phrase in question had an idiomatic quality. 83 On Eup. fr. 205, Storey (2003b) 212, opts for tragic poets as the object of criticism, which is possible, although not necessarily on the grounds he suggests (Ra. 1005, 1497). The key evidence in favor of this argument is λῆρον in the second verse, a term perfectly suited to the comic abuse of rivals, as is shown by Eq. 531 (παραληροῦντ᾿), 536 (ληρεῖν), both of which concentrate on Cratinus, whose response in Pytine may be evident in fr. 208, where the same verb appears in a context in which comic composition is certainly at issue; cf. Biles (2002) 187–8, Olson (2007) 84. O’Sullivan (1992) 112–20 discusses the broader application of this term in literary criticism as it applied to both poets and orators in the fifth century. 84 For the branding of comic poetry by individual poets, see Bakola (2008). On the rivalry of Eupolis and Aristophanes, see Kyriakidi (2007). 82

Poet, chorus and parabatic formula

33

P oe t, c horus a n d pa r a b at ic f or m u l a The connection between parabasis and competitive self-assertion becomes clearer when we examine how the poets refer to the parabasis itself. Though the word is not attested as a technical literary term until the Alexandrian period at the earliest,85 the verbal cognate parabainein occurs five times in Old Comedy in connection with this part of the performance: 1. Acharnians 628–9: ἐξ οὗ γε χοροĩσιν ἐφέστηκεν τρυγικοĩς ὁ διδάσκαλος ἡμῶν, οὔπω παρέβη πρὸς τὸ θέατρον λέξων ὡς δεξιóς ἐστιν. From the time our producer took charge of comic choruses, he never once came before the audience to say how clever he is.

2. Knights 507–9: εἰ μέν τις ἀνὴρ τῶν ἀρχαίων κωμῳδοδιδάσκαλος ἡμᾶς ἠνάγκαζεν λέξοντας ἔπη πρὸς τὸ θέατρον παραβῆναι, οὐκ ἂν φαύλως ἔτυχεν τούτου˙ νῦν δ᾿ ἄξιóς ἐσθ᾿ ὁ ποητής . . . If any of the old-time comic producers had tried to force us to come forward in order to address the audience, he’d hardly have succeeded at this. As it is, our poet is deserving.

3. Peace 734–5: χρῆν μὲν τύπτειν τοὺς ῥαβδούχους, εἴ τις κωμῳδοποητὴς αὑτὸν ἐπῄνει πρὸς τὸ θέατρον παραβὰς ἐν τοĩς ἀναπαίστοις. The rod-bearers ought to beat any comic poet who comes before the audience and praises himself in the anapests.

4. Plato Comicus fr. 99: εἰ μὲν μὴ λίαν < ∪ ∪ — > ὦνδρες, ἠναγκαζóμην στρέψαι δεῦρ᾿, οὐκ ἂν παρέβην εἰς λέξιν τοιάνδ᾿ ἐπῶν. Gentlemen, if I had not been so compelled to come here, I’d never have come forward to deliver such a speech of words.

5. Thesmophoriazusae 785: ἡμεĩς τοίνυν ἡμᾶς αὐτὰς εὖ λέξωμεν παραβᾶσαι. Let us then come forward in order to praise ourselves. This assumes that discussions such as Σ VΓLh Pax 734b ultimately derive from Hellenistic scholars; cf. Imperio (2004) 8. For differing judgments on what these passages can tell us about the significance of the term parabasis, see Händel (1963) 92–7; Sifakis (1971) 61–3; Gilula (1997).

85

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From Thamyris to Aristophanes

In all these examples parabainein is complemented either by a verb of speaking or, in the case of Plato Comicus, by a prepositional phrase (εἰς λέξιν τοιάνδ᾿ ἐπῶν) that expresses this as a purpose.86 In three cases (Ach., Pax, Th.) the kind of speech appropriate for this moment is specifically prescribed:€praise, or really self-praise.87 Although various interpretations of the term parabainein have been offered, the most widely accepted is that the chorus “steps” forward, emphasizing the extradramatic character of this part of the play, in which they communicate directly with the audience.88 I will attempt to revise or at least complicate this meaning toward the end of this chapter. For the moment, I concentrate on one aspect of the use of the verb that suggests a close connection between the action envisioned and the self-praise tied to the conditions of competitive performance and the identity of the poet there. Although we may speak generally of the parabasis as a choral performance, in most of the examples cited above the chorus use parabainein to describe what the poet is doing by having the chorus perform the piece.89 In three cases the poet himself is the subject of the verb (Ach. 629; Pax 735; Pl. Com. fr. 99), and in a fourth (Eq. 507–8) the chorus function as an extension of the poet and his wish to bring himself before the audience.90 Only at Th. 785 does the chorus describe itself as independently parabasai; Cf. Imperio (2004) 10. Thus Sifakis (1971) 65–6 is probably wrong to argue that parabainein itself can mean “to come forward by way of digression to speak to the Theater.” For Plato’s idiom, see Mastronarde (1994) 194–5n., with close parallels at E. Med. 932; Ph. 771. 87 ἐπῄνει, Pax 735, cf. 738; εὖ λέξωμεν, Th. 785; implied at Ach. 629 by ὡς δεξιóς ἐστιν. Cf. Eq. 565, 595, where the same objective of offering praise justifies both epirrhemes. 88 E.g., Hubbard (1991) 28; cf. Σ VΓLh Pax 734b. A sixth instance of the formula can perhaps be detected in Eup. fr. 192.157 (Marikas), where the ancient commentator’s lemma πρὸς τὸ θέατρον points to a parabasis (Storey (2003b) 207), in which case (given examples 1–3 above) a form of παραβαίνειν might have appeared nearby. Moreover, the preceding lemma (λύω λέσχας), also apparently from the beginning of the parabasis to judge from the attached comment, may set out the objective of the chorus’ parabatic discourse, i.e., to put an end to (worthless) gossip about their poet (see, however, Pl. Com. fr. 244). Observe the hostility against other (comic) poets in fr. 205 (also likely to be from the start of the parabasis in Marikas (anapests; cf. above, n. 82)), where their inconsequential nonesense (αὐθημερινὸν ποιητῶν λῆρον) perhaps reflects λέσχας and is to be replaced by Eupolis’ view of things. 89 Cf. Händel (1963) 96. This distinction lies at the heart of Gilula (1997), esp. 141–2, who argues that the poet actually appeared on stage to perform these passages. As will be seen, I am sympathetic to the emphasis this puts on the verb, but believe that the poet’s presence remains imaginary. 90 Gilula (1997) 140, rejects the metaphorical interpretation of the Knights passage (cf. Slater (2002) 75–6); but the passage implies that the chorus can take over the act of parabainein, while the shift between the poet’s will and the chorus’ may be Aristophanes’ way of playing with the convention of parabatic impersonation. Similarly in Acharnians, Aristophanes’ previous avoidance of parabainein (628–9) implies a contrast with appearances by other poets (so Gilula, 140), but the more important contrast is with the Acharnians parabasis (630–2), in which the chorus now make up for Aristophanes’ previous reticence. 86

Poet, chorus and parabatic formula

35

but that is because this parabasis is devoted not to the poet but to the chorus’ own self-praise, as they make clear in the same breath.91 To say, as Hubbard does, for example, that parabainein was used by Aristophanes “specifically to describe the action of the chorus in turning around to face the audience instead of the stage,” thus does no justice to the evidence at our disposal. The peculiar use of the verb in the passages discussed above suggests instead that the vital point of a comic parabasis is the arrival of the poet on stage, notionally or through dramatic impersonation by his chorus. By inserting within the audience’s experience of the performance a dramatic presence of the poet before the Theater, a parabasis establishes him as the poiētēs who masterminds everything that goes on on-stage.92 The words of praise for him are thus self-praise (esp. Pax 735 αὑτὸν ἐπῄνει), so that both in establishing the poet as a participant in the contest and in performing his praise of himself, the parabasis becomes a true provocation from a poet to one or more rivals.93 Considerable evidence suggests that the comic poets engaged in specific dialogues in their plays€– most often doubtless in the parabases€– to assert their own superiority or malign their rivals.94 Indeed, the idea of poetic exchange seems implicit in the very way the term parabainein is Cf. Sifakis (1971) 63. The Clouds parabasis (518–19) opens without reference to parabainein and focusses instead on the purpose of verbal discourse (κατερῶ πρὸς ὑμᾶς), since the poet’s arrival before the audience is adequately signaled when the chorus speak as him in the first-person singular. Hence, ὦ θεώμενοι .â•›.â•›. κατερῶ πρὸς ὑμᾶς here is the dramatic equivalent of the parabatic formula παραβαίνειν πρὸς τὸ θέατρον in three of the passages cited above (Ach. 629; Eq. 508; Pax 735; cf. στρέψαι δεῦρ᾿ in Pl. Com. fr. 99), and the poet’s first-person address in Clouds fully realizes what is elsewhere metaphorical. Other examples of first-person address in the comic fragments suggest that Clouds was not unique in this respect:€aside from Pl. Com. fr. 99, cf. Ach. 659–64; Pax 754–74; Ar. frr. 30–1; Cratin. frr. 211; 251; Eup. frr. 89; 392; Pl. Com. frr. 106–7; Metag. fr. 15. A shift from first-person singular to third-person singular occurs in Pherecr. fr. 102. Ar. fr. 264 (anapestic tetrameter) discusses how choruses once danced with food in their arms; Athenaeus’ introduction (᾿Αριστοφάνης … γράφων καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ λέγων) might be taken to mean that Aristophanes both wrote and spoke (via the chorus) these verses. 92 To speculate further, the close connection between the poet and the defining action of the performance in a parabasis may represent a vestige from the early period of dramatic performance, when poets were not just composers but members of the chorus; cf. MacDowell (1971) 299; Hubbard (1991) 19. 93 At a point where he is almost certainly thinking about the comic parabasis, Aelius Aristides (28.95–7 Keil) treats it as characteristic of comic poets to follow up the assertions of their poetic virtues with a challenge to their rivals to do better. 94 Aristophanes’ ridicule of Cratinus in Acharnians (425) and Knights (424) prompted Cratinus to respond in his Pytine (fr. 213) of 423 by asserting that Aristophanes had pirated material from Eupolis. Cf. Cratin. fr. 342 and Ar. fr. 488, which are treated as a dialogue in Σ Pl. Ap. 19c (= Ar. test. 3); see O’Sullivan (2006). Aristophanes’ charge of plagiarism against Eupolis (Nu. 553–6) received a response from Eupolis (fr. 89), and in these cases the charges went beyond naming the poets to include the plays involved, Knights and Marikas; cf. Storey (2003b) 278–97; Kyriakidi (2007) 154–71. Other fragments of interest (not all necessarily from parabases):€Cratin. fr. 360; 91

36

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

used in these passages. At the same time that poets introduce their parabatic appearance in the contest, they make it clear that the performance of their own identity must be understood in relation to parabatic assertions by other poets, or even that it depends on them for its justification. I begin with Plato Comicus fr. 99: εἰ μὲν μὴ λίαν .… ὦνδρες, ἠναγκαζóμην στρέψαι δεῦρ᾿, οὐκ ἂν παρέβην εἰς λέξιν τοιάνδ᾿ ἐπῶν.

The theme and content of this passage would be equally fitting for a response within the epirrhematic agon,95 but the scholiast assures us that it comes from the parabasis. That view is supported by the use in the second line of the verb παρέβην. In a parabatic context, the first-person singular readily suggests the poet, and though the lacuna in line 1 may conceal an explanation of where the constraint upon him to make this speech originates,96 it is worth considering whether we are meant to understand Plato’s comments as an obligatory reply to his rivals. In that case, his parabasis contextualizes itself performatively within an envisioned sequence of parabases by different poets.97 One poet’s parabatic challenge demands a response by others, and the compulsion becomes greater when personal abuse is involved.98 This interpretation finds support in the Aristophanic passage that prompted the scholiast to cite Plato Comicus: χρῆν μὲν τύπτειν τοὺς ῥαβδούχους, εἴ τις κωμῳδοποητὴς αὑτὸν ἐπῄνει πρὸς τὸ θέατρον παραβὰς ἐν τοĩς ἀναπαίστοις. εἰ δ᾿ οὖν εἰκóς τινα τιμῆσαι, θύγατερ Διóς, ὅστις ἄριστος κωμῳδοδιδάσκαλος ἀνθρώπων καὶ κλεινóτατος γεγένηται, ἄξιος εἶναί φησ᾿ εὐλογίας μεγάλης ὁ διδάσκαλος ἡμῶν. (Peace 734–8)

Pherecr. frr. 102; 204; Ar. frr. 346; 348; 688; Eup. frr. 173; 228 (perhaps in eupolideans; see K–A ad loc. and Storey (2003a) 229); 205; 392; Lysipp. fr. 4; Metag. fr. 15. Cratin. Dionysalexandros test. 1.6–9 seems to refer to a parabasis “about the poets” (thus Körte):€ Olson (2007) 88–9; cf.€Revermann (1997) 199 n. 9; Bakola (2005) 46 n. 3. 95 Compare Aeschylus’ explanation of reluctance to compete with Euripides at Ra. 867, where Dover notes the appropriateness of the gesture in public contexts. 96 Kaibel, accepting Meineke’s supplement ὑπὸ τοῦδ᾿ (see K–A ad loc.), suggested that the compulsion was upon the chorus from their poet. Although Eq. 507–9 might at first seem a suitable comparandum, there the first-person plural is used and the point is to set the chorus in opposition to rival poets, whereas they are in perfect harmony (Eq. 510) with their own, which is all we should expect of a performance he has scripted. Tension with a chorus is referred to only in the case of other poets (e.g., Cratin. fr. 17 and Call. Com. fr. 17, where in addition the despised poets are tragic). 97 For parabatic intertextuality as a reflection of audience competence, see Revermann (2006b) 118. 98 Aeschines 1.193 presents the strategy of not maligning his opponents by name (οὐδενὸς ἐγὼ ὀνομαστὶ μνησθήσομαι), since that would only justify their decision to come forward and defend themselves (see further below).

Poet, chorus and parabatic formula

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The rod-bearers ought to beat any comic poet who comes before the Theater and praises himself in the anapests. But if, daughter of Zeus, it is right to praise the man who is the best and most famous comic producer of all, our poet says that he deserves great praise indeed.

Despite their reluctance to tolerate any poet’s self-praise, Aristophanes’ chorus justify their parabasis by pointing to his undeniable excellence in contrast to the dubious credentials of others who might attempt to do the same.99 This declaration, in other words, begs to be understood in relation to the way Aristophanes’ rivals presented themselves in the Theater, meaning that the parabasis was in essence an occasion for comic poets to carry out exchanges with one another, styling themselves in competition for the prize. That objective is underscored in the Peace parabasis by the assertion of Aristophanes’ literary significance in the remarks that follow (739–53) and above all by the way he coopts (749) for himself Aeschylus’ self-promotion in Pherecrates’ Krapataloi:€ὅστις αὐτοĩς παρέδωκα τέχνην μεγάλην ἐξοικοδομήσας (fr. 100). The striking feature in Aristophanes’ redeployment of the image, as noted above,100 is the distinction between Aeschylus’ comparison between himself and later tragedians who are his successors and Aristophanes’ between himself and living rivals. To press that distinction further, in fr. 100 Aeschylus seems to refer to the other tragedians in the third person (αὐτοĩς), and thereby emphasizes the temporal and physical distance between himself and them; ἡμĩν in Pax 749 is parallel to this, but asserts Aristophanes’ influence on comedy as it is performed at the City Dionysia of 421.101 The convention was there to overturn. Aristophanes’ announced decision to at last confront his audience through a parabasis in Acharnians and proclaim “how clever he is” is justified by a reference to the way some people have abused his name in public (Ach. 630–2). The perpetrators of this alleged conspiracy of slander are identified vaguely at the beginning of the parabasis as the poet’s enemies (Ach. 630 ὑπὸ τῶν ἐχθρῶν); only at the end (Ach. 659) is Cleon brought forward as the chief antagonist. That Their conviction of the poet’s superlative status is strengthened by an apparent invocation of a Muse (736 θύγατερ Διóς) to certify their judgment; cf. Olson (2002) ad loc. 100 See above, pp. 5–6. 101 Blaydes’ suggestion ὑμῖν (accepted now in Wilson’s text) may be correct, and though reference to the audience seems natural enough, in fact to this point in the parabasis they have only been referred to in the third person (732; contrast 759); any room in the ambiguity of that expression for a reference to rival poets is appropriate, given Aristophanes’ castigation of them in the lines immediately before. ╇ 99

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From Thamyris to Aristophanes

revelation, however, seems intended to come as a surprise,102 while the audience’s initial interpretation of the meaning of “enemies” would have been conditioned by their experience of parabases in earlier comedies. Given the emphasis on Aristophanes’ identity as a comic poet in the opening section, these unidentified figures are most easily understood to be his rivals in the Theater.103 His defense thus plays off the audience’s anticipation of the abuse and criticism poets regularly hurled at one another in their parabases, only to direct attention to a different class of enemy at the final moment. So too in the opening of the Knights parabasis, the chorus willingly takes up the poet’s cause while rejecting any thought of performing for another poet, claiming that they do this for Aristophanes only because he deserves their praise on several counts: εἰ μέν τις ἀνὴρ τῶν ἀρχαίων κωμῳδοδιδάσκαλος ἡμᾶς ἠνάγκαζεν λέξοντας ἔπη πρὸς τὸ θέατρον παραβῆναι, οὐκ ἂν φαύλως ἔτυχεν τούτου νῦν δ᾿ ἄξιóς ἐσθ᾿ ὁ ποητής, ὅτι τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἡμĩν μισεĩ τολμᾷ τε λέγειν τὰ δίκαια, καὶ γενναίως πρὸς τὸν Τυφῶ χωρεĩ καὶ τὴν ἐριώλην. ἃ δὲ θαυμάζειν ὑμῶν φησιν πολλοὺς αὐτῷ προσιóντας καὶ βασανίζειν, ὡς οὐχὶ πάλαι χορὸν αἰτοίη καθ᾿ ἑαυτóν, ἡμᾶς ὑμĩν ἐκέλευε φράσαι περὶ τούτου. φησὶ γὰρ ἁνὴρ οὐχ ὑπ᾿ ἀνοίας τοῦτο πεπονθὼς διατρίβειν, ἀλλὰ νομίζων κωμῳδοδιδασκαλίαν εἶναι χαλεπώτατον ἔργον ἁπάντων



(Knights 507–16)

If any of the old-time comic producers had tried to force us to come forward to address the Theater, he’d hardly have succeeded in this. As it is, our poet is deserving, since he hates the same people we do and dares to say what is right, and he nobly closes in against the Typhoon and whirlwind. As to the point which, he says, many of you have been wondering about, asking him directly why he did not long ago request a chorus on his own, he urges us to explain this to you. For the man says that it was not due to folly that he delayed this way, but because he considered comic production the most difficult task there is.

The intended surprise effect is marked also by the sudden shift to the first-person singular of Aristophanes’ voice (Ach. 660–4). On Cleon and Aristophanes’ second comedy Babylonians, which is in the background here, see Chapter 2. 103 For echthros used thus elsewhere in the comedies, cf. Eq. 528, 589–90 (discussed in Chapter 3). It goes without saying that rival poets might dwell on the public scandal that arose from Cleon’s charges and implicitly become the latter’s allies. 102

Poet, chorus and parabatic formula

39

It is striking that the chorus’ hatred for Cleon (here represented as the Typhoon, 511), which in many ways represents the core interest of Knights, is conflated with the personality of the poet. Already the latter emerges as a figure who can draw together his play’s themes as well as its performers and fit them within his ever expanding personality. At the same time, the chorus’ preference for Aristophanes cannot help but suggest that he is to be distinguished from his hopeless rivals, making a comparison with other poets unavoidable. The emphasis on old poets in the opening line (Eq. 507) accordingly receives specific explanation halfway through the anapests, when the youthful Aristophanes’ older rival Cratinus€– competing in this contest€– is placed between Magnes and Crates (Eq. 526–36), who were already dead or retired. All three are treated as belonging to the distant past (esp. Eq. 519), and Aristophanes thus portrays his immediate competitor as someone on whom no chorus would willingly hang their hopes of victory.104 The chorus’ speech is ostensibly a defense of their poet in response to concern among the Athenians as to why Aristophanes does not produce his plays himself, but finds other men to fulfill what might reasonably have been considered the poet’s responsibility. Whether Athenians generally were talking about Aristophanes’ professional arrangements is impossible to know; that rival poets criticized him on this score is certain. In reporting on Aristophanes’ early use of producers€– the ostensible subject of the Knights parabasis€– the ancient Life cites Aristonymus and Ameipsias as mocking him on this account.105 It is hard to avoid concluding that the talk in Athens to which the chorus of knights alludes was instigated or at least fanned by what Aristophanes’ rivals said in their own parabases.106 Indeed, since the argument in Knights soon targets Cratinus as its principal object of professional antagonism, it is tempting to identify him as one The internal logic of the theme of old poets argues against the belief of Sifakis (1971) 61–2, that this passage and the verses from Peace cited above prove that the parabasis is of no great antiquity. Hubbard (1991) 24, notes that the surviving fragments provide no secure evidence for parabases before Cratinus, but since there is little evidence for this period in any case, this is not decisive. 105 Life of Aristophanes (= test. 1.7–10); cf. Σ Pl. Ap. 19c (= Ar. test. 3.9–10), which adds Sannyrion’s ridicule. The same class of charges seems to lie behind Pl. Com. frr. 106–7; cf. Biles (1999). Curiously, the insult used in these cases involved a proverb connected with Herakles’ birth on the fourth day of the month and his later subservience to Eurystheus; in the parabasis of Wasps Aristophanes discusses his career, beginning with his use of directors, before portraying himself as a true Herakles, an arrangement that might be a response to abuse from his rivals using the same proverb (e.g., test. 3.9–11). Cf. Starkie (1897) on 1030; for a different interpretation of the evidence, Mastromarco (1989); Halliwell (1989). 106 Ameipsias was active during the early part of Aristophanes’ career (Nu. Hyp. II Dover), and though Aristonymus and Sannyrion are later, they may be recycling a theme of ridicule that had become generic, as Plato Comicus perhaps indicates (see previous n.). 104

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of those who belittled Aristophanes for poetic immaturity. That hypothesis gives further point to the castigation of “ancient directors of comedy” with which the passage begins, and might imply or anticipate a competitively defensive position adopted by Cratinus after his defeat at the hands of the upstart tyro in 425.107 The self-referential commentary the comedies provide on the performance of the parabasis characterizes this as a virtual face-to-face confrontation of rival poets before the audience. One poet’s notional presence is correlated with and even justified by the appearances of his rivals, whose efforts to outbid one another by praising themselves and their own work form the substance of these passages. Since these were scripted performances, dialogues on specific points could only evolve over a series of festivals,108 but the basic point remains that parabases attained their greatest significance when rival poets’ assertions were considered in relation to one another over the course of a single festival.109 Pa r a b a s i s a n d proag on: €p oe t ic s e l f -a s s e r t ion at t h e Dion y s i a n f e s t i va l s Once we appreciate that the defining act of parabainein involves the poets themselves, and thus that the parabasis is not so much about the chorus’ orientation with respect to the dramatic performance and the audience as about the poet and his participation in the competitive production, we are in a better position to understand the larger function of the parabasis within the poetic agon. The competitive poetics of the parabasis come into fuller view when considered in relation to another elusive element of the Dionysian festival, the proagon. The proagon took place sometime shortly before the dramatic performances. The evidence for the event is sparse and raises as many questions as it answers, but on some points it provides a model that may help explain Fr. 213 suggests that in Pytine Cratinus found a different tactic for exposing Aristophanes’ lack of creative independence, presumably in response to the defeat of his Satyrs by Knights the year before (Eq. Hyp. II). 108 But see Storey (2003a) 287–8. 109 On this point, Sifakis offers the interesting suggestion that the poetic form of the anapests (tetrameters + pnigos) derives from the similar structure in the epirrhematic agon which is duplicated for the sake of each participant in the contest. On this basis Sifakis proposes that with the parabasis the full form of responding epirrhemata was realized in the performance of parabases by other poets. Gelzer (1960) 205, admits that the pnigos may have come to the parabasis via the comic agon. For development in the parabasis form in Aristophanes’ plays, see Imperio (2004) 14–20. 107

Parabasis and proagon

41

the function of the parabasis. The most detailed account is found in a scholiast on Aeschines.110 προαγών˙ ἐγίγνετο πρὸ τῶν μεγάλων Διονυσίων ἡμέραις ὀλίγαις ἔμπροσθεν ἐν τῷ Ὠιδείῳ καλουμένῳ τῶν τραγῳδῶν ἀγὼν καὶ ἐπίδειξις ὧν μέλλουσι δραμάτων ἀγωνίζεσθαι ἐν τῷ θεάτρῳ, δι᾿ ὃ ἑτοίμως προαγὼν καλεĩται. εἰσίασι δὲ δίχα προσώπων οἱ ὑποκριταὶ γυμνοί. proagon:€A few days before the Great Dionysia in the so-called Odeion a contest of the tragic poets took place and a demonstration of those plays with which they intended to compete in the Theater; on this account it is aptly called the proagon. The actors enter “naked,” without masks.

The most significant element of this notice for our purposes is the appearance of the tragic poets, who made a public demonstration (ἐπίδειξις) of their plays, accompanied by their actors.111 Exactly what this presentation consisted of is impossible to say, but it is worth noting that the scholiast characterizes the event as a contest (ἀγών). Although his assessment has been questioned, and a formal agon is almost certainly not in question, his interpretation has the merit of being consistent with the use of proagon and its cognates elsewhere,112 and at the least, the name implies an interest in coordinating the event directly with the festival’s competitive program.113 The general nature of this connection can be understood through Socrates’ allusion to the proagon in which Agathon participated a few days before the Lenaian victory that provides the historical backdrop for Plato’s Symposium (194a–b). ἐπιλήσμων μεντἂν εἴην, ὦ ᾿Αγάθων, εἰπεĩν τὸν Σωκράτη, εἰ ἰδὼν τὴν σὴν ἀνδρείαν καὶ μεγαλοφροσύνην ἀναβαίνοντος ἐπὶ τὸν ὀκρίβαντα μετὰ τῶν ὑποκριτῶν, καὶ βλέψαντος ἐναντία τοσούτῳ θεάτρῳ, μέλλοντος ἐπιδείξεσθαι σαυτοῦ λóγους, καὶ οὐδ᾿ ὁπωστιοῦν ἐκπλαγέντος, νῦν οἰηθείην σε θορυβήσεσθαι ἕνεκα ἡμῶν ὀλίγων ἀνθρώπων. “I would be forgetful indeed, Agathon,” said Socrates, “if after witnessing your bravery and self-confidence as you mounted the platform with your actors and then looked out against so large an audience, prepared to make a display of your words with no sign of fear, I should think that you would now be shaken by a small group like us.” Σ in Ctes. 67; cf. Σ VΓLh V. 1109a. See also Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 63, 67–8; Csapo and Slater (1994) 109–10. 111 For the additional presence of the chorus, see Life of Euripides (= test. IA.11). See Miller (1997) 232–5, for the function of the Periclean Odeion. 112 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 67, suggests that the scholiast has simply misinterpreted the word proagōn, but it is likely that he knows more about this event than he has taken the time to report. On the meaning “contest beforehand” and the like, see LSJ προαγών¸ προαγωνίζομαι, etc. 113 For possible comparative evidence for competitions in advance of competitions, involving the same contestants as at the agon proper, see IG XII ix 189 (Eretria); Nagy (2002) 39–40, 48–50. 110

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Socrates’ recollection evokes a mood of self-assertion at this event; the emphasis is equally on Agathon’s bravery and self-confidence in stepping before the audience, and on his lack of fear in presenting his play (μέλλοντος ἐπιδείξεσθαι σαυτοῦ λóγους).114 Though the broader context of Agathon’s appearance must be reconstructed, the description seems to imply that a general atmosphere of rivalry predominated at the proagon. The essential consideration is that Agathon is making this public display alongside his competitors at the festival; it is in this implied confrontation that his andreia and his ability to keep any sign of fear in check resonate. Peter Wilson is surely right to observe that Socrates’ description makes the proagon sound like “an opportunity for a kind of inflated selfpromotion.”115 Moreover, David Sider has shown that the Symposium is itself structured as a kind of Dionysian competition, and it must accordingly be relevant that the proagon is recalled just before the culminating performances of Agathon and Socrates.116 Indeed, Agathon interprets Socrates’ feigned trepidation over his own performance as a competitive strategy aimed at making his most significant rival€– Agathon himself€– lose confidence before the audience, as he refers to their philosophical gathering (194a). The verbal parrying of the two men in advance of their actual performances reactivates the competition between them over sophia that was introduced earlier in the dialogue.117 Although the evidence for the proagon is limited, therefore, it teases us with hints of the event’s agonistic function within the festival. It is tempting to assume that the proagon included both tragic and comic poets, but the evidence points to the tragedians alone. The scholiast on Aeschines mentions only tragic poets in connection with the festival of the City Dionysia, in the course of elucidating a reference that provides no motivation for such specificity; the Symposium refers to On the question of whether this phrase refers to the poet’s words at the proagon or to the performance of his play later on, see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 67; Dover (1980) ad loc. Van Erp Taalman Kip (1990) 127–9 may be correct to propose that the expression conflates Agathon’s performance at the festival (proagon or agon) with his performance in the philosophical discussion. 115 Wilson (2000) 96. 116 Sider (1980). Socrates activates this parallel in the immediate context by commenting that Eryximachos has already completed his competitive performance (ἠγώνισαι, 194a). 117 Smp. 175d–e, where Socrates compliments the poet for his knowledge, while Agathon responds that Dionysos will soon judge them with regard to sophia (175e). When Dionysos appears in the form of Alcibiades (Sider (1980) 55), he binds Agathon’s head with tainiai for his poetic victory the day before (212e–213b), but then shares them with Socrates to acknowledge him as victor in this and every philosophical performance (213d–e). For the relationship between this scene and epinikia iconography, see Biles (2007). 114

Parabasis and proagon

43

a tragic poet;118 and Aristophanes’ Proagon is described by one ancient authority as having featured Euripides in particular.119 This might be a matter of a gap in the admittedly sparse evidence for the event.120 Still, the way the programs of the City Dionysia and the Lenaia were constructed indicates that “equal treatment” of genres was not a consideration, and thus we probably ought to accept that the evidence for the proagon is accurate. Since tragic plots were typically based on myth, after all, there was little risk of deflating the overall effect of the performances by promoting a play in advance, whereas comedy depended on surprise at many levels for its effect.121 More important, tragedy seems to have avoided the overt self-referentiality on which comedy thrived and frequently used to draw attention to the agonistic interests of the performance.122 The proagon thus supplied an opportune moment for tragic poets to present themselves to the audience, to engage one another either directly or by implication, and to display the merits of their plays, whereas the comic poets internalized this aspect of the competition, making it a formal part of the performance either by inventing the parabasis expressly for this purpose or by adapting an older form to suit the demands of increased agonistic pressures. The parabasis and proagon share important features with regard to their function within the contest. Whatever else occurred at a proagon, it was certainly the sole formal occasion for tragic poets to participate personally in the competitions. The exact nature of the epideixis and logoi presented must remain obscure, but it is safe to say that recitations of passages from The victory by Agathon recalled in the Symposium is linked to the Lenaia of 416 by Athenaeus (5.217a = TrGF 39 T 1), but Sider (1980) 43–7 points out that Plato treats the performance as though it were at the City Dionysia. The association with the City Dionysia in the Aeschines scholion may simply reflect its origin or special significance in that festival, where tragic poets dominated the agons with three competitors and full tetralogies. 119 ΣVLh V. 61c (= Proagon test. iv): οὐ μóνον ἐν τούτῳ τῷ δράματι¸ ὡς εἴρηται¸ εἰσῆκται οὕτως Εὐριπίδης¸ ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τῷ Προαγῶνι καὶ ἐν τοῖς ̓Αχαρνεῦσιν. 120 Mazon (1908) 267, adduces ΣRVM Nu. 312a as evidence that comedy was included, but the wording is vague since the supposed reference to the proagon follows clear reference to the poetic competitions themselves. Sommerstein (2002) 9 suggests that the proagon helped stabilize titles of plays after the middle of the fifth century; the evidence he collects for tragedy perhaps supports this conclusion, but the increasing instability of comic titles he observes (pp. 7–8) would appear to indicate that the comic poets were not involved. 121 Cf. Antiph. fr. 189, with Olson (2007) 172–3. On Aristotle’s mixed testimony on this point (Po. 1451b23–6), see Revermann (2006b) 99–100. Revermann (2006a) 170, who thinks of the proagon as “an opportunity to create a playbill,” is open to the possibility of comic participation at the proagon, but points out that much of comedy’s effect depended on surprise at the time of performance. 122 Bain (1975) and Taplin (1986). This is not to say that rivalries between tragic poets could not operate implicitly through their differing treatments of a shared body of mythical material. 118

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the plays themselves were not involved.123 Of the two terms, expideixis suggests a formal speech, so that the proagon may have been an opportunity to draw attention to virtues and innovations especially deserving of the audience’s attention.124 Socrates’ emphatic phrasing μέλλοντος ἐπιδείξεσθαι σαυτοῦ λóγους invests the display with a tone of proprietary authority that places the poet’s imprimatur on the upcoming performance. In this, as in other ways, the proagon would have been a performance not unlike the comic parabasis, and may even have allowed poets to express rivalry with one another.125 Both proagon and parabasis were extra-dramatic performances, with the stripping away of the dramatic illusion that exposes the chorus and the poet to the audience in the parabasis parallel to the appearance of uncostumed actors and chorus at the poet’s side at the proagon.126 Indeed, the appearance of the tragic poet with his chorus at the proagon can be compared to the full structure of a parabasis, in which the comic poet’s appearance in the anapests is followed by the chorus’ selfpresentation to the audience in the epirrhematic syzygy. So too, on any understanding of the tragic proagon, it was like the parabasis in combining the assertive self-presentation of the poet€– now personally instead of by representation through the chorus€– with a display of his play’s themes. The focus on the poet and the parity on this point comes out well in Socrates’ description of Agathon mounting the podium (ἀναβαίνοντος) and looking out at the Theater (194b ἐναντία τοσούτῳ θεάτρῳ), recalling the comic poets’ παραβαίνειν πρὸς τὸ θέατρον.127 Like the parabasis, the Against this early thesis, see the sensible remarks of van Erp Taalman Kip (1990) 123–5. Mazon (1908) 266–7, reasons that only the poet and the title were announced, but such a minimalist view would not seem to justify a special event of the sort Socrates envisions in the Symposium. 124 The use of ἐπιδεικνύναι in Ar. fr. 719 is a fine example and is all the more important for the present discussion if correctly attributed to the parabasis of the lost Thesmophoriazusae (fr. 348); see K–A ad loc. At Pl. La. 183b the verb is likewise applied to the public activity of tragic poets, though within a general comparison with men who supposedly teach military science. 125 Two anecdotes in the ancient tradition support this view. Plutarch’s account of Sophocles’ debut competition against Aeschylus (Cim. 8.7–9) envisions the audience heatedly divided in their support of the two poets already at the moment when the judges were selected and the generals entered the Theater, which is to say before the plays were produced; Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 95–6. The competitive mood in support of a new poet is explicable if the proagon served to establish their rivalry. At the end of his career in 406, Sophocles used the proagon as an opportunity to acknowledge the absence of his most significant rival Euripides after his death (Life of Euripides = test. IA.11). 126 Whether or not the chorus stripped during the parabasis, a metadramatic explanation of their costume and identity is sometimes included in the performance (esp. Ach. 627; V. 1071–4; Pax 729–32). Cf. Sifakis (1971) 103–8; Hubbard (1991) 28. The claim that the actors appeared “naked” at the proagon is taken literally by Bassi (1995) 20–2, but δίχα προσώπων points to a theatrical definition. 127 Ach. 629; Eq. 508; Pax 735; cf. Poll. 4.111. 123

Parabasis and proagon

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proagon brings forward the person responsible for the words the actors and chorus perform, engaging his identity as the one who unifies all other identities involved in the dramatic production, both performed and at the level of imaginative creativity.128 The similarities between the proagon€– the general function of which relative to the contests is not in doubt, however dimly understood its details may be€– and the parabasis supports the notion that the latter served a parallel purpose in the agon. The experience the Athenian audience had of witnessing tragic poets present themselves, their actors, and their plays in a formal context within the festival program makes it easier to believe that they treated the sequential appearances of comic poets in their parabases as a similarly motivated sub-performance. Beyond this, whether and how parabasis and proagon influenced or responded to one another is not easily ascertained.129 Surely comic poets adopted a different tone and exhibited other qualities whose uniqueness we are in no position to determine. Still, their parabases fulfilled what the proagon shows was a noteworthy ritual in the Athenian dramatic competitions. By stepping forward to speak about himself and his poetry, a poet of either genre formally signaled the adversarial stance he adopted toward other poets in the presence of the citizens, who were the communal judges of the performances.130 That the tragic proagon was the antecedent in this scenario seems likely, given comedy’s habit for literary predation and the particular association of the proagon with the City Dionysia, where tragedy was introduced earlier than comedy and probably remained the dominant genre. But while I endorse the likelihood of meaningful contact and influence between the two, I do not mean to suggest that the parabasis depends in an essential way on the proagon for its genesis or for the Athenians’ ability to comprehend it.131 Rather, both performances only structured more formally Cf. Wilson (2000) 96, who suggests further that the choregos was present at the proagon, although explicit evidence for his role there is lacking. The fourth-century tragic poet Astydamas may have experimented by inserting parabatic material in a satyr-play (Astydamas II TrGF 60 F 4); see Bain (1975) 24–5; Sutton (1980) 82–3; Revermann (2006a) 279, noting that Athenaeus may have misassigned a comic fragment. 130 The moment when a competitor stepped up to initiate his performance is the subject of an alabastron of the late sixth or early fifth century (Harvard 1977.216.2397):€a kithara-player mounts the bema with his left foot suspended above it and his right foot still on the ground. 131 The so-called “chorēgoi vase,” showing a tragic and a comic figure being scrutinized by figures identified as chorēgoi, might be based on a comedy that took this association as its premise. For the possibility that the vase shows a proagon with tragedy and comedy presented, see Taplin (1993) 65–6; Wilson (2000) 345 n. 208, 378–9 n. 213. If the vase portrays a comic plot, on the other hand, the fantastic representation of a competition between genres perhaps extended to the presence of comedy at the proagon. 128

129

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older modes of competitive self-presentation, allowing them to be treated synchronically as separate manifestations of deeply embedded rituals of competitive display, hearkening back to ideas articulated originally in the Thamyris myth. C om ic

par abasia

Before considering some points in favor of modifying the usual understanding of comic parabasia in this final section, I wish to address the limitations of the current definition of the parabasis as a dramatic act of “stepping out.” As noted above, the use of the word to refer to a structural component of comedy depends on Hellenistic scholarly work on Old Comedy.132 The term is clearly derived from the poets’ own use of the verb parabainein, but the interpretive tradition becomes misleading when it treats the act of comic parabasia as a choral performance, rather than remaining true to the evidence of the original texts, in which the term creates an impression of authorial presence.133 My priority is to make better sense of the semantic implications of the verb when the comic poets adopt it in this context; and it is accordingly worth noting that, if we set aside the instances where parabainein is used by the comic poets themselves, the assumed definition “stepping forward” is unattested in Classical or earlier sources.134 I nonetheless believe that we can attach this basic meaning to the verb, but not in the straightforward sense in which it has been assumed. The use of parabainein in parabases undoubtedly implies that the poet, through his chorus, comes forward to stand before the Theater. But that Cf. Händel (1963) 94–5; Gilula (1997) 131–2; Imperio (2004) 8. See for example the definition provided by Hephaestion in his περὶ Ποιημάτων (8 p. 72 Consbruch):€καλεῖται δὲ παράβασις¸ ἐπειδὴ εἰσελθóντες εἰς τὸ θέατρον καὶ ἀντιπρóσωποι ἀλλήλοις στάντες οἱ χορευταὶ παρέβαινον καὶ εἰς τὸ θέατρον ἀποβλέποντες ἔλεγóν τινα. At times the literary critical term actually supplies a definition for the verb:€e.g., Σ VEΓΘM Eq. 508b παραβῆναι˙ τῇ παραβάσει χρήσασθαι. Because of their derivative treatment, I consider irrelevant the late examples adduced by Sifakis (1971) 64–5, to import a digressive aspect to the meaning of parabainein. As Sifakis (1971) 62, points out (cf. Händel (1963) 96), however, some ancient scholars applied the term specifically to the “anapestic” portion of the choral performance in which the poet was represented, and not to the syzygy that followed. 134 The attempt by Händel (1963) 95 to stabilize the meaning of parabainein by reference to V. 1528 is not conclusive, since the closural sequence of the play is metapoetically framed through the model of festival agonistics in Philocleon’s competition with tragic performers. The scene effectively asserts the comedy’s agonistic status in its final moments, and Aristophanes’ choice of diction is likely dependent on parabatic interests (see Chapter 4). Note that doubt over the meaning and appropriateness of the term here has led several modern editors to adopt Blaydes’ περίβαινε (Van Leeuwen (1909); Sommerstein (1983); N. G. Wilson (2007a)). Cf. MacDowell (1971) ad loc. 132 133

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sense of the verb can be refined through comparison to Attic idiom. To describe the act of stepping forward to speak before an assembled audience€ – a familiar occasion in the democratic polis€ – a fifth-century Athenian had a well-established expression at his disposal:€παρελθεĩν + verb of speaking.135 Most notably, in Thucydides this combination is almost formulaic for introducing speakers at assemblies, and instances that include a prepositional phrase to define the assembly in question make the comparison to the formula for introducing comic parabasia even more striking:€e.g., ἐς τὸν δῆμον παρελθóντες .â•›.â•›. οὐκ ἔφασαν (Th. 5.45.4).136 Aristophanes was familiar enough with this formula to use it appropriately when one of the female speakers introduces herself at the women’s assembly in Thesmophoriazusae (443):€ὀλίγων ἕνεκα καὐτὴ παρῆλθον ῥημάτων. Likewise Eupolis uses the expression when referring to Pericles’ power of speech and superlative ability to sway his audience.137 Confirmation of the relationship between the verbs and their overlapping contextual significance is found in The Contest of Homer and Hesiod, a work that has been connected with the fourth-century rhetorician Alkidamas and may depend on an even older tradition.138 Alkidamas describes the moment when Hesiod and Homer approach one another to initiate their poetic duel as follows: ἀμφοτέρων δὲ τῶν ποιητῶν θαυμαστῶς ἀγωνισαμένων νικῆσαί φασι τὸν Ἡσίοδον τὸν τρóπον τοῦτον προελθóντα γὰρ εἰς τὸ μέσον πυνθάνεσθαι τοῦ Ὁμήρου καθ̓ ἓν ἕκαστον, τὸν δὲ ῞Ομηρον ἀποκρίνεσθαι.



(lines 70–4 Allen)

Although both poets competed spectacularly, they say that Hesiod won the contest in the following way:€stepping forward into the middle, he examined Homer point by point, and Homer answered him.

The agon the two men engage in is a flight of fancy, but its significance for our purposes is not diminished by that fact, since it reflects how a E.g., Hdt. 8.80.2, 81.1; Th. 1.72.2, 73.1; 2.59.3; 3.36.6, 44.1; 6.8.4, 15.5; X. HG 7.1.12; Ap. 11; Lys. 25.14; 31.16; D. 7.20; Ex. 44.1; Aeschin. 1.193; 2.47; 3.2; Thphr. Char. 21.11; 26.2. Cf. Radermacher (1916) 593–4, who does not observe the relationship with this idiom. 136 Cf. X. HG 1.7.11 παρῆλθε δέ τις εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν φάσκων; Pl. Alc. I 105a–b εἰς τὸν ᾿Αθηναίων δῆμον παρέλθῃς … παρελθὼν οὖν ἐνδείξεσθαι; Aeschin. 3.95 παρελθὼν εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν λóγους διεξῆλθε. Though of much later date, Plutarch’s description of Kimon coming with the other generals before the Theater to perform the customary libations demonstrates the point well:€παρελθὼν εἰς τὸ θέατρον (Cim. 8.7). 137 Eup. fr. 102.1–3:€κράτιστος οὗτος ἐγένετ᾿ ἀνθρώπων λέγειν· | ὁπóτε παρέλθοι ¸ ὥσπερ ἁγαθοὶ δρομῆς¸ | ἐκ δέκα ποδῶν ᾕρει λέγων τοὺς ῥήτορας. For the sympathetic tone in this assessment of Pericles, see Schwarze (1971) 132–5; Storey (2003b) 134. Cf. παρελήλυθα in Eup. Autolykos test. iii. 138 See O’Sullivan (1992) 63–6, for an overview of the debate. 135

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From Thamyris to Aristophanes

rhetorician of the Classical Period conceived of a poetic contest.139 For the moment when Hesiod confronts Homer, the later manuscript tradition, represented in the citation above, offers προελθóντα; but a third-century bc papyrus, much closer to the time of Alkidamas, reads παρελθóν[τα.140 If the papyrus text is preferred, the rhetorician used the familiar and probably more authentic Athenian expression for describing the moment when a speaker came before an audience.141 And although coming forward in a public arena implied live debate, Alkidamas’ use of the term concentrates on a situation where individual adversaries face one another directly. The same implication underlies Eupolis’ description of Pericles’ rivalry with other speakers, while Aischines 1.193 similarly assumes that speaking scathingly of his adversaries by name will justify their making a formal response on the pretext that “they would not have come forward (παρῆλθον), had someone not mentioned them by name.”142 The prefix παρα- thus seems to suggest not simply coming forward, but the establishment of an emphatic presence; it is associated with contexts in which an individual asserts opinions before an audience and overcomes or forestalls opposing views. These points suggest why the term and the situation it referred to might have been appropriated by comic poets to describe parabatic confrontations, especially if other poets in their parabases shared Aristophanes’ penchant for taking on the persona of an adviser in political debates.143 Although Alkidamas extended the rhetorical term parelthein to poets, the comic poets themselves did not do so. The passages discussed above (Thesm. 443; Eup. fr. 102) show that they knew the common formula with parelthein but self-consciously adapted it when referring to themselves in parabases in order, we may suppose, to simultaneously compare and distinguish their addresses to the audience from those made by speakers on Ford (2002) 274–7 treats the account as a “heroic model” of poetic competition, corresponding to the earliest form. The emphatic location of the encounter “in the middle” of the gathering reflects the Homeric description of such agonistic meetings as a focal point in a larger communal gathering:€Il. 6.120, Od. 8.144; cf. the dispute represented on the shield of Achilles (Il. 18.497–508, esp. 506–8). 140 P. Petrie 01 25, lines 5–6 (= A in Allen’s edition of the Certamen). For a reconstruction of the papyrus, see Mahaffy (1975) 72. 141 The Atticist Pollux also resorts to the phrase ὁ χορὸς παρελθὼν λέγῃ (4.111) to define “parabasis” for his readers. 142 Aeschines further specifies that such a claim will form the opening remarks of the speech (ταύτην ἀρχὴν τοῦ λóγου). 143 E.g., Cratin. fr. 52; Telecl. fr. 2; Ar. Ra. 686–7; Eup. fr. 316. Sommerstein (1992) 28–30, however, suggests that civic benefaction might have been an exclusively Aristophanic claim; cf. Bakola (2008) 4–7. 139

Comic parabasia

49

other public occasions.144 The comic poets made this exchange, moreover, with enough consistency that the substituted verb proved handy in supplying a specialized term for Hellenistic commentators to use when referring to this moment in a dramatic performance. It is noteworthy€– and surprising€– in that case that the comic poets selected a term that, following Hesiod’s lead, otherwise served almost exclusively to convey the negative aspect of stepping over/beyond, namely “transgression,” whether of laws, oaths, or divine prerogatives generally.145 Indeed, the same Classical authors who use παρελθεĩν in the formula for audience address have παραβαίνειν only in this negative sense, suggesting that the semantic ranges of the terms were well-defined and separate by their time.146 Thus, if the context and overall formular comparison of Athenian idiom tweak the meaning of παραβαίνειν toward “step forward (in order to speak),” the verb itself, in its familiar sense, strains against this interpretation and adds a further dimension by investing the action it describes with moral ambiguity.147 Parabainein in Old Comedy thus has a complex semantic force. The notion of coming forward to speak, via the connection with parelthein, implies an emphatic presence in a public gathering, and entails both selfassertion and an expectation of antagonism. In this sense, parabainein underscores the central concern of a comic parabasis:€to place the poet in the foreground of the performance, where he can rehearse the arguments and opinions he has mustered to support his claim to the prize. The generally observed substitution of -bainein for€-elthein, on the other hand, was a The technical use of anabainein and katabainein for theater directions (Gardiner (1978)) may have facilitated the comic poets’ development of this new term. The Homeric meaning “stand beside” as a comrade in combat (Il. 11.522; 13.708) survives into the Classical period in the cognate παραβάτης. The other metaphorical uses of the verb in the sense “omit” (S. Tr. 499; cf. D. 18.211) and “escape notice” (E. Hec. 704) are found in lyric and seem to be poetic adaptations; they are accordingly of little help in establishing the word’s primary fifthcentury association, and in any case do not fit the sense in parabases. (In Hecuba, the point may not be so much “forgetting” as that Hecuba now realizes that her vision of Polydorus’ ghost did not lead her astray.) 146 E.g., Gorg. 82 B 11a (par. 17) D–K; Th. 2.71.4; 3.11.2; Antipho 6.5; Lys. 1.26; X. Mem. 4.4.13; Pl. Cri. 52e; D. 18.165; 21.10 (Law of Euegoros); Aeschin. 3.70; IG II2.111.27–42 (for the ambitious phrasing of the latter, see Dover (1981) = (1987–8) vol. i, 37–9). Antipho 5.11–12 and D. 37.37, where parelthein is used in the restricted sense assigned to parabainein, are of interest, but substitution in the opposite direction is what would be remarkable; that point is demonstrated by Antipho 6.21 (ἔλεξε … ἀναβὰς εἰς τὴν ἡλιαίαν), where the formula for audience address using a βαίνω compound is evident, but with παρα- avoided (cf. Pl. Smp. 194b of the proagon (discussed above)â•–). 147 A parallel for the ambiguity suggested here appears at E. Med. 382:€δóμους ὑπερβαίνουσα καὶ τεχνωμένη. In the immediate sense, Medea describes the act of entering the royal house (thus Mastronarde (2002) 382n., citing Barrett (1964) 782–3 for such idioms), but in context and as constrained by the second participle an audience could take the verb in its transgressive sense (LSJ s.v. ὑπερβαίνω I.2) to denote Medea’s anticipated crime. 144 145

50

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

self-conscious modification that introduced a dissonant semantic strand. By correlating their self-assertion with the idea of transgression, the comic poets unabashedly prepared their audience for the grandiose claims to follow. The verb playfully signaled the tone of excessive overconfidence so often apparent in the poets’ representations of themselves and their poetry in comparison with the work of their rivals, in their efforts to secure the audience’s favor.148 This understanding of parabainein has implications for how we interpret the parabases themselves. But what may be most interesting is the possibility that through verbal manipulation of the term parabainein comic poets carefully constructed the terms on which their self-styled performances should be interpreted. It is here, I suggest, that we can recognize the enduring influence of the ideas the Thamyris tradition had come to epitomize; for it was in him that a paradigm existed for excessive confidence in the course of an agonistic challenge leading to ruin. Such a performance automatically tests boundaries and risks arousing criticism and censure, whether in the shape of divine retribution or more immediately, in the case of Old Comedy, through rejection by the audience and the judges in the Theater. Though the assimilation was implicit and not necessarily a matter of deliberate emulation of Thamyris,149 with a parabasis, comic poets reenacted the situation in which Thamyris found himself, and so courted the risk of going too far in their own agonistic challenges. An explicit example of this understanding of comic parabasia may be provided by Aristophanes himself, if Dwora Gilula has correctly explained a passage in Birds.150 At a point where the chorus have suddenly become interested in the advice Peisetairos can offer, his distrust in their temper prompts him to extract a formal truce: ΧΟ. ΠE. ΧΟ.

διατίθεμαι ᾿γώ. κατóμοσóν νυν ταῦτά μοι. ὄμνυμ᾿ ἐπὶ τούτοις, πᾶσι νικᾶν τοĩς κριταĩς καὶ τοĩς θεαταĩς πᾶσιν.

Compare Hipp. Ep. 17, lines 150–1; philoneikia and hatred of one another driving people to transgress the laws of truth (θεσμοὺς ἀληθείης παραβεβήκασι). Dover’s remarks (1974, 30) on the parabasis speak to this point:€“[T]here existed a traditional role€– the role of an angry, minatory moralizer, a lone individual setting himself up against the majority€– into which a man addressing an Athenian audience was permitted to step, and … the adoption of this role commonly created a greater distance between strict public attitudes and easy-going private behavior than might be the case in some other cultures.” 149 Apart from Eq. 532–3, as argued at the start of this chapter. 150 Gilula (1994); cf. Imperio (2004) 9 n. 18, and for the way this passage fits within theatrical selfconsciousness in Aristophanes generally, Muecke (1977), esp. 58. 148

Comic parabasia ΠE. ΧΟ.

ἔσται ταυταγί. εἰ δὲ παραβαίην, ἑνὶ κριτῇ νικᾶν μóνον. 

51 (Birds 444–7)

Cho.: I agree. Peis.: Then swear to it for me. Cho.: I swear on these conditions:€that I win with the support of all the judges and all the spectators€– Peis.: So it shall be. Cho.: but if I parabaiēn, that I win by one judge only.

As Gilula notes, the passage is not a parabasis but is “parabatic,” in the sense that it disrupts the dramatic illusion and takes on metapoetic significance when the chorus discusses the reception of their performance and their hope of winning the contest. The difference, between victory or … victory, as Aristophanes confidently sees it, hinges on the term παραβαίην (447). On the level of the plot, this refers to transgression of the terms agreed to by the parties.151 But, Gilula argues, on the level of competitive performance, already activated by the chorus’ initial oath in 445–6, the word simultaneously provides a metapoetic reference that renders the performance of a self-assertive speech in support of the performance at the agon the specific transgressive act that will dissolve the agreement. Through its parabatic quality, the chorus’ confident assertion of their play’s superiority and anticipated victory in the competition reflects the brazen self-assurance that pervades the poet’s act of parabasia. In a sense, they break their oath at the same time they take it. Gilula’s observations are largely limited to the term parabainein itself and assume that the verb’s established association with a particular moment in a comic performance could facilitate this exchange of ideas. But the point can be developed further, since the wording of the chorus’ offer of terms of peace also reflects what they do later in the play, when they turn toward the audience and perform a parabasis syzygy, not in explicit connection with the poet but in their own character, as is usual in reduced parabases.152 In the second epirrhema (1102–17) the chorus refer again to their desire for victory, playing off the concern that attended their earlier oath by boldly confronting the judges and cajoling them with a mix of bribes and threats to award them the victory they supposedly deserve. In a play that lacks the usual parabatic appearance of the poet, Aristophanes clearly intended this The notion of parabasia becomes closely associated with treaties and covenants because these regularly prescribed oaths use the gods as witnesses and protectors; thus breaking such an agreement was tantamount to disregarding the gods. See E. Med. 492–5. 152 But see V. 1284–91. 151

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From Thamyris to Aristophanes

epirrhema to serve the purpose of the anapests.153 That the chorus now take on the task of lobbying for their comedy only emphasizes the connection with their earlier promise not to parabainein. But by emphatically recollecting their previous plea to the judges in this parabasis, the chorus flaunt their earlier oath in its metapoetic formulation. The oath is thus twice broken, and the parabasis epirrhema becomes an act of transgression. For our purposes, the most important consideration is that the oathscene establishes an equivalence between transgression and poetic selfassertion. If there were independent evidence that parabainein had the colorless sense “step forward,” we might conclude that Aristophanes allowed two distinct meanings of the verb to collide for comic effect. As this cannot be asserted with any confidence, it may rather be that the poet here unpacks the connection of comic parabainein with the verb’s primary association as it operated in the formula for audience address. At the very least, the easy exchange of ideas via use of the term parabainein in the chorus’ oath suggests that the negative aspect of the verb was available to the Athenian audience when they heard a poet announce his intention of confronting them to engage in shameless self-praise. It is doubtful that comic poets could have successfully divested the verb of its narrow and firmly established semantic range; more likely they revelled in the ambiguity the word offered in the way Aristophanes appears to do in Birds. In the surviving parabases, an abiding acknowledgment of the negative dimension of comic parabasia in the sense described above is apparent in the way such performances are treated as something in which the poet or his chorus would prefer not to engage, but which has become necessary.154 At Acharnians 628–9, the poet claims that he has never performed an act of parabasia in order “to proclaim how clever he is,” and would not do so now if his enemies were not busy maligning him publicly. At Peace 734–5, on the other hand, the chorus argue that any poet€– other than Aristophanes, of course€– should be beaten for performing an act of parabasia, as though physical punishment were the appropriate response to aggressive posturing and outrageous self-aggrandizing claims.155 The reasons offered in these examples may be specious; their effect is to plead for the audience’s indulgence, so as to create space for the poet to say things about himself that would be unpalatable under normal circumstances. Cf. Totaro (2000) 168–9. A very similar passage appears in the revised Clouds (1115–30). That comic poets shared topoi with oratory in expressing these ideas (see Dover (1974) 23–33) is no obstacle. 155 Cf. the compulsion on a chorus by poets to perform parabases in Eq. 507–9, and the reluctant manner in which Plato Comicus (fr. 99) performs “such a speech of words.” 153

154

Comic parabasia

53

That standard of judgment is particularly evident in the parabasis of Clouds, where Aristophanes builds his personality around discretion and sōphrosynē, perhaps in order to counteract the mood of vigorous and shameless self-Â�promotion that overshadows his humility and exposes it as affectation.156 For after establishing a mild-mannered persona in the first half of the Clouds parabasis, in the second half he sheds this disguise and boldly asserts his superiority over all rivals (549–59) and ends by cajoling the audience to support him (560–2). By adopting such discordant qualities of character, the poet dodges back and forth over the line that distinguishes acceptable from potentially reprehensible behavior. But the ethical and religious framework within which comic parabasia operates becomes most conspicuous when these passages are considered together with the syzygy that follows. Parabasis odes usually take the Olympian gods as their theme and amount to prayers, invocations, or hymns that establish (or perhaps reestablish) a congenial relationship between poet and gods that might otherwise be put at risk by his excessive encomium of his talents when he confronts his rivals before the audience.157 We should probably think of these prayers as not just helping to define the chorus’ identity, but as ensuring that the performers will not alienate the deities most inclined to lend them support.158 The combination of anapests and odes thus fulfills differently the pattern in Hesiod and the other poets discussed above, who combine assertions of poetic worth with a firm sense of respect for their divine patrons. In this light, the frequency with which parabasis odes address the Muses should be taken into account,159 for this suggests that the parabasis took over much of the work of facilitating divine patronage accomplished in earlier poetry by formal invocations.

On this aspect of Aristophanic parabases, cf. Hubbard (1991) 150. For the traditional nature of parabasis odes, see Fraenkel (1962) 191–215; Sifakis (1971) 55–9. The odes of the Clouds parabasis (563–74, 595–606) are especially striking in this regard, since their invocation of numerous Olympians occurs within a play that to this point has rejected the authority of the traditional gods, though it is also true that their traditional odes prefigure the chorus’ final reversal of attitude (1454–61); see Segal (1969) 171; Bierl (2004) 16. 158 Hence the emphasis on victory at, e.g., Eq. 586–94. In an Athenian dedication for a poetic victory (IG I3 833bis (c. 480 bc); see Ch. 3) the poet acknowledges the part prayer played in fulfilling his competitive objectives. The prayers to Nike at the end of some Euripidean plays (Ph.; Hipp.; IT; Or.), though suspect (Barrett (1964) 417–18; Mastronarde (1994) 645), show the same interest; cf. hHom. 6.19–20; Alcm. PMG 1.82–4; Men. Sam. 735–7. The facilitation of harmony with gods is helped further by the fact that a meaningful connection often exists between the chorus’ identity and the specific gods invoked:€e.g., “the Acharnian Muse” (Ach. 665–6); Poseidon, “the god of horses” (Eq. 551–3). For parabasis odes and the process of choral self-presentation, see Hubbard (1991) 21. 159 Ach. 665–6; Pax 775–80; Av. 737; Ra. 674–5; cf. Cratin. fr. 237; Ar. fr. 348. 156

157

54

From Thamyris to Aristophanes

In its full form, the parabasis harmonizes the poet’s agonistic temper with a sense of respect for the boundaries that distinguish humility and arrogance, human and divine. It responds to the same fundamental and enduring Greek ethical dilemma as that within which the Thamyris myth located poetic agonism. If the comic parabasis can be viewed as related or in some sense derived from the ritualized provocations Thamyris’ boast represents, it is still remarkable for the way it embraced this mode of discourse and developed into a poetic sub-performance the boasting and self-praise that were among the activities most likely to shatter the distinctions Thamyris’ story helped define. Humor provided the comic poets a degree of license unavailable in other contexts, and enabled this received and socially constructed performance to take an extreme form.160 But by self-consciously deprecating its own performance, the parabasis responds to the perception that a poet who stepped forward to engage in public contest risked overreaching with his ambitions and accompanying claims of superiority. In closing, I return to where I began, with the place of Thamyris in the parabasis of Knights. The broken lyre borrowed from the tradition about him makes an essential contribution to the overall interest of the passage in the embarrassment of defeat at a poetic competition. Through this image Aristophanes articulates his rivalry with Cratinus and gloats on his recent victory over the veteran poet. Indeed, Aristophanes epitomizes this tradition further through the bold step of transforming his rival into the actual instrument whose destruction came to symbolize the end of Thamyris’ competitive career. But the central features of the portrait of Thamyris are just as applicable to the other poets mentioned in the passage, Magnes and Crates, or to any competitor, for that matter, who by passing from preeminence to disgrace in the course of his career confirmed Thamyris’ essential experience. The same applies to Aristophanes himself. By casting his recently defeated rival in the role of Thamyris, he implicitly expresses the same pride in victory that ruined the mythical poet, ensuring that he in turn might someday become Thamyris when, like the mythical poet in his relationship with the Muses, he lost the favor of Komoidodidaskalia. Concern for this eventuality is supposedly what motivated Aristophanes’ hesitation, which is the basis for the rhetorical position taken throughout this parabasis (515–19). But restraint plays against the poet’s decision to assert himself more boldly in the competitions. His hatred and daring Sommerstein (2005) 171, offers related comments on comedy’s unique ability to flirt with disaster from the gods.

160

Comic parabasia

55

(510 μισεĩ τολμᾷ τε) are what win him the support of his chorus, who thus consent to parabainein for him but not for older “has-beens,” like the soon-to-be-mentioned Cratinus. That confidence becomes even more conspicuous in light of the fact that only after his victory at the Lenaia in 425 did Aristophanes decide to take on the role of theatrical didaskalos (513). Here again, the parabasis fulfills its purpose of competitive selfassertion behind the mask of humility. Through contradictions of tone and purpose, the Knights parabasis draws out the tension between discretion and an impulse toward daring self-assertion that was a natural expression of philoneikia, following a pattern established long ago in the tale of Thamyris.

ch apter 2

The competitive partnership of Aristophanes and Dikaiopolis in Acharnians

Among the things for which Pericles congratulates his fellow Athenians in his funeral oration is the number of festivals they celebrated during the year. With contests and sacrifices (Th. 2.38 ἀγῶσι μέν γε καὶ θυσίαις), he says, these occasions provided a pleasure (τέρψις) that momentarily banished day-to-day hardships (τὸ λυπηρόν).1 During the cold, rainy months of winter, the various Dionysian festivals that extended from December through March must have been a major source of communal and personal joy. Although in the case of the dramatic contests the terpsis to which Pericles alludes may have derived from the audience’s simple enjoyment of the individual productions, it is also certain that the Athenians were invested in the outcome of the competitions themselves. Plato condemns the kind of “theatrocracy” that came to dominate the poetic agon,2 and Plutarch recalls an occasion when the audience was heatedly divided in their support of Aeschylus and the young Sophocles, leading the presiding archon, in a moment of administrative inspiration, to adapt festival protocol by replacing the normal ten judges with the ten generals in order to lend authority to a decision that would inevitably meet with disapproval from a large segment of the audience.3 Aristophanes would not disappoint his audience’s festive expectations at the Lenaia of 425, where comedy appears to have been the privileged Â�genre.4 Acharnians caters fully to Athenian pride in the festival celebrations, by including within its plot not one but two festivals of Dionysos, the Rural Dionysia and the Anthesteria.5 In this play Aristophanes draws specific advantages from the ideals of communal joy and communal Osborne (1993) shows how accurate Pericles’ representation of the full festival calendar was. Lg. 659a–c, 700c–701a; cf. Wallace (1997). 3 Cim. 8.7–9. 4 At the Lenaia the tragic performances had a reduced program:€two poets with only two plays apiece; cf. Haigh (1907) 27–8; Allen (1938) 38; Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 40–1, 107. 5 See especially Habash (1995). Ham (2004) argues less convincingly for a sequence of five Dionysian festivals. 1

2

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Competitive partnership

57

repose, highlighted by Pericles’ remarks, to increase the emotional impact on the audience of his hero’s objective of establishing a state of festival-like peace in his own life at least, if not in the polis and throughout Greece. Bundled together with the Aristophanic vision of festival celebration, as in Pericles’ comments in Thucydides, is the pleasure of witnessing competitions, and both festival representations include agonistic elements that resonate with Aristophanes’ own competitive endeavor. In Acharnians Aristophanes allows Dikaiopolis’ experience to overlap and emphasize his own experience in the poetic agon. The identification of the poet with his hero is one of the play’s most striking features, and many critics have attempted to make sense of this coincidence of voices by charting the specific ways and extent to which Aristophanes identifies with or distinguishes himself from Dikaiopolis.6 Attention to Aristophanes’ competitive poetics provides a different way of looking at these problems. The interplay of personalities in the characterization of Dikaiopolis can be viewed as an extension of the treatment of the poet’s personality in the parabasis discussed in Chapter 1. The parabasis creates an identity for the poet that achieves the objective of competitive self-assertion by fancifully rendering aspects of his plays as attributes of an authorial persona. A reverse process of identification is apparent in the characterization of the comic hero, whereby the sequence of antagonism, formal contest, victory, and celebration that regularly structure comic plots elicits a competitive paradigm shared by hero and poet. The play thus implicitly effects its own victory by anticipating that outcome through the dramatic action. The possibilities for interplay of personas along agonistic lines increase with the degree of identification between poet and comic hero, and Acharnians is exceptional in this regard, for the extensive identification of poet and protagonist allows us to view Aristophanes and Dikaiopolis as, in effect, synagōnistai or “joint-competitors.” I begin with some notes of warning. As in the case of the parabasis, here again we must not be lured into thinking of Dikaiopolis or any comic hero as identifiable with the historical Aristophanes. Whether in a parabasis or through his hero, Aristophanes creates a persona that represents the poet as he sees fit to portray himself for the sake of an individual play in the dramatic competition. Thus there may be some truth to the extreme position that “there is no reason why a playwright should not invent a hero 6

Especially important contributions in this discussion are Bowie (1982) 29–32; Foley (1988); Goldhill (1991) 188–96; Hubbard (1991) 45–53. The hypothesis that Aristophanes played the part of Dikaiopolis in performance, revived most recently by Sutton (1988) (cf. Slater (2002) 56–7), remains an intriguing possibility but cannot be supported by any evidence; cf. Olson (1990a).

58

Competitive partnership

whose attitudes and behaviour he abhors.”7 Certainly a comic hero can get away with things no real person could dream of doing, though the Athenians were probably like us in being able to love a rogue, in the right circumstances and if he was effectively portrayed in a dramatic work of fiction. But in practice, a poet’s considerations about his hero must have involved, on an important level, the question of audience reception, and it is a safe assumption that he reduced his chances of agonistic success by presenting a protagonist who was repulsive in essential ways.8 One thinks immediately of the role Strepsiades’ scheme and personality may have played in the defeat of the original Clouds. The old man’s selfish objective of escaping his debts is hard to embrace; more to the point, it is utterly rejected within the course of the play.9 Creating a hero who is an abject rascal and a failure to boot was a daring literary enterprise, but evidently did little to assure access to Nike’s chariot. We are in a different situation with Dikaiopolis’ peace which, although self-serving, stems from the rest of the city’s refusal “properly” to assess the relative benefits of peace and war, and is harmonized with victory at both the level of the plot and in how the plot looks outward to the Lenaia contest. My discussion will trace points of convergence between the personas of Aristophanes and Dikaiopolis. Many of these have been observed by others; my goal is to show how they are coordinated around the theme of dramatic competition, whereby the hero’s achievement paves the way for the framing contest at the dramatic festivals. The agon is the uniting principle, and the competitive poetics thus achieved represents Aristophanes’ effort to meet the challenge of contending against his rivals to honor Dionysos at his festival. Di k a iop ol i s a n d t h e p ol i t ic s of Ru r a l Dion y s i a The reflection of festival performance in Acharnians, channelled through its hero, is presented to the audience with the opening monologue, in which Dikaiopolis recounts his joys and troubles: Olson (2002) xlvii. Cf. Dover (1974) 18–19. Rosen (2008) 145–6 and 159 remarks on how “badness” presented through characters in a play can complicate and potentially create tension between a poet and his audience; Arist. Rh. 1416a 28–35 is a striking example. Henderson (1993a) 309–10, considers these points in connection with the political ideals of Old Comedy. 9 Cf. Hubbard (1991) 111–12. I argue for important differences between the two versions of Clouds in Chapter 5, but Strepsiades’ essential comic project and characterization were probably much the same in the original play. 7 8

Dikaiopolis and the politics of Rural Dionysia ἐγὦδ᾿ ἐφ᾿ ᾧ γε τὸ κέαρ ηὐφράνθην ἰδών, τοĩς πέντε ταλάντοις οἷς Κλέων ἐξήμεσεν. ταῦθ᾿ ὡς ἐγανώθην¸ καὶ φιλῶ τοὺς ἱππέας διὰ τοῦτο τοὔργον ἄξιον γὰρ Ἑλλάδι. ἀλλ᾿ ὠδυνήθην ἕτερον αὖ τραγῳδικόν, ὅτε δὴ ᾿κεχήνη προσδοκῶν τὸν Αἰσχύλον, ὁ δ᾿ ἀνεĩπεν¸ “εἴσαγ᾿ ὦ Θέογνι τὸν χορόν”. πῶς τοῦτ᾿ ἔσεισέ μου δοκεĩς τὴν καρδίαν; ἀλλ᾿ ἕτερον ἥσθην¸ ἡνίκ᾿ ἐπὶ Μόσχῳ ποτὲ Δεξίθεος εἰσῆλθ᾿ ᾀσόμενος Βοιώτιον. τῆτες δ᾿ ἀπέθανον καὶ διεστράφην ἰδών, ὅτε δὴ παρέκυψε Χαĩρις ἐπὶ τὸν ὄρθιον. 

59

(Acharnians 5–16)

I know what I rejoiced in my heart at seeing: the five talents Cleon vomited up. How I enjoyed that, and I love the knights for this deed! For it is worthy of Greece. But then I suffered another tragic misfortune, when I sat there stupidly expecting Aeschylus, and the herald cried, “Theognis, bring your chorus on!” How do you imagine this shook my heart? But I rejoiced, on the other hand, when once, following Moschus, Dexitheos entered to sing a Boiotian tune. But this year I died of torture looking on, when Chairis popped out for the soprano.

After these remarks, Dikaiopolis identifies the war with Sparta as the source of his immediate troubles. But his introductory reminiscences of joys and pains focus on the Theater.10 Tragedy is recalled in how his anticipation of Aeschylus was soured by the herald’s call for Theognis to take the stage.11 A similar pattern of pleasure turned to pain is apparent in the case of citharody, as the fond recollection of Dexitheos gave way to Chairis “this year.” Dikaiopolis’ reflections may also focus attention on Aristophanes’ own Dionysian genre, if the vignette about Cleon recalls a scene or scenario from Babylonians, staged at the previous City Dionysia 12€– in which case it is probably no coincidence that comedy is the only genre that the hero remembers bringing him any undiluted pleasure, or that the comedy alluded to with such approbation and enthusiasm belongs to Aristophanes. Already, Dikaiopolis is preparing the audience to Cf. Hubbard (1991) 41–2; Slater (2002) 44–5; Pretagostini (2003). Cf. Ach. 139–40, where Dikaiopolis marks time by the season of Theognis’ theatrical career. 12 See Olson (2002) 6–8n.; Pretagostini (2003) 95–6, both with further bibliography. 10 11

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give this new play a favorable reception. He is a creature of the Theater, but above all he is Aristophanes’ creature. What Dikaiopolis says about his own pleasures and calamities fits within a broader framework of nostalgia for the past. His ultimate focus is on the current political situation (19 ὡς νῦν), and the resulting misfortunes are contrasted in place and time with the life he enjoyed before the war in his tranquil deme in the Attic countryside (esp. 32–6). The contrasts articulated in his wistfulness are prefigured in his literary exempla:€that of citharody sets the memory of Dexitheos “at some point” in the past against the discouraging appearance of Chairis “this year.”13 Similarly Dikaiopolis’ thwarted expectation of Aeschylus in his “tragic” misfortune implicitly compares the high standards achieved by the legendary tragedian with the underwhelming Theognis of the present. Exactly what situation Dikaiopolis is referring to in his expectation of Aeschylus is a matter of debate. The scholiast refers to an Athenian decree passed after Aeschylus’ death that awarded a chorus to anyone wishing to stage one of his plays, and this explanation has been widely accepted by modern scholars, who posit restagings of Aeschylus at the City Dionysia.14 I have argued elsewhere that this tradition rests on questionable authority and is likely to have been generated by interpretations of this and other comic passages.15 My own understanding of this passage assumes that dramatic characterization of Dikaiopolis is the crucial point:€ his expectation of Aeschylus presents him as a traditionally minded, elderly Athenian,16 with the further implication that his preference for the countryside has kept him from witnessing putative advances in tragic entertainment in recent decades. The expectation of Aeschylean restagings may even have had a specific resonance with the countryside, namely at the Rural Dionysia; for it is generally assumed that reperformances of plays were a feature of these festivals, As Olson (2002) 13–14n. explains, probably a reference to contests in citharody at the Great Panathenaia, the implication being that the performance by Dexitheos recalled here took place no earlier than 430. Dikaiopolis implies in 17 (cf. 1–3) that his memories come from throughout his life. 14 Del Corno (1956); Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 86, 100; Slater (1990) 394; Di Marco (1992); Dover (1993) 23; Csapo and Slater (1994) 3; Mastromarco (1997) 545–8; Pretagostini (2003) 96–100; Revermann (2006a) 19–20, 72–3. 15 Biles (2006–7). See, however, Nervegna (2007) 15–18; the approach of Lech (2008) does little to solidify faith in this tradition, especially since the crucial witness (Ra. 1021–2) to a supposed revival of A. Th. between 411 and 405 is clearly in reference to the original production by Aeschylus himself. 16 Cf. Olson (2002) 10–11n. It is not necessarily the case that this interpretation is only comprehensible in light of Dikaiopolis’ comments in the second part of his opening monologue; certainly his advanced age, in addition perhaps to his rustic orientation, would have been evident from his costume. 13

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and we would expect that a fondness for Aeschylus kept him alive on such occasions.17 That interpretation is speculative; but it has the merit of tying in to what is soon established as the chief source of correspondences in the identities of Dikaiopolis and Aristophanes. No sooner does Dikaiopolis taste the last of the three spondai that Amphitheos brings to him at the end of the prologue, than he cries out in approbation, “Oh, Dionysia!” (195). By comic synecdoche, Dikaiopolis catches the scent not of Dionysos in his metonymic relation to wine, but of the celebration of dramatic festivals in the god’s honor.18 His festivals are equated with “spondai on land and sea” (194–5),19 and there may be some contextual justification for this view of things, since the performances at the City Dionysia, at least, were preceded by libations to Dionysos performed by the ten generals.20 After accepting these libations, Dikaiopolis immediately vows to make the first demonstration of his peace through a celebration of the Rural Dionysia (201–2). Following the hostile entry of the Acharnians in the parodos (204–36), Dikaiopolis reappears on stage ready to initiate a private celebration of the Rural Dionysia to match his private truce, organizing the phallic pompē with which the festival began.21 Dramatically, this procession establishes a return to the countryside, which had been Dikaiopolis’ wish since his opening monologue (32–6). Thematically, it has important consequences for the identity of Dikaiopolis and the characterization of his conflicts. Aristotle famously sought the origins of comedy in phallic processions in the demes (Po. 1449a 10–13);22 thus in one sense Dikaiopolis’ actions signify the genesis of comedy itself, and his determination to renew the celebration after a seven-year hiatus€ – since the war began (266–7)€– takes on the emblematic status of reinvigorating life in the countryside first and foremost by reinstituting comedy as a foil to war.23 Among the roles Indeed, the influence of Aeschylus in drama of the second half of the fifth century may depend on these reperformances, rather than on reading texts or stagings at city festivals. For the wine metaphor, see Newiger (1957) 52–3; Taillardat (1962) 372; Edmunds (1980) 5–6; Reckford (1987) 167–8; Bowie (1995) 123–5. 19 Contrast Lamachus’ later proclamation of war “with ships and footsoldiers” (622). 20 Plu. Cim. 8.7–9. For the significance of this element of the festival, see Goldhill (1990) 100–1, although Rhodes (2003) offers a critique of his emphasis on “democratic” rather than “polis” ideals. An amphora of wine played a part in the rituals of the Rural Dionysia (Plu. Mor. 527d). 21 For the procession as a feature of the Rural Dionysia, see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 42–3; Habash (1995) 561–2; Jones (2004) 145–7. 22 For recent discussion of this and other theories for comedy’s origins as reflected in visual art, see Rusten (2006a). 23 As Taaffe (1993) 27, comments, Dikaiopolis imitates “in miniature and in parody, the beginnings of the dramatic genre in which he exists.” For connections between Dikaiopolis’ song and the 17 18

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Dikaiopolis plays in organizing this festival, most notably he becomes a poet-performer when he leads the iambic song that accompanies the procession (263–79).24 Regardless of whether Aristotle was right about the origins of comedy, during the Classical period the Rural Dionysia were an occasion for dramatic performance. Our knowledge of these celebrations consists primarily of fragmentary inscriptions from choregic monuments and official regulations. The picture that emerges is of a festival that in most respects replicated on a smaller scale the dramatic festivals in the city, featuring€– doubtless with different arrangements in different demes€– tragedy, comedy, and dithyramb in the usual format of formal contests.25 These performances must have included restagings of plays already produced at the city festivals, though there is no reason to believe that new plays were not sometimes included.26 Indeed, efforts have recently been made to reverse the long-held view of these festivals as a parochial affair, by emphasizing the scant but clear evidence that performances included some of the best talent of the day.27 Most compelling is a choregic inscription from Eleusis, which must be connected with the Rural Dionysia there and not the City Dionysia, and which implies that Sophocles and Aristophanes acted as didaskaloi at the deme’s dramatic festival.28 That scenario in turn makes it impossible entirely to disregard Aelian’s claim (VH 2.13) that Socrates was not above attending the Rural Dionysia in Piraeus when Euripides produced tragedies there. Although we might still conclude that the city festivals had a cherished position in the festival calendar, because they consistently offered productions of the highest calibre and were an occasion for much active celebration of polis culture and ideology, Rural Dionysia must have afforded average citizens throughout Attika in Aristophanes’ day an important opportunity to experience drama.29 Dikaiopolis’ recourse to this festival as a means of celebrating his peace thus activates an atmosphere rich in opportunities for metapoetic phallic song cited by Semos of Delos (PMG 851), see Bierl (2001) 300–61. Phallic processions also took place at the City Dionysia; see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 62; Csapo and Slater (1994) 104, 106; Pütz (2007) 125–7. 24 Cf. Edmunds (1980) 6; Slater (2002) 49, discusses the metatheatrical aspects of this scene. 25 Jones (2004) 142–52, attempts to reconstruct a generic program of events for the Rural Dionysia. 26 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 52. Slater (2002) 54, strangely dismisses the phenomenon of reperformance in the fifth century. 27 Above all, Csapo (2004); cf. Revermann (2006a) 67–70; (2006b) 112. 28 IG I3 970. The successive synchoregia attested in the inscription cannot refer to the City Dionysia, since this arrangement lasted for only a single year, 405 bc. Cf. Capps (1943) 5–8; Csapo (2004) 59–60. 29 Csapo (2004) 57–66, assembles the evidence.

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associations with the performance of Acharnians itself at the Lenaia, and for developing the coincidence of identities between poet and hero. The festival ambience thus elicited extends far beyond Dikaiopolis’ initial procession, to create a frame for all the action leading up to the parabasis. Most importantly, this includes the idea around which these scenes are oriented, Dikaiopolis’ restaging of a play by Euripides. The extensive, even blatant metatheater developed throughout the hero’s encounter with the chorus is appropriately generated by the very situation toward which Dikaiopolis emphatically directed the play’s action the moment he took up his spondai. Although the connection between Dikaiopolis’ Rural Dionysia and his eventual “performance” seems obvious, discussions of these scenes generally imply that the celebration breaks off and is forgotten once the Acharnians burst on the scene.30 But several considerations suggest a broader influence of the Rural Dionysia on the plot than has previously been remarked. As others have noted, Acharnians makes rapid shifts of time and place:€ the Athenian Assembly in the prologue (city); Dikaiopolis’ deme of Cholleidai for the Rural Dionysia afterward (countryside and midwinter); a visit to Euripides’ house (city?); Dikaiopolis’ marketplace after the parabasis (countryside); and finally celebrations of the Anthesteria at the end of the play (city? and early spring).31 This is a dizzying sequence; yet all the transitions are clearly articulated by what characters say and do on stage. Between the parodos (204–36) and the chorus’ first encounter with Dikaiopolis (280–3), Aristophanes’ hero emphatically establishes the festival ambience with the procession scene, during which the chorus somewhat awkwardly wait in the wings. Indeed, the chorus unwittingly become complicit in Dikaiopolis’ celebration, as they initially heed his call for holy silence and clear the way for his procession (237–41). Dikaiopolis subsequently flees to Euripides; but he obviously returns afterward to the “place” where he left the chorus. Non-verbal evidence should also be taken into account. In addition to the props specifically alluded to (esp. 242–4), the procession-scene doubtless included additional costume-items, including a garland.32 How many of these physical tokens of the festival remained E.g., Slater (2002) 48–9, who is otherwise perceptive in picking up on metatheatrical cues. E.g., Fisher (1993) 32–3; differently, Belknap (1934). 32 See (e.g.) the representations of characters dressed for celebration in Green and Handley (1995) figs. 29, 31. Stone (1984) 404–7, discusses change of costume as an indication of change of fortune in Aristophanes, but without reference to this scene. For the general problem of accounting for extratextual contributions to the performance, see Revermann (2006a) 62–5. Dikaiopolis’ absence from the stage during the parodos serves the practical purpose of allowing the actors to organize themselves for the elaborate staging of the procession. 30 31

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on stage thereafter is impossible to say, but Dikaiopolis himself has no time to change costume until the Euripides scene, and must remain in festival attire.33 It is a reasonable premise, therefore, that the scenes following the parodos continue to operate under the sign of his Rural Dionysia. Aristophanes’ choice of identity for his chorus may also be closely connected with the Rural Dionysian background. The choice has long been explained through reference to Thucydides, from whom we learn that Acharnae was the chief target of Spartan devastation during their first invasion of Attika, and that the effect of this on the residents of the deme was to sharpen their temper for revenge as they watched the destruction of their fields from within the city walls (2.19–21). There is no denying the importance of that background for Aristophanes’ play;34 yet neither he nor his fellow Athenians had read Thucydides, but relied instead on their own sense of what the Acharnians’ identity contributed to the play. As befits a deme that made up the entire inland trittys of the tribe whose hero, Oineus (“Wine-man”), was descended from Dionysos, Acharnae had important connections with the Rural Dionysia.35 Inscriptional evidence points to contests in tragedy, comedy, and dithyramb, to which may now be added a theater unearthed in recent excavations.36 Although the evidence currently available does not certify such performances in Acharnae before the early fourth century, inscriptional testimony generally appears well after the date when dramatic festivals can be surmised to have taken place anywhere based on other considerations, most notably the presence of theaters.37 Two considerations support the likelihood that Acharnae not only had a Rural Dionysia from an early point, but a significant one. As Nicholas Jones has argued, Rural Dionysia were not celebrated by all demes, but seem to have been organized on the basis of considerations of population and geographic distribution.38 Acharnae is by far the largest deme in Attika,39 and the absence of a Rural Dionysia there would leave a 284 suggests that Dikaiopolis’ chutra, used for the ritual, survives the Acharnians’ onslaught, though Olson (2002) 280–3n. is surely right in having the other members of the procession flee the stage as the chorus attack. 34 See Bowie (1993) 40–1. 35 Traill (1975) table VI. Note that no other deme from Oineis is known to have hosted a Rural Dionysia. Ikarion, another deme with mythical associations with Dionysos and wine, is among the earliest known to have celebrated a Rural Dionysia; see Jones (2004) 133. 36 IG II2 3092; 3106; SEG XLIII 26. 37 See Csapo (2004) 65. Jones (2004) 128–9, 140, underscores the connection of theaters with dramatic contests in the demes. 38 Jones (2004) 139–41, with map on 137; the considerations are obvious, funds, human resources, audience (which would include visitors). 39 Bouleutic quota of 22. Cf. Th. 2.19.2, 20.4; Traill (1975) 65–7. 33

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very large region of Attika without any celebration of this festival. Though some circularity of reasoning is unavoidable, therefore, Acharnians itself arguably amounts to proof that the deme celebrated a Rural Dionysia, by implicating the Acharnians in a plot driven initially by a Rural Dionysian frame. Certain details in the play can be taken to indicate that Aristophanes used Acharnae’s association with Rural Dionysia for dramatic effect. Dikaiopolis asserts his intention of celebrating the Rural Dionysia as a pointed retort to the threat of Acharnian resistance: ταύτας δέχομαι καὶ σπένδομαι κἀκπίομαι χαίρειν κελεύων πολλὰ τοὺς ᾿Αχαρνέας. ἐγὼ δὲ πολέμου καὶ κακῶν ἀπαλλαγεὶς ἄξω τὰ κατ᾿ ἀγροὺς εἰσιὼν Διονύσια. 

(Acharnians 199–202)

I accept these, and I pour libations and drink them off, telling the Acharnians to piss off. Putting an end to the misfortunes of war, I will go inside and celebrate the Rural Dionysia.

His festival is an expression of his disregard for the Acharnians and amounts to a direct, open challenge to them. So too, the Acharnians’ commitment to war is predicated not simply on the destruction of their land and property, but on the specific attack on the production of grapes and by implication wine (183 τῶν ἀμπέλων τετμημένων; cf. 232/3); it is only appropriate, therefore, that they envision their revenge on the enemy through the metaphor of a vine-stake piercing the invaders’ ankles (229–32 κοὐκ ἀνήσω πρὶν ἂν σχοĩνος αὐτοĩσιν ἀντεμπαγῶ | ὀξὺς ὀδυνηρὸς ἐπίκωπος).40 These associations of Acharnae with viticulture come alongside Dikaiopolis’ initiation of his Rural Dionysia and resonate with the festival ambience. The Acharnians’ anger thus has a specifically Dionysian ring to it, and their fixation on agricultural devastation, while explicable on historical grounds, has the emotional effect of concentrating attention on the war’s disruption€– indeed obliteration€– of the agrarian ideals that were core concerns of the Rural Dionysia.41 It is easy to understand why Dikaiopolis’ festival would ignite the Acharnians’ anger, given that they had presumably been unable to celebrate their own festival with the same freedom or resources as before the war€– that is, if they had been See Olson (2002) 229–33n. The metaphor anticipates Lamachus’ injury (1178). Cf. Jones (2004) 125–7.

40 41

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able to celebrate it at all.42 Jones actually proposes a Rural Dionysia in the deme of Cholleidai on the sole basis of Dikaiopolis’ celebration, although this would make it the smallest Attic deme to host the festival.43 We might thus do better to take Dikaiopolis’ decision to celebrate the Rural Dionysia for what it appears to be in the play:€an element of sheer comic fantasy whereby the hero co-opts for himself a festival once hosted in grand fashion by the very demesmen who now rush out to confront him. Needless to say, on this interpretation Aristophanes’ engagement with issues of peace and war through a Rural Dionysia becomes more pointed; so too, the very matter of celebrating dramatic festivals becomes embedded in the antagonism at the heart of the plot. What takes place as the action unfolds will have come as little surprise to the original audience€– least of all the Acharnians€– for whom restagings of drama at Rural Dionysia were a familiar experience. The trajectory of the conflict between Dikaiopolis and the Acharnians towards a performance of Euripides’ Telephos is initially established through allusion. Dikaiopolis is already playing his part in the production when he tries to calm the chorus by offering to speak with his head on a chopping block (317–18), making concrete what is in Euripides’ play a metaphor (fr. 706). When this plan fails, he seizes a charcoal-basket and threatens to kill it (325–32), imitating what Euripides’ Telephos did with the infant Orestes. An audience experienced in Rural Dionysia will have sensed the influence of the festival background on this “drama.” For those who missed the hints of things to come, Dikaiopolis’ visit to Euripides sets out his dramatic enterprise more bluntly. By these maneuvers Dikaiopolis implicitly redefines his conflict with the Acharnians as a dramatic contest, an effect that becomes more apparent when we recognize what happens with the agonistic structure of the comic plot at the same time. The terms of the conflict have been amply presented in the parodos and the exchange immediately after the chorus’ disruption of the procession (284–325), and with his initial Telephean borrowings Dikaiopolis has managed to restrain the Acharnians. This is the point where a fullfledged epirrhematic agon, in which the disputants present their views and a resolution is reached, ushering in the triumphant vision of the comic hero, is expected. But Acharnians has no formal agon; instead, it offers Dikaiopolis’ remark at 266–7 implies that he, at least, had not celebrated it since the war began; cf. Olson (2002) 266–70n. Upon his return from exile, Alcibiades curried public favor by reinstituting the Eleusinian procession, held in abeyance because of the war (Xen. HG 1.4.20). 43 The bouleutic quota of Cholleidai is 2. The next smallest deme attested as celebrating a Rural Dionysia, Kollytos (bouleutic quota 3, assuming Paiania is the larger “Lower” deme), was an urban deme and could presumably depend on nearby resources; see Jones (2004) 141. 42

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rudiments of agon structures in this vicinity.44 Above all, the chorus’ two short songs at 358–65 and 385–92 have the feel of agon odes, particularly in the way they close with couplets resembling katakeleusmoi, even including the break-off formula ἀλλά (364, 391) that regularly marks the transition from ode to katakeleusmos.45 More to the point, the chorus end the second song by characterizing their encounter with Dikaiopolis as an agon:€ὡς σκῆψιν ἁγὼν οὗτος οὐκ ἐνδέξεται (392 “Since this contest will permit no delay”).46 Likewise, when Dikaiopolis is on the point of returning to the chorus for his culminating performance, he takes up their characterization of the conflict as an agon:€ἆρ᾿ οἶσθ᾿ ὅσον τὸν ἀγῶν᾿ ἀγωνιεĩ τάχα¸ | μέλλων ὑπὲρ Λακεδαιμονίων ἀνδρῶν λέγειν; (481–2 “Do you know how great is the contest you will soon contest, in speaking on behalf of the Lakedaimonians?”).47 He imagines himself poised on the starting line in a foot-race (483 “Go forward now, my Spirit. Here’s the starting line”), but the terms for the competition suddenly shift when it turns out that a draught of Euripides will prepare him for this particular challenge:€ἕστηκας;€οὐκ εἶ καταπιὼν Εὐριπίδην; (484 “You stand there? Will you not go, having swallowed Euripides?”).48 The very notion of “drinking” Euripides expands on the equation of wine with the Dionysia (195, 201–2), but treats the notional offering to Dionysos at his festivals€– the dramatic performances themselves€– as a libation as well.49 E.g., in the opening conflict between Dikaiopolis and the chorus at 280–346. For discussion, Gelzer (1960) 157–8, 166–9; Pickard-Cambridge (1927) 299; Edmunds (1980) 8. Cf. Zielinski (1887) 10–11; Quaglia (1998) 47, 50. 45 See esp. Eq. 761; V. 346, 379, 546; Nu. 959, 1351; Av. 460, 548; Lys. 484, 549; Ra. 905, 1004; cf. Gelzer (1960) 80. Since the katakeleusmoi in Acharnians look ahead to Dikaiopolis’ arguments, I find the comments of White (1912) 321–2, and Gelzer (1960) 159, uncompelling; indeed, the second ode in Acharnians is comparable to other antodes in emphasizing the extravagant measures and ploys the second contestant must undertake (e.g., V. 644–7; Nu. 1032–5; cf. Gelzer (1960) 76–7). Note too that in typical fashion the katakeleusmoi establish the meter of the epirrhema, with the surprise substitution of iambic trimeter already looking ahead to the “tragic” monologue (PickardCambridge (1927) 299). 46 Though the term “agon” is a modern technical designation, it is consistent with Aristophanes’ characterization of this poetic structure through the chorus’ remarks in such odes. From agon odes:€V. 533–5 ὁρᾷς γὰρ ὥς | σοι μέγας ἔστ̓ ἀγὼν | καὶ περὶ τῶν ἁπάντων; Nu. 957 ἐστὶν ἀγὼν μέγιστος; cf. Ra. 882–4 νῦν γὰρ ἀγὼν σοφίας ὁ μέγας χω- | ρεῖ πρὸς ἔργον ἤδη. For the modern designation of the comic form by Bergk, Zielinski, and others, see Gelzer (1960) 1–10; for similar language in Euripides, see Lloyd (1992) 4–5. 47 Paratragic, to be sure (Rau (1967) 37–8), but not necessarily from Telephos; see Olson (2002) 480–2n., rejecting Starkie’s claim. 48 For the athletic metaphor, see Taillardat (1962) 337–8, who compares the image of balbides adopted by Philocleon at the moment he begins his epirrhema in the agon (V. 548–9; cf. E. Med. 1245); Campagner (2001) 107–8. 49 Tentatively suggested by Bowie (1995) 123. Less convincing is Sommerstein’s (1980a, 484n.) suggestion that swallowing Euripides reflects the priming of fighting cocks by feeding them garlic. 44

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It is now apparent why Dikaiopolis immediately rushes off to Euripides upon hearing the chorus issue the challenge of an agon (393–4). As the plot and formal comic structure seem to move toward the expected epirrhematic agon, the hero relies on the Dionysian atmosphere to redefine the nature of the contest as a dramatic performance staged with competitive stakes of the most dire kind during a celebration of the Rural Dionysia.50 Contextually speaking, with the Telephos stratagem Dikaiopolis hits on a perfect solution. From these considerations it also emerges that Aristophanes is not scattering fragments of poetic structures about without an underlying logic; instead, he manipulates generic expectations and recalibrates the format in which the conflict is expected to take place, to take full advantage of potentials latent within his plot. Nor are such subtle effects inappropriate to Athenian comedy. This self-conscious shifting of expectations along generic lines is exactly the kind of effect Aristophanes and other poets could take advantage of, due to their audiences’ high degree of competence at recognizing poetic structures such as the epirrhematic agon, which they acquired through regular attendance at dramatic festivals, as well as through personal participation in dramatic choruses.51 Its purely comic potential aside, the scene at Euripides’ house lays bare Dikaiopolis’ plan for the audience by highlighting his dramatic aspirations.52 In the course of the scene, Dikaiopolis secures the costumes and props he needs for his performance, presenting the image€ – comically portrayed of course€ – of a potential producer. What he requires are the rags of a specific play, as the definite article in his first request shows:€ δός μοι ῥάκιόν τι τοῦ παλαιοῦ δράματος (415 “Give me a bit of rag from that old play”). With “old play” Dikaiopolis clearly has in mind a revival performance, and Olson’s comparison to the terminology used in inscriptions for restagings at the City Dionysia may be apt.53 For although “old plays” were only incorporated into the city program in the fourth century, the assumption of restagings at the Rural Dionysia might have introduced a categorical significance for the term long before. Unfortunately Dikaiopolis cannot remember the title character’s name, so the initial comic thrust is based on the fun of having Euripides rummage through the seemingly infinite number of costumes appropriate for In this sense the chorus’ challenge/threat gives direction to Dikaiopolis’ intention of “costuming himself ” as wretchedly as possible just before (383–4). It is also possible that Dikaiopolis’ idea is anticipated by the chorus’ vaunt that, for all they care, he can fetch a cap from Hieronymus (387–90), which is to say a prop from a tragic poet; see Slater (2002) 52. 51 Revermann (2006b), especially 112–14, for the points made here. 52 Cf. Muecke (1982a) 21–3. 53 Olson (2002) 414–5n.; IG II2 2318.202, 317; 2320.2. 50

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a pitiful, beggarly identity (412–13).54 The implication that these are plays with which Euripides himself once competed is brought to the audience’s attention with his first attempt to come up with the right costume:€τὰ ποĩα τρύχη; μῶν ἐν οἷς Οἰνεὺς ὁδὶ | ὁ δύσποτμος γεραιὸς ἠγωνίζετο; (418–19 “Which tatters? Not those in which Oineus here, the wretched old man, competed?”). It may not be purely coincidental that Euripides’ initial suggestion targets the eponymous hero of the Acharnians’ tribe, and thereby connects them with tragic performance. The fact that the character Oineus is envisioned as “competing” in the same sense the play did at the festival makes a fitting response to Dikaiopolis’ comment just before, that death will be his punishment for a poor performance, should he speak badly (417 ἢν κακῶς λέξω). His own competition is likewise twofold:€by persuading the chorus as Telephos, he will not suffer a tragic end and will also win his contest. Through a similar conflation of internal and external contests, Dikaiopolis explains that he must make a long speech to the chorus:€δεῖ γάρ με λέξαι τῷ χορῷ ῥῆσιν μακράν (416). A defense-speech is implied on one level; but given that Dikaiopolis casts himself in a dramatic exchange between character and chorus, ῥῆσιν μακράν here smacks of a specific reference to a tragic monologue, as at Nu. 1371 and V. 580.55 Indeed, he soon expands upon this explanation by telling Euripides, “I must be who I am, but not appear to be; the audience must know who I am, but the chorus must stand by like fools, so I can fuck them over with phraselets” (441–4). This explanation seems to allude to the dimension of dramatic apatē that Gorgias (fr. B 23 D–K) identified as the particular province of tragedy, proclaiming a spectator who gives himself over to tragedy’s “deception” wiser (σοφώτερος) than one who resists. In Dikaiopolis’ case, the mesmerizing effect of dramatic performance will extend no further than the Acharnians, who by now are fully portrayed as a theater audience. And Slater (2002) 52–5, speculates extensively about the fate of dramatic costumes after the initial performance, concluding (on the basis of little real evidence) that Euripides’ retention of costumes went against standard practice and that the chief concern of the scene is to ridicule him for this. Slater’s suspicion of Euripides is premised on his interpretation of Ach. 412, where ἔχεις is most naturally taken to mean not “Why do you have (i.e., possess) the costumes?” but “Why do you wear costumes?,” i.e., while composing tragedies; cf. Olson (2002) 412–13n. As Dikaiopolis’ comment in the next line shows, he is working under the notion of mimesis that Aristophanes would later develop in the Agathon scene of Thesmophoriazusae (136–72; cf. Muecke (1982b) esp. 51–2; Austin and Olson (2004) 148–72n.). Nor can Dikaiopolis’ comment at 412 register his surprise and shock that Euripides “has” the costumes; it was for precisely this reason that Dikaiopolis sought his help in the first place, thus ἐνσκευάσασθαι (384). 55 Looking ahead to Ach. 497–556. Cf. Dover (1968) 1371n.; Slater (2002) 55–6. Such self-conscious use of ῥῆσις is perhaps evident already at A. Supp. 273–4; Ag. 1322. 54

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although the scene focusses on costume and props for obvious comic advantages, Dikaiopolis’ explanation demonstrates that he will come away with more than that; a scholiast tells us that his words at 440–1 rework Telephos’ own (fr. 698).56 No sooner does he don the costume than the Telephean lines begin to flow from his tongue.57 Hence as Dikaiopolis makes request after request (451 πολλῶν δεόμενος σκευαρίων), Euripides can proclaim that he is being deprived of his entire tragedy (464 ἄνθρωπ᾿¸ ἀφαιρήσει με τὴν τραγῳδίαν)€– or rather all his plays (470 φροῦδά μοι τὰ δράματα).58 In the end Dikaiopolis gets away with everything he needs to carry off his performance€– minus the skandix (480). T e l e pho s, B a b y l on i a ns a n d t h e h a z a r d s of dr a m at ic pe r f or m a nc e Returning to face the chorus, Dikaiopolis stands ready with his Telephos costume within the ambience of dramatic performance at the Rural Dionysia he created. True to expectation, his culminating defense of his actions is sprinkled with citations and allusions to the text of Telephos that complete the portrait of his contest as a dramatic performance.59 He accordingly begins by addressing the chorus as members of a theater audience:€ μή μοι φθονήσητ᾿¸ ἄνδρες οἱ θεώμενοι (497).60 This is a deft maneuver, for despite their efforts to halt his celebrations of peace at the Rural Dionysia, the chorus now become celebrants in a festival that, from the moment Dikaiopolis caught the scent of the spondai, was fundamental to his plan to restore tranquility in Attika and abroad. Moreover, the self-defensive stance he takes before his attentive audience invites comparison to the self-assertive address typical of comic poets in parabases.61 That implication is reinforced by the continuation of his opening comments, in which he speaks about the task of making trygoidia€– or comedy: 58 59

So again at 446 (= E. fr. 707); “Euripides” quotes from the play at 430 (= E. fr. 704). Macleod (1974); (1980), suggests a visual connection between rolled costumes and book rolls. Or, as Olson (2002) 464n. suggests for 464, “the art of tragedy”; cf. van Leeuwen (1901) 464n. For the portions of Dikaiopolis’ speech that can be attributed to Telephos, see Rau (1967) 38–40; Olson (2002) lviii–lix. 60 The address to the chorus as audience represents an important element of Aristophanes’ adaptation of what seem to have been the opening lines of Telephos’ defense (E. fr. 703):€ μή μοι φθονήσητ᾿¸ ἄνδρες ̒Ελλήνων ἄκροι¸ | εἰ πτωχὸς ὢν τέτληκ᾿ ἐν ἐσθλοῖσιν λέγειν. 61 Nu. 518 ὦ θεώμενοι; V. 1016 μέμψασθαι γὰρ τοῖσι θεαταῖς ὁ ποιητὴς νῦν ἐπιθυμεῖ; Pax 732 ἡμεῖς δ᾿ αὖ τοῖσι θεαταῖς … εἴπωμεν; Eup. fr. 392 ἀλλ᾿ ἀκούετ᾿¸ ὦ θεαταί. Cf. Cratin. frr. 182; 360; Eup. fr. 205; Pl. Com. frr. 96; 99. 56

57

Telephos, Babylonians and the hazards of dramatic performance μή μοι φθονήσητ᾿¸ ἄνδρες οἱ θεώμενοι, εἰ πτωχὸς ὢν ἔπειτ᾿ ἐν ᾿Αθηναίοις λέγειν μέλλω περὶ τῆς πόλεως¸ τρυγῳδίαν ποῶν τὸ γὰρ δίκαιον οἶδε καὶ τρυγῳδία. ἐγὼ δὲ λέξω δεινὰ μέν¸ δίκαια δέ

71

(Acharnians 499–501)

Don’t be angry at me, gentlemen of the audience, if, though a beggar, I still intend to speak about the city before the Athenians, while making a comedy. For comedy too knows what is true. And I shall say things unsettling but true.

This is not the first time Dikaiopolis has portrayed himself as a comic poet; just before leaving for Euripides’ house, he referred to trouble he landed in with Cleon as a result of his previous year’s comedy:€διὰ τὴν πέρυσι κωμῳδίαν (378). According to a scholiast, these comments (cf. 502–3) refer to a conflict Aristophanes became embroiled in following the production of Babylonians in 426,62 when Cleon indicted him on charges of hubris against the city for maligning Athenian democracy in the presence of the allies at the City Dionysia. That this explanation derives from the scholiast’s interpretation of Acharnians itself is possible; but Dikaiopolis’ comments have an allusive character and sound too specific to be based on nothing. It is thus probably safe to assume that Aristophanes is presenting a version of events surrounding Babylonians, which affects how we make sense of Dikaiopolis, the dramatic action of Acharnians, and Aristophanes’ relation to both. Aristophanes’ voice intrudes forcefully within the performance at these moments; but by pressing the rupturing effect unconditionally we risk obscuring important elements in the characterization of the play’s hero and his activities.63 Viewed differently, these allusions bring to the surface the theatrical nature of Dikaiopolis’ endeavor as it is established by the ΣREΓLh Ach. 378. Sommerstein (2004), discusses the evidence and the nature of the conflict thoroughly; cf. Sommerstein (1980a) 32–3; Foley (1988) 33 nn. 3, 4; Hubbard (1991) 46 n. 18; Mastromarco (1993) 344; MacDowell (1995) 42–5; Storey (1995) 7–11; Olson (2002) xxx–xxxi, l–li; Martinelli Tempesta (2005). The general scenario of holding a poet personally and legally responsible for his material appears to be genuine, if there is anything to Herodotus’ account of Phrynichus being fined for his play The Fall of Miletus (Hdt. 6.21.2 = Phryn. test. 2). Rosen (1988) 63–4, adduces the model of psogos literature. 63 Contrast Slater (2002) 57–8. See especially, Foley (1988) 37–8; Hubbard (1991) 45–7; Goldhill (1991) 188–96, for the challenge of disentangling the layers of reference, to which is sometimes added the complication that Acharnians was produced not by Aristophanes but by Kallistratos. But whether this arrangement masked Aristophanes’ authorship and responsibility is debatable; see Zacher (1890) esp. 331–2; Dover (1963) = (1987–8) vol. i, 296; Halliwell (1980) 34–6, 42–4; MacDowell (1982) 24–5; Olson (2007) 386. 62

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Dionysian festival, his costume, and his adaptive reperformance. As was argued above, Dikaiopolis’ opening address to his audience as spectators is not completely disruptive, since he cast the chorus as the audience of his dramatic apatē moments before (442–4).64 Likewise, his portrayal of himself as a maker of trygoidia (499–500) is not purely dependent upon Aristophanes. Although the term is used elsewhere by Aristophanes to refer to comic poetry, etymologically the formation from τρύξ, meaning “new wine,” coheres closely with Dikaiopolis’ experience on stage.65 It is he who imbibes Euripides’ poetry as a Dionysian libation (484) in support of his spondai, and who now blends tragedy and comedy, implied by the pun, in his parodic and satiric restaging of Telephos. Thus aside from the Cleon references, only the mention of the “agon at the Lenaia” (504) applies exclusively to Aristophanes. But even here the reference to the present performance at the festival sharpens our recognition that Dikaiopolis’ own agonistic performance takes place during the Rural Dionysia and has been made to conform with the prevailing milieu of dramatic competition by being substituted for an epirrhematic agon. The revelations about Aristophanes to the audience are thus facilitated by the extensive similarities between his hero’s situation and his own. The levels of contact, however, go further. The sense of purpose with which Dikaiopolis has Euripides rifle through his store of tragedies gives reason to believe that Telephos has a specific purpose to serve. It is to this extent a revival with a point€– a reinterpretation of the original, inspired by circumstances some thirteen years after the original production in 438.66 In the most immediate sense, Telephos’ rags and physical discomfort serve to make Dikaiopolis appear more pitiful (383–4); but Euripides has many such characters, as the scene at his house demonstrates. In fact Telephos is important to Acharnians on many levels.67 Most obviously, it helps Dikaiopolis meet the challenges of his dramatic situation. Telephos’ success in freeing himself of the animosity of the Greeks for defending his country against an invading army fits the situation in which Dikaiopolis finds himself and the arguments he uses to defend the Spartans (esp. 539–43). Telephos offers the model of a perceived enemy speaking from a position of weakness to overturn misperceptions about himself and establish his potential value to the community. That earlier discussion was initiated (440–1) by a citation from Telephos (E. fr. 698). Other instances of trygoidia at Ach. 628, 886; V. 650, 1537; fr. 156.9, with variations at Nu. 296; fr. 347; Eup. fr. 99.29. All of these are discussed by Taplin (1983), who defends the term’s origins in a comic pun that perhaps began with Acharnians; cf. Edmunds (1980) 11; Edwards (1991) 159. 66 The date is provided by the ancient hypothesis to Alcestis (lines 16–18), which was performed together with Telephos at the City Dionysia. 67 Cf. Foley (1988) 36–8. 64 65

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Helene Foley has argued that on a conceptual level the adaptation of Telephos allows Aristophanes to set out for the Athenian audience his proclaimed comic objectives as they relate to tragedy and its perceived generic privilege of offering something akin to serious advice.68 In effect, Dikaiopolis’ political arguments through Telephos assert and support comedy’s ability to say things that are disturbing for the city to hear but nonetheless true. Thus, in Simon Goldhill’s view, with this parody Aristophanes “playfully recreates and renegotiates comedy’s license.”69 The trygoidia that results from this mingling of genres is a centerpiece of Acharnians itself. In addition, therefore, the defense Dikaiopolis offers for his own decisions serves to support Acharnians in its public review at the festival. This metapoetic effect may be seen as promotional, since it clarifies the importance Aristophanes wishes to attach to his comedy; but it is also defensive, because of the way Dikaiopolis’ performance is aligned with the troubled history of Babylonians. Indeed, in some respects Dikaiopolis’ reperformance of Euripides’ play also reenacts Babylonians. The allusions to that comedy’s performance link Dikaiopolis’ and Aristophanes’ theatrical experiences, but the implied identity of these performances may extend to the level of content, if Babylonians also tackled the question of culpability for the war, as fr. 84 seems to suggest.70 Aristophanes’ objective, however, is not simply to bring back on stage a memory of his last comedy through a Euripidean revival, but to reperform the broader implications of that comedy and its aftermath.71 Hence, upon completing his trygic monologue, Dikaiopolis finds himself embroiled in further troubles. The chorus is at first divided in its reception of his performance (557–61).72 Those not immediately won over to Dikaiopolis’ Foley (1988) 39–43; cf. Edmunds (1980) 10–12; Olson (2002) lx–lxi. For the comparison between comedy and tragedy implied by καί in Ach. 500, see Taplin (1983) 333. The seriousness of the political advice Dikaiopolis and Aristophanic comedy offer is much debated; see especially MacDowell (1983); Henderson (1990); (1993b); Fisher (1993); McGlew (2002); Olson (2002) xlviii–lii; Rossi (2003). I stake no claim in that argument, and concern myself only with the rhetoric Aristophanes develops about his comic pretensions for the way it reflects back at Dikaiopolis and creates dramatic meaning. 69 Goldhill (1991) 193–4 (quotation from 194). 70 ἢ δῶρ᾿ αἰτοῦντες ἀρχὴν πολέμου πορίσειεν μετὰ Πεισάνδρου. Cf. Olson (2002) xxix–xxx. For the attempts to reconstruct anapests here and Bergk’s ascription to the parabasis, see Kassel–Austin. 71 Cf. Foley (1988) 37, 46, who believes, however, that Aristophanes’ reprise of Babylonians’ aftermath is confined mainly to the parabasis and that the poet ultimately separates himself from his comic counterpart. 72 How they divide is open to interpretation:€two semichoruses or two individuals before a united or similarly divided chorus? 564–5 and 571 support a single dissenter, and whether this individual was balanced by another individual or stood out alone cannot be determined; cf. Olson (2002) 557–77n. 68

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side question his€– and by extension Aristophanes’ and comedy’s€– right to speak disturbing truths about the city (562) and, overwhelmed by the potentially unsettling message to the audience (576–7), summon Lamachus, whose very name makes him an ideal defender of the war.73 Now facing an important political leader upon the conclusion of his dramatic performance, Dikaiopolis finds himself in a situation that closely resembles Aristophanes’ conflict with Cleon. In the course of his confrontation with Lamachus, Dikaiopolis hurls the kind of allegations of political corruption that seem to have been an important feature of Babylonians, and Lamachus’ only response is to invoke the democratic process (598 ἐχειροτόνησαν γάρ με; cf. 607) and democracy itself (618 ὦ δημοκρατία¸ ταῦτα δῆτ̓ ἀνασχετά;). His principles seem high-minded and patriotic, but in context have a hollow ring that resonates with Cleon’s effort to set himself up as a defender of democracy, as the scholiast tells the story of the political aftermath of Babylonians.74 Much of what is said here has a striking similarity to the scholiast’s brief summary of Babylonians’ satiric thrust, namely that Aristophanes “ridiculed the allotted and elected offices and Cleon” (ἐκωμῴδησε γὰρ τάς τε κληρωτὰς καὶ χειροτονητὰς ἀρχὰς καὶ Κλέωνα). This similarity might be explained by assuming that the scholiast used Acharnians to reconstruct Babylonians; but against that interpretation, nothing in the Lamachusscene would seem to prompt a reader to connect this material independently with Babylonians, as opposed to suggesting a connection based on familiarity with that play. Certainly Dikaiopolis’ accusations of chicanery and corruption among democratic officials benefiting from the war have a counterpart in a scene from Babylonians, in which Dionysos is coerced into giving his drinking-bowls to Athenian officials at a trial.75 In Acharnians the result is that charges are levelled against Dikaiopolis for speaking harshly against the entire city (577), despite his cautionary remarks moments before (515–16). Ultimately this and other gestures (esp. 502–12) aimed at deflecting the criticism of Cleon and his sympathizers in the audience concentrate our attention on Aristophanes’ troubles stemming from his earlier comedy.76 Their significance for Acharnians Cf. Edmunds (1980) 13–4; Reckford (1987) 166; Henderson (1990) 305–6; Moorton (1999) 35. For Lamachus’ military career, see Olson (2002) 149–50. 74 ΣREΓLh Ach. 378:€ὁ Κλέων ἐγράψατο αὐτὸν ἀδικίας εἰς τοὺς πολíτας¸ ὡς εἰς ὕβριν τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῆς βουλῆς ταῦτα πεποιηκότα. 75 Ar. fr. 75; cf. fr. 84. See MacDowell (1995) 30–4; Welsh (1983), for review and criticism of reconstructions of the play. 76 In particular, note how the attempt at self-exculpation depends by way of explanation (γάρ, 502) on what Dikaiopolis–Aristophanes represents as an objective of trygoidia, namely to say things 73

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emerges when it becomes apparent that Aristophanes has set Dikaiopolis up to step into the fire of public criticism he himself stumbled into with Babylonians. The agonistic tensions developed in this scene do not result in a fullblown agon at this point either. Instead, Dikaiopolis handily worsts his opponent by exposing the selfish interests that determine his enthusiasm for the war, much as he attempted to do with the ambassadors in the Assembly scene. For the moment, the adversaries agree to disagree:€ Lamachus goes off to wage eternal war on the Peloponnesians by sea and land (620–2), while Dikaiopolis invites the same enemies to initiate exclusive commercial relations with him (623–5). Although Dikaiopolis’ restaging of Telephos ostensibly concluded with the allusion at the end of his monologue (555–6), in fact he continues to adapt the tragedy during his confrontation with the Athenian general.77 Like the chorus, Lamachus has been drawn into Dikaiopolis’ performance. With the conclusion of the encounter, the chorus qua audience (442–3, 496) is in a position to offer their verdict; as the antagonists leave the stage, they reunite and give a unanimous judgment in favor of Dikaiopolis, proclaiming him “the victor with his words” (626 ἁνὴρ νικᾷ τοĩσι λόγοισιν). Not only that, they assert that this represents the opinion of the entire Athenian dēmos (626 τὸν δῆμον μεταπείθει). From this point on Lamachus is a marginal figure,78 while the polis fully supports Dikaiopolis. The spondai with which Dikaiopolis wins (627) are the libations of wine that ensure peace, but that also encompass a cluster of ideas related to the Dionysian festivals, among them dramatic production itself. The hero thus leaves the stage as much a victor with his dramatic performance as in his political contest. In place of the din of initial objections to his trygoidia, a victory proclamation rings out. In coordination with the play’s political themes, that victory simultaneously redeems Aristophanes from any suspicion left over from the previous year and paves the way for further success with Acharnians. This objective is pressed in the parabasis that follows. that are disturbing but true (501), which suggests that in Aristophanes’ mind this objective is bound up with the threat posed by Cleon and is therefore likely also to stem from events of the previous year. 77 Ach. 576–7, 577a = E. frr. 712; 712a. Cf. Handley and Rea (1957) 35; Rau (1967) 40–2; Webster (1967) 46; Foley (1988) 38 n. 23. For the retention of Ach. 577a, see Olson (2002) ad loc. 78 Ultimately he is cast as the wounded and dejected Telephos (esp. 1178–81), as described in a messenger speech that closes with a final citation from Euripides’ play (1188 = E. fr. 705a).

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Competitive partnership A r i s t oph a n e s,

ach ar ni a ns

and

ba by loni a ns

The chorus’ award of victory to Dikaiopolis belongs to the kommation and forms a segue to their concentration on Aristophanes in the parabasis, where the poet is presented to the audience at the poetic agon. Of particular interest here is the extent to which the conflation of Dikaiopolis and Aristophanes that redefines the play’s agonistic themes in theatrical terms receives new emphasis. At the appropriate moment for Aristophanes to assert himself in the Lenaian contest, he presents the audience with a stage biography that bears a striking resemblance to that of his hero.79 More than in any other comedy, the parabasis of Acharnians conjures an image of “Aristophanes” that embodies the poetic creation in which it appears. Accordingly, if the poet captures his audience with his stage biography, he will more likely participate in the victory Dikaiopolis achieved at the moment he was ushered off stage. The parabasis’ competitive poetics merges the individual contests of the poet and his hero toward achieving a common victory. In preparation for the parabasis, the chorus set the tone for the poet’s “appearance” by encouraging one another to strip off their garments, adopting from the palaistra the athlete’s practice of stripping before entering a contest.80 Under this agonistic metaphor, they explain that their poet is breaking with his past habit of not coming forward in a parabasis to proclaim to the Theater how clever he is:€οὔπω παρέβη πρὸς τὸ θέατρον λέξων ὡς δεξιός ἐστιν (629).81 Once this gesture of competitive self-assertion has been invoked, the poet’s identity overshadows that of the chorus. As typically in a parabasis, Aristophanes attempts to persuade the audience that he deserves their support in the contest. To this end we hear that he is the greatest poet (644 τὸν ποιητὴν τὸν ἄριστον), whom the Athenian allies will crowd to see at the Dionysia (643–4),82 Modern discussions of this feature of the play are all indebted to Bowie (1982); cf. Reckford (1987) 189–90. 80 Thus the scholia; cf. Campagner (2001) 84–5. The scholiasts’ interpretation gains support from the verb ἐπίωμεν (627), which is commonly used for hostile encounters; cf. Ra. 897 (with Dover’s note), where the chorus use it to urge on the contest between Aeschylus and Euripides. For the question of choral stripping, see Sifakis (1971) 102–8, who also points out the instances of choral stripping in agon scenes. Zielinski’s hypothesis (cf. Olson (2002) 627n.) of a vestigial element wherein the chorus stripped to perform an epilogue that was transferred to the parabasis is highly speculative. 81 This should not be taken naively as proof that Aristophanes’ earlier plays did not include parabatic eulogies of the poet, as Sifakis (1971) 63–4, and Hubbard (1991) 49, assume. 82 A hint perhaps that Aristophanes had plans for a play at the City Dionysia of that year; cf. Russo (1994) 24. 79

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and that the fame of his daring has spread far and wide (646 αὐτοῦ περὶ τῆς τόλμης ἤδη πόρρω κλέος ἥκει). As a result, he has even stirred the admiration of the Persian King, who estimates the value of his comic abuse as only marginally less than that of the Athenian fleet (646–51). Indeed, the Spartans are eager to snatch him away as a prize (652–4), but the Athenians should hold on to him at all costs and cherish him, since he still has many fine, useful things to teach them through his plays (655–8). In line with these claims, “Aristophanes” twice asserts his direct responsibility for countless benefits to the Athenians (633 πολλῶν ἀγαθῶν αἴτιος ὑμĩν ὁ ποητής, cf. 641). The rhetorical point is easy to see:€ by demonstrating what he has done for them, he simultaneously argues for reciprocation on the audience’s part. At the moment, this means support for his comedy.83 Within this broad agonistic bid for the audience’s favor comes a more specific point of departure. Aristophanes’ reason for speaking plainly about his virtues as a comic poet is that he has been attacked by his enemies,84 and as a result, he is compelled to defend himself now (630–2). On the basis of other parabatic encounters between poets, the natural expectation at this point is that these vague “enemies” are abusive rival poets,85 but in the closing pnigos all is made clear. The defense is actually directed against Cleon, who is urged to continue his attack:€ πρὸς ταῦτα Κλέων καὶ παλαμάσθω | καὶ πᾶν ἐπ̓ ἐμοὶ τεκταινέσθω (659–60).86 With dramatic flair, the chorus here and for the remainder of the pnigos switch from a third-person report of the poet’s defense to the first-person singular of the poet himself, whose personality bursts on stage at a dramatic climax in the parabatic performance.87 This assimilation of dramatic voice with the poet has already happened twice with Dikaiopolis, in both cases in connection with Aristophanes’ protestations against Cleon. Although “responsible for” (αἴτιος) may be correct in both places, the manuscripts have “deserving of ” (ἄξιος) at 633, which is preferred by Sommerstein (1980a) and Henderson (1998). Olson (2002) favors Bentley’s emendation at 633. Correct or not, the transmitted alternation between the two terms nicely illustrates what is surely the rhetorical point of the parabasis, namely to win the audience’s support. Although Aristophanes’ need to defend himself against charges of abusing the city (630–1) might seem to support αἴτιος in both places (so Olson), this interest dovetails with the interest of guiding the audience to a proper appreciation of the clever poet (629) and the consideration that depends on it. 84 Cf. Hubbard (1991) 49–50. 85 For this interpretation, see above, pp. 37–8. 86 As he appears to have done; see Storey (1995). 87 Cf. 299–302, where the chorus also abuse Cleon, though in that case there is no overt shift of speaking perspective. Hubbard (1991) 53, suggests that the perspective of the first person in the parabasis is choral, which seems unlikely. 83

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Although this recollection of Dikaiopolis’ close relation to the poet comes at the end of the passage, points of overlapping interest, both general and specific, can be found throughout Aristophanes’ parabatic appearance.88 Cast in a similarly defensive mode, the specific charges to which he responds€– ridiculing the city and committing hubris against the dēmos (631)€– have already been introduced in Dikaiopolis’ defense (515–16), as well as in the accusations hurled at him after his agonistic performance (577). Both poet and hero rail against the Athenians’ penchant for being taken in by deceptive speakers (370–4, 634–40). Aristophanes claims to have counteracted this problem with regard to xenikoi logoi and embassies from the allies, while Dikaiopolis’ unheeded effort to expose duplicitous speakers in the Assembly finally succeeds with his exposure of Lamachus’ weak arguments (598, 607) and misleading slogans (618). Concern about the allies and their tribute is mentioned and the problem resolved by both speakers (505–6, 643). Dikaiopolis’ fanatical dedication to peace is reflected more ambiguously in the poet’s self-aggrandizing claims. The Persian King has allegedly recognized a crucial military asset in Aristophanes’ potential as an advisor (650–1), in consequence of which the Spartans are making overtures of peace. Their stated terms (653 ἀπαιτοῦσιν) are the restoration of Aigina to its former status, but the poet has astutely recognized their real purpose (thus φροντίζουσ̓, 654) of gaining possession of his person. Most scholars believe that with these comments Aristophanes pointedly distinguishes himself from his hero, by advising the Athenians to reject Sparta’s offers of peace and tacitly endorsing a continuation of the war.89 It is attractive to think that Aristophanes corrects any misimpressions the audience might have, in order to render himself more appealing in his agonistic posturing during the parabasis. But it is not easy to believe that Aristophanes€– or rather “Aristophanes”€– delivers these lines with a straight face. In his (vain) glory he imagines himself to have achieved international fame, even to the point of becoming a central bargaining chip in a clandestine scenario of 88

See Bowie (1982) 30–1. E.g., Heath (1987) 19; Hubbard (1991) 52; Fisher (1993) 38–9. Even Olson (2002) xlvii, whose general criticism of arguments adduced to portray Dikaiopolis negatively (xliii–v) matches my position, accepts the apparent implications of this passage for Aristophanes’ limited identification with Dikaiopolis. Murray (1933) 34–5, simply ignores the passage in his effort to make Aristophanes, through Dikaiopolis, a pacifist in the modern sense. I am in closest agreement with Foley’s understanding (1988, 37) that Aristophanes promises victory by advising Athens to make an advantageous peace; cf. Carey (1993) 256–7. Moorton (1999) 43–6, draws a distinction between war on the flimsy grounds of the Megarian Decree and the more meaningful goal of protecting Athens’ naval empire (Aigina); this strikes me as overly complicated.

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inter-polis negotiations.90 Never mind that his supposed value as a military asset plays out unexpectedly, with the Spartans actually demanding peace (652–4); more ludicrously still, the poet inserts himself as a casus belli on the model of the kind of petty kidnapping that sparked the war in Dikaiopolis’ fanciful account (524–31). For whatever else Aristophanes may imply about his relation to Aigina, one scholiast correctly underscores the vital point for the immediate context, by explaining that the island will provide a convenient position from which the enemy can snatch (654 ἀφέλωνται) the poet for themselves.91 The startlingly reductive implication is that if the Athenians need a good pretext for war, they need look no farther than the poet “standing” before them. This patently preposterous assertion trivializes the outbreak of the war as much as anything Dikaiopolis said.92 However we interpret its finer points, the passage is so thoroughly undercut by irony and hyperbole that a literal reading will not do.93 Notably, the Persian King admires Aristophanes for his ability to abuse the Athenians (649 εἴποι κακὰ πολλά), a role that in the context of the present play implies criticizing the reasons they are at war in the first place. This point is underscored by the similarity of the Persian King’s assessment to what “Aristophanes” says through Dikaiopolis at the beginning of his defense against charges of abusing the city (503 τὴν πόλιν κακῶς λέγω). The difference is that Aristophanes embraces that dubious role, on the strength, it would seem, of how Dikaiopolis championed his cause before the parabasis. Speaking now with complete confidence, he states that he has many good lessons for the audience (656). None of these has an explicit connection with military preparations; all that can be said is that Aristophanes rejects the flattery, bribery, chicanery, and villainy (657–8) The Spartan demands made on Aigina’s behalf seem to refer to the lead-up to the outbreak of war (see Kagan (1974) 82–3; Olson (2002) 652–4n.). In that case, Aristophanes is reinterpreting for his own advantage in the parabasis a set of circumstances whose outcome was long past; serious assessment of current policy is not at issue. See, however, Worthington (1987). 91 ΣR Ach. 654a:€ἐγγὺς αὐτῶν λάβωσιν. Speculation about Aristophanes’ connection with the island through property or lineage goes back to ΣEΓLh Ach. 654b and is probably the basis for the claim in ΣREΓLh Ach. 378 that Cleon levelled a charge of xenia against him. Pace Heath (1987) 19, in 655 (ἀλλ̓ ὑμεῖς τοι μήποτ̓ ἀφῆσθ̓) the unstated object is most naturally taken as the poet rather than the island. 92 It begins to look as if the poet rejects the Spartan proposal not so much in meaningful contradiction with the theme of his play, but because it will cause him personal inconvenience. This understanding would be emphasized by the possibility that Aristophanes had a personal attachment to Aigina, whether hereditary or through the possession of land there. (Sommerstein (1980a) 654n.€is sensibly skeptical; bibliography and discussion in Imperio (2004) 135–7); cf. Bowie (1982) 40. Hubbard (1991) 52, detects a claim of Aristophanes’ loyalty to Athens. 93 Cf. Harriott (1986) 35–6. 90

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associated with the play’s warmongers. If this comedy€– and the same may have been true of Babylonians€– lives up to its hyperbolic claim of “teaching” anything (655–6), it is the simple notion that peace is desirable, even if it cannot be achieved along the lines of Dikaiopolis’ fantastic plan.94 It is not necessarily the position in favor of peace, then, that is undercut by an earnest rattling of swords in the parabasis; rather, the proposition of war continues to be subjected to humorous distortion and criticism, with the decision between peace and war€– i.e., the conflict that Dikaiopolis stirs up€– bound up in the identity of the poet himself and his relationship with his fellow Athenians. The coordination of Aristophanes’ putative instruction of the city with Dikaiopolis’ endeavors is reinforced by an underlying theme of justice, built into Dikaiopolis’ very name,95 that emphasizes the overlapping efforts of poet and hero.96 This is also the criterion by which the hero asks that his arguments be judged (317), and the same aspiration toward justice inspires his adoption of a tragic disguise (500–1). So too, it is this quality that initially wins him the chorus’ support (560–1). For his part, Aristophanes claims in the parabasis to be admired by the allies for telling the Athenians the truth (645 εἰπεĩν ἐν ̓Αθηναίοις τὰ δίκαια), and insists that justice is one of comedy’s objectives (655 κωμῳδήσει τὰ δίκαια). Aristophanes’ remarks closely resemble what Dikaiopolis said at the start of his performance about daring to speak the truth (δίκαια, 501) in the Athenians’ presence (498 ἐν ̓Αθηναίοις λέγειν). Dikaiopolis only pointed out how Athenians love hearing themselves and their city eulogized, regardless of whether what is said is “just or unjust,” i.e., “true or false” (370–3); Aristophanes provides specific examples of how he has improved the city by rooting out false flattery (632–41). While his comments thus amplify Dikaiopolis’ remarks about saying “shocking things that are true” (501), he presses the point further, by arguing more cogently that speaking well of the city is the real danger, whereas “saying bad things” (649), which is to say criticizing the Athenians, has an improving effect. These remarks pave the way for the pnigos, in which Aristophanes threatens that justice will be his ally in his struggle against the likes of Cleon (661–2 τὸ δίκαιον | ξύμμαχον ἔσται). Far from being a political malefactor because of plays like Babylonians and Acharnians, in the parabasis Aristophanes provides exaggerated proof that he behaves properly toward Cf. Reckford (1987) 162–71. Olson (2002) xlix–lii, demonstrates that serious lessons are not central to Acharnians; rather the play offers average Athenian citizens the appealing vision that they are not responsible for the trouble the city is in. 95 On Dikaiopolis’ name, see Russo (1994) 34; Edmunds (1980) 1 n. 2; Olson (1992) 307. 96 See especially Perusino (1986) 25–30. 94

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Athens.97 Unlike Cleon, he will never be found to be “a coward and pervert with regard to the city” (662–4). In this respect, Dikaiopolis’ name, understood in the sense “just toward the city,” epitomizes the image of himself as poet that Aristophanes is at pains to create in the parabasis. Finally, the idea of trygoidia, so central to Dikaiopolis’ performance, is recalled in the parabasis in the chorus’ initial introduction of Aristophanes:€ἐξ οὗ γε χοροĩσιν ἐφέστηκεν τρυγικοĩς ὁ διδάσκαλος ἡμῶν (628). In claiming the role of didaskalos, Aristophanes is slightly misrepresenting the situation, since Acharnians, like his earlier comedies, was produced by someone else. But this small white lie is advantageous, because it effectively recalls the role Dikaiopolis claimed for himself in producing his trygedy during his Rural Dionysia.98 It is therefore fitting that, like Dikaiopolis defending himself before his audience, Aristophanes brings his defensive address before the Lenaian audience to a conclusion with an adaptation from Euripides (659–64). Although our sources for the fragment only identify the passage by author, it is hard to resist Bergk’s suggestion that it was drawn once again from Telephos.99 In that case, beyond the overlap in aspects of character, Dikaiopolis’ trygic and Aristophanes’ parabatic performance align the same literary intertexts:€Telephos, Babylonians, and Acharnians itself. For although many points in the parabatic discussion relate to preceding scenes of Acharnians, the defensive rhetorical position Aristophanes adopts, as well as points of actual detail, certainly reflect Babylonians. Thus his claims about the allies and their tribute (642–5) both recall and refute arguments Cleon made against Babylonians (502–7), and on the level of content, it is widely assumed that Aristophanes’ assertion that he has shown the allies the practical effect of democratic rule (642) directs the audience’s thoughts to the plot of his previous year’s play.100 So too, while the reference to the Persian King (646–51) recalls the prologue of Acharnians (65–125), it may also have a connection with Babylonians, if that play’s chorus was portrayed as Persian subjects.101 Cf. Hubbard (1991) 50–1. I assume that the reference is to the poet Aristophanes (cf. Olson (2002) ad loc.) and not to Kallistratos; for discussion, see Halliwell (1980); MacDowell (1982); Hubbard (1991) 227–30. ╇ 99 E. fr. 918. Rau (1967) 187, does not adopt the attribution to Telephos. Further Telephean elements in the parabasis are Aristophanes’ overall defensive posture and his promise to be of use to his fellow Athenians in the war, much as Telephos would help the Achaeans; cf. Foley (1988) 38 n. 19; Bowie (1982) 31–2; (1993) 28. 100 Imperio (2004) 131–2; cf. Norwood (1930) 6–7; Forrest (1975) 20–2; Welsh (1983) 139–40; Imperio (1991) 158–60, for the assumption that details in the Acharnians parabasis refer to Babylonians. Sidwell (1994) 84 and 98–100, is not persuasive in arguing against this position and offering Eupolis’ Poleis in place of Aristophanes’ play. 101 Welsh (1983) 142–5, argues for a chorus of actual Persian slaves. ╇ 97 ╇ 98

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The convergence of these multiple points of reference is of the utmost significance for the relationship of Aristophanes’ appearance in the parabasis to the actions of his comic hero. We have seen that Dikaiopolis’ daring opposition to the Acharnians is introduced with references to Babylonians and Cleon, where the ostensible purpose of putting to rest any concern that a similarly scathing treatment of the city might be attempted again is finally undercut when Dikaiopolis’ performance results in the same political shock that followed the earlier play. In support of that renewed outcome, in the pnigos Aristophanes unveils his continued loathing for the demagogue and challenges him to attempt further hostilities against the city’s most outstandingly just poet. Whether or not this was Cleon’s immediate objective, his formal public criticism of Babylonians must have brought into question the poet’s nascent professional reputation. Thus on one level, the parabasis defense serves to clear Aristophanes’ name of any residual taint.102 Even so, it is remarkable how much Aristophanes seems to use Babylonians as poetic capital in arguing for the appropriateness of victory for Acharnians. This relationship makes more sense if we assume that Babylonians took the prize, an assumption consistent with the inscriptional evidence.103 Aristophanes’ claims to international fame on the merits of Babylonians are also easily interpreted as extravagant assertions grounded in a victory with the play.104 It is also difficult to believe that Cleon would have taken any action, had Babylonians not received the public validation a victory represented.105 Indeed, Aristophanes’ criticisms of the Athenians for making hasty decisions (630 ταχυβούλοις) and then reversing them (632 μεταβούλους), which are part of his vindication of Babylonians, imply a change of heart about the play connected with a victory turned sour by Cleon’s public castigation.106 Just as important, in that case, the recollection of Babylonians through the trygoidia of Telephos within the frame of Dionysian dramatic competition allows Aristophanes to reestablish the success and appeal of his comic vision by having his hero reclaim the victory originally awarded his previous year’s comedy. Dikaiopolis and Aristophanes thus unite to continue the program established by 104 105 106 102 103

Cf. Perusino (1986) 23. IG II2 2325.58; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 85–6; Olson (2007) 385–6. Pace Russo (1994) 24. So too Foley (1988) 38 n. 20. Compare Cratin. fr. 360. Reference to recent historical events (e.g., van Leeuwen (1901) 630–2n.; Rogers (1910) 630n.) is helpful only inasmuch as it presents the Athenian reputation that Aristophanes here transfers to his own poetic concerns; cf. Olson (2002) 630–1n.

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Babylonians and reward the audience with another play whose mockery of Athenian politics was likely to leave the Cleons in the audience dismayed. Acharnians rides on the coat-tails of the earlier victory; so it is that, following a typical pattern, the scenes after the parabasis elicit Aristophanes’ prospective celebration of victory through the celebrations of Dikaiopolis. F rom

sy nagōnista i

to

sympotai

Following up on the plan he devised as he left the stage before the parabasis, when he next enters Dikaiopolis busies himself with establishing a private market, and opens its doors to Athens’ enemies (719–28). Customers from Megara and Boiotia are quick to arrive, and eagerly trade on terms that are most beneficial to Dikaiopolis, who accumulates a veritable storehouse of delicacies.107 In an Aristophanic comedy, the natural destination for such goods is a feast, and they are soon converted toward this purpose, as themes of revelry dominate the final scenes. A new festive context is also supplied, as the calendar leaps ahead to the Choes, during the Dionysian Anthesteria (960–2, 1000–2).108 As with the Rural Dionysia of the first half of the play, here too the festival has a metapoetic purpose. The charged celebratory atmosphere toward which the action is directed reflects Dikaiopolis’ success, but at the same time a steady correlation of agonistic and revelry themes with aspects of the Lenaian agon at which Acharnians was performed allows the play to anticipate the celebrations that, with luck, will crown Aristophanes’ victory.109 The poet and his hero thus shift from synagonistai to sympotai. It seems to have been expected, if not actually required, that the choregos who sponsored the winning play would follow up a victory in the Theater with a celebratory banquet for the members of his troupe.110 An epinikia feast of this sort forms the historical context of the banquet in Plato’s Symposium, which is set on the evening after the official victory feast in honor of the tragic poet Agathon’s victory at the Lenaia in 416 (173a) but is clearly envisioned as an extension of those celebrations. A central feature of the epinikia was the offering of sacrifices to Dionysos in thanks for the For the economic logic of the plot, see Olson (1991). Compton-Engle (1999) 370–2, interprets Dikaiopolis’ display of culinary skills as a feature of his transition from a simple man of the country to an urban swindler. 108 Habash (1995) 567–74, discusses points of contact between Acharnians and the Anthesteria. 109 Calame (2004) provides a useful overview of the celebration scenes in Aristophanes and their relation to the dramatic contests. 110 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 89; Wilson (2000) 102–3; Biles (2007). 107

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victory.111 At heart it was thus a solemn religious occasion, but this in no way precluded vigorous revelry and fine dining.112 In Agathon’s case, the celebration was so intense that at the second gathering, on the night of the Symposium, no one could stomach any further drinking, and accordingly wine and the flutegirl€– which must have featured prominently the night before€– are declined in favor of intellectual entertainment (176a–e). Likewise, it was the tumultuousness of the gathering (τὸν ὄχλον) that made Socrates “flee” (διέφυγον) the official victory celebration (174a), and the group apparently swelled far beyond the poet and chorus, included in the description at Smp. 173a, which thus almost certainly amounts to an abbreviated list of those involved.113 In many ways, the epinikia mirrored the appearance of the poet and his cast at the proagon, and as at the initial public moment of competitive engagement, so at the final public assertion of victory the actors as well as the chorus probably appeared along with the poet.114 The trajectory for the plot of Acharnians in the direction of epinikia is established already during the exchange with the Boiotian merchant. As Dikaiopolis begins to assemble the delicacies that will make up his banquet, the treasured Kopaic eel is given special treatment:€“Dearest and longmissed, you have come, much-desired by the trygic choruses!” (885–6). The term trygoidikoi reminds us of the discussion of trygoidia that preceded the restaging of Telephos (497–501), so that Dikaiopolis here shifts back to his role of dramatic producer/performer. The correlation with the earlier performance is further emphasized by the correspondence of the Kopaic eels’ absence from Athenian tables with the rupture in the celebration of the Rural Dionysia, both six years past (266–7, 890), and Dikaiopolis accordingly has us think of the delicacy as an especially appropriate reward for his earlier victory. At the same time, his emphasis on the trygic chorus This forms the simple description at Smp. 173a τὰ ἐπινίκια ἔθυεν αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ χορευταί, which serves to cue the reader to the relevant context. Cf. Nu. 339 (with scholia and Dover (1968) ad loc.), where the splendor of the occasion more easily fits a special feast than a choregos’ ongoing maintenance of the chorus during the training period (so Olson (2002) 1154–5n.), even granting Plu. Mor. 349a, which seems aimed at an exaggerated contrast. 113 Above all, it is surprising that Plato does not mention the choregos, who must have been a central figure during the celebration. An anecdote on Ion of Chios (Ath. 1.3f; Σ V Pax 835–37a = Ion test. 3 Snell) reports that in recognition of his victory at the dramatic competitions he offered a jar of wine to every Athenian; this suggests the widest, albeit extreme, limit of inclusion in festivities surrounding poetic victory. For recent discussion of this anecdote, see Stevens (2007). Wilson (2007) 272–3, presents a very different picture of the epinikia. 114 The chorus is stipulated at the proagon in the Life of Euripides (= test. IA.11), the actors at Smp. 194b. 111

112

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suggests that his acquisition of delicacies for a feast is working toward not just his own celebration, but that of the entire cast of Acharnians.115 In this respect, we are likewise reminded of Aristophanes, who in the parabasis claimed that he directed trygic choruses (628 χοροĩσιν ἐφέστηκεν τρυγικοĩς ὁ διδάσκαλος ἡμῶν). The note of solidarity between poet-director and chorus in the parabasis coincides with Dikaiopolis’ sentiment. Indeed, his prospect of sharing in a feast with the chorus is extradramatic in a similarly parabatic way, since he looks beyond the immediate circumstance of the plot, in which his feast€– to match his peace€– is treated as a personal achievement, to a time when he and the chorus will dine together in celebratory fashion.116 Dikaiopolis’ presaging of dramatic victory plays out within the celebrations of the Choes festival. This festival once again hurls the action into a Dionysian frame, and as with the Rural Dionysia earlier, so here emphasis falls on the agonistic element.117 The focus of the festival was the opening and tasting of the new vintage on the first day (Pithoigia), with the high point coming in the consumption of wine on the second day (Choes), which featured a contest in drinking wine from chous-Â�pitchers, after which the festival was named.118 In Acharnians, once the Herald announces the drinking contest, to be celebrated “according to ancestral custom” (1000–2), all Dikaiopolis’ efforts are redirected toward the event and the banquets associated with the agonistic portion of the Anthesteria. He also receives an invitation to celebrate the festival at the house of the priest of Dionysos (1085–94), where we can detect another instance of an epinikia celebration mapped onto the celebrations within the play. The finery, entertainment, and culinary delicacies catalogued by the priest’s servant are one consideration,119 but the more important element is the simple fact that the invitation is issued by Dionysos’ priest. Although we might expect the priest to preside at the Anthesteria, the only official role noted in our sources for the Choes belonged to the archon basileus, who As van Leeuwen (1901) observes, the effect is to draw a distinction between the prospects of a feast for the cast of Acharnians and that of the production led by Antimachus (1150–61), on which see below. 116 Aristophanes achieves a similar effect in other plays. Compare Pax 1020–2:€Trygaios has the sacrificial sheep taken inside, commenting that the animal “will be saved for the choregos.” The same explanation may apply to Ar. fr. 448:€ἀτταγᾶς ἥδιστον ἕψειν ἐν ἐπινικίοις κρέας. 117 Cf. Pütz (2007) 16. 118 Accounts of the festival in Deubner (1932) 93–123; Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 1–25; Parke (1977) 107–24; Burkert (1983) 213–26; (1985) 237–42; Hamilton (1992); Robertson (1993). 119 Hence Dikaiopolis’ delicacies will at best add a bit of extra lustre to the splendid banquet that awaits him and the other guests. Cf. Habash (1995) 572–3, and at greater length Pütz (2007) 4–13. 115

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presided over the drinking contest held at the Thesmotheteion.120 The priest of Dionysos may in fact have been relieved of some of his major duties during the Choes, when all the city’s temples were closed, with the exception of the Dionysian sanctuary in the Marshes, which was open only on this one day each year, when the priestess presided.121 Richard Hamilton accordingly concludes, “the only surprise [sc. with respect to the Choes], then, in the Acharnians is that it is the priest of Dionysos who has issued the invitation.” But the sacrifices to Dionysos that occurred at the epinikia might easily have demanded that the priest, whose involvement in the dramatic festivals is betokened by the fact that he enjoyed the privilege of prohedria in the Theater,122 be on hand to preside during the final stage of the festival. This is the implication of a passage in Frogs where the actor playing Dionysos looks forward to celebrating with the real priest of Dionysos after the performance:€“Priest, protect me so I can be your drinking companion!”123 The actor in Frogs only wishes to feast with the priest at the victory celebration; Dikaiopolis gets to fulfill this desire within the performance. The increasing concentration on the play’s anticipated victory through the Choes theme reaches its climax in the final scene. Following the paratragic messenger’s report of Lamachus’ wounding in battle and imminent return (1174–89), the hero and his rival appear on stage to perform a responsive dialogue, in which the consequences of their individual contests are juxtaposed. Lamachus enters (1190–7) supported by attendants (1214–5, 1222) and crying in pain from his wounds, while Dikaiopolis (1198–1203) uses the same cry to express his elation as he somehow holds on to his chous while fondling a pair of prostitutes who steady him against the effects of the wine.124 Dikaiopolis proclaims his victory for draining his pitcher first:€τὸν γὰρ χοᾶ πρῶτος ἐκπέπωκα (1203). After being awarded one victory for his performance at the Rural Dionysia, he adds another for his achievements during the Anthesteria. This meeting only lasts long enough for the hero to expose Lamachus’ predicament as fitting a different festival than the Choes (1210–3), before the two men again go their separate ways. In a closing contrast, Lamachus Ach. 1224; Plu. Mor. 613b; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 10; Burkert (1983) 219; Hamilton (1992) 13; Robertson (1993) 216–17. 121 Ath. 10.437b–e; cf. Burkert (1983) 219, 232–3; Hamilton (1992) 23; Robertson (1993) 209–10. 122 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 268–9. 123 Ra. 297 with Dover (1993); cf. Slater (2002) 187. 124 For the balanced staging of the two entrances, emphasized by the responsive nature of the dialogue, see Olson (2002) 1190, 1198nn. On the missing lines 1202 and 1206 (identified by Bergk and Bothe respectively), which are needed to fill out the structure, see Olson (2002) 1202–3n. 120

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is carried off to a physician (1222–3), while Dikaiopolis asks to be carried aloft on the shoulders of those around him in victorious fashion. He looks forward to a night of sexual pleasure (1216–17, 1220–1), but first makes his way to retrieve the prize announced earlier by the Herald:€ ὡς τοὺς κριτάς με φέρετε. ποῦ ᾿στιν ὁ βασιλεύς; | ἀπόδοτέ μοι τὸν ἀσκόν (1224–5). Although the archon basileus is generally assumed to have played a role at the Choes (see above), there is no other evidence for a panel of official judges at the drinking contest.125 At the Lenaian festival where Acharnians was performed, on the other hand, both the archon basileus and the judges were involved in the organization, management, and outcome of the contests, so that Dikaiopolis’ demand for the prize operates as much for the play as for his performance in the drinking contest.126 His assertion is the more emphatic because the archon basileus sat prominently at the front of the Theater, and the judges likely did as well, since they were not only a symbolic focal point of the agon, but had to perform pivotal culminating duties as a group in the administration of their oaths and the casting of their votes.127 Although we can never be certain about stage action, in this case the identification of the poetic agon with the contest of the play’s hero relies heavily on the prominence granted celebrities of the festival through seating arrangements in the Theater; consideration of the latter may thus help reconstruct the closing action. Surely the pointed contrast between Dikaiopolis and Lamachus was maintained in their exits. Lamachus is picked up and carried off stage by his attendants (1214–15, 1222–3). If Dikaiopolis’ request to be carried off (1224) was also converted into stage Slater (2002) 65, argues against the archon’s role because Ach. 1224 is our only early evidence and the accuracy of Aristophanes’ representation may have been compromised by his wish to conflate this contest and the Lenaia. Still, the accounts for the contest emphasize the archon’s role in organizing the contest and awarding the prize (Ath. 10.437c–d; cf. the tyrant Dionysios’ assumption of this role at Ath. 10.437b), and Plu. Mor. 1.613b places the official contest in the Thesmotheteion, which associates the contest with the archons ([Arist.] Ath. 3.5); cf. Deubner (1932) 96; Robertson (1993) 215–16. Hamilton (1992) 13 n. 23, accepts the detail of the judges for the Choes. 126 Amply commented on in the notes of van Leeuwen (1901); Rennie (1909); Starkie (1909); Rogers (1910); Sommerstein (1980a); Olson (2002); cf. Foley (1988) 39; Brockmann (2002) 270; Slater (2002) 65. I suspect a similar ploy lies behind Ar. fr. 130:€“Who can tell me where Dionysos’ precinct is, where the Mormo-Goblins are hung on display?” (transl. Henderson, whose assignment of both lines to a single speaker is preferable to dividing them as K–A do); for the dedication of masks, see Green (1982). 127 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 268, for the archons; Wilson (2000) 99, for the judges. The principal passages for making sense of the judging process are discussed by Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 95–7; cf. Marshall and van Willigenburg (2004). Compare the panel of judges representing the dramatic contests at the Rural Dionysia on the calendar frieze from Hagios Eleutheros; Deubner (1932) 138, 248–54. 125

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action, perhaps the chorus gathered in front of the raised stage to allow him to mount their shoulders, and then matched his request by marching through the orchestra toward the judges, at which point someone seated near the front tossed the hero a wineskin.128 In doing this, the chorus imitate the periagermos, a post-competition ritual in which the victor was carried on the shoulders of his companions, presented to the public, and adorned with tainiai.129 The bold agonistic claim generated by these maneuvers may have been supported by an exodus format proposed by Martin Revermann,130 in which a procession through the eastern parodos gave force to the mood of victory and celebration, so often in evidence in the closural sequence of Aristophanic plays, by connecting the staged festivities with the notion of dramatic victory made tangible in the choregic monuments along the Street of Tripods toward which the chorus and hero proceed. If that is true in the case of Dikaiopolis’ departure, the exodus becomes a true victory procession; the choice of staging emphatically situates the performance of Acharnians within the context of Dionysian festival competition and brings the fortunes of the internal agon into harmony with the poet’s hopes for the external agon. One final consideration supports this reading. After his reference and perhaps gesture to the judges and archon in the Theater, Dikaiopolis holds his empty chous aloft and shouts out the ritual cry of Herakles’ Olympic victory€ – τήνελλα¸ καλλίνικος! (1227).131 These words then form a refrain for the exodos procession, in which the chorus similarly commend Dikaiopolis’ victory and amplify his exaltation as they lead him off stage.132 The agonistic pedigree of the exclamation reinforces Dikaiopolis’ identity as a victor in formal competition; more to the point, as the hero and the chorus process off stage, they seem destined to initiate the promised epinikia celebration. On this understanding, Aristophanes invokes the epinikia in these scenes as a means of asserting his play’s claim on the prize. The comedy thus continues the effort of the parabasis and earlier scenes to work toward its own victory. Peter Wilson has taken much the same view of developments in A handy suggestion by Olson (2002) 1224–5n. Pl. R. 621c–d; Eratosth. FGrH 241 F 14; D. Chr. Or. 9.14; Photius and Suda s.v. περιαγειρόμενοι; cf. Slater (1984) 246 n. 30; Valavanis (1990) 354–5; Csapo (forthcoming). 130 Revermann (2006a) 114–18; cf. Wilson (2007) 284, who refrains from adopting this exodus format for Acharnians because of his overall doubts about Dikaiopolis’ victory (see below). 131 Σ Pi. O. 9.1–3; cf. Eq. 1254; Av. 1764–5; E. Med. 44–5; HF 180 with Bond (1981). According to ΣRVEΓ Av. 1764, Archilochus (fr. 324 West2) sang this in celebration of his own victory with a Hymn to Demeter. Cf. Dunbar (1995) 1764–5n.; Olson (2002) 1227n. 132 Bowie (1993) 38–9, is less optimistic about Dikaiopolis’ invitation to the chorus; cf. Wilson (2007) 276–7. 128

129

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the second half of Acharnians, but sees Aristophanes’ hailing of triumph undermined and scrutinized by implications in the plot:€ “[F]or all the efforts of nikē to perform her usual task of bridging, and to naturalize the transition from comic vision to comedic prize, in some important cases the thrust of comic self-consciousness is deliberately to undermine those efforts and to expose their mechanics.”133 Thus for Wilson the Kopaic eelscene, for example, emphasizes Dikaiopolis’ megalomaniacal self-interest as revealed in the fact that the chorus are left outside his feasting within the play. But that interpretation misses the significance of Dikaiopolis’ meta-agonistic claim about the eels, which looks beyond the performance and the individualized roles assigned according to the plot, and focusses instead on the united celebration of a shared victory.134 In this sense, the vision of a victory celebration transcends any momentary deprivation the chorus experience in their dramatic character. The same understanding applies to the chorus’ response to Dikaiopolis’ final request to usher him off with cries of victory:€τήνελλα δῆτ’¸ εἴπερ καλεĩς γ’¸ ὦ πρέσβυ¸ καλλίνικος (1228). Where Wilson sees the chorus hesitating, in doubt about Dikaiopolis’ sincerity in proposing to share his victory with them now, it may rather be that their comment is confidently self-conscious and signals the moment at which they start to move beyond their dramatic role and shift toward their epinikian identity.135 In other words, as the chorus take up the victory cry in response to Dikaiopolis, they initiate the communal celebration of victory that Wilson denies ever takes place.136 This mood of (over)confident anticipation is exactly what we expect when something as central to the effort of dramatic performance as victory in the contest is in question, and it may be too much to think that Aristophanes systematically undermined that endeavor.137 Wilson’s view of the treatment of victory in Acharnians relies heavily on emphasizing the dubious nature of Dikaiopolis’ achievement.138 Most of Wilson (2007) (quotation from 270–1). Wilson’s characterization (2007, 272) of the epinikia as ideologically questionable because of its exclusiveness would undermine the happy picture in Dikaiopolis’ claim; as pointed out already, however, the passage on which this assumption rests (Smp. 173a) almost certainly provides an abbreviated list of those involved at the epinikia when it mentions the poet and the chorus alone. 135 Olson (2002) 1228n., takes the particles in this line as expressing confidence; cf. his note on 307–8, where read GP 487–8. 136 Wilson (2007) 277–8. 137 Compare Av. 444–50; Ec. 1154–62. Cf. Wilson (2007) 278, noting that distinctions between contests for productions and for lead actors may have limited the effect of Dikaiopolis’ quest for individual victory at the expense of the chorus. 138 Wilson (2007) 271. 133

134

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the tenets on which this view is based have been countered with reasonable arguments, which do not require restatement here.139 Even the claim that the gloomy nature of the Choes itself, with its aitiology in Orestes’ pollution from matricide and its eerie practice of dining separately and in silence, brings out Dikaiopolis’ dark nature no longer carries much conviction.140 The most thorough and systematic analysis of the literary and iconographic evidence for the Choes finds the joyful picture in Acharnians closer to reality than the disturbing picture the aitiology might suggest.141 That Aristophanes is harnessing the Choes backdrop toward an anticipated victory and not to undermine it, is made most clear by the chorus’ final song, performed as Dikaiopolis and Lamachus go off to their separate battles (1143–73). Although not a syzygy in form, this song is parabatic in some formal aspects and especially in content, since it reflects on matters of theater production and poetic rivalry at the festivals.142 The chief interest is with the celebration of epinikia. The song amounts to a curse directed against a certain Antimachus, who remains obscure for us but was presumably readily identifiable to the original audience.143 We learn that he served as choregos at a recent Lenaia and cheated his chorus of the expected celebratory feast after their performance (1154–5). In exactly what sense this is true is uncertain, though the likeliest explanation is that he failed to follow through on See especially MacDowell (1983); Carey (1993) 247–8; Brockmann (2002); Olson (2002) xliii–iv. My discussion of the parabasis adds to these by arguing against the supposed disjunction of Aristophanes from Dikaiopolis on the issue of peace and war. While it is true that the chorus’ change of heart before the parabasis leaves them in the position of having to watch with envy as Dikaiopolis enjoys the fruits of his enterprise, their enthusiasm and admiration for his celebration never flags (836–59, 971–99). The dramatic function of the instances in which the chorus reveal their wish to partake in Dikaiopolis’ celebrations (1008–10, 1044–6) is to project to the audience a communal recognition of the alluring prospect of peace. It is also common after the parabasis for the chorus either to be swept along in the success of the hero (e.g., Wasps) or to lose their distinctive and active role in the action (e.g., Knights). The latter applies to Acharnians, inasmuch as after the parabasis the chorus become little more than supporters of Dikaiopolis with no particular local identity. 140 For that portrait of the festival, see esp. Burkert (1983) 213–26; (1985) 237–42. For its application to Dikaiopolis, see esp. Bowie (1993) 27–44; Fisher (1993) 41–4; (2000) 364; Wilson (2007) 272. 141 Hamilton (1992), esp. 26–7, 61–2, 118–19, 123. Hamilton (24–5) traces the abundant testimonia characterizing the festival through Orestes’ experience back to Euripides (IT 947–60), who he argues has distorted the picture for dramatic purposes. The conclusions of Robertson (1993) esp. 198, are much the same. Cf. Edmunds (1980) 23; Habash (1995) 568–9; Brockmann (2002) 271; Pütz (2007) 13–19. 142 Sommerstein (1980a) 1143n.; Totaro (2000) 15–17; Slater (2002) 64. 143 Further identifying information surely lies behind the corrupt verses 1150–1. Moulton (1981) 22–4, emphasizes the ambiguity of the personal references as they relate to the plot. Wilson’s suggestion (2000, 319–20 n. 93) that Antimachus may be fictive seems unlikely, given the specificity of his attributes and activities in this passage. 139

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a victory with the expected largesse.144 In that case, whatever Antimachus’ relationship to Aristophanes€– sponsor of a rival performance or brazen choregos of one of Aristophanes’ own plays145€ – this action sets him in opposition to the ideal of an epinikion celebrated by all the performers that Dikaiopolis looked ahead to earlier. Antimachus is an aberration, an abomination to the victory celebration. The sense in which Antimachus becomes an enemy to this and all choruses is enhanced by his very name, which is placed in the emphatic opening position of the song and connects him with Lamachus and everything Lamachus represents, most notably the supposition that war forbids feasting and celebration.146 In fact, the chorus did much to articulate and reject Lamachus’ outlook earlier, when they excoriated Polemos for disrupting feasts and extolled Diallage for her bountiful harvest (977–99).147 The punishment prescribed for Antimachus is therefore highly appropriate:€his own feast will be stolen by a dog (1156–61). In a way reminiscent of Dikaiopolis preventing Lamachus from feasting during the Choes celebration, the chorus in their turn bar Antimachus from enjoying feasts in the epinikia frame.148 In addition to repaying the offender in kind, the chorus’ minatory wish operates to their future advantage, by ensuring that they will not be deprived of their rightful share in the victory celebration that will, with any luck, follow their current performance in a Lenaia competition.149 With their minds already directed toward the victory celebration after the festival, the chorus’ second curse forms a natural progression. In the antistrophe (1162–73) they pray that the same choregos, while coming home in the dark, may be attacked by a robber. Their ill wishes continue:€while reaching for a rock with which to defend himself, Antimachus Wilson (2007) 276 n. 69, may be right to defend the reading in R (ἀπέκλεισε δείπνων, 1155). Cf. Olson (2002) ad loc. 145 Russo (1994) 14–15, proposes Aristophanes’ own entry in the Lenaian competition in 426. Dover’s (1963 = 1987–88 vol. i, 303) counter-suggestion that the chorus in this ode speak in a generic way for all Lenaian choruses is challenged by Halliwell (1980) 44–5, who defends Russo’s thesis. The matter is beyond certain resolution. 146 Cf. Hubbard (1991) 42. 147 Cf. Taillardat (1962) 364–5. See the chorus’ equating of Lamachus with war at Ach. 1080:€ἰὼ στράτευμα πολεμολαμαχαϊκόν. 148 Wilson (2007) 275–6, sees instead the chorus responding to the misery Lamachus finds himself in with a memory of their own exclusion from celebratory feasts. But the sympathy for Lamachus assumed by this interpretation is out of place and character, since the chorus clearly taunt Lamachus for his deprivation in the opening verses of this song (1143–9); note their harping on “you” (= Lamachus) versus “him” (= Dikaiopolis). 149 Wilson (2000) 348 n. 247, similarly treats the context for the punishment as a victory feast. Curses and threats are used to secure victory at Nu. 1115–30; Av. 1102–17; Pherecr. fr. 102. 144

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will mistakenly grasp a freshly deposited turd and hurl it, missing his assailant but striking … Cratinus. Although the scholia assert that this is not the Cratinus who was competing in the same contest, this is surely wrong, since the identification is all but guaranteed by the theatrical interest of the song and the concentration on poetic victory as reflected in the epinikia theme.150 I will return to Cratinus shortly; for the moment it is enough to observe how the chorus situate their performance and thoughts about epinikia within the agonistic milieu of the Lenaia. Let us consider the contribution of the Choes to this scenario. Antimachus’ nocturnal assailant is identified merely as a drunken and raving Orestes (1166–8). That there was an actual Orestes in Athens who fit this description is unlikely;151 the reference seems instead to be to the mythological figure, whose madness after he murdered his mother could be treated as paradigmatic, and who could be thought of as wandering about Athens during the Choes festival. The traditional feasts at separate tables that were a defining characteristic of the Choes were explained in mythology by Orestes’ appearance in Athens at this time of year with the pollution of his crime still on him, necessitating the expedient of a banquet in which the participants avoided contact with their guest.152 The individual drinking pitchers were an element of this practice, and the drinking contest itself a direct corollary.153 Orestes’ violent nocturnal debauchery represents well the aftermath of this celebration when, as Aristophanes’ frog-chorus describe it, “the drunken crowd staggers in procession to their sacred precinct (i.e., the marshes) at the sacred festival of pots” (Ra. 211–19).154 Hence Orestes’ madness and his drunkenness in this Van Leeuwen (1901) 1150–5n., and Olson (2002) 1171–3n., speculate that Antimachus might have been Cratinus’ own choregos, in which case the envisioned scene adds insult to injury. Sidwell (1994) 107–9 sees a complex relationship between this song and a more expansive paracomic treatment of Eupolis and Cratinus in Acharnians. 151 This suggestion by Dunbar (1995) 712n., is refuted by Olson (2002) 1166–8n. 152 These negative implications must also be weighed against the fact that the festival served to reintegrate Orestes into society, as it does for Dikaiopolis as well; cf. Habash (1995) 569 n. 36. 153 The antiquity of the contest is suggested, at least, by the herald’s announcement in Acharnians:€“drink the choes pitchers at the sound of the trumpet, according to tradition” (κατὰ τὰ πάτρια, 1000). Cf. Burkert (1983) 219–20. Hamilton (1992) 24 suggests that the silence was simply a matter of the contestants drinking quickly in the contest, i.e., not engaging in discussion and other forms of verbal entertainment that typically accompanied the consumption of wine. Note too that by nature and definition an agon (“public gathering”) is a communal event. 154 The Festival of Pots or Chytroi was the third day of the Anthesteria and properly began on the evening of the Choes; cf. Burkert (1983) 215, 232, though Hamilton (1992) 42–50, believes that Choes and Chytroi belonged to a single day. The event referred to in Frogs is the dedication of wreathed choes after the contest:€Hamilton (1992) 46; Robertson (1993) 210. Thus Sommerstein (1996a) 218–19n., is probably wrong to refer to the actual day after the Choes, nor for that matter must κραιπαλόκωμος mean a hangover rather than the intense drinking that precedes and leads 150

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song are both explained by the foundation myth of the Choes festival currently dominating the dramatic action. Hence too, even within the song itself the context of poetic victory celebration is united with that of the Choes festival, making it even easier to connect ideas in the song with developments in the dramatic plot. In the song it is the hero of the festival who appears suddenly out of the darkness to assist both the chorus, by attacking Antimachus, and Aristophanes, by prompting the delivery of a well-timed insult to his poetic rival Cratinus. From the perspective of Aristophanes and his chorus, therefore, Orestes plays a very positive role.155 Those associations carry over to the main plot in the scene that follows, when Dikaiopolis reappears, drunk and disorderly, holding his chous, and leaning on two prostitutes, the counterpart for Orestes’ paradigmatic revel following the feast and likewise striving for the play’s victory.156 The convergence of Choes with epinikia in the final sequence may be pressed even further. This “ideal” of a drunken reveller supported by attendants after the Choes was associated with Dionysos himself:€several chous-pitchers represent him staggering, supported by a satyr, with other miniature satyrs attending him (e.g., carrying his chous).157 As Dionysos is apparently in the same state as the human revellers of the Choes, it makes sense for this iconography to have been generated in the context of the festival; but it appears that by the final decades of the fifth century this representation of the god had been imported into the iconography of epinikia, in scenes showing Dionysos’ arrival at the victory celebration.158 In this context the scene represents the ideal of the patron deity himself recognizing the dramatic troupe’s victory, while his drunkenness projects onto him the intense revelry engaged in by the victors during the epinikia celebration. To the extent that Dikaiopolis’ final appearance replicates this iconography, the visual cue helps the audience align the Choes victory with the dramatic victory he claims for Acharnians. Through its applicability to both Choes and dramatic festival, the image facilitates the play’s final and most important Dionysian



155

156



157



158

to a hangover. The latter might be more appropriate here, since the second element of the compound envisions active revelling; at any rate, during a three-day festival in which drinking began on the first day, it is safe to say that a hangover could be experienced at any number of points. Contrast Fisher (1993) 43–4. Bowie (1993) 37, considers a comparison of Orestes with both Dikaiopolis and Lamachus, the latter based on the Athenian general’s heroic defense of his city as it reflects the mythical figure’s defense of Argos. LIMC s.v. Dionysos nos. 382–3; cf. 321. The child-satyrs in these representations are consistent with the emphasis on children in Choes iconography; cf. Hamilton (1992) 84–5, 88–90, 105. Biles (2007). To the material presented there, add the third-century choregic monument of Karistios on Delos; see Wilson (2000) 293. Cf. Csapo (forthcoming) for choregic iconography.

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transition from Anthesteria to the Lenaia of 425. And, of course, the implications of Dikaiopolis’ embodiment of Dionysos in his epinikian epiphany become more conspicuous alongside the other tokens of dramatic victory incorporated into the closural sequence, most of all the assumed processional movement toward the victory monuments beyond the eastern parodos. A r i s t oph a n e s a n d C r at i n us In the Antimachus song, Cratinus receives special emphasis through the placement of his name in the final position. The two theatrical targets thus stand as bookends to the choral interlude,159 and literally create a frame of poetic agonism for the song. Cratinus’ misfortune thus comes as the culminating insult, making for even more effective mockery, since the chorus’ invective is redirected to him at the last minute and the unflattering image of a rival poet smeared with excrement endures in the audience’s mind, undiluted by further commentary. Cratinus had already been reviled in an earlier choral song (848–53), in fact, where he was included among the villains to be excluded from Dikaiopolis’ market. Cratinus assumes a similar position of prominence there, through the disproportionate number of lines devoted to him in comparison with the other individuals the chorus target. Among the cheap shots Aristophanes directs against his rival is the claim that he is too hasty with respect to mousikē (851), which should probably be interpreted in the fuller sense “poetry” and not simply “music.”â•›160 With Sommerstein’s translation, “over-hasty in composition,” the point is that Cratinus’ comedies are unpolished and by implication undeserving of the audience’s approval.161 Hence the “mud slinging” in these two passages functions as a true provocation that openly invests the dramatic performance with the competitive stakes involved in theatrical production. With his experience and record of success, Cratinus surely represented the greatest challenge to Aristophanes or any other poet competing in this period. We can perhaps take the measure of his stature in the festival competitions from the fact that Aristophanes’ abuse is concentrated on him alone, whereas Eupolis, his other rival at this festival (Ach. Hyp. I. 33–4), Cf. Hubbard (1991) 42. Cf. Olson (2002) 851n. ΣREΓLh Ach. 849a again fails to correctly identify Cratinus as Aristophanes’ rival, apparently misled by the description to posit a lyric poet by that name (Rennie (1909) 216); Starkie (1909) 174–5, and Rogers (1910) 130–1, follow him into error. 161 Contrast Cratinus’ own claim in fr. 255; cf. Sommerstein (1992) 19. 159

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escapes notice entirely.162 That silence is the more perplexing, since Eupolis had been victorious at the Lenaia in at least one of the last few years.163 Perhaps some camaraderie had developed between the two younger poets in facing the old guard,164 but that explanation amounts to much the same point:€in the 420s no single poet could be placed on the same agonistic footing as Cratinus. We can, I think, see Aristophanes connecting his antagonism with Cratinus in the choral songs discussed above with Dikaiopolis’ antagonism with Lamachus. This is most explicit in the earlier song, as the fruits of Dikaiopolis’ internal victory denied to Lamachus extend beyond the dramatic situation to overlap with Aristophanes’ professional rivalry, by excluding Cratinus from the market as well. The relationship is more complex in the Antimachus song, where the encounter between the choregos and Cratinus comically adapts the diction and formulaic action of a typical Homeric battle scene (1171–2 ἐπᾴξειεν … τὸν μάρμαρον).165 This epic coloring fuses the parabatic song with the preceding scene, by continuing the epic arming-scene parodied there, as Lamachus and Dikaiopolis prepare for battle (1143 ἐπὶ στρατιάν).166 The self-serving irony is that Antimachus wounds Aristophanes’ own rival in this encounter. Cratinus’ injury and disgrace on this scatological battlefield come just in time to forecast Lamachus’ equally pathetic and inglorious misfortune:€ he is pierced by a vine-stake and hits his head on a rock as he falls into a ditch (1178–81). It is entirely fitting that the advocate of war should be punished by the very stakes that were the object of Polemos’ violence (984).167 But the bathetic event hardly suits the highly charged, mock-tragic language of the messenger’s report, so that the comic juxtaposition of registers in a battle-description continues from the account of Cratinus.168 For us, the important point is that the fate of Aristophanes’ rival is linked with that of Dikaiopolis’ chief antagonist. The intra- and Â�extra-dramatic The theory of Bowie (1988) that Dikaiopolis is recognized as Eupolis is refuted by Parker (1991); cf. Olson (1991) 200 n. 3, Storey (1993b) 388–92, Kyriakidi (2007) 130–6. Bowie’s position is the starting point for a more encompassing theory of paracomedy in Sidwell (1993); (1994); (1995). 163 IG II2 2325.126; cf. Storey (2003b) 62–3; Rusten (2006b) 25; Olson (2007) 387. 164 Biles (2001); Olson (2007) 21–2. The theories of collaboration between Aristophanes and Eupolis are discussed by Storey (2003b) 279–88; Kyriakidi (2007) 154–71. 165 Specifically Il. 4.491–2; 15.430–4; see Borthwick (1967) 412–13; Olson (2002) 1171–3n. 166 For the epic parody and agonistic structures in this scene, see Harriott (1979); Palumbo Stracca (1996); Porter (2004); cf. Collins (2004) 3–29, on stichomythia and agonistics. 167 And at the same time, cast in the role of Telephos:€Foley (1988) 39. 168 Similarly, Moulton (1981) 24. παλίνορρον in 1179 is a Homeric hapax legomenon; see Olson (2002) ad loc., who (1178n.) further suggests that χάρακι and τάφρον initially bring to mind an Iliadic context, until 1186 makes it clear that an irrigation channel is meant. 162

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agonistic frames thus fully converge as the play strikes its triumphal tones in the closing sequence, making clear Aristophanes’ hope that his hero will be the instrument of his own celebration over his enemies in the Theater. Through this performatively self-conscious effect, the play situates itself in the Lenaian contest, and therein lies the most profound objective of Aristophanes’ effort throughout this play to align Dikaiopolis’ agonistic challenges with his own. This understanding has other, wider implications. The rich interplay of agonistic themes in the relation of poet to hero is surely a response to the intense competitive atmosphere in which Aristophanes’ career began. Dikaiopolis is a testament of the degree to which agonistic pressures could be translated into a competitive poetics. Although we catch glimpses of what Dikaiopolis represents in this regard, no other single character so fully instantiates the poetic agon, at least in Aristophanes. Instead, the most conspicuous elaboration on what Aristophanes achieved with Dikaiopolis was produced by his chief rival of this period, in Pytine with the story of “Cratinus” and the revitalization of his faltering relationship with “Comedy.” Within the otherwise rough outlines of what can be made of the play, it is clear that this poetic stroke of genius was the result of Cratinus’ rivalry with Aristophanes. That rivalry is the subject of the next two chapters.

chapter 3

Aristophanes’ poetic tropaion: Competitive didaskalia and contest records in Knights

To later readers of Old Comedy, the Lenaia of 425, at which Acharnians was produced, must have seemed a remarkable occasion. Competing were the three poets who eventually became the undisputed triumvirate of fifth-century comedy:€Cratinus, Eupolis, and Aristophanes (Ach. Hyp. I. 32–4). Cratinus, whose career was now most likely entering its fourth decade, was undoubtedly the preeminent comic poet of his generation, with eight of his nine career victories probably behind him at this point.1 His preeminent position would soon be claimed, however, by two younger rivals. Eupolis debuted in 429 and within a few years was victorious at the Lenaia, possibly in 426, the year before Acharnians was performed.2 Aristophanes produced his first play in 427 and almost certainly won his first contest one year later, at the City Dionysia in 426 with Babylonians.3 IG II2 2325.50, 121 (= Cratin. test. 5 and 6; cf. test. 1); cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112–13. His victory with Pytine at the City Dionysia in 423 (Nu. Hyp. II) must have been his last. 2 He would add six more victories during the course of his career; Suda ε 3657 (= Eup. test. 1) records Eupolis’ seven career victories, three of them Lenaian (IG II2 2325.126 = Eup. test. 12). If Phrynichus’ first victory, which appears two lines ahead of Eupolis in IG II2 2325, belongs to either 429 or 428 (Anon. De com., Prolegomena III, page 9 lines 33–5 Koster = Eup. test. 2), Eupolis’ must belong to 427 or 426, ahead of Aristophanes’ victory in 425; see Geissler (1925) 12; Storey (2003b) 63; Olson (2007) 387–8. Rusten (2006b) rightly questions some of the assumptions of a narrow chronology, though suspicion of Olympiad dates (provided for Phrynichos’ debut by Sud. φ 763 = Phryn. test. 1, giving πς᾿ = 436–432 bc; see ap. crit. K–A) is not entirely unfounded (e.g., Prolegomena XXXa–b Koster = Ar. test. 2; V. Hyp. I. 32), and it also makes sense that when Anon. De com. III singles out Eupolis’ role as didaskalos, he does so because it marked the beginning of his career (made clear in discussing Aristophanes’ debut in the next paragraph, ἐδίδαξε δὲ πρῶτος; cf. the support for that conclusion in Eup. frr. 259, 260, 267, as noted by Rusten (2006b) n. 18), in which case the synchronization of this event with Phrynichus as didaskalos (ἐφ οὗ καὶ Φρύνιχος) to suggest the start of his career too is a reasonable, if not entirely certain, interpretation of the evidence. However, resolution of the contradiction in Suda and Anon. De com. can be reached by assuming the latter refers to Phrynichus’ first victory:€cf. Biles (2009). 3 The supplement of Aristophanes’ name at IG II2 2325.58 (= Ar. test. 20) to represent a victory at the City Dionysia of 426 is widely accepted (e.g., Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 85–6; Sommerstein (2001) 219; Olson (2007) 385), and is consistent with the reflections of Babylonians in Acharnians (above, pp. 82–3). See Olson (2007) 385–6, for arguments against both Gilula (1989a), who favors supplementing Aristomenes’ name, and Wilhelm (1906) 20, 112, who argued for Aristophanes’ plays being registered under his didaskaloi Kallistratos and Philonides. 1

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In short, the comic agon at the Lenaia of 425 brought together the finest talent of the period, and we can only imagine the mixed feelings of excitement and trepidation with which Aristophanes awaited the competition, and his sense of accomplishment when Acharnians was awarded the prize. The importance of Aristophanes’ victory with Acharnians for his identity as a competitive poet can be measured by an examination of Knights, the play with which he returned to the Lenaia in 424. In both a thematic and formal sense, Knights is the most agonistic of the surviving Aristophanic comedies. From nearly the moment the Paphlagonian and the Sausageseller encounter one another, the action consists of a heated, visceral antagonism that, rather than coming to a dramatic culmination and conclusion in a single formal agon, is merely articulated by this arrangement at two separate points (303–456, 756–940) within a larger struggle that is not fully resolved until near the end of the play (1248–63).4 This intensely antagonistic quality has been viewed as a symptom of Aristophanes’ deep antipathy for Cleon (represented by the Paphlagonian).5 I concentrate instead on how the dominant poetic mode of challenge and confrontation reflects rivalry between comic poets. Above all, the agonistic underpinnings of Knights are revealed in its parabasis. Composed as a tribute to Aristophanes’ accomplishment the previous year, the Knights parabasis unconditionally hails Cratinus off the stage and instates Aristophanes himself as the heir apparent to the glories of poetic competition. The competitive assertions in the parabasis coincide with the introduction of the poet to the audience as no longer simply an author, but for the first time a full-fledged komoidodidaskalos, “director,” as well. These disclosures do more than explain details in the playwright’s professional career; by connecting concern about the task of directing plays with a desire to earn a victory, Aristophanes’ self-presentation helps define him as a competitive poet. Additional contributions to that effort are made by the use of language and ideals drawn from victory commemoration and record-keeping at the festival, which convert the parabasis into a kind of literary tropaion for the victory of Acharnians.6

Cf. Brock (1986) 24–5. See Gelzer (1960) 161–2, for the continuation of the contest in later scenes. E.g., Dover (1972) 99–100; MacDowell (1995) 107–12. 6 Similarly metapoetic readings of Knights are those of Hubbard (1991) 67–71, who discusses the simultaneously humble and foul character of the Sausage-seller as it reflects the comic poet himself and the profane and abusive nature of his genre, and Ruffell (2002) 148–55, who concentrates on how Knights appropriates and extends Cratinean poetic modes. 4 5

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V ic t or s c om i ng a n d g oi ng The competitive interest of Knights is emphasized by a thematic frame formed by the verses that introduce and close the anapests. Like several other Aristophanic parabases, that of Knights begins with a short lyric kommation, which prepares for the parabasis proper by orchestrating the characters’ departure from the stage and creating a thematic bridge between the plot and the issues taken up in the parabasis.7 The chorus offer vigorous support to the Sausage-seller as he dashes after the Paphlagonian to continue their dispute before the Athenian Council, and their remarks culminate in a short prayer for his successful return: καὶ νικήσας αὖθις ἐκεĩθεν πάλιν ὡς ἡμᾶς ἔλθοις στεφάνοις κατάπαστος.

(Knights 500–2)

And after you win a victory, may you then return to us again from there sprinkled with garlands.

If matters go as they wish, the Sausage-seller will come back victorious, decked with garlands as a token of his success. Victory garlands were a potent symbol of agonistic success in many contexts, including the Theater itself, where they were ceremoniously awarded to victorious poets at the agon’s culminating moment.8 The framing context of dramatic performance brings this particular association into prominence, especially because the chorus is introducing the part of the play that had become the centerpiece for the poets’ competitive acts of self-assertion. Not surprisingly, therefore, the association with garlands is emphasized again when the chorus draws attention to the withered state of the garlands on Cratinus’ head that commemorate his earlier victories:€στέφανον μὲν ἔχων αὖον,€… διὰ τὰς προτέρας νίκας (534–5). This amounts to a not very subtle way of reminding the audience of Cratinus’ recent defeat, and implies by contrast the freshness of Aristophanes’ victory and accompanying crown.9 This aspect of the parabasis’ intertextual relationship with the plot is described by Hubbard (1991) 17–18, with detailed discussions for each play in the individual chapters. 8 Their significance in this regard is emphasized in an epinician epigram (AP 13.28) composed for a victorious tribe in dithyramb, which contains a moving vision of the performers’ heads so adorned (Page (1981) 11–15); cf. the Delphic victory inscription in Hansen (1989) no. 811.4. Although debate in the Council does not belong in the category of formal agons, on remarkable occasions speakers were honored “as athletes” for their advice (e.g., Th. 4.121.1; Plu. Per. 28.4); see Blech (1982) 109–62, esp. 113. 9 Cf. Sommerstein (1981) 172; Biles (2002) 180; Imperio (2004) 209. 7

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The vision of the Sausage-seller’s glorious return to the stage is thus similar to the present reappearance of Aristophanes, whose person and persona the chorus is about to summon through the metaphoric performance of his identity in the parabasis. As the dramatic character departs, therefore, the prayer for his return creates a fitting entrance and reintroduction of the victorious poet to the Theater.10 As the anapests close, the chorus’ thoughts turn to Aristophanes’ own exit from the Theater at the end of the festival, and they encourage the audience to stir up a foam of water and send him off with a salute of eleven oars. The metaphor has never been convincingly explained, but even if its original application and significance remain obscure, in context it clearly betokens a victory with Knights at the festival.11 The audience’s worthy applause (547 θόρυβον χρηστόν), which the rowing metaphor prefigures, will be particularly suited to the agon underway at the Lenaia (547 Ληναΐτην)12 and will thus allow the poet to depart happily (548 ἀπίῃ χαίρων). The initial wish in the kommation for the Sausage-seller to go happily and succeed in the way the chorus wishes (498–9 ἴθι χαίρων, καὶ πράξειας | κατὰ νοῦν τὸν ἐμόν) is thus recast at the close of the anapests, now explicitly for Aristophanes’ benefit.13 That wish is accompanied by the closing image of the poet’s gleaming forehead (550 φαιδρὸς λάμποντι μετώπῳ), a vision that brings to mind the color of a fresh victory crown.14 Victories acquired in the past and anticipated in the future thus enclose the anapests and align Aristophanes’ and the Sausage-seller’s objectives. They also establish a theme that is central to what lies between. C om ic di da s k a l i a a n d t h e t r a i n i ng of a c om pe t i t i v e p oe t The main discussion of the Knights parabasis is prompted by a question that, we are to suppose, has come to Aristophanes from undisclosed Cf. van Leeuwen (1900) 502n. Cf. e.g., Rogers (1910) 547–50n. Whereas modern interpreters attempt to explain the number by referring to the theatrical context (see Sommerstein (1981) 173; Gilula (1989b); Hubbard (1990); N. G. Wilson (2007b) 51), the scholia seem to be fishing for an explanation based on the assumption that some kind of naval command is involved. Lech (2009) offers the likeliest solution, by referring to parallel details in accounts of Phormio’s naval victories. 12 Russo (1994) 78–9 believes that Aristophanes’ adjective builds specifically on Λήναιον, i.e., a Lenaion theater. The theory of a separate theater, on which cf. Slater (1986), has not gained much favor. 13 For the explicit verbal link with the parabasis’ opening prayer, see Hubbard (1991) 77. 14 The glowing aura of the victor is movingly described by Pindar at P. 8.95–7; van Leeuwen (1900) 549n. believed that Eq. 550 was a quotation from a higher poetic register. A joke was also available 10 11

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members of the audience:€Why did he not ask for a chorus in his own name long ago (512–14)? Most likely Aristophanes belonged to a minority of poets who did not customarily direct their own plays,15 and his decision to begin doing so in 424 must have demanded explanation. The question€– whether feigned or real we cannot know€– allows the chorus to discuss the nature of komoidodidaskalia as a reason for Aristophanes’ decision to enter this final poetic challenge only with Knights. As they argue in his defense, this is the most difficult task of all and one that is rarely rewarded: φησὶ γὰρ ἁνὴρ οὐχ ὑπ᾿ ἀνοίας τοῦτο πεπονθὼς διατρίβειν, ἀλλὰ νομίζων κωμῳδοδιδασκαλίαν εἶναι χαλεπώτατον ἔργον ἁπάντων˙ πολλῶν γὰρ δὴ πειρασάντων αὐτὴν ὀλίγοις χαρίσασθαι.

(Knights 514–17)

For the man says that it was not through folly that he delayed �regarding ╅ this, but because he believes that komoidodidaskalia is the most difficult task there is, since she gives her favors to only a few of her many suitors.

The term komoidodidaskalia is generally translated “directing a comic chorus” and in recent decades the Knights parabasis has been discussed along with passages in the parabases of Clouds (esp. 528–32) and Wasps (esp. 1018–22) for what they can tell us about the early stages of Aristophanes’ career in relation to the broader range of duties and skills that went into a comic production along with writing a script.16 But there is a limit to how much komoidodidaskalia, understood in this restricted sense, can help in interpreting the anapests. Above all, Aristophanes only hits on the idea of professional development in the two-and-a-half lines toward the end of the passage in which he summarizes the stages of his professional education through the metaphor of a sailor’s ascent from the oar to the tiller (541–4). The metaphor is never ruptured, so that although to those members of the audience who recalled that Aristophanes’ head gleamed as a result of his baldness; Rogers (1910) 547–50n.; Reckford (1987) 125; Olson (1998) 773–4n. Cf. Sommerstein (1992) 15–17; Revermann (2006a) 18. 16 Mastromarco (1979); Halliwell (1980); (1989); MacDowell (1982); (1995) 34–41; Perusino (1982b); (1986) 37–57; Gilula (1989b). Playful irony is surely involved in Aristophanes’ comments, but we know of at least one other case where a new director found the transition from poiētēs to didaskalos anything but smooth:€Eratosthenes reports that Plato Comicus was successful as long as he produced plays through others, but when he acted as didaskalos for the first time with Rhabdouchoi, was soundly defeated (POxy. 2737.44–51 = Ar. fr. 590 and Pl. Com. test. 7); cf. Rosen (1989); Biles (1999). Clearly the problems of directing for Plato are likewise reducible to agonistic concerns. 15

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its stated interest is to elucidate the challenges of directing a chorus, no explicit mention is made of any didaskalic duty the poet learned to perform.17 One point deserves consideration:€after Aristophanes reached this professional apex and was awarded the prize for his efforts (Eq. Hyp. II. 21), he continued using directors throughout his career, beginning with Clouds the next year.18 The stage biography offered for him here is thus best understood as€– like all parabases€– an exercise in purposeful distortion, intended to increase the poet’s chance of victory in the contest.19 In Chapter 1 I suggested that the specific “question” to which Aristophanes responds had its basis in the parabatic accusations of rival poets, who took the liberty of interpreting his reliance on directors as a sign of inexperience or, even worse, incompetence. On this understanding, that komoidodidaskalia was the most challenging aspect of the comic craft and that Aristophanes has arrived at some ideal moment of consummation is a bit of calculated subterfuge and exaggeration, meant to rebuff this criticism of his earlier productions. The concentration on komoidodidaskalia thus cannot be separated from agonistic considerations, as is again clear when we bear in mind how the term is defined by the longer passage that falls between the initial mention of it and the closing naval metaphor. The way the topic of directing is introduced in 515–17 prepares for a discussion focussed on festival agonistics. What Aristophanes means by claiming to be “favored” by a personified komoidodidaskalia is explained in the lines that follow:20 ὑμᾶς τε πάλαι διαγιγνώσκων ἐπετείους τὴν φύσιν ὄντας καὶ τοὺς προτέρους τῶν ποιητῶν ἅμα τῷ γήρᾳ προδιδόντας

(Knights 518–19)

He also recognized long ago that you were annual in nature, and that you betrayed the poets of the past when they grew old.

Some of the possibilities are discussed by Perusino (1986) 39; MacDowell (1982) 25, restated in (1995) 39–41; cf. Revermann (2006a) passim. Anon. De com., Prolegomena III, page 9 lines 39–40 Koster = Ar. test. 4; cf. Wilhelm (1906) 111; Olson (1998) xxiii n. 4. For other known instances when Aristophanes used a director, see V. Hyp. I. 33–4; Av. Hyp. I. 8–9; Lys. Hyp. I. 33–4; Ra. Hyp. I. 37–8; cf. Pl. Hyp. III. 3–7. Aristophanes’ own career thus suggests that a more complex situation lay behind his decisions about directing than the simplistic picture presented in the Knights parabasis. 19 Cf. Sifakis (1971) 40; Harriott (1986) 25; Reckford (1987) 125; and Chapter 1. 20 For the sexual metaphor (recognized already by Σ VEΓΘMLh Eq. 517a), see Dindorf (1837) 321; van Leeuwen (1900) 97; Henderson (1975) 158, 160; Biles (2002) 184–5. 17 18

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Komoidodidaskalia is thus conflated with the audience, whose whimsical nature matches that of Aristophanes’ chosen mistress of the Theater.21 This relationship defines the central problem of the parabasis as a director’s ability to obtain a successful outcome at the festival, for as elsewhere in Aristophanes and the comic fragments, gaining the audience’s approval is tantamount to winning the contest.22 That implication was adumbrated in the kommation, through the chorus’ address to the audience as “experienced (506 πειραθέντες) in their own right with every kind of Muse,” which similarly places them in an authoritative position where poetry is concerned.23 This initial captatio benevolentiae must thus be understood for how it operates within the dynamics of festival competition. A demonstration of these points follows, as the chorus offer evidence of the supposed difficulty of comic production; the emphasis is on contest outcomes and what they suggest about the relationship between poet and audience. In a review of the careers of Magnes, Cratinus, and Crates (520–40), the chorus pays equal attention to successes and failures, all to show how poets are “betrayed” at the end of their careers by the audience (518–19).24 Aristophanes explains his own delay (541 διέτριβεν ἀεί) by reference to his predecessors’ experiences and his fear that he may share their fate (541 ταῦτ᾿ ὀρρωδῶν), returning to the point with which he began (515 διατρίβειν). His familiarity with the vicissitudes of the comic competitions encouraged him to prolong his career as poet and directorial assistant until he was prepared to compete on his own, an experience he alludes to briefly through the naval metaphor (541–4). But even here, where we seem to catch a glimpse of Aristophanes’ assumption of specific duties, the metaphor’s purpose is consistent with the parabasis’ rhetorical development of the idea of komoidodidaskalia. As I observed already, the naval metaphor for acquiring directorial duties gives way to a second one (546), in which the chorus asks the audience to support the poet in the contest. The trajectory of the imagery accordingly lends force to the point acknowledged throughout, that any estimation of how a man had carried out his didaskalic duties depended on how his play fared in the contest.25 Similarly at Ec. 1161–2 whimsical judgments in the Theater are compared with the fickle behavior of hetairai. 22 E.g., Cratin. fr. 360; Ar. Av. 445–6; Eup. fr. 392; and later Pl. Lg. 659a–c, 700c–701a; cf. PickardCambridge (1968) 97–8; Wallace (1997); Csapo and Slater (1994) 286–305. 23 On the thematic connection between πειραθέντες (506) and πειρασάντων (517), see Imperio (2004) 176. 24 Cf. Ruffell (2002) 142. Contrast Harriott (1986) 22:€“that section [i.e., 520–40] … was (somewhat illogically) attached to the rest.” 25 See Reckford (1987) 136. 21

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The parabasis’ focus on victory and defeat in connection with audience reception goes hand-in-hand with its presentation of the agon as a battleground where rival poets engaged in intense rivalries. The introduction of Magnes establishes the association. Following standard military practice, Magnes set up victory monuments (521 ἔστησε τροπαĩα) for choruses that struggled against one another (521 χορῶν τῶν ἀντιπάλων). As Angus Bowie observes, tropaion is not used of poetic victory monuments; it belongs to the world of military enterprise, and Aristophanes appears to be making the hyperbolic suggestion that the same brutality could be observed in dramatic competition.26 This suggestion is taken further in the description of Cratinus’ floruit, where the poet makes his appearance as a torrent of rushing water that tears away everything in its path, including (with a final para prosdokian that ruptures the metaphor) his enemies (528 τοὺς ἐχθρούς).27 While recent opinion has inclined toward seeing this as an acknowledgment of the bitter personal attacks that became Cratinus’ literary trademark,28 the organizing interest of the parabasis as it has just been articulated through the example of Magnes’ poetic battles makes it more natural to take these enemies as Cratinus’ rivals in the Dionysian competitions.29 In that case, this passage may supply an explanation for the sharpening of antagonistic banter between rival poets as it depended specifically on Cratinus’ literary style. Certainly these points have a natural complement in what follows, when Cratinus’ own victories with his plays are brought to the audience’s attention (535 διὰ τὰς προτέρας νίκας). Additional militaristic coloring in the recollection of Cratinus’ theatrical conflicts can be detected in the image of a raging stream, which adapts a metaphor borrowed from Homeric descriptions of heroes on the battlefield.30 Finally, Crates is said to have kept up his courage in a Theater dominated by the audience’s vacillating anger and abuse (537 ὀργὰς ὑμῶν Bowie (1993) 64. The phrase στῆσαι τροπαῖον is common in military contexts (e.g., Gorg. 82 B 6, p. 286 lines 9–10 D–K; Th. 5.12; X. HG 1.4.23). 27 Cf. Silk (2000) 143, for a fuller discussion of the metaphor. 28 Perusino (1982a) 149; Mastromarco (1998) 30; Rosen (1988) 39–40; Ruffell (2002) 143–4; cf. Pretagostini (1982); Sifakis (2006) 25–6. 29 Compare echthroi at 590 (discussed below), which betokens the same conflation of military conflict and poetic rivalry; cf. van Leeuwen (1900) 528n.; Lai (1997) 147. Of the two Cratinean quotations offered in 529–30, the first is admittedly vaguely political; the second is clearly an address to or about poets and may reflect Cratinus’ own competitive posturing. 30 Il. 5.87–94, 11.492–7; cf. 16.384–93; for water metaphors in Homeric battle scenes, see Fenno (2005). The image was adopted by Cratinus the following year in Pytine (fr. 198), almost certainly in connection with his own poetry; cf. Rosen (2000) 29–31, who (following Σ VEΓ3ΘLh Eq. 526a) suggests that the metaphor in both Knights and Pytine may depend on an earlier Cratinean model. Hubbard (1991) 74 n. 35, imports a negative implication into Aristophanes’ river metaphor based on Hellenistic and Roman evidence. 26

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ἠνέσχετο καὶ στυφελιγμούς) and to have held out like a stranded soldier (540 μόνος ἀντήρκει), though with mixed results.31 Here, as often in Aristophanes, the pleasure of the poetry is in the contradictions and ironies that emerge when a passage is considered carefully. There is a definite tension between the persona of a retiring and respectful neophyte, which Aristophanes adopts for this theater season, and the subversive message the parabasis half-heartedly conceals.32 Like Magnes and Crates, Cratinus is presented as a poet whose days of favor with the audience are in the past, despite the fact that he was competing at this very Lenaia.33 Of the three poets mentioned, Aristophanes directs his most abusive mockery and ridicule at Cratinus, as is immediately apparent in the disproportionate number of lines devoted to his biography:34 εἶτα Κρατίνου μεμνημένος, ὃς πολλῷ ῥεύσας ποτ᾿ ἐπαίνῳ διὰ τῶν ἀφελῶν πεδίων ἔρρει, καὶ τῆς στάσεως παρασύρων ἐφόρει τὰς δρῦς καὶ τὰς πλατάνους καὶ τοὺς ἐχθροὺς προθελύμνους ᾆσαι δ᾿ οὐκ ἦν ἐν συμποσίῳ πλὴν “Δωροĩ συκοπέδιλε,” καὶ “τέκτονες εὐπαλάμων ὕμνων˙” οὕτως ἤνθησεν ἐκεĩνος. νυνὶ δ̓ ὑμεĩς αὐτὸν ὁρῶντες παραληροῦντ̓ οὐκ ἐλεεĩτε, ἐκπιπτουσῶν τῶν ἠλέκτρων καὶ τοῦ τόνου οὐκέτ̓ ἐνόντος τῶν θ’ ἁρμονιῶν διαχασκουσῶν˙ ἀλλὰ γέρων ὢν περιέρρει, ὥσπερ Κοννᾶς, “στέφανον μὲν ἔχων αὖον, δίψῃ δ᾿ ἀπολωλώς”, ὃν χρῆν διὰ τὰς προτέρας νίκας πίνειν ἐν τῷ πρυτανείῳ, καὶ μὴ ληρεĩν, ἀλλὰ θεᾶσθαι λιπαρὸν παρὰ τῷ Διονύσῳ.

(Knights 526–36)

Next he recalled Cratinus, who once Â�overflowed with â•… abundant applause, and flooded the naïve fields, sweeping from their place oak trees, â•… plane trees, and his enemies, and carrying them off, roots and all. At symposia it was impossible to sing anything but â•… “Goddess of Bribery, shod in figwood,” I accept the paradosis μόνος as driving home the sense in which the poets stand alone against the audience; for the emendations μόνον (Sommerstein) and μόλις (van Leeuwen, Wilson), see N. G. Wilson (2007b) 50. For ἀνταρκέω in a military context, cf. Th. 7.15.1. Crates’ meager victuals (538) might also depend on a military context, namely the notoriously meager rations soldiers lived on (e.g., Eq. 600; Pax 1129; and esp. Ach. 1095–1142). On Eq. 538 and Crates’ career, see below. 32 Cf. Harriott (1986) 23; Hubbard (1991) 74–5; Biles (2002) 177–80; Ruffell (2002) 144–8. 33 Eq. Hyp. II. 21–2. 34 While the professional biographies offered for Magnes and Crates are colorful and humorous, nothing in either compares to the abuse heaped on Cratinus. The attempt by Hubbard (1991) 75–6 to extend the caustic mode to all three biographies is thus unpersuasive, though he effectively points out the logical transition from blaming the audience to showing poets falling short. 31

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Aristophanes' poetic tropation and “Fashioners of handy songs,” so great was his flowering. But now you feel no pity, though you see him driveling, with his pegs falling out, his tuning gone, and his joints coming unglued. In his old age he wanders aimlessly, just like Konnas, “with a withered garland on his head, and dying of thirst,” whereas on account of his past victories he ought to drink â•… in the Prytaneion, and, instead of driveling, watch the performances in a seat of honor â•… beside Dionysos.

The eleven lines reserved for Cratinus have a diptych structure, in which the first five, temporalized by “once” (526 ποτε) and past tense verbs (527 ἔρρει, 528 ἐφόρει, 529 ἦν, 530 ἤνθησεν), set the accomplishments and honors summarized therein squarely in the realm of theater history.35 The final six lines, governed by an initial “now” (531 νυνί) that introduces present tense verbs (531 ἐλεεĩτε, 533 περιέρρει),36 dwell instead on Cratinus’ present decrepitude. Wandering about in a state of utter disarray (532–3) and babbling unintelligibly (531 παραληροῦντ᾿, 536 ληρεĩν), he has become a theatrical embarrassment, his only token of artistic merit the withered garland (534 στέφανον . . . αὖον) he wears in recognition of victories that are, sadly, a feature of the past (535 διὰ τὰς προτέρας νίκας).37 Still, the blame really falls on the Athenians, for not having taken measures to secure him an alternative livelihood and a place in the Theater where he can watch performances (536 θεᾶσθαι)€– rather than participating in them.38 These are harsh remarks, but consistent with the parabasis’ definition of poetic didaskalia based on theater competition and the rivalry of poets for the audience’s favor. They also make an important contribution to the presentation of Aristophanes as an emerging professional. By making Cratinus a target of his antagonistic mockery, Aristophanes shows himself ready to become a competitive didaskalos not only by accumulated technical experience, but by temperament as well.39 An explanation for the dismissive attitude toward Cratinus is not far to seek:€the fall from poetic For ποτε, compare Ach. 13, where the word similarly activates memory of performance history. In 535, χρῆν πίνειν is an unfulfilled obligation with present force. 37 Contrast the gleaming victory crowns (λιπαρῶν στεφάνων) for the victories recalled by Bacchylides (1.157–8), and the gleaming hair (λιπαρὰν ἔθειραν) of performers crowned for victory in AP 13.28.4. Cratinus takes on this effulgent quality after retiring from competition and taking a seat in the audience (536); again contrast Aristophanes at 550. 38 The image of a broken lyre (532–3) reinforces these points by recalling the tradition of Thamyris as a mythological paradigm for competitive poetry and the agonistic disgrace he suffered at the hands of the Muses; see above, pp. 13–15. 39 Thus Hubbard (1991) 71–2, interprets the Knights parabasis as Aristophanes’ unveiling of himself as an iambic blame poet. 35

36

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grace in question is surely the defeat of his Cheimazomenoi by Acharnians at the previous Lenaia. We should nonetheless not lose sight of the Lenaia of 424, since the public humiliation heaped on Aristophanes’ rival the previous year had implications for the present competition, in which Cratinus was competing again. Defaming a rival is part of a strategy to influence the audience’s appraisal of the competitors and secure a favorable outcome once again.40 I have already considered how Aristophanes pleads for a fresh victory in the pnigos, by encouraging the audience to lift him to victory with Knights on the swell of their oar-strokes. That wave of applause expands water imagery associated earlier with Cratinus’ acclaim in the Theater (526), but deploys it in support of Aristophanes’ anticipated victory over his older rival. Broached as an immediate concern in the conclusion of the anapests, the ongoing struggle to which Aristophanes alludes is also reflected in both parabasis odes.41 The summons of Poseidon to the chorus’ side (559 δεῦρ᾿ ἔλθ’ εἰς χορόν) in the first ode serves to muster divine support for their performance, since Poseidon’s fondness for all things pertaining to horses (551–3), and above all the competition of charioteers (556–7 μειρακίων θ᾿ ἅμιλλα λαμ- | πρυνομένων ἐν ἅρμασιν), provides a good reason for him to favor Aristophanes’ knight-chorus in their contest.42 The agonistic interests are more pronounced in the second ode:



Ὦ πολιοῦχε Παλλάς, ὦ τῆς ἱερωτάτης ἁπασῶν πολέμῳ τε καὶ ποιηταĩς δυνάμει θ᾿ ὑπερφερούσης μεδέουσα χώρας, δεῦρ᾿ ἀφικοῦ λαβοῦσα τὴν ἐν στρατιαĩς τε καὶ μάχαις ἡμετέραν ξυνεργὸν Νίκην, ἣ χορικῶν 43 ἐστὶν ἑταίρα τοĩς τ᾿ ἐχθροĩσι μεθ᾿ ἡμῶν στασιάζει. νῦν οὖν δεῦρο φάνηθι. δεĩ γὰρ τοĩς ἀνδράσι τοĩσδε πάσῃ τέχνῃ πορίσαι σε νίκην, εἴπερ ποτέ, καὶ νῦν.

585

590

(Knights 581–94)

Cf. Ach. 849–53, 1164–73.╇╅ 41╇ Cf. Fraenkel (1962) 195. Cf. Hubbard (1991) 80, and for other agonistic resonances in this passage, Campagner (2001) 70–1. 43 This is the paradosis and apparently what the scholiasts read. N. G. Wilson (2007b) 51, argues for Willamowitz’s Χαρίτων, but acknowledges that “a word is needed which indicates the divinity’s good will towards the poet and his chorus.” Indeed, the adjective is perhaps most naturally taken 40 42

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Aristophanes' poetic tropation Pallas, Guardian of the City, keeper of the holiest of all lands and one preeminent in war, poets, and power€– join us here, bringing with you Nike, our compatriot in expeditions and battles, the companioness of choruses, who supports our cause against our enemies. So then appear now! For, if ever in the past, now too you must by all means bestow victory on these men.

This passage puts more explicitly the comparison of comic rivalry to battle presented in the anapests. Now references to war and poetry are boldly intertwined (583–4 πολέμῳ τε καὶ ποιη- | ταĩς δυνάμει θ᾿) in a prayer for Athena to bring Nike to make the chorus victorious (592–4 τοĩς ἀνδράσι τοĩσδε … πορίσαι σε νί- | κην).44 While the demonstrative τοĩσδε is ambiguous, making it impossible to pin down a single referent for the remark, the chorus’ desire for divine support is prominent.45 In the lines leading up to this prayer, Nike was identified as their close ally (588 ἡμετέραν ξυνεργόν) and companion (589 χορικῶν … ἑταίρα). The association may be generic,46 but a close affiliation between Nike and Aristophanes’ chorus can be treated more seriously as a result of the favor Aristophanes’ play was shown the year before.47 In addition to supporting the chorus’ competitive undertakings, as a hetaira Nike recalls the personification of komoidodidaskalia as a sexually desirable female (516–17), whose favors poets compete for in the manner of a fickle courtesan. This makes a nice complement to the earlier metaphor, in which poetic victory ultimately replaced sexual activity as the objective. As companion to the chorus, Nike is imagined fighting alongside them against their enemies (590 τοĩς τ᾿ ἐχθροĩσι). Earlier in the parabasis, echthroi referred to the rivals Cratinus defeated when he was preeminent on to refer to the chorus themselves, as the relative clause builds on Nike’s support of them stated just before and after, and plays off expressions like τῶν τραγικῶν χορῶν (Ar. fr. 156.9). For the fondness for€–ικος suffixes, see N. G. Wilson (2007b) 50–1. 44 Cf. Zimmermann (1985–7) 207. 45 For the ambiguity of expression, see Reckford (1987) 391; Hubbard (1991) 81. 46 Compare CIA ii. (3) 1298, lines 2–3:€καὶ Νίκῃ τοιάδε δῶρα πρέπει¸ ἣν πάρεδρον Βρομίῳ κλεινοῖς ἐν ἀγῶσι τεχνιτῶν κτλ. 47 In this light, the traditional language of prayer in the final line (εἴπερ ποτέ¸ καὶ νῦν, 594) has a literal force.

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the comic stage (528). His change of fortunes is now complete, since he must himself be included among the vanquished echthroi of the recently victorious Aristophanes. I ns c r i bi ng p oe t ic v ic t or y Through its concentration on dramatic agonistics, the Knights parabasis achieves a sort of documentary status for the history of comic production in Athens. This is true for its sweeping appraisal of the careers of former poets as a way of defining komoidodidaskalia, but especially for what it records about the rivalry between Cratinus and Aristophanes, and the latter’s sense that his ascendancy in the Theater is now established. This facet of the connection between komoidodidaskalia and festival agonistics is not accidental. On the one hand, Aristophanes activates the specific phenomenon of victory monuments, while on the other he handles information about the dramatic festivals in a way that suggests he is adapting the model of contest records in developing his antagonistic rhetoric against his chief rival. The Knights parabasis becomes an epinikian performance in its own right, hewing to the model of a victory monument in poetic form and announcing Cratinus’ defeat to the public at large, with promises of fresh victories in the future.48 Even in their diminished state, the Athenian monuments reveal that considerable interest and expense was lavished on commemorating and advertising victories in the poetic contests. Most of our evidence is for monuments dedicated by choregoi, but evidence for poetic accomplishments is not altogether lacking.49 IG I3 833bis, a partially preserved inscription of an early fifth–century monument from the Athenian Acropolis,50 is an important example of an individual poet displaying his accomplishments to public view: [νικέ]σας hό[δε πρõ]τον Ἀθένεσ[ιν χο]ρõι ἀνδρõ[ν] [€– ◡◡]τâ•›â•›ς σοφ[ίες] τόνδ᾿ ἀνέθε[κ]εν hόρον [εὐχσ]άμενο[ς· π]λείστοις δὲ [χ]οροῖς ἔχσο κατὰ φῦ[λα] [ἀνδ]ρõν νι[κâ•›â•›]σαί φεσι π[ερ]ὶ τρίποδος. The connection between epinician poetry and the dedication of victory monuments is explored in Steiner (1993); (1998); O’Sullivan (2003). 49 For recent discussion of choregic monuments, see Wilson (2000), esp. 199–262; Vierneisel and Scholl (2002); cf. Podlecki (1981) 97–8; Biles (2007) 27–32; Csapo (forthcoming). 50 Dated variously from 500 to 470:€Peppas-Delmousou (1971) 55–6; Peek (1974); Hansen (1983) no. 270; IG I3. I follow Peppas-Delmousou for the supplements in the first line, as explained in Biles (forthcoming); cf. Hansen (1983) no. 270. 48

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Aristophanes' poetic tropation this man [having been victorious first] with a chorus of men at Athens dedicated this marker of his wisdom having made a vow; he claims to have won with the most choruses (in competition) for a tripod elsewhere throughout the tribes of men.

The inscription identifies the monument as a marker (horos) for the poet’s agonistic success in the men’s dithyramb, and the third line places this event within his accumulation of career victories. Although the poet’s name is lost, it most likely appeared on a separate stone atop the surviving one, where it claimed the reader’s immediate attention.51 On a general level, the monument’s importance lies in how it illustrates an early interest in victory commemoration and personal prestige as a feature of poetic competition in Athens.52 But the verbal features the inscription shares with the parabasis of Knights also help situate the Aristophanic passage within the social milieu of festival agonistics. The elements of comparison involve Aristophanes’ description of Magnes at 521: ὃς πλεĩστα χορῶν τῶν ἀντιπάλων νίκης ἔστησε τροπαĩα who set up the most trophies of victories over competing choruses.

In both descriptions, the dedicatory verb (ἔστησε and ἀνέθεκεν) is followed immediately by the monument type (τροπαĩα and hόρον), which is itself specified by a dependent genitive in an emphatic position ahead of the two other elements (νίκης and σοφίες).53 So too, both descriptions stipulate that their victories are poetic (χορῶν τῶν ἀντιπάλων and χορõι ἀνδρõν).54 After the lacuna at the beginning of the second verse,55 the first legible words, τâ•›â•›ς σοφ[ίες], bring to mind the longstanding association of wisdom with poetry.56 Indeed, Aristophanes himself describes the I.e., in an extra-metrical announcement before the epigram:€Peek (1974) 199–200, citing ARV2 1581. Others attempt to restore it in the opening lacuna:€ Gallavotti (1975) 165–71:€ Simonides; IG I3:€ Diagoras of Melos; Podlecki (1981) 100:€ Bacchiadas of Sikyon. Less likely still, PeppasDelmousou (1971) 59 believes the name stood at the beginning of the final line. 52 The practice can be traced back to the earliest self-proclaimed competitive poet, Hesiod, who dedicated his prize tripod to the Muses (Op. 654–9); see Griffith (1983a) 62; Stein (1990) 46–7; Papalexandrou (2005) 12. 53 Martin (2007) 59–60, explains the genitive of the inscription as stipulating contents, in relation to a commemoration in poetic form. 54 For Aristophanes’ genitive (χορῶν τῶν ἀντιπάλων) of the defeated adversaries, compare Hansen (1989) no. 794.8:€καὶ σῶν οὐδείς πω στῆσε τρόπαια χερῶν, recalling Herakles’ remarks on his heroic achievements at S. Tr. 1102. 55 Podlecki (1981) 100–1 suggests νικȏν here rather than in the opening lacuna, but the consecutive enjambment of participle that results in lines 2 and 3 is stylistically offensive; [οἰκεί]ες, suggested by Peek (1974) 200, may be right. 56 Podlecki (1981) 101; Griffith (1990) 188–90. 51

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competition between Aeschylus and Euripides in Frogs as a “contest of wisdom” (882 ἀγὼν σοφίας), making exceptional sophia the quality that distinguishes a poet and earns him victory.57 A similar relationship is operative in the inscription and is reinforced by the final two verses, in which the poet provides a firmer demonstration of his sophia by enlisting his accumulated victories on top of his single Athenian one.58 A further element of comparison is evident at this point, in the deployment of superlative elements to maximize the impression the poets’ accomplishments make on their audiences.59 Aristophanes’ claim that Magnes won the most victories (πλεĩστα) is echoed in the anonymous poet’s claim to have won with the most choruses (πλείστοις χοροĩς), to which he adds the grandiloquent phrase “among the races of men” (κατὰ φῦλα ἀνδρõν).60 The monument’s assertive message is thus projected to the world at large, an effect carried further by designating it as a horos, as if the stone establishes a proprietary boundary to serve as a reference point for competitors who might emulate the achievement.61 See Dover (1993) 10–14. Compare also Nu. 955–8 and more importantly Nu. 520, where Aristophanes hopes to win the contest and so be considered sophos. A female figure is identified as Sophia by an inscription on an Attic vase (Athens, NM 19636, ARVâ•›2 1328) that shows Orpheus and Thamyris performing in the company of Apollo and the Muses. Philippaki (1988) 93, interprets the scene as a kind of symphony; but a competition between the two poets seems more likely, in which case Sophia (not otherwise attested as the name of a Muse; see Philippaki (1988) 91) might embody the prize. 58 Similarly in a choregic epigram (AP 13.28) the Akamantid tribe places its latest victory alongside its numerous (1 πολλάκι) victories in the past; see Wilson (2000) 122. Compare Hieron’s third (τρίτον) equestrian victory, which enabled Bacchylides to make the superlative claim for his Delphian record (4.4, 14–16). 59 For similar language in epinician poetry, see Bundy (1986) 46 n. 35; Maehler (2004) 105–6; cf. Slater (2004) 148 n. 7. The unlikely situation described by Plutarch (Nic. 3), that Nikias “won numerous times when he served as choregos, and was never defeated” (ἐνίκησε γὰρ πολλάκις χορηγήσας¸ ἐλείφθη δὲ οὐδέποτε) in the Dionysian competitions, might itself originate with Nikias’ tripod dedications, which Plutarch is considering at this point. 60 Peek (1974); Podlecki (1981) 100; and especially Wilson (2000) 217, emphasize the distinction between victory in Athens and victories elsewhere (thus ἔχσο in line 3); the wider projection of the announcement is also consistent with patterns of expression in victory commemoration:€e.g., Pi. O. 13.112–13, where the victories of the patron’s family “throughout all Greece” are beyond human powers to reckon; N. 6.25–7, where Alkimidas’ house is “guardian of more victory crowns in boxing than any house in the heart of all Greece”; cf. B. 8.19–25; IG V 1.1564a (Hansen (1989) no. 820); AP 13.16. 61 Compare IG V 1.213 (Hansen (1983) no. 378):€“Damon dedicated (this) to Athena Guardian of the City, having been victorious more than anyone now alive.” The idea of monuments stirring competition was familiar enough that Sophocles could treat the matter humorously in Silenos’ antagonism with his sons:€ τοιοῦ[δ]ε πατρός¸ ὦ κάκιστα θηρίων¸ | οὗ πόλλ’ ἐφ’ ἥβης μνήματ’ ἀνδρείας ὕπο | κ[ε]ῖται παρ’ οἴκοις νυμφικοῖς ἠσκημένα (fr. 314.153–5); cf. Krumeich, Pechstein, and Seidensticker (1999) 299 n. 34. Cf. Gallavotti (1975) 170 and Martin (2007) 43–5 and 58, for the multiple ideas expressed by horos in the inscription. 57

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That the resonances between Aristophanes’ description of Magnes’ victories and the anonymous poet’s inscription are not coincidental becomes clearer when the inscribed epitaph of a certain Nikobolos (IG II2 6004) is considered. The final verses express grief at Nikobolos’ departure to the land of the dead, but the opening verse confidently establishes the mark he will leave on the world by adducing the monuments to his aretē that have been set up in Greece: σῆς ἀρετῆς ἔστηκεν ἐν Ἑλλάδι πλεĩστα τρόπαια For your aretē there stand in Greece the most trophies.

The epigram introduces elements of victory commemoration within the funerary context, although because the realm in which Nikobolos displayed his excellence is left unspecified, it is impossible to say whether the monuments alluded to actually existed or if the epigram’s author is invoking the idea in a figurative way.62 In either event, however, he is drawing on a recognizable paradigm. As in Aristophanes’ description of Magnes, Nikobolos’ monuments are identified as trophies (τρόπαια), and a dependent genitive (σῆς ἀρετῆς) defines their significance more narrowly. Finally, the same hyperbolic claim of superiority is achieved by describing the monuments as “the most” (πλεĩστα), an effect enhanced by adducing the widely encompassing geographical boundaries of the Hellenic world.63 It is tempting to imagine Aristophanes wandering about the city and studying dedications, and perhaps a similar monument existed for Magnes.64 But my point in making these comparisons is to suggest that the Knights parabasis interacts with a familiar habit of commemorating victories of all sorts. The monument for the anonymous poet adduced above was found on the Acropolis, where it competed for space with numerous other monuments commemorating victories, public and private, that collectively expressed the esteem in which the Athenians held Nike and show how important it was for individuals to proclaim their successes.65 The ideas from the ambience of festival competition activated in the Knights parabasis were thus in all likelihood easily recognized by the audience and helped shape their interpretation of the passage’s treatment of theater history. The lapidary quality Aristophanes imports lends gravity to his review of contest outcomes. More importantly, by conspicuously borrowing from Cf. Tsagalis (2008) 66.╇╅ 63╇ See above, n. 60. Cf. Athenaeus’ description (8.351e–f) of the citharodist Stratonicus’ tropaion, which he set up in the Asklepieion over “those playing the cithara poorly.” 65 Above all, with the dedication of the temple to Athena Nike in 425/4. For victory as an organizing theme of sculpture and dedications on the Acropolis, see generally Hurwit (1999) 230–2. 62

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this cluster of ideals and linguistic patterns in his opening description of Magnes, Aristophanes provides additional grounds for his own understanding of comic didaskalia and underscores the central role agonistic considerations played in shaping his identity as a competitive poet. Even when understood within the milieu of victory commemoration, the fullness of interest the Knights parabasis displays in details pertaining to the festival’s history is remarkable. Far from restricting itself to acknowledging Aristophanes’ defeat of Cratinus, the passage situates that victory within a broader sweep of events that extend well beyond Aristophanes’ career. The audience is presented with an epitomized history of competition on the comic stage for most of the fifth century. Nor does Aristophanes’ ambitious treatment of information pertaining to the Dionysia refer only to his own and other poets’ victories. Instead, it attains its most profound effect by drawing attention to the way the careers of other poets supposedly trailed off into obscurity. In other words, Aristophanes’ poetic tropaion is most keen to commemorate agonistic failure,66 alerting us to his creative independence as he humorously manipulates ideals associated with victory monuments publicly to disgrace an active rival. At the same time, the broad scope of the passage’s interests€– stretching over more than half a century€– indicates a specific resource influencing how Aristophanes composed this passage. Epinician inscriptions and epinician poetry often invoke festival records by tabulating victories and in some cases reiterating a herald’s announcements at a contest.67 Similarly in the Knights parabasis, several features suggest that official records for the Dionysia contributed to Aristophanes’ treatment of the festival’s agonistic history. By the beginning of the fifth century, the dramatic contests at the City Dionysia were well-established, regularly celebrated, and carefully regulated by state officials.68 The archons entrusted with a festival’s The reversed emphasis is most conspicuous in his summary of Crates’ career:€“sometimes failing, sometimes not” (540). E.g., IG I3 893; AP 6.213, 13.14, 19, 28; “Simonides” 28 Page (with Page (1981) 241–3; Gallavotti (1975) 168–9, Wilson (2000) 369 n. 70). Note also the Attic red-figure vase in Bulgaria (ARV2 1044, 9, LIMC s.v. Nike, 352) showing the kitharode Alkimachos approached by the embodied festivals in which he was victorious; Hölscher (1967) 176 with Table 16.8; Webster (1972) 49; Blech (1982) 179; Shapiro (1992) 57. Maehler’s comments (2004, 106) are apt:€“However much poets of victory odes and epigrams might have liked to lavish superlatives on their clients, they had to keep to the truth, as such claims were easily verifiable from the victory list.” Cf. Hubbard (2004) 76–7; and on the relation to the herald’s original announcement, see Nisetich (1975); Day (1989); Kurke (1998) 142–9; Steiner (1993) 168; (1998) 134. 68 Comedy was added to the program in 486 (Suda χ 318 = Chionides test. 1; Olson (2007) 383–4), and the Lenaian contests were organized c. 445–440 (however, see Rusten (2006b) and Luppe (2007)). 66 67

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organization underwent a formal examination into their conduct after the celebrations came to a close, and it is probably in connection with these responsibilities that records were kept for the entries and outcomes at the competitions.69 Our evidence for this record-keeping comes from much later and includes the remains of two inscribed monuments that date to sometime after the middle of the fourth century BC, and the first quarter of the third, respectively, but display information apparently going back to the very beginning of the contests.70 In addition, we have several fragments of Aristotle’s Didaskaliai and the title of his Nikai Dionysiakai, both of which apparently dealt with contest information in some detail.71 The information preserved in this material included the archon year, choregos, poet, title of play, and place taken, and, as James Sickinger has argued, the fullness and accuracy of detail can only be explained on the thesis that systematic records for the contests were maintained.72 We can say little else about where the theatrical records were kept, how they were assembled, and whether they were accessible to the public or were the subject of earlier public monuments.73 All the same, Aristophanes seems to anticipate Aristotle in recognizing the festival records as the single most important witness to the history of the comic competitions. His The administrative uses of the records are explored by Sickinger (1999) 45–7. The Law of Euegoros (D. 21.10) identifies one point of business at the post-festival review as being to hear complaints concerning the processions or the contests, making it reasonable to suppose that an official record of the contests had to be produced for verification. Cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 68–70; MacDowell (1990) 13–16. 70 IG II2 2318 (the Fasti); 2319–24 (the Didaskaliai); 2325 (the Victors List). For introductions to these, see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 70–4, 101–20; Mette (1977); Csapo and Slater (1994) 39–43; Olson (2007) 379–91; for more detailed descriptions, see Wilhelm (1906); Capps (1943). For the date of the records’ earliest entries, see West (1989); Sickinger (1999) 43–4, with bibliography; Scullion (2002). For the Roman didaskalic inscriptions, see below. 71 Aristotle’s work was a resource for Alexandrian scholars and was most likely a model for the later inscriptions:€Körte (1906) 395–7; Pfeiffer (1968) 81. Aristotle must still have depended on earlier records; although we know that he used choregic dedications as a documentary source (Pol. 1341a35–6; cf. Plu. Them. 5.4), these monuments could not provide all the information needed to compile the later lists, most significantly defeats; cf. Sickinger (1999) 45. The fragments of Aristotle’s Didaskaliai are nos. 618–30 Rose. 72 Sickinger (1999) 41–7; cf. Pritchett (1996) 38. That official records existed has been widely assumed:€Reisch (1903) cols. 395–6; Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 70; West (1989); Wilson (2000) 214. 73 For these and other problems in the study of records and archives in Athens, see Thomas (1992) 132–44 and passim. But many of Thomas’ cautionary remarks are of questionable relevance for the festival records, since the fullness of the records witnessed in the later monuments suggests that this information was not dealt with casually. If, as Thomas proposes for some official documents, the various archons were allowed to dispose of the didaskalic records as they wished, it would hardly have been possible for Aristotle to collect them so much later on. Sickinger (1999) 45, suggests that the outcomes were posted on white-boards, as was sometimes the case with athletic victories. 69

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parabasis masquerades as a well-informed discussion based on the records, in which he adduces and manipulates information to drive home his central interest of registering his own place in an agonistic history of the Theater.74 The primary subject of the parabasis is clearly the Dionysian festivals’ remote past. As the anapests open, the chorus distance themselves from “ancient” poet-directors (507 τις ἀνὴρ τῶν ἀρχαίων κωμῳδοδιδάσκαλος), and then redirect their thoughts to a previous generation of comic poets when they initiate the main discussion (519 τοὺς προτέρους τῶν ποιητῶν). From the information available to him, Aristophanes has deduced (518 διαγιγνώσκων) a historical pattern, namely that the audience betray poets in their old age. As I have already argued, “betrayal” as Aristophanes means it here blames the audience for the failure of individual poets to secure a victory, and this framing interest in contest outcomes is constantly reasserted in the review of the three poets’ victories and losses. Magnes’ many victories (521) are superseded by the disgrace of being rejected (525 ἐξεβλήθη) in the contests.75 The initial swell of applause for Cratinus (526) is transformed into recollections of victories now long past (535 τὰς προτέρας νίκας). Crates’ mixed record of victories and defeats concludes the discussion:€τοτὲ μὲν πίπτων, τοτὲ δ᾿ οὐχί (540).76 The term used to describe the whimsical nature of the audience’s support similarly directs attention to the practice of keeping a record for the festival contests; ἐπετείους (518), “yearly,” gives an impression of changing favor that is adequately explained by the annual register of a contest record.77 Finally, the second element in the name of Aristophanes’ theatrical dominatrix, Komoido-didaskalia, may bring with it the specific This does not necessarily undermine explanations of the historical nature of the Knights parabasis based on literary critical interest and different comic styles of specific poets (Neil (1901) 81; Rosen (1988) 38; Ruffell (2002) 147–8), but provides a didaskalic framework within which those comments are made. I find Aristophanes’ comments in this regard vague, apart from what he implies for Cratinus; see below nn. 83 and 85. 75 Compare the terminology used of Aristophanes’ defeat with Clouds in the didaskalic information provided by Hyp. II. 3 Dover:€᾿Αριστοφάνης ἀπορριφθεὶς παραλόγως κτλ. 76 Here πίπτων is parallel with ἐξεβλήθη of Magnes in 525. 77 Van Leeuwen (1900) ad loc., thinks instead of botanical metaphors (the scholiast thinks of birds), which is consistent with the implication of changefulness (i.e., “lasting only a year”; cf. Ach. 630, 632). But surely in the context of a discourse on the festival celebrations the term also carries its better attested meaning “repeated every year,” used (e.g.) of collecting tribute (Hdt. 5.49.6) and celebrating festivals (Hdt. 6.105.3); cf. Pi. I. 4.67. Slater (2002) 184, identifies a similarly playful allusion to the festival’s annual celebration at Ra. 16–18. Compare how the poet of AP 13.28 invokes “the Dionysiac Seasons” (Ὧραι … αἱ Διονυσιάδες) to recall the Akamantid tribe’s previous victories from the contest record. The expression in Aristophanes involves a humorous paradox, because epeteious looks simultaneously to the audience’s inconsistency and the festival’s regularity. 74

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sense the term acquired in a theater vocabulary. As Pickard-Cambridge observes, Aristotle’s Didaskaliai “no doubt took its title from the official language of the festival,”78 and the title of Cratinus’ Didaskaliai points in the same direction, especially since (as will be argued in Chapter 4) the comedy almost certainly focussed on themes of dramatic production and contest outcomes.79 In short, Aristophanes is interested in the essential information of contest records. He also takes it for granted that his audience will believe that he has accurate information about the competition records of the three poets he discusses, while implying an ability to examine them carefully enough to compare their careers to one another. By moving chronologically with regard both to the poets’ individual careers and their general relation to one another, his discussion provides a summary view of the history of comic competition. This point has been obscured by a popular interpretation of the parabasis, which suggests that Aristophanes forcefully wedged Cratinus between the long dead Magnes and Crates, who was surely retired and perhaps dead himself by this time, to heighten the depiction of him as a true “has been.”80 While the motive this interpretation attributes to Aristophanes is correct, it is inaccurate to say that he acted with complete neglect for the true chronology. The first column of the Victors List for the City Dionysia explains his arrangement:81 [ΧΙΟΝΙΔΗΣ]  ___ ___ .… . 9.… Σ Ι ___ [ΜΑΓΝΗ]Σ ΔΙ  .… 7 … Σ Ι [ΑΛΚΙΜΕ]ΝΗ[Σ] Ι …6…ΣΙ [ΕΥΦΡΟΝ]ΙΟΣ Ι 

(487/6)

(c. 480)

(459/8)

Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 71. At first glance, the contrast between plural didaskaliai (with a quasi-technical sense of “productions” and so “records of productions”) in Cratinus and Aristotle, and Aristophanes’ singular, might seem to preclude this interpretation. But even as Aristophanes creates a single female personification, in her relationship to the many competitions of Dionysia past, as well as her fluctuating attitudes at yearly celebrations, she represents a similar plurality. 80 Sommerstein (1981) 171; Hubbard (1991) 74–5; Biles (2002) 178; Ruffell (2002) 143 (acknowledging that “the chronological sequence is superficially followed”). My interpretation here expands on Biles (2001) 198. 81 IG II2 2325.39–53. The text presented here is based on Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112, and Olson (2007) 382–3. 78

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Inscribing poetic victory [ΕΚΦΑΝ]ΤΙΔΗΣ ΙΙΙΙ [ΚΡΑΤΙ]ΝΟΣ ΠΙ [ΔΙΟΠ]ΕΙΘΗΣ ΙΙ [ΚΡΑ]ΤΗΣ ΙΙΙ  [ΚΑΛΛΙΑ]Σ ΙΙ 

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(451/50) (447/6)

The inscription provides a relative chronology for the comic poets based on when they were first victorious at the festival; Aristophanes’ order is consistent with this presentation as well as with the chronology in the later scholarly tradition, which probably depended on the didaskalic tradition originating with Aristotle.82 In that case, the force of eita (526) at the beginning of the discussion of Cratinus may be as much temporal as rhetorical, since it emphasizes the chronological organization of Aristophanes’ thoughts that is essential to his discussion of the poets’ individual careers. By dealing with the poets’ records separately, according to a temporal scheme, Aristophanes at best generalizes about individual rivalries and competitive encounters at particular moments within their careers (most notably at 521 and 528), so that we seem to be presented with data for the competitive outcomes viewed retrospectively and with some emotional detachment. Indeed, it is left for the audience to deduce that the poets succeeded one another when a younger rival defeated his predecessor.83 Evidence for a similar way of viewing these poets’ careers is available in a Roman monumental inscription for the history of Athenian drama,84 in which the careers of the playwrights are presented discretely and in rough chronological order, with individual plays, going back well into the fifth century, collected and organized according to festival, place (1st through 5th), and then date. One of the larger fragments (IG XIV 1097), for instance, picks up at the end of Kallias’ career with his fourth- and fifth-place finishes, and continues with Lysippos’ didaskaliai, beginning Anon. De com., Prolegomena III, p. 7 lines 12–13 Koster = Crates test. 2a.4–5. From Σ VEΓΘM Eq. 537a (= Crates test. 3) and Anon. De com., Prolegomena III, p. 8 lines 26–7 Koster (= Crates test. 2a.5–6), we learn that Crates began his career as an actor for Cratinus, before becoming a poet in his own right. 83 But see Ruffell (2002), who attempts to bring out the sense of rivalry between the three poets that produced the succession. Ruffell 143, understands Eq. 525 to mean that Magnes “fell short” (ἀπελείφθη) in comparison with the new mode of comic abuse (i.e., τοῦ σκώπτειν) represented by Cratinus (cf. Sommerstein (1992) 24–5); I take this to mean that Magnes lost his abusive edge in his final years (note that Aristotle considered pointed mockery to be a traditional feature of Attic comedy, Po. 1449b5–8). Ruffell likewise understands Aristophanes to be pitting Crates against Cratinus in a conflict of styles (see his translation, p. 147), when in fact the point emphasized, as in the case of the other poets, is Crates’ struggle against the audience’s tendencies (Eq. 537). 84 For fifth-century comedy, IG XIV 1097; 1098a; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 120–2; Csapo and Slater (1994) 43. Other fragments are discussed by Morretti (1960). 82

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with his first victory at the City Dionysia. The reporting is fuller than in the Victors List, and resembles what Aristophanes purports to present, by allowing the reader to gauge the relation of victories and defeats within each poet’s career. The evidence of IG II2 2318–25 demonstrates that from an early point contest information was analyzed and presented in different ways, to draw attention to specific elements of the contests. Aristophanes anticipates this type of analysis (again 518 διαγιγνώσκων) and shows that the organizing rationale of the Roman monument could already be contemplated in looking back over the fifth century. That Aristophanes was familiar with some details of the career of Cratinus and perhaps Crates is to be expected. But the same cannot be said of Magnes, whose career likely ended well before he was born and who would therefore be accessible to a young poet of the 420s only through formal inquiry. Precisely in the case of Magnes, however, further signs of record-keeping attract attention.85 Aristophanes says that Magnes won the most victories in the comic competitions (521), and I argued above that his superlative pleista is based on phrasing in commemorative inscriptions and epinician poetry. Whereas we cannot check the accuracy of the anonymous poet’s claim in IG I3 833bis, we do know that Magnes won eleven times at the Dionysia, a total that in fact appears to be the “most”;86 so far as we can tell, only Cratinus approached his record, with nine career victories. In the course of learning this detail about Magnes, Aristophanes may also have found out which of his plays were successful. That, at least, is how one ancient scholar understood him; the scholia on line 522 report that behind the five participles describing productions that earned Magnes praise in the Theater are the titles of five comedies. Of these, only Lydoi is confirmed by other sources (frr. 3–4). But far from disproving the scholiast’s interpretation, this correspondence may strengthen his explanation, since so little of Magnes’ poetry has been preserved.87 The emphasis on Ruffell (2002) 143, states that “the chorus’ remarks about Magnes himself are vague and do not seem to use or anticipate substantive knowledge of his oeuvre or its end.” This is true only if we expect to find evidence of literary quality and comic style, instead of didaskalic detail. 86 The notice of Magnes’ eleven victories in Anon. De com., Prolegomena III, p. 8 line 18 Koster = Magnes test. 3.5 allows with near certainty the supplement of Magnes’ name for a poet with that number of victories listed in IG II2 2325.50 (quoted above) for the early period of comic competition at the City Dionysia. 87 Eight fragments and four independently confirmed titles survive for what must have been rather more than eleven plays, even on a very optimistic rate of success. Σ VEΓΘMLh Eq. 522a gives the titles Barbiton Players, Birds, Lydoi, Psenas, and Frogs. We should keep in mind that such information was readily available to ancient scholars, who had other resources besides the plays themselves from which to learn titles of an author’s works. Kassel–Austin accept the scholiast’s interpretation. Spyropoulos (1975) rejects it (cf. Sommerstein (1981) 522–3n.); but the proposed alternative 85

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victories and defeats, the chronological patterning, and the attempt to register titles make it look as though Aristophanes is self-consciously creating the impression of a literary transcript of a contest record. But as the coercive rhetoric of the parabasis suggests, Aristophanes had no interest in producing a contest record that was neutral in its accuracy, only one that cast him in as favorable a light as possible. For his purposes, this meant making Cratinus appear an unworthy competitor, and the strategy he adopted was to emphasize his rival’s age and imply that he was unfit to compete in the late 420s. To this end, the selection of Crates was of the utmost importance. Crates was an unlikely candidate for inclusion in the Knights parabasis on two counts.88 With only three victories to his name, he was in a different category altogether from Magnes, with eleven, and Cratinus, who likely had eight when Knights was performed.89 Aristotle attached importance to the way Crates constructed plots (Po. 1449b8–9 καθόλου ποιεĩν λόγους καὶ μύθους), but this is different from Aristophanes’ interest in this parabasis.90 Aristophanes has noticeably the least to say about Crates and may even draw attention to his modest output with ἀπὸ σμικρᾶς δαπάνης (538).91 It is also difficult to imagine that with so few plays, his three victories created any pattern of the type Aristophanes initially claims (519) to have observed in all three careers. When he reaches the final discussion, however, he makes no attempt to make Crates’ career fit this pattern; rather “sometimes failing, sometimes not” (540) implies a career that did not fall into neat halves, as is suggested for the other two poets.92 Optimistically, we might assume that Aristophanes remained of references to acting roles makes little sense in this parabasis, where the interest is in producing plays not in performing as an actor in them. The contest for actors was never part of the festivals as Magnes experienced them, and was therefore presumably without a reliable form of documentation; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 124–5. In further support of the scholiast’s interpretation, Aristophanes employs a comparable strategy of allusion in his discussion of Cratinus, where instead of hinting at titles, he cites verses from comedies treated as representative of Cratinus’ competitive successes early in his career (Eq. 529–30); cf. Geissler (1925) 24. The two quotations are apparently attributed to the same play by Σ VEΓ3ΘM Eq. 530a, though there is confusion in the sources between Eumenides and Euneidai (see K–A). 88 On the false impression of Crates’ dominance and significant place in the Aristophanic annals of theater competition, see Ruffell (2002) 143, 147. 89 See above, n. 1. 90 Though see Ruffell (2002) 147–8, for an attempt to connect Aristophanes’ ἐπινοίας (Eq. 539) with Arist. Po. 1449b5–9. 91 The ancient biographical tradition assigned seven or eight plays to Crates (test. 1, 2, 4); Kassel– Austin have 11 titles, several of them disputed. Sommerstein (1981) 538n., understands the “small cost” as a reference to Crates’ putative avoidance of elaborate costuming. 92 Aristophanes could have maintained an impression of continuity by reversing the emphasis to (e.g.) “sometimes winning, sometimes not.” We must take his word that Magnes’ rate of success declined markedly toward the end of his career; certainly Aristophanes is eager to create this

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faithful to the record of a checkered career he found attested for Crates. Nonetheless, since Crates does not fit the stated parameters of the parabasis’ argument, we would do better to look for a different explanation. The attraction of Crates as the third poet, I suggest, was that he began his career after Cratinus, but ended it early enough to be regarded as one of the proteroi.93 Since his first victory was in 450 (Jerome makes him clarus in that year) and he composed a relatively small number of plays, most likely his accomplishments were only a memory in 425. Moreover, Crates’ certain absence from the Lenaian Victors List suggests that his career did not overlap with the organization of dramatic competitions at that festival sometime in the 440s long enough for him to leave a mark there. Aristophanes’ selection was thus made with studious care to imply that entire generations of poets had come and gone since Cratinus entered the competitions, making it all the easier to see him as a relic of the past. Further light can be shed on Aristophanes’ strategy by considering the poets he did not include. Telecleides, with eight victories attested in the inscriptions, was in one sense a more logical successor to Cratinus, given the parabasis’ interest in competitive success and defeat. But Aristophanes overlooked him, presumably because he was still active in the Theater.94 Once we see how Aristophanes operated, the full force of his representation of Cratinus is revealed. He did not have to create a chronology for the theater wholesale to relegate his defeated rival to the past. Rather, he attended with a distorting lens to what the records showed and presented a “reality” far more insulting than any flight of pure poetic fancy could be. With Aristophanes’ victory the Dionysian Seasons have marched on, leaving Cratinus in the past. Meanwhile, the persona of a cautious student of comic drama takes on a new level of meaning, as we are made to believe that his training has led to serious research into the contests’ history. impression through repetition (520 ἅμα ταῖς πολιαῖς κατιούσαις, 524 ἐπὶ γήρως¸ οὐ γὰρ ἐφ̓ ἥβης, 525 πρεσβύτης). In Cratinus’ case, the contrasting discussions of “then” and “now” maintain this pattern (cf. 533 γέρων ὢν περιέρρει), and the withered crown and reference to “former victories” create an impression of a current slump. Here the Victors List may be of help, since the first of Cratinus’ three Lenaian victories came soon after that contest was established (he is fourth in that list). But since the date for the institution of the competition (c.445–440) is derived by working back through the list (see Olson (2007) 387–8; Rusten (2006b)), it is difficult to say how early this was and where Cratinus’ other Lenaian victories fell. The odds are against a victory during the four years previous to Knights, if Phrynichus, Myrtilus, Eupolis, and Aristophanes must be fit into the years 429–425:€see above n. 2. 93 Cf. Biles (2001) 196–7; Ruffell (2002) 143. 94 Telecleides’ first victory belongs to the mid- to late-440s (see Olson (2007) 384–5), and his eight victories might easily have extended into the 420s, especially if a date of c.440 for the inauguration of comic contests at the Lenaia (where he won five times) is considered. Apseudeis, which may belong to Telecleides, dates to the 420s:€Geissler (1925) 29–30.

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A major irony in our evidence for Old Comedy is that we know less about Aristophanes’ record in the contests than we do about other poets whose work survives only through chance citations and tattered papyri. He belongs in the Victors List for the Lenaia at a point where a column breaks off, while in the City Dionysia list the second half of his name is restored. We thus do not know how many times he took the prize at either contest, and cannot say to what degree his favor among later readers was shared by contemporary audiences. As I have argued, the Knights parabasis is presented as a document of poetic agonism that simultaneously assaults an active rival, proclaims Aristophanes’ own merits on the basis of his victory with Acharnians, and activates the practice of commemoration and record-keeping to inscribe that victory in poetic form for all of Athens to see. The poeticizing of these ideas in Knights extends further, through the interaction of the parabasis with the dramatic plot. P ol i t ic a l a n d p oe t ic s uc c e s s ion Connections between Aristophanes’ self-presentation and major themes in the plot of Knights have long been noted. In the scheme presented in the parabasis, Aristophanes stands as the last of four comic poets struggling with their rivals to secure the favor of an audience whose unreliability offers no guarantee that anyone will enjoy the glories of dramatic victory for long. The succession at whose end Aristophanes places himself transfers to the Theater the paradigm of political succession already presented in the Paphlagonian’s oracle in the opening scene (128–43), where it was prophesied that the Sausage-seller would ascend to power after three consecutive sellers of other wares€– a hemp merchant, a sheep merchant, and a tanner (i.e., Cleon).95 Within the broadly framed parallel provided by the succession theme, a more specific point of comparison lies in the vicissitudes of political leadership that underlie the plot (40–70). Demos’ fickle attitude toward rival demagogues is instrumental here; the idea drives the action and especially its agonistic element, as the two rivals try repeatedly to curry favor with him (esp. 873–4, 942–71, 1097–1101). In his characteristic ambivalence, Demos closely resembles the Theater audience described in the parabasis,96 an identification that finds better support in the reality that, as representative gatherings of the dēmos, the Assembly and Theater Hubbard (1991) 77–8; Bowie (1993) 63–6; Slater (2002) 77. That a portrait mask of the demagogue was involved (Eq. 230–2), seems unlikely:€Dover (1967) and Olson (1999) with bibliography; in general, Stone (1984) 31–8. 96 Harriott (1986) 21. 95

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were in rhetorical and ideological terms one and the same.97 In the festival contests, representatives of each of the ten political tribes that made up the Athenian dēmos were impaneled as judges; similarly, Demos is officially instated as judge of the competition between the Paphlagonian and the Sausage-seller (746–9) at the very point when their antagonism becomes more rigidly structured through the poetic form of the epirrhematic agon (756–940). The victory toward which the plot of Knights is accordingly directed is a matter of mutual interest for the Sausage-seller and Aristophanes, as the kommation makes clear (see above), and combines with other points of contact in Aristophanes’ stage biography that€– as typically in a parabasis€– stabilize the dramatic performance by treating it as a feature of the poet’s identity.98 The chorus’ support for the Sausage-seller in his battle with the Paphlagonian (e.g., 225–9, 240–6, 453–60) is now presented as a basis for their support for Aristophanes as well, since he has the same enemies they do and nobly closes in against the typhoon that is Cleon (509–11).99 That observation has wider implications as well. The chorus’ assertions about their poet’s bravery in facing this storm (511), their description of his thorough nautical training (541–4), and their request for a naval-style victory (546–7) all serve to link the Aristophanes presenting this play with a pervasive metaphor of the larger plot, which envisions Cleon/the Paphlagonian as a storm threatening the ship of state, in whose defense the Sausage-seller is similarly buffeted.100 The framing parallel of the succession theme casts Aristophanes and the Sausage-seller as both opposing an established order€– the former against the older poets,101 the latter against the entrenched domination of Cleon and his predecessors. By contrast, therefore, youthfulness becomes an identifying feature for both:€ Aristophanes as a young poet reflects the youthful status of the Sausage-seller.102 Because of their youthfulness and inexperience, both the Sausage-seller (178–9, 182, 211–12, 222–4) and Aristophanes (513–16, 541, 545) express uncertainty about their ability See especially Henderson (1990) 285–7, though as Sommerstein (1998) argues, their collective temperament and political persuasion may have been different; cf. Heath (1997) 237–8. ╇ 98 For the points made below, cf. Solomos (1974) 99–101; Hubbard (1991) 77–8. ╇ 99 For Cleon as storm, cf. Σ VEΓΘMLh Eq. 511b and V. 1033. 100 Especially 430–41, 756–62. See Edmunds (1987) 5–16, for a systematic analysis of the disturbance metaphor and Cleon in Knights. 101 See especially 507, 519, 541–4. For conflict between old and new poets during the 420s, cf. Russo (1994) 19–20; Gelzer (1970) 1407; Biles (2001); Olson (2007) 21–2:€see, however, the reservations of Rusten (2006b). 102 Above all, Eq. 611; cf. the Sausage-seller’s worry about “becoming a man” at 178–9, 1254–5. His youthful identity may have been emphasized by the structure of a rite of passage (Bowie (1993) 52), as well as by his mask; see Stone (1984) 41, on masks of younger men. ╇ 97

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to succeed in the struggles into which they have been thrust, and again the chorus’ role as ally is instrumental to the success of both. In short, the playwright and his character are engaged in overlapping struggles to weather the threats of political and poetic rivals. These correspondences are complemented by another set of parallels that connect Cleon and Cratinus.103 As noted above, Cleon is consistently likened to an elemental force of destruction that cows his rivals into submission (845 ἁπαξάπαντας τοὺς ἐμοὺς ἐχθροὺς ἐπιστομίζειν); indeed, he threatens to wash the Sausage-seller away in just this manner as he comes on stage in preparation for the contest before Demos, “driving up a towering wave and causing destructive confusion, as though he will swallow me up” (692–3 ὠθῶν κολόκυμα καὶ ταράττων καὶ κυκῶν, | ὡς δὴ καταπιόμενός με). In the description of comic poets in the parabasis, those qualities are transferred to Cratinus, who bursts into the description as a raging torrent that similarly sweeps away all natural obstacles and human rivals (526–8).104 More overtly still, in their comments during the initial stages of antagonism between the Paphlagonian and the Sausage-seller, the chorus slip easily between their shared hatred for Cleon and their disgust for Cratinus: εἴ σε μὴ μισῶ, γενοίμην ἐν Κρατίνου κῴδιον καὶ διδασκοίμην προᾴδειν Μορσίμου τραγῳδίᾳ.

(Knights 400–1)

If I don’t hate you, may I become a blanket in Cratinus’ house and be trained to sing in a tragedy by Morsimus.

With these remarks, the chorus noticeably fluctuate between their dramatic role and their extradramatic identity as a group of choreutai trained for a dramatic competition, as the reference to Morsimus makes clear.105 With Cratinus implicated in the conflict with Cleon that structures the contest of the dramatic plot, the internal and external agons are now intertwined. Accordingly, this maneuver pointedly reinforces “Demosthenes”’ attempt just before this to enlist the Theater audience (225–8 καὶ τῶν θεατῶν ὅστις ἐστὶ δεξιός) among the allies the Sausage-seller can rely on in his attempt to bring Cleon down.106 Aristophanes is here already looking Sidwell (1995) 71, 78, speculates that there may actually have been a well-known association between Cratinus and Cleon. 104 At Eq. 137 Cleon is specifically portrayed as a river in spate; cf. Ach. 381; V. 1034. 105 Slater (2002) 73. 106 Cf. Rosen (2007) 81–2. For the identification of the two slaves of the prologue as Demosthenes and Nikias, see Dover (1959) and Sommerstein (1980b); criticism of this position in Henderson (2003). 103

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past his plot and mustering the support he will need to win the poetic competition; it is the dexioi whom he identifies as his special constituency in the Theater, both in earlier (Ach. 629) and subsequent parabases (Nu. 521, 527; V. 1059, cf. 65–6).107 Not surprisingly, his reputation in this regard became fodder for Cratinus’ mockery of his younger rival: τίς δὲ σύ; κομψός τις ἔροιτο θεατής, ὑπολεπτολόγος, γνωμιδιώκτης, εὐριπιδαριστοφανίζων108

(Cratin. fr. 342)

Who are you?, some clever spectator might ask, a super-subtle, idea-chasing, euripid-aristophanizer.

Content and meter (anapests) suggest a parabasis, leaving little doubt that the fragment preserves a glimpse of Cratinus’ rejoinders to Aristophanes’ agonistic posturing.109 The criticism obviously belongs to the mid- to late420s, when the two poets were competing against one another in the Theater, and it has been suggested that the lines are from Pytine (423).110 They might just as well, however, be part of a challenge issued against Knights. The most remarkable feature of the fragment, after all€– and the one on which Cratinus must have calculated his audience would seize€– is the conflation of Euripides with Aristophanes, which surely refers to Acharnians, making the most likely date for Cratinus’ remarks the Lenaia of 424, when he had the chance to respond to the altered situation in the Theater with Satyrs.111 In that case, as Aristophanes used the parabasis in Knights to respond to criticism of his poetic immaturity, Cratinus shifted to a new point of weakness, characterizing his rival as overly intellectual and out of touch with popular tastes.112 In its immediate context, the chorus’ extension of their hatred of Cleon to Cratinus in 400–1 must have been understood as a reflex of competition that grafted festival rivalries onto the dramatic plot. Our understanding of the way these passages in Knights relate to one another may be enhanced by the comment of a scholiast, who suggests that the point of mocking Cratinus’ blanket in 400 is to introduce criticism of the aged Cf. Dover (1968) 148n.; (1993) 13–14. For a comma at the end of the first verse, see Conti Bizzarro (1999) 96 and Olson (2007) 110; K–A print a period. 109 Whittaker (1935) 188. 110 See K–A ad loc.; Ruffell (2002) 160. 111 No fragments of the play survive. 112 Aristophanes apparently replies in fr. 488. O’Sullivan (2006) suggests Cratin. fr. 342 postdates 421, based primarily on a possible intertextual relationship with Pax 42–7; the direction of influence could be reversed, with different implications for interpretation. 107 108

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poet’s dissolute state caused by overindulgence in wine, a point taken up in elaborate and scathing detail in the parabasis.113 The connections identified by the scholiast could not be fully appreciated by the audience until they heard the later passage, though some evidence suggests that Aristophanes’ criticisms of his rival distorted features of a preexisting stage biography crafted by Cratinus himself.114 In favor of the scholiast’s general interpretation, however, the conflation of hatred (400 μισῶ) for Cleon and Cratinus is amplified in the parabasis, when the chorus proclaim their commitment to Aristophanes based on their hostility to the same people (510 ὅτι τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἡμĩν μισεĩ).115 Recalling this bond is a fitting prelude to a passage whose most far-reaching objective is to articulate Aristophanes’ rivalry with the same veteran poet. The metapoetics of hatred thus operates squarely in support of the Sausage-seller, Aristophanes, and in the last instance of Knights itself.116 As in Acharnians, so too in Knights the objective of defeating Cratinus is worked out in later scenes, in advance of the vote in the Theater. When the Sausage-seller returns after the parabasis, the chorus greets him, ὦ φίλτατ̓ ἀνδρῶν καὶ νεανικώτατε (611); the final adjective, “most youthful,” helps strengthen the identification with Aristophanes, who had just been presented to the audience as a relative neophyte in the dramatic competitions. In addition, the audience may hear a pun on νικ- roots that transfers the parabasis’ concentration on poetic victory over to the main plot. Certainly the chorus immediately express anxiety about the outcome of the Sausage-seller’s contest in the Boule (614):€πῶς τὸ πρᾶγμ̓ ἠγωνίσω; The Sausage-seller replies with his own νικ- pun, by renaming himself Nikoboulos (615), thus realizing the chorus’ prayers for victory in the kommation (500–2). With this first success behind him, in the second half of the play he faces a greater show-down with the Paphlagonian in the presence of Demos himself. ΣVEΓ3ΘM Eq. 400. Ruffell (2002) 145, questions the scholiast’s interpretation. Biles (2002), and Chapter 4; Bakola (2008) 12–15. 115 In a play driven by venomous acrimony, it is surprising that the verb μισεῖν does not appear more often. The only other appearance of the word before the parabasis (used one final time at 767) is in the passage discussed above, where Demosthenes uses shared hatred (μισοῦντες αὐτόν, 226) to muster stage characters and then the audience as allies in support of the play’s grand design against Cleon. 116 Other elements that may point to the conflation of Cratinus and Cleon are the reflection of Cleon’s enjoyment of prohedria in the Theater (702–4) and meals in the prytaneion (709, 766) in the “honors” sarcastically proposed for Cratinus (535–6), as well as the recollection of Cratinus qua broken lyre (532–3) in Aristophanes’ mockery of Cleon’s failed training in lyre-playing (985–96). Cf. the mocking pun on δῶρον in 996 and in the Cratinean quotation at 529. 113

114

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We may pass over most of these scenes and pick matters up with the curious lyric exchange between Demos and the chorus toward the end of the play (1111–50), where the idea of fickleness, on which the association between Demos and Theater audience in the parabasis was based, is recalled and set in the foreground. Up to this point, Demos consistently appears foolish and easily misled. But now he suddenly claims that his gullibility is only a façade, describing how he purposefully fattens up politicians so long as they suit his needs. The oracles notwithstanding, here the pleasure Demos derives from his relationship with the demagogues is his exclusive prerogative (1125 αὐτός τε γὰρ ἥδομαι); meanwhile the succession in leadership is a result of his decision to devote himself to only one leader at a time (1127–8 βούλομαι | τρέφειν ἕνα προστάτην). The passage has been interpreted as either redeeming Demos’ character or endowing him with a ruthless quality as unsettling as anything suggested about the demagogues up to this point.117 One unmistakable result, however, is that Demos places himself decisively in control of the spectacles of political competition and prepares to deal with the rivals for his attention with as much self-interest as the audience deals with comic poets. Indeed, his plan to turn the tables (1141–50) recalls the audience’s betrayal of poets (519 προδιδόντας) once they cease to serve a purpose. Immediately after this revelation, the final stage of the competition begins, as the rivals attempt to win Demos’ favor by offering him various delicacies (1151–1204). This juncture allows the plot to take advantage of a thematic equation of food and politics that has been operative throughout the play, above all in the Sausage-seller’s account of his victory over Cleon in the Council.118 The ridiculous maneuvers the Sausage-seller and Cleon put themselves through to win Demos overall bear a close resemblance to revelations made in the parabasis about the lengths to which poets go to keep themselves in the audience’s good graces. Magnes, for instance, never tired of undergoing theriomorphic transmutations to keep the audience’s favor (522–3), but ultimately fell afoul of them when he ran short of comic inspiration (525 τοῦ σκώπτειν ἀπελείφθη). In the final round of competition, the Sausage-seller and Cleon more closely resemble Crates, who from his modest cupboard did all he could to respond to the audience’s hunger (538–9):€ὃς ἀπὸ σμικρᾶς δαπάνης ὑμᾶς ἀριστίζων ἀπέπεμπεν, | ἀπὸ See Landfester (1967) 68–73; Brock (1986) 22–6; Hesk (2000) 248–56; Harder (1997); Reinders (1995), who summarizes earlier positions. 118 645–82; cf. 280–3, 353–8, 715, 778, 813–16, 1007–9, 1031–4, 1100–2. Cf. Brock (1986) 19; Hubbard (1991) 69. 117

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κραμβοτάτου στόματος μάττων ἀστειοτάτας ἐπινοίας.119 The worlds of political and theatrical competition presented in the play operate on the premise of immediate gratification, with the appeal to Demos’ appetites reflected in the parabasis, where the demanding audience is constantly reminded that the poets’ efforts all take their bearing from them (518 ὑμᾶς, 522 ὑμĩν, 531 ὑμεĩς, 537 ὑμῶν). With the stakes of the dramatic plot thus becoming closely aligned with the dramatic agon as it was presented earlier, it is fitting that Demos’ chief concern in searching for a means of finally settling the contest, is to do so in a way that will make the audience think that he has judged wisely: τῷ δῆτ̓ ἂν ὑμᾶς χρησάμενος τεκμηρίῳ δόξαιμι κρίνειν τοĩς θεαταĩσιν σοφῶς;

(Knights 1209–10)

Using what proof would I seem to the audience to judge you wisely?

One effect of this gesture, as Niall Slater observes, is to point the way toward a broader identification between the audience and Demos in the final scenes.120 In particular, by pressing his identification with the dēmos in its theatrical aspect, Demos encourages the audience to view the outcome of the contest as commensurate with its own response to the play’s performance. As in the appeal for the clever audience (δεξιός:€228, 233) to become allies in the performance at the start of the conflict, likewise here at the end emphasis falls on their appreciation of Aristophanic “cleverness” (1210 σοφῶς). The terms of the decision entail a final recollection of Crates’ experience in the Theater, since giving the audience all one has is agreed to be the surest sign that a contestant deserves to win. The Sausage-seller’s empty hamper, in contrast with the delicacies the Paphlagonian hoarded for himself, proves his generosity and earns him Demos’ favor (1211–28). The scene now moves quickly to an end, but not before the Paphlagonian is deprived of the crown he wore in token of his place of honor in Demos’ affections: οἴμοι, πέπρακται τοῦ θεοῦ τὸ θέσφατον. κυλίνδετ̓ εἴσω τόνδε τὸν δυσδαίμονα. ὦ στέφανε, χαίρων ἄπιθι˙ καί σ̓ ἄκων ἐγὼ λείπω˙ σὲ δ̓ ἄλλος τις λαβὼν κεκτήσεται, κλέπτης μὲν οὐκ ἂν μᾶλλον, εὐτυχὴς δ̓ ἴσως.

(Knights 1248–52) Reckford (1987) 127; Hubbard (1991) 77–8; Bowie (1993) 65.╇╅

119

╇ Slater (2002) 80.

120

128

Aristophanes' poetic tropation Alas, the god’s will has been done. Roll me within, in all my ruin. Farewell, garland! It is against my wishes that I leave you. Another shall take you into his possession, no greater thief, but perhaps more fortunate.

The Paphlagonian’s cries are punctuated by tragic parodies, which lend a charged tone to this culminating moment and disrupt the dramatic illusion as he asks to be “wheeled off stage” on the ekkyklēma.121 His crown is now ceremoniously transferred to the Sausage-seller’s head (1227–8), and its agonistic significance is reinforced when its new wearer immediately offers it to “Hellenic Zeus” as a victory dedication (1253 σὸν τὸ νικητήριον).122 That gesture of gratitude for divine assistance in the contest is followed by the Sausage-seller being hailed as the new victor (1254):€ ὦ χαĩρε, καλλίνικε.123 The bold appeal to the audience in Demos’ attempt in 1209–10 to fuse his judgment with the reception of Aristophanes’ play at the Lenaia establishes a feeling of camaraderie between skēnē and theatron, such that the audience becomes complicit in the Sausage-seller’s enterprise. That effect is taken further in the sequence that follows the second parabasis (1264–1315). The actors enter for the last time under a proclamation by the Sausage-seller (known as Agorakritos since 1257) to observe holy silence (1316 εὐφημεĩν χρὴ καὶ στόμα κλῄειν), which forecasts an atmosphere of religious festival celebration to frame the final glorification of the victory over the Paphlagonian.124 In closing his proclamation, the Sausage-seller goes further in drawing the audience into the mood of exultation for what he has accomplished on stage (1316–18):€χ ρὴ … ἐπὶ καιναĩσιν δ̓ εὐτυχίαισιν παιωνίζειν τὸ θέατρον. While the paian-song he requests is connected with healing and in this sense ties together nicely with the healing and salvation the Sausage-seller is about to bring to Demos (1321–36), paeans also marked the successful outcome of major undertakings and thus had associations with victory.125 Internally, the requested paean reinforces the 1249 = E. Bellerophon fr. 311; 1250–2 = E. Alc. 177–82. Sommerstein (1981) 1253n., explains Aristophanes’ choice of the Doric form of the adjective (̒Ελλάνιε) by reference to Zeus’ cult-title on Aegina and Aristophanes’ possible connection to that island (cf. Ach. 652–4). 123 It makes no difference to this interpretation whether 1254–6 are delivered by “Demosthenes” (as in RV; Sommerstein (1981) ad loc.) or by the coryphaeus, as argued by Russo (1994) 86–7. 124 Hence the chorus’ expectation (1320) of streets filled with the smoke of public sacrifices. On εὐφημεῖν:€Sommerstein (1981) 1317n.; cf. Ach. 237 with Olson (2002); Av. 959 with Dunbar (1995); Ra. 354 with Dover (1993). 125 Already at Il. 22.391–4 with Richardson (1993); cf. Pl. Criti. 108c. The association is particularly strong in Aristophanes’ closing formula, e.g., Av. 1764–5 (with Dunbar (1995)â•–), where the 121

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Sausage-seller’s immediately preceding victory, but its position at the end of his proclamation gives “the audience” special emphasis. By forcefully extending the festive mood beyond the stage, the request orchestrates acclamation directed towards victory in the Theater, initiating the process of converting the hero’s success to Aristophanes’ own advantage in the Lenaia competition. The emphasis on novelty with καιναĩσιν in 1318 may thus be significant, since the term fits within Aristophanes’ claims for the merits of his poetry.126 In coordination with these epinikian themes, the final scene also concerns itself with the disposition of the vanquished Paphlagonian, whose days in the limelight are over. He will now take up the Sausage-seller’s trade at the city gates and spend his days in a drunken stupor, abusing whores and drinking run-off from the baths (1397–1401). This image of a disgraced former rival, who has been dispossessed of power and influence, leaving him an object of public loathing rather than admiration, bears a more than passing resemblance to the description of Cratinus in the parabasis. With his fall from public favor in the Theater, Cratinus too has become dissolute and despised, babbling unintelligibly (531 παραληροῦντ̓; cf. 536) as he wanders aimlessly about the city (533 περιέρρει), a washed-up symposiast dying of thirst (534 δίψῃ δ̓ ἀπολωλώς).127 By an exquisite irony, in the final verses of the play (1404–5) the Sausage-seller is invited to dine in the Prytaneion in a seat of honor, something tauntingly suggested as an appropriate reward for Cratinus’ poetic services (535).128 On the face of it, the latter’s “honorific” reward of a reserved seat beside Dionysos (536) is less degrading than what lies in store for the Paphlagonian, but no less offensive in view of the insult it delivers. Both adversaries are unequivocally retired from active competition and removed from consideration, the Paphlagonian to a marginal wasteland away from public business, Cratinus to the fringes of theatrical activity. Many commentators have been uneasy with the ending of Knights, because it lacks the boisterous celebration of plays such as Acharnians. The point is not without interest for the present discussion, since my emphasis is on how Aristophanes (and presumably other poets) took advantage of call for a paean is followed by the victor’s cry τήνελλα καλλίνικος; similarly at Lys. 1291–3, with Henderson (1987). Cf. Sommerstein (1981) 1318n. 126 Especially Nu. 545–8:€V. 1044, 1052–3; cf. Zanetto (2006) 319. 127 The emphasis on Cleon’s abusive tongue (1400 λοιδορήσεται) provides a further point of comparison to Cratinus’ vitriolic brand of comedy. 128 The scholia on 1405 take εἰς τὴν ἕδραν as a final reference to Cleon’s prohedria; cf. MacDowell (1995) 105. See the Sausage-seller’s wish (703–4) to see the Paphlagonian removed from his seat of honor at the front of the Theater and moved to the very back row.

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the culminating celebratory mood to bridge the performance with the prospective epinikian celebration. There may be some merit, for instance, to the theory that traditional celebratory hymns, with which the play originally ended, were not authored by Aristophanes and therefore not transmitted in the manuscript tradition.129 But the preceding discussion has drawn attention to triumphal elements in the closing movements, most notably in the award of a victory crown to the Sausage-seller and the mood of exultation introduced by the frame of festival celebration. With the latter we perhaps see Aristophanes’ tentative adaptation of the closing epinikian movement of Acharnians based on a celebration of the Choes contest€– a maneuver that may have been recommended by the success of that play. Comparison to Acharnians may thus help draw Aristophanes’ deployment of epinikian elements in Knights into sharper relief. The victor’s cry€ – ὦ χαĩρε, καλλίνικε (1254)€ – that goes up as the Sausage-seller receives his crown is reminiscent of the more extensive use Aristophanes made of Archilochus’ epinikian song in the triumphal exodus of Dikaiopolis (Ach. 1227–34).130 A more blatant connection with the previous year’s comedy is the introduction of the thirty-year spondai, which the Sausage-seller hands over to Demos in the final scene (1388–95).131 This is an unexpected turn, the more so because Knights has not been a peace play as such up to this point.132 The synoptic recollection of Acharnians is acutely felt, because as in that play (esp. Ach. 201–2) the spondai are connected with a return to the countryside (1394–5 εἰς τοὺς ἀγροὺς | αὐτὰς ἰέναι λαβόντα). Demos’ response in 1390–1 (ὦ Ζεῦ πολυτίμηθ᾿, ὡς καλαί πρὸς τῶν θεῶν, | ἔξεστιν αὐτῶν κατατριακοντουτίσαι;) makes it clear that the spondai were represented on stage as attractive females, who introduce the prospect of sexual pleasure as a feature of victory, already familiar from Dikaiopolis’ appearance for the finale supported by two prostitutes (Ach. 1199–1201, 1216–17, 1220–1).133 Most significant of all is the handling of the exodus, as it can be reconstructed from the final five lines:134 Van Leeuwen (1900) 239; Sommerstein (1981) 220. Rogers (1910) 199, suggests that Aristophanes did not wish to enliven the “funereal procession” marking the Paphlagonian’s demise with a jubilant performance. More boldly still, Russo (1994) 84, imagines a parade-like scene drawing attention to Aristophanes himself. 130 Similarly at Av. 1765. 131 Cf. van Leeuwen (1900) 1388n.; MacDowell (1995) 105. 132 See, however, 794–6, 805–8, which likewise smack of situations treated in Acharnians. 133 Estimates for the number of female spondai on stage range from thirty (scholia ad loc.) to one (Russo (1994) 83–4); cf. Rogers (1910) 1388n.; Sommerstein (1981) 1389n. 134 See Revermann (2006a) 117–18. 129

Political and poetic succession καί σ̓ ἀντὶ τούτων εἰς τὸ πρυτανεĩον καλῶ εἰς τὴν ἕδραν θ̓, ἵν᾽ ἐκεĩνος ἧσθ̓ ό φαρμακός. ἕπου δὲ ταυτηνὶ λαβὼν τὴν βατραχίδα˙ κἀκεĩνον ἐκφερέτω τις ὡς ἐπὶ τὴν τέχνην, ἵν̓ ἴδωσιν αὐτόν, οἷς ἐλωβᾶθ̓, οἱ ξένοι.

131

(Knights 1404–8)

For these services I invite you to the Prytaneion, to the seat in which this pharmakos used to sit. Come along, taking this frog-green cloak. As for him€– let someone escort him to his trade, so that the foreigners he abused can see him.

Demos here emphasizes the reversed positions of the Sausage-seller and the Paphlagonian by pointing to their contrasting destinations after the performance. This juxtaposition is reminiscent of the treatment of Dikaiopolis and Lamachus at the end of Acharnians, where emphasis likewise falls on the honors accruing to the hero and the disgrace of the fallen general. In that case I hypothesized contrasting exits, with the victorious Dikaiopolis carried aloft through the eastern parodos toward the Street of Tripods beyond the Theater. A contrasting departure appears to be envisioned in Knights as well, since the Sausage-seller accompanies Demos, while an unidentified figure (1407 τις) leads the Paphlagonian off stage. In Knights we can be more certain that the Sausage-seller and Demos walk together toward the victory monuments, since this was the most direct route to the heart of the city in the Agora and the Prytaneion. The Prytaneion is repeatedly associated in the play with luxurious dining,135 and the audience will have been in little doubt about the implications of the direction of their departure: Demos and the Sausage-seller are on their way to a celebratory feast. In short, while the epinikian resonances are muted and in some instances left only partially developed in comparison with the daringly metatheatrical ending of Acharnians, they nonetheless make an unmistakable contribution to the closing of Knights. In one respect at least, the play’s finale can be regarded as a brilliant competitive tactic:€whereas Acharnians revelled in Dikaiopolis’ personal victory, Knights makes it clear that the victory belongs to both the hero and Demos. The acclamation for the Sausageseller, which largely takes place before the second parabasis, merges in the final scene with a greater celebration for the rejuvenated Demos; his follies when he was deceived by past advisors cannot be forgotten (1337–57), but 135

╇ 167, 280–1, 535, 709, 766.

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the future looks bright for him€– which is to say, for the audience itself.136 It is difficult not to believe that Aristophanes is trying to ingratiate himself to the Athenians; certainly this closing vision of harmony between the hero and Demos offers a final analogy with the parabasis, by presenting the conditions for victory at the dramatic competitions in the struggle to earn popular appeal. knights

i n p oe t ic m e mor y

Aristophanes himself may provide the most useful commentary on how the political conflict at the heart of Knights is reducible to objectives having to do primarily with the poetic contest, for the assault on Cleon in the play became a staple of his self-congratulatory rhetoric in subsequent years. Already in Clouds at the next City Dionysia, he complains that the Athenians followed up their acclaim for his play almost immediately by reelecting the demagogue to the generalship (Nu. 581–7).137 Nonetheless, Aristophanes repeatedly refers to the attack on Cleon in Knights as his finest moment (Nu. 549–50; V. 1029–37; Pax 751–60),138 and one in which he was sufficiently successful at taking the demagogue down that no repeat effort was necessary (Nu. 550; V. 62–3). It is possible that Aristophanes identified the success of his attack on Cleon in less tangible matters of political leadership that we cannot identify.139 Still, the disparity between the apparent historical reality and his assertions in his stage-biographies is hard to ignore, and a more convincing solution is desirable. All the instances where Aristophanes touts his victory over Cleon belong to passages where he is attempting, first and foremost, to impress the audience with his poetic credentials, as they depend on both pure novelty (Nu. 545–50; V. 62–3) and his efforts to win greater literary status for the comic genre (V. 1025–30; Pax 748–52). So too, these passages invoke his rivalry with other poets and his hopes for a fresh victory (Nu. 551–62; V. 1046–50; Pax 739–49).140 What is important is thus the poetic capital Aristophanes For the likelihood that Demos was actually restored to youth, see Olson (1990b). The passage belongs to the original play of 423, while 545–62 (below) are from the revision:€Dover (1968) 584n. 138 That he means Knights and not his less sustained or direct attacks on Cleon in Babylonians and Acharnians is implied by V. 1029 ὅτε πρῶτον γ̓ ἦρξε διδάσκειν, referring to Eq. 512–16. Contrast Hubbard (1991) 104, who does not distinguish between the play focusing on Cleon and passages (in Wasps, Peace, Clouds II) that discuss that play. 139 Thus, e.g., MacDowell (1995) 112; cf. Henderson (1990) 298. 140 At Nu. 551–9 Aristophanes’ attack on Cleon is treated as the equivalent of other poets’ attacks on Hyperbolus. Sommerstein (2000) analyzes Aristophanes’ demagogue-comedy in relation to other poets. 136 137

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claims to have acquired through Knights, and whether or not he had loftier ambitions, his reputation in the Theater depended on his victory with that play at the Lenaia.141 The victory he proclaims over Cleon, in other words, asserts in retrospect the identification between hero and poet that was built into the competitive poetics of Knights. 141

See Heath (1997) 238–9, who addresses the asymmetry of politicians attacking politicians to score political points, and comic poets attacking politicians to win a poetic contest.

Ch apter 4

Intertextual biography in the rivalry of Cratinus and Aristophanes1

The slight against Cratinus through the theme of record-keeping argued for in Chapter 3 may be more personal than I suggested, for a precedent perhaps exists in one of Cratinus’ own plays. We have a single trochaic tetrameter from Didaskaliai, and although working with fragmentary plays is always challenging,2 the title makes speculation tempting. Didaskaliai incorporates a professional term for dramatic production, and it thus appears that in this comedy Cratinus, like Aristophanes in the Knights parabasis, reflected openly on matters pertaining to the production of his plays. The content of the fragment provides further reason to believe that this was so: ὅτε σὺ τοὺς καλοὺς θριάμβους ἀναρύτουσ᾿ ἀπηχθάνου

(Cratinus fr. 38)

… when you were despised, though you ladled up fine dithyrambs

The addressee is apparently consoled for failing to impress in a poetic display. The term for poetry, thriamboi, is identified by Hesychius and other ancient sources as equivalent to “dithyramb,” the choral genre originally associated with Dionysian worship.3 Given the report elsewhere that Cratinus adopted this form in his comedies (fr. 20) in a passage where ad€hominem abuse was in evidence, it is a reasonable conclusion that with thriamboi he had in mind the vituperative comic mode for which he became This chapter was originally published as:€Zachary P. Biles, “Intertextual Biography in the Rivalry of Cratinus and Aristophanes,” American Journal of Philology 123:2 (2002), pp. 169–204. © 2002 The Johns Hopkins University Press. It is reprinted with permission of The Johns Hopkins University Press. Aside from changes made to integrate the discussion with its context in the present volume, the bibliography has been updated, the most important contributions being Ruffell (2002), Sommerstein (2005), and Bakola (2008). Ruffell’s article appeared almost simultaneously with my own; rather than drawing attention to points where our interpretations coincide, I limit my references to particular differences and to where his discussion offers further support for my own. 2 See the general comments of Dover (2000) and Arnott (2000). 3 Pickard-Cambridge (1927) 14–15. 1

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notorious.4 Support for that position can be found in a lurking allusion to Archilochus’ assertion about the connection between wine and dithyramb (fr. 120W2),5 since Cratinus cultivated a connection with Archilochus as a feature of his poetic identity.6 Indeed, the metaphorical expression he applies to poetic activity suggests “drawing up” verses in liquid form€– perhaps as water, but given the Dionysian associations activated by thriamboi, more likely as wine.7 The simplest explanation is thus that Cratinus’ own poetry and poetics are at issue in fr. 38, which accords with the sympathetic tone that is struck, extending beyond mere commiseration to admiration for the poetry in question (καλούς).8 The feminine participle (ἀναρύτουσ᾽) suggests that the addressee is one of the Didaskaliai after whom the play is named and who likely made up the chorus.9 We can accordingly conclude that the individual Didaskaliai were personified comedies and that a review of Cratinus’ own production history contributed to the play.10 This thesis suggests a comedy that was boldly metapoetic in its subject matter, though it is impossible to say how its themes translated into dramatic action. But even from the little that can be surmised about the play, several points of contact with the Knights parabasis are evident. The verbal echo of the title in Aristophanes’ Komoidodidaskalia is the most obvious but may simply be a matter of established theatrical vocabulary, for (as suggested in the previous chapter) Cratinus’ title perhaps represents an early appearance of the plural as it was used by Aristotle to describe his work on records from the dramatic contests.11 That would still imply that in this play Cratinus immersed himself in the technical theme of Seaford (1977–8) 88–9, and Mendelsohn (1992) 107–12 discuss violence in dithyramb; for dithyramb generally, see Zimmermann (1992). Dobrov and Urios-Aparisi (1995) 164–74 discuss the interaction of comedy and dithyramb within the shift to Middle Comedy. ╇ 5 ὡς Διωνύσου ἄνακτος καλὸν ἐξάρξαι μέλος | οἶδα διθύραμβον οἴνῳ συγκεραυνωθεὶς φρένας (discussed further below). ╇ 6 Rosen (1988) 37–58, and see below. ╇ 7 The verb is rare in its compound form; in the simplex it was sometimes used of wine (Pherecr. fr. 147, “they drew (ἢρυσαν) unmixed wine from a jar”; cf. Pl. Criti. 120a), while Plato Phdr. 253a uses it metaphorically of drawing inspiration from a god (cf. Simon. PMG 577). ╇ 8 Though the comment could have been undercut in delivery by a tone of sarcasm. ╇ 9 This modifies suggestions by Kaibel and Kock (see K–A on fr. 38). To speculate further, the address and identification of a single Didaskalia in the fragment might belong to an extended parodos, similar to that at Av. 267–326 (cf. Eup. Poleis frr. 245–7; Storey (2003b) 217–18), where the individual Didaskaliai were introduced as they entered. This would have allowed for a production review in dramatic form. On the basis of meter, Whittaker (1935) 188 suggests a parabasis epirrhema, with Cratinus speaking. 10 Cf. Hall (2000) 410. 11 Cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 71. The verbal similarity led Luppe (1967) 405 to suppose that the title of Cratinus’ play is an apocryphal result of a scholiast’s citation of Aristotle’s own Didaskaliai. But it is difficult to see why Aristotle would have cited poetry in that work, since it is generally thought to have been little more than a transcription of contest records. ╇ 4

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production history. But doubt on this point should not affect a more significant consideration, that Cratinus, like Aristophanes, emphasized contest outcomes. The speaker of this line, if not Cratinus himself, appears at least sympathetic to his cause, by giving the thriamboi in question a favorable appraisal. By stating that this Didaskalia was despised, however, the speaker surely means that she failed in competition. It is hard to miss the tone of frustration, and the motif of personal rejection seems to develop differently the idea of defeat as rejection in love in Knights. These considerations imply that Didaskaliai did not simply assert Cratinus’ domination in the contests, but took a more ambivalent position toward the reception of his work as determined by contest results as opposed to purely artistic merit.12 Thus, aside from having in common with a play by Cratinus a didaskalic review of some kind, Aristophanes’ parabasis may have found common ground in an expression of his rival’s own growing frustration with his audience’s disfavor. That situation appears to be addressed in a fragment transmitted without a title, in which Cratinus more directly expresses his irritation at the audience’s inability to appreciate his work until too late, after the festival was over. χαĩρ’¸ ὦ μέγ’ ἀχρειόγελως ὅμιλε¸ ταĩς ἐπίβδαις τῆς ἡμετέρας σοφίας κριτὴς ἄριστε πάντων εὐδαίμον’ ἔτικτέ σε μήτηρ ἰκρίων ψόφησις.

(Cratinus fr. 360)

Greetings spectators, whose laughter is completely useless, the best of all judges of my wisdom€– in the days after the festival! Blessed did your mother, the ruckus of the bleachers, bring you into â•… the world.

Laughter, and specifically the timing of it within the festival, is the critical point and assures us that comic poetry is at issue.13 Those considerations lend the passage a parabatic quality enhanced by the reference to the judging process.14 Above all, the bitter tone resonates with what we have been able to make out in the case of Didaskaliai; at the very least, an attitude of competitive frustration directed toward the audience was pervasive in the Though it is possible that a more favorable impression of Cratinean poetics was worked out in the comedy. 13 Cf. Olson (2007) 108, noting that the audience’s misplaced laughter implies, “the jokes of our poet’s rivals.” 14 The relevance of the passage for Cratinus’ poetic status and objectives may be evident in the meter, which is modelled on Archilochus:€West (1982) 97. Whittaker (1935) 188 suggests that the lines belong to a parabasis ode. 12

Intertextual biography

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professional biography Cratinus offered in his comedies.15 As such, it was recognizable as his own and likely to attract the attention of another poet who could manipulate it in the insulting modes spawned by intense theatrical competition. Although the chronological relationship between Knights and Didaskaliai cannot be pinned down, the odds are in favor of Cratinus’ play being earlier, given that his career is generally thought to have been near its end by 424.16 On that understanding, Knights’ intertextual relationship with Didaskaliai makes it a sequel to that play’s discussion and continues its treatment of Cratinus’ competitive misfortunes, by registering his latest defeat, now at Aristophanes’ hands. Lack of evidence for Didaskaliai prevents us from reconstructing specific ways in which the audience’s response was shaped by this intertextuality, though it is safe to say that their interpretation would have been enriched by familiarity with the theatrical back-story.17 The intersection of stage biography and intertextuality that defines the relationship between Didaskaliai and Knights can be situated within the explanation Malcom Heath offered for charges of plagiarism between comic poets, by positing a store of ideas that were recycled as quickly as they were invented. As a result, Anything put on stage in a comedy would become public property and be absorbed into the repertoire, so that all comic poets contributed to it; and all drew on it, although each would aim to give a new and original twist to the material which he borrowed, so that the repertoire constantly evolved. If this was so, then any poet could lay claim to originality … and any rival could make a counterclaim of plagiarism.18

These remarks have important implications for the study of comedy, not least in exposing the irony of assertions such as Antiphanes’ Poiesis fr. 189, which overstates the generic distinctions between tragedy and comedy on the score of originality.19 But beyond acknowledging the genre’s essentially adaptive nature, Heath’s explanation suggests that allusiveness was built Cf. Cratinus’ voicing of frustration in Boukoloi at being denied a chorus (fr. 20), and note his claim of solidarity (based on the same form of embarrassment) with another great and agonistically successful poet, Sophocles, in the same play (fr. 17). That the alleged incidents were roughly contemporary is not necessarily the case, as Geissler (1925) 24 assumes. 16 But see Mastromarco (2002), whose reconstruction assumes that Cratinus was active in 422 or even 421. 17 It is possible that Aristophanes’ gesture of (affected) commiseration for his aging rival resembles one feature of Didaskaliai, for he can be seen as taking on the attitude of the unidentified speaker of fr. 38, all the while intending that impression to be undercut by the implications of Cratinus’ change of competitive fortunes as a statement on his own early successes. 18 Heath (1990) 152; cf. Storey (1993a) 383.╇╅ 19╇ Cf. Olson (2007) 172–3. 15

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into it. There are few opportunities to test the insights that follow from Heath’s proposition, but the example of Didaskaliai and Knights allows us to identify one outlet for comedy’s penchant for exploiting intertextual potentials within the shared repertoire, in the way rival playwrights developed antagonistic relationships by appropriating and distorting the poetic identities offered in their comedies. Those insights can be further applied to a sequence of plays that has attracted attention since antiquity as an example of poets responding to one another. In 423 Cratinus took the prize against Aristophanes’ Clouds with Pytine, a play in which he boldly portrayed himself as the hero while borrowing heavily from Aristophanes’ caricature of him in Knights the previous year. While interest in the relationship between these plays has been renewed in recent years, the convergence of issues pertaining to adaptation, intertextuality and rivalry has not been fully explored. Most important, the thread of artistic borrowing and competitive response evident in Knights and Pytine can be extended to include a stage autobiography of Cratinus that both predates and inspired the image of him in Knights, on the one hand, and elements of intertextuality between Pytine and Wasps that can be viewed as defining Aristophanes’ play as a return challenge at the Lenaia of 422, on the other. What follows thus modifies Heath’s model, by identifying specific competitive motives driving comic intertextuality,20 and serves to demonstrate points made in Chapter 1 about how the comic poets employed stage biography to assert their own superiority or malign their rivals. W i n e , p oe t r y a n d A rc h i l o c h us i n C r at i n us’ bio g r a ph y Commenting on the chorus’ elusive response to Cleon (“If I don’t despise you, may I become a blanket in Cratinus’ house!”), the scholiast on Knights 400 writes: ὡς ἐνουρητὴν δὲ καὶ μέθυσον διαβάλλει τὸν Κρατĩνον. ὁ δὲ Κρατĩνος καὶ αὐτὸς ἀρχαίας κωμῳδίας ποιητής¸ πρεσβύτερος ̓Αριστοφάνους¸ τῶν εὐδοκίμων ἄγαν. γενοίμην οὖν¸ φησίν¸ εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν Κρατίνου κῴδιον¸ ὥστε μου κατουρεĩν ἐκεĩνον¸ εἰ μή σε μισῶ. ὅπερ μοι δοκεĩ παροξυνθεὶς ἐκεĩνος¸ καίτοι τοῦ ἀγωνίζεσθαι ἀποστὰς καὶ συγγράφειν¸ πάλιν γράφει δρᾶμα¸ τὴν Πυτίνην¸ εἰς αὑτόν τε καὶ τὴν μέθην¸ οἰκονομίᾳ τε κεχρημένον τοιαύτῃ. τὴν Κωμῳδίαν ὁ Κρατĩνος ἐπλάσατο αὑτοῦ εἶναι γυναĩκα καὶ ἀφίστασθαι τοῦ συνοικεσίου τοῦ σὺν αὐτῷ θέλειν¸ καὶ ╇ Cf. Harvey (2000) 112.

20

Wine, poetry and Archilochus in Cratinus’ biography

139

κακώσεως αὐτῷ δίκην λαγχάνειν¸ φίλους δὲ παρατυχόντας τοῦ Κρατίνου δεĩσθαι μηδὲν προπετὲς ποιῆσαι καὶ τῆς ἔχθρας ἀνερωτᾶν τὴν αἰτίαν¸ τὴν δὲ μέμφεσθαι αὐτῷ ὅτι μὴ κωμῳδοίη μηκέτι¸ σχολάζοι δὲ τῇ μέθῃ. (ΣVEΓ3ΘM Eq. 400a = Pytine test. ii)21

Some errors about Cratinus’ retirement aside,22 the scholiast shows himself a reliable witness to the play by his knowledge of the plot and his ability to cite the text in the portion of his commentary that follows (fr. 193). Thus, with the exception of treating the more fully developed caricature of Cratinus as a drunk in the Knights parabasis as the source of inspiration for his self-portrayal in Pytine, modern scholars have generally followed the scholiast’s characterization of Pytine as a redemption play, however exaggerated the biographical representation may have been in both plays. Two recent studies have raised objections to this understanding. Troubled by a feeling of allusiveness in the jokes about Cratinus in Knights and Acharnians, Keith Sidwell hypothesizes a source for the audience’s familiarity with Cratinus’ life by arguing that his stage biography was not an Aristophanic invention at all, but a recollection of one or more earlier staged caricatures of Cratinus.23 Ralph Rosen is more concerned with the phenomenon of self-portrayal itself, and argues that the “biography” of Cratinus in Pytine must be interpreted first and foremost in connection with literary motives.24 In particular, Rosen objects to the belief that Pytine vindicated Cratinus, since what we know of the plot appears to show him indulging in self-mockery by extending the caricature. ‘[Aristophanes] mocks Cratinus for being incontinent and a drunk. Cratinus was himself a poet of Old Comedy, older than Aristophanes and among the most notable. [Aristophanes] means then, “May I become a fleece in Cratinus’ house, so he can piss on me if I don’t hate you.” As a result, it seems to me, [Cratinus] became outraged, and although he had given up competing and composing, he again wrote a play, Pytine, which takes as its theme Cratinus himself and his drunkenness according to the following scenario. Cratinus imagined that Comedy was his own wife, but that she wanted to divorce him and registered a charge of mistreatment against him. Some of Cratinus’ friends who showed up begged her not to do anything impetuous and asked after the cause of her hatred. She blamed him because he no longer composed comedy, but instead devoted his time to drinking.” 22 Cratinus competed in both 425 (Ach. Hyp. I. 38–9) and 424 (Eq. Hyp. II. 21–2) and therefore can hardly be described as retired in 423. In this claim the scholiast is obviously working from his reading of Pytine itself, according to his own summary. 23 Sidwell (1995) 59–64, arguing that Eupolis was ultimately responsible for the caricature. The theory of an earlier caricature of Cratinus by another poet is not objectionable in itself; cf. Storey (1996); Rosen (2000) 36–7 nn. 13, 17. What strikes me as implausible is Sidwell’s subtle and extensive application of caricature comedy to the point of creating a new genre called “paracomedy,” i.e., a “ventriloquial” comedy that features comedians presenting their own plays as though they were the works of rivals (1995, n. 66). Such an approach would surely prove disadvantageous in the competitions. 24 Rosen (2000) 23–39. 21

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Fundamental objections undermine Sidwell’s theory in particular,25 but in combination the two theories shed light on important aspects of the caricatures of Cratinus. Rather than turn the discussion away from the poet’s genuine personal or professional interests, as Rosen proposes, we must instead direct our attention to where they staked their greatest claims, in assertions of professional superiority and maligning rivals. The matrix from which the most salient aspects of the caricature derive may actually be a self-presentation by Cratinus himself, if he created a fullfledged stage biography in his earlier parabases. As with Aristophanes’ biography, Cratinus likely aimed at defining his role as poet and advertising his special talents. Setting aside for the moment the question of whether Cratinus in Pytine attempted to overcome a negative portrayal or ironically indulged in it, let us begin with the consensus that the image of Cratinus as a drunk€ – whether derived from his historical biography or entirely fictional€– debuted on stage as mockery in plays by his competitors.26 Given the evidence for rivalries, this is a reasonable position. But the premise is itself open to doubt, when we recall that Cratinus consciously recognized a debt to Archilochus, who claimed poetic inspiration through wine (fr.€120W2):27 ὡς Διωνύσου ἄνακτος καλὸν ἐξάρξαι μέλος οἶδα διθύραμβον οἴνῳ συγκεραυνωθεὶς φρένας I know how to initiate a fine song for Lord Dionysos, a dithyramb, after my mind is thunderstruck with wine.

Platonius (Prolegomena II, p. 6 lines 1–2 Koster = Cratin. test. 17) refers explicitly to Cratinus’ emulation of Archilochus (κατὰ τὰς ᾽Αριχιλόχου ζηλώσεις) and implies a conscious choice and perhaps candid assertion Lack of clear evidence is unsurprising, but Sidwell’s premise is liable to objections. On the issue of familiarity with particulars of Cratinus’ life, Sidwell (1995) 59–62 fails to give full weight to the poet’s celebrity status, with eight victories by this time (IG II2 2325.50, 121; Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112–13). Any notoriety attached to his name would certainly attract attention in the relatively small community of Athens, so that Aristophanes could mock him in the same subtle or brutal way he could ridicule Euripides. For onomasti jokes, see Sommerstein (1996b) 329–30, who identifies Cratinus as one of the “idols of the theatre” and who notes further (p. 329), “Casting well-known people in a bad light was comedy’s business, just as it had once been the business of iambic poetry”; cf. Halliwell (1993), and for further comment on Sidwell’s thesis, Totaro (1998); Ruffell (2002) 139–40. 26 For what follows, contrast Ruffell (2002) 145–6. 27 In addition to Rosen (1988) 37–58, cf. Henderson (1975) 17–23; Degani (1988) and (1993); Zanetto (2001). 25

Wine, poetry and Archilochus in Cratinus’ biography

141

on Cratinus’ part, while the plural suggests repeated instances.28 Later authors also thought the image of drunken inspiration in the Archilochus fragment central to both poets.29 Callimachus referred to “the proem of winestruck Archilochus” (fr. 544 Pf.), while Horace recalled Cratinus’ dictum that the only good poetry is inspired by alcohol (Epist. 1.19.1–3), a claim perhaps preserved in a Hellenistic epigram that purports to quote the poet as saying: ὕδωρ δὲ πίνων οὐδὲν ἂν τέκοις σοφόν

(Pytine fr. 203)

You could not produce anything sophisticated while drinking â•… water.

Meier assigned this line to Pytine, and scholars have generally followed him, since the words encapsulate what appear to be the play’s central issues.30 But the Archilochean resonance would be appropriate anywhere that Cratinus clarified his own poetics. Indeed, adopting the persona of an indulgent drinker may have been only one aspect of Cratinus’ selfconscious effort to model his poetics upon those of Archilochus. Given Platonius’ reference to his “emulations” of Archilochus, we might conclude that by using wine drinking as a metaphor for his poetry, Cratinus attempted to impress the audience with how he infused comic humor with iambic criticism, the very point of the Archilochean model according to Rosen. And although we cannot rule out other influences, the note of praise in Horace and the epigram suggests an originally laudatory context, as if the association with alcohol belonged to Cratinus’ own declaration and was not filtered by criticism of the sort Aristophanes lobs at him. After all, Horace intends the Cratinus image to stand as a paradigm for himself, and intoxication is for him a positive metaphor for inspired poetic talent. This point is further conveyed by Hemsterhuis’ emendation:€ καὶ τὰ ̓Αρχιλόχου ζηλώσας; cf. Conti Bizzarro (1999) 47, citing Kugelmeier. Archilochoi doubtless figured prominently in the evidence for the relationship; see esp. Rosen (1988) 42–8; cf. Ruffell (2002) 146. 29 While a connection between wine and inspiration may have been familiar (e.g., Od. 14.462–66, although note the ambivalent attitude there toward the looseness of tongue that accompanies drink), the theme is especially prominent in traditions about Archilochus and Cratinus, even if it is more generally invoked later; cf. Sperduti (1950) 222–3; Bowie (1995). The wine/inspiration theme at Eq. 85–100 might itself be connected with Aristophanes’ treatment of Cratinus. Here the association of slaves with drinking is stereotypical, while one slave’s aversion is significant; cf. Sommerstein (1980b) 46–7. 30 See K–A vol. 4, 226–7. For a defense of Meier, see Rosen (2000) 33–4. Sens (forthcoming) argues that the opening couplet of the epigram (AP 13.29), of which fr. 203 is the second line, most likely only paraphrases a comment found in Cratinus, perhaps Pytine. Note the claim in line 3 regarding the opening couplet:€“Cratinus used to say this.” 28

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Intertextual biography

The general theme of revelry is so familiar to comedy that, without overt indications of a parabatic or programmatic statement, such passages cannot be confidently attributed to an assertion about Cratinus’ poetry.31 The most compelling evidence may be fr. 38, adduced at the beginning of this chapter, where the striking assimilation of Cratinean poetry with thriamboi emphasizes the genre of Dionysian hymn for which Archilochus’ claim to intoxicated inspiration served as proem.32 That programmatic import of Cratinus’ claim may be implicit in the liquid metaphor activated by anarutein, as discussed above.33 A few fragments from Pytine also seem to show that the Archilochean model made an important contribution to that play. According to the scholiast on Peace 603, Cratinus borrowed a verse from Archilochus in Pytine (fr. 211): ὦ λιπερνῆτες πολĩται¸ τἀμὰ δὴ ξυνίετε Oh motley citizens, pay attention to my words!

In Peace and again in Eupolis (fr. 392), this verse introduces a pointed argument and self-assertion, suggesting that in Pytine it similarly opened a persuasive or defensive speech in the agon or parabasis under the auspices of Cratinus’ favorite literary model. In either location, Cratinus’ recollection of Archilochus was probably connected with a discussion of his poetry, the play’s central theme.34 Another connection with Archilochus is apparent in Cratin. fr. 199.3–4: ἐγᾦδα· συντρίψω γὰρ αὐτοῦ τοὺς χοᾶς καὶ τοὺς καδίσκους συγκεραυνώσω σποδῶν I know€– I’ll smash his drinking cups and smite his wine jars with lightning. E.g., frr. 252; 269; 299; 301; 319; 322; cf. fr. 182. My objection to Meier’s attribution of fr. 203 to Pytine also applies to frr. 319 and 322. 32 Meineke (see K–A on Cratin. fr. 20) interprets Hesychius’ mention of a dithyramb in Boukoloi as an allusion to a hostile song in which the poet reviled an archon for refusing him a chorus (fr. 17). This supports my general argument, since it implies that the lexicographer’s terminology included some notion of iambicism. The connection of dithyramb and intoxication is presented in several additional sources:€Athen. 628a (= Archil. fr. 120W2), Φιλόχορος δέ φησιν ὡς οἱ παλαιοὶ οὐκ αἰεὶ διθυραμβοῦσιν¸ ἀλλ̓ ὅταν σπένδωσι¸ τὸν μὲν Διόνυσον ἐν οἴνῳ καὶ μέθῃ¸ τὸν δ̓ ̓Απόλλωνα μεθ̓ ἡσυχίας καὶ τάξεως μέλποντες; Epich. fr. 131, οὐκ ἔστι διθύραμβος¸ ὅκχ̓ ὕδωρ πίņς. 33 Bakola (2008) 11–15, expands on the points made here by assuming that elements of Cratinus’ stage biography underlie Aristophanes’ criticisms of his rival at Ach. 848–9 and 1166–73 (contrast Biles (2002) 172 n. 7); she accordingly adds a gamos-theme to the constellation of features in Cratinus’ biography and concludes that the image predated Knights. 34 Cf. Conti Bizzarro (1999) 48; Ruffell (2002) 175. In Eup. fr. 392 the Archilochus verse probably represents the opening of a parabasis that treats issues of poetry defensively; but see Storey (2003b) 300–2, whose interpretation is liable to objections (above, p. 32). 31

Wine, poetry and Archilochus in Cratinus’ biography

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These lines are obviously spoken by someone opposed to Cratinus’ excesses and probably belong after an agon in which Cratinus came off worse against Comedy. Smiting the poet’s wine casks with a thunderbolt represents an attempt to cure his affliction, and is more remarkable because it is fantastic, and because the term sunkeraunoun is attested before Cratinus only in the Archilochus proem cited above.35 The verses in Pytine nicely turn the metaphorical assertion on its head by deflating its pretensions, divesting it of its metaphorical sense and directing it against the very substance in which Archilochus and Cratinus indulged to put themselves in a state of poetic inspiration. This kind of joke, in which one character humorously overturns an earlier assertion by another, is standard comic fare.36 More to the point, the format requires that the character Cratinus had already brought up the ideal in its positive Archilochean form; that is, if not fr. 203, then something with much the same claim to the positive effects of alcohol is a premise for the action. Once staged, a connection between wine drinking and Cratinus’ poetic claims in his poetic “biography” would have provided other poets with a target perhaps too tempting to resist.37 As a result of his ongoing engagement with Euripides onstage and his claim to a sophisticated kind of poetry, after all, Aristophanes was ridiculed by his rivals for modeling himself on the tragic poet;38 and the tradition was so strong that the falsehood was elevated to permanent status in the ancient biographical tradition.39 All of this suggests that stage biography must be considered in close connection with theatrical competition. Comic poets likely adopted a persona in large part to advertise and support their literary aspirations, and to justify their wish to win the contest. While there must always have been exaggeration in such biographies, the details which poets developed for purely comic effect must also have had some basis in features of an individual poet’s comic style which the audience could identify. Likewise, an intrinsic connection between stage biography and competition feeds The only other classical attestation is E. Ba. 1103, where Diggle prefers Pierson’s συντριαινοῦσαι, whereas Dodds accepted the transmitted reading based on Dionysos’ association with lightning at Ba. 594–9 (cf. Seaford (1996) ad loc.; Zimmermann (1992) 21; and compare [A.] PV 362 with Griffith (1983b)â•›). 36 MacDowell (1971) 989n. calls this the boomerang joke (e.g., V. 959 and 989, 1191 and 1383, 1411 and 1446; Nu. 225 and 1503, 828 and 1471). Cf. Miller (1944) 27–9 for more examples. 37 Ar. fr. 688 may be a case in point; see below, n. 80. 38 For this strand of Aristophanes’ poetic identity, see Bakola (2008) 8–10. 39 Cratin. fr. 342 and Ar. fr. 488. For the ancient biography, see Anon. De com., Prolegomena III, p. 9 lines 36–7 Koster = Ar. test. 4. So too, Aristophanes’ boasts about bringing Cleon down, so central to his poetic claims to public benefaction (V. 1029–37; Pax 751–61; Nu. 549–50), appear to have been contested by at least one other poet (Pl. Com. fr. 115). 35

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into ad hominem attacks on poetic rivals, as in the Knights parabasis, to which I now turn. C r at i n us a s dru n k i n

knights

Aristophanes’ criticisms in the Knights parabasis respond to Cratinus’ own poetic biography. In Chapter 3 I argued that this parabasis as a competitive maneuver aims to deflate a rival’s claims to superiority and with it his hope for victory in the contest. In what follows, I suggest that Aristophanes’ goal was to reverse the stage biography Cratinus adopted, by subverting his lofty image of comic inspiration and treating Cratinus’ self-proclaimed reliance on wine as actual dependence. On a general level, we can detect the line of influence from Archilochus to Aristophanes via Cratinus in the way wine-drinking is linked to the notion of poetic inspiration throughout the parabasis, though Aristophanes repeatedly insists that overindulgence in alcohol detracts from a playwright’s general performance. These jokes are developed in coordination with even more vicious criticism of a literary kind, much of it dependent on the same tactic of reversing an idealized image of Cratinean poetry. The ostensible purpose of the Knights parabasis is to demonstrate Aristophanes’ cautious and respectful approach to comic production in view of his audience’s fickle judging of theatrical contests (515–19, 541–5).40 He clarifies this point by citing three older poets the Athenians betrayed despite their former popularity. On a primary level, Aristophanes seems to commiserate with these veterans. But his supposed tribute is in fact a scathing criticism of Cratinus’ waning comic inspiration.41 Aristophanes’ fear of failure in old age must be ironic so early in his career. Furthermore, within the narrative Cratinus is presented in his “proper” place€– according to production history€– between Magnes and Crates, who were almost certainly dead, so that, while asserting that Cratinus deserves respect and honor in retirement, Aristophanes slyly imparts that his departure from the stage is long overdue. But the real bite is in the fact that Cratinus was competing in this very contest. Aristophanes’ concentration on a specifically Archilochean Cratinus leaves its mark in the opening lines of the description, in which he introduces the metaphor of a raging stream to describe Cratinus’ poetry (526–8). Rosen argues that this pays tribute to Cratinus’ cultivation of the iambic ╇ This paragraph summarizes results from Chapter 3. Cf. Hubbard (1991) 75–6; Luppe (2000a).

40 41

Cratinus as drunk in Knights

145

ethos in comedy,42 so that the indiscriminate violence with which he lays waste everything in his path, including his enemies, represents the vigorous language of Cratinus’ invective.43 An apparent proof of the argument for an underlying Cratinean model is found in the scholion on the river metaphor (Σ VEΓ³ΘLh Eq. 526a = Cratin. fr. 198), which states that Aristophanes was imitating things Cratinus said about himself. Since the scholiast goes on to prove his point by citing lines from Pytine, it is generally supposed that he had the direction of influence mixed up.44 But Pseudo-Longinus also describes Archilochus’ forceful style through the metaphor of a raging torrent,45 so perhaps the scholiast on Knights 526 is right after all.46 The argument that the Knights parabasis alludes to Cratinus’ poetic and biographical claims can be strengthened by attention to the specific tactics of Aristophanes’ criticism. At several points he refers directly to Cratinus’ poetry either by citation or allusion:47 lines 529 and 530 contain quotations from Cratinus that demonstrate his popularity with the Athenians, while in line 534 Cratinus’ unfortunate reveling is compared to Konnos, recalling a similar reference to Konnos in an unassigned fragment of Cratinus.48 These references allow us to appreciate the method behind Aristophanes’ intertextual borrowings. Where the ridicule is only latent, the first half of the description of Cratinus pays him the greatest respect possible by quoting popular lines from his plays. But once Aristophanes begins to mock his rival more directly at line 531, he manipulates his words to show that he is no better than his comic targets. Rosen (1988) 38–9; cf. Ruffell (2002) 144. See esp. Platon., Prolegomena II, p. 6–7 Koster = Cratin. test. 17. 43 For τοὺς ἐχθρούς (528) referring to rival poets, see pp. 104, 108–9. 44 Rosen (2000) 30–1 attempts to explain the error by understanding fr. 198 as one of several instances familiar to the ancient commentator. Though I tend to agree with this, we might in that case expect an imperfect rather than an aorist verb. Cf. Bakola (2008) 14. 45 De Subl. 33.5 (cf. 32.4):€’Αρχιλόχου πολλὰ καὶ ἀνοικονόμητα παρασύροντος; cf. Rosen (1988) 39 n. 9, and see Biles (2006–2007) for how later literary critics mined comic texts for assessments of Aeschylus. An echo of Archilochus at this point, if such it is, would lend further point to the para prosdokian in tous echthrous (Eq. 528). While Rosen (2000) 31 in his analysis of the river metaphor in Eq. 526–8 emphasizes the negative tone of Aristophanes’ allusion (contrast Rosen (1988) 39–40), the comic peripeteia, which structures the broader context of Cratinus’ biography in Knights, requires that the lines represent something Cratinus might like to hear said. An original laudatory context is further suggested by Homeric passages where the raging stream metaphor glorifies a hero’s behavior in battle (Il. 5.87–92; 11.492–7). 46 Note too that the wine/inspiration theme at Eq. 89 activates the imagery of gushing water, but illogically in connection with uninspired water drinking; cf. Ra. 1005. 47 The same tactic holds true for his discussion of Magnes (Σ VEΓΘMLh Eq. 522a). 48 Fr. 349 = Σ VEΓ³ΘMLh Eq. 534a:€ἔσθιε καὶ σῇ γαστρὶ δίδου χάριν¸ ὄφρα σε λιμὸς ἐχθαίρῃ, Κοννᾶς δὲ πολυστέφανός σε φιλήσ˙. Cf. Ruffell (2002) 146. For the identification of Konnos (PAA 581457 and 581470), see Sommerstein (1981) 534n.; K–A vol. 4, 292. If Eup. fr. 77 makes the same joke about Konnos, the “wilted” garlands would appear to be Aristophanes’ own addition (see below). 42

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These allusions establish a pattern of using Cratinus to ridicule Cratinus, and only after the shift to more direct abuse does the theme of debauchery become the focus of the biography. Just as Cratinus’ garlands are withered, he himself is ruined by thirst (534), which in context suggests an insatiable longing for wine. Next Aristophanes blithely proposes that in return for his earlier successes, his older rival should be awarded not free meals (i.e., δειπνεĩν) but free drinks (535 πίνειν) in the Prytaneion. Finally, at the comic competitions Cratinus is to have a seat in the Theater next to Dionysos himself (536), which must be a backhanded compliment, given that Dionysos’ metonymic relationship to wine was at least as strong as his connection to the dramatic arts.49 In all of this, Aristophanes never mentions wine explicitly but achieves his portrayal of Cratinus as a drunkard via an accretion of suggestive images, supporting the notion that he was activating a biography already familiar to the audience.50 Taken together, Aristophanes’ defamation of Cratinus refutes the older poet’s professional claims through stage biography, no less as a celebration of his own victory at the previous Lenaia than as a means of influencing the outcome of the present competition. R e f or m u l at i ng “C r at i n us” i n

py tine

In adapting an existing model in Pytine, Cratinus was merely repeating on a grander scale what Aristophanes had done throughout the Knights parabasis. Since the biography in Knights stitched together and elaborated images already familiar from remarks Cratinus himself had made, a complex intertextual background involving contradictory attitudes toward his professional biography underlies Pytine. My approach reinforces the traditional view that the play was redemptive in nature. As such, it amounted to a daring expansion of the resources available for carrying out dialogues between rival playwrights within parabases, by openly investing the plot, beyond anything observed in Acharnians or Knights, with Cratinus’ competitive rebuttal. However the poet presented himself along the way, several details imply that the play culminated in a reassertion of his Archilochean outlook.51 The closing image would be all the more amusing if Cratinus had proclaimed a unique relationship with the god in connection with the Archilochean motif:€Bakola (2008) 15. 50 On this point (as with Eq. 400) I agree with Sidwell (1995) 59. 51 Thus the reconstructions of Heath (1990) 151 and Sidwell (1995) 65, 70, for instance, go astray to the extent that they believe that Cratinus’ cure was the telos of the plot. The ancient commentator’s partial summary says nothing about how the domestic altercation was settled, nor does Plutarch’s testimony (Quaest. Conv. 634d = Pytine test. iii) require that we adopt this interpretation. 49

Reformulating “Cratinus” in Pytine

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The premise of Pytine can be easily set out, thanks to the partial summary provided by the scholiast on Knights 400. The central idea expands upon Aristophanes’ presentation of Cratinus’ indulgence in drink:€his dissipation has had a detrimental effect on both his personal and professional lives, conflated in the play by presenting Cratinus as married to the personified Comedy.52 Tired of his neglect, Comedy decides to divorce him, but is prevented from carrying through with her plan by a chorus of Cratinus’ friends, who upon entering inquire about the grounds of her complaint and urge her not to act precipitously.53 Comedy then launches into a formal denunciation in which she complains that Cratinus no longer writes plays but instead idles away his time in a stupor.54 Most likely this scene ushered in an agon, in which Comedy and Cratinus argued their positions and the chorus of friends judged. The scholiast’s description of the historical Cratinus making an embittered (παροξυνθείς) return to dramatic competition has powerfully influenced modern commentators. We can accept the portrait with confidence since several additional considerations confirm the redemptive strategy implied therein. The scholiast on Knights 531 states that in response to Aristophanes’ taunts, Cratinus composed Pytine and showed that he did not “babble,” and also that in the play he reviled Aristophanes for plagiarizing Eupolis.55 This scholiast also assumes professional indignation on Cratinus’ part and backs up his claim by referring to a passage from Pytine, probably the parabasis, where Cratinus openly repaid Aristophanes On this point Σ VEΓ³ΘM Eq. 400a agrees with fr. 194, which fits neatly with the tone of jealousy evident in the otherwise badly transmitted fr. 193. 53 Their formal entry represented the parodos (cf. Heath (1990) 150, following Runkel and Meineke), but one wonders what characters would be recognized as friends of Cratinus; perhaps other poets or symposiasts. 54 Kaibel (see K–A 4.219) thought that we should read τῇ Μέθῃ in Σ Eq. 400a and assume a second personification to balance that of Comedy (cf. Heath (1990) 150; Rosen (2000) 26), based on the possibility that the allegory in Pytine was the model for Lucian’s conflict with his wife Rhetoric stemming from his flirtations with a boy Dialogus. But as far as we can tell, the metaphorical treatment of wine in Pytine consisted of representing libations as young boys (frr. 195; 196); cf. Olson (2007) 82. 55 Σ VEΓΘM Eq. 531a (= Cratin. fr. 213) ταῦτα ἀκούσας ὁ Κρατῖνος ἔγραψε τὴν Πυτίνην, δεικνὺς ὅτι οὐκ ἐλήρεσεν ἐν ᾗ κακῶς λέγει τὸν Ἀριστοφάνην ὡς τὰ Εὐπόλιδος λέγοντα. This statement is usually connected with fr. 89 from Eupolis’ Baptai, where Eupolis claims to have coauthored Knights. Some scholars believe that Aristophanes and Eupolis collaborated early in their careers; cf. Mastromarco (1979); Halliwell (1980) and (1989); Storey (1993a) 388, contra MacDowell (1982), restated in (1995) 34–41. Sidwell (1993) explains the references via his notion of paracomedy. Cratinus may even draw attention to his own peculation of ideas found in Knights, since fr. 210 seems to look back to the ship maidens of Eq. 1300–15; cf. Heath (1990) 151; Sidwell (1995) 63 n. 27. 52

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in kind.56 Even the scholiast’s term deiknus suggests a clear and perhaps formal denunciation of Aristophanes, and the object of this demonstration, that is, ὅτι οὐκ ἐλήρεσεν, directly responds to Aristophanes’ portrayal of Cratinus at Knights 531, 536.57 At any rate, the connection between the introduction to this scholion and the citation from Pytine would be vague unless one aim of Cratinus’ derision of Aristophanes was to demonstrate that he retained his ability to offer sharp criticism. The hostile tone with which the audience is addressed in fr. 211 (also probably from the parabasis) suggests that the poet also took them to task, presumably for failing to appreciate the previous year’s play.58 The title Pytine itself alludes to Cratinus’ reassertion of his Archilochean poetics in the face of a Muse who rejected his mode of inspiration. Comedy’s complaint about her husband’s love of wine was given vivid justification (frr. 195; 196), and Cratinus may have temporarily admitted his errors at one point (fr. 200):59 ἀτὰρ ἐννοοῦμαι δῆτα τὰς μοχθηρίας τῆς † ἠλιθιότητος τῆς ἐμῆς I do recognize the wickedness of my foolishness.

It may be building on this admission that a male supporter of Comedy comes up with a plan to destroy Cratinus’ drinking vessels (fr. 199):€60 πῶς τις αὐτὸν¸ πῶς τις ἂν ἀπὸ τοῦ πότου παύσειε¸ τοῦ λίαν πότου; ἐγᾦδα συντρίψω γὰρ αὐτοῦ τοὺς χοᾶς καὶ τοὺς καδίσκους συγκεραυνώσω σποδῶν If this fragment is correctly connected with Eup. fr. 89 (see previous note), Cratinus’ target was specifically Knights; thus Sidwell (1995) 63 connects Cratinus fr. 213 with his theory that Aristophanes’ caricature of Cratinus depended on Eupolis. Ancient scholars scoured Knights to discover the source of Cratinus’ claim and that of Eup. fr. 89, and while certain passages were identified as Eupolidean in inspiration (Σ VEΓ³ Eq. 1291), the caricature apparently was not; cf. Sommerstein (1980b) 52–3; Storey (1993a) 385–7. 57 The idea comes up again in fr. 208 (see below). 58 In a play that took professional biography as its theme, it is hazardous to single out parabatic material on the basis of content alone; but meter supports a place in the parabasis for fr. 211 (cf. fr. 210 with K–A; fr. 38 also shows Cratinus making biographical comments in trochaic tetrameters (Whittaker (1935) 188)), as does the form of audience address (see n. 34). For the hostile tone of fr. 211, cf. Rosen (1988) 20. 59 Rosen (2000) 32 tentatively suggests that Comedy spoke these lines, but mochthērias implies a degree of impropriety that goes beyond anything of which we can reasonably suspect her; cf. Heath (1990) 151 and Sidwell (1995) 64, following Runkel. 60 Edmonds (1957) 88–9 (cf. Sidwell (1995) 59 n. 13) thought that Comedy was speaking, despite the masculine participle in line 4. A reference to a broken vessel might lie behind fr. 202. 56

Reformulating “Cratinus” in Pytine

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καὶ τἆλλα παντ̓ ἀγγεĩα τὰ περὶ τὸν πότον¸ κοὐδ̓ ὀξύβαφον οἰνηρὸν ἔτι κεκτήσεται. How could one … how could one stop him from his drinking€– his binge-drinking? I know€– I’ll smash his chous-pitchers and reduce his wine casks to ash with a bolt of lightning along with all his other drinking paraphernalia, and he won’t have even a saucer for his wine.

It is easy to see why some critics suppose that Cratinus was reinstated as Comedy’s partner upon being cured of his addiction. But the unique nature of a pytine argues against this interpretation. Hesychius describes this as a species of wine flagon made not from clay but from woven fibers, and the vessel in question is apparently referred to in fr. 201:61 ὄψει γὰρ αὐτὴν ἐντὸς οὐ πολλοῦ χρόνου παρὰ τοĩσι δεσμώταισι καταπιττουμένην. You will see it within a short time, pitched and sealed by the inmates.

It would thus appear that the importance of the vessel was not simply as a comprehensive symbol of Cratinus’ dissipation, but as a solution to the threat in fr. 199. It seems contradictory, or at least unnecessarily complicated, to suppose that Comedy or her supporters worried about repairs to a damaged cup, as Kaibel thought. Rather, some arrangement to obtain a flask that is notionally indestructible appears to be at issue;62 if so, the title looks not to the premise but to the outcome of the play, and champions Cratinus’ poetic tastes in the face of vigorous opposition to his methods. We can further appreciate Cratinus’ creative response to Aristophanes by examining a fundamental connection between Knights and Pytine. The organizing principle of the Knights parabasis is Aristophanes’ ironic gripe with the audience over their fickleness toward older poets. The three veteran comic playwrights are described as doing their utmost to maintain their favored status:€Magnes acted every part imaginable (Eq. 522–5), while Crates won the audience over with “little delicacies” (Eq. 538–9). This suggests any number of metaphors to illustrate the audience’s dominance in Hsch. π 4486; cf. Ar. fr. 880. Hesychius’ additional comment that these vessels are made by prisoners secures the reference in fr. 201. 62 Cf. Sommerstein (2005) 164. 61

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the public contests.63 But Aristophanes settles on the notion of poets pursuing the public almost as suitors, although suitors motivated primarily by the opportunity for sexual conquest. He then personifies comedy as a woman, in order to articulate more clearly his view about the relationship between poet and audience (Eq. 515–17): ἀλλὰ νομίζων κωμῳδοδιδασκαλίαν εἶναι χαλεπώτατον ἔργον ἁπάντων· πολλῶν γὰρ δὴ πειρασάντων αὐτὴν ὀλίγοις χαρίσασθαι. … but considering the training of a comic chorus to be the most difficult task of all. For, while many have pursued her, she has favored only a few.

πειρᾶν and χαρίζεσθαι are double entendres that form reciprocal expressions in the language of sexual pursuit. The description of a comic poet’s uncertainty at each festival thus amounts to an amusing situation consonant with the tenor of Old Comedy:€ “Although many try to get her in bed, she obliges few.”64 Comedy’s own sexual promiscuity is brought out immediately thereafter, when she is conflated with the image of the fickle audience (518). But the initial image continues to influence the discussion that follows, for with the notion of sexual vigor playing a part in a poet’s relative degree of success, it is no surprise that a youthful poet like Aristophanes is more pleasing, while Comedy and the audience she embodies have no use for someone older (Eq. 519, 524–5). The swaggering Aristophanes must have intended this metaphor to stand as an amusing explanation of his recent victories, while poking fun at Cratinus for his failing energies. But although Aristophanes’ Komoidodidaskalia may be discriminating in the sense that she is hard to please, she is also little better than a courtesan who shares her favors with anyone who strikes her fancy. By rendering the position of a successful poet through so unstable a relationship, Aristophanes left room for Cratinus to make a potent reply in Pytine, by representing the personified Comedy as his own wife. Cratinus’ response thus amounts to an assertion that although the younger poet may enjoy some ephemeral pleasures with E.g., Cratin. fr. 360; Av. 445–6 (with Dunbar’s note); Pl. Lg. 659a; 700c–701a; R. 492b:€cf. PickardCambridge (1968) 97–8, 272–3. For the Athenian audience, see Henderson (1990); Wallace (1997); Sommerstein (1998); Slater (1999). 64 For these terms, cf. Henderson (1975) 158, 160. Aristophanes envisioned the same sort of relationship when talking about the Tragic Muse (Ra. 95, with Dover (1993) ad loc.), and Pherecrates (fr. 155) developed a lengthy scene in which Mousike complains of the various sexual maneuvers to which she was forced to submit by a succession of bad poets; cf. Dobrov and Urios-Aparisi (1995); Olson (2007) 182. On the development of this theme in comedy, see Sommerstein (2005). 63

Reformulating “Cratinus” in Pytine

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Comedy, he himself has a long-standing legitimate claim on her affections and obligations that can be demonstrated by his accumulated victories.65 Both poets thus adapt the metaphor to argue a special claim to poetic inspiration in order to impress the Theater.66 Cratinus’ play dramatically enacted his return to popular favor and artistic preeminence, as the indications of ancient readers and the title suggest. The notion of an unappreciative audience is also operative in Pytine, suggesting that the play interacted with the Knights parabasis more generally, for apart from responding to Aristophanes’ caricature of a doddering rival, Cratinus’ unhappy marriage displays the challenges of competitive presentation and represents metaphorically his two losses to Aristophanes. On some level, therefore, Pytine explored the notion of popular appeal as a necessary and frustrating aspect of public competition, making this a comeback play in many ways, and one that certainly had refuting Aristophanes’ claims as a central objective. And rather than assuming that the character Cratinus in Pytine needed to be and was reformed, it makes better sense to believe that these attempts failed and that he ultimately reformed the Theater audience, embodied in Comedy, turning Aristophanes’ criticism in Knights on its head. A Cratinus who gave way to a woman who embodied a rival’s criticism would scarcely have generated the impression made on our ancient readers of Pytine. After all, as Comedy’s husband Cratinus wielded tremendous power over the genre,67 while an assertive attitude is in keeping with his antagonistic relationship with the audience revealed in fr. 211 and elsewhere.68 One advantage to this interpretation is that it allows us to see Cratinus effectively exploiting the possibilities latent in portraying himself as a comic hero. Although initially in need of reform himself, his comic undertaking looks toward the reform of the Athenian audience, much like the grandiose schemes of Aristophanic heroes, while his stubborn persistence in socially reprehensible behavior allows him to assert a defining principle of his own poetic claims.

Cf. Rosen (2000) 28; Ruffell (2002) 156. In Pytine sexual indiscretion characterizes Cratinus rather than Comedy, though Cratinus apparently exchanged sexual yearnings for yearnings for wine (frr. 193; 195; 196; 199; 202; 206). 66 Cf. Ar. fr. 348, where the chorus proclaim that invocation is unnecessary, since the Muses are already with them, according to the poet. 67 Evidence for a husband’s heavy-handed reaction to a threatened divorce is available in the life of Alcibiades, who snatched Hipparete out from under the nose of the archon before whom she had appeared to register a divorce (And. 4.13–15; Isoc. 16.31; Plu. Alc. 8.1–5). 68 Fr. 360; cf. frr. 38; 395. Contrast Aristophanes’ more ambivalent criticism of his audience in the revised parabasis of Clouds:€Hubbard (1991) 94–8. 65

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As for what happened in the play following the point where the ancient summary breaks off, critics often assume a scene in which Cratinus received advice in composing a new play from Comedy herself, based on two fragments that seem connected by the idea of dramatizing poetic composition on stage:69 ληρεĩς ἔχων· γράφ̓ αὐτὸν ἐν ἐπεισοδίῳ. γελοĩος ἔσται Κλεισθένης κυβεύων † ἐν τῇ τοῦ κάλλους ἀκμῇ. (Pytine fr. 208)

You keep driveling. Write him into an episode. Kleisthenes will be a laughing stock casting dice in the acme of his beauty.

and ‘Υπέρβολον δ̓ ἀποσβέσας ἐν τοĩς λύχνοισι γράψον

(Pytine fr. 209)

Blow Hyperbolos out and write him in the lamp-market.

This situation has been interpreted as the recipe for absolute success with which the play ended,70 but matters perhaps turned out differently. If the fragments represent Comedy’s corrections, it appears that Cratinus’ temporarily more sober approach to composition fell short of expectations. More particularly, he continued to babble (ληρεĩς ἔχων, fr. 208), and to this extent provided justification for the very abuse Aristophanes had heaped on him (Eq. 531, 536) and that Cratinus sought to counteract in Pytine, according to the ancient testimonia.71 In fact, the scene these fragments are thought to represent has all the makings of a familiar comic situation in which one character is instructed by another, and the humor derives from the student’s inability to achieve minimal standards and from the teacher’s resulting frustration.72 Failing this way, Cratinus might have reaffirmed Pieters (1946) 151 imagined Eupolis and Aristophanes conferring about poetic composition here (cf. Sidwell (1993) 376–7; Zanetto (2006) 313–14), but this may be stretching speculation too far. Perhaps the wax tablet referred to in fr. 217 belongs to this scene:€Cratinus jots down notes for a comedy on his pinakion while Comedy looks over his shoulder and makes necessary corrections. 70 Heath (1990) 151. Olson (2007) 84 objects that ποιέω, not γράφω, is used for composing poetry and concludes that a list of some sort is being drawn up in this scene; however, it may simply be that the more prosaic expression looks to the earthy workshop scenario of this exchange. In any event, Olson still assumes the envisioned list is connected with plans for a new play. 71 Ruffell (2002) 161–2 suggests that Cratinus addresses these lines to someone else (Aristophanes?); in that case Cratinus has taken up Aristophanes’ specific criticism and directed it against his own adversary. 72 E.g., V. 1122–64, 1299–1325; Nu. 627–790. 69

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his poetic stance along the lines of fr. 203 toward the end of the play, upon returning to his old habits,73 while fr. 198 may mark the reaction of a witness to his renewed poetic effusions, which are all the more forceful for having been held in check: ἄναξ ῎Απολλον¸ τῶν ἐπῶν τοῦ ῥεύματος¸ καναχοῦσι πηγαί· δωδεκάκρουνον στόμα¸ ̓Ιλισὸς ἐν τῇ φάρυγι· τί ἂν εἴποιμ’ ; εἰ μὴ γὰρ ἐπιβύσει τις αὐτοῦ τὸ στόμα¸ ἅπαντα ταῦτα κατακλύσει ποιήμασιν. Lord Apollo, what a surge of words! The springs are thundering, his mouth has twelve streams, the Ilisos is in his throat! What more can I say? If someone doesn’t put a plug in his mouth, he’ll flood everything here with his poetry!

With ποιήμασιν in final position lending dramatic effect, the cataclysm of Cratinean poetry now returns in full spate.74 The passage operates on a number of intertextual levels.75 Through its relation to Knights, it amounts to a pointed rebuttal of Aristophanes’ ultimate charge that this well of poetic inspiration had long since gone dry, since Cratinus returns to his earlier state of poetic force, according to the appropriation of the image by Aristophanes to describe his older rival’s success during the early stage of his career.76 The image of stopping up Cratinus’ mouth in line 4 implies metaphorically a jug,77 which, even in the immediate context of streams and springs, must recall the overarching theme of a wine jar, whereby the poet’s effusions are equated with and result from bibulousness. The further intertextual burden of the passage will have contributed to this interpretation, if (as was suggested above) in a preexisting Cratinean stage biography the water/stream image sketched out a literary debt to Norwood (1931) 116; cf. Ruffell (2002) 157–8. As Heath (1990) 150 points out, poiēmasin suggests a point in the play where Cratinus’ poetic inspiration is demonstrated, not where it is under fire by Comedy or the chorus; cf. Olson (2007) 86. It is also unlikely that the fragment belongs to Cratinus’ defense at the beginning of the play (e.g., Sommerstein (2005) 164), since the premise there was his lack of poetic activity. 75 For the intertextual complexities of these passages, cf. Rosen (2000) 31–2, though he believes that they preclude a positive assertion by Cratinus and instead reflect how he revelled in a rival’s caricature. 76 Ruffell (2002) 158 emphasizes the way Cratinus inflates the Aristophanic passage. Bakola (2008) 14 draws attention to the idea of poetic inspiration in the water image. In a paper delivered at the annual meeting of the APA in Dallas in December 1999, A. Fenton argued that Cratinus’ version of the river motif redefines Aristophanes’ critical version in a positive light by associating the stream with the public water sources of Athens. 77 Cf. Ach. 463. 73

74

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Archilochus, of which the theme of inspiration through wine was part and parcel. To this extent the only clue we have for a healthy poetic output in Pytine is framed in terms that reflect Cratinus’ Archilochean stance. Taken together, these points make it more likely that the passage reasserts Cratinus’ Archilochean poetics than a poetics he adopted in the play only reluctantly, after abandoning his own. Indeed, the Hellenistic epigram from which fr. 203 is drawn may support this interpretation, since the opening hexameter might likewise be based on a passage in Pytine:78 οἶνός τοι χαρίεντι πέλει ταχὺς ἵππος ἀοιδῷ

(AP 13.29.1)

Wine, you know, makes for a fast horse for a pleasing poet.

If dependent on Cratinus’ claims, the “pleasing poet” surely alludes to him in contrast with his rivals, while the comparison of wine to a horse described specifically as “swift” introduces an agonistic metaphor.79 In essence, then, Cratinus asserts that wine lies at the heart of his strategy for victory in the poetic competition.80 On this reconstruction, Pytine culminated with Cratinus taunting Aristophanes by enacting his return to comic productivity and inspiration through the very image Aristophanes used to preface his mockery of the veteran poet (Eq. 526–8). The last laugh belonged to Cratinus, since the judges could not resist the temptation to turn his comic fantasy into reality by awarding him first place in the contest. Much effort has been directed toward identifying the shortcomings of the original Clouds by analyzing the surviving revision, but the best answer might be simply to assume that the combination of agonistic response and comic fantasy in Pytine outclassed Aristophanes’ entry. T h e mode l of a pe r f e c t pl o t :€ wasps and py t i n e Aristophanes’ reaction to the upset Cratinus staged at the City Dionysia of 423 is well known, for the revised parabasis of Clouds responds directly to the defeat by chastising the audience for preferring feeble poets Cf. K–A vol. 4, 227 and especially Sens (forthcoming) ad loc. For horses in epinician contexts, e.g., Pi. O. 1.110; P. 11.46–8; N. 1.5–6; B. 3.4; Hansen (1983) nos. 302.3 (IG I3.1469.3), 379. 80 It may be no coincidence that a year later Aristophanes also had recourse to the metaphor of Â�chariot-racing to describe the defeat of Clouds by Pytine (V. 1050); see below. In Ar. fr. 688 Aristophanes speaks of audience tastes through the metaphor of wine, in a way that smacks of agonistic Â�posturing; the “bitter wine” (= heavily iambic?) now out of style may be that of Cratinus. 78

79

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(Nu.€524–5).81 But this revision was still underway years after the event and thus represents Aristophanes’ recollection rather than his immediate response.82 For that we must rely on Wasps, composed for the next festival. In that play Aristophanes makes a public show of being upset over the loss through his bitter reflections in both the parabasis (esp. V. 1015–17, 1043–7) and the prologue, where he reveals a plan to ensure better results this time around (V. 54–66).83 The most pointed comments about the calamity of 423 reduce the situation to agonistic concerns; as the chorus say, borrowing the quintessential agonistic metaphor of chariot racing, their poet “crashed his idea, while trying to drive past his rivals” (V. 1050 τοὺς ἀντιπάλους). Wasps thus outwardly portrays itself as a comeback play, much as Pytine had. Indeed, to some extent in both Wasps and the revised Clouds Aristophanes can be seen borrowing from his older rival by taking refuge in the persona of a misunderstood playwright at odds with his audience and complaining of his agonistic undoing. In light of Aristophanes’ harsh treatment of Cratinus in Knights and his insistence that his competitors of 423 were not up to standard (Nu. 524–5), it is surprising that we hear no more about Cratinus in Wasps.84 The immediate explanation is that Cratinus did not participate at the Lenaia of 422.85 But the competitive relationship between the poets influences the play in other ways. As Pytine demonstrates, comic composition entailed borrowing and adapting material gleaned from rivals. On the broadest level, poets worked within a language of structural elements (e.g., parodos, agon, parabasis) that could be reordered and manipulated to serve one individual’s particular dramatic design. But the repertoire of comic elements extended to more specific material, such as tropes, joke routines and personal targets, all of which could be adapted by successive poets in new situations.86 A useful frame to approach this phenomenon is provided by Gregory Dobrov’s examination of comedy’s interaction with tragedy through what he calls See esp. Hubbard (1991) 88–106; O’Regan (1992) 67–9, 133–9. For the date of the Clouds revision, see Kopff (1990); Storey (1993b); Henderson (1993b). 83 The qualities of intelligence and sophistication Aristophanes attributes to the first Clouds in the revised parabasis (esp. Nu. 520–7) are already evident in descriptions of the play in Wasps (1044, 1045, 1048, 1049, 1050, 1052–3, 1055, 1059). The prologue speech (V. 54–66) specifically promises to abandon such lofty aspirations in favor of a form of entertainment supposedly better suited to the audience’s tastes. 84 Cf. Ruffell (2002) 138. 85 V. Hyp. I.32–4; see MacDowell (1971) 122–3 and Slater (2002) 111–12 for the problems posed by the wording of the didaskalic notice. 86 Much as Heath described in the passage cited at the outset. A clear example is the sequence of jokes against the tragic actor Hegelochos (PAA 480380):€R a. 303–4; Sannyr. fr. 8; Strattis frr. 1; 63. 81

82

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the theory of contrafact.87 Dobrov argues that Aristophanes borrowed thematic elements from tragic models, rearranging and adapting them to comment on and improve upon his model, while still creating a play that could be considered original in its own right. In its relation to Pytine, Wasps supplies an instance of this species of intertextuality, but between comic poets. Here too the emphasis on competition is paramount, though in a more practical sense, since intracomic intertextuality involves actual or potential rivals participating in a common event. A poet could adapt a rival’s material to find new potential in a theme or situation, but he did so with knowledge of the audience’s reaction on a previous occasion,88 allowing intertextuality to serve a competitive interest. This feature has special point for Aristophanes in 422, since his intertextual rationale reflects his desire to make a strong return to the stage after the previous year’s misfortune.89 Comic intertextuality likewise merges with poetic rivalry when it is treated as plagiarism and provides grist for the mill of rivals searching for ways to assail a competitor.90 We can now express more forcefully Heath’s comparison of comic rivalry to antagonistic banter in the law courts:€far from suggesting a lack of seriousness in either venue, the comparison helps us appreciate the agonistic context in which these taunts aimed at competitive advantage.91 In what follows I lay out the pattern of intertextuality between Wasps and Pytine and show how aspects of stage biography, competition and intertextuality contribute to an interpretation of Wasps’ competitive poetics. In the prologue of Wasps, Aristophanes reveals a new poetic program devised in the aftermath of the failure of Clouds that playfully acknowledges his preoccupation with Cratinus. He hints that he is modeling Dobrov (2001), esp. 16–17. Cf. Silk (1993) and (2000), who distinguishes paratragedy and parody by arguing that Aristophanic paratragedy signifies a much greater artistic investment related to the poet’s idiosyncratic definition of comedy. 88 Sidwell (1995) 69–77, esp. 70, sees Wasps’ intertextual relationship with Pytine as essentially parodic, not aimed at positive, independent poetic creation. 89 The possibility that Aristophanes had two plays produced at the Lenaia of 422 can be interpreted in this light:€Hubbard (1991) 113–14. 90 For the many assertions of plagiarism in comic rivalry, see Halliwell (1989); Sommerstein (1992). Aristophanes’ notorious claim at Nu. 553–5 that Eupolis’ Marikas “twisted” his own Knights and adulterated it by adding extraneous material borrowed from Phrynichus is another clear instance of competitive intertextuality. The thematic parallels are catalogued by Storey (1993a) 381–5 and (2003b) 202–4, who diminishes the implication of rivalry by treating it as a topos; cf. Heath (1990) 153. 91 Heath (1990) 152 says of the “system of ritualized insults” that “they are not meant to be believed, but to make the other party lose face.” His term “ritualized” should not distract us from the aim of such libel:€it was meant to be believed, at least to the point of affecting the outcome of legal and poetic contests, even if it was exaggerated and drew upon familiar motifs. See Chapter 5. 87

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himself more closely on his rivals, since the phortikē comedy to which he partially concedes (V. 65–6) surely alludes to Cratinus, whom Aristophanes refers to in the same ambiguous terms in the revised parabasis of Clouds (Nu. 524).92 That Aristophanes’ thoughts were on the poet responsible for his stunning defeat perhaps explains why a few lines later an imagined spectator identifies Philocleon’s malady as alcoholism, as though the theme of sickness and rehabilitation to which the audience is here introduced conjures up a play witnessed a year earlier.93 Even the endearing picture of Philocleon’s manic attachment to the tools of his trade in the lawcourts (V. 88–130) may reflect a similarly moving portrayal of Cratinus’ infatuation with the accoutrements of his habit, of which we are offered glimpses in Pytine frr. 195, 199 and especially 202, if Cratinus there describes the empty state of one of his beloved wine jars, as Meineke thought. Certainly on the macroscopic level the theme of rehabilitating the hero is central to both Pytine and Wasps. All matters of plot and characterization derive from and serve this premise, and Wasps appears to mirror the main sequence of developments in Pytine as we know them from the ancient scholarly tradition and modern reconstructions of the play. a.╇Domestic altercation arising from the incorrigible behavior of a member of the household; Cratinus’ drunkenness (Σ Eq. 400; frr. 193, 194, 195, 196). b.╇Initial attempt to remedy situation (fails); Comedy’s threat of divorce (Σ Eq. 400; fr. 194). c.╇Choral parodos brings allies to the beleaguered hero; Cratinus’ friends Â�prevail upon Comedy to refrain from legal divorce (Σ Eq. 400). d.╇A ntagonist wins ensuing agon; Comedy presumably wins and enlists the support of Cratinus’ friends (Σ Eq. 400; fr. 199) e.╇Hero repents in the face of Â�opposition: Cratinus in fr. 200.

a.╇Philocleon’s philheliasticism Â�leading to the conflict of father and son. b.╇Philocleon’s imprisonment by Bdelycleon (136–229). c.╇Philocleon’s friends and fellow jurors try to free Philocleon and then attack his jailers (esp. 317– 462). d.╇Bdelycleon wins and enlists the support of the jurors (esp. 725–35). e.╇Philocleon tacitly repents in 743–97.

Cf. Sidwell (1995) 69. For the prologue, cf. Paduano (1974) 18–19; Hubbard (1991) 117. For the irony in Aristophanes’ use of phortikos, see Sommerstein (1990) 1218n. 93 Cf. Ruffell (2002) 162. For the sickness theme in Wasps, see Sidwell (1990). Cf. Konstan’s (1995, 16–17) identification of Philocleon’s obsession as a humor. 92

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f.╇Second attempt to reform hero with emphasis on hero’s malady through props; entails at least in part demolishing Cratinus’ drinking paraphernalia (fr. 199; cf. fr. 202). g.╇Reeducation of hero by his reformer; Comedy assists Cratinus in comic Â� composition (frr. 208, 209). h.╇Play culminates ironically in hero’s rebellion against his reformer and reaffirmation of his original nature; Cratinus returns to poetic composition through alcoholic inspiration.

f.╇The domestic trial scene (798–1008).

g.╇Bdelycleon trains Philocleon in manners of sophisticated society (1122–264). h.╇Philocleon emerges as even more difficult to control, turning his natural demeanor to a new context (esp. 1450–61).

The overall movement of Wasps is strikingly similar to Pytine. Cratinus offered Aristophanes a blueprint of a comic plot based on the rehabilitation theme, which Aristophanes adapted to a critical treatment of the law courts. The plot was full of comic potential and had succeeded against a play Aristophanes claims was his best, and competitive considerations induced him to remake it.94 Two aspects of the relationship require more detailed examination. When Philocleon falls silent after being refuted in the agon, Bdelycleon is agitated, and the chorus explain:€ “He has now come to understand, and he counts all those instances as errors (hamartias) when he did not obey you” (744–6). The scene represents an introspective moment for Philocleon, who is forced to confront his shortcomings in a way reminiscent of Cratinus’ admission in fr. 200. Cratinus’ reformative experiences in Pytine are recalled more vividly during the continuation of Philocleon’s healing in the domestic trial, when the old man becomes numb and collapses upon hearing he has acquitted Labes (995). As the table illustrates, Philocleon’s submission after the agon leading to his fantastic cure in the trial is comparable to the stages of rehabilitation represented by Pytine frr. 199 and 200. In both plays this secondary expedient involves forcing the hero to deny himself his previous pleasures€– Philocleon by acquitting a defendant, Cratinus by seeing his symposiastic paraphernalia destroyed. Cratinus’ cure was every bit as drastic, and Peace 700–3 might supply details for the stage action surrounding his reaction: Hubbard (1991) 126–37 prefers a dual intertextual structure for Wasps, based on Knights and Clouds.

94

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ΕΡ. τί δαὶ Κρατĩνος ὁ σοφός; ἔστιν; ΤΡ. ἀπέθανεν¸ ὅθ̓ οἱ Λάκωνες ἐνέβαλον. ΕΡ. τί παθών; ΤΡ. ὅ τι;



ὡρακιάσας· οὐ γὰρ ἐξηνέσχετο ἰδὼν πίθον καταγνύμενον οἴνου πλέων.

h e r m .: What about wise Cratinus? Is he alive? t r yg.: He died, when the Spartans invaded. h e r m .: What happened? t r yg.: What€– he passed out. For he couldn’t stand seeing his Â�brimming vat of wine smashed to pieces.

Whatever historical point is at issue in these lines,95 the scenario of doing violence to wine casks surely takes us back to Pytine, as the scholia observe, and specifically to fr. 199.96 In this instance, stage action draws further attention to the recycled sequence of plot elements. Of all the scenes in Wasps, the domestic trial is the most memorable for its comic fantasy and its vivid appraisal of the courts, and may well be the central idea from which everything else followed.97 But here too Aristophanes seems to have adapted Cratinus, for in Pytine a mock trial of sorts also made a significant contribution to the action. The wording of the scholion on Knights 400 is rife with legal diction that gives some indication of how the initial scenes were developed. In his description of Comedy’s wish to end their marriage (ἀφίστασθαι τοῦ συνοικεσίου τοῦ σὺν αὐτῷ), the scholiast represents the matter as divorce and more particularly as apoleipsis, whereby the wife initiated the process.98 In such a See generally Olson (1998) 211–12, who draws attention to the reformulation of Cratinus’ “death” of line 700 as “passing out” in 702. 96 Σ VΓ Pax 702d:€ὅτι φίλοινος ὁ Κρατῖνος¸ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐν τῇ Πυτίνῃ σαφῶς λέγει. Cf. Pieters (1946) 1; Sidwell (1995) 59 n. 13. Since the last Spartan invasion took place in 425, Sidwell believes that the reference must go back to a caricature in that period (contrast Harvey (1994) n. 38). But the reference to invading Spartans might simply represent how (for instance) in Pytine Cratinus abused his friends for ransacking his belongings like an invading army; cf. Dworacki (1995) 119. (The second clause of the scholiast’s comment may refer to the content of the Peace passage to which it is appended, and not to the statement that Cratinus was fond of drink.) Mastromarco (2002) argues for a reference to Cratinus’ Lakones (fr. 102), which he accordingly assumes was produced in 422 at the City Dionysia. 97 Newiger (1957) 130 follows Wilamowitz in believing that the parody in the trial scene was the “Keimzelle” of the comedy. 98 There are no attested occurrences of sunoikesion in the fifth century, but the verb sunoikein was regularly used for marriage and may have been “the accepted term for living together in legitimate union” (Harrison (1968) 2). In any event, by the time of our scholiast sunoikesion may have become the proper technical term:€Pap. Teb. 809.5 (ii bc) gives συνοικεσίου συγγραφή 95

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case, unlike when a husband took the initiative, the process entailed formalities including the wife’s appearance before an archon to register her change of status.99 Comedy was going out to do this, and the scholiast further implies the legal motif when he says that she obtained leave to bring a formal suit against Cratinus for ill treatment, again using the appropriate legalese (κακώσεως αὐτῷ δίκην λαγχάνειν).100 The scholiast’s details conform to Athenian divorce procedures,101 and his description is too unified and its implications too extensive to be a product of his own imagination. Rather, the legal scenario must have been a feature of the play, and Cratinus probably used it further to imply his privileged relationship to and perhaps control over Comedy. The question is what came of these threats once the chorus intervened. Several fragments suggest that the debate in the agon took the form of a domestic trial in place of the formal legal proceedings Comedy initially threatened. From the scholiast it seems that the chorus of friends acted as arbitrators; they inquired after the basis of Comedy’s accusation (τὴν αἰτίαν might recall the legal theme), and she reported her reasons for faulting Cratinus. The portion of Comedy’s speech preserved by the same scholiast begins with a transitional phrase of the sort familiar from rhetorically structured forensic speeches:102 ἀλλ̓ † ἐπαναστρέψαι βούλομαι εἰς † τὸν λόγον· πρότερον ἐκεĩνος πρὸς ἑτέραν γυναĩκ̓ ἔχων τὸν νοῦν¸ † κακὰς εἴποι πρὸς ἑτέραν¸ ἀλλ̓ ἅμα μὲν τὸ γῆρας¸ ἅμα δέ μοι δοκεĩ ∪ – † οὐδέποτ̓ αὐτοῦ πρότερον (Pytine fr. 193)

Translation is made difficult by the corruption, but the implication of the scholiast’s prelude is that by logos Comedy means her formal argument.103 for divorce; cf. P.Oxy. 266.11. aphistasthai in the ancient summary of Pytine in the scholion to Eq. 400 may then be taken in a technical sense for claims at law (e.g., D. 21.181; 35. 4). 99 For apoleipsis, cf. Harrison (1968) 40–4; Cohn-Haft (1995), esp. 4–7, 11–13. 100 [Arist.] Ath. 53.1 (with Rhodes (1981)â•›), 56.6. 101 Harrison (1968) 44, 112–13. Cf. Menander fr. 239:€t he wife or someone acting in her interest similarly threatens a suit of kakōsis, probably against the misogynist who gave the play its title and who appears to have discussed his troubled marriage with another character (fr. 236); cf. Gomme and Sandbach (1973) 700. 102 Luppe (1968) believes that the first verse belongs to the scholiast, not to Comedy. For the rhetorical structure of speeches, see Gagarin (1997) 18; for the use of rhetorical elements in the transitions of speeches in Aristophanes, see Murphy (1938), esp. 84–99. 103 Logos in this sense is not regular technical vocabulary, but for the effect compare E. Hec. 1196 and IT 1060; cf. Hec. 271, 824; Hipp. 292, 986; Tr. 906–10. Lloyd (1992) 34–6 identifies selfconscious allusion to the act of speaking as a feature of Euripides’ use of the forensic style in the agon, and identifies the 420s as the period when “the courtroom was evoked most specifically

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We can imagine that upon finishing a formal prelude, with fr. 193 she introduced detailed arguments in favor of divorce in the main section of her speech, including the objections to Cratinus’ behavior in frr. 194–5 and perhaps 204.104 The narrative she embarks upon thus amounts to a summary of events in the diēgēsis of an actual forensic speech. That impression is supported by the opening lines of fr. 193, since Comedy places these events within a clear temporal scheme (πρότερον … ἅμα τὸ γῆρας) which reveals that her aim was to contrast, much like Aristophanes in Knights, Cratinus’ previous vitality as a poet and the failings of his later years.105 A fragment that almost certainly belongs to the same scene contains the rhetorical topos whereby a defendant appealed to the jury by exposing his accusers’ extravagant preparations:106 τὴν μὲν παρασκευὴν ἴσως γιγνώσκετε

(Pytine fr. 197)

I take it, you recognize (her) elaborate case.

As defendant, Cratinus must be the speaker, so his rebuttal both responds to the forensic nature of Comedy’s speech and implies that his own speech imitated formalities of litigation.107 Finally, Edmonds saw that fr. 207 might refer to a vote taken by the chorus at the end of the agon:108 ἀπὸ ποτέρου τὸν καῦνον ἀριθμήσεις; From which one will you tally the vote?

In this case the troublesome term kaunos represents metaphorically the verdict,109 while the situation points to the fully developed court scene suggested by the other fragments. Thus the debate was not only a formal

104 105

106





107



108



109

by Euripides.” Fr. 194 is modelled on E. Hec. 284 (κἀγὼ γὰρ ἦ ποτ̓¸ ἀλλὰ νῦν οὐκ εἴμ̓ ἔτι), so perhaps Cratinus recalled Hecuba in order to endow Comedy with the maximum pathos. Cf. Sommerstein (2005) 164. The temporal scheme can be compared to frr. 194 and 195, as well as to the scholiast’s most summary description of her speech (Σ Eq. 400a μὴ κωμῳδοίη μηκέτι¸ σχολάζοι δέ). The scholiast also cites Andoc. 1.1; Lys. fr. 118 Carey (cf. 19.2); Aeschin. 3.1 (cf. 1.193). Cf. K–A vol. 4, 222; MacDowell (1962) 62; Dover (1974) 25–6; Heath (1990) 158 n. 18. Clement’s comment might also indicate that Cratinus is speaking at this point:€ Κρατίνου ἐν Πυτίνῃ εἰπόντος κτλ. Edmonds (1957) 90. For the voting process, see MacDowell (1971) 142–3. A voting scene might explain the transmitted reading (ἀπὸ προτέρου), that is, hysteron and proteron kadiskon, as at V. 987 and 991 (with MacDowell’s notes); cf. Phryn. Com. fr. 33. Even so, we expect the definite article. Σ VΓ Pax 1081b, which cites this fragment, equates kaunos with klēros. But strictly speaking one does not count a lottery, whereas here and at Ar. fr. 673 counting is involved. Pax 1081 is the only passage that can be independently assessed, but there Aristophanes might simply intend kauniasai to represent the idea of chance in the process of drawing lots, while the basic idea applies equally well to disputants awaiting the outcome of a vote. Olson (1998) 1081–2n. proposes that a kaunos represents the outcome of a dice game like astragaloi.

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exchange, as agons are by definition, but one that allowed the litigation threatened by Comedy to play out in a private setting. The fragments of Pytine only allow us to imagine how Comedy’s litigation lent the play thematic and dramatic unity, whereas Wasps demonstrates how a comic poet could turn a domestic setting into a courtroom. Once Bdelycleon has created a courtroom in the house (805–59) and a suitable crime has been detected (835–43), the trial follows regular procedures:€the jurors are summoned (891–2); the indictment is read aloud (894–7); and the prosecution and defense present their cases (905–81). As in Pytine, the parties accommodate their presentations to the forensic arena using all the tricks of language and drama employed to win over an Athenian jury:€blandishments and threats (915–16, 930, 950–1, 957–8), slander (923, 970–2), dubious witnesses (936–9, 962–6) and weeping children (976–8). The culminating vote must have brought with it a strong recollection of Pytine, as attention focussed on the voting urns brought on earlier (854–5) and anticipation built over which side would win (984–94). What is often viewed as the greatest moment of comic inspiration in Wasps may thus have drawn heavily on a scene staged a year earlier by a rival poet. Whereas in Pytine the agon and trial theme were probably combined, Aristophanes distinguishes them in order to develop the scene more fully in its own right and emphasize the satire.110 But his inspiration is bound up with what he saw a rival do on stage, and the notion is made relevant to the trial scene in a way that draws further attention to its genesis. The assembling of the apparatus for a trial and the trial itself are separated by a choral interlude that serves primarily to emphasize the novelty of these arrangements:€Bdelycleon has invented the domestic courtroom (870–1 μηχανᾶται, 876 καινοτομοῦμεν), which is described as a new religious rite (876 τελετὴν καινήν) and a new order (886 νέαισιν ἀρχαĩς). Within the plot, these assertions allude to Bdelycleon’s fantastic arrangements. But they also resonate with Aristophanes’ parabatic wish that originality be treated as the criterion for awarding prizes in the dramatic contests (1051–4).111 Hence this choral section serves the poet’s competitive advantage by drawing attention to his own comic genius. The passage is more equivocal than that, however, since this assertion, while in one sense masking the fact that Aristophanes is recycling Cratinus, also draws attention to this very feature. The irony is palpable and can be compared to how ╇ For the play’s satirical thrust, see especially Lenz (1980); Konstan (1995) 15–28; Olson (1996). ╇ For kainos in competitive assertions, cf. Bierl (2004) 3–5; Zanetto (2006) 319.

110 111

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Cratinus badgered Aristophanes for plagiarism in the parabasis of Pytine (fr. 213), but then revisited his rival’s personification of the ship maidens.112 Such banter situates intertextuality within the competitive framework, since a rival was forced to witness his material being pirated and recast to his disadvantage, while the perpetrator simultaneously proclaimed his own creative independence. These surface-level allusions and the correspondence between Aristophanes and Bdelycleon in particular alert us to the poet’s compositional tactics and lay the groundwork for an interpretation of Wasps that depends on such intertextuality. As more clearly in Pytine, so too in Wasps the theme of rehabilitation extends beyond the stage fiction to encompass a putatively “historical” Aristophanes whose poetic ascendancy came into question with the failure of Clouds. Authorial self-reference in Wasps operates in two ways:€by invoking the notion of stage biography through a recollection of themes in Pytine, and by presenting a set of characters and scenarios that recall and allude to features of Aristophanes’ own professional biography. In this instance, then, intertextuality acts as a lens that provides clarity and point of reference to the more elusive reflection of an agonistic biography. The identification of Bdelycleon with Aristophanes is brought about in several ways.113 By his name alone, Bdelycleon embodies Aristophanes’ antipathy for Cleon as expressed in the parabasis (1029–37). Furthermore, in the domestic trial Bdelycleon comes face to face with the demagogue thinly disguised as Kuon (“the Dog”), while in the second parabasis Aristophanes recalls his own legal dispute with Cleon.114 The play’s political and poetic themes converge when Bdelycleon assumes Aristophanes’ role as comic poet and healer of the city midway through the agon (650–1). By posing as the poet and defending his aspirations in a forensic agon, Bdelycleon also recalls Cratinus’ predicament in his dispute with Comedy. Meanwhile in the parabasis Aristophanes reciprocates this gesture by portraying himself as the city’s healer and defender of fathers (1037–43), much as Bdelycleon had.115 The association is carried one step further in the Cratin. fr. 210 and Eq. 1300–15; cf. Heath (1990) 151; Sidwell (1995) 64. So too in Clouds Aristophanes reproaches Eupolis for pilfering Knights (553–5) in a parabasis composed in eupolideans, immediately after claiming novelty (546–8) in the middle of a revised play; cf. Storey (1993a) 382. 113 For these and additional points, see Olson (1996) 144–5. 114 V. 1284–91, with the notes of MacDowell (1971) 299 and Sommerstein (1983) 233–4; cf. Biles (2006) 251–2. Aristophanes’ troubles with Cleon were already a familiar theme in his stage biography:€Ach. 377–82 (with Σ REΓLh Ach. 378), 502–8, 659–64; Sommerstein (1980a) 2–3. 115 Bdelycleon’s good service to his father is brought up again in the chorus’ ultimate praise of him (1463–73), where Aristophanes is implied as well (Russo (1994) 123–4). 112

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domestic trial, which casts Bdelycleon as the producer, stage-manager and director of the unfolding legal drama€– a virtual komoidodidaskalos.116 In this scene, Philocleon in turn plays the role of audience and effective judge of a dramatic presentation. The old man had already cast himself in this role during the agon, by characterizing legal disputes as theatrical events that involve acting (552–7, 562), crying (564), storytelling (566), mockery and laughter (566–7), as well as recitations of tragic scripts (579–80) and exodos songs (581–2).117 As he sees it, these displays amount to flattery (563 θώπευμα) aimed at winning his vote, a view reminiscent of Aristophanes’ presentation of the fickle audience in Knights that is also implicit in the Wasps parabasis. Through a process of contextual conflation, the political satire of the play is transformed into a criticism of the dramatic competitions themselves, in which similar corruption and mishandling of justice took place, according to Aristophanes’ portrayal of his failure with Clouds.118 The metatheater of the domestic trial points to the problem, for the producer can only obtain favorable results by manipulating his judge and audience to a verdict that goes against their will. Far from casting Bdelycleon in a bad light, this manipulation strikes us, the objective second audience to Philocleon’s behavior, as legitimate, since we recognize the error in supporting Cleon/Kuon.119 In this way, Aristophanes encourages the Theater audience to perceive their culpability when they fail to properly reward poets, and he makes his point easier for them to appreciate by having the chorus warn against this very mistake in the kommation that follows (1010–12) and then more directly in the parabasis proper with reference to Clouds (1045), and finally to Wasps itself (1051–9). Nonetheless, this “functioning” courtroom reveals a recognition that in poetic competition contestants were under a similar obligation to appeal to the audience’s sensibilities, tastes, and expectations in an attempt to curry favor. In his comic fantasy, Aristophanes could bring events to their proper conclusion. But his experience in the contests had demonstrated that it was vain to trust the audience’s judgment (1044–50). Bdelycleon’s attempts to Cf. Slater (2002) 91–3, 96. Cf. Reckford (1987) 246; Hubbard (1991) 132. For a study of the law courts through the lens of drama, see Hall (1995). 118 Cf. Olson (1996) 144, 146. 119 Cf. Olson (1996) 138–41, 148. Hubbard (1991) 133, 136 (cf. Reckford (1987) 253–5; Slater (2002) 101–2), in seeing Bdelycleon as a rival demagogue, overemphasizes his apparent change of attitude toward Cleon (V. 1219–27), since this allows Philocleon to demonstrate his antipathy for the demagogue face to face. Newiger (1957) 130 points out the significance of the two names for the trial. 116

117

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introduce his father to sophisticated society in the second half of the play accordingly meet with the same failure Aristophanes experienced when he tried to impress his audience with an allegedly more sophisticated kind of comedy in Clouds. The play’s conclusion sees Philocleon so positively anti-Aristophanic, in poetic terms, that he almost embodies Cratinus. Once suspicious of the effects of alcohol (1252–5), Philocleon is filled with a craze for wine thanks to Bdelycleon’s adjustments (1300, 1322, 1393, 1476).120 At the symposium he proves an effective comedian in his own right, and his inspiration depends on his bibulous state.121 His behavior also reveals a taste that in its marked iambicism (1311–13) and hostility to sophisticated comedians (1315–18) is notably Cratinean and generally contrary to Aristophanes’ assertions about his own sophistication.122 This performance wins Philocleon the applause of the company (1314),123 whose elevated social status (1256) perhaps demonstrates the depth of Aristophanes’ feeling of rejection, since it was supposedly such people whose tastes he especially had in mind with Clouds.124 Philocleon at the symposium thus embodies an implicit tension in Aristophanic poetics.125 But the metatheatrical implications of the closing scene emphasize Aristophanes’ effort to put Cratinean poetics to work for his own advantage in the contest.126 Following his cry to Dionysos (1474), which helps elicit the Lenaian frame, Xanthias’ revelation of Philocleon’s desire to compete in a dancing contest (1476–81) sets the stage for the finale.127 The protagonist immediately appears and demonstrates his dancing abilities (1485–95); challenges his antagonists to come forward Sidwell (1995) 70 suggests that in Philocleon’s descent into alcoholism Aristophanes consciously reverses the healing of Cratinus in Pytine. 121 Purves (1997) 17–19 describes Philocleon’s shift as one from passive spectator to engaged actor in the final scenes. McGlew (2004) 32 emphasizes the old man’s abusive behavior. 122 Like Philocleon here (V. 1315, 1317), Cratinus manifests a disdain for kompsoi, which he expresses in connection with Aristophanes (fr. 342). Philocleon’s farting, beating, mockery, and such are described by Xanthias as crude and ignorant behavior (V. 1320–1), a position that compares closely with Aristophanes’ polemic against lowbrow humor in the Clouds parabasis (Nu. 538–43). For Archilochean iambicism in Philocleon’s deployment of ainos tales in the play’s later scenes, see Zanetto (2001) 68–71. 123 Note the metatheatrical coloring in Philocleon’s reference to the tragic poet Sthenelus (V. 1313) and comedy (V. 1318). 124 V. 1048–9 and Nu. 520–4, and thus his feeling of betrayal at Nu. 525–6. Vaio (1971) 337, emphasizes the cultural significance of the symposiasts; differently Storey (1985). 125 In this sense, reconfiguring the poetic dilemma set before the audience in the prologue (V. 54–66). 126 On this scene as it focuses agonistic themes in the play, see Vaio (1971) 346–8. For the dancing, see Borthwick (1967); MacCary (1979). 127 Note the agonistic framework established by 1479 οἷς Θέσπις ἠγωνίζετο; cf. Ach. 418–19. 120

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(1497–1500); and threatens the sons of Karkinos individually with defeat as they appear (1500–13), before going down to face them (1514 καταβατέον γ̓ ἐπ̓ αὐτούς μοι) in anticipation of victory (1515 ἢν ἐγὼ κρατῶ).128 At this point the chorus get the contest underway with an anapestic couplet (1516–7) that in form, as in content, has affinities with the epirrhematic agon’s katakeleusmos,129 whose purpose of urging on the contestants is amplified by the run of archilocheans with which the play ends. A subtle allusion to Cratinus’ archilochean poetics can perhaps be felt, particularly because Cratinus had already availed himself of this metrical form, in at least one passage in connection with his stage biography.130 Among their comments in the closing verses, the chorus direct the antagonists’ attention to the audience, whose cries of awe the dancers must seek to elicit (1526–7). The play’s closing sequence fuses the dramatic action with the festival and emphasizes the poet’s interest in obtaining a victory, as the protagonist on whom he has pinned his hopes of victory faces his stage adversaries in formal competition before the Theater. In this way the poet offers his play as a competitive display that takes its place beside the other comedies in anticipation of the outcome of the Lenaian agon of 422. With that in mind, in the final lines Aristophanes makes one more attempt to impress the audience with the novelty of his creations: τοῦτο γὰρ οὐδείς πω πάρος δέδρακεν¸ ὀρχούμενον ὅστις ἀπήλλαξεν χορὸν τρυγῳδῶν

(Wasps 1536–7)

For no one has ever done this before, to take a comic chorus off-stage dancing.

Whether or not there is merit in this claim,131 Cratinus influenced the play on a number of levels, and in returning to the Theater in 422 Aristophanes acknowledged that in Knights he had spoken too soon in doubting his rival’s qualities as a poet. Philocleon’s predilection for the old tragedians Thespis (1479) and Phrynichus (1490) sets him at odds with the new generation (esp. 1480–1), much as Cratinus represents old comic poets in the Knights parabasis. Cf. Vaio (1971) 346–7; Slater (2002) 108–9. 129 MacCary (1979) 138; and for the general form Gelzer (1960) 80–3. 130 Fr. 360; see above n. 14. 131 See MacDowell (1971) and Sommerstein (1983) ad loc.; cf. Zimmermann (1985) vol. 2, 83. For the choreography of the exodos, see Vaio (1971) 349–51. 128

Ch apter 5

Aristophanes’ Clouds-palinode

The curious production history of Clouds claimed scholarly attention already at the library in Alexandria. From an ancient hypothesis, we learn that the play failed miserably at its first performance at the Dionysia of 423.1 Dismayed at this reverse, the same source reports, and convinced that his audience had failed to appreciate the play’s merits, Aristophanes undertook a revision in the hope of allowing them to correct their error. The play we have is the revised version, and in its parabasis Aristophanes comments on the circumstances that necessitated a second effort.2 Modern scholars have been eager to determine the nature, date and extent of Aristophanes’ revisions for what they can tell us about the original play, only a few fragments of which survive.3 Our clearest insight into these problems is provided by another hypothesis (Hyp. I), which describes the second Clouds as “the same as the former” (τοῦτο ταὐτóν ἐστι τῷ προτέρῳ),4 but then goes on to describe changes affecting nearly every part of the play (καθóλου μὲν οὖν σχεδὸν παρὰ πᾶν μέρος γεγενημένη διóρθωσις), with some passages (parabasis, agon of the Arguments, finale) identified as entirely new to the revised play. While these considerations will affect the discussion at some points, by and large this study will concern itself with the original Hyp. II (hypotheses cited from Dover throughout). A third place is generally assumed on the basis of the ancient hypothesis, though Luppe (1972) 53–75, argues for more than three comic poets at the dramatic festivals, based on the number of comedies produced during the Peloponnesian War years. For the possible relevance of Nu. Hyp. II to this argument, see Luppe (2000b). 2 The two versions are discussed in detail by Dover (1968) lxxx–xcviii. The denial of any biographical reality within parabases by Major (2006), esp. 142–3 (cf. McGlew (2004) 23), is hardly demonstrated by his test example, since Aristophanes’ dismay€– hyperbolically expressed, I concede€– at the failure of the first Clouds in the revised parabasis and the parabasis of Wasps are confirmed by the poet’s real decision to redeem the play by a second performance. 3 Frr. 392–401, amounting to barely five verses; references within the play date the revision to 419– 417 bc. See Kopff (1990); Storey (1993a); Henderson (1993b). 4 Although this remark presumably extends beyond matters of title and general theme, it is only intended to connect the latter play with the former as a revision and is no basis for rejecting his characterization of the relationship between the two in his more detailed comments. 1

167

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Clouds only to the extent necessary to understand the circumstances of the revision. Nor do I assume that our Clouds necessarily bears much resemblance to its predecessor.5 Rather, I approach the surviving play on the assumption that it represents a literary unity€– or, to be more accurate, that it was on its way toward literary unity, for the first Hypothesis also tells us that the revision was left incomplete.6 Numerous elements of the original Clouds are undoubtedly preserved in our play. But that should not keep us from believing that they have been carefully adapted, rearranged, and joined to new material, in the manner summarily described by this hypothesis, to produce a play with its own integrity. Emphasizing how the surviving Clouds distinguishes itself from the original helps characterize the play as an agōnisma of a special kind, in that the competitive poetics of the revision focus on recontesting the original outcome. That idea is raised first in the parabasis, which openly announces itself as part of the second play, and becomes a point of departure for a more general interpretation, as the framework of recontestation is articulated through the play’s overall thematic movement. This understanding of the revised Clouds’ agonistic positioning has implications for how we resolve another problem in the history and interpretation of the play, which was never performed at a major Athenian festival. Thanks to a blunder by Callimachus, who criticized the didaskaliai when he mistook the entry for the original Clouds as referring to the surviving comedy, we have Eratosthenes’ testimony that only a single didaskalic entry for the play existed.7 The revised Clouds thus posed a challenge for classification, and Callimachus’ search for it in the contest records, however clumsily carried out, reflects an attempt to regularize its history.8 But while Callimachus’ Overall similarity between the two versions is defended by, among others, Reckford (1987) 394; Storey (1993b) 78–81; Sommerstein (1997a) 280–1. The opposite view is taken by Russo (1994) 97–109; Tarrant (1991); cf. Casanova (2000a) 21–2, (2000b) 373 with further bibliography. ╇ 6 The hypothesis’ wording is, διεσκεύασται δὲ ἐπὶ μέρους¸ ὡς ἂν δὴ ἀναδιδάξαι μὲν αὐτὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ προθυμηθέντος¸ οὐκέτι δὲ τοῦτο δι᾽ ἥνποτε αἰτίαν ποιήσαντος. Although Dover (1968) lxxxii– lxxxiii, understands ἐπὶ μέρους to mean “in details,” the logic of the sentence seems to demand “it has been revised in part” (i.e., incompletely), since only this understanding could serve as a basis for the author’s inference that the revised play was never performed, given that no didaskalic evidence (see below) is adduced at any point in the discussion. Be that as it may, the internal evidence for the revision’s incomplete state proves the point, as Dover (1968), esp. xciv–viii, makes clear. Fabrini (1975) nonetheless argues that the play can be performed as transmitted. ╇ 7 Σâ•›E Nu. 553:€ Clouds appeared two years before Eupolis’ Marikas in the didaskaliai, which Callimachus took to be impossible, since Eupolis’ play is referred to at Nu. 553. ╇ 8 Hyp. II goes further by creating a production history for the revised play in the archonship of Ameinias, when it supposedly fared even worse; see Casanova (2000a) 22–3 for an attempt to explain this evidence. As will be seen, I am not persuaded by Dover’s explanation ((1968) xcviii; cf. Wilamowitz (1921) 170, Boruchowitsch (1973), Hubbard (1991) 53 n. 34.) that Aristophanes intended the revision for a reading audience. A sophisticated reading audience would presumably have been the group most likely to admire Clouds in its original form, at least according to ╇ 5

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effort was fruitless, his intuition was on the mark. The indications of the text imply that a dramatic instantiation in the Theater of Dionysos was envisioned,9 with the revisions geared toward the normal conditions of festival agonistics. R e v i s ion a s r e c on t e s tat ion The failure of the original Clouds and its subsequent revision raises an important consideration for Greek literature in general. Within a literary culture highly dependent on performance, where textuality per se may have had only limited significance, it is hard to imagine how revision operated, at least in the sense in which we are accustomed to think of it. For epic, the importance of the oral tradition allows us to hypothesize generations of poetic adaptations, as well as changes during repeat performances by an individual poet, as he recognized unexploited features in his material or gained greater mastery over technical aspects of his craft. In effect, each performance was a revision of inherited material, although not necessarily in an overt sense. On the contrary, the notion of Muse-inspired poetry suppresses this aspect of a poem’s “history,” by allowing the poet to present his song as always new and freshly composed.10 Thus the performance culture that lay at the heart of early Greek literature, both in the formation and perhaps the later transmission of a poetic tradition,11 itself granted this literature a degree of fluidity that prevented the idea of revision from taking on any distinct and significant meaning. What circumstances of poetic performance, then, allowed a firmer notion of revision to come into being? Some indication is available in what is perhaps the earliest and most notorious example in Greek literature.12 Aristophanes’ presentation of the matter. Harris (1989) 114, puts the level of literacy in Athens during the fifth century at 5–10%. The figures are speculative, and Thomas (1989) 19–24 is right to emphasize various kinds of literacy; but in any case a reading audience probably represented the smallest segment of the population. See Slater (1996) for the representation of literacy in comedy. Dover’s comments are the starting point for Rosen’s (1997) discussion of the Clouds parabasis as overtly self-conscious of its textuality following the initial performance. ╇ 9 Russo (1994) 105. I am in general agreement with Revermann (2006a) 326–32, though we concentrate on different points. 10 For Homer’s tendency to elide any impression of a tradition by invoking the Muses, see Ford (1992) 90–2; and especially Scodel (1996). 11 Herington (1985) 48–50, speculates that reperformance played an important role in the transmission of poetry well into the fifth century; cf. Nagy (2003). Recent work on Pindar emphasizes reperformance contexts in the transmission of his poetry:€Currie (2004); Hubbard (2004). 12 Hesiod’s announcement at Op. 11–12 that there are two forms of Eris modifies his pronouncement at Th. 225–32; to this extent it is a form of revision and conforms to several points considered in what follows, but is left out of account here because it is not aimed at reformulating the earlier poem. See Scodel (1996) 72–9.

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The tradition associated with Stesichorus tells us that when he treated Helen scathingly in a song, she had her revenge by blinding him. To counteract this punishment, Stesichorus created a new version of his Helen, which came to be known as the Palinode. In this poem he rejected his earlier traditional treatment of the myth and advanced in its place the idea that only a likeness of Helen left Sparta, leaving the honor of the actual Helen intact.13 Having reconciled himself to the goddess in this way, Stesichorus regained his sight.14 Some of this biography may depend on fanciful interpretations, but the chances are good that it stems from direct knowledge of Stesichorus’ poetry, since the tradition was firmly established by the late fifth or early fourth century and well known, to judge from the way Socrates refers to it (Pl. Phdr. 243b τὴν καλουμένην Παλινῳδίαν).15 At the very least, therefore, the account provides insight into how Athenians in the classical period could make sense of the literary situation in which Stesichorus supposedly found himself. The account assumes that Stesichorus’ first treatment of the myth was viewed as an established poem that retained its essential form, content, and meaning after the original performance. Thus what happened was not simply a matter of bringing out the same poem with undisclosed adjustments made to compensate for dissatisfaction with an earlier version, but a self-conscious and fully announced revision. We are free to speculate about the textual status the original Helen attained through writing; but how such revision operated in a performance culture is suggested by Plato’s brief quotation from the Palinode (Stesich. PMG 192): οὐκ ἔστ̓ ἔτυμος λóγος οὗτος¸ οὐδ̓ ἔβας ἐν νηυσὶν εὐσέλμοις¸ οὐδ̓ ἵκεο πέργαμα Τροίας. Though Bassi (1993) argues that the Palinode offered a similarly negative assessment of Helen. This basic outline is recoverable from the references to Stesichorus at Pl. Phdr. 243a–b and Isoc. Hel. 64. Stesichorus’ recourse to the eid ōlon is treated in a Hellenistic commentary on the poems (POxy. 2506 fr. 26 col. 1 = PMG 193; cf. Pl. R. 586c; Aristid. Or. 45.54), where note the emphasis on Stesichorus’ novel adaptation:€οὕτως δὴ ἐκαινοποίησε τὰς ἱστορίας. The same scholion identifies two separate Palinodes based on Chamaeleon’s knowledge of two different openings:€see Bowra (1963); Gentili (1988) 274–5; Hutchinson (2001) 116–17. It seems to me that duplication of Palinodes may have resulted from taking the original for a revised poem (see Bowra (1963) 248, for the abundant attestations for a single Palinode), since they probably took their title from Helen’s name (the first so called at Ath. 3.81d; see PMG 187–9); cf. Podlecki (1971) 324–5, for a similar explanation, and 326, for the likelihood of similar titles. Socrates’ phrasing τὴν καλουμένην Παλινῳδίαν sounds like an epithet used to distinguish the poems, like those commonly used to distinguish tragic titles (Butrica (2001) 56–7). 15 Bassi (1993) 59, raises doubts about the validity of the tradition; but most scholars assume that the main points of the account go back to Stesichorus. 13

14

Revision as recontestation

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That account is not true; you did not board the well-benched ships, you did not reach the citadel of Troy.

In these verses Stesichorus summarily reperforms the earlier poem to establish the point of departure for his fresh path.16 Once alerted to his attempt at revision, the audience is expected to assent to the version presented in the new poem instead of the Helen with which they are assumed to be familiar.17 Stesichorus apparently could not ignore the form in which the poem had been established at its first performance. But he aimed, as the name attributed to the revision suggests, to re-sing that poem in the hope not just of substituting a different mythological account, but of turning the experience of the performance (viewed as a continuity between earlier and later versions) toward a reverse outcome that would lead to the restoration of his vision.18 Much more is at stake than the content of the two poems. The most striking and memorable detail of the story is the matter of Stesichorus’ blinding and miraculous recovery.19 Although some readers have been inclined to treat this as a real part of the poet’s medical history, more likely his elaborate narrative is a figurative representation of the audience’s response to his original poem.20 On this reading, by announcing the revisionary purpose of his Palinode, Stesichorus assures his audience that he will improve upon his original poem to gain their approval now. It is conceivable that he introduced the tale of his recovery into the poem as a way of determining that outcome; but his true healing would be accomplished only when his new Helen got a favorable response from the Cf. Bowra (1961) 112, and esp. (1963) 246, on the force of αὖτε in the first line quoted in PMG 193.9–10; this interpretation is supported by the analysis of the deictic adjective by Beecroft (2006) 51–2. 17 Thus Scodel (1996) 62:€ “[W]hen a speaker corrects what he has said before, on another Â�occasion,€… there must be a previous relationship with the audience, since they must understand what is being corrected.” 18 Isocrates’ phrase ἀρχóμενος τῆς ᾠδῆς for the original offense can thus be understood either as the summary reperformance in the Palinode or from the perspective of the Palinode as a return to or continuation of the original performance. Note the emphatic connection Isocrates makes between the re-singing and the restoration of his sight:€ τὴν καλουμένην παλινῳδίαν ἐποίησε¸ πάλιν αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν αὐτὴν φύσιν κατέστησεν. 19 See Sider (1989) 423, who favors a dramatic presentation of the blindness and recovery within a single poem. But Isocrates Hel. 64 seems to envision a clear sequence of two poems with the blinding falling in between. 20 Cf. Bowra (1934) 116; (1961) 111; Davison (1968) 207; Gentili (1988) 126; Griffith (1990) 199. The interests of a specific (regional) audience might find support in the belief of Nagy (1990b) 421–3, that Stesichorus represents local rather than Panhellenic traditions; cf. Beecroft (2006). Bowra (1934) and Burkert (1987a) 51, argue for a Spartan audience. 16

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audience. Thus, although a poem got him into trouble and a poem would get him out of it, Stesichorus’ final objective was to erase the public memory of his disgrace.21 We do not know what setting or settings Stesichorus’ poetry was composed for. His epic themes and language, and the length of the poems, suggest formal occasions such as religious festivals. That conclusion might also explain the sense of public humiliation configured in religious terms to which he appears to respond. Because Stesichorus was active during the period when such festivals were being established throughout much of the Greek world, we can probably assume that he was no stranger to the poetic competitions that were increasingly included in festival programs.22 Indeed, the latter consideration might provide a clue to Stesichorus’ choice of malady, since comparison to Thamyris, the archaic paradigm of a competitive poet, seems inescapable.23 Still, even if some agonistic posturing can be detected in Stesichorus’ account through its relation to the Thamyris tradition, he made a critical adaptation,24 by suggesting a remedy for poetic blindness through an act of poetic revision that returns him to the good graces of the deity and, we may gather, his audience. Although the preceding conclusions can be no more than tentative, adducing the poetic agon as a contributing factor to the formation of a full-fledged notion of revision is supported by both general and specific considerations. On the general level, a public gathering allowed for a community-wide response at an event that promoted the sense of a poem taking a definitive form, produced for a particular place and time. Moreover, the formal decision as to the relative merits of the performances, even when not accompanied by a strong feeling of communal disapprobation Thus Socrates prides himself at going beyond Stesichorus in offering his own palinode before he is punished:€γυμνῇ τῇ κεφαλῇ καὶ οὐχ ὥσπερ τóτε ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης ἐγκεκαλυμμένος (Pl. Phdr. 243b). 22 The suitability of Stesichorus’ poetry to performance at festival contests is unaffected by the question of whether it was choral or monodic, on which see West (1971) 307–9; D’Alfonso (1994) 63–78. Herington (1985) 17–20, assumes that Stesichorus belongs to a tradition of agonistic festival performances in kitharody; cf. Herodotus’ (1.23–4) description of Arion’s tour of Italy and Sicily to accumulate wealth (i.e., prizes) in Periander’s time. If there is anything to the theory of Bowra (1934) about a Spartan connection, the Karneia is a possible context. 23 Il. 2.594–600 is less clear on the punishment, making Thamyris πηρóς, “maimed” (perhaps of sight) or “dumb”; but the tradition of his blinding was already known to Hesiod (fr. 65). The Muses’ mixed gift of song together with blindness (of Demodocus at Od. 8.62–4) may depend on a shared idea, but is developed differently; cf. Woodbury (1967) 172–4; Thalmann (1984) 133; Bassi (1993) 54 n. 6. That Helen deprives Stesichorus of his sight is no impediment since, alongside favor by the Muses, victory in the agon coincides with the favor shown by the deity honored at the festival:€hHom. 6.19–20 (Aphrodite); Ar. Ra. 385a–93 (Demeter). 24 This is the point Socrates emphasizes:€ ἔστιν δὲ τοῖς ἁμαρτάνουσι περὶ μυθολογίαν καθαρμὸς ἀρχαῖος¸ ὃν ῞Ομηρος μὲν οὐκ ᾔσθετο¸ Στησίχορος δέ (Pl. Phdr. 243a). 21

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(as Stesichorus’ account implies for his case), must have left a defeated poet in no doubt as to the shortcomings of his work in the form in which he had presented it. More specific support is available in the fact that the phenomenon of revision became prevalent in later competitions, in particular through restagings at the dramatic festivals in Athens. In the case of Athenian drama, we must distinguish between the two forms second performances took at the major festivals. On the one hand, tradition has it that Aeschylus’ plays were restaged already in the fifth century, although only after his death (Life of Aeschylus = test. 1.12 Radt; cf. test. 72–7). A similar but more restricted privilege was granted to Aristophanes with the reperformance of Frogs (Hyp. 1c Dover) not long after its original Lenaian victory in 405. Although I have doubts about the Aeschylus tradition,25 it is clear in these instances that reperformance represented a public honor predicated on the popularity and success of the poet or play(s) in the original contests, so that the agon provided a mechanism for canonization.26 That treatment contrasted sharply with the other paradigm for reperformance, when a poet resubmitted to the agon a play that was originally defeated, in the hope of obtaining a better verdict.27 In this case revision is tantamount to recontestation; it acknowledges defeat and perhaps embarrassment, but attempts, as in Stesichorus’ case, to confront that stigma and achieve a happier outcome. We can probably assume that instances in which a poet felt his play had not been as well received as it deserved were as numerous as the number of poets who failed to take the prize each year.28 Thus the decision actually to revise a play within a competitive framework required that a poet have a peculiar attachment to the theme or substance of his play, since he must otherwise have stood a better chance by making a fresh start.29 Because the privilege of reperformance Biles (2006–2007). Though ancient sources provided vastly different figures (70–90) for the number of plays Aeschylus produced, with 13 victories his rate of success (between 58% and 74%, assuming that four plays were performed per festival) was extraordinary. In the fourth century the restaging of old plays was formally institutionalized within the festival program for comedy and tragedy, but as a separate category and probably not (at least initially) in competitive format. Whether the restagings of Aeschylus and Aristophanes were excluded from competition is less clear. See Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 72, 86; Csapo and Slater (1994) 42; Revermann (2006a) 19–20, 72–4; Nervegna (2007) 15–18. 27 Ancient discussions of revision by Galen (XV p. 424 Kühn) and Athenaeus (9.374a–b) rely exclusively on illustrations from Athenian drama; indeed, the source anecdote for Athenaeus clearly recognized revision in the event of defeat as a common phenomenon in the Theater of Dionysos. Cf. Revermann (2006a) 330–1. 28 D. 21.18 is perhaps indicative of many a defeated poet’s certainty that he deserved the prize. 29 Thus at Th. 847–8 Aristophanes imagines Euripides as so ashamed of the “frigidity” of his Palamedes, which perhaps reflects the play’s failure in the competition (Ael. VH 2.8 = E. Palamedes test. iia Kannicht; cf. Austin and Olson (2004) 847–8n.), that he prefers not to be reminded of it. 25

26

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appears to have been a special honor in the fifth century, the normal expectation and demand was probably for new plays at the major festivals, meaning that a poet engaging in competitive revision was obliged on that count alone to offer something substantially different.30 Several cases where comic poets revised their plays with an eye toward another competition can be identified,31 but the most helpful example is Euripides’ Hippolytus plays. The problem of the relation between these plays was a source of much speculation among ancient scholars, who sought connections between them and Euripides’ own domestic troubles. Those imaginings aside, the basic framework of revision for an improved agonistic outcome can be extracted from the ancient hypothesis, whose author apparently had access to both plays and could speak of one as a revision of the other.32 The notice assumes that the Hippolytus recorded in didaskalic records for the year 428 was preceded by another Hippolytus play whose entry in the records showed that it had failed to take the prize.33 In the case of tragedy, the standard recycling of mythical material might imply that repeated treatments of the same theme do not mean that a play was revised in a narrow sense.34 But Barrett observes in his discussion of the Hippolytus plays that it is rare for a tragedian to compose As noted above, on a straightforward interpretation Nu. Hyp. I supports this approach with the notice that “the revision has affected nearly every part of the play.” Antiph. fr. 189 could be taken as a rationale for allowing comic poets (versus tragic poets) to get away with returning to the stage with reworked plays. 31 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 100–1; cf. Butrica (2001) 54–5. Telecleides’ apparent recontestation of his Sterroi (thus ἀν[εδίδαξε in IG XIV 1098a = test. 5) earned him only third place; see Geissler (1925) 15; Csapo and Slater (1994) 12–13. Butrica (2001) 62–70 argues for a relationship of recontestation in Aristophanes’ two Thesmophoriazusae plays, though see Austin and Olson (2004) lxxxviii–ix. Revision of a play rather than simply homonymous titles is suggested for Aristophanes’ Peace plays by the wording of Pax Hyp. II:€καὶ σποράδην δέ τινα ποιήματα παρατίθεται¸ ἅπερ ἐν τῇ νῦν φερομένῃ οὐκ ἔστιν. 32 Thus διώρθωται in this account. Whether he identified the original correctly is a different question:€see Gibert (1997), esp. 92 n. 28, for the point made below; cf. Cropp (2005). 33 Ancient scholars distinguished between the two plays with the epithets καλυπτóμενος (Poll. 9.50; Σâ•›KEAG Theocr. 2.10b/c Wendel = E. Hipp. A´ test. iv Kannicht) and στεφανίας (Hyp. 26–8 Barrett; cf. Stob. 4.44.34); these have been explained as having to do with peculiarities of dramatic action in the plays (Barrett (1964) 37; Roisman (1999)), but they may instead reflect the losing and so “disgraced” original play and the “crowned” victorious revision. Note Socrates’ apparent implication that Stesichorus composed his Palinode ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης ἐγκεκαλυμμένος (Pl. Phdr. 243b). On the dubious origins of the epithets in transmitted tragic titles, see Gibert (1997) 87–8. Why Euripides chose to return to the same theme is impossible to say; he may have felt the disgrace more acutely than on other occasions when he was defeated, or perhaps he thought this segment of the myth had especially rich potential for his view of the tragic. But none of these possibilities affect our interpretation of the evidence we have. 34 If titles originated with the poet (see Kaimio (2000); Sommerstein (2002)), the decision to retain one could itself have major implications for how an audience anticipated and responded to the second play. 30

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two plays on the same segment of a myth.35 For a tragic poet to return to the same theme may thus have been tantamount to a revision of his original attempt. To put these observations in a competitive framework, tragic poets may have been inclined to revisit themes only if they had been less than successful with the origial play;36 in effect, a poet could only challenge his own achievement when he reworked a theme with which he had already been successful in the contests.37 Thus the implication of the ancient hypothesis that one Hippolytus stands in a direct relationship to the other is not refuted by the partial summary of the lost play, which points to a markedly different handling of the material.38 Revision may very well take a strikingly new path, when it is understood as recontestation based on the model of a palinode like Stesichorus’ second departure on the theme of Helen. Euripides may not have composed his new Hippolytus with the script of the other lying before him, but he must have taken what he learned from the first performance and applied it to producing a new play on the theme. His initial failure will have given him a range of considerations€– some perhaps quite specific€– to contemplate and adjust for.39 With a general knowledge of a previous play in place, he had at his disposal the potent device of intertextuality, which could be utilized to highlight differences between versions with an eye toward agonistic advantage;40 for whatever form this effort took, there can be no doubt that in reattempting the myth on the tragic stage he set his sights on winning the competition this time. Thus even in the absence of reliable evidence for Euripides’ methods and motivations for reworking the theme, the Hippolytus plays (and other similar instances) can be treated as critical revision in the sense of recontestation. As will become evident in the discussion of Clouds that follows, recontestation was to the fore of Aristophanes’ mind as he revised the play for a major dramatic festival. Unless he was certain of his ability to identify a See Barrett (1964) 13, 10–45, for the evidence for the two plays; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 99. In many cases where identical ancient titles are likely (e.g., Sophocles’ Oedipus and Philoctetes plays), the plays treated different segments of the myth; see Sommerstein (2002) 3–4. 36 The greater frequency of repeat themes in Euripides thus goes along with his general lack of success in the Theater. 37 Understood in this way, the notion of competition carries with it the impulse toward creating a definitive treatment of a theme on the tragic stage; hence Euripides’ perceived competition with Aeschylus when he produced an Electra-play (El. 518–37, cf. A. Ch. 166–210). 38 Hutchinson (2004); Revermann (2006a) 75. 39 One thinks of the story that Euripides changed the first line of his Melanippe for a later performance in response to earlier cries of disapproval (Plu. Mor. 756b–c = E. fr. 480). 40 Hutchinson (2004) 22–3, 26–8, identifies a number of possible points of intertextuality between the two Hippolytus plays before applying the concept to homonymous plays generally. 35

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few specific problems in the original script or performance, he would have been foolish to present the audience with much the same play as had failed disastrously (by his own account) and expect to carry away the prize.41 In contemplating a return to the Theater with Clouds, Aristophanes was very much in Stesichorus’ position. A r i s t oph a n e s’

c l o u d s -pa l i node

As often in the surviving comedies, the parabasis of the revised Clouds provides an opportunity for Aristophanes to make daring claims about himself and his poetry before the Athenians and their allies.42 Even in this general way, the parabasis conforms with the general use of the form as it had been developed for agonistic purposes in the Theater. Though one ancient source (Hyp. I; cf. Σ↜ENMRs Nu. 520) informs us that this part of the play belongs to the revision, we hardly need this prompting, since the matter of the play’s performance history is central to the discussion (Nu. 518–35): ὦ θεώμενοι¸ κατερῶ πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἐλευθέρως τἀληθῆ¸ νὴ τὸν Διóνυσον τὸν ἐκθρέψαντά με. οὕτω νικήσαιμί τ̓ ἐγὼ καὶ νομιζοίμην σοφὸς ὡς ὑμᾶς ἡγούμενος εἶναι θεατὰς δεξιοὺς καὶ ταύτην σοφώτατ̓ ἔχειν τῶν ἐμῶν κωμῳδιῶν πρώτους ἠξίωσ̓ ἀναγεῦσ̓ ὑμᾶς¸ ἣ παρέσχε μοι ἔργον πλεĩστον εἶτ᾽ ἀνεχώρουν ὑπ᾽ ἀνδρῶν φορτικῶν ἡττηθεὶς οὐκ ἄξιος ὤν. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ὑμĩν μέμφομαι τοĩς σοφοĩς¸ ὧν οὕνεκ̓ ἐγὼ ταῦτ̓ ἐπραγματευóμην. ἀλλ̓ οὐδ̓ ὣς ὑμῶν ποθ̓ ἑκὼν προδώσω τοὺς δεξιούς. ἐξ ὅτου γὰρ ἐνθάδ̓ ὑπ᾽ ἀνδρῶν¸ οὓς ἡδὺ καὶ λέγειν¸ ὁ σώφρων τε χὠ καταπύγων ἄριστ̓ ἠκουσάτην¸ κἀγώ¸ παρθένος γὰρ ἔτ̓ ἦν κοὐκ ἐξῆν πώ μοι τεκεĩν¸  ἐξέθηκα¸ παĩς δ̓ ἑτέρα τις λαβοῦσ᾽ ἀνείλετο¸ ὑμεĩς δ̓ ἐξεθρέψατε γενναίως κἀπαιδεύσατε¸ ἐκ τούτου μοι πιστὰ παρ᾽ ὑμῶν γνώμης ἔσθ᾽ ὅρκια. νῦν οὖν ᾽Ηλέκτραν κατ᾽ ἐκείνην ἥδ᾽ ἡ κωμῳδία ζητοῦσ᾽ ἦλθ᾽¸ ἤν που ᾽πιτύχῃ θεαταĩς οὕτω σοφοĩς.

520

525

530

535

That the revised play was never performed is immaterial, since Aristophanes will have recognized from the start what he was up against. Even if we suppose that he undertook the revisions for a performance at another venue such as the Rural Dionysia, this too will have meant recontestation; IG II2 3090 points to the agonistic format and suggests that Sophocles and Aristophanes participated as directors (hence ἐδίδασκεν). Cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 47–8; Csapo (2004) 59–60. 42 When I speak of the revised play in performance in what follows, I do so merely for convenience’s sake. 41

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Spectators, I will speak the truth to you frankly, by Dionysos the god who made me what I am. As I hope to win and be deemed wise, I believed that you were a clever audience and that of all my comedies this one has the most â•… sophisticated humor; thus I thought you deserved the first taste of it, a play that cost me much effort. But I retreated, undeservedly defeated by vulgar men. This is my complaint, therefore, against you the wise, for whose sake I expended all these efforts. But even so, I will never willingly betray the intelligent among your ranks. For from the time when, in this very place and from men it is â•… sweet even to mention, my virtuous and perverted boys received the highest acclaim – but since I was still a maiden and could not give birth, I exposed it, and another girl took it up for herself, while you nourished it nobly and reared it€– from that time I have had sworn pledges of good taste from you. So now the present comedy has come, like the well-known Electra searching to find, perhaps, spectators who are similarly wise.

This passage purports to summarize the unfortunate outcome of the original production. Aristophanes wastes no time in blaming the audience for this outcome and presents the current revision almost as a necessity, due to his unwillingness to let them miss out on such rare entertainment. The mode of self-assertion throughout this passage is familiar, but an important difference is immediately felt. The chorus do not come as an emissary of the poet, who is referred to in the third person. Instead, Aristophanes has cast his chorus as himself, so that their claims come as though from the poet’s own mouth.43 Although this happens occasionally in other plays,44 only here does the chorus drop their dramatic persona to assume Aristophanes’ voice for the entire “anapestic” section.45 Given my suggestion in Chapter 1 that a connection exists between poetic Â�self-assertion in References in the first person occur at 518, 519, 520, 522, 523, 524, 525, 526, 527, 530, 531, 533. The chorus speak as Aristophanes in the first person also in the antepirrhema of the second parabasis of Wasps (1284–91), and switch from third to first person midway through the parabases of Acharnians (659–64) and Peace (754–74); cf. Hubbard (1991) 149. Unlike in Clouds, however, these changes to the first person occur at the moment Cleon becomes the target of Aristophanes’ invective and thus serve to intensify the poet’s polemical opposition to the demagogue. The same is true at the points where Dikaiopolis speaks as Aristophanes in the first person (Ach. 377–82, 501–2). 45 These are eupolideans, which may be significant for interpreting the criticism of Eupolis at 553–5:€Perusino (1986) 18–19; Fisher (1984) 156–7; Storey (2003b) 388; Kyriakidi (2007) 149–50. 43

44

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the parabasis and the conventions of self-assertion in agonistic displays, the full realization of the poet’s authorial presence in the revised parabasis may be evidence that on this occasion he planned to step up his usual level of personal competitive engagement. Certainly this impersonation enhances the tone of authorial presence and suits Aristophanes’ intent, proclaimed in the opening couplet, to offer plain comments to the audience.46 Whatever remarks follow, the audience is to take them as a personal confrontation with the poet. To lend force to his denunciatory zeal, Aristophanes follows the usual practice of supplying an oath:€“by Dionysos, who brought me up” (519). As often, the choice of deity has implications for the speaker’s character and emphasizes the immediate context.47 Here Aristophanes’ invocation of the god of the Theater draws attention to the festival context, where Dionysos’ presence was required and his priest occupied a prominent seat at the front of the Theater.48 The poet’s ability to depend on Dionysos is given a personal explanation through the striking claim that he was brought up by the god. It thus emerges clearly from the opening remarks that in the parabasis Aristophanes aimed at portraying himself as a dramatic poet according to the norms of festival celebration. Throughout the passage, in fact, the theatrical context is never allowed to recede from the foreground. The opening words address the audience as visual witnesses to the play (518 ὦ θεώμενοι), and thereafter their role as spectators is repeatedly alluded to either directly (521, 535) or by implication (525–6, 532–3).49 Nor are these references limited to the intended performance of the revised play; the original performance of 423 (523–5) and that of Banqueters in 427 (528–33) figure prominently as well. Mention of the audience’s loving nurturing of Aristophanes’ first play (532 ἐξεθρέψατε) recalls Aristophanes’ own upbringing by the god of the Theater (519 ἐκθρέψαντα), so that a theme of theatrical performance unites the discussion of the three plays κατερῶ, especially in combination with τἀληθῆ, is emphatic, communicating a declaration or even a denunciation; see LSJ s.v. κατερέω, which cites this passage for the definition “to tell plainly.” 47 Thus he also swears by Dionysos in support of Clouds at V. 1046–7. 48 See Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 268, and for the location of the cult-statue in the Theater, Csapo and Slater (1994) 105; cf. Eq. 536; Ra. 297. At Delos a statue of Dionysos (4th c.) was enthroned at the front of the Theater; cf. Cole (1993) 31 n. 48. The prominence granted Zeus as the deity named first in the parabasis odes (563–5) is matched by that of Dionysos as the last-named (603–6). 49 Revermann (2006a) 327, concedes that these might simply be conventions that Aristophanes abided by even when composing for a reading audience. In that case, the poet would be highly formulaic in his approach to composition, although we might expect a difference in audiences to be among the points to which he was most sensitive and ready to respond, humorously or otherwise. 46

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and suggests a continuity in the poet’s professional activity as he appears before the audience now. In 528, moreover, ἐνθάδε (“here”) implies continuity of physical space for the performances of Banqueters and the revised Clouds in the Theater of Dionysos.50 That emphasis goes along with the rhetorical assumption, which lies at the heart of Aristophanes’ criticism, that the audience of the present play is the same as the one that witnessed the original Clouds and Banqueters.51 Thus it returns in the familiar guise of Electra to the place where everything began (534–5), hoping to find a more receptive audience (535 ἤν που ᾽πιτύχῃ θεαταĩς).52 The point of establishing this theatrical pedigree is, as always, to urge the audience to support the revised Clouds. In the case of each play referred to, the poet’s competitive interests make a critical contribution to his discussion. His account of the production history of the original Clouds in 521–5 ends by registering his consternation at the defeat he suffered at the hands of worthless competitors (524 ἀνδρῶν φορτικῶν).53 It is this very mishap (implied by οὐκ ἄξιος ὤν, 525) he hopes to correct by invoking the example of Banqueters, his first comedy. Here, by contrast, the audience displayed good taste in supporting his play (532) and helping it make a respectable showing (529 ἄριστ᾽ ἠκουσάτην). But in this case Aristophanes has misrepresented his play’s production history somewhat, for a scholion on 529 reports that Banqueters only took second place. As others have observed, the educational theme shared by Clouds and Banqueters perhaps motivated Aristophanes to refer to the earlier play here.54 But this does not For ἐνθάδε meaning “in the Theater,” see Dover (1968) ad loc. The suggestion of Halliwell (1980) 42–3, and MacDowell (1982) 23, that a reference to a small group of private supporters before the festival is intended in 528–9 is unconvincing, since although both scholars argue for a temporal sequence in the three events described in 528–32, there are no temporal markers in the text. (For the use of such markers for linked events, e.g., Nu. 524, 553, 557, 558.) It is more natural to understand 530–2 as interjected details for the event described in 528–9 (cf. E. Med. 935–7; Lys. 2.5) with the resulting delay necessitating the strongly resumptive ἐκ τούτου (533). An explanation for the details is at hand:€since Aristophanes did not produce Banqueters himself, he may have felt it worth reminding the audience that his theatrical service to Athens began well before his own request for a chorus (as also at V. 1018–22). A reference to an exclusive and anonymous group could only have confused the audience and leaves the crucial point of reception in the Theater (see below) to be established by the lively but imprecise metaphor of 532. Cf. Perusino (1986) 54–5. 51 Cf. Olson (1994) 34 n. 10. A similar tendency to address past and present gatherings as one and the same can be observed in oratory (e.g., Th. 2.61.1–2; D. 21.18); cf. Sommerstein (1998) 48–9. 52 Newiger (1961) believes that the reference implies a recent restaging of Aeschylus’ play. 53 Following the suggestion of ΣRENA Nu. 524c, Perusino (1986) 54 n. 57, questions whether the men referred to here are the audience or judges. But they can scarcely be anyone other than the competitors, who are the only ones who can really be described as defeating Aristophanes; see below. For Aristophanes’ use of the term to refer to rival poets, see Sommerstein (1990) 1218n. 54 Newiger (1961) 423; Hubbard (1991) 92–3, with bibliography. 50

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entirely explain why he presented the performance in a more favorable light than the facts warranted. Some interpretive burden can be assumed to rest on the claim of agonistic success, and Aristophanes’ point can be appreciated by considering the end toward which the discussion is carried. The audience’s assessment of his first play provided him with sure tokens of their fine judgment (533 πιστὰ γνώμης ὅρκια), and he hopes to find these same tokens in their possession again, at the moment of Clouds’ second production (534–5). On the one hand, his distortion of the contest outcome encourages the audience to throw their support behind a play whose general theme they are allowed to think they favored at a previous contest. But the temporal expression ἐξ ὅτου … ἐκ τούτου (528, 533) is not restricted to a single moment; rather, it establishes an initial point in a longer period of time, during which Aristophanes could consistently rely on the audience’s gnōmai. Although no explanation will get us past the playful dishonesty of implying victory where there was none, the poet’s more modest second place with Banqueters lays the groundwork for the string of successes that followed, in all likelihood already with Babylonians and certainly with Acharnians and Knights.55 In this respect the discussion in the revised Clouds is consistent with Aristophanes’ more ample review of his career in Wasps (1018–47), where Clouds likewise stood out as a stunning reverse at the end of a period in which he was appreciated for his dedication to public service. Here in the revised parabasis he strives to present himself as someone who has been a continuous favorite in the Theater from the moment of his first performance. Taking this maneuver as part of an agonistic strategy makes sense in light of how the concerns expressed in the parabasis about theater production and audience reception serve the interest of a victory with the revised Clouds. In the opening lines of the parabasis, Aristophanes proclaims a wish “to gain a victory and be considered wise” (520). Through this unequivocal announcement of his intent to recontest the play’s reception, Aristophanes’ identity as a competitive poet is placed squarely before the audience. The constraints of this identity prompt his confession that any claim he has to sophia depends on the outcome of the envisioned contest. This is a remarkable comment, the implications of which are easily missed. Whereas it would be reasonable for any poet to claim sophia as a traditional attribute of his craft,56 Aristophanes casts himself in an agon Cf. Hackforth (1938) 6 n. 2; Newiger (1961) 424. For the evidence for a victory with Babylonians at the City Dionysia of 426, see above, pp. 82–3. 56 Aristophanes’ claim at Ach. 629 to be dexios should be understood in this light. For the varieties of sophia at stake in poetic claims, see Griffith (1990) 188–90. 55

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for this title. In defining his relationship with sophia so ambiguously as it depends on contest outcomes, he shares something with the competing Arguments of the agon (955–8) and with Aeschylus and Euripides in Frogs (882–4). The overall logic of the parabasis spells this out more completely, by suggesting that the exceptional sophia latent in a play like Clouds (522) requires an audience of the same quality (521, 526–7, 535), in order that their judgment (533) can bestow this title on the poet (520). The machinery of the agon is such that play and, in the last instance, poet only gain full recognition of their exceptional merit at the moment the audience gives its support toward victory in the contest.57 When treated as a quality that depends on an agonistic outcome, poetic sophia is transient and can no longer be taken for granted as a gift of the Muses, but must instead be reestablished at each festival competition. Of course, by remarking on these points in the first place and especially in connection with the defeat of the original Clouds, Aristophanes casts himself as having lost sophia. The terms have been exchanged, in other words, but the sense in which his poetic credentials have been undermined by his earlier performance has much in common with the predicament in which Stesichorus found himself. Nonetheless, as we might also surmise in Stesichorus’ case, Aristophanes’ willingness to resubmit a revised play to the rigors of festival competition can itself be taken to reflect confidence in agonistic performance as a mechanism for determining literary excellence. A r i s t oph a n e s a n d t h e n e w r i va l s of t h e 4 10 s With its rhetorical emphasis firmly directed toward poetic victory, the discussion of the three plays in the revised parabasis offers blunt testimony for a literary culture defined by the competitive interests of immediate production. The same considerations can be detected in Aristophanes’ treatment of his competitors. Because so much energy is directed toward conjuring up the poet’s bitter resentment over the reception of the original play, it comes as a surprise that we hear nothing specific about the rival poets who defeated Clouds. No mention is made of them by name, and Aristophanes drops the subject after branding them with a conventional term of loathing (524 φορτικῶν).58 Later in the parabasis, however, when he speaks about the poetic virtues that distinguish him from his competitors, For Aristophanes’ treatment of audience and judges, see below. For reasons that will become clear below, I do not accept the theory of Sidwell (1995) 66–8, that the parabasis is ventriloquial comedy impersonating Cratinus.

57 58

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he mentions several of them by name. This identification of specific targets goes hand-in-hand with an escalation in the vigor of the literary insult (Nu. 545–59): κἀγὼ μὲν τοιοῦτος ἀνὴρ ὢν ποητὴς οὐ κομῶ¸ οὐδ᾽ ὑμᾶς ζητῶ ᾽ξαπατᾶν δὶς καὶ τρὶς ταὔτ᾽ εἰσάγων¸ ἀλλ᾽ αἰεὶ καινὰς ἰδέας εἰσφέρων σοφίζομαι οὐδὲν ἀλλήλαισιν ὁμοίας καὶ πάσας δεξιάς. ὃς μέγιστον ὄντα Κλέων᾽ ἔπαισ᾽ εἰς τὴν γαστέρα κοὐκ ἐτóλμησ᾽ αὖθις ἐπεμπηδῆσ᾽ αὐτῷ κειμένῳ.  οὗτοι δ᾽¸ ὡς ἅπαξ παρέδωκεν λαβὴν Ὑπέρβολος¸ τοῦτον δείλαιον κολετρῶσ᾽ ἀεὶ καὶ τὴν μητέρα. Εὔπολις μὲν τὸν Μαρικᾶν πρώτιστον παρείλκυσεν ἐκστρέψας τοὺς ἡμετέρους Ἱππέας κακὸς κακῶς¸ προσθεὶς αὐτῷ γραῦν μεθύσην τοῦ κóρδακος οὕνεχ᾽¸ ἣν Φρύνιχος πάλαι πεπóηχ᾽¸ ἣν τὸ κῆτος ἤσθιεν. εἶθ᾽ ῞Ερμιππος αὖθις ἐποίησεν εἰς Ὑπέρβολον¸ ἅλλοι τ᾽ ἤδη πάντες ἐρείδουσιν εἰς Ὑπέρβολον¸ τὰς εἰκοὺς τῶν ἐγχέλεων τὰς ἐμὰς μιμούμενοι.

545

550

555

And despite being such a man, I don’t wear my hair long, nor do I try to deceive you by twice or thrice producing â•… the same things; rather, I always think up ways to introduce new ideas, utterly unlike one another and all of them clever. It is I who punched Cleon in his belly at his height but was not so crude as to leap on him again once he was down. But these others, from the moment Hyperbolos gave them a hold, they keep trampling the wretch over and over, along â•… with his mother. Eupolis started it when he brought out his Marikas, making a travesty of our Knights€– the bastard!€– and fixing a drunken hag to it, all because of the kordax; Phrynichus created her long ago, the one a sea-monster tried to eat. Then Hermippus in turn aimed his poetry at Hyperbolos, and now all the others press hard on Hyperbolos, in imitation of my eel similes.

Here again, Aristophanes’ posture is that of a poet whose reputation must be proved in comparison with his rivals. He wishes his audience to appreciate the creativity and originality he claims is fundamental to his literary principles. The nameless οὗτοι who represent the competition, by contrast, are mere masters of repetition (551–2). When he comes to mentioning poets by name, Eupolis turns out to have pillaged Aristophanes’ own literary achievement of attacking Cleon in Knights, and worse still, ruined it in

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the process, by adding the stale comic routine of the kordax. Even that was only stolen from a play by Phrynichus, in which the unfortunate routine received its just literary deserts when the actor performing the dance was threatened with destruction.59 After Eupolis, Hermippus and “the rest”€– which would appear to include Plato, who produced Hyperbolos in the early 410s60€– kept recycling the same attack on Hyperbolos, consciously imitating the eel metaphor in Knights.61 In one sense, Aristophanes’ distinguishing claim of originality loses force through the fact that Clouds is a revised play, which the audience is assumed to have seen performed before.62 In any event, Aristophanes manages to present these considerations in a way that still redounds to his credit. For the point developed most fully is that all these poets have recognized his ingenuity and, far from producing their own material, have shamelessly combined his own literary property with trite borrowings from elsewhere and aimed the result at insignificant targets.63 There is thus a certain comically self-serving logic available in defense of restaging Clouds, in that other poets have demonstrated by their own literary peculation that Aristophanes’ comedies are worth taking up again. Indeed, from the picture offered here, in Aristophanes’ opinion the comic stage was stagnating through the predictability of a mode of humor he claims to have pioneered. The time was ripe for a new old play. See Dover (1968) 556n., for the conative force of ἤσθιεν. On πάλαι with the perfect πεπóηκε, Dover suggests that a play, once written, continues to circulate as a text; the idea may be instead that a comic routine, once hit upon, is adopted by other poets, as Aristophanes’ discussion goes to prove. Phrynichus is admittedly targeted for other reasons than pilfering of the demagogue theme, but he is clearly caught up in the ridicule and maligned by association (contrast Sommerstein (1990) 439); Aristophanes makes it sound as if he belongs to the theatrical past, when in fact his career began only a few years before Aristophanes’ and he had likely earned his first Dionysian victory very recently:€cf. IG II2 2325.61, where he follows Aristophanes, Eupolis, and Kantharos. His first Lenaian victory may have been as recent as 429 or 428:€IG II2 2325.124; see Geissler (1925) 12; Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112–13; Rusten (2006b). 60 See Geissler (1925) 49–50; K–A vol. 7.505; Casanova (1995) 108–9. Although Sommerstein (2000) 438–9 may be right to say that Aristophanes “downgrades” Plato’s importance, the fact that Plato’s play took its title from the demagogue may have made the reference transparent and tantamount to a competitive slight (i.e., closer to the possibility Sommerstein proposes farther along in his discussion). 61 Eq. 864–7. On the metaphor’s contribution to the play’s organizing theme of disruption, see Newiger (1957) 27–30; Edmunds (1987). 62 Alternatively, these claims may imply that Aristophanes’ revision of the play was quite substantial, thus Casanova (2000a) 24. For the irony here, see Hubbard (1991) 103–5, and especially Fisher (1984) 156, though Aristophanes’ self-ridicule is easily overemphasized, since references like that to repeated attacks on Cleon and Hyperbolos concern in the first instance plays like Knights and Marikas, in which they were a central theme. Topical and discrete ridicule of individuals, as at Nu. 589–94, hardly belongs in the same category. Cf. Henderson (1990) 298. 63 Cf. Edwards (1990) 145–6. A similar charge of mining his plays is perhaps levelled against Eupolis by Aristophanes in fr. 58:€cf. Storey (1990) 22; (1993) 74. The rivalry between Aristophanes and Eupolis is discussed more extensively in Storey (2003b) 278–303; Kyriakidi (2007). 59

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Were we less well-informed about the entries at the City Dionysia of 423, we might assume that Aristophanes’ competitors included the poets named in this passage. In its remarkable specificity (including not just names of poets but also titles of plays), insulting tenor, and sheer number of targets, this is among his most ambitious attacks on his rivals.64 If we ask why Eupolis, Phrynichus, Hermippus and Plato are attacked so mercilessly, while the real culprits, Cratinus and Ameipsias, are all but left out of account (i.e., the phortikoi of 524), a reasonable explanation may be agonistic currency.65 The passage just cited is crucial evidence in dating Aristophanes’ revision of Clouds, since it provides a terminus post quem of a year or two after the sequence of plays reviled, beginning with Eupolis’ Marikas of 421.66 Accordingly, Aristophanes might have viewed any of these four active poets as potential rivals at the competition where he hoped to produce his revised Clouds. By assuming a theatrical presence, whether real or potential, this explanation gives point to the demonstrative οὗτοι in 551, by allowing the word to function almost as a gesture that activates the idea of engagement between rivals within the poetic agon.67 Moreover, all four men were established poets with victories under their belts, making them worthy of ridicule for the threat they posed in any contest in the early 410s.68 The same cannot be said of Cratinus, who had surely died or given up competing after his victory with Pytine. And while Ameipsias continued to compete for many years to come, he did not take the prize either with his Connus in 423 or (as it seems) in the period The abuse of Cratinus in Eq. 525–36 and the presentation of Aristophanes’ literary reforms in Pax 736–64 are both remarkable; but the first is directed against only one rival, while the second is not specific about its targets (which did not stop ancient scholars, e.g., on 740 and 741, from attempting to identify them). The prologue of Frogs (see below) takes on multiple targets, but is both more succinct and less acerbic. 65 Here I disagree with Platter (2007) 104–5. On komodoumenoi, see Sommerstein (1996b), esp. 329–30, 349 (on abuse of other comic poets). Sommerstein (1996b) 329 n. 13, suggests that comic poets avoid abusing comic but not tragic actors, based on the likelihood that they would probably have to collaborate with the former at some point; the poet’s self interest with respect to the production of his plays at competitions thus guides his decisions about theatrical abuse. 66 Callimachus must have found Marikas entered in the didaskaliai for the year 421 (ΣE Nu. 553) at the Lenaia, since Eupolis competed against Peace with Flatterers at the City Dionysia (Pax Hyp. III). Cf. Casanova (1995) 109–10. 67 Cf. Pax 729–31, with Olson (1998) ad loc. 68 See Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112–13, for their place in the List of Victors. Plato too was almost certainly victorious at the Lenaia by this time; POxy. 2737.44–51 (= Pl. Com test. 7) suggests victories (with others directing his plays) prior to Rhabdouchoi, and frr. 106–7 (from Peisander) comment on those arrangements; cf. Sommerstein (2000) 447 n. 21. His first victory at the City Dionysia came later (IG II2 2325.63). The fact that Aristophanes is gauging the prospects for competition with these poets severely reduces the chance that the revision was planned for a festival outside Athens, as Revermann (2006a) 331, suggests. 64

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leading up to the Clouds’ revision.69 In short, he was not worthy of insult at the moment of Aristophanes’ intended return with Clouds, since abusing him would have been tantamount to assigning him importance he had not earned. Among the paradoxes of competitive rhetoric is the tendency to regard those most capable of winning a contest as least deserving victory.70 The general validity of this analysis receives support when we look ahead to the end of the fifth century. The cast of characters against whom Aristophanes directs literary insults changes in 405 with Frogs. Here a different cadre of poets is attacked:€Phrynichus, Lykis, and Ameipsias (Ra. 13–15). Ameipsias had by now become a worthy adversary; the veteran Phrynichus was competing against Frogs with his Muses; and Lykis too may have entered the List of Victors for the City Dionysia by this date.71 The emerging pattern of Aristophanes’ competitive strategy of literary insult can be appreciated in another way by considering his treatment of Cratinus, who was abused aggressively in 425 (Ach. 848–53, 1168–73) and 424 (Eq. 400, 526–36), when he was competing directly against Acharnians (Hyp. I) and Knights (Hyp. II). But by the time of Frogs, Cratinus is treated with professional respect, to the point of allowing him an honorific association with Dionysos through the epithet taurophagos (Ra. 357),72 perhaps in connection with the play’s retrospective treatment of the masters of Attic drama.73 By concentrating on active and considerable rivals in the revised parabasis of Clouds, Aristophanes reveals that he had come far enough with his revisions of the play to begin thinking in specific terms about the likely competition at an upcoming festival. Indeed, he may be referring to the other four poets set to participate in an impending five-poet His first victory at the City Dionysia (IG II2 2325.62) may have been in competition against Birds in 414 (Av. Hyp. I; cf. Dunbar (1995) 1), while his first Lenaian victory belongs later in the fifth century (IG II2 2325.133); see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112–13. 70 A point implicit in Emerson (1889). 71 In the List of Victors for the City Dionysia, Lykis (IG II2 2325.65) appears three places after Ameipsias’ victory of no later than 414:€Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 112. Phrynichus placed second with Muses (Ra. Hyp. I (c) Dover); Σ VMEΘBarb Ra. 13b claims that Aristophanes’ charges were not supported by anything in Phrynichus’ plays. 72 On this epithet, see Dover (1993) ad loc. 73 The mention of Cratinus at Pax 700–3 is less easy to assess, but if Sommerstein (1996b) 334 (cf. Sommerstein (2005) 164) is right to place it in the class of men who receive favorable mention, we have a startling change in Aristophanes’ handling of his most prestigious rival of the 420s that coincides with the moment Cratinus seemingly ceased to be active. To be sure, the evident mockery, which depends on the earlier representations of Cratinus in comedy (see Chapter 4), is mitigated by the commendatory epithet sophos, while his supposed death in response to a Spartan invasion is itself presented as one of the misfortunes the war brought upon Athens. 69

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competition,74 although in that case we would have to assume a drastic change of plan between the time he was awarded a chorus by the archon and his production of a different comedy in place of the revised Clouds. In either event, consideration of his future rivals outweighed any wish to attack the competitors who most deserved abuse, from the perspective of the original play.75 This shift in competitive focus is worth attending to. Modern readers of Old Comedy tend to play down mockery among rival poets as playful, ritualistic, and ironic.76 This is true up to a point. But anyone familiar with the American electoral process today knows that lies and distortion can be an effective tactic for diminishing an opponent’s public support, even when the charges are revealed to be false later on. Comic poets, by contrast, had only to secure the “suspicion” of the audience against their rivals for a few hours or days at most, depending on the arrangement of the festival. By laughing along with Aristophanes’ distorting mockery of his rivals, the audience implicates itself in his competitive perspective and takes on his disdain of other poets as their own. Even if the strategy is only marginally advantageous, once such poetic challenges€– above all, in the parabasis€– became conventional, a poet had little choice but to throw himself wholeheartedly into fabricating attacks and rebuttals; to remain silent was not so much a sign of taking the moral high ground as an admission that one was unfit to compete.77 Given that the revised Clouds was never staged or even completed, it is striking that Aristophanes thought so carefully about and gave priority to establishing the play’s agonistic positioning well in advance of actual production. This might suggest that the challenge to be issued to Clouds’ new rivals was not simply literary veneer, but made a more essential contribution to the play. Indeed, the substitution of eupolideans for “Aristophanic” anapests can be seen in this light, as establishing the new focus of his antagonism against his most significant rival.78 At the very As S. Douglas Olson suggests to me per litteras. This assumes Luppe’s (1972) arguments in favor of five rather than three contestants at the festivals, as the hypotheses suggest; see, however, Storey (2002). 75 This contrasts with the deeply embedded response to Cratinus’ victory in Wasps (Chapter 4). 76 Fisher (1984) 157, for example, describes the criticism of Eupolis in Clouds as “simply conventional playful rivalry” and suggests that “Aristophanes’ sallies here must be regarded as typical exaggeration and misrepresentation for comic effect.” Rosen (1988); (2000), treats authorial persona more systematically as a poetic construct. 77 Aristophanes’ comments on his supposed encounter with Cleon (V. 1284–91) are illuminating on this point:€by taking his abuse, Aristophanes becomes an object of laughter for the onlookers, who for lack (apparently) of a comic rebuttal can only assume that the poet has come to terms with the demagogue. 78 Ar. fr. 58 (Anagyros) is the most direct evidence we have for Aristophanes’ growing antagonism with Eupolis in this period; cf. Storey (2003b) 293, Kyriakidi (2007) 179. 74

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least, the space and energy allotted to creating this tour de force of poetic abuse, which entails Aristophanes’ effort to remain current in choosing his poetic targets, provides the strongest argument against theories of a reading audience and in favor of viewing the revised Clouds as intended for competition. No “possession for all time,” in Thucydides’ words (1.22.4), the play is an agōnisma designed for a specific moment in the history of Athenian festival competition against the rivals of the second phase of Aristophanes’ career in the early 410s. A wa r n i ng t o t h e j u d g e s The appeal for audience acceptance and the bold assertion of competitive interests that lie at the heart of the revised parabasis and help define Aristophanes’ strategy for recontesting the original reception of Clouds are developed further in the second parabasis. Here Aristophanes’ chorus directly confront the contest judges and appeal for a favorable outcome (Nu. 1113–30): χωρεĩτέ νυν. οἶμαι δὲ σοὶ ταῦτα μεταμελήσειν. τοὺς κριτὰς ἃ κερδανοῦσιν¸ ἤν τι τóνδε τὸν χορὸν  ὠφελῶσ᾽ ἐκ τῶν δικαίων¸ βουλóμεσθ᾽ ἡμεĩς φράσαι. πρῶτα μὲν γάρ¸ ἢν νεᾶν βούλησθ᾽ ἐν ὥρᾳ τοὺς ἀγρούς¸ ὕσομεν πρώτοισιν ὑμĩν¸ τοĩσι δ᾽ ἄλλοις ὕστερον. εἶτα τὸν καρπὸν τεκούσας ἀμπέλους φυλάξομεν¸ ὥστε μήτ᾽ αὐχμὸν πιέζειν μήτ᾽ ἄγαν ἐπομβρίαν.  ἢν δ᾽ ἀτιμάσῃ τις ἡμᾶς θνητὸς ὢν οὔσας θεάς¸ προσεχέτω τὸν νοῦν πρὸς ἡμῶν οἷα πείσεται κακά¸ λαμβάνων οὔτ᾽ οἶνον οὔτ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ οὐδὲν ἐκ τοῦ χωρίου. ἡνίκ᾽ ἂν γὰρ αἵ τ᾽ ἐλαĩαι βλαστάνωσ᾽ αἵ τ᾽ ἄμπελοι¸ ἀποκεκóψονται. τοιαύταις σφενδóναις παιήσομεν.  ἢν δὲ πλινθεύοντ᾽ ἴδωμεν¸ ὕσομεν καὶ τοῦ τέγους τὸν κέραμον αὐτοῦ χαλάζαις στρογγύλαις συντρίψομεν. κἂν γαμῇ ποτ᾽ αὐτὸς ἢ τῶν ξυγγενῶν ἢ τῶν φίλων¸ ὕσομεν τὴν νύκτα πᾶσαν¸ ὥστ᾽ ἴσως βουλήσεται κἂν ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ τυχεĩν ὢν μᾶλλον ἢ κρĩναι κακῶς.  Depart now! But I believe you’ll regret these things. We wish to tell the judges how they will benefit if they lend some just support to this chorus. In the first place, if you want to plough your fields in season, we’ll rain on you first and only afterward on the others.

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Aristophanes’ Clouds-palinode So too we’ll guard your grapevines as they produce their fruit, so they’re not pressed by drought or too much rain. But if anyone dishonors us€– he a mortal, us gods€– let him clearly understand what misfortunes he’ll suffer at our hands, getting neither wine nor anything else from his land. For whenever his olive trees and vines begin to sprout, they’ll be sheared off€– that’s the sort of missiles we’ll cast! And if we see him making bricks, we’ll produce a downpour and demolish his roof tiles with over-sized hailstones. Should he himself marry, or one of his relatives or his friends, we’ll rain all night, so that he’ll probably wish to find himself even in Egypt rather than miscast his vote.

Without setting aside their costume, the chorus approach the judges with temptations if they support the play, but threats if they fail to award them first place. All the natural phenomena brought to bear on the judges’ decision derive from the chorus’ character as clouds and emphasize their divine status. In this respect the passage is fanciful and entertaining, but it also activates procedures of the contest by focusing on the men most responsible for the outcome of the agon.79 As Aristophanes shifts his attention from audience to judges in the sequence of the play’s two parabases, he abandons his normal practice of treating the audience in its entirety as having sole authority over his play’s success. To some extent, this attention to the entire Theater was understandable, since we gather from a number of sources that one of the judges’ greatest challenges was to account for audience response.80 Aristophanes’ attention to the Theater can also be explained as reflecting the democratic ideology of the festivals, according to which the judges represented the dēmos, their very selection rooted in the ten tribal divisions of the polis.81 In this representative capacity, the judges had a significant responsibility, and a number of procedures were put in place to ensure fairness and impartiality:€several rounds of lottery in the judging process, the administration of oaths to judge fairly, and public Note the chorus’ emphatic reference to the Dionysian competitions during the parodos (311–13). E.g., Eq 546–50; Av. 445–6. The influence an audience might have on the way the judges cast their votes seems to underlie Cratinus’ (fr. 360) identification of audience disturbances in the bleachers with the judges. A similar observation inspired Plato’s complaints in the next century (Lg. 659a–c, 700c–701a) and applies to Ion’s account of his victories and failures (Ion 535d–e). Anecdotes purporting to record difficult decisions in the dramatic contests highlight instances where the audience’s support was either keenly divided (Plu. Cim. 8.7–9:€t he contest of Sophocles and Aeschylus that necessitated the presiding archon’s last-minute substitution of the ten generals for the ten judges) or their preference was ignored by the judges (Ael. VH 2.13 = Ar. test. 32.23–5:€the reception of Clouds). On the interaction of audience and judges, see Wallace (1997). 81 Rhodes (2003) emphasizes polis ethics over specifically Athenian democratic ideology. 79

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scrutiny into the management of the festival.82 Instances in which the process was compromised assure us that stringent measures were needed.83 Still, even as Aristophanes reminds the judges of their responsibilities, he humorously co-opts the process through the underlying assumption that an honest vote means a vote cast in his favor, while any deviation from this will result in immediate punishment.84 Though this humorously parabatic mode could be counted on to generate good feeling in the audience, there is also an edge to the passage. By recalling how the dramatic entries are judged, the parabasis directs the audience’s attention toward a select group in their midst, activating the process of public scrutiny that constrained the judges even before they carried out their duties.85 Among the thousands of citizens and visitors gathered to witness the contests, the laughter of ten individuals€– their identities known at this point86€– may have been forced during the recitation of these verses, as they were prompted to reflect upon their responsibilities, for some evidence suggests that formal charges could be brought against the judges, presumably during the official review of the festival proceedings that immediately followed the celebration.87 The modern tendency is to attribute this passage to the original play.88 In support of this, no mention is made of this parabasis in the ancient hypothesis (Hyp. I), which identifies the major parts of the play that were introduced for the revision:€parabasis, agon of the two Arguments, and burning of the phrontistērion.89 Even so, the hypothesis cannot be regarded as definitive proof of the matter, since it purports only to summarize the problem and catalogue some of the major structural changes.90 The The evidence for the judging process is discussed in Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 95–9; Csapo and Slater (1994) 157–65; Jedrkiewicz (1996) 90–4; Wilson (2000) 98–102; Marshall and Willigenburg (2004). Emphasis on the judges’ duties is already apparent in Od. 8.258–60. 83 Above all, Meidias’ undermining of Demosthenes’ choregia (D. 21); see Wilson (2000) 156–68. 84 Cf. Wilson (2000) 101. 85 In this way the passage counters the tendency, observed by Slater (1999) 361–2, to knit the audience together. 86 D. 21.17–18; Plu. Cim. 8.7–9. The judges would also have been more visible if they had official seats, as seems likely:€Csapo and Slater (1994) 158. 87 Aeschin. 3.232, referring to the performance of cyclic choruses. Cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 98; Wilson (2000) 99. 88 For a brief review of opinions among nineteenth-century scholars, see Starkie (1911) 246–7; Totaro (2000) 7. That interpretation is shared by Gelzer (1960) 147; Sommerstein (1982) 4 n.10; and implicitly Dover (1968) lxxxvi:€“Heliodorus therefore observed that between 1114 and 1115 there were five lyric kola in his text of the first version but nothing in his text of the revised version.” 89 The hypothesis says only “parabasis of the chorus,” which is naturally taken to refer to the main parabasis. 90 Thus αὐτίκα:€see Emonds (1941) 284; Tarrant (1991) 158; Russo (1994) 106; Casanova (2000a) 23. Dover (1968) lxxxiv, translates it as “actually.” 82

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primary function of any hypothesis is to provide readers with a concise orientation to a play’s characters, plot, and production history, and the opening remark (“this play is the same as the previous one”) shows that this one was written from and for the perspective of an individual already familiar with the original Clouds, probably through the immediately preceding hypothesis in an ancient collection.91 More promising evidence seems to come from a scholion (ΣBarbRs Nu.€ 1115a), which informs us that at least one other important ancient scholar, probably Heliodorus, offered a more complete discussion of the revision in connection with a commentary on the original play.92 Parabasis:€In the parabasis the Chorus is not treated as a comic character. Space (τóπος) of five cola that should be treated as missing (ἐλλειπóντων). It is not surprising that this should have happened; the question has been discussed [sc. in my commentary] on the first Clouds. The speeches [sic] outset after the space belong to the chorus and are addressed to the judges, definitely in the manner of a parabasis (παραβατικώτεραι). (trans. Dover (1968) lxxxvi)

According to Heliodorus, the kommation of 1113–14 introduces an abbreviated version of what was intended to be a much longer lyric passage. As the reference to a commentary on the original play implies, the explanation for the missing lines has to do with the relationship of the revision to the original. At first glance, it is tempting to understand from the reference to the chorus’ plea to the judges in the epirrhema that Heliodorus attributed 1115–30 to the original play, as Piero Totaro argues.93 On the principle offered at the outset, that position needs modification, since if a choral song has been subtracted from the original parabasis, Aristophanes made a conscious editorial decision to retain the epirrhema for its contribution to the newly conceived play. If this warning to the judges is recycled, it still takes on additional significance for the revised play, as it further affirms Aristophanes’ vigorous assertion of the undeservedness of his earlier defeat. In this sense if no other, the epirrhema does very much belong to the revision, since it lays bare, without apology or disguise, the immediate interest of recontesting the play’s original reception. For this parabasis only makes sense in connection with the poetic competitions, and we would accordingly expect it to be among the first passages removed from the play Cf. Dover (1968) lxxxvii, for the organization of ancient hypotheses in collections independent of the plays. On the identification of Heliodorus, see Holwerda (1958) 39; Dover (1968) lxxxvi; reservations are expressed by Holwerda (1967) 266. On Heliodorus’ metrical work generally, see Parker (1997) 95–6. For my argument, it is less important which ancient scholar is responsible for the note. 93 Totaro (2000) 7–8, 64. 91

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if the revision was undertaken with a view to literary publication. A more judicious treatment of Heliodorus’ testimony, however, suggests that the evidence is equivocal at best and can be explained in a way consistent with the view that this epirrhema was composed for the revision. Heliodorus’ explanation is not all we might like it to be; among other things, he is unhelpful on the question of how he knows the length of the missing ode.94 He felt justified in his brevity, because he could refer a reader with questions to a different discussion, where problems having to do with the revision were apparently treated more systematically. But by summarizing his results, he has left us with something that may be “profoundly misleading,” to quote Dover on the problems of compressed scholia.95 As typically in ancient metrical analyses, Heliodorus’ attention is focussed on the overall metrical structure of a parabatic syzygy, with whose complete form he was familiar.96 By contrast, the subject of the epirrhema interests him only to the extent that it can be enlisted in support of his identification of a parabasis:€παραβατικώτεραι.97 Heliodorus’ comment may therefore not have been cued by identical verses in both plays. Rather, he may have identified a passage in the revised play that suggested an incomplete parabasis syzygy, after which he went to the original play, where a fully composed specimen existed with epirrhema and ode€– i.e., an ode of the number of cola specified in his surviving comment.98 On this explanation, his summary statement implies that the second parabasis of the original play contained a longer ode(s), but says nothing about whether the epirrhema(ta) there was the same or different from the one in the revised play. For Heliodorus, the revised play posed little mystery; he had both versions and had dealt with the problem in detail elsewhere, but was at this moment commenting on what was before him in the revised play, in which context he was under no obligation to point out every deviation Holwerda (1958) 40, proposed that Heliodorus offered a five-colon ode on the basis of general observation; but no such theory is forthcoming from the scholia (e.g., ΣEΓ Ach. 626a and b (Triclinius); Σ VEΓΘ Eq. 498a; Σ VEΓΘ Eq. 1264a; ΣRs Nu. 510b; ΣLh Av. 1058d). 95 Dover (1977) = (1987–88) vol. ii, 207. Erbse (1969) 35–6, took the vagueness of the note as grounds for rejecting its value as evidence altogether. 96 E.g., ΣEΓ3 Ach. 971a (see Dover (1968) lxxxvi) and especially Σ V V. 1283e (Heliodorus named); cf. White (1912) 314. 97 The comparative form of the adjective is not used elsewhere in the scholia and perhaps suggests a more tentative identification of the passage’s structural form due to its reduction to a single epirrhema. Compare Σ ΓAld V. 1265b, where the word is used to identify the rupture of dramatic plot when (as the scholiast thought) Aristophanes refers to himself in the first person at the beginning of the second parabasis. 98 There is thus no need to assume, with Dover (1968) lxxxvi; Casanova (2000a) 28, that 1113–14 cued him to the appropriate point in the original play’s kommation. 94

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from the original unless it impinged on questions of metrical form.99 His choice of words to describe the missing ode supports that interpretation, since ἐλλειπóντων means not “deleted/lost/missing” but “wanting,” in the sense of a structure or passage that does not attain its expected full form.100 What Heliodorus observed, in other words, is that the short kommation in 1113–14 did not live up to expectation, and suggested an incompletely revised parabasis. Further light is shed on the problem by comparing Heliodorus’ inquiry into an antode missing, except for some indecipherable traces, from the second parabasis of Wasps (1265–91).101 His comment there indicates that ancient scholars attempted to recover the missing song from available copies of the play, but that he himself supposed them lost during the earliest stage of transmission; he thus concedes ignorance about the content (τίνα), but could still gauge the metrical form (τὸν ἀριθμóν) of what had been lost (here appropriately φθαρέντα), presumably based on the ode’s surviving partner. In the case of Clouds, he knew where to find the “missing” song€– he had in fact commented on it!€– but decided not to reincorporate it in the revised play. We must assume that he either left a lacuna in the text, in deference to Aristophanes’ general wishes as he had become familiar with them through his study of the revision, or that he did so because he could judge for himself that the original ode no longer suited the epirrhema of the revised play. The second possibility is more likely, especially since on the first possibility we would have to assume that Heliodorus’ restraint was repeated by other ancient scholars. The preceding discussion is only intended to show that Heliodorus’ comment is not as straightforward as has sometimes been assumed; alternative interpretations are possible, with different implications for the place of the surviving epirrhema within the textual history of Clouds. Without his fuller explanation, Heliodorus’ testimony is of little value in resolving the problem, and any effort to carry the discussion In ΣENMRs Nu. 520, for instance, the reason for pointing out the revised state of the main parabasis lies in the difference of meter, anapests vs. eupolideans. 100 Compare ἐκλέλοιπεν in Σ VEBarbRsNp Nu. 889a (discussed further below) and especially ἐλλιπής ΣLhAld Pax 729c of the parabasis syzygy not having its expected complement of two epirrhemata. The use of the term in this sense expands on its common application to elliptical expressions:€Dickey (2007) 119. Compare Σ (rec.) Pi. O. 6, lines 15–17. 101 Σ V V. 1283e:€῾Ηλιóδωρος·€μετὰ τὸν στίχον τὸν “γλωττοποιεῖν εἰς τὰ πορνεῖ᾽ εἰσιóνθ᾽ ἑκάστοτε” εἰσὶ τóποι ἑπτὰ ἔχοντες στιγμὰς καὶ ἀλóγους¸ ὦν ἐκ προχείρου μὲν εὗρεῖν τὸν λóγον οὐκ ἔστιν:€τὰ δὲ τοιαῦτα πολλάκις εἶπον.€“ὑπολαμβάνω¸ ὅτι ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις ἀντιγράφοις φθαρέντα ††¸ ὅτι μὲν τοσαῦτα ἦν τὸν ἀριθμóν¸ γνωσθῆναι¸ οὐ μήν¸ τίνα.” For μὲν .â•›.â•›. οὐ μήν¸ see Denniston GP 334–5. On the missing ode, see MacDowell (1971) 298–9; Totaro (2000) 8–9 and 83. On the corruption in the scholion, see White (1912) 411; Allen (1929) 28; Holwerda (1967) 261–3. ╇ 99

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further depends on other considerations, several of which point to later composition. If Aristophanes revised the epirrhema but not the ode, his approach to revising the play at this point would be consistent with what we find elsewhere in the text.102 Another missing choral song was identified in antiquity just before the entry of the two Arguments at 889.103 In this case, we can be almost certain that a new choral passage was intended to accompany the agon, which the ancient summary (Hyp. I) informs us was new to the revised play.104 If the same approach is assumed for the opening to the second parabasis, we may hypothesize that the rejection of material from the original second parabasis was necessitated by a disjunction in theme between the two plays. This implies significant changes to the text in the vicinity of 1115, although it is unclear whether those changes affected what came before or after this point, or both. That the revisions were made out of consideration for what precedes is a natural conclusion, given that we know there was a new agon. To judge from other examples in Aristophanes, however, the odes of second parabases do not typically depend on the dramatic action surrounding them, but develop themes of interest primarily to the parabasis and create a structurally and thematically discrete element.105 Indeed, more drastic changes to the parabasis itself See Wilamowitz (1921) 172. Σ VERs Nu. 889d:€“The choral song is not attested (οὐ κεῖται; cf. Dickey (2007) 243), and instead ‘χοροῦ’ (i.e., choral song) is written in the center.” Revermann (2006a) 215–16, adducing Σ VEBarbRsNp Nu. 889c (on the Arguments brought on as fighting cocks), theorizes that a new song had been composed but was lost by the time of Σ889d. I am inclined to think that the “χοροῦ” found by ancient scholars goes back to Aristophanes (Wilamowitz, cited by Dover, xciii n. 1). I thus prefer Dover’s explanation of Σ889c (reflecting staging or choral description of the original play), if we understand that the new agon capitalizes on a memorable image in the descriptive language originally used for the education offered by Socrates (e.g., something expanding on the idea in Nu. 112–15). But a scholion to 847 may simply have been mistakenly associated with the agon:€Casanova (2000a) 28–9. 104 An argument from silence is far from decisive, but the absence of any indication, Heliodoran or otherwise, about the form, theme, or length of the choral ode might be due to the fact that there was no obvious point of comparison between the two plays here and no ode from the original that could be identified as “missing.” Note that the metrical analysis of Σ VERs Nu. 889d shows signs of Heliodoran authorship (ἐν εἰσθέσει (text restored, Holwerda); cf. Holwerda (1958) 39; Dover (1968) lxxxvi), but reveals no attempt to identify the missing ode (μέλος δὲ τοῦ χοροῦ οὐ κεῖται). Dover (1972) 99€– “It looks as if Aristophanes has removed the song but has not written a substitute” (emphasis mine)€– is already pressing for an interpretation that is not necessarily correct, since if this agon is entirely new, there was no choral part introducing it to delete. 105 Compare Ach. 971–99 (if regarded as a second parabasis; see Totaro (2000) 13–15 with bibliography); Eq. 1264–1315; V. 1265–91 (where the second ode is lost); Pax 1127–90; Av. 1058–1117. Even in Peace and Birds, where the second parabases do not break completely from the plays’ major themes, the odes are first and foremost linked with the epirrhemata. Compare too the valediction at Ach. 1143–9, which performs the same function as Nu. 1113–14, preparing the way for a choral song structurally and thematically distinct from what precedes. 102 103

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can probably be assumed on the basis of its larger structural incompleteness, since we miss the full composition of ode, epirrhema, antode, and antepirrhema, which represents Aristophanes’ normal practice for second parabases, especially in the early plays.106 We may thus tentatively conclude that the second parabasis was itself a work in progress when the larger project of revision was abandoned.107 As at 889, the lyric passage was to be composed only after Aristophanes had given attention to the epirrhema that would follow it and provide the major theme for this parabasis, namely, the warning to the judges. Attention to the passage’s themes and to their place in Aristophanes’ broader professional career provides further reason to assign it to the revision. On general grounds, it makes sense that a second parabasis composed for performance in 423 would need to be replaced, since in other early plays the personal invective in these segments is often highly Â�topical.108 Aristophanes has perhaps only partially fulfilled generic expectations by now offering a passage of milder and more generalized abuse of the panel of judges. In the other plays from 425–421, Aristophanes is quite willing to make his desire for victory known, but he does so by creating elaborate and fanciful discussions to support his agonistic bid. In none of these parabases is there even a mention of the judges;109 instead, as noted above, Aristophanes consistently treats the audience as exclusively responsible for his victory or defeat. It seems reasonable to ask whether he had any motivation to dispense with this nicety of expression to pressure the judges more directly at the City Dionysia of 423, and the answer, with Aristophanes himself as witness, is “No.” As he represents his fortunes in the Clouds parabasis, as well as in that of Wasps, from Banqueters on his reputation and competitive success were only growing, a picture confirmed by the evidence of victories in at least the two and probably three years immediately preceding the original Clouds. It is hard to believe that a poet who could describe himself as having sure tokens of the audience’s good judgment See the references in the previous note. In the main parabasis we find reduced syzygies in Pax (no epirrhemata) and Th. (single ode and epirrhema); cf. Hubbard (1991) 157–8, for development in Aristophanes’ use of the form. 107 Observations such as these may have contributed to the assessment in Hypothesis I that the revision was never completed. Cf. Casanova (2000a) 20; but see Fabrini (1975) 4–5. On the phrase ἐπὶ μέρους in the first line of Hypothesis I, see above, n. 6. 108 Ach. 1150–73; Eq. 1263–1315; V. 1265–91. 109 The only instance outside of a parabasis bears this interpretation out:€at Ach. 1224, Dikaiopolis demands to be taken before the judges and awarded the prize for the Choes contest. Although this is part of Aristophanes’ identification with his hero (see Chapter 2), the reference is indirect and maintains a comfortable distance via the difference of festival and the incorporation within the play’s fantastic scenario. 106

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in this phase of his career (533 μοι πιστὰ παρ᾽ ὑμῶν γνώμης ἔσθ᾽ ὅρκια) would have felt a need to adopt the desperate agonistic strategy represented by the second parabasis. For although the passage is humorously self-serving in the usual way, in effect Aristophanes adds his own voice in support of the official mechanisms put in place to assure fairness and impartiality in determining a victor. In short, it is easier to see how he might think the gnōmai of audience and judges alike were in need of attention after 423. The passage is for the most part lacking in clues as to time and context, but the rewards and punishments held out for the judges are bound on either end by expressions that betray a lack of confidence in them and may provide further insight as to the occasion. The judges will be rewarded if they support the chorus “in accord with justice” (1115–16 ἐκ τῶν δικαίων). So too, the cosmological destruction to be visited upon them in the event of the play’s defeat will make them wish to be anywhere else rather than “to judge badly” (1130 κρĩναι κακῶς). Taken together, these statements are a fitting corollary to Aristophanes’ feeling that his defeat was undeserved (525 οὐκ ἄξιος ὤν) and, if we add the evidence from Wasps, was tantamount to an act of injustice (V. 1017 ἀδικεĩσθαι; 1044 καταπρούδοτε) stemming from the audience’s inability to form pure judgments (V. 1045 ὑπὸ τοῦ μὴ γνῶναι καθαρῶς). Acting justly and impartially was an essential part of any judge’s task and was accordingly emphasized in the oaths taken at the dramatic festivals, as we learn from an allusion by Pherecrates.110 Comparison to a comment made by Aischines is also helpful:€ καὶ τοὺς μὲν κριτὰς τοὺς ἐκ τῶν Διονυσίων ἐὰν μὴ δικαίως τοὺς κυκλίους χοροὺς κρίνωσι ζημιοῦτε (3.232). If we assume that these passages recall the wording of the judges’ oath, Aristophanes’ warning is more effective because it resonates with the terms the judges committed themselves to at the moment they assumed their duties. The pointed reference to the oath becomes more conspicuous when compared to what the poet says to the judges in the second parabasis of Birds, a passage clearly modelled on the epirrhema of the revised Clouds.111 Instead of assertive calls for the judges to act justly, we now find the comparatively bland expressions “to judge” and “to not judge” (1103 ἢν κρίνωσιν ἡμᾶς, 1114; ἢν δὲ μὴ κρίνητε) in favor Pherecr. fr. 102:€τοῖς δὲ κριταῖς | τοῖς νυνὶ κρίνουσι λέγω¸ | μὴ ᾽πιορκεῖν μηδ᾽ ἀδίκως | κρίνειν¸ ἢ νὴ τὸν φίλιον | μῦθον εἰς ὑμᾶς ἕτερον | Φερεκράτης λέξει πολὺ τού- | του κακηγορίστερον. Cf. Ec. 1159–60 with Ussher (1973) and the version of the oath preserved in the second hypothesis to D. Against Meidias (sec. 4):€τῷ καλῶς ᾄσαντι δοῦναι τὴν νίκην. Cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 97; Csapo and Slater (1994) 158. 111 Cf. Dunbar (1995) 576; Totaro (2000) 168. 110

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of Aristophanes’ play. The distinction may seem slight, but it is less so once the main parabasis has established Clouds’ troubled past as a major component affecting the audience’s experience of the new play. In that case, in directing a sharp glance at the judges Aristophanes resembles Pherecrates in one further way; for, as Olson observes, the second half of fr. 102 makes it clear that his current threats (τοĩς δὲ κριταĩς τοĩς νυνὶ κρίνουσι) were preceded by bitter remarks about the outcome at a previous festival, where he had, he felt, been undeservedly slighted.112 These implications were not lost on ancient readers. Several scholia commenting on the reception of the original Clouds express considerable prejudice against the judges. The didaskalic records, of course, showed that the play had been soundly defeated; but the remarks suggest some “knowledge” of professional delinquency. In correcting Aristophanes’ memory about Banqueters, a scholion on Clouds 529 matter-of-factly states that with this play “he was actually judged second.”113 Such sober criticism is what we expect, but the language becomes less objective when Aristophanes’ experience at the contests with Clouds is discussed; ΣVΓLhAld V. 1045a says “judged falsely” (παρεκρίνατε) as does ΣVLhAld V. 1050b, where the allegation is specifically directed against the judges (παρακριθεὶς ὑπὸ τῶν κριτῶν).114 So swayed were ancient commentators by a sense of the judges’ culpability in the Clouds debacle, that when faced with an obvious reference to Aristophanes’ “worthless” rivals at the City Dionysia of 423 (Nu. 524–5 ὑπ᾽ ἀνδρῶν φορτικῶν ἡττηθείς), they likewise pointed the finger at the judges, no doubt under the influence of the charge of wrongdoing that follows (Nu. 525 οὐκ ἄξιος ὤν).115 We should perhaps understand Aelian’s account (VH 2.13) of the audience’s boisterous approval for Clouds and accompanying demand that the judges “write no other name than that of Aristophanes” on their voting tablets in connection with these implied allegations of foul play. The anecdote is certainly apocryphal, but not necessarily of Aelian’s making; more likely it belongs to a scholarly tradition on Clouds that emphasized the judges’ wrongdoing and filled out the picture by imagining an audience at odds with the judges.116 Who Olson (2007) 112. The attempt to make this business personal is clear from the reference to Pherecrates by name. 113 δεύτερος δὲ ἐκρίθη:€ΣREMNp Nu. 529b. 114 Less fraught with allegations of injustice, but still emotionally prejudiced, are the uses of ἀποκρίνειν (“rejected”) in Σ VΓAld V. 1012 and Nu. Hyp. II (ap. crit. line 3). 115 The case of Plato Comicus may represent another instance of a poet’s colorful description of production history infiltrating didascalic descriptions by ancient scholars:€Biles (1999). 116 E.g., Plu. Cim. 8.7–9. On the Aelian passage, see Jedrkiewicz (1996) 86–7, who notes that Aelian may have had knowledge of the details of the judging process. 112

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gave them this idea? Most likely Aristophanes; the clues are all there in his embittered recollections of the event in Wasps and the revised Clouds. But in these passages Aristophanes’ complaints are, as so often, brought against the collective audience, and ancient scholars’ emphasis on the judges represents their own initiative. But their interpretation makes better sense, if they could point to a passage in the revised play that had obviously been composed for the reperformance, and in which Aristophanes’ warning to the judges could be interpreted as reflecting his disgruntlement over the events of 423. The negative background that appears to have inspired the address to the judges in Clouds can be appreciated in one further way. Although on the present interpretation the epirrhema of the revised Clouds was never performed, its central idea was put to good use soon thereafter for the confrontation with the judges in the second parabasis of Birds.117 The similarities between the two passages are striking, but on a few points they are quite distinct. As in Clouds, the passage in Birds is structured around distinct bribes and threats. Of the later comedy’s sixteen lines, however, twelve (1102–13) are devoted to enumerating ways in which the judges will profit in the event of a favorable outcome for Aristophanes, and the briefly rehearsed threats (1114–17) are tacked on more for the sake of balance than anything else. In Clouds, the distribution is almost the exact opposite:€the emphasis is on the second section, where ten of the sixteen lines are dedicated to warning the judges against dishonoring the chorus and making a bad decision. In this shift of emphasis, we perhaps see a difference in Aristophanes’ outlook as he thought about a play that had already been “misjudged” once and one whose future was as yet untainted by agonistic misfortune. At the same time, the emphasis on the chorus’ retributive character has implications for broader developments in the plot. The chorus’ ability to punish its enemies is first hinted at in the syzygy of the main parabasis (esp. Nu. 591–4, 623–6), in which they recommend punishing Cleon and Hyperbolos, and is then elaborated upon, although still darkly, in a choral song before the second agon (1303–20).118 The assault on Cleon is undoubtedly drawn from the original play, though, as will be discussed below, Aristophanes redeploys the passage to clarify ideas having to do with the Ar. fr. 322 (Heroes) has some points in common, in that the chorus reveals its control of the audience’s experience of “good and bad things.” 118 The characterization of the chorus is adumbrated by the two-verse kommation of the second parabasis (1113–14; on σοί referring to Strepsiades here, see Dover (1968) ad loc.), while Pheidippides himself was able to see that nothing good would come of Strepsiades’ plan (865). 117

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revision.119 The real significance of the chorus’ retributive character for the dramatic action only becomes apparent at the end of the play, when they suddenly turn on Strepsiades and own up to their cruelty as part of a plan to punish him for his ponēria (1452–61). For events on stage, the crucial point of this revelation is that it ushers in the final act of vengeance, as the phrontistērion is destroyed.120 If the conception of the chorus in the second parabasis is of a piece with the finale, the implications of the notice in Hypothesis I that the final scene is a feature of the revised play cannot be lightly brushed aside. If by this interpretation we risk losing a portion of the original Clouds, we have gained much in our ability to understand the revised version, where the new epirrhema is far more remarkable. Although the second parabasis is entertaining and interesting in other ways, as a poetic structure it was never indispensable to the main plot or the agon, which so defined the function of the main parabasis. Under the additional competitive pressure introduced by the prospect of resubmitting Clouds to scrutiny at a formal agon, Aristophanes adapted the second parabasis to suit that context better. Taken in connection with the project of recontesting the original outcome, the passage shows Aristophanes engaging more closely with the system of management at the dramatic contests by directing attention to the judges. He does this with the imagination and humor we expect, but delivers a critical message nonetheless.121 At the same time, by granting the judges a position of prominence within the play, the passage stands as poetic testimony to the centrality of the dramatic competitions for the development of the comic genre. Whereas in Chapter 1 we had to reconstruct the shaping of the main parabasis under agonistic pressures, if the relationship of Aristophanes’ warning to the judges is connected with the revision, it represents a conspicuous example of a competitive poetics determining the use to which traditional Old Comic structures were put. The role Aristophanes assigned to the second parabasis in the At least the epirrhema (575–94) on Cleon belongs to the original. In any event, this provides little basis for thinking that this aspect of the chorus’ character was meaningfully developed in the original play, since the Athenians themselves (591–4), rather than the chorus, are to carry out the punishment. 120 See Totaro (2000) 66, and especially Segal (1969), although his sense that the original Clouds followed this basic conception never overcomes the fact that these forebodings come to fruition only in the final scene. 121 The kommation’s prediction (whether it belongs to the original or revision) of Strepsiades’ changed attitude over his plan (1113–14) also hints at the regret the judges are to feel over the play’s original defeat. 119

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recontestation of Clouds becomes more conspicuous when the thematic developments that take place around it are taken into account. Dr a m at i z i ng r e c on t e s tat ion:€ s e c on d e f f or t s i n c l o u d s The dramatic action and thematic design of the revised Clouds resonate with Aristophanes’ professional concerns over revision and recontestation. Specifically, the notion of second attempts and, more importantly, the pattern of initial failures overcome are woven into the play’s thematic fabric, highlighting the objectives laid out in the parabasis.122 Correspondences between Aristophanes’ assertions about the play and the plot thus facilitate an interpretation that depends on the idea of revision. Whether these points were developed for the revision is impossible to say. But it is noteworthy that most examples involve the second half of the play, where the ancient hypothesis informs us that Aristophanes’ revisions were most drastic, and to that evidence we may tentatively add the second parabasis.123 A useful starting point for this discussion is the first epirrhema of the main parabasis (575–94). Here, as typically in such passages, the chorus continue the address to the audience begun in the “anapests,” but turn away from the poet and take up matters more relevant to them as clouds. In one respect these concerns are not much different. Like the poet, who complained of the audience’s failure to appreciate his original play’s merits fully, the chorus complain of the Athenians’ unwillingness to recognize them as deities, and chastise them for missing the opportunity to benefit from the guidance they offer via cosmological phenomena. As proof, they complain that when Cleon was elected general there were storms and lunar and solar eclipses,124 which should have convinced the Athenians not to put this man in a position of power (581–6). Still, the clouds assert, matters can be set right if Cleon is convicted of embezzlement and punished appropriately (591–4). The reference to Cleon’s generalship in 424/3 makes it clear that this passage was inspired by material in the first version of the play.125 It has been argued that had the revision been completed, Aristophanes would A similar thematic may be evident in Euripides’ Hippolytus; see Knox (1952) = (1983) 313. Tarrant (1991) 158–9, takes the self-referential comments in the parabasis to mean that “the first five hundred lines of the play had been largely the same.” 124 See Dover (1968) 584n., for the inaccuracy of these claims. 125 As noted by ΣEM Nu. 581. 122 123

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have withdrawn any reference to someone who died in 422.126 There are nonetheless signs that the passage has been tailored to fit with themes introduced for Aristophanes’ address to the audience in what precedes. Most notably, the opening address to the spectators as sophōtatoi (575) corresponds with the wisdom-theme Aristophanes appears to have developed for his commentary on the audience’s reception of the first Clouds.127 So too, the chorus’ wish to censure the Athenians for wrongs supposedly done them (576) accords well with the shocked tone of the poet’s response to his initial failure. But even if we cannot unravel the strands of original composition and subsequent revision in this passage completely, these lines certainly bring into sharper relief a theme of the utmost importance for the revised play.128 The opportunity the clouds’ return to the Theater provides the Athenians to put right their error of electing Cleon general by punishing him at his euthynai (591–2) is parallel to Aristophanes’ aim of reproducing Clouds to let the audience correct their initial (mis)judgment of it.129 As Hubbard comments, “there is an important sense in which the Clouds become emblematic of the Clouds.”130 The play’s reperformance will become another occasion when the gods let matters turn out for the best, even after the city has fallen into error (587–9, 593–4). In this light, within the parabasis as a whole the retention of original material demonstrates that, even after changes in the revision are taken into account, this play should still be seen as a direct descendant of the Clouds of 423. The jarring disparity produced by the temporal dimensions of new and old material helps orchestrate this effect, by putting beyond doubt the assertion that this is the same play returning in the hope of a better outcome. All of this goes to show that the implications of Aristophanes’ comments about revision and recontestation extend beyond the “anapests,” and, just as importantly, that meaning specific to the revised play is created from the Dover (1968) lxxxi–ii; Sommerstein (1997a) 276; Casanova (2000a) 30–1. Storey (1993b) 79–81 attempts to demonstrate overall similarity between the plays by identifying a significant number of comic targets in the revised play as komoidoumenoi of the late 420s. But a target of this period could easily have continued to attract attention in the early 410s as well, since (as Storey himself observes) many figures had a long shelf-life for comic abuse; cf. Halliwell (1993), esp. 329–30. Assigning a narrow range of dates based on only a few bits of evidence, most of which cannot be dated independently (Aristophanes’ plays being the exception), also has the potential to skew interpretation. 127 Nu. 517, 520, 521, 522, 526–7, 535, 547–8, 561–2; cf. V. 65–6, 1049–50, which refer to Clouds. 128 Here and below I follow Hubbard (1991) 109–10, who believes further that the antepirrhema was composed for the revision. 129 Cf. V. 1044–7, which contribute to this “history” of the revision. 130 Hubbard (1991) 109. Contrast Whitman (1964) 121, who sees the epirrhema as “an ill-adjusted mingling of earlier and later passages.” 126

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way material from the original was redeployed. The reflection of the play’s rejection and return extends beyond the characterization of the chorus. In a sense, the very beginning of the revised Clouds depends on a revision, since even before the prologue ends a second attempt is introduced that will be developed over the course of the play. Strepsiades’ initial plan, which promises to set the play’s comic idea in place, is to escape the debts that are crushing him thanks to his son’s passion for horses, by sending Pheidippides to the phontistērion to learn to refute any legal actions taken by his father’s creditors (75–118). The plan fails even before it is embarked upon, however, because Pheidippides refuses to have anything to do with Socrates and his school. Strepsiades is accordingly forced to adapt his plan and enroll in the phrontistērion himself (126–32). Thus the comic idea that drives the plot does not follow from a single assertion of the central character’s will, but is a pointed modification of an original plan.131 As Strepsiades says, he has fallen, but he will not stay down (126), and his determination to persevere will be matched by that of the poet (525–35; cf. V. 1049–50). The rest of the first half of the play treats Strepsiades’ arrival and reception at the phrontistērion (133–217), with everything proceeding according to his modified plan. But matters take a sudden turn after the parabasis, and a sequence of reversals and accompanying revisions of action seem to take their cue from Aristophanes’ own comments in the parabasis. After Strepsiades fails to grasp Socrates’ lessons and his ineptitude becomes apparent (627–780),132 Socrates expels him from the school (781–90). The old man now finds himself in the same desperate situation as in the opening scene and must change plans again (791–2).133 On the chorus’ advice (793–803), he decides to return home and force Pheidippides to enter the phrontistērion. Dover observes that the chorus’ inquiry as to whether Strepsiades has a son (794–6) would make more sense if Pheidippides had not appeared in the prologue, meaning that this inconsistency might have to do with the incomplete state of the revision.134 But this is not necessarily a poetic faux pas, since the recapitulation of the prologue generates meaning for themes central to the revision. Although Pheidippides is as disgusted with the idea as he was before (829–33, 840, 844–6, 852–3, 865), he nonetheless now gives in, so that in this second effort Strepsiades is both successful and able to follow through with the Contrast, for example, Dikaiopolis, who foresees resistance in the assembly to his pleas for peace (Ach. 37–42) and hatches an entirely new plan using the spondai to assert his original position. 132 Their dramatic function is to confirm what Socrates had already determined for himself by the time he returns to the stage after the parabasis (627–31); cf. Russo (1994) 114–15. 133 Dover (1972) 102.╇╅ 134╇ Dover (1968) xcv. 131

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plan he conceived at the outset. In short, from this point on the play enacts a virtual palinode of itself, as we see what would have happened, had the prologue taken the alternate turn. Although we do not witness Pheidippides’ education, the scene in which Strepsiades returns to fetch him from Socrates (1145–77) makes it clear that, unlike his father, he proved a highly capable student. Oddly, however, Pheidippides’ success with regard to the original plan is demonstrated by Strepsiades’ own encounters with two of his creditors (1214– 1302). Now the old man is able to apply the lessons of the phrontistērion in a way he could not when he was a student himself.135 The contradiction is all the more apparent because at one point Strepsiades relies on the lesson of the kneading trough to expose the ignorance of his creditor (1245–58),136 when only a short while earlier he was unable to recall this aspect of Socrates’ teaching and was expelled as a result (785–90). Alerted by these contradictions, some scholars have identified the scene showing Strepsiades overcoming his enemies as part of the first Clouds, and assume that he originally came closer to attaining the triumph typical of Aristophanic heroes.137 But as regards the new play, these inconsistencies only make us realize more acutely that matters have turned out remarkably well€– or so it seems at this point€– in Strepsiades’ second attempt. These scenes are framed by a pair of agons. As in other plays in which the agon serves as an imaginative reflection on the poetic competitions (see Chapter 2), in Clouds the agons seem to allude to the unique circumstances of Aristophanes’ revision of the play, both in the way they recall and expand on themes from the parabasis, and in how they interact with one another. The contribution of these scenes to the interpretation of the revision is especially important because Hypothesis I tells us that Aristophanes made full-scale changes to the first agon, between the two Arguments (ἃ δὲ ὁλοσχερῆ τῆς διασκευῆς τοιαῦτα ὄντα τετύχηκεν … καὶ ὅπου ὁ δίκαιος λóγος πρὸς τὸν ἄδικον λαλεĩ), which should probably be Deployment of actors may be a factor, if the actor playing Pheippides was to play the part of the Second Creditor, though in that case the effort to keep the fourth actor’s part to a minimum comes at some cost to other considerations. 136 Hubbard (1991) 99, describes Strepsiades’ use of his newly acquired knowledge as a “wretchedly ignorant travesty of Socratic sophia,” but even if true, this characterization does little to counteract the impression that the old man succeeds in his objective. 137 Gelzer (1960) 146–7; Tarrant (1991) 174–5; MacDowell (1995) 144–9; cf. Bowie (1993) 108–9. Sommerstein (1997a) 277–9, argues that one of Aristophanes’ changes for the revision was to make Strepsiades more culpable for his actions, based on his stage presence during and after the first agon; but see Casanova (2000) 27–8. 135

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taken to mean that it was new to the revised play.138 Indeed, Clouds is the only comedy in the corpus that contains two fully realized agons, each with its own resolution and accompanying shift in dramatic action.139 On a formal level, then, the revised play embraces the idea of recontestation in its sequenced deployment of these poetic structures. As has also been observed, the two agons are so similar in their structure and themes that the second amounts to a repeat demonstration of the points set out in the first, with the opposing embodiments of educational ideals now played by father and son.140 With this change, the generational conflict represented abstractly in the first agon is expressed in concrete terms within an actual household. By attacking his father and then confidently asserting his ability to defend his actions in speech (1321–43), Pheidippides reaches the height of immorality espoused by the Worse Argument just before (esp. 1075–82). Meanwhile, Strepsiades’ preference for Simonides and Aeschylus and his rejection of Euripides (1354–74) align him with the Better Argument,141 who boasts of his influence on the Marathon generation (985–6) and asserts a preference for traditional poets at the same time that he rejects the musical innovations of later artists (966–72). This new conflict between father and son puts a stop to the celebrations of the momentarily successful hero and foils any expectations according to the typical structure of a comic plot. To a large extent, this second agon is necessitated by the outcome of the first, in which the Worse Argument soundly refutes the Better. For while the audience could reasonably be counted on to respond to Strepsiades’ preposterous wish to escape his debts with a mixture of shock, amusement, awe and envy,142 when the victory of the Worse Argument so liberates Pheidippides from any sense of moral or social responsibility that he dares to beat his father, it is obvious Dover (1968) lxxxiii–iv; Russo (1994) 100–4; MacDowell (1995) 143–4; Casanova (2000b) 373–4. Gelzer (1960) 145, assumes that the second agon is also largely new, since it clearly depends on the ideas and outcome of the first. The suggestion by Sommerstein (1982) 4 n. 9, that only the opening dispute (Nu. 889–948) between the two Arguments is meant, seems unlikely. 139 Double agons are also found in Knights, Wasps, and Birds. In these cases, however, the initial agon merely continues the expository purpose of a prologue and parodos, without fulfilling the critical function of an agon, by supplying a dramatic and thematic highpoint through a confrontation of competing viewpoints that is worked out by a formal exchange and whose outcome determines the direction of all subsequent action. On distinctions between the two kinds of agons, see Gelzer (1960) 46–7, 56–7. 140 Gelzer (1960) 88–91, provides a structural analysis of the two agons. For a more detailed comparison, see Dover (1968) 247–8, who comments that “the parallelism of structure between the two contests emphasizes the extent to which Pheidippides has emerged from his education a replica of Wrong.” 141 At Ra. 1013–17 Aeschylus is likewise treated as a representative of the previous generation. 142 Cf. Whitman (1964) 121–2. 138

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that matters have turned out for the worse.143 Ultimately, the second agon follows its predecessor so precisely that by the end of Pheidippides’ arguments in favor of father-beating, Strepsiades is ready to accept his son’s position and allow this immoral doctrine to win again, until at the last moment Pheidippides’ promise to subject his mother to the same treatment brings the old man to his senses (1440–51). Only now is he ready to accept the chorus’ advice in support of more traditional values (1452–66), whereupon he sets out to destroy Socrates and the phrontistērion. Much like the palinode of the prologue, then, the second agon allows the play to renegotiate the path it took as a result of the first agon, so that the original outcome is recontested in a literal sense. Strepsiades’ recourse to brute force is a desperate response to his son’s arguments,144 but at least corrects the disastrous state of affairs the first agon produced. In addition to responding to each other, the two agons draw attention to ideas already introduced in the parabasis in connection with Aristophanes’ efforts to re-present his play. On the most general level, the paradox of the Worse Argument defeating the Better neatly reflects Aristophanes’ feeling of astonishment that his own exceptional play was ranked behind those of run-of-the-mill competitors (524).145 There are also more specific points of contact. Midway through Aristophanes’ poetic defense of Clouds in the parabasis, he invites the audience to inspect the play, treating it as though it were a young woman standing before them (537–44). Everything they see is intended to demonstrate that she is “modest” (537 ὡς δὲ σώφρων ἐστὶ φύσει σκέψασθ᾽; cf. 529), allowing Aristophanes to enlist the fundamental ideal of sōphrosynē in his comedy’s defense.146 In poetic terms, this means a play free of the contaminating features of lowbrow humor (538–43):€no Cf. MacDowell (1995) 147. At 911–12 Worse glories in being called a father-beater by his adversary. Mistreatment of parents was a serious crime, punishable by loss of civic rights ([Arist.] Ath. 56.6). 144 Hubbard (1991) 112; MacDowell (1995) 144. Based on the attribution in Σ Pl. Ax. 367b of the surviving line 1417 to the original Clouds, Casanova (2000a) 30, assumes that the endings of the two plays were not much different; but even assuming that this is not a case of misattribution by an ancient reader (see Dover (1968) lxxxix–xc), the sentiment of the passage is proverbial and its placement and implication could have been quite different in the original. K–A, unlike Meineke and Kock, are unconvinced by the scholiast’s citation. 145 O’Regan (1992) 69, argues instead that the failure of the first Clouds upsets the model of a weaker discourse that is able to become the stronger, by supposing that the play’s proclaimed linguistic brilliance associates it with the weaker discourse. But see below. 146 In general, see North (1966), esp. 97–9, who places the ideal as Aristophanes presents it within broader trends; cf. Rademaker (2005) 226–9. Cf. O’Regan (1992) 70–1, whose understanding of how the sōphrosynē theme connects parabasis and agons is based on the supposition that these lines refer to the original Clouds; she also presumes to know much more than we do about the earlier play. 143

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phalluses, bald-jokes, lewd dancing, beating-scenes, torches or shouting. Aristophanes’ play thus lives up to a conception of sōphrosynē€– mutatis mutandis€– as defined, for instance, by Plato, for whom the ideal is to demonstrate self-control against the allurement of base desires and pleasures (R. 430e). Although instances where “immodest” comic tropes contribute to the humor of Clouds in the first half of the play suggest to some that many in the audience might take the comments in the parabasis as purely ironic,147 the implications of this passage were perhaps more critical for how the audience responded to scenes after the parabasis. By locating his poetic concerns in relation to a stark ethical paradigm in the parabasis, Aristophanes provides his audience with a standard of judgment that is increasingly undermined as the performance continues, since the discriminating impulse that is the basis for his description of the revised Clouds, “standing” before the audience now,148 is entangled in the conflicts of the second half of the play. Above all, the Clouds’ touted ethico-poetic orientation becomes a point of emphasis in the two agons and their consequences in the form they take in the revised play. In the choral song that introduces the first agon, the contest is described in terms that recall the poetic agon that underpins Aristophanes’ discussion in the parabasis. In the latter, the poet hopes to win in order to be considered sophos by a dexios audience and with a play whose comic material is sophōtata (520–2). Similarly, the agon of the two Arguments is described as a competition over sophia that is of the greatest consequence not just for the chorus but, they claim, for their friends (955–8). With this final comment, the chorus situates the impending contest within the Theater audience Aristophanes appealed to in the parabasis. Accordingly, in the same choral passage the two contestants, although later shown to be of different persuasions, are both presented as representatives of the kind of intellectual activity that might appeal to Aristophanes’ sophos audience. Trusting in their clever arguments and ideas (τὼ πισύνω | τοĩς περιδεξίοισιν | λóγοισι καὶ φροντίσι καὶ | γνωμοτύποις μερίμναις), they will demonstrate who is the better speaker (949–54). In the lead-up to their formal contest, it looks as if the Worse Argument will have important similarities to Aristophanes, since he too lays claim to novelty of approach Murphy (1972); Fisher (1984) 152; Murray (1987); Hubbard (1991) 98–9; Olson (1994) 32, though some of the examples are speculative:€e.g., at 58 Strepsiades threatens to beat his slave, but without taking action; none of the jokes about Socrates’ appearance (146–7, 171–3) necessarily implies baldness (see Dover (1968) xxxii); a kordax at 439–56 (proposed by Hubbard) is only a guess. 148 Thus the force of ἥδε ἡ κωμῳδία in 534, which prefigures the play’s “presence” in preparation for Aristophanes’ description of it in 537–44. Cf. Olson (1994) 34. 147

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(896, 943–4; cf. 545–8).149 But by a shift in the expected paradigm, sophistication as novelty is equated with much of what Aristophanes objects to, while the more traditional perspective of the Better Argument is aligned with the rarefied poetics espoused in the parabasis.150 In this contest of wisdom, the Better Argument defends the ideals of the play as it is characterized in the parabasis. Renowned for his noble virtues (959 ἤθεσι χρηστοĩς), the Better Argument is encouraged by the chorus to describe his own physis (960 τὴν σαυτοῦ φύσιν εἰπέ); in this way his self-presentation follows the model established in the parabasis, where Aristophanes put his comedy on display and invited the audience to admire its physis (537 ὡς δὲ σώφρων ἐστὶ φύσει σκέψασθ᾽).151 Not surprisingly, therefore, sōphrosynē stands out as a defining principle of the Better Argument’s educational curriculum (Nu. 961–2):152 λέξω τοίνυν τὴν ἀρχαίαν παιδείαν ὡς διέκειτο¸ ὅτ᾽ ἐγὼ τὰ δίκαια λέγων ἤνθουν καὶ σωφροσύνη ᾽νενóμιστο. Therefore, I shall describe the old form of education as it was when I flourished by speaking the truth, and sōphrosynē prevailed.

His emphasis on this virtue is corroborated by the chorus, who in their response to his speech praise “the sweet flower of modesty blooming on his words” (1026–7 ὡς ἡδύ σου τοĩσι λóγοις | σῶφρον ἔπεστιν ἄνθος).153 The major points made in illustration of the Better Argument’s education are examples of modesty and self-control, virtues that preserve “the harmony handed down from generations past” (968), protect a good reputation (997), and keep one in the company of equally circumspect companions (1006 μετὰ σώφρονος ἡλικιώτου). Drawing limits is important for both the poetic and educational form of sōphrosynē. Thus the Better Argument’s epideixis is punctuated by two sections in which he fervently defends his position with a run of interdictions on behalf of proper behavior (977–83; 994–9), which in their tone and rhetorical effect are reminiscent of the poetic proscriptions that defined the sōphrosynē attributed to Clouds in the parabasis. Thus, like the circumspect poet who abjures the spectacle of Cf. Bowie (1993) 132–3, who however neglects the implications of the sōphrosynē theme. Edwards (1990), esp. 153–5, attends closely to these contradictions; cf. Noël (2000). 151 In both cases physis looks toward the inherently positive qualities of their characters. Rosen (1997) 409, suggests that the term reflects the notion of the play’s enduring physical existence beyond its theatrical performance as a text. 152 The applicability of these comments to Aristophanes’ poetics is augmented by τὰ δίκαια λέγων, which recalls the poet’s claims at Ach. 655, 661–2; cf. 500–1. 153 Cf. Bowie (1993) 110. Segal (1969) 171–4 discusses the chorus’ alignment with the Better Argument. 149 150

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phalluses on stage in defense of the revised play, the Better Argument’s curriculum encourages students to have a modest-sized phallus (1014), which they are to keep out of the sight of others (973–4), even to the point of wiping away any impression it might leave in the sand (975–6).154 By contrast, the Worse Argument rails against all discretion (1060–74). Better accuses him of endorsing a lengthy “decree” (1019 ψήφισμα)155 and allowing his students to apply oil to draw attention to their genitals (977–8), charges that are scarcely refuted in Worse’s response, since he encourages students to use their phallus any way they like, regardless of the consequences (1076–85). For him, physis represents not good birth and rearing, which one can proudly display, but base impulses that are held in check by social constraints (1078). With his mixed-up perspective on what is praiseworthy and what is disgraceful (1020–1), the Worse Argument refuses to acknowledge any humiliation in being publicly punished for sexual escapades (1079–86); with the present audience, after all, he would be in good company (1096–1100). The victory of the Worse Argument also leads to further atrocities against the discriminating ethico-poetic values attributed to the play by the poet. Strepsiades is now able to indulge in hybris himself, when he drives off the second creditor with a goad (1297– 1300), in complete disregard of social convention and in pointed contradiction to the poetic principles laid down in the parabasis, where it is said that no old man beating his fellow actor is featured in the present play (541–2). More beatings follow and more lurk beyond them, as Strepsiades reaps the harvest of his new ethic, when his relationship with Pheidippides turns violent, and the boy promises to beat his mother as well in the future.156 Physical violence thus threatens to take over the stage action as it replaces all other forms of social interaction when the legitimacy of beating in its most disturbing form is made a point of detailed critical discussion in the second agon. The vision of Clouds held up to the audience in the parabasis has been severely challenged by later developments, thanks to the outcome of the newly composed first agon. Even so, Strepsiades’ surprise rejection of Pheidippides€ – and by implication, of the Worse Argument he represents€– allows the play to realign itself with the Better Argument and As Papageorgiou (2004) argues, far from undermining the position of the Better Argument, his homoerotic references serve instead to activate (comically) an important social context in which the ideal of sōphrosynē operated. Contrast Dover (1968) 977n. (a memorable note). 155 For the para prosdokian in place of “penis” after the list of physical attributes, see Dover (1968) and Sommerstein (1982) ad loc. 156 Cf. Bowie (1993) 131–2. 154

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prepares the way for a return to the poetic virtues of the parabasis. At this moment, the chorus openly condemn Strepsiades’ infatuation with criminal behavior; their strongly termed abjuration against ponēria (1455 πονηρὰ πράγματα; 1459 πονηρῶν ὄντ᾽ ἐραστὴν πραγμάτων) picks up on the rejection of base jokes in the parabasis (542 πονηρὰ σκώμματα). This revelation returns Strepsiades to a healthy respect for the traditional gods (1461, 1468–80), with whose help he formulates a plan to destroy the phrontistērion (1478–85) in order to put an end to its corrupting influence. Thus the clouds’ ability to exact vengeance, applied to the reception of the play in the revised second parabasis, is realized in the new finale amid the torches and cries of pain (1490–3) that were likewise rejected in the main parabasis (543). Strepsiades’ dream of the phrontistērion goes up in the smoke of traditional comic topoi.157 There is irony here, but also some justice, as the forms of poetic dissolution become the means of punishing the advocates of social upheaval. S om e c onc l us ions The idea that Aristophanes’ revision of Clouds aimed at toning down the sophisticated humor of the original play to make it more appealing to a popular audience has had its advocates over the years.158 Some justification for that understanding can be found in his remarks in the prologue of Wasps the next year (54–66), which reflect a kind of poetic crisis the poet found himself in as a result of his failure and suggest that charting a middle course between excessively low- and high-brow humor was now his central objective. Thomas Hubbard has argued that Aristophanes’ plan for the surviving Clouds along these lines is laid bare in the parabasis, where the sōphrosynē proclaimed is characteristic of the original play alone and makes the audience more aware of the difference of tone between it and the “debased” revision.159 The philological arguments on which Hubbard’s literal reading of the parabasis is based do not stand up to criticism.160 Still, his general premise€– that Aristophanes’ critical thinking about the distinguishing characteristics of the revised play relative to the original formed part of the new play’s thematic fabric€– makes sense when the paradigm of a palinode is applied, and may be reflected in the patterned interaction As noted already in Σ VEM Nu. 543a. Cf. Lys. 1216–20 for the comic trope of torches in stage violence. 158 See, for instance, the references in Whitman (1964) 133 n. 40; O’Regan (1992) 130–1, 138–9. 159 Hubbard (1986); (1991) 91–8. O’Regan (1992), esp. 136–9, elaborates on Hubbard’s thesis. 160 Olson (1994). 157

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between the parabasis and the agons. While the high-water mark of sophospoetry supposedly achieved by the first Clouds looms in the background as a constant point of reflection, the dynamic interplay between sophia and sōphrosynē€– in poetry, as in ethics€– is circumscribed by the encoded poetics of the revised Clouds itself as an organizing component for the play’s distinctive thematization of revision and recontestation. Mirroring the narrative of the original Clouds’ defeat in the parabasis (520–5), the first agon sees the defeat of Aristophanes’ poetics as they have been recast in ethical terms (537–44), and leads to the infusion of mainstream comic elements supposedly left out by his more discriminating taste. But the outcome of the second agon raises the possibility of a reversed outcome. Here a straightforward reaffirmation of Aristophanes’ alleged poetic ideals in their pure form is not at stake. The Worse Argument represents a union of two opposed extremes; his avant-garde intellectualism unleashes behavior that is the antithesis of sophistication when measured by Aristophanes’ poetic standards. As such, he simultaneously represents both extreme positions set out and admonished against in the prologue of Wasps in response to the failure of Clouds. If the first Clouds helped solidify Aristophanes’ reputation as a sophisticated poet€– something that probably carried with it the implication of being a bit too refined (hence the self-criticism entailed in λίαν μέγα at V. 56)€– in recontesting his “most sophisticated” play (Nu. 522; cf. V. 1044–7), he is at pains to show that he is not so far out of balance. He willingly puts on the mask of intellectual pretension in the revised parabasis, but he adds to it a quality that did not lend itself as easily to the negative interpretation Cratinus apparently offered the audience to discredit his young rival’s sophisticated brand of comedy.161 For what triumphs in the end is something more sensible:€still sophos, but not hollowly so, since it is combined with the good judgment that comes from being sōphrōn as well.162 In this respect, the handling of the two agons in the revised play is coordinated with the new parabasis to bring out a modification in the stage persona of “intellectual poet” that had attached itself to Aristophanes, through both his own efforts and Cratin. fr. 342; this snub against intellectual pretension becomes more relevant if it belongs to Pytine or later (O’Sullivan (2006)), but see above, p. 124, for the possibility that it amounts to Cratinus’ response in Satyrs to his loss to Acharnians, which is included among Aristophanes’ program of sophisticated comedy at V. 61 (contrast Storey (2003a) 286–7, taking this last passage to refer to Aristophanes’ Proagon). 162 On the wordplay, see Hubbard (1991) 95–6. But I agree with Olson (1994) 36, that sōphrosynē is emphatically associated with the play as it stands before the intended audience of the revised play. A similar rebuttal to charges of empty and dangerous intellectualism is found in the Mytilenian Debate, in which Diodotos invokes sōphrosynē (Th. 3.42.5, 43.5, 44.1) to counter Cleon’s objections. For these attributes in encomia, see Dover (1974) 66–9. 161

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those of his rivals. Dramatic plot works together with the moment of competitive self-assertion in which Aristophanes proclaims his effort to recontest the earlier poetic agon. These points would have come across more easily, if the final destruction of the phrontistērion had been added to the revised play as a way of dispelling the impression, which a more ambiguous outcome in the original play had allowed to settle in the popular mind, that Aristophanes was himself a keen advocate of the lessons taught in that place.163 If that is correct even on a general level, Aristophanes’ situation bears more than a passing resemblance to that of Stesichorus in the Palinode tradition. In composing his Clouds palinode, he takes up the very theme he thought had created a rift between him and his audience, and attempts to handle it in a way that will be more to their liking and thereby restore their support of him in the agon. 163

╇ See especially Whitman (1964) 136–7; MacDowell (1995) 146–8.

ch apter 6

Dionysos and Dionysia in Frogs

In previous chapters, I have attempted to identify the mark the poetic agon left on Aristophanes’ comedies, not only by examining stray remarks that directly invoke this feature of Athenian dramatic performance, but by identifying themes deeply woven into the poetic fabric of the plays that resonate with their competitive background. This relationship is made more explicit in Frogs, in which an actual poetic contest forms the culminating sequence of events on which the outcome hinges. Performed at the Lenaia of 405, Frogs responds to the general state of crisis in which Athens found itself. The war against Sparta and her allies was going badly, for Athens’ dwindling resources were impeding its ability to carry out military objectives. Adding gloom was the literary crisis that befell the city with the deaths first of Euripides and then of Sophocles. Although their degree of competitive success was very different, both men had been fixtures of the dramatic festivals for half a century. In an effort to articulate the significance of the “desperate” cultural situation occasioned by their deaths, in the first half of Frogs Aristophanes has the god of the Theater himself, Dionysos, attempt to save Athenian tragedy by descending to Hades to rescue Euripides. In the second half of the play, a change of plan is forced upon the god, who no sooner arrives in Hades than his services are required to decide whether Aeschylus or Euripides is the better poet. Dionysos is accordingly installed as judge in a poetic agon whose stakes are ultimately made to fit his original plan, since the victor will return with him to Athens. An appropriately comic surprise obtains when, quite contrary to his initial intention, Dionysos awards victory to Aeschylus. Although originally conceived as a dubious act of theft, Dionysos’ retrieval of a poet ends up taking place under the aegis of communal celebration and with full acknowledgement of his theatrical authority. Moreover, the problems introduced at the outset are resolved through the most legitimate form of selection possible, the poetic agon. 211

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The discussion of Frogs that follows addresses the contribution of this agon to the play in three ways. First, I argue that the thematic contribution of the agon is not restricted to the second half of the play, as is often supposed, and that rather than marking a shift in overall conception, the contest of Euripides and Aeschylus is a natural, if surprising, elaboration of ideas established in the first half of the play.1 Second, I consider the way the contest itself reflects back to the Athenians their own behavior and attitudes as spectators and critics of dramatic poetry tasked with determining which poet best represents the ideals and interests of their city. Finally, I attempt to understand Aristophanes’ investment in the poetic agon of Aeschylus and Euripides through its implications for the Lenaia contest in which he himself was competing. Dion y s o s, g od of t h e T h e at e r Like several other Aristophanic plays, Frogs opens with a scene that revels in comedy’s playful awareness of being performed before an audience. Dionysos and Xanthias make their way on stage, the former wearing the costume of Herakles atop his own traditional outfit, the latter riding a donkey and carrying his master’s baggage on his shoulders. Xanthias is the first to speak, and he wastes no time in raising a problem of direct relevance to the performance of their play (Ra. 1–2): Master, may I say one of the usual things (τῶν εἰωθóτων) the spectators (οἱ θεώμενοι) always laugh at?

With his concern for the audience’s reception of their performance, Xanthias brings the roles of actors and spectators into the foreground, but also addresses a concern that must have occupied Aristophanes and every other poet again and again as they composed their plays.2 The process of composition presented a series of critical decisions about what would and would not find approval in the Theater. With this metapoetic theme introduced, the dialogue between Dionysos and Xanthias follows a process of critical elimination, as Xanthias repeatedly shows his eagerness to perform something from the established repertoire of comic routines Though my understanding is ultimately quite different, Habash (2002) finds a similar unity in Frogs based on roles Dionysos plays that are drawn from his own dramatic festivals. 2 Cf. Murray (1987) 150. Sommerstein (1996a) 157, emphasizes their identity as actors, while Slater (2002) 184, sees audience and performer in Dionysos and Xanthias respectively. I simply point out that actors do not decide what they will perform, but (generally speaking) only carry out the wishes of the poet, whose task must therefore be emphasized; thus the references to rival poets at 13–14. Cf. Baier (2002) 191–2. 1

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based on physical discomfort, and Dionysos negates this impulse before the slave can put his ideas into action. “I’m hard pressed” (3), “I’m being crushed” (5), “I’m going to shit myself” (8), and “I’m going to fart” (10) are all rejected. And no wonder, given Dionysos’ violent responses to the tropes, which are bile (4), induce vomiting (11), and cause him to age at an unnaturally rapid rate (18). This scene is most often treated as another instance of Aristophanes professing not to use the same loathsome comic routines he in fact falls back on time and time again.3 This irony is part of the fun, but, as in any literary tradition, one objective of Aristophanes’ deployment of familiar material is to breathe new life into it.4 The humor of the Frogs prologue depends on the avowedly sophisticated position Dionysos takes relative to a subject which would strike many as unworthy of critical discussion. In enforcing his discriminating tastes, moreover, Dionysos must resort to the forbidden lexicon to silence his slave and delineate the dramatic possibilities available to them.5 At a more profound level, the scene involves transforming comic tropes that rely on stage business and physical humor into a witty discussion:€comic ergon becomes comic logos. The resulting collision of high and low follows a reliable recipe for evoking the audience’s laughter, but the dialogue also presents elements of characterization that are of central importance for the action that follows. The Dionysos of this play€– who proclaims his identity soon enough (22), although his costume may have made it apparent from the beginning6€– is first and foremost the god of the Theater. Although at the moment he is, in collusion with Xanthias, concerned for the experience of the audience (2 οἱ θεώμενοι) as the poet anticipates it, he does not typically consider matters from this side of the orchestra, but is himself a spectator at the performances (16 ὡς ἐγὼ θεώμενος). Indeed, his complaint that the stale routines Xanthias favors result in him leaving the festival feeling more than one year older (18) looks to his annual arrival in Athens to witness the competitions held in his honor.7 His status as festival honorand and divine patron of the dramatic competitions renders Dionysos an ideal spectator, capable of holding deeply felt opinions on matters of performance€– the fruit, See especially Hubbard (1991) 201; Slater (2002) 184. Cf. Redfield (1990). 5 Their physical positions work toward the same objective:€ by walking himself and allowing Xanthias to ride on the donkey (21–4), Dionysos keeps his slave from getting into a state of discomfort which might produce the kind of comic remarks he despises. 6 Herakles’ remarks at 45–7 make it clear that Dionysos’ traditional attire is imperfectly concealed. 7 For the implication “leaving the Theater” in ἀπέρχομαι in 18, see van Leeuwen (1896) ad loc.; Slater (2002) 184. 3

4

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we may gather, of long experience. In short, Dionysos is a stereotypical theater-goer, since, however much his excessive sophistication makes him an unwitting object of laughter, his pronouncements to Xanthias serve to establish this persona. And in his disapproval of the hackneyed, implying a pretentious claim to a higher standard of entertainment, Dionysos expresses opinions remarkably similar to those Aristophanes takes up elsewhere in his self-positioning against his rivals.8 Not surprisingly, therefore, the god’s critical remarks are set in a competitive framework that likewise reflects the poet’s perspective, as he denounces the kinds of performances Aristophanes’ current rivals could be counted on to bring before the audience (13–14).9 Having the god of Athenian drama assert a preference for Aristophanic comedy is a cheeky, though effective agonistic maneuver with which to begin a play. The opening dialogue thus situates the performance of Frogs within a competitive atmosphere of which critical responses by the audience form an essential component. It also brings Dionysos forward as a figure who embodies the experience of drama in Athens.10 For the moment, this aspect of Dionysos’ character is developed in connection with comedy alone. But tragic drama soon receives attention as well, and with this shift in genre the play’s central problem is presented. Only now is Dionysos’ initial seriousness shown to have a basis in the gravity of his enterprise. In response to Herakles’ mockery of his mixed-up costume, Dionysos first alludes to the desperate state of tragic drama by recalling how he was reading Euripides’ Andromeda when he was struck with longing for the nowdead poet (52–4). But reading good tragedy is cold comfort in comparison to experiencing it on stage, as Dionysos knows. Thus it is that, prompted by his longing, he has resolved to fetch Euripides back from Hades, adopting the costume of Herakles to guarantee his success in following in the hero’s footsteps.11 A longing has set Dionysos in action, but his reasoning is not as irrational and emotional as this might suggest.12 For as he E.g., Nu. 537–44; V. 56–61; Pax 739–51. Contrast Heiden (1991) 97. Of the poets named, only Phrynichus was competing at the Lenaia of 405 (Hyp. I (c) Dover), but Lykis and Ameipsias were both active in this period (see above, p. 185). Σ VMEΘBarb Ra. 13b found no confirmation of Aristophanes’ allegations about Phrynichus. 10 Cf. Bierl (1991) 30; Slater (2002) 184. In his representative status, Dionysos can be compared to Demos in Knights. 11 Although an indication of sophistication, Dionysos’ reading of tragedy is clearly a point of frustration for him. The implications of this are discussed below. 12 Lada-Richards (1999) 218–19, puts too fine a point on it by making selfishness the critical element of Dionysos’ pothos for Euripides; aside from Dionysos already being established as representative of the theater community, his pothos is parallel to and ultimately connected with Athens’ city-wide pothos for Alcibiades (1424–5); cf. Sfyroeras (2008) 309–10. Intense longing for what ╇ 8

╇ 9

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explains, the current state of tragic drama has left him in need of a dexios poet (71):€the good ones are no more, and those still alive are rotten (72).13 Dionysos’ decision to act is based on a sweeping evaluation of poets that builds on his characterization in his dialogue with Xanthias. Among the worthy are Sophocles (76–7), Agathon (83–5) and of course Euripides; few Athenians would likely challenge this general assessment.14 Of the poets Dionysos condemns, the sad state of the evidence€– arguably supported by the very fact that they have been forgotten€– leaves us no choice but to accept his judgment on Xenokles (86) and Pythangelos (87). What he says of Sophocles’ son Iophon is of more interest. To Herakles’ objection that Iophon is still alive, Dionysos readily admits that he is “the only good thing left” (73–4). But there is room for hesitation, since the god has not determined beyond a shade of doubt that such is actually the case (75). Consideration of Iophon is lost for the moment in Herakles’ suggestion that Dionysos bring back Sophocles as clear and away the best poet (76–7). It is this obvious objection that Iophon ultimately serves to forestall:€the verdict is still out on him (78–9), because it remains to be seen whether he can do respectable work without his father’s help. If Iophon proves a worthy heir to Sophocles’ poetic legacy, the blow to drama occasioned by the latter’s death will be softened. The argument breaks down upon reflection, but it distracts the audience long enough to justify concentrating on Euripides as the poet of choice.15 For the characterization of Dionysos as god of the Theater, the important point is that he has not yet really tested Iophon. With κωδωνίσω (79), Dionysos implies a careful personal evaluation of the poet’s artistic ability;16 until Iophon is found to “ring true,” there is a chance he will fall into the category of deplorable poets who cannot produce a real grape harvest (92) and represent shrines for Muses fit only for swallows (93). In a word, such poets are a disgrace to the profession (93 λωβηταὶ τέχνης) and disappear



13

14



15



16

is gone is all that need be implied (cf. Sfyroeras (2008) 302–3, who probably overemphasizes the feminizing aspect of this term), and is given focus through the playful use of a funerary idiom in Herakles’ response at 67; see also 84–5 with n. 26 below. His remarks adapt a Euripidean line (fr. 565.2). The view of Habash (2002) 10–11, who draws attention mainly to the buffoonish aspects of Dionysos’ remarks, founders on this point, since comic though Dionysos may be, his critical selections are on target. Thus it was not simply a matter of tactfully dismissing Iophon, as Dover (1993) on 78–9 seems to suggest. Note the further reason for passing over Sophocles in 80–2; Aristophanes addresses the problem again once the agon is afoot (786–94). See Stevens (1955) 236. Gelzer (1960) 28–30, and Hooker (1980) argue that Sophocles’ death required changes in Aristophanes’ plan for his play. For the image, see Taillardat (1962) 148–9. Dionysos’ metaphor anticipates the false-coinage metaphor of the parabasis (723).

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from the stage after one brief, unseemly dalliance with tragedy (94–5), whereas what Dionysos needs is someone “productive” (96 γóνιμον) who can manage a memorable expression (97 ῥῆμα γενναĩον) that challenges expectations (99 παρακεκινδυνευμένον).17 A good deal of what Dionysos says in this scene is humorous,18 but nearly all of it solidifies the characterization of him as a creature of the Theater, whose deepest concerns are bound to the vitality of the institution. As in the opening scene with Xanthias, Dionysos comes across as a critical spectator of dramatic poetry, of enough intellectual pretension to carry copies of plays with him when he is away from the Theater, and familiar enough with current poets to be able to rate their abilities. Many in the audience might question the choice of Euripides over Sophocles, and some, like Herakles (103–6), might even feel disgust at Dionysos’ Euripidean quotations.19 But to be fair, Dionysos seems tacitly to admit Sophocles’ superiority; his choice of Euripides depends not just on a sense of his poetic merits, but on the fact that Sophocles’ legacy may already be secure (i.e. via the career of Iophon), while the dubious nature of Dionysos’ plan also calls for a reliably shady accomplice (80–2).20 Where matters of poetry are concerned, Dionysos is confident about his tastes and opinions, as also about how to formulate his plan, and he therefore asks Herakles kindly not to occupy his mind (105).21 As noted above, Dionysos’ intention of “testing” Iophon’s poetic ability is especially important for the force it lends to the portrayal of him as an authoritative literary critic. But with this claim he also draws within his sphere of personal responsibility and expertise the process of communal examination that would in reality be carried out in the Theater by representative judges under the scrutiny of the entire audience. Drama in the fullest sense of its context and significance for the audience is mapped onto Dionysos as a microcosm of this activity, and the association of his See Denniston (1927) for Aristophanes’ possible deployment of technical literary critical terminology here and throughout the play. 18 Note especially his less than accurate rendition of what Dionysos himself represents as being among the more memorable of Euripides’ parakekinduneumena (Ra. 101–2 ~ Hipp. 612). 19 Trusting Herakles’ judgment (see e.g., Bowie (1993) 238; Habash (2002) 10), it may be argued, hardly puts us in the company of a reliable critic, since his expertise is in the realm of food (62–5), as Dionysos is quick to remind him (107). Moreover, Herakles’ associations with lowbrow humor (e.g., Cratin. fr. 346; V. 60; Pax 741) cannot be overlooked; cf. Olson (2007) 40–1. Padilla (1992), esp. 366–7, 375–7, argues that Herakles’ tastes anticipate the judgment in favor of Aeschylus. Dover (1993) 10, is more balanced. 20 As Bierl (1991) 33, observes, Dionysos’ plan bears some resemblance to the intrigue-plots of Euripides’ later plays; cf. Padilla (1992) 362–3, Sfyroeras (2008). 21 Predictably using Euripidean ideas to express himself; see Dover (1993) ad loc. 17

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divine patronage and the implications of the festive experience of tragedy for the polis remain intact, despite modern assertions that Aristophanes’ Dionysos, in his initial appearance at least, divorces theater from the community.22 On general grounds, it would have been unnatural for Athenians to dissociate dramatic literature from the life of their city; their experience of drama was limited to communal festive gatherings in honor of Dionysos, whose presence boded well for the city’s continuing prosperity according to the logic of cult.23 For this basic assumption to be overturned by Dionysos’ objectives would require emphatic signals, whereas numerous details rather reinforce the impression that the relationship between god, drama, and city is operative from the start of Aristophanes’ play. Far from demonstrating his selfish motivations, Dionysos’ personal consultation of the text of Andromeda underscores his dissatisfaction with reading tragedy rather than experiencing the work of a living poet. That understanding follows naturally from the emphasis he puts on his usual experience of comedy as a spectator during his annual visits to the festival (16–18), by which he portrays himself as a typical member of the audience. The implication that Dionysos wants poetry on stage is put in its communal and civic context by his criticism of contemporary tragic poets. His objection that they receive one chorus and then disappear (94 χορὸν λάβῃ) alludes to the official democratic procedures, by which a poet applied to the relevant archon for the privilege of public performance at a state sponsored festival;24 Dionysos’ criticism is that they do so only once, whereas tragedy needs poets who obtain choruses again and again, which is to say that the remedy looks toward a revitalization of the regular conditions of production.25 Moreover, whereas mention of the tragic “chorus” already highlights the performative essence of tragedy, it also concentrates on the contribution citizen choruses, working cooperatively and in unison, made to a dramatic production. Thus the machinery of civic involvement in tragic drama€ – as organizers, sponsors, performers and spectators€– is fully affirmed by Dionysos’ remarks, and his Athenocentric attitude is evidenced further by what he says of Agathon, whose departure from the city (83–4) renders him as good as Above all, Segal (1961), whose understanding informs later discussions, e.g., Lada-Richards (1999), esp. 216–19. Edmonds (2004) 120–3 likewise focusses on the identification of Dionysos and the city. 23 Cf. Spineto (2005) 227–8; Goldhill (1990). 24 See the notes of van Leeuwen (1896); Dover (1993); Sommerstein (1996a); cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 84. 25 Hence too, the implicit acknowledgement of Sophocles’ superiority, i.e., as a star of the dramatic competitions. 22

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dead in Dionysos’ reckoning.26 Taken together, these passages demonstrate that Dionysos’ concern and the comic claim underlying the plot, namely that tragedy is on the wane€– is in fact completely moribund€– is based on his experience of performances in the Theater, during the festivals, in Athens. Dionysos’ “personal” quest is accordingly symbolic shorthand for a community crisis, and his future enjoyment of tragedy is closely linked to the festive experience of the Athenians. Dionysos’ associations as theater-god, theater-audience and theatercritic, brought out in the opening scenes, become important in the second half of the play when the god judges the poetic agon in Hades. Charles Segal thus made an important contribution when he identified Dionysos’ character as a unifying element in the play, in response to criticism that viewed Frogs as thematically divided by the parabasis and to that extent incoherent. For Segal, the aspect of Dionysos that binds the play together is the notion of character development, “how the rather timorous and almost despicable figure of the first part of the play can serve as arbiter in a contest of the gravest consequences at its end.”27 But Segal’s portrayal of a buffoonish Dionysos in the first half all but ignores the treatment of the god as idealized spectator and concentrates on how he appears during his katabasis.28 This is thus an unbalanced approach to the god’s character, since it fails to take account of the opening of the play, in which Dionysos asserts his identity, and attaches special significance to a moment when the god is not fully in character and his identity is stretched to the limits, a point impressed on the audience in an appropriately theatrical way by Dionysos’ ridiculously failed attempt to assume Herakles’ identity through dramatic impersonation.29 As I argue below, far from developing significantly, when he reenters after the parabasis Dionysos falls back into character and reclaims the associations he initially displayed. The agon nonetheless comes as a surprise, and its outcome represents an important change, insofar as Dionysos abandons his original predilection for Euripides and favors Aeschylus instead. This change of plan depends on As Dover (1993) observes, ποθεινὸς τοῖς φίλοις (84) applies to Agathon a familiar description of the dead; cf. the pun in 85. For Euripides’ supposed sojourn in Macedon, see Scullion (2003). Cf. Wilson (2000) 279–302, for evidence of the chorēgia beyond Athens. 27 Segal (1961) 208. For a recent alternative effort to find unity, see Albuquerque (2003). 28 Apart from the moment where Dionysos makes his selection of Aeschylus (which comes rather as a surprise), there is no real difference in Dionysos’ behavior as theater-critic between the opening scenes and the agon. In both scenes he vacillates between foolishness and seriousness. See Segal (1961) 214, and for his behavior in the agon, Lada-Richards (1999) 280–3. 29 See Konstan (1995) 66–7; Habash (2002) 2–4. Edmonds (2004) esp. 113–17, offers a critique of the focus by Segal and others on initiation patterns in Frogs. 26

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Dionysos’ response to events in the second half of the play. But the very fact that the poetic agon introduces a twist into the god’s plans draws attention to a further facet of his theatrical character. At the beginning of the play, Dionysos represents not just the Athenian audience but specifically the audience of the final years of the fifth century.30 He is the sum of theatrical experience in Athens, but in the sense of the tragic genre’s evolution. This helps account for his special attachment to Euripides, who must have been widely regarded as among the most innovative of recent tragedians, and who from the perspective of Aristophanic comedy had symbolized contemporary tragedy for the last two decades.31 Dionysos’ conversations with Xanthias and Herakles show that, other than Euripides, only “modern” poets figure in his thoughts about drama. The distorted reflection of the audience witnessing Frogs performed thus comes into sharper focus as Dionysos presents a caricatured image of their moment in theater history. Thus portrayed, he sets himself a task that is relatively straightforward in conception, if daunting in its fulfillment:€to rescue from Hades the poet who most fully and notoriously embodies contemporary tragedy. Dionysos’ willingness to undertake a heroic task at odds with his own abilities (hence the Herakles costume) testifies in comic terms to both the immensity of the crisis to which he is responding and his commitment to the continued vitality of the Theater. Absent from his thinking, however, and held in reserve by Aristophanes until its proper dramatic moment, is Dionysos’ fantastic realization that visiting Hades will result in a choice of poets of far greater depth than his (over)developed critical tastes allowed him to consider in the light of day. This outcome depends on Dionysos’ miscalculation of the type of adventure he is in for, as becomes clear in the course of his journey. A Dion y s i a n k a t a b a s i s :€ t h e E l eus i n i a t r a nsf or m e d Many efforts have been made to identify political and cultic themes introduced during Dionysos’ descent to the Underworld that anticipate and thereby connect these scenes with developments in the second half of the play.32 The scenes are also encoded with a different cultural paradigm, one Cf. Bierl (1991) 29–30; contrast Lada-Richards (1999) 223. Thus Dionysos’ remark on Euripides’ adventurous mode of thought (99). For political interpretations, see especially Vaio (1985) and Bierl (1991); for cult and ritual, Segal (1961) 208–17; Whitman (1964) 232–3; Reckford (1987) 408; Moorton (1989); Padilla (1992); Bowie (1993) 228–53; Konstan (1995) 61–74; Lada-Richards (1999), esp. 45–122. For the katabasis theme in comedy generally, see Melero and Martí (2000).

30 31

32

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directly relevant to the ideas activated by Dionysos’ characterization in the opening scenes, and that points toward the fruition of these ideas in the poetic competition. Several features of the katabasis already show signs of its being structured as a journey to an imagined theater of the dead, where Dionysos will experience the sort of spectacle expected in that venue. His fixation on Euripides prevents him from conceiving any possibility other than that he will steal that poet away. But alongside details that correlate his travels with a journey to the dramatic festivals, Dionysos’ encounters with the choruses of frogs and initiates introduce themes of a poetic past, bringing his concentration on modern drama into question early on and setting the stage for a poet like Aeschylus to emerge. The first point has been ably discussed by Niall Slater,33 who suggests that Herakles’ house should be identified with the hero’s shrine near the Diomeian Gate, while the chorus of frogs (211–19) plots Dionysos’ path along the Ilissos River until he reaches his shrine ἐν Λίμναις, where a Lenaian theater was located.34 Even if we disregard this final suggestion, several further details argue in favor of Slater’s general interpretation. To gain entrance to the Underworld, Herakles explains (136–41), Dionysos will need to make a voyage by sea on Charon’s boat for a fee of two obols, which the god duly hands over when his crossing is complete (270). As Slater and others point out, this doubles Charon’s traditional fee, but was the cost of admission to the Theater, according to Demosthenes.35 Charon’s summons to those waiting their turn to be ferried across the river may also activate a backdrop of festival experience:€“Who’s for a rest from troubles and cares? Who’s for the Field of Forgetting?” (185–6 τίς εἰς ἀναπαύλας ἐκ κακῶν καὶ πραγμάτων; | τίς εἰς τὸ Λήθης πεδίον;). This rosy description stands in stark contrast to the image of death in the continuation of this announcement (186–7),36 and Charon’s optimism comes close to Pericles’ characterization of Athenian festivals as affording “many opportunities for escape from troubles (τῶν πóνων πλείστας ἀναπαύλας) through contests and sacrifices, the pleasure of which banishes the hardship of their daily lives” (Th. 2.38.1).37 Slater (2002) 185–7. In these points Slater depends on Hooker (1960) on the Athenian geography in Frogs and his own argument for a Lenaian theater in Slater (1986). 35 D. 18.28; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 265–6; Csapo and Slater (1994) 287–8. The connection with this passage is discussed by Rogers (1919) 140n.; Whitman (1964) 235; Hubbard (1991) 201; Sommerstein (1996a) 168; Slater (2002) 185. For possible broader implications of the entrance fee and festival experience, see Sommerstein (1997b) 66–7; Wilson (1997) 97–8. 36 See Dover (1993) 214–15. 37 Closely related ideas are connected with Dionysos:€esp. E. Ba. 278–85, 376–85. Bowie (1993) 235 n. 40, and Lada-Richards (1999) 87, see a forward reference to Eleusinian initiation. 33

34

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Dionysos’ reasons for consulting Herakles (108–15) are more noteworthy in light of Charon’s description:€to find out what xenoi are there, as well as about the harbors, bakers, brothels, springs, streets and accommodations. The heroic nature of its attendant dangers notwithstanding, Dionysos treats the journey as an excursion to an unfamiliar city, where he envisions having his needs and desires met by the local inhabitants. In this his experience is comparable to that of the visitors who came to Athens each spring to celebrate the City Dionysia,38 and the notion of xenia thus activated was likewise fundamental to the worship of Dionysos at the festival.39 Certainly the preliminary event, known as the eisagōgē (“leading in”), reenacted his mythical arrival in Attica by way of Thebes as a foreign god, in preparation for his reception and the installation of his cult image in the Theater.40 The contribution of these elements to Dionysos’ katabasis would be more pronounced, if the City Dionysia were firmly connected with vase representations of a Dionysian procession in which the god is drawn along seated in a ship-cart,41 since the latter provide a likely solution for the staging of Dionysos’ crossing of the Styx in Charon’s boat.42 At the least, this adaptation of cult iconography for the god’s nautical travels from abroad to portray his arrival in Hades shows Aristophanes reorganizing familiar aspects of Dionysian cult and festival celebration to suit an alter-aspect of the god and his myths as they can be made to apply to his comically imagined descent into the land of the dead.43 Jay-Robert (2000) 25–6, takes a different view. For tourism and the Dionysia, see Casson (1994) 80–2, 87–91, where the present passage figures in a discussion of a traveler’s experience. For the international character of the City Dionysia, see Ach. 502–6; Goldhill (1990). Even the Rural Dionysia may have depended on tourism from beyond the individual deme; Jones (2004) 141–2, 152–7. 39 That the reception of Dionysos with the rite of xenismos was an integral and original element of the City Dionysia is argued by Sourvinou-Inwood (1994); (2003) 67–140; cf. Spineto (2005) 221–2. 40 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 59–63; Parke (1977) 126–8. A further point of contact with Dionysian myth is implied with the supposition of the ancient hypothesis (Hyp. I (b) Dover) that Herakles’ home places the opening scene in Thebes; in that case, the starting point of Dionysos’ journey in Frogs and in the foundation myth of the City Dionysia were the same. 41 LIMC s.v. Dionysos nos. 827–9. Most recently, Steinhart (2004) 94–5, argues for the City Dionysia; for the Anthesteria, see Deubner (1932) 102–3:€Parke (1977) 109; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 12–13:€Burkert (1983) 201 n. 26. In 1480 Pluto offers to entertain poet and god at a feast that represents an epinikia celebration before the god “sails away” (πρὶν ἀποπλεῖν), their ostensible destination being Athens and the Dionysian festivals; cf. Biles (2007) 35 n. 92. 42 Reckford (1987) 409–10; Bierl (1991) 37; Dover (1993) 212–13; Habash (2002) 6; Slater (2002) 186. Marshall (1996) 257–9, considers the staging based on available theatrical devices. Wilson (1974) argues for Aristophanes’ dependence on Dionysos’ involvement in a rowing scene in Eupolis’ Taxiarchs; cf. Allison (1983) 11–13. 43 Cf. Lada-Richards (1999) 14, 62–4. 38

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Any ambivalence in the associations discussed above is dispelled by the metatheatrical implications of what happens next. No sooner does Dionysos pay the fee to enter this land of pleasure and disembark, than he rejoins Xanthias and asks if they are in the place Herakles mentioned (145–51), where all the criminals and other villains are found. As they gaze out at the Theater, they confirm their arrival (273–6).44 The audience become the denizens of the Underworld; better put, the denizens of the Underworld are already in their seats and awaiting a performance.45 Dionysos’ fictional journey has intersected with the one that brought the audience to the Theater, and in due course a poetic agon will also take place on stage. In the preceding examples, a cluster of ideas and images associated with Dionysos are loosely (re)configured at the imaginary level of the plot. Aristophanes’ portrayal of the chorus of Eleusinian initiates depends on a similar effect. The choice of identity for this chorus is adequately explained by their association with death and life after death, and by the humorous extension of these ideas to Dionysos’ project of bringing a dead poet back to the world of the living. But although the Eleusinian Mysteries provided the primary model,46 other elements from Dionysian and Orphic cult have been incorporated to create what Lada-Richards describes as “the literary remolding of a ritual fusion.”47 The audience thus see the dead cast in a world defined only by the breadth of popular Greek notions about death, in order to evoke an appropriately funereal backdrop for the plot. Exactitude in the representation of religious cult for its own sake is not Aristophanes’ concern, but rather how these elements could be combined to create meaning for his play.48 To appreciate his creative distortion of this material, the best comparison is perhaps the characterization of the phrontistērion in Clouds, where Aristophanes likewise borrows the cultural paradigm of mystery cult, but modifies it, in this case to construct a humorous version of sophistic education.49 Eleusinian ideas undoubtedly Slater (2002) 187. The conflation is felt again at 771–6, where the villains of the Underworld support Euripides. 46 See especially Graf (1974) 40–50; Bowie (1993) 228–30. Tucker (1904) and Hooker (1960) seek a connection with the Lesser Mysteries. Byl (2000) examines the evidence for the Eleusinian Mysteries throughout the Aristophanic corpus. 47 Lada-Richards (1999) 49–50; cf. Horn (1970) 121–2; Zimmermann (1985–7) vol. 1, pp. 123–4; Bowie (1993) 230–4. 48 See Sommerstein (1996a) on 319 and 320, who rightly points out that the threat of punishment for revealing central tenets of the mysteries limited Aristophanes’ treatment. 49 Byl (1980); Marianetti (1992) 41–75. So too in Thesmophoriazusae the cult setting on the Pnyx results in the comically envisioned political operation of the festival; see esp. Th. 295–311 with Austin and Olson (2004). 44 45

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inform the scene in Frogs and create their own meaning for the play,50 but the appurtenances of cult worship again offer a framework from which to generate a distinct comic prototype. Among the elements infused into the Eleusinian framework, features drawn from the ambience of Dionysian festival celebration make a significant contribution. During the parodos, the chorus focus attention almost exclusively on Iakchos, the god of the Eleusinian procession, rather than on Demeter or Persephone.51 It is generally agreed that Dionysos was associated with Iakchos; he could be referred to as such, and the connection was supported by the Dionysiac atmosphere that dominated the Eleusinian procession.52 In this respect the overwhelming impression created by the parodos is that this celebration of the Mysteries is first and foremost in honor of Dionysos himself, with emphasis on his connection to choral performance.53 Although in strict cultic terms their identities may have remained distinct,54 for my purposes the important point is that in a comically imagined Eleusinian land of the dead Iakchos stood ready to hand as a counterpart of Dionysos and Dionysiac celebration. That approach makes sense in light of what the initiates do in Frogs. Reenacting the procession in preparation for the rites at Eleusis makes little sense for the initiates once they are in Hades;55 Aristophanes takes the more public aspect of the cult to secure associations with an afterlife, but the chorus’ specific activity might instead be formulated on the cult’s protreptic assertion that even in death initiates enjoyed many of the pleasures available to them in life. Hence Pindar speaks of initiates busy with horses, athletics, games and music, and goes on to refer to perpetual sacrifices burning on the altars of the gods.56 This description of a rich life of continued athletic, intellectual and religious pursuits is reflected in Herakles’ description of the initiates’ “bright” afterlife (154–7); the sound of flutes, fragrant groves, blessed bands of worshippers and the clapping of hands attest to an enviable afterlife, See especially Bowie (1993) 228–53. Demeter is addressed directly at 385–93 (cf. 440–7), and Persephone may lie behind the appeal to a goddess as “the Savior” at 377–82, though Athena may be intended instead; cf. Dover (1993) 378n. Otherwise, the procession focuses on Iakchos from beginning to end; cf. Radermacher (1954) 184. 52 S. Ant. 1152, cf. 1119–21; in the cultic summons of Dionysos to the Lenaia he was addressed as “Semele’s son, wealth-giving Iakchos” (ΣRVEΘBarb Ra. 479c). On these connections, see Deubner (1932) 125; Graf (1974) 51–8; Burkert (1983) 279; Clinton (1992) 64–7; Bowie (1993) 232–3, and 233–4 for Dionysian coloring in the procession. 53 326, 331–2, 334–6, 345, 351–3, 396–7, 398–9, 403, 407–8, 413. 54 Clinton (1992) 66. 55 Their completed initiation is directly acknowledged at 158 and 318; cf. Dover (1993) 61. Hooker (1960) draws a different conclusion from this observation. 56 Pi. frr. 129–31 Maehler, and compare the description in Plu. fr. 178 Sandbach; cf. Burkert (1987b) 91–2; Bowie (1993) 231. 50 51

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by portraying them in a state of festival celebration, something Herakles’ comparative “as here” (155 ὥσπερ ἐνθάδε) perhaps helps establish by referring to the Lenaian festival. Moreover, while the auloi and even the clapping have a place at the dramatic festivals, there is a distinctly Dionysian ring to thiasoi, and the initiates accordingly describe themselves as thiasōtai (327) in the parodos as they invoke the Dionysian Iakchos.57 Apart from revealing the Dionysian characterization of the chorus, these points suggest that strict recourse to features of Eleusinian initiation to explain the chorus’ activity may be an overly determined approach, as opposed to allowing their Eleusinian identity to serve as a basis for the joys that await the initiated in the afterlife. The Dionysian resonances gain force as the parodos continues, and concentrate on the poetic and even dramatic nature of the chorus’ activity, with the implication that, in this comic Underworld, theater is associated with Dionysos in his Eleusinian identity and is to be experienced within a fancifully modified Eleusinian frame of festive pleasures.58 This impression is created at several points in the initiates’ procession, but is presented most forcefully in the chorus-leader’s prorrhēsis (354–71).59 Although the passage is often treated as a relocated parabasis because of its poetic form (anapestic tetrameter) and some points of subject matter,60 the chorus-leader speaks in character throughout, without hinting at either the identity of Aristophanes or the reception of the play in its immediate agonistic circumstances. Literary critique, political advice and personal abuse are the proper substance of a parabasis,61 but they are only parabatic when they express something positive about Aristophanes and his play.62 On the centrality of the aulos to the City Dionysia, see Nu. 311–13 and Wilson (1999) 75–8, further comments in Wilson (2004) 272–7; for the thiasos, Dover (1993) 156n. The audience’s applause is memorably referred to in Cratin. fr. 360. Sommerstein (1996a) 157n., explains the present passage by referring to Lys. 1318–19 (κρóτον χορωφελήταν, a hapax) for the sense “to help the dance along,” i.e., of bystanders keeping the beat. But a meta-competitive force would be appropriate in these closing lines, i.e., applause that helps the chorus win the contest; thus the krotos at Pl. R. 492b; Lg. 700c; Men. Sam. 735; Ael. VH 2.13 = Ar. test. 32.23–5. 58 Somewhat differently Lada-Richards (1999) 224–5. My claim is not that of Tierney (1935), who believes that the parodos faithfully represents an authentic pompē of the Lenaia. In conflating the Eleusinian Mysteries with Dionysian dramatic festivals, Aristophanes may have been helped by the fact that Eleusis hosted one of the more important Dionysia outside of Athens, important enough that Aristophanes and Sophocles seem to have staged plays there (IG I3 970). 59 Cf. e.g., Baier (2002) 202–3. Compare Medea’s tweaking of the prorrhēsis formula:€ E. Med. 1053–5. 60 Whitman (1964) 230–1; Strauss (1966) 246; Horn (1970) 137; Zimmermann (1985–7) vol. 1, 125; Reckford (1987) 415–17; Dover (1993) 239; Dobrov (2001) 149–50. Absence of anapests in the actual parabasis is taken to support the interpretation; see further below. 61 Zimmermann (1985–7) vol. 1, 125. 62 Sifakis (1971) 40:€“The object of the eulogy of the poet, which is what [anapests and pnigos] are, is clearly to gain victory in the dramatic contest.” 57

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To the extent that the prorrhēsis of Frogs advances the agenda of any poet, it is that of one who had long since departed from the stage, a point I will return to momentarily. Parabatic coloring is thus all that can be fairly attributed to this passage, the primary purpose of which is exposition of the plot by further establishing the chorus’ identity and present activity for the audience.63 By fulfilling the cultic function of enjoining holy silence and warding off those unfit to witness or participate in the chorus’ ritual activities, the chorus-leader qua hierophant thus offers clear insights into the nature of the envisioned celebration and its significance for Aristophanes’ play.64 The prorrhēsis begins by emphasizing the notion of choral performance. The celebrants are unified in their identity as a chorus of performers (354 τοĩς ἡμετέροισι χοροĩσιν) in sacred rites of the noble Muses (356 γενναίων ὄργια Μουσῶν). The orgia automatically bring to mind the Eleusinian background,65 but their grounding in mousikē connects them with an ambience focused primarily on poetic performance. Much the same effect is achieved by forbidding those “who have not seen or danced” (356 μήτ̓ εἶδεν μήτ᾿ ἐχóρευσεν) to participate in the rites; the visual emphasis of the first term seems to allude to the revelations that were central to the process of initiation into the cult,66 while the latter again places these within a frame of choral performance. Some limited and mostly late evidence implies that ritual dance contributed to the Eleusinian program,67 although it is surely a mischaracterization to believe that it was so prominent in the initiatory rites that they could be thought of as a primary venue for witnessing choral poetry in performance. On the other hand, the organizing logic of the Frogs passage repeatedly connects elements drawn from Eleusinian worship to dramatic performances at the Dionysia.68 Those implications emerge more fully in the comment that follows the focus on chorality in the opening verses (Ra. 357): μηδὲ Κρατίνου τοῦ ταυροφάγου γλώττης Βακχεĩâ•›̓ ἐτελέσθη nor been “initiated” into the Bacchic rites of Cratinus the â•… Bull-eater’s tongue. As recognized by Hubbard (1991) 205, although he too treats the passage as a reconfigured parabasis. 64 Rosen (2007) 29–32, similarly discusses the conflation of ritual and comic mockery in this passage. 65 See hCer. 476–8:€ὄργια … σεμνά, with Richardson (1974) 474–6n. 66 hCer. 480 ὄλβιος ὃς τάδ᾿ ὄπωπεν (cf. δεῖξε at 474), with Richardson (1974) 314. 67 Discussed by Lada-Richards (1999) 99–100; Hardie (2004), esp. 14–21; cf. Richardson (1974) 214–15. 68 Cf. Zimmermann (1985–7) vol. 1, 124–5, who focusses on the parabatic blend. 63

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Here ἐτελέσθη is unmistakably drawn from the mystic frame, but the projection of these themes onto the ambience of dramatic performance in a Dionysian frame, through the transference of Dionysos’ epithets (ταυροφάγου, Βακχεĩα)69 onto the great comic poet of the previous generation, is likewise unmistakable. The image of Cratinus’ vigorous tongue fits awkwardly in the Eleusinian context, in which refraining from open discourse was a fundamental concern (hCer. 478–9); and when an interdiction against careless speech is offered in the next line (358 ἢ βωμολóχοις ἔπεσιν χαίρει μὴ ̓ν καιρῷ τοῦτο ποιοῦσιν), it has the ring of Aristophanes’ criticism of comic triviality and recalls Dionysos’ opening repudiation of the theatrical atrocities of his poetic rivals.70 It is perhaps in the spirit of comic abuse that the chorus-leader next inveighs against various dubious political activities (359–65). But the stalwart defense of Athens’ interests throughout this section may also evoke the rituals of polis identity and communality that featured at the City Dionysia.71 In any event, the discussion soon returns to themes drawn from the dramatic festivals, when the ban from the chorus’ celebrations is extended to anyone who defiled Hekate’s offerings while singing along with cyclic choruses (366 κυκλίοισι χοροĩσν ὑπᾴδων). Mockery of the dithyrambic poet Kinesias is certain, since the same ridicule is directed against him at Ec. 329–30, so that elements of the dramatic festivals are again intertwined with the Eleusinia, activated here by mention of Hekate.72 The passage is rounded out with a final assertion of the Dionysian context (Ra. 367–8): ἢ τοὺς μισθοὺς τῶν ποιητῶν ῥήτωρ ὢν εἶτ᾿ ἀποτρώγει¸ κωμῳδηθεὶς ἐν ταĩς πατρίοις τελεταĩς ταĩς τοῦ Διονύσου or who, as a politician, tried to nibble away at the poets’ wages, having been ridiculed in the ancestral rites of Dionysos.

Now the rites are explicitly said to belong to the god of the Theater in his capacity as patron of poets, a point likewise made clear by the reference to comedy’s privilege of abusing politicians, which the chorus-leader thus vindicates. Indeed, the defense of the poets’ state wages implies that For taurophagos, see S. fr. 668; cf. Dover (1993) 357n., for the association of bulls with Dionysos. Cf. Hubbard (1991) 204. Goldhill (1990) 104–5; Cole (1993) 29; Rhodes (2003). Cf. Pluto’s parting injunction to Aeschylus to save “our city” (1500–1). 72 On the identification of Kinesias, see Dover (1993) 366n. For Hekate’s association with Eleusinian myth and cult, see hCer. 24–5, 438–40, with Richardson (1974) 155–7. 69

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the organization of performances in Hades operates much as it does in Athens. The prorrhēsis thus seeks to create an audience for the initiates’ sacred celebration that not only enjoys theatrical and musical entertainment, but views this activity with awe and devotion filtered through the reverence the chorus derive from their Eleusinian identity. Mention of Muses, Dionysos, poets and poetry€– especially comedy, but also dithyramb€– shows the lengths to which Aristophanes has gone to characterize the initiates’ activity as distinctly poetic and dramatic, and implies that a chthonic counterpart of the dramatic festivals is afoot in their experience of a blessed afterlife.73 In due course, therefore, Dionysos joins the procession himself (414–15), when the chorus perform the kind of ritualized abuse (416–30) that occurred in Dionysiac processions and became a core feature of the comic genre, referred to prominently in the recollection of Cratinus just before.74 Once again, the Eleusinia offer a point of comparison for this mockery in the gephyrismos, with the difference that in Frogs it is the chorus who perform the abusive song, rather than bystanders ridiculing members of the procession.75 Others have attempted to explain this aggregation of competing ritual and performative contexts by dissecting the initiates’ parodos into moments when the chorus perform in character as initiates and others when they speak in the mildly disruptive manner typical of comedy, reflecting on their performance as a chorus at the Lenaia.76 But the interweaving of the two frames throughout the parodos, and especially in the prorrhēsis, militates against this approach, since the effect seems rather to be to join them into a novel comic composite. Indeed, the example that Even the torchlight procession of the Eleusinia (Ra. 340–4, 350) has its counterpart in the eisagōgē of the City Dionysia:€IG II2 1006.12–13; see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 60; Csapo and Slater (1994) 111. 74 Dionysos’ unification with the procession is marked by his implied acknowledgment (414–15) of the chorus’ summons of him through Iakchos just before (398–413), by their invitation to him (416; cf. Dover (1993) ad loc.), and by the extension of the chorus’ song (416–30) in their dialogue with Dionysos (431–9). For ritual abuse and Dionysiac processions, see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 36; Cole (1993) 32–3. 75 For the relationship to the gephyrismos, see Reckford (1987) 411; Bowie (1993) 239–40; LadaRichards (1999) 98; Rosen (2007) 30–1; cf. Henderson (1975) 16–17. The difference between the chorus’ activity and the gephyrismos is noted by Radermacher (1954) 203; Baier (2002) 201–2. The ability of this song to bring comic paradigms to mind is harder to ignore in light of its close resemblance, in theme and form, to a passage in Eupolis’ Demes (fr. 99.1–22); cf. Dover (1993) 247–8; Storey (2003b) 142–3. Fraenkel (1962) 201–4, argues that both passages reflect a traditional comic form. 76 See Foucart (1914) 336; Zimmermann (1985–7) vol. 1, 124–5; Dover (1993) 58–60. For more general discussion, see Muecke (1977); Bierl (2001) 37–64. 73

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best exemplifies the shifting choral perspective bears this understanding out. In their song to Demeter (385–93), the chorus characterize the goddess as a patron of choral performance particularly associated with humor (389 γέλοια; 392 σκώψαντα), before finally praying for her support toward victory (392–3 νι- | κήσαντα ταινιοῦσθαι). Although a plea by the performers for a victory at the Lenaia is heard in these remarks,77 the maneuver does not work through jarring discontinuity with the dramatic fiction but by comparison with it, since choral victory is perfectly appropriate for a chorus looking forward to the species of celebration forecast by the prorrhēsis. This understanding is in turn borne out by later developments, when Aeschylus and Euripides meet in competition and offer comparable prayers for victory (885–94). At this moment, Aeschylus likewise prays to Demeter and asks to be worthy of her mysteries. His phrasing τῶν σῶν ἄξιον μυστηρίων (887) is an unmistakable recollection of τῆς σῆς ἑορτῆς ἀξίως (391) in the chorus’ prayer, bringing out again the parodos’ implication that dramatic performance operates within an Eleusinian frame. Along with calibrating dramatic festival celebration to the Eleusinia, Dionysos’ entry into the realm of mousikē below the earth demonstrates the continuing vitality there of poets and poetry that had long since ceased to be enjoyed in Athens. We will see in a moment that the initiates’ parodos makes an important contribution to articulating this idea. But the process of creating an antiquated poetic landscape begins already with the frog-chorus. Doubts have been raised about the purpose and contribution the chorus in their minor amphibian role make to the play.78 The sensible explanation, however, is that, as frogs, they recall and bring back to the stage the distant past of comic poetry, when animal choruses appear to have been a regular and perhaps defining feature of the genre.79 Thus Dover (1993) 58; for the ambiguity, see also Seel (1960) 132–3; Vaio (1985) 99. Even granting the importance of dance in the Eleusinia (Lada-Richards (1999) 99–100), no evidence suggests that the celebrations included a formal agon in choral performance. For agon, more loosely defined, as part of a ritual pattern in mystic initiation, see Seaford (1981) 267–8. 78 For the question of whether or not the frog-chorus were even visible on stage, see especially Allison (1983), Dover (1993) 56–7, Marshall (1996). 79 Reckford (1987) 410–12; Hubbard (1991) 202; Bierl (1991) 35; Dobrov (2001) 148–9; Baier (2002) 200. Sifakis (1971) 73–102, argues for the contribution of animal choruses to the early history of comedy (for the frog-chorus, see 94) on the basis of a number of sixth and early fifth-century vases showing choruses dressed as animals (none of them frogs). Rothwell (2007) 104–5, argues for an early period (510–480 bc) when animal choruses thrived, and for a revival of these choruses later in the fifth century. A more specific reference may be involved, since as Reckford points out, Magnes apparently produced a comedy with a chorus of frogs; indeed, the passage to which we owe this knowledge (Eq. 520–3) refers to two other animal choruses as well, and treats Magnes as the most venerable early comic poet. The Knights passage with the scholion is our only source 77

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The effect of recollecting comedy in its antiquated form through the chorus’ theriomorphic identity is complemented by details of the frogs’ song. Its humorous undertones notwithstanding, the song contains archaisms (219b λαῶν), elements of hymnic invocation (215–16 ἣν ἀμφὶ Νυσήϊον Διὸς Διóνυσον) and formal features of high poetry, especially choral lyric (lyric alpha:€212–14, 231, 248; 1st-plural in€–μεσθα:€242, 248, 252, 258), and elevated expression (247 βυθῷ; circumlocutions:€esp. 211, 212; rich compounds:€esp. 213, 218, 230, 245, 249) that lend the performance a marked stateliness and further portray the frogs as representing ancient poetic traditions.80 These indications of the frogs’ significance only refine their general association with idealized mousikē established elsewhere in this scene.81 In preparing Dionysos for their performance, Charon is in no doubt about the charm of their song; it is superlative in its beauty (205–6 μέλη κάλλιστα) and stirs wonder (207 θαυμαστά). Moreover, the frogs themselves become the chthonic counterpart of the swan (207 βατράχων κύκνων), alluding to the bird’s place in choral metaphors and the like already in archaic poetry.82 In light of the approbation in Charon’s description, it is fitting that the chorus identify the Muses, Pan and Apollo, gods whose associations with mousikē are duly emphasized (229 εὔλυροι … 230 καλαμóφθογγα€… 232 φορμικτάς), among their chief admirers (229–34).83 As the frogs are thus enfolded into a mythic scheme of divine prerogatives in music, Apollo’s admiration is especially striking, because it stems from their role in nurturing the reeds that went into making the lyre (232–4) and accordingly looks to the very genesis of music.84 Dionysos himself is among the deities with whom the frogs claim to have a cherished relationship (211–19), and of knowledge for Magnes’ Frogs and the other four titles (including Birds and Gall-flies); but the emphasis on choruses in Eq. 521 and the resources for play-titles available to ancient scholars support the interpretation. Kallias too produced a Frogs in 431, according to a restored inscription (IG XIV.1097.5–6 = Kallias test. 4). Schmid (1946) 334, noted that Aristophanes may have wanted to evoke (in a mocking way) these older comedies with his choice of title. 80 This summarizes points treated in greater detail by Radermacher (1954) 171–2, and especially Campbell (1984) 164–5, who argues that the elements said by Defradas (1969) and Zimmermann (1985–7) vol. 1, 157–61, to bring to mind the New Music can largely be attributed to traditional poetic forms. Nor would we expect the Dionysos of Frogs to disfavor at this point the very trends that also influenced Euripides (and Aristophanes:€Zimmermann (1993)). See Silk (1980) 136–8, for the mix of registers, and Wills (1969a) for Dionysos’ deflationary role in this exchange. 81 Cf. Rothwell (2007) 140–1. 82 Alc. PMG 1.100–1; hHom. 21.1–3; Pratin. PMG 708.5; cf. Av. 769–84 (where the gods’ awe is similarly recounted in 781) with Dunbar (1995). 83 Allison (1983) 10–11 draws attention to the aural emphasis of the description. 84 Interaction with the Hymn to Hermes (hMerc. 41–51) can be detected:€the donax features in the description of the first lyre, as implied here by the epithet φορμικτάς (Ra. 232) in relation to the establishment of Apollo as the god who controls it, and the allusion through ὑπολύριον (Ra. 233) to the use of the reeds in constructing it.

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he accordingly reiterates their proclaimed affiliation with music (240 ὦ φιλῳδὸν γένος).85 The frogs’ association with Dionysos is through his precinct ἐν Λίμναις (219; cf. 211), used exclusively for the Anthesteria, which was the most widespread of Dionysos’ festivals precisely because it was the most ancient.86 Thus even in their connection to Dionysos, the frogs represent a deeply embedded layer of ritual activity. Far from simply marking the physical geography of Dionysos’ descent through the mires that separate Hades from the world above, the frogs’ performance is of a piece with the initiates’ celebration of the god’s poetic rites in the strange but familiar form they take in the Underworld. During his encounter with the frogs, Dionysos enters a surreal poetic landscape where music and song emanate from the water in a primordial form. Given the close association of the frogs, mousikē and Dionysos, it comes as something of a surprise that the god offers a hostile response to the frogs’ song. Rather than assume that this response is aimed at a specific literary target,87 we might instead consider how the antagonism communicates the god’s own attachment to contemporary poetry, which was already presented as a defining feature of his character in the opening scenes. Seen that way, the encounter already sets Dionysos’ fixed purpose in opposition to the possibilities that present themselves in Hades when Aeschylus appears beside Euripides. Many of the features that give the frogs’ song its stately, venerable feel€– archaisms, compounds, and elevated register€– are essential to the representation of Aeschylus later on.88 Above all, his supposed penchant for choral refrains, which Euripides relentlessly condemns (1264–77),89 recalls the repetitiveness of their song, while the memorable onomatopoeic effect of the latter has its counterpart in the vocal imitation of Aeschylus’ lyre-parts that Euripides inserts within the older tragedian’s lyrics (1284–95). Dionysos’ hostile encounter with the frogs, moreover, ultimately takes the form of a musical contest, so that apart Wills (1969a) 312, considers the address ironic in line with his overall treatment of the frogs’ performance as bathetic, despite what Charon says about it and the frogs’ proclaimed status. Wills is not alone in his generally negative assessment of the frogs’ song; cf. Solomos (1974) 215; Henderson (1975) 93. 86 Th. 2.15.4; D. 59.76. Cf. Burkert (1983) 213–14. 87 The “New Music,” according to Defradas (1969) and, by a complex (and unlikely) pun, Aristophanes’ rival of 405, Phrynichus, according to Demand (1970); responses in Campbell (1984) 164; Dover (1993) 56 n. 2. 88 E.g., 927–38, 961–6, 1004–5, 1056–60. Whitman (1964) 249, comments that the frogs’ song, like Aeschylus’ poetry, has a positive didactic aspect in teaching Dionysos to row (203–6). 89 Cf. Dover (1993) 1264–77n., who also notes the contribution of refrains to the initiates’ song. In introducing this discussion, Euripides sarcastically describes Aeschylus’ lyrics as θαυμαστά (1261), redeploying Charon’s description of the frogs’ song at 207. 85

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from anticipating the agonistic confrontation between old and new poetry in the second half of the play, the miniature agon also projects onto the god of the Theater himself the indomitable urge toward competition that defined performances in his honor.90 In the absence of a clearly formulated verbal criticism of the frogs’ song by Dionysos, the agon itself suffices to show his disapproval, and this inherent connection between the poetic agon and criticism is spelled out more fully in the second half of the play. By being compelled to participate in such a competition and succeeding in it, Dionysos may be forced to call on a deeper strength that helps him as he proceeds on his “heroic” quest.91 More to the point, the scene begins a process of revelation whereby the very nature of the ordeals Dionysos endures is shown to fall squarely within his sphere of expertise. The themes operative in the characterization of the frogs are given specific point in the entry of the chorus of initiates. As noted above, in the prorrhēsis (357) Cratinus is not only treated with dignity and respect, but is elevated in status to a kind of steward of Dionysos’ poetic rites in the Underworld, to the point of being granted an epithet (taurophagos) that virtually equates him with the god of the Theater. The nostalgia for the great rival of Aristophanes’ early career is a poignant note, which must be part of the point. But as far as the plot is concerned, the implication is that, whereas Cratinus had probably been dead since the late 420s, his influence on comic poetry is every bit as strong in Hades as it ever was in Athens. The apparent logic of this is that new developments in poetry only reach the Underworld when a poet dies.92 That understanding is confirmed by later revelations, since it is this very situation that comes to a head with the disturbance in poetic tastes occasioned by Euripides’ arrival and the consequent challenge to Aeschylus (758–78), whose place of honor is jeopardized by the possibility that someone more skilled in their craft has died (766–7). Accordingly, from their comically skewed perspective on the chronology of tragic drama, the chorus later refer to Aeschylus as the finest poet “up to this time” (1256 τῶν μέχρι νυνί). Among later readers, The competitive nature of the encounter is emphasized especially at 258–60, 266; cf. Defradas (1969) 36; Wills (1969a) 317. Dionysos’ claim to “take up” the frogs’ song (251 παρ᾿ ὑμῶν λαμβάνω) also marks his formal entry into competition and seems to borrow from the language of rhapsodic competitive exchange, on which see Nagy (2002) 10–11; cf. Burgess (2004). Although the nature of the competition between Dionysos and the frogs has been debated (esp. Wills (1969a)), MacDowell (1972) 4–5, probably explains it best as a contest of duration (esp. 242–5, 258–60, 264–6). Habash (2002) 6, suggests that Dionysos becomes koryphaios of the frogs’ chorus. 91 Reckford (1987) 411. 92 The scathing remark about Kinesias (366) ruptures the chorus’ character, but is not necessarily inconsistent with this view, since the idea may still be that a new-fangled musician has no place in their celebrations. His offense can be compared to that of the present stock of tragic poets (95). 90

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Cratinus would be identified as first (chronologically) in the triumvirate of great comic poets. But Aristophanes’ own treatment of the history of the comic competitions at Knights 526–36 underscores his role in Frogs as defining the previous generation of comic poets, and consequently as the last to depart for Hades.93 In this sense, he occupied a place in the Athenian imagination comparable to that of Aeschylus for tragedy. With the mention of Cratinus’ continuing domination, therefore, Dionysos’ exclusive concentration in the prologue on poets belonging to the most recent phase of dramatic poetry, both comic and tragic, is suddenly complicated by a greater range of choices that in due course impinge upon his decision to undertake the katabasis.94 Even if mention of Cratinus’ domination of Dionysos’ comic rites in Hades was not enough to prompt the audience to consider Aeschylus his natural tragic counterpart at this point, thematic space is created for that development.95 Accordingly, similarities can be observed in the characterizations of the old comic and tragic poets once Aeschylus appears. He too is initially compared to a bull (804); and just as Cratinus somehow presides over the Bacchic rites at 357, so later on the chorus speak of Aeschylus as the Bacchic lord (1259 τὸν Βακχεĩον ἄνακτα). As noted above, Aeschylus is also associated with the rites of Demeter (886–8) through the prayer he offers to the goddess that closely resembles the initiates’ prayer to her for victory in the imagined contest of her festival.96 Inasmuch as Aeschylus’ prayer emphasizes the mysteries (887 τῶν σῶν ἄξιον μυστηρίων) and elaborates on the prayer to the Muses that Dionysos leads (871–85), a connection is made with Cratinus’ position in the mysteries of the Muses (356 ὄργια Μουσῶν). That implication is the basis for Aeschylus’ description of his poetic activity as “culling flowers from the holy field of the Muses” (1300 λειμῶνα Μουσῶν ἱερὸν ὀφθείην δρέπων), which brings into full conformity with poetic ideals a familiar image of mystery cult, and so elaborates on the interweaving of the Eleusinian frame with Dionysian poetry introduced in the parodos.97

Aristophanes’ final quip against Cratinus at Eq. 535–6 is that he should take a seat of honor beside Dionysos, which is similar to the honorific treatment of dead poets in Frogs. Cf. Vaio (1985) 99. 95 Any sense in which Eupolis was recalled in Ra. 416–30, as another (more recently) deceased poet, will have contributed to this impression; see Storey (2003b) 56–60, who settles on 411 as the date of Eupolis’ death. 96 391–2 τῆς σῆς ἑορτῆς ἀξίως | παίσαντα καὶ σκώψαντα ~ 887 εἶναί με τῶν σῶν ἄξιον μυστηρίων. 97 The flowering fields are a recurring image in the presentation of the mysteries:€326–30, 352–3, 373–4, 448–9. Euripides’ poetry is a perversion of the Muses (1301–8), and ultimately he appears rather as an enemy of what they represent (1493–5); cf. Lada-Richards (1999) 246–7. 93

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To summarize, the katabasis takes Dionysos into a strange world. But contrary to what he and the audience might have expected on the basis of the Heraklean model, this world is eerily familiar for a god of music and poetry, in both the funereal recasting of festival celebrations in Dionysos’ honor and the primacy of poetry, music and dancing in the activities of those with whom he comes in contact. These experiences affirm Dionysos’ identity as god of the Theater as it was presented in the opening scenes, and at the same time suggest that he is uniquely prepared to deal with the challenges his undertaking involves. To be sure, it soon becomes apparent that, apart from Dionysos’ comically profitable inability to play Herakles effectively, the role is more of a liability than anything else, because of the trouble it lands him in with other residents of the Underworld. When he gives up this costume once and for all and is recognized as god of the Theater off-stage during the parabasis, he finds himself in a position to carry on with his initial plan to retrieve a poet, but in a way that depends on his personal strengths as ideal spectator. The nascent themes of poetry and dramatic festival come together in the poetic agon when Aeschylus emerges€– surprisingly, but fittingly€– from the depths of tragic poetry’s past and imposes himself in a way that ultimately affects Dionysos’ plans. T h e U n de rwor l d ag on:€a n e w pa r a dig m One result of Aristophanes’ expansive treatment of the katabasis is that the poetic contest, of which the epirrhematic agon is only part, takes up the entire second half of the play. This structural shift, from the usual appearance of the agon in the first half of the play with iambic scenes demonstrating the hero’s success in the second half, has been noted by others.98 But it should be apparent by now that the way the katabasis lays the groundwork for the poetic agon makes taking this division as a sign of the play’s lack of unity indefensible. Thus organized, the poetic contest becomes the culminating experience of Frogs. Indeed, the expansive treatment of the confrontation between Euripides and Aeschylus, composed of a pre-agon scene (830–94), a full epirrhematic agon (895–1098), similarly combative iambic scenes (1099–1478), and a final grand exodus celebrating Aeschylus’ victory (1479–1533), suggests Aristophanes’ interest in making See esp. Hooker (1980). But as Gelzer (1991) rightly observes, the structural elements of comedy were there for Aristophanes and other poets to use and manipulate to their own advantage, as with the delayed double-agon of Clouds (Chapter 5).

98

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this the play’s tour de force.99 The trajectory of the plot of Frogs thus pays homage to the occasion on which it and other plays were presented to the Athenians. The momentous role the contest has in the play is adumbrated by how it is introduced to the audience in the conversation between Xanthias and Pluto’s slave immediately after the parabasis. Without their masters to stop them, the two men delight in recalling comically stereotypical slave behavior,100 but their reverie is cut short when an offstage uproar prompts Xanthias to ask its cause. “It’s Aeschlyus and Euripides” (758) is the initial brief reply, which is followed by a full account of recent developments in the state of poetry in Hades. A matter of great importance and an immense state of unrest was stirred up among the dead (759–60) when, in conformity with a law guaranteeing the preeminent representative of each technē (763 τὸν ἄριστον ὄντα τῶν ἑαυτοῦ συντέχνων) a seat of honor beside Pluto (761–7), Euripides no sooner arrived than he laid claim to the chair of tragedy, which had been occupied by Aeschylus (768–70). Euripides did not, however, act without justification, since his displays of talent (771 ἐπεδείκνυτο)101 to the lower elements of society in Hades left them stunned with admiration for his “counter-arguments, twists, and dodges” (775) and persuaded that he was the supreme poet (776 σοφώτατον). Euripides’ descent furnishes the theater world of Hades with a new form of entertainment that throws established tastes and opinions into question102 and raises an outcry to decide whether he or Aeschylus is wiser (779–80 ὁ δῆμος ἀνεβóα κρίσιν ποεĩν | ὁπóτερος εἴη τὴν τέχνην σοφώτερος). The competing claims to superior status with regard to poetic sophia put the conditions in place for the agon to do its work.103 Far from being simply a matter of Euripides’ impertinence, it is as if all social harmony has been upset by the arrival of a new poet, with the criminal and the well-to-do strata of the population pitted against each other. This seems overblown, as poetic concerns are thrust onto the stage of social and political dynamics, yet these may be exactly the terms in which Athenians were prepared to think about such matters. The situation in Frogs is not unlike the one reported by Plutarch (Cim. 8.7–9) Wilamowitz (1929) 471–2, believes that the poetic agon was Aristophanes’ original comic idea; cf. Hooker (1980) 170, for various views on the question. 100 This ‘second’ prologue thus revisits the general theme of comic tropes from the opening dialogue between Dionysos and Xanthias. 101 The imperfect suggests ongoing activity, in the midst of which Dionysos arrived in Hades. 102 Cf. the chorus’ praise for Aeschylus at 1254–6. 103 Cf. the role of the poetic agon in establishing Aristophanes’ claim to sophia in the Clouds parabasis (see above, pp. 180–1). ╇ 99

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at the City Dionysia of 468, when Sophocles first competed against the established champion of the tragic stage, Aeschylus. Then too, we are told, ardent and evenly divided support for the two poets created discord in the audience, leaving the presiding archon no choice but to install the ten generals in the place of the regular judges to enhance the authority of the krisis. Some details of this event were probably embellished as it became a matter of legend.104 Nonetheless, if the tradition retains something of the Athenians’ mindset in reflecting on their cultural past,105 its most remarkable feature is its emphasis on the social and political stakes that came into play when poets who in some sense defined their ages came face to face in a poetic contest. The story also reflects confidence in the ability of the agon, as a social mechanism, to determine the relative merits of poets and resolve the tensions such occasions brought to the surface. Such, at least, is the resolution of Pluto, who immediately organizes a contest to assess the abilities of Euripides and Aeschylus:€ἀγῶνα ποιεĩν αὐτίκα μάλα καὶ κρίσιν | κἄλεγχον αὐτοĩν τῆς τέχνης (785–6). The urgency of the situation is expressed by αὐτίκα μάλα, implying that no delay can be tolerated, while the pleonasm κρίσιν κἄλεγχον likewise lends prominence to the means of resolving tensions. With Sophocles’ absence from the contest explained again (786–94), the remaining problem, as in Plutarch’s story, is to find someone with the authority to decide between two important poets (805). Here at last Dionysos enters the slave’s account:€this delicate task was ultimately entrusted to him, on account of his experience with the art (811 ὁτιὴ τῆς τέχνης ἔμπειρος ἦν). That Dionysos was enlisted only after a failed search for men both wise enough and sufficiently knowledgeable about the “quality” (φύσεις) of poets to serve as judges (805–10) only underscores his unique qualifications.106 Skepticism is often called for in addressing these situations:€Lefkowitz (1981); (1984). Knowledge of the name of the archon (Apsephion) may imply reliance on documentary evidence. Ion of Chios composed recollections of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Kimon (see Dover (1986) = (1987–8) vol. ii, 7–9), on which Plutarch relied for Kimon’s biography:€Cim. 5.3; 9.1 (Ion, as a youth, visiting Kimon in Athens in c.465:€FGrHist 392 T 5); 16.8; Pericl. 5.3. 105 For the potential value of anecdotes based on a distinction between the “unrealistic” and “untrue,” see Dover (1988) 47. 106 Here, the curious detail explaining Aeschylus’ rejection of the Athenians as judges, οὔτε γὰρ ᾿Αθηναίοισι σUνέβαιν᾿ Αἰσχύλος (807) may depend on the tradition of Aeschylus’ falling out with the Athenians on account of his defeat by Sophocles as described by Plutarch and Vit. Aesch. 8 (= A. test. 1). Radermacher (1954) 259, rejects this possibility; but see van Leeuwen (1896); Stanford (1962); Dover (1993). Sommerstein (1996a) 807n., bases his rejection of a connection on the dubious historical accuracy of these traditions and on the assumption that the reference to “Athenians” in the play is to Athenians of 405. But the former is not at issue, only whether tales of Aeschylus’ life were already current, and the latter is not so clear-cut in light of the interplay of past and present in the agon (see below). Certainly the explanation in 809–10 that Aeschylus did 104

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In Hades, then, Dionysos discovers that this other world is in a state of crisis the exact opposite of the one that has befallen Athens. Dionysos set out on his quest because no good poets were left and the future of his festivals seemed imperiled. But in the Underworld the recent arrival of Euripides (not to mention Sophocles!) has resulted in a glut of such men, and the only means of resolving the ensuing turmoil is a poetic contest. If we return to the question Segal thought could be answered only by assuming development in Dionysos’ character during the katabasis€– How can the god perform his assigned task in the second half of the play?€– the answer need be no more complicated than that by a happy (but wellprepared-for) coincidence Dionysos gives up trying to be Herakles and returns to what he knows best:€judging dramatic poets. The nature of the enterprise changes, not the individual who carries it out.107 This outcome is highlighted by the Underworld slave’s terse description of the credentials that make Dionysos fit to decide the contest, τῆς τέχνης ἔμπειρος (811). In addition to long experience, empeiros implies the expertise that comes from making trial of something (πεĩρα). As such, the term recalls Dionysos’ rehearsal of the talents of various contemporary poets, but especially Iophon, whose work Dionysos had yet to test (79 κωδωνίσω). The colorful term Dionysos used earlier to describe his activity is in harmony with the craft-metaphors now introduced to characterize the probing nature of the impending contest (796–802).108 The second half of Frogs thus promises to elaborate on what had already been presented as an essential element of Dionysos’ character and interests, but places his literary critical skills squarely within the cultural milieu of the poetic agon. With this turn of events, Dionysos slips back easily into his authoritative position, as he first takes charge of the situation by restraining the poets’ bickering and forcing them to adopt the more orderly style of exchange prescribed by the epirrhematic agon (851–70), and then presides over the formal offerings and prayers to the Muses that get the contest running (871–94).109 The god of the Theater has returned. not trust their (taking τἄλλα in 809 as still referring to the Athenians) judgment about poets is easily accounted for by reference to contest-histories/traditions. For γνῶναι (809) in relation to (mis)judging a contest, see V. 1045. 107 Cf. Radermacher (1954) 259. Thus Konstan (1995) 69, speaks of Dionysos having his identity restored. This is not to say that Dionysos becomes less ridiculous, since he continues to play the fool throughout, a fact that only becomes a problem if one looks for a meaningful change of character; see Segal (1961) 214–15. 108 See especially Euripides’ promise “to test by rubbing” (802 βασανιεῖν); cf. Denniston (1927) 114. 109 Dover (1993) ad loc., sensibly explains mousik ōtata (873) by reference to “cultivated critics.” But we should not miss the association with the goddesses that is made clear by what follows. Corinna PMG 654.19–22 has the Muses officiate in the Contest of Helikon and Kithairon.

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Details in the preparation for the confrontation of the poets add to this effect by reflecting elements of the dramatic festivals. Dionysos’ prayer to the Muses to guide the judging represents a version of the ritual offerings and judges’ oath that preceded the contests. In particular, ἀγῶνα κρĩναι τóνδε (873) may recall the actual wording of the oath, although comic liberty is taken in rounding out the allusion with the para prosdokian μουσικώτατα in place of (e.g.) δικαιότατα.110 So too, the pre-agon scene leading up to the epirrhematic agon brings to mind the proagon, an event reserved for the tragic poets to offer a public demonstration setting the stage for their participation in the dramatic competition a few days later.111 This component of the festival may be implied when Euripides is said to have made an epideixis of his talents to the public (771); although an allusion to sophistic displays may also be felt, the immediate contextual promptings would have made it just as easy to think of the epideixis poets made before the City Dionysia.112 Certainly Euripides’ rivalry with Aeschylus, which results in the agon, is tied directly to his epideictic performances, since it is on the strength of them that he attempts to seize the tragic throne (777) and thereby communicates his agonistic challenge.113 In the Underworld the (recent) present and distant past suddenly stand side by side. The result is a contest that explodes the assumptions of a true agon, which exists only in the present, relying as it does on simultaneous performance and to this extent representing a single moment in the diachronic phenomenon of a genre’s development.114 That notion The terms of the oath can be postulated from Pherecr. fr. 102.3–4, μηδ᾿ ἀδίκως κρίνειν; Ar. Ec. 1160, κρίνειν τοὺς χοροὺς ὀρθῶς ἀεί; Aeschin. 3.232, καὶ τοὺς μὲν κριτὰς τοὺς ἐκ τῶν Διονυσίων ἐὰν μὴ δικαίως τοὺς κυκλίους χοροὺς κρίνωσι ζημιοῦτε; cf. Ar. Nu. 1130 (above, pp. 195–6). Plu. Cim. 8.7 describes the generals, under the authority of the presiding archon, as performing “the customary libations” (τὰς νενομισμένας σπονδάς) in honor of Dionysos, just before the point when the judges normally took their oaths; cf. Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 95–8; Goldhill (1990) 100–1. 111 For the proagon as a competitive structure parallel to the comic parabasis, see above, pp. 40–6. Note Euripides’ appearance in Aristophanes’ play Proagon:Â€Σ VLhAld V. 61c (= Proagon test. iv). 112 See ἐπιδείξεσθαι and ἐπίδειξις of the proagon at Pl. Smp. 194b and Σ Aeschin. 3.67; cf. Pl. La. 183a–b. Note the emphasis on specific aspects of Euripidean poetry in 775. Woodbury (1986) 242, makes a case for a reference to sophistic displays here. 113 Sophocles communicates his own decision to stay out of the fray by stepping away from the throne (790 ὑπεχώρησεν αὐτῷ τοῦ θρóνου). The contrast between his gesture and Euripides’ (777) confirms that Sophocles (rather than Aeschylus) is the subject in the second passage; see Stevens (1955); Dover (1993) 288–9. Curiously, Sophocles’ modesty in this connection may have been displayed at the most recent proagon (Vit. Eur. 1A.11 = S. test. 54). For the broader agonistic associations of Sophocles as ἔφεδρος (792), see Campagner (2001) 151–2. 114 For reperformance of Aeschylean tragedy, see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 86, though this tradition is likely apocryphal:€Biles (2006–2007). Even if the plays were performed, they were probably organized as a separate event, as with the wider institution of old tragedies and comedies in the fourth century; but see Revermann (2006a) 72–4. 110

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is underscored by Plutarch’s account of Sophocles’ first encounter with Aeschylus, and is also the basis of Thucydides’ distinction (1.22.4) between his own “possession for all time” and the apparently more familiar idea of compositions intended for competitive performance before a momentary audience (ἀγώνισμα ἐς τὸ παραχρῆμα ἀκούειν). In contrast, Dionysos’ uncanny experience allows the agon to be applied nearly as a theoretical model of literary criticism that overcomes the restrictions imposed on it by separation in time and space toward the evaluation of a long poetic tradition viewed as a synchronic event.115 In this respect, Frogs can be placed beside the Contest of Homer and Hesiod as a piece of agonistically framed literary criticism.116 In different ways, both works demonstrate the grasp the poetic agon continued to have on the Greek intellectual experience in evaluating poetic excellence, even when a more abstract literary appreciation of the authors involved is of primary concern. To facilitate this objective, these theoretical agons do not follow the usual format of a poetic contest, in which dueling poets perform in turn and are judged only at the end. Instead, the performances are dissected into discrete exchanges. In Frogs especially, the all-important act of criticism is largely transferred from the putative judge Dionysos and placed in the hands of the tragic poets themselves, even if the task of making a final determination rests with the god of the Theater. By critiquing one another’s art, Aeschylus and Euripides reflect back at the audience the range of critical responses that might contribute to their experience of viewing dramatic performances.117 Dionysos’ confidence notwithstanding, the poetic agon is bound to have enormous consequences for him, because the peculiar nature of the contest will force him to confront not just two great poets of tragic drama’s past, but divergent aspects of his own tastes and sensibilities. From time to time Dionysos acknowledges his long experience in the Theater. Thus his original viewing of Myrmidons is implied in his recollection of how he pondered€– incorrectly, it turns out€– the meaning of one of Aeschylus’ notoriously imaginative compounds (930–2).118 With greater implications, the god rejects Euripides’ criticism of the long silence maintained On these points, see Nagy (1990b) 401–3. The discussion of material objects and language in Frogs in Bassi (2005), esp. 15–17, emphasizes some of the ideas presented here. 116 For the relationship between Frogs and the Contest of Homer and Hesiod, see Cavalli (1999) 91–105; Rosen (2004). For the literary critical interests of Alcidamas as apparent in the Contest, see O’Sullivan (1992), esp. 64–6. 117 On the intellectual range of Dionysos’ responses, see Harriott (1969) 157; Lada-Richards (1999) 281–3. 118 The same effect is produced by Dionysos’ recollection of the performance of Aeschylus’ Persians (1028–9); cf. Rosen (2008) 152. 115

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by Aeschylean characters, on the ground that he used to enjoy this no less than he is pleased by the chattering of modern characters (916–17). In this instance, Dionysos affirms the composite nature of his character relative to developments in dramatic style and taste. He recalls his experience at the original performance of Aeschylus’ play, but simultaneously presents himself as god of contemporary drama when, in response to Euripides’ rejoinder that he only liked Aeschylus because he was a fool, Dionysos accedes to this judgment and replies, “So I think too” (918 κἀμαυτῷ δοκῶ). The comment is buffoonish, but along with the humor is an acknowledgment that his judgment then and now is distinct.119 More than anything else, the self-critical examination of his changing tastes forces Dionysos to reconsider his original attachment to Euripides, in a way neither he nor any other Athenian audience had been made to do before. And Dionysos continues to carry the Athenians along in this self-critical experience.120 Thus when he criticizes Aeschylus because his Seven Against Thebes did not have its intended effect of rousing Athens to dedicate itself to war, but instead made her enemies fight more bravely (1023–4), Aeschylus’ defense is that, “It was in your power to practice these things” (1025). Here “you” (ὑμĩν) is plural and projects Dionysos’ failure to respond correctly to this theatrical instruction onto the entire audience (1022 θεασάμενος πᾶς … τις), implicating them in the city’s military failures.121 This fits with other passages where Aristophanes equates the audience in Hades with the Athenians in the Theater of Dionysos (esp. 783, 806–7, 1501), most notably the antistrophe of the song that bridges the epirrhematic agon with the continuing rounds of the contest (1109–18). Here the chorus encourage the poets not to hold back in their efforts for fear of the audience’s lack of ability, and assure them that their own theater experience is long and predicated on critical sophistication.122 The audience (1110 τοĩς θεωμένοισιν, 1118 θεατῶν γ᾿ οὕνεχ᾿) is accordingly set beside Dionysos not only as witness to the competition, but as judges, wherein they are portrayed as empeiroi in their own right. Indeed, the chorus emphasize that the audience is “no longer” unequipped to make sophisticated evaluations (1112 ὡς οὐκέθ᾿ οὕτω ταῦτ̓ ἔχει), as though they have undergone the same evolution of In discussing this passage, Habash (2002) 11–12, fails to distinguish between the temporal levels and in particular mistranslates the imperfects of 916–17 as though they were present tense. 120 Cf. Kowzan (1983) 89–91. 121 Cf. Dover (1993) 1025n. Although this exchange is amusing, any assessment must be tempered by the precariousness of Athens’ military affairs at the time. Frogs’ treatment of an audience’s ability to interpret authorial intention is the focus of Rosen (2008). 122 On this passage, see Erbse (1975) 55, who understands ἐστρατευμένοι (1113) to refer to theatrical veterans (so too Sommerstein (1996a) 1113n.); Woodbury (1976) 353, takes it more literally. 119

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tastes that Dionysos has.123 As the play invites the Athenian audience to consider the criteria they use to determine what poetry is truly great against the expansive backdrop of their literary heritage,124 their identification with Dionysos merges the internal and external frames of poetic competition, an effect that becomes more pronounced as the agon continues. T h e p oe t ’s pa r a b a s i s: €A r i s t oph a n e s a n d t h e c on t e s t of A e s c h y lus a n d E u r i pi de s A number of details in the characterization of the Frogs’ contest reflect the dramatic festivals generally and (with the proagon) tragedy specifically. But another bears directly on comedy. The parabasis of Frogs is dedicated to direct political advice, the drift of which is that the Athenians should offer a general amnesty to disenfranchised citizens to bring those best able to lend strength and leadership to the polis back into the political fold. The details of this advice affect our understanding of later developments and will be treated in due course; for the moment, we may consider the place of this passage alongside other performances within the play. Although parabatic in the sense that the chorus turn to face the audience to offer them direct political counsel, the passage does not fully disrupt the dramatic situation, since the chorus’ identity as initiates is maintained throughout. In the first ode they refer to themselves as a holy chorus (674 χορῶν ἱερῶν), and they do so again more emphatically at the opening of the epirrhema (686 τὸν ἱερὸν χορóν). In addition to reasserting their identity from the parodos,125 the chorus’ parabatic entry seems actually to continue their procession from the earlier passage. In their final song in the parodos, they hale themselves off to the flowery meadows to continue their choral activity (448–53), which is a central feature of their anticipated rites of the Muses (356 ὄργια Μουσῶν … ἐχóρευσεν). When the chorus reappear in the guise of initiates for the parabasis, the first ode begins with an invocation of their Muse (674–6), inviting her to join their holy choruses and take pleasure in their song. Not only that, but the abusive parabasis odes directed against Kleophon (678–85) and Kleigenes (706–17) Sommerstein (1996a) 1112n. Cf. Rosen (2008) 165, although his suggestion that 1109–18 look specifically to a Euripidean portrayal of the audience does not fully account for the strophe just before (1099–1108), which attributes sophistication, of the sort arguably at stake in the portrayal of the audience in the antistrophe, to both poets. 124 Rosen (2006) 35, discusses this aspect of the play within a broader consideration of the part “fans” played in establishing plays and poets as literary classics. 125 See esp. 327, 335–6, 370, 441. The notion of holiness pervades the language of the parodos:€349, 385, 447, 455. 123

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show the chorus engaging in the same castigating mockery of recognizable Athenians they offered in the late stages of the parodos (416–30).126 And with its pointed political advice in the parabasis, the mystic chorus only fulfill the expectation created in the prorrhēsis (359–65), that their celebration is connected with Athens’ political life. In short, the parodos and parabasis are closely associated via the identity and dramatic activity of the chorus.127 This same dynamic of interconnecting choral performances extends to the poetic contest, which is initiated formally when the chorus perform a song that once again invokes the Muses in order to place the proceedings under their authority alongside Dionysos. In the parabasis the Muse is summoned to see (674–6 Μοῦσα … ἔλθ᾿ … ὀψομένη) the great gathering of people (676 τὸν πολὺν … λαῶν ὄχλον), a description with which the chorus adopt the phrasing the frog-chorus used to describe the festival gathering for the Dionysian Anthesteria (219b λαῶν ὄχλος). In the parabasis, the expression appropriately refers to the audience of the Lenaia in preparation for a direct address. But by simultaneously enfolding the gathered Athenians within the celebration of the chorus’ imagined rites, it also looks ahead to the conflation of internal and external audiences during the poetic contest. Accordingly, phrasing similar to 674–6 reappears in the chorus’ invocation of the Muses before the agon at 875–9:€ἁγναὶ Μοῦσαι€… ἔλθετ᾿ ἐποψóμεναι δύναμιν. Since in its simplest form the poetic contest is an agon of sophia (882–3),128 the tragic poets’ dynamis (879) relates directly to the “myriad forms of wisdom” possessed by the audience of the parabasis, on which their idealized community with the Muses is based (676–8).129 This connection of the poetic contest with what preceded is impressed on the audience one final time when, as noted above, Aeschylus’ prayer to Demeter for a successful performance in the contest (886–7) picks up the wishes the chorus expressed in anticipation of Demeter’s festival (385–93), and the tragedian portrays himself as about to fulfill the expectations of these very mysteries (887 τῶν σῶν … μυστηρίων).130 A clearer statement of the contest’s relation to the initiates’ celebrations is difficult to imagine. Through a kind of looping effect, then, the chorus’ Reckford (1987) 422, sees an attempt to recall comedy’s ritual origins in the parabasis’ abusive odes. 127 But see the reservations of Dover (1993) 68–9. 128 This idea is repeatedly asserted:€780, 896, 1108, 1413, 1434, 1451, 1519. Cf. Dover (1993) 12–13. 129 The audience is described in the same terms at 1118 ὡς ὄντων σοφῶν. 130 Some reference to Aeschylus’ supposed biographical association with Eleusis (test. 8a–d) may be involved (Stanford (1962) ad loc.), though the meaning these details generate for the play is most important. 126

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several performances in the parodos and parabasis establish and develop themes of central importance for the poetic contest, which itself becomes the culminating experience of the poetic rites presented within the play, but also connects outward to include the Athenians at the Lenaia. In form, the parabasis is abbreviated, amounting only to an epirrhematic syzygy; anapests are entirely lacking.131 The Frogs parabasis thus fails to fulfill an important, even defining purpose of this sub-performance, as discussed in Chapter 1, by providing no opportunity for authorial selfassertion. As noted, the prorrhēsis of the parodos is often said to take over elements of the traditional anapests. But while parabatic explicitness can be seen in the forceful articulation there of the contribution of Dionysian festival celebration to the Eleusinian context, any impression of the poet’s identity in connection with the play and the Lenaian contest of 405 is lacking. By this reckoning, the prorrhēsis falls short of the mark. Still, the grafting of parabatic elements onto the parodos reminds us that Aristophanes had already experimented with modifications in the parabasis, one of his objectives seemingly having been “to integrate the parabasis more closely into the dramatic plot,” whereby competitive interests could be articulated by the characters rather than through a blatant insertion of the poet’s personality.132 Thus in Frogs the missing anapests are compensated for, not just by the prorrhēsis, but even more so through the interplay of parodos, parabasis and poetic contest, and especially their external connection with the historical contest in which the play was performed. The epirrhematic agon, which formally initiates the contest between Aeschylus and Euripides, presents poets asserting themselves in competition against rivals in a way easily compared to what is most at stake in the performance of a comic parabasis. Each tragedian has the opportunity to come before Dionysos and the audience to praise his own accomplishments and condemn the literary atrocities of his opponent. This is just the kind of competitive exchange Sifakis envisioned when he hypothesized the notional completion of a responsive epirrhematic agon when one comic poet’s parabatic assertions were met by the counter-assertions of his rivals.133 The easy comparison between genres assumed by this explanation Used by Aristophanes as a discrete structure for the second parabasis in earlier plays; Totaro (2000) 5–9. The closest earlier parallel is the double-syzygy of the quarreling choruses at Lys. 614–705. 132 The quotation is adapted from Hubbard (1991) 157. Thus the feuding semi-choruses in the parabasis of Lysistrata (614–705) reflect direct competition between rival choruses; the chorus of Thesmophoriazusae uses parabainein (785) as it praises itself (and thus the play’s central comic idea) before the audience. 133 Sifakis (1971) 60. 131

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appears more reasonable in light of similarities, as argued in Chapter 1, between the comic parabasis and the tragic proagon, which the confrontation of Aeschylus and Euripides likewise brings to mind. Although these comparisons deserve consideration in trying to establish the range of meanings generated by this scene, the poetic contest of Frogs cannot be taken as evidence for the actual genesis of the parabasis from epirrhematic agon or proagon, since any comparison along these lines may be coincidence, given that the context of competitive performance was a source for the play’s themes. But what can be shown is that Aristophanes takes full advantage of the points of contact between the different agonistic performances that become conspicuous when his theme is poetic competition itself.134 By this means Aristophanes achieves the full integration of parabasis with plot and, above all, invests the contest of the tragedians with his own parabasis, so that the poetic agon within the play takes over the structure by which a comic poet engages most directly in the festival competition. The poet who performs Aristophanes’ parabasis is Aeschylus, a fact that has implications for his eventual victory.135 In one respect, Aeschylus’ victory is predetermined by the order in which the poets speak, since in Aristophanes’ plays the second speaker in an epirrhematic agon regularly prevails. But this outcome also seems well founded when the poets’ initial performances in the agon are analyzed more closely. The tone and organization of the passages are different and to a certain degree reverse the general pattern, observed by Gelzer, of evidence being set out in the epirrhema and argumentation toward a critical refutation in the antepirrhema.136 Fulfilling his initial promise (907–8), Euripides devotes nearly the first thirty verses of his epirrhema to a direct assault on his rival, as he accurately points out features of Aeschylean stage technique (909–15) and diction (923–30) that may well have seemed outdated in 405. The comic Euripides comes across as aggressive and antagonistic, as suits the occasion. But by taking this negative tack he Noted also by Bouvier (2004) 14, who believes, however, that any serious implications in the performance are undercut by its parodic nature. 135 Heiden (1991) also argues for Aristophanes’ self-promotion through the dramatic action, but believes that it is achieved by an ironic treatment of both tragedians. 136 Gelzer (1960) 100–6. By this I mean that, partly under the influence of Euripides’ portrayal as a sophistic rhetorician, his speech is more self-consciously argumentative; compare esp. the Weaker Argument (Nu. 1036–7, 1043 ~ Ra. 908). In fact the two epirrhemata are remarkable for the almost equal number of lines delivered by the main speaker in each, as also of interruptions by interlocutors. In the agon of the two Arguments in Clouds and that in Wasps, the epirrhema more clearly represents a unified speech presenting evidence, while the antepirrhema picks that position apart through debate. By contrast, Aeschylus reestablishes his preeminence in response to Euripides’ attack. 134

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also seems more concerned with criticism than with demonstrating that he has anything to contribute himself. Hence he only turns to his own poetry when prompted by Aeschylus (936), and the vision he offers of it is underwhelming. Instead of a compelling presentation of the distinctive features of Euripidean drama, what is said makes the younger tragedian appear trivial:€ he thinned down the tragic art by putting it on a diet of light diction and verse (939–44); enlivened the dialogue and made it more “democratic,” by allowing all manner of characters to speak (945–52); and, above all, offered his audience useful lessons (959), chief among them how to chatter (954–8) and manage their homes better (959–61, 971–9). The descent of tragedy from the lofty and pretentious (as Euripides portrays it) to a level of familiarity that suits the average Athenian household is made complete by Dionysos’ helpful example in the pnigos (980–91) of a typical citizen’s search for a jug, bowl, garlic and other inconsequential domestic items upon entering his home. Any force in Euripides’ self-presentation thus fizzles out in the irony of Dionysos’ capping remarks.137 Once Euripides has had his turn, in the second ode the chorus encourage and advise Aeschylus in preparation for his response, before urging him to his task more directly in the katakeleusmos. A sudden shift of form occurs at this point. Instead of mirroring the iambic katakeleusmos they issued before Euripides’ speech, the chorus switch to anapestic tetrameters, establishing the meter in which Aeschylus’ entire speech is composed. One effect of this change is to maximize the sense of the two poets’ incompatibility. But the arrangement also sets Aeschylus’ self-Â�assertive speech in the form Aristophanes preferred for his parabases, to the extent that later scholars attached his name to the meter.138 This shift coincides with another detail in the wording of the katakeleusmos that evokes Aristophanes within Aeschylus’ self-presentation (Ra. 1004–5): ̓

ἀλλ᾿ ὦ πρῶτος τῶν â•›Ελλήνων πυργώσας ῥήματα σεμνὰ καὶ κοσμήσας τραγικὸν λῆρον¸ θαρρῶν τὸν κρουνὸν ἀφίει. Cf. Dover (1993) 980–8n. See Rosen (2008) 149–50 for irony in the audience’s response to this passage. 138 Hephaistion, p. 25 lines 5–10 Consbruch; cf. Sifakis (1971) 67–8. Perusino (1968) 51–2 suggests that when an agon is divided between anapests and iambs (e.g., Eq. 756–940; Nu. 949–1110), the anapestic rhythm gives the passages a weight that signifies Aristophanes’ ideological leaning. Knights is not the best example, since neither epirrhema really belongs to a single character; but V. 546–728 (anapests in both halves) does not refute the interpretation (pace Dover (1993) 306). Frogs reverses the order of Knights and Clouds in presenting anapests second. Cf. Revermann (2006b) for the audience’s ability to take account of such subtle effects. 137

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But, you who first of all Greeks built lofty towers of words and adorned tragic chatter, take courage and send forth your flow!

This summons of Aeschylus to the agon describes him in terms that recall Aristophanes’ description of his own distinguishing contributions to comedy, as he presented them in arguing for victory in the parabasis of Peace sixteen years earlier (Pax 749–50): ἐπóησε τέχνην μεγάλην ἡμĩν κἀπύργωσ̓ οἰκοδομήσας ἔπεσιν μεγάλοις καὶ διανοίαις καὶ σκώμμασιν οὐκ ἀγοραίοις He made our art great, and after Â�laying down foundations built towers with grand words and ideas and jokes of uncommon kind.

There are further complexities in this apparent modeling of “Aeschylus” on Aristophanes’ own self-portrait, since the description in Peace might itself have been inspired by how Aeschylus was remembered in Athens, as has been assumed on the basis of a line from Pherecrates’ Krapataloi, in which Aeschylus describes himself in comparable terms (fr. 100):139 ὅστις αὐτοĩς παρέδωκα τέχνην μεγάλην ἐξοικοδομήσας (I) who handed it (i.e. tragedy) down to them after building it up â•… into a great art.

Nonetheless, Aristophanes’ deployment of the description in 405 bc shows signs of being filtered through his peculiar rendition of 421:€τέχνην μεγάλην ἐξοικοδομήσας in Pherecrates explains τέχνην μεγάλην … οἰκοδομήσας in Peace; but κἀπύργωσ᾿ in Peace produces πυργώσας in Frogs.140 On this understanding, with Frogs Aristophanes is in a position to recall his own erstwhile, boldly undertaken self-comparison to the tragedian.141 At the same time, memorable literary claims taken on loan and incorporated into Aristophanes’ parabatic repertoire are again reinvested in Aeschylus, as the tragedian prepares to confront his poetic rival. Hence, the praise returns to its original beneficiary, but it does so in response to the contextual prompting of poetic agonism that induced Aristophanes to adopt the claim for himself. If one allows for differences occasioned by the shift in dramatic presentation from monologue to dialogue, Aeschylus’ act of poetic self-assertion Aeschylus is identified as the speaker by Σ VΓLh Pax 749a, who quotes this verse. Geissler (1925) 39, assumes that Pherecrates’ description is earlier than Peace. Meineke detected a reference to Aeschylus, based on similar metaphors, in Pl. Com. fr. 69; see K–A ad loc. 140 Similarly, perhaps, Pax 750 ἔπεσιν μεγάλοις ~ Ra. 1004â•›pήματα ῾ σεμνά. 141 Cf. Schmid (1946) 104; Garriga (1996–7) 42. 139

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approximates a typical Aristophanic parabasis, even to the point of employing specific parabatic strategies. From a general rhetorical perspective, Euripides’ aggressively insulting challenge immediately puts Aeschylus on the defensive, and he therefore begins his performance by acknowledging the compulsion upon him to speak despite his own preferences (1006–7). Aeschylus’ position thus resembles that of Aristophanes, who often begins his parabases by addressing the circumstances that make an act of self-assertion necessary, and who often enough portrays the address as a defensive response to his rivals’ assaults on his poetic credentials (esp. Ach. 630–2; Eq. 512–16; V. 1015–17; cf. Pl. Com. fr. 99). In contrast with the less focussed structure of Euripides’ performance, after Aeschylus expresses his resentment at having to face his opponent at all, he begins by asking Euripides a pointed question that introduces the theme that underpins the older tragedian’s entire speech:€that a poet’s central role is to educate the city and make its citizens better (1008–10).142 His speech thus has the cogency and thematic unity of an Aristophanic parabasis in arguing the poet’s case before the audience, and the point on which his remarks concentrate appears all the more worthy of consideration because both poets agree to it. Once the theme is introduced, Aeschylus sets out to show how he maintained this standard while Euripides departed from it (1010–17). In support of this, he offers three points. First, his service to the city is illustrated by the moral lessons available in plays such as Seven Against Thebes (1021) and Persians (1026).143 In rehearsing the social merits of his plays, Aeschylus’ agonistic strategy can be compared to Aristophanes’ parabatic maneuver of adducing his earlier comedies to demonstrate the advantages that accrued to the city as a result of them.144 Next, Aeschylus broadens the discussion to show how his didactic program conforms to the respected traditions of Greek poetry, and places himself beside the greatest poets of the past, mythological as well as historical:€Orpheus, Mousaios, Hesiod and above all Homer (1030–6). Any sense of humility evident in these remarks is counterbalanced by the grandiose claims about Aeschylus’ place in the poetic tradition that are generated at the same time; a similar tension operates in Aristophanes’ attempt to enlist poetic tradition in his Although Euripides claimed a didactic role (ultimately a comically simplistic one), giving good counsel (nouthesia) was not included in his arguments; his response at 1009–10 is aimed rather at Aeschylus’ interests, as the emphasis on the city rather than the household (compare 959, 976–7) also makes clear:€cf. Sommerstein (1996a) 15, differently Rosen (2008) 148. 143 There are references to other plays (Myrmidons and Salaminioi?) in 1041; see Dover (1993) ad loc. 144 Especially V. 1029–47, but the idea is implicit at Ach. 633–40 (Babylonians); Nu. 528–35 (Banqueters), 553–9 (Knights); Pax 739–60 (various plays including Knights and Wasps). 142

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support in the parabasis of Knights, where he anoints himself the “humble” successor to the great comic poets of the past. Finally, Aeschylus presents the heroic models he believes should be selected by poets in order to have the desired positive effect on the audience (1040–2), and contrasts them with Euripides’ selection of unworthy mythological subjects (1043–52). A pithy pronouncement about the poet’s role as didaskalos of the adult population (1053–5) reasserts the central point and the concomitant need to replace Euripides’ notion of what is “practical” (959, 1056–8, which imply χρήσιμα) with what is nobly and morally beneficial (χρηστά:€1056, 1062).145 It is on this higher purpose that an Aeschylean character’s elevated mode of speech (1056–9) and attire (1060–1) depend. Euripides’ poetic tendencies stand in stark contrast (1062–4) and are directly to blame for the state in which the city finds itself (1065–88), as Dionysos’ balancing summary in the pnigos (1089–98) illustrates. Accordingly, both halves of the agon conclude with the god of the Theater mocking and criticizing the younger tragedian. Many humorous remarks and outrageous assertions are scattered throughout Aeschylus’ self-presentation in the agon€ – which is another way it resembles a parabasis. But the central point of his argument was far more likely to be taken seriously by the audience than anything Euripides said,146 especially since Aristophanes allows Aeschylus to put his case with the focus and sense of purpose he himself displays in his parabases. Still, even if we recognize a similarity between Aeschylus’ speech and a parabasis in matters of form, context and argumentation, these points are meaningless unless the substance of the passage brings to mind Aristophanes’ competitive persona as it emerges from his plays. That case is easily made, however, since the central issue of Aeschylus’ self-presentation in Frogs€– that poets have a responsibility in regard to Athenian society and politics€– is a familiar element of Aristophanes’ stage biography from the time of his earliest surviving comedy.147 More than anything else, the parabasis of Acharnians aims to demonstrate how Aristophanes’ ridicule of Athens (631) brings profuse advantages to the city (633, 641), such that even the king of Persia thought Athens militarily superior because of the poet’s On the two terms, see Dover (1986) = (1987–8) vol. ii, 10–12; (1993) 178n. See the remarks of Dover (1993) 15–18. As Rosen (2008, esp. 153–4, 157, 159) points out, the negative portrayal of Euripides is repeatedly allowed to stand, in spite of opportunities to direct the same criticisms against Aeschylus were the portrayals based on a more realistic appraisal of the two poets. 147 Sommerstein (1992) 27–30 argues that Aristophanes was fairly unique in this respect; Bakola (2008) 4–7 clarifies this theme in Aristophanes’ stage biography. 145

146

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activity and his ability to improve his fellow citizens:€ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους πολὺ βελτίους γεγενῆσθαι (650). As he goes on to say, he will teach the city many good lessons through his just ridicule (655–6), so as to make the Athenians truly fortunate:€ὥστ᾿ εὐδαίμονας εἶναι (656).148 In both the latter claim and especially the praise of the Persian King, Aristophanes assigns himself a role identical to that attributed to Aeschylus through Euripides:€ὅτι βελτίους τε ποιοῦμεν | τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐν ταĩς πóλεσιν (Ra. 1009–10). Even the emphasis on community (i.e., ἐν ταĩς πóλεσιν)149 applies equally to Acharnians, since Aristophanes is keen to emphasize that he goes about his task without losing sight of his dedication and devotion to the city (661–4).150 Aeschylus’ theme, on which he stakes his poetic merit in confrontation with a challenger, is near and dear to Aristophanes as he presents himself in his plays. Just as important, according to the logic of Frogs itself, Aeschylus’ poetic claims can be identified with Aristophanes’ own. Their shared vision of poetry’s role in the city enables the tragic poet’s self-assertive speech to compensate for the missing parabasis anapests.151 Above all, the leading parabasis epirrhema begins with a claim that, even in its brevity, anticipates most of what is at stake in the poetic outlook Aeschylus presents and defends in his encounter with Euripides. In preparation for the public advice to come, the initiates proclaim (Ra. 686–7): τὸν ἱερὸν χορὸν δίκαιóν ἐστι χρηστὰ τῇ πóλει ξυμπαραινεĩν καὶ διδάσκειν. the holy chorus is right to advise the city and teach it worthy lessons

With this slogan,152 the chorus epitomize the three considerations of greatest importance in Aeschylus’ speech:€ obligation to the polis (1009–10, 1083–8), a capacity to act as teachers (1026, 1054–5), and guiding all else, consideration of what is truly beneficial (1031, 1035, 1056, 1062). What follows in both epirrhemata is Aristophanes’ counsel to the Athenians about 151

Cf. Ach. 497–501 for Dikaiopolis/“Aristophanes”’ related comments. “In their communities,” as Sommerstein (1996a) and Henderson (2002) render the phrase. Related comments at Eq. 510; Nu. 561–2; V. 650–1, 1017, 1037, 1043; Pax 759–60. Although remarking on some of these similarities, Hubbard (1991) 212, argues that Aeschylus’ ideals sound too exclusive and authoritarian, and therefore too redolent of oligarchy for Aristophanes to have attached himself to them. This overly suspicious interpretation contradicts the fact that one of the chief figures in the oligarchy is directly associated with “Euripides” in Frogs (Theramenes, 967). 152 Compare the chorus’ hope in the parodos to honor Demeter at her festival “by making many amusing and serious remarks” (389–90). 148

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how to act in their present desperate situation:€recall the city’s exiles (687– 705) and entrust their affairs once again to men whose birth, breeding and experience make them fit to lead (718–37). The focus on Athens’ decadence, which Aristophanes implicitly acknowledges, anticipates the slide towards ruin Aeschylus blames on Euripides. The ponēroi Aristophanes holds accountable for the city’s misfortunes (730–3) thus fit the social profile of those who flocked together to support Euripides in Hades (771–6, 779–81) and who (according to Aeschylus) have likewise come to dominate Athens because of the examples Euripides’ plays provide the city (1013–17, 1069–73, 1078–88). Aristophanes longs for the leadership of men “raised in palaistrai, choruses and music” (729), while Aeschylus is eager to reassert related ideals by rehabilitating the failing system of public liturgies (1065), filling the palaistrai again (1070), and conditioning the youth to participate more honorably in the festivals (1087–8). Playful and charming as the parabasis is, especially with the coinage metaphor of the second epirrhema (718–26), the directness of Aristophanes’ political advice is conceded even by those who generally question the seriousness of his claims to have an impact on Athens through his poetry.153 The Athenians themselves seem to have recognized Aristophanes’ success in capturing ideas and concerns informing current discussions; according to a plausible reconstruction of events alluded to in ancient sources, not long after Frogs was staged, the Athenians put the political advice the parabasis contains into effect and honored the poet in a manner befitting a benefactor of the dēmos, by awarding him a sacred olive crown and authorizing a reperformance of his play.154 It appears that Aristophanes has gone to some lengths to make the parabasis syzygy and Aeschylus’ performance converge on a single poetic ideal, for he does what Aeschylus proposes and defends as a general poetic program, and that amounts to the work typically carried out by the parabasis anapests. Without mentioning his own name, Aristophanes makes the case that he and his poetry belong in the tradition of poets who were great civic benefactors. One consequence of the interpretation of the parabasis anapests as assimilated with an agon epirrhema is that the assumptions on which Aristophanes’ claims about his poetry are based become a gambit tested by the poetic contest his play presents to the audience. To that end, the exhortation to the audience “to change their ways and use See esp. Heath (1987) 19–21. Ra. Hyp. I (c) Dover and the Life of Aristophanes (= Ar. test. 1.35–9). On the evidence and its interpretation, see Sommerstein (1993) 461–6.

153

154

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the chrēstoi once again” (734–5), with which the parabasis closes, predisposes them to attach significance to what Aeschylus says in the contest, abandoning Dionysos’€– and by implication their own€– putative attachment to the failing poetic agenda of Euripides. For dramatic and comic purposes, Aeschylus’ conflict with Euripides is drawn out through a number of additional rounds. Still, the early indications of shared vision in Aeschylus’ and Aristophanes’ opinions about poetry make the outcome predictable.155 Aristophanes’ investment in the contest of Aeschylus and Euripides cannot really be questioned, since the matter of political advice is taken up in the final round of the contest, where Aristophanes’ advice in the parabasis syzygy is virtually restated.156 After the epirrhematic agon, the contestants proceed to analyze the minutiae of one another’s poetry in several scenes, until at last Dionysos proclaims himself unable€– or rather unwilling157€– to decide between them (1411–13). This confession comes at the same moment that the poetic contest is realigned to suit Dionysos’ original plan to fetch a poet from Hades. To cajole his visitor out of his reluctance to decide the contest, Pluto reveals that the poet to whom Dionysos awards victory will return with him to Athens. Although this blatantly undermines the premise of the Underworld contest, the expedient is necessitated by the play’s original premise and makes explicit what has been implied for some time:€that Dionysos’ peculiar katabasis will be realized in the poetic agon. Thus prompted, Dionysos shares his reasons for descending to Hades in the first place (Ra. 1418–21): ἐγὼ κατῆλθον ἐπὶ ποητήν. τοῦ χάριν; ἵν᾿ ἡ πóλις σωθεĩσα τοὺς χοροὺς ἄγῃ. ὁπóτερος οὖν ἂν τῇ πóλει παραινέσειν μέλλῃ τι χρηστóν¸ τοῦτον ἄξειν μοι δοκῶ. I came to Hades for a poet. Why? So that after the city was saved, it could continue to celebrate â•… choral festivals. Cf. Erbse (1975) 51–3; Sommerstein (1996a) 16. In addition to the epirrhematic agon, the weighing scene (1364–1410) is clearly won by Aeschylus. I cannot agree with (e.g.) MacDowell (1959) 265, that Aristophanes intends the agon to be a close one; similarly in Knights the contest is drawn out far longer than it needs to be, in order to show that Cleon deserves to lose Demos’ support. Although my reading assumes literary complexity and nuance, I do not see as much irony in the outcome of the contest as does Rosen (2004). 156 Pace Heath (1987) 20–1. 157 As Dover (1993) ad loc., rightly emphasizes. Dionysos’ situation is thus comparable to that of Philocleon, who despite his signal defeat in the agon requires the additional domestic trial scene (V. 764–1008) to bring him around completely. 155

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So whichever of you can offer the city some beneficial advice, he’s the one I think I’ll lead back.

Dionysos’ pronouncement does not precisely match his impassioned quest for Euripides, which lay at the heart of his plan as first laid out. Acting now as judge in a contest, he must set personal favor aside. He came down in search of a good poet (71), and his reason was linked with a concern for the continuing vitality of the Theater, since contemporary poets could not be counted on for more than a single festival (94–5). But only now is his original plan of saving the genre openly described as having a bearing on Athens’ safety generally. Although this is sometimes taken as evidence for a change in Dionysos’ character,158 several considerations suggest the contrary. Dionysos presents his explanation as though it were exactly the one he formulated originally; rather than taking advantage of the opportunity to draw attention to a shift in outlook, Aristophanes does his best to elide any impression that a change has occurred.159 Moreover, as noted in the discussion of the opening scenes, Aristophanes grounds Dionysos’ original motivations and specific objective in the Athenian experience of tragedy as part of the city’s festive life-cycle; far from interjecting a thought alien to the god’s endeavor to this point, on a fairer assessment this passage articulates an idea that is both natural for the audience and has been implicit in the action all along€– that the fate of tragedy, the Dionysian festivals and the polis are inextricably bound together and rest in the balance. The articulation is important nonetheless. When the plan to rescue Euripides was first presented, it was within a scene whose purpose was to establish Dionysos in his capacity of theater god and critic. The poetic agon has put this capacity to an extreme test, but only now can Dionysos really be said to set the contest’s critical agenda. With the re-presentation of his plan in the contest’s final moments, it is as if every other method for evaluating the poets’ dynameis has been exhausted, so that Dionysos defines his intention in relation to the single remaining criterion that will allow him to settle the contest once and for all. Thus the explanation for his katabasis he offers now sets up the line of questioning he pursues in addressing the poets (1435–6). All this puts emphasis on the final round; still, in offering this final criterion Dionysos only reintroduces ideas expressed by Especially Segal (1961); cf. Bierl (1991) 42. Better in my opinion is Lada-Richards (1999) 220–3, who takes into consideration how the agon influences Dionysos’ mindset, rather than the katabasis of the first half. 159 The same is true for the reconfiguring of the contest to fit the play’s premise. When it is important (as Dionysos’ change would seem to be), Aristophanes does not avoid marking dramatic changes of purpose and mindset:€esp. Eq. 1131–50; Nu. 1452–61; V. 737–84. 158

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both Aristophanes in the parabasis and Aeschylus in his parabatic eppirrhema.160 Supplying beneficial advice (1420–1 παραινέσειν … τι χρηστóν) reactivates the bond between the two poets, whereas everything we have heard from Euripides suggests that he will be at a significant disadvantage. In that case, there can be little doubt that the determining performance of the contest will favor Aeschylus, and beyond him Aristophanes.161 In answer to Dionysos’ first question, “What should be done about Alcibiades?” (1422–3), the tragedians offer contrary advice€– Euripides that he should be regarded as an enemy (1427–9), Aeschylus that he should be allowed to return and restored to power (1431–2).162 Although in the epirrhema of the parabasis syzygy only those disenfranchised after the expulsion of the Four Hundred were singled out for reinstatement in the city, Aeschylus’ recommendation can easily be seen to reflect the general spirit of that advice, to the same extent that Euripides’ condemns it.163 Certainly the call in the parabasis for Athens to reinvest in elite leadership has just as much relevance for Alcibiades, whose place in the city’s ongoing discussions about its political future is assured by the way Dionysos introduces his question (1423, 1425–6).164 With the harmonious note it strikes in relation to the political advice in the parabasis, that response might have sufficed for Aristophanes to allow his Dionysos to judge in favor of Aeschylus. But as πρῶτον μέν in 1422 demonstrates, Dionysos never intended his initial question to produce a definitive selection, but only to introduce the broader question about the city’s salvation he poses next (1435–6).

In their parodos the chorus of initiates summon τὴν Σώτειραν in the hope that she will save their land for the future (377–82), and soon thereafter they call on Demeter to save her chorus (386) in a way that reflects Dionysos’ project to save the choruses of his festival. It is unclear that the chorus’ remarks here stand in pointed contrast to Dionysos’ feelings about the need for Euripides (Segal (1961) 224–5), as opposed to expanding on his comments and clarifying what is actually at stake in the god’s€– and through him the city’s€– crisis. 161 Cf. Erbse (1975) 56; Padilla (1992) 379–80; Lada-Richards (1999) 221. 162 On the doublet 1431a–b, see Dover (1993) 372, and Cannatà (2003), who (p. 278) misinterprets Aeschylus’ advice. 163 Wills (1969b) 54; Hubbard (1991) 214; Vickers (2001) 194–5, who presses the relationship to an extreme. Sommerstein (1996a) 17, suggests that Aeschylus’ comparison of Alcibiades to a lion might imply a certain amount of danger in this path. 164 For Alcibiades’ activity in these final years and its relevance to this passage, see Meiggs (1972) 372–3; Dover (1993) 370–1; Sommerstein (1996a) 1432n. The forgiving tone relative to Alcibiades may have a more general relevance for Frogs, given Aristophanes’ comparatively restrained treatment of him throughout his poetic career and because by recalling the Eleusinian procession in the first half of the play Aristophanes offers the audience a stark reminder of one of Alcibiades’ greatest acts of public benefaction in recent years, when in 407 he reorganized the procession after a period when it could not be celebrated due to Spartan occupation of much of the Attic countryside (X. HG 1.4.20); cf. Dover (1993) 371, contra Tierney (1935) 201. 160

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At this point, textual problems render interpretation difficult, since although Dionysos requests a single response from each poet (1435), the manuscripts offer three.165 The situation is the more regrettable, because it comes at the final challenge in the poetic contest. The most likely solution (adopted by Dover and Sommerstein in their editions) is that one response is a substitute Aristophanes composed for the commemorative second production of the play, and that all three have been combined in our manuscripts in a way that does not reflect any single performance.166 If 1442–50 belong to the second production,167 by having one poet recommend that Athens “withdraw its trust from those it now trusts, and trust instead those it does not currently trust” (1446–8), Aristophanes reasserts, albeit more sententiously, the essential advice of the parabasis, which is identified in our sources as the passage that earned him public honor.168 For the original performance at the Lenaia of 405, Aristophanes left Dionysos (and the audience) to decide the outcome on the basis of a preposterous response that can only belong to Euripides (1437–41, 1451–3), and another offered by Aeschylus (1463–5) that can be regarded as an invigorated continuation of current policies.169 Perhaps more revealing than Aeschylus’ prescription are his requests for information about Athens’ current political situation (1454–60), on which he bases his advice. With these remarks he reintroduces terminology and ideas that are by now quite familiar:€ which men the city “uses” (1455 χρῆται), and whether they are good (1455 τοĩς χρηστοĩς) or bad (1456 τοĩς πονηροĩς).170 Moral considerations continue to be the framework within which Aeschylus makes sense of his role as poetic advisor, so that The conflation of the texts occurred in the early stages of transmission, since the problem was already noted in antiquity:Â€Σ VEΘRa. 1437–41a (Aristarchos named); b (Apollonios named); c; d. Dover (1993) 373–6, and Sommerstein (1996a) 286–8, who summarize earlier solutions, of which Newiger (1985) is most important; cf. Cannatà (2003), N. G. Wilson (2007b) 183. Von Möllendorf (1996–7) 142–8, and Willi (2002) 18–20, offer a fresh defense for the transmitted text. 167 As both Dover and Sommerstein argue, though they assign the part of the interlocutor to different characters (Dover to Aeschylus, Sommerstein to Euripides). 168 See esp. Wills (1969b) 54–5; Sommerstein (1974) 27; Erbse (1975) 57; Dover (1993) 374; Sommerstein (1996a) 289–90. 169 Thus Sommerstein (1974) 25–6, who refutes the claims of anachronism by other scholars; ΣRVEΘRa. 1463 and ΣRVMEΘRa. 1465a adduce Pericles’ strategy (Th. 1.143.4). An underlying message of peace is detected by Willi (2002) 24–6, who thus aligns Aeschylus with the position of Aristophanic comedy. 170 The revised advice contained in 1442–50 also follows naturally from these, and the transposition (endorsed by Dover and Sommerstein) largely negates Hubbard (1991) 215–16, who (with Euripides assumed as interlocutor) distinguishes between the specific advice of the parabasis to use the chrēstoi and the equivocating advice simply to use the opposite, since the terms of the former are adequately set in place in the lead-up. 165

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through his inquiry he carries out his task as a remedy for the sociopolitical tensions Aristophanes concentrated on in the parabasis. Their shared outlook here goes along with a shared poetic style when a new metaphor is offered; instead of coinage, it is now taste in clothing€– the chlaina versus the sisura (1459)€– that illustrates the vogue in Athenian political discussions.171 The difference between the two poets must thus have been as clear here as it was in the weighing scene that immediately preceded. It is no wonder, therefore, that despite his earlier hesitation, Dionysos no longer resists Pluto’s urging, and adopts a solemn official tone to proclaim that he has reached a verdict (1467).172 Following the promptings of his psychē (1468), he at last awards Aeschylus the victory (1471). On the face of it, there would seem to be some justification for interpreting Dionysos’ dependence on his “soul” as a sign of the irrational and arbitrary nature of the final determination.173 But the exact sense of psychē is difficult to pin down, and by the end of the fifth century the term can imply rational evaluation.174 At a minimum, it is difficult to believe that by handing the matter over to his psychē at the crucial moment Dionysos hoped to do anything other than offer assurances to the contestants, along with Pluto and the wider audience. In this respect, therefore, the guidance provided by Dionysos’ psychē might testify to the depth of his convictions,175 by conveying a sense of directness, fairness and perhaps even truth€– in short, the ideals that constituted the basic obligations of a judge. This interpretation fits well with the immediate aftermath of the verdict in favor of Aeschylus, since Dionysos evinces not the slightest hesitation in rebuffing Euripides’ challenge (1469–78) and even deploys Euripidean quotations to assert his point, among them the verse from Hippolytos the god used in the prologue to express his admiration for the poet.176 That, together with the chorus’

For the clothing types, cf. Stone (1984) 166. See [X.] Ath. 10 for the alleged association between humble dress and radical democracy. 172 Cf. Radermacher (1954) 347. 173 Wilamowitz (1929) 474; Erbse (1975) 59; Dover (1993) 19–20; Sommerstein (1996a) 1468n.; von Möllendorff (1996–7) 135; Willi (2002) 20–1. 174 E.g. S. Ant. 176 (with Griffith); TrGF ii, fr. 16(a); Antipho 4.1.7; X. Mem. 1.2.53; Pl. R. 353d. Claus (1981) examines the development of the term; see his discussion of the present passage (89). Use of the related term thumos may be helpful:€see e.g., E. Med. 309–10, where Creon’s choice according to his thumos is regarded (albeit deceitfully) as unobjectionable. 175 Handley (1956) 214–15; Woodbury (1986) 245; Lada-Richards (1999) 219. Recall too the emphasis Dionysos placed on the judging process in summoning the Muses to oversee his decision (872–84). 176 Ra. 101–2, 1471~ Hipp. 612. Cf. von Möllendorff (1996–97) 136. 171

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elaboration on Euripides’ literary offences (1491–9), creates the impression that in the end this was no unprincipled or arbitrary choice. C e l e br at i ng P oe t ic V ic t or y In conformity with the pattern in other plays, the final scene of Frogs affirms the successful resolution of the comic undertaking by introducing a mood of vigorous celebration. The sense in which these victory celebrations anticipate the poet’s objective for the comic competition is acutely felt. In defense of his award of victory to Aeschylus, Dionysos confidently presents his decision to the audience so that they can accept it for themselves (1475 τί δ᾿ αἰσχρóν¸ ἢν μὴ τοĩς θεωμένοις δοκῇ;). The implicit suggestion, which really amounts to a request, is that the success of Frogs’ internal agon be transformed into a positive reception of Frogs at the Lenaia, an idea elaborated in what follows. The celebration commences with Pluto’s invitation to withdraw into his palace, where he plans to host a feast in honor of the contest outcome (1479–80).177 But Euripides is not to partake; Pluto’s dual (1480 σφώ) indicates that only Dionysos and Aeschylus are invited.178 I have argued in more detail elsewhere that the close association of the god of the Theater and a freshly victorious poet in the context of a celebratory feast was an ideal that had already been developed in the fifth century in connection with the victory feast, with which the dramatic festivals closed.179 That Aristophanes deploys this image now, however fleetingly, only makes sense; in Frogs the celebratory sequence that elsewhere typically sees the performers off stage is modulated by the milieu of poetic competition that dominates the play’s action. As the actors depart for this celebration, Aeschylus’ victory is amplified by the song the chorus perform in his honor, divided as it is between a eulogy for the victor (1482–90) and condemnation of the defeated (1491–9). For Aeschylus, the song is a true makarismos (1482 μακάριóς γ᾿ ἀνήρ), attesting to the superior state of blessedness and good fortune he has attained thanks to his agonistic success.180 Much the same effect of glorifying Aeschylus’ achievement is created by Dionysos’ ready acquiescence (1481 οὐ γὰρ ἄχθομαι τῷ πράγματι) perhaps hints at his familiarity with the situation. 178 Cf. Dover (1993) 1479n. 179 Biles (2007); see 34–5 for the passage under discussion here. Pluto’s characterization of the feast as xenismos (1480 ξενίζω Meineke (Dover):€ξενίσωμεν Rogers (Wilson):€ξενίσω codd.) helps establish the epinikian ideal. Lada-Richards (1999) 229 adduces instead the model of athletic victory celebrations. 180 For this idea as it fits into the epinician praise of Pindar, see Kurke (1991) 124–5, 127. LadaRichards (1999) 328–9 emphasizes a connection with mystic rites. 177

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the formal procession that accompanies the tragedian with dance and song (1524–33) as he sets off to Athens. Dionysos surely accompanies him, but once Pluto’s invitation to celebrate has been extended, all indications are that the victorious poet stands front and center during the remainder of the play. The procession back to the city is then very much a victory procession for the winning poet. To be more precise, we should say that from Hades Dionysos and Aeschylus will reappear at future Dionysian festivals, which means that their true destination is the Theater itself. The envisioned epiphany is left for the audience to imagine; but while Aeschylus himself would never set foot in the Theater again, his victory can be entrusted to Aristophanes (much as his seat of honor in Hades had been entrusted to Sophocles (1515–23)), as the poet who has been shown by his play itself to be most capable of serving Athens in its time of crisis.

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General index

abuse and comedy 194, 226–7, 240–1 of rivals 36, 185–6 Acharnae and Rural Dionysia 64–6 Acropolis 112 Aelian 62, 196 Aeschylus and Aristophanean poetics 5–6, 37; see€also€A ristophanes and Aeschylus and Cratinus 232 and Demeter 228 and Marathon generation 203 as parabatic figure in Frogs 245–7 and poetic past 230 Myrmidons 238 Persians 246 reperformance of plays 60, 173 Seven Against Thebes 23, 239, 246 Agathon 42, 83, 215 departure from Athens 217 agōn 67 agon, poetic 12, 15, 20, 211, 217 influence on genre 3–5 and krisis 234–6, 251–2 and literary criticism 230–1, 238 and revision 172–3 agōnisma 2, 168, 187 Aischines 195 Alcibiades 252 Alcman, as competitive poet 25–7 Alkidamas Contest of Homer and Hesiod 47–8, 238 Ameipsias 39, 185 and defeat of Clouds I 184–5 Amphidamas 24 Anthesteria 85, 230; see€Choes Antimachus 90–2 Antiphanes 137 Thamyris 13

Aotis 25 apatē 69 apoleipsis 159 Apollo 17, 229 Archilochus 130 and Cratinean poetics 140–3, 144–5, 153–4, 166 archon basileus 85, 87 Aristonymus 39 Aristophanes ‘emulated’ by rivals 183 and ‘Aeschylus’ 245–55 and Bdelycleon 163–4 and Dikaiopolis 57, 71–2, 73–5, 77–81, 95–6 and Sausage-seller 100, 123 as sophisticated poet 7–8, 123–4, 127, 143, 165, 205–6, 208–10 Babylonians 59, 71, 73–5, 80, 81–3, 180 Banqueters 178–80, 196 Birds 50–2, 195–6 second parabasis 197 Clouds discontinuity in versions 202 double-agon 202–3 recontestation 168–9 rivals of Clouds II 184–5 second parabasis 199 versions of 10, 167–8 feud with Cleon 71, 74–5, 77, 163 first victory, with Babylonians 82, 97 Frogs frog-chorus 228–31 katabasis in 219–32 reperformance of 173, 249 rivals of 185 versions of 253 Knights agonistic quality of 98 Lysistrata 9 on peace 78–80

280

General index Peace 158–9 Proagon 43 record of success 194–5 rivalry with Cratinus 14–15, 39, 94–6 rivals’ abuse of 37–8, 39–40, 102, 124, 143, 147, 209–10 Thesmophoriazusae 47 use of directors 39–40, 100–1, 102 Wasps as comeback play 154–5 second parabasis 192 Aristotle 5, 61, 119, 135 and contest records 114, 116 Astydamas 23 Athena 108 Athenian democracy 47 athletic contest 20 audience and agonistic poetry 3, 123–4, 149–51 and Comedy, in Pytine 151 and Demos, in Knights 121–2, 126–8, 131–2 and Dionysos, in Frogs 213–14 and judges 188, 194 antagonism with 136–7, 148, 155, 177–8 appeal to 126–7, 131–2, 164 continuity of identity 121–2, 179 engagement of 127, 178–9, 239 expectations 37–8 judgment 179–80, 194–5 manipulation of 164–5, 171–2, 186 poetic authority 181 reading 168–9, 214 theatrical competence 68, 103 Barrett, W. S. 174 Bowie, A. M. 29, 104 Callimachus 141, 168 canonization 173 captatio benevolentiae 103 Charon 220 Chionides 1 Choes 85–7 aitiology of 90, 92 drinking contest 85–6 Cholleidai 66 choregos 83, 90, 109 chorus animal chorus 228 and festival organization 217 and performance 225 and poet 34–5, 39, 122, 135 fluctuation in identity 123, 227–8 looping effect, in Frogs 240–2 of Acharnians 64–5

281

chous-pitcher 92, 93 chrēstos 253 City Dionysia 40, 43, 60, 68, 113 Clay, J. S. 20 Cleon 197 and Aristophanean poetics 4, 37, 39, 132–3 and Clouds II 199–200 and storm imagery 122, 123 closure, victory in 87–8, 129–32, 165–6, 255–6 competitive poetics 2, 31, 76, 95–6, 138, 154, 165, 168, 198 contest records 10, 113–21, 174, 196 distortion of 116–20, 179–80 and management of festival 113–14 convention 37 Corinna 21 Crates 14, 104–5, 115, 126, 127 and didaskaliai 119–20 Cratinus 91–2, 115 abuse of rivals 104, 124 and Archilochus 135; see€also€A rchilochus and Cratinean poetics as comic hero 151 as focalizer of poetic rivalry 106–7 at Lenaia of 425 97–8 and Cleon in Knights 123–5, 129 and defeat of Clouds I 184 and Eleusinia in Frogs 226 and intoxication 140–2, 144, 146, 148–9, 152–4 and Philocleon in Wasps 165 and poetic past in Frogs 231–2 Didaskaliai 116, 134–7 in Aristophanes 105–6, 144–6 Pytine 8, 10, 138, 139, 142–3, 146–54 adapted in Wasps 156–66 as dramatized parabasis 30–1, 146 legal theme in 159–62 respect for in Frogs 185 Satyrs 124 cult, adaptations of 222 defeat as theme 113, 136–7 Demeter 228, 232, 241 dexios 124, 127, 205 diachrony/synchrony 237–8 didaskaliai (production, production records) 115–16, 134, 168 Dikaiopolis as producer 68–70, 71–2 Dionysos and Aristophanean poetics 178, 214 and Cratinus 146 and epinikia iconography 93–4 and evolution of audience tastes 238–9 god of theatre 213–19

282

General index

Dionysos (cont.) and literary criticism 214–16, 235 and modernity 219, 232 and polis 216–18, 251 priest of 85–6, 178 and ship-cart procession 221 directing plays see€komoidodidaskalia dithyramb 110, 134–5, 142, 226 divine assistance 25, 53, 107, 108, 128, 228 divorce see€marriage Dobrov, G. W. 155–6 domestic trial in Pytine 160–2 in Wasps 162 Dover, K. 191, 201, 253 dual 255 echthros 37, 104, 108–9 eisagōgē 221 Eleusinia afterlife 223–4 gephyrismos 227 in Frogs 222–8 prorrhēsis 224–7 empeiros 236 entrance fee, to theatre 220 epideixis 43–4, 237 epinician 113 epinikia 83–4, 90–1, 131, 255 epirrhematic agon 36, 66–8 in Cratinus 142–3, 147, 160–2 parabatic function of, in Frogs 242–50 Eratosthenes 168 euchomai, in Homeric formulae 19–22 Eupolis 47, 94–5, 142, 147, 182–3 at Lenaia of 425 97–8 Marikas 184 Euripides 215 Andromeda 217 and Aristophanean poetics 124, 143 Hippolytos 254 Hippolytus plays 174–5 in Acharnians 68–70 and modern poetry 243–4 and moral degeneration 203, 249 Telephos in Acharnians 66–70, 72–3, 75, 81 Eurytos and competitive folly 16–19 father-beating 203–4 festivals 12 contests at 56, 62 first-person, and poet’s voice 28, 36, 77, 177–8 Foley, H. 73 food 126, 127

Ford, A. 12 fragments, methodology 6–7, 142 garlands, victory symbol 99, 100, 106, 128, 146 Gelzer, T. 243 generational conflict 203–4 Gilula, D. 50, 51 Goldhill, S. 73 Gorgias 69 Hagesichora 25 Hamilton, R. 86 hatred, as theme 125; see€also€echthros Heath, M. 137–8, 156 Hekate 226 Helen 170 Heliodorus 190–3 Hellenistic scholarship 33, 46, 49 Hermippus 183, 184 heroic duel 19 Hesiod and parabasia 27 as competitive poet 23–5 poetic biography 23–4 self-assertion in 25 Hesychius 134, 149 history, of theater competition 113, 114–15, 135 Homer Catalogue of Ships 18 and competitive displays 16–22 heroic duels 104 Horace 141 Hubbard, T. K. 29, 35, 200, 208 humor, registers of 204–5, 207–9, 212–13 Hyperbolos 183, 197 hypothesis ancient 167–8, 174, 175, 189–90, 198, 202–3 Iakchos 223 iconography 93–4, 221 idiom, agonistic 5, 110–12 Ilissos 220 inspiration 140–1 instruction as plot motif 152 and poetry 247–8 intertextuality 137–8, 144, 146, 153–4, 156, 163 invocation 21, 26 Ion of Chios 84, 235 Iophon 215, 236 Jones, N. F. 64, 66 judges 51, 87, 122, 136, 187–9, 196, 198 and judging process 188–9 oath 195, 237

General index Kallias 117 Karkinos 166 katakeleusmos 67, 166, 244 kaunos 161 Kinesias 226 kommation 190 komoidodidaskalia 100–3, 135 komoidoumenoi 199–200 kompos 23 Konnos 145 Kopaic eel 84, 89 kordax 183 Lada-Richards, I. 222 Lamachus 74, 87, 91 laughter 136, 164, 186 Lenaia 43, 120 lērein 32, 148, 152 Lykis 185 lyre 229 Lysippos 117 Magnes 14, 104, 110–12, 115, 126 and didaskaliai 118 makarismos 255 marriage, as plot motif 147, 159–60 Martin, R. P. 19 metaphor, agonistic athletic 7–8, 76 blindness 171 chariot 155 horse 154 lyre 13 marriage 150–1 military 104–5, 108 naval 100, 103, 107 river 104, 144–5, 153–4 swan 26, 229 wine 67, 135 metatheater 63, 164, 212–13, 222 meter anapest 124, 224, 244 archilochean 136, 166 eupolidean 186 iambic trimeter 67 Morsimus 123 Muellner, L. 19–20 Muses 103, 225, 229, 232, 237 and poetic authority 20–1, 53, 241 Nike 108–9, 112 Nikobolos 112 novelty in poetic claims 129, 132, 162–3, 166, 182–3

283

oath 51, 178 Odysseus, and competitive restraint 16–19 Oineus 64, 69 old age, as theme 115, 119 Olson, S. D. 68, 196 oral tradition 169 Orestes 92–3 originality 137–8, 155; see€also€novelty paean 128–9 palinode 202, 204 Pan 229 parabainein, in parabatic formula 33–5, 46–52 parabasis antecedents of 15–27 competitive function of 8, 28–32 development of 31, 198 dialogue between rivals in 35–6, 40 elements in fragments 32 in Cratinus 147 and invocation 53 odes in 53, 107–9, 193–4 and poetic persona 29–32 and prorrhēsis, in Frogs 242 syzygy 191 para prosdokian 7, 104, 237 parelthein, in formula for audience address 47–50 performance culture 169–71 performance, immediacy of 3, 5–6, 37, 155, 166, 181–7, 237–8 periagermos 88 Pericles 47, 56, 220 personification 102, 147, 150–1 phallic procession 61–2 phallus 205, 206–7 Pherecrates 5, 37, 195, 196, 245 phortikos 157, 179 phrontistērion 222 Phrynichus 183, 184, 185 Phrynichus trag. 71 physical abuse 205, 207 physis 206–7 Pindar 22, 223 Pithoigia 85 plagiarism 137, 147, 163 Plato 2, 205 Critias 21 Symposium 42, 84 Plato Comicus 33–4, 36, 183, 184 Platonius 140 plays, as competitive pieces 2–3, 8 Plutarch 56, 234 poetic past 228–30 Polemos 91

284

General index

Poseidon 107 prayer 20–2, 99–100, 108, 227–8 proagon 40–6, 84, 237, 243 and comic parabasis 43–6 tragic poets at 42–3 prohedria 86 prologue Acharnians 59–61 Frogs 212–14 props 63–4, 68 protagonist, poet’s identification with 9, 30, 57–8, 76, 96; see€also€Aristophanes and Dikaiopolis etc. Prytaneion 131, 146 Pseudo-Longinus 145 psychē 254 Pythangelos 215 pytinē-flask 148–9 redemption 30, 147–8 rehabilitation, as plot motif 157–9, 163 reperformance, of Athenian drama 172–4 retribution, as plot motif 197–8, 207–8 Revermann, R. 88 reversal, in plot 152–3, 201–2 revision and recontestation 169–76 retention of material in 190–1, 199–201 thematized in Clouds II 199–210 and tragedy 174–5 rhetorical topoi 160–1 Rosen, R. M. 139–40, 141, 145 Rural Dionysia 60–70 and Acharnians 62–3 major poets at 62 reperformances at 60–1, 62, 68 scholia ancient 5, 71, 74, 118, 125, 139, 145, 179, 190, 193, 197 Segal, C. 218, 236 self-assertion 32, 49, 177, 242 self-praise 23, 35 setting, dramatic shifts of 64 sex, as metaphor 108, 151 Sickinger, J. P. 114 Sider, D. 42 Sidwell, K. 139–40 Sifakis, G. M. 28, 31, 242 Simonides 203 Sirens 26 Slater, N. W. 127, 220 Sommerstein, A. H. 94, 253

sophia/sophos, in poetic claims 7, 111, 127, 181, 205, 234 Sophocles 215, 216 first contest with Aeschylus 235 Thamyris 13, 14 sōphrosynē 208, 209 speech-act 19, 31 spondai 130 stage action 88, 131, 159 stage biography 31, 76, 102, 122, 125, 144, 247 in Cratinus 137, 144 staging 221 Stesichorus Palinode 172 performance context 172 Street of Tripods 88, 131 Strepsiades as hero 58 succession as theme 121 superlative expression 111, 112, 118 Telecleides 120 temporal distortion 237–8 textuality 170 Thamyris and Cratinus 13–14 as prototypical competitive poet 12–22, 50, 54–5, 172 in Athenian drama 12–13 in Knights 13–15 theatrocracy 56; see€also€audience thiasos 224 thriambos; see€dithyramb Thucydides 2–3, 47, 64, 238 thunderbolt 143 torches 205, 208 Totaro, P. 190 transgression 27, 49–50, 52–4 transmission of plays 192, 253 tripod 24 tropaion 104, 110, 112 trygoidia 72, 73, 81, 84–5 vase paintings 23, 45, 113 Victors List 116–17 victory celebration; see€epinikia victory monument 104, 109–13 West, M. L. 24 Wilson, P. 42, 88–90 xenia 221 Xenokles 215 youthfulness, as theme 122–3, 125

Index of passages

370–3â•… 80 370–4â•… 78 378â•… 71 383–90â•… 68 393–4â•… 68 412â•… 69 412–80â•… 68–70 481–6â•… 67 497–501â•… 84 497–503â•… 30 497–504â•… 70–2 498â•… 80 500–1â•… 80 501–2â•… 75 502–7â•… 81 503â•… 79 505–6â•… 78 515–16â•… 78 524–31â•… 79 539–43â•… 72 560–1â•… 80 572–625â•… 74–5 577â•… 78 598â•… 78 607â•… 78 626–718â•… 76–83 628â•… 85 628–9â•… 33, 52 630–2â•… 37 631–64â•… 247–8 659â•… 37 659–64â•… 35 665–6â•… 53 848–53â•… 14, 94, 185 885–6â•… 84 1000–94â•… 85–6 1143â•… 95 1143–73â•… 90–4 1162–73â•… 95 1168–73â•… 185

Aelianâ•… Varia Historiaâ•… 2.13â•… 62, 196 Aeschinesâ•… 1.193â•… 36, 48 3.95â•… 47 3.232â•… 195 Scholia in Ctes. 67â•… 41 Aeschylusâ•… Agamemnonâ•… 789â•… 27 test. 1.12 Radtâ•… 173 Alcmanâ•… PMG 1â•… 25–7 PMG 30â•… 26 PMG 39â•… 31 Anonymousâ•… De Comoedia (Prolegomena III)â•… pp. 7–8â•… 117 p. 8â•… 118 p. 9â•… 97, 102, 143 Antiphanesâ•… fr. 104â•… 13 fr. 189â•… 43, 137 Antiphonâ•… 5.11–12â•… 49 Archilochusâ•… fr. 120W2â•… 135, 140–1 Aristophanesâ•… Acharniansâ•… 5–36â•… 58–61 194–202â•… 61 199–202â•… 65–6 201–2â•… 130 242–4â•… 63 263–79â•… 61–4 266–7â•… 66 317â•… 80 317–32â•… 66 358–65, 385–92â•… 66–7

285

286 Aristophanes (cont.) Acharnians (cont.) 1171–2â•… 95 1173â•… 14 1178–81â•… 95 1190–1228â•… 86–90 1224â•… 87, 194 1227–34â•… 130 Assembly Womenâ•… 329–30â•… 226 1154–62â•… 89 1161–2â•… 103 Birdsâ•… 267–326â•… 135 444–50â•… 89 444–7â•… 50–1 445–6â•… 103 737â•… 53 1102–17â•… 51–2, 197 1103â•… 195 1114â•… 195 1764–5â•… 128 Cloudsâ•… 75–132â•… 201 312â•… 2 339â•… 84 518â•… 70 518–19â•… 35 518–27â•… 8 518–35â•… 176–81 520–36â•… 30 520–5â•… 209 520–6â•… 165 520–7â•… 155 524–5â•… 155 524–5â•… 196 525â•… 195 528–32â•… 101 537–44â•… 204–5, 209 541–2â•… 207 542â•… 208 543â•… 208 545–50â•… 132 545–59â•… 181–7 549–50â•… 132 549–62â•… 53 550â•… 132 551–62â•… 132 553–5â•… 156 560–2â•… 28 563–74â•… 53 575–94â•… 199–201 581–7â•… 132 591–4â•… 197 595–606â•… 53 623–6â•… 197

Index of passages 781–803â•… 201 889â•… 193 889–1104â•… 203–4 949–60â•… 205–6 955–8â•… 181 957â•… 67 961–1023â•… 206–7 1036–1104â•… 207 1113–30â•… 187–99 1201–11â•… 27 1214–1302â•… 202 1297–1300â•… 207 1303–20â•… 197 1321–1451â•… 203–4 1452–61â•… 198 1454–1509â•… 208 fr. 30â•… 35 fr. 31â•… 35 fr. 58â•… 186 fr. 75â•… 74 fr. 84â•… 73, 74 fr. 130â•… 87 fr. 156.9â•… 72, 108 fr. 264â•… 35 fr. 322â•… 197 fr. 346â•… 36 fr. 347â•… 72 fr. 348â•… 21, 36, 44, 53, 151 fr. 448â•… 85 fr. 488â•… 31, 35, 124, 143 fr. 590â•… 101 fr. 673â•… 161 fr. 688â•… 32, 36, 154 fr. 719â•… 44 fr. 880â•… 149 Frogsâ•… 1–18â•… 212–14 13–15â•… 185 16–18â•… 217 52–105â•… 214–16 79â•… 236 83–4â•… 217 94â•… 217 95â•… 150 108–276â•… 219–22 154–7â•… 223 205–67â•… 228–31 211–19â•… 92 297â•… 86 323–53â•… 223–4 354–71â•… 224–7 356â•… 240 356–7â•… 231–2 357â•… 185 385–93â•… 227–8, 241 674–5â•… 53

Index of passages 674–737â•… 240–2 686–7â•… 48 686–737â•… 248–50 758–80â•… 234–5 771â•… 237 785–811â•… 235 804â•… 232 811â•… 236 851–94â•… 236 867â•… 36 871–94â•… 21 873â•… 237 875–87â•… 241–2 882–4â•… 67, 181 887â•… 228, 232 907–1098â•… 242–50 916–32â•… 238–9 1022–5â•… 239 1109–18â•… 239–40 1256â•… 231 1259â•… 232 1264–77â•… 230 1284–95â•… 230 1300â•… 232 1418–21â•… 250–2 1422–78â•… 252–5 1479–99â•… 255 1524–33â•… 255–6 Knightsâ•… 40–702â•… 121–2 128–43â•… 121 225–8â•… 123 400â•… 185 400–1â•… 123–5 500–2â•… 99–100, 125 507–36â•… 38–40, 54–5 507–9â•… 33, 52 509–11â•… 122 510â•… 125 512–19â•… 100–3 515–17â•… 14, 150 515–19â•… 144 516–17â•… 108 519â•… 126 519–40â•… 115–21, 126–7 520–5â•… 14 521â•… 110–11 521–44â•… 103–7 522–5â•… 149 526–36â•… 13–14, 30, 185 526–8â•… 123, 144–5, 154 528â•… 109 529–30â•… 145 531â•… 148, 152 531–6â•… 129 534â•… 145

534–5â•… 99 534–6â•… 146 536â•… 148, 152 537–40â•… 14 538–9â•… 149 541–5â•… 15, 144 541–7â•… 122 544–50â•… 28 547–50â•… 100 551–3â•… 53 551–64â•… 107 581–94â•… 107–9 586–94â•… 53 611–15â•… 125 692–3â•… 123 845â•… 123 1111–50â•… 126 1151–1204â•… 126–7 1209–10â•… 127, 128 1227–8â•… 128 1248–54â•… 127–8 1254â•… 130 1316–18â•… 128–9 1388–95â•… 130 1397–1401â•… 129 1404–5â•… 129 1404–8â•… 130–1 Lysistrataâ•… 1291–3â•… 129 1318–19â•… 224 Peaceâ•… 700–3â•… 158–9, 185 732â•… 70 734–5â•… 33, 52 734–53â•… 3–6, 36–7 735â•… 35 739â•… 5 739–49â•… 132 748–52â•… 132 749–50â•… 245 751–60â•… 132 754–74â•… 35 765–74â•… 28 775–80â•… 53 1020–2â•… 85 test. 1.7–10â•… 39 Thesmophoriazusaeâ•… 295–311â•… 222 443â•… 47, 48 785â•… 33 847–8â•… 173 Waspsâ•… 54–66â•… 3, 8, 155, 208 62–3â•… 132 65–6â•… 157 88–130â•… 157

287

288 Aristophanes (cont.) Wasps (cont.) 533–5â•… 67 552–82â•… 164 650–1â•… 30 744–6â•… 158 805–994â•… 162 860–90â•… 21 870–86â•… 162–3 995â•… 158 1010–12â•… 164 1015–17â•… 8, 155 1016â•… 70 1017â•… 195 1018–22â•… 101 1018–47â•… 180 1025–30â•… 132 1029–37â•… 132 1037–43â•… 163 1043–7â•… 155 1044â•… 8, 195 1044–59â•… 155 1044–7â•… 200 1045â•… 3, 164, 195 1046–50â•… 132 1048â•… 3 1049–50â•… 7 1050â•… 155 1051–4â•… 162 1051–9â•… 28, 164 1265–91â•… 192 1284–91â•… 186 1299–1321â•… 165 1474–81â•… 165 1485–1537â•… 165–6 1528â•… 46 Aristophanic Hypothesesâ•… Ach. Hyp. I. 32–4â•… 97–8 Eq. Hyp. II. 21â•… 102, 105 Nu. Hyp. Iâ•… 167, 189, 193, 198, 202 Nu. Hyp. IIâ•… 39, 115, 167 Pax Hyp. IIâ•… 174 Ra. Hyp. 1c Doverâ•… 173 V. Hyp. I. 32–4â•… 8 Aristophanic Scholiaâ•… Ach. 378â•… 71, 74 Ach. 654â•… 79 Ach. 849aâ•… 94 Eq. 400aâ•… 125, 138–9, 147, 159–60 Eq. 508bâ•… 46 Eq. 522aâ•… 118 Eq. 532â•… 13 Eq. 1291â•… 148 Nu. 1115aâ•… 190–3 Nu. 312aâ•… 43

Index of passages Nu. 524câ•… 179 Nu. 529bâ•… 196 Nu. 553â•… 168 Nu. 889dâ•… 193 Pax 734bâ•… 33 Pax 749â•… 5 Ra. 1437–41â•… 253 V. 61câ•… 43 V. 1045aâ•… 196 V. 1050bâ•… 196 V. 1109aâ•… 41 Aristotleâ•… Poeticsâ•… 1449a 10–13â•… 61 1449a37– b9â•… 1 1449a7–31â•… 5 1449b8–9â•… 119 1456b15–18â•… 21 Rhetoricâ•… 1416a 28–35â•… 58 Astydamasâ•… TrGF 60 T 2a–bâ•… 23 Bacchylidesâ•… 1.157–8â•… 106 4.4–16â•… 111 Calliasâ•… fr. 17â•… 36 Callimachusâ•… fr. 544 Pf.â•… 141 Certamen Homeri et Hesiodiâ•… 70–4â•… 47–8 Chionidesâ•… test. 1â•… 1 Corinnaâ•… PMG 654.19–22â•… 21, 236 Cratinusâ•… fr. 17â•… 36, 137, 142 fr. 20â•… 134, 137 fr. 38â•… 134–6, 142, 148 fr. 52â•… 48 fr. 102â•… 159 fr. 182â•… 70 fr. 193â•… 139, 147, 160–1 fr. 194â•… 147, 161 fr. 195â•… 147, 148, 157, 161 fr. 196â•… 147, 148 fr. 197â•… 161 fr. 198â•… 104, 145, 153–4 fr. 199â•… 148–9, 157, 158, 159 fr. 199.3–4â•… 142–3 fr. 200â•… 148, 158 fr. 201â•… 149 fr. 202â•… 148, 157

Index of passages fr. 203â•… 141, 153, 154 fr. 204â•… 161 fr. 207â•… 161 fr. 208â•… 32, 152 fr. 209â•… 152 fr. 210â•… 147, 163 fr. 211â•… 35, 142, 148, 151 fr. 213â•… 30, 35, 40, 147–8, 163 fr. 237â•… 53 fr. 251â•… 35 fr. 255â•… 94 fr. 342â•… 31, 35, 124, 143, 165 fr. 346â•… 216 fr. 349â•… 145 fr. 360â•… 3, 32, 35, 70, 103, 136–7, 188 test. i.6–9 (Dionysalexandros)â•… 36 test. ii (Pytine)â•… 138–9 test. iii (Pytine)â•… 146 Demosthenesâ•… 18.28â•… 220 21.18â•… 173 37.37â•… 49 Euphanesâ•… fr. 1â•… 17 Eupolisâ•… fr. 77â•… 145 fr. 89â•… 35, 147, 148 fr. 99.29â•… 72 fr. 102â•… 48 fr. 102.1–3â•… 47 fr. 173â•… 36 fr. 192.157â•… 34 fr. 205â•… 32, 34, 36, 70 fr. 228â•… 36 fr. 229â•… 36 fr. 245–7â•… 135 fr. 316â•… 48 fr. 392â•… 32, 35, 36, 70, 103, 142 test. iii (Autolykos)â•… 47 Euripidesâ•… Electraâ•… 518–37â•… 175 fr. 480â•… 175 fr. 698â•… 70 fr. 703â•… 70 fr. 706â•… 66 fr. 712, 712aâ•… 75 Hipp. Hyp. 26–8â•… 174–5 Medeaâ•… 309–10â•… 254 382â•… 49 1053–5â•… 224 test. IA.11â•… 44

Gorgiasâ•… fr. B 23 D–Kâ•… 69 Hephaestionâ•… 8 p. 72 Consbruchâ•… 46 Hesiodâ•… Theogonyâ•… 22–34â•… 23–4 217, 220–2â•… 27 Works and Daysâ•… 654–9â•… 24 Hesychiusâ•… π 4486â•… 149 Homerâ•… Iliadâ•… 1.1â•… 22 2.484–93â•… 7, 18 2.594–600â•… 12, 16 Odysseyâ•… 1.1â•… 22 8.202–35â•… 17–18 8.221–8â•… 16–17 Homeric Hymnsâ•… hAp. 149–73â•… 24 hCer. 478–9â•… 226 hMerc. 41–51â•… 229 Horaceâ•… Epist. 1.19.1–3â•… 141 Ibycusâ•… PMG 310â•… 22 Inscriptiones Graecaeâ•… IG I3 833bisâ•… 109–11 IG I3 970â•… 62 IG II2 2318.8â•… 1 IG II2 2318–25â•… 118 IG II2 2325â•… 185 IG II2 2325.122â•… 5 IG II2 2325.124â•… 183 IG II2 2325.126â•… 95 IG II2 2325.39–53â•… 116–17 IG II2 2325.56â•… 5 IG II2 2325.58â•… 82 IG II2 2325.61â•… 183 IG II2 3090â•… 176 IG II2 3092â•… 64 IG II2 3106â•… 64 IG II2 6004â•… 112 IG XII ix 189â•… 41 IG XIV 1097, 1098aâ•… 117–18 Isocratesâ•… Helenâ•… 64â•… 170

289

290 Lysippusâ•… fr. 4â•… 36 Menanderâ•… fr. 239â•… 160 Metagenesâ•… fr. 15â•… 35, 36 Palatine Anthologyâ•… 13.28â•… 99, 106, 115 13.29â•… 154 Pherecratesâ•… fr. 100â•… 5–6, 37, 245 fr. 102â•… 35, 36, 91, 195–6 fr. 147â•… 135 fr. 155â•… 150 fr. 204â•… 36 Phrynichusâ•… fr. 33â•… 161 Pindarâ•… N. 6.25–7â•… 111 O. 13.112–13â•… 111 P. 8.95–7â•… 100 Platoâ•… Alcibiades Iâ•… 105a–bâ•… 47 Critiasâ•… 108c–dâ•… 21 Lawsâ•… 834eâ•… 2 Phaedrusâ•… 243a–bâ•… 170 243bâ•… 170 Symposiumâ•… 173aâ•… 83–4 175d–eâ•… 42 194bâ•… 41–5 212e–13eâ•… 42 Plato Comicusâ•… fr. 69â•… 245

Index of passages fr. 96â•… 70 fr. 99â•… 33, 35, 36, 52, 70 fr. 106â•… 35, 39 fr. 107â•… 35, 39 fr. 115â•… 143 fr. 244â•… 34 Platoniusâ•… Diff. Char. (Prolegomena II)â•… p. 6â•… 140 Plutarchâ•… Cimonâ•… 8.7â•… 47 8.7–9â•… 44, 234 Niciasâ•… 3â•… 111 Pratinasâ•… PMG 708â•… 25 Solonâ•… fr.13.2â•… 21 Sophoclesâ•… fr. 244 Radtâ•… 13 fr. 314.153–5â•… 111 Stesichorusâ•… PMG 192â•… 170–2 PMG 193â•… 170 Telecleidesâ•… fr. 2â•… 48 test. 5â•… 174 Thucydidesâ•… 1.22.4â•… 3, 238 2.19–21â•… 64 2.38â•… 56 2.38.1â•… 220 5.45.4â•… 47 Xenophonâ•… Hellenicaâ•… 1.7.11â•… 47