Performance in Greek and Roman Theatre
Performance in Greek and Roman Theatre
Performance in Greek and Roman Theatre
Mnemosyne
Supplements
Editorial Board
G.J. Boter
A. Chaniotis
K.M. Coleman
I.J.F. de Jong
T. Reinhardt
VOLUME 353
Edited by
George W.M. Harrison
Vayos Liapis
LEIDEN BOSTON
2013
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Performance in Greek and Roman theatre / edited by George W. M. Harrison, Vayos Liapis.
pages cm. (Mnemosyne supplements. Monographs on Greek and Latin language and
literature ; 353)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-90-04-24457-3 (hardback : alk. paper) ISBN 978-90-04-24545-7 (e-book) 1.
TheaterGreeceHistoryTo 500. 2. TheaterRomeHistoryTo 500. 3. Classical dramaHistory
and criticism. 4. DramaTechnique. I. Harrison, George William Mallory editor of compilation. II.
Liapis, Vayos editor of compilation.
PA3201.P44 2013
792.0938dc23
2012047528
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Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
GREEK TRAGEDY
GREEK COMEDY
INTEGRATING OPSIS
Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 535
Index of Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 579
Index of Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 586
Index of Greek Words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 591
ABBREVIATIONS
1 Section I of the Introduction was written by Vayos Liapis; section III by Vayos Liapis and
George W.M. Harrison; the editors invited Costas Panayotakis to contribute section II of the
Introduction, and are extremely grateful for his participation.
2 For performance as an essentially contested concept see Strine, Long and Hopkins
(1990) 183; cf. Carlson (2004) 1. The latter also offers throughout his book a broad overview of
recent manifestations and categorizations of performance in both theory and practice.
3 For a discussion of Aristotles use of see Sifakis, this volume.
2 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
this volume, in a paper that follows in the wake of his earlier publications;4 a
similar view is taken by Konstan in his own chapter in this volume. Moreover,
thanks to thorough, original and often ground-breaking scholarly research
during the last five decades,5 scholars have begun aggressively to expand their
interpretative horizons to explore the impact of the performative aspect on
the ways in which plays are constructed and appreciated. More recently,
classicists have turned to theoretical issues related to performance (e.g.
performance analysis, or semiotics of performance). A prime example of
this kind of approach is Revermann (2006a), an erudite and theoretically
sophisticated study of Aristophanic dramaturgy (and often of Greek drama
in general), which seeks to assign configurations and taxonomies of meaning
to specific theatrical codes and practices, as far as these can be reconstructed
from the dramatic scripts or from material evidence.
Playwrights, directors and actors know that re-animating the theatrical
text for performance is a fascinating experience fraught with creative pitfalls
and possibilities. Scholars who set themselves the difficult task of recon-
structing ancient performances surely experience the same frustration and
exhilaration. They additionally must face the further challenge of piecing
together evidence for performance that is all too often fragmentary, unclear,
ambiguous, and sometimes even contradictory, even though it sometimes
allows precious glimpses into attitudes to the classical repertoire. This volume
is devoted to using historical and archaeological, as well as textual, insights
to reconstruct as closely as possible the conditions of ancient performance. It
also invites reflection on the methodological problems of reconstructing the
original physical conditions of the performance of ancient plays. Moreover,
it addresses issues of performance history, both in antiquity and in modern
times.
4 Sifakis (2001), esp. 1011, and (2002), the latter reprinted in translation in Sifakis (2007)
(2007); also, the contributions in Goldhill and Osborne (1999) and in Easterling and Hall
(2002).
making sense of ancient performance 3
one Italian and one Greek scholar. Russo 1962of which Russo 1994 is a
revised and expanded English versionwas the first to urge, in a comprehen-
sive study, a performance-oriented approach of Greek drama, in particular
of Aristophanes. Although not entirely immune to anachronism, Russo
earnestly endeavoured to move away from earlier a-historical approaches to
ancient performance towards more sophisticated readings, which sought to
take proper account of the historical context and the material conditions of
Aristophanic performance. Despite a few idiosyncratic views,6 Russo had a
sharp eye for the mechanics of ancient performance, and a keen sense of the
complexities involved in the transition from script to performance.
A few years later, Hourmouziades (1965) focused on the antithesis between
what is visible at the level of production in Euripidean theatre and what
is left to the audiences visual imagination to construct. His sensitive sug-
gestions on a variety of issues, though immediately relevant to Euripidean
tragedy, often have larger implications for such questions as the function
of the skene-building, the sparseness of the stage dcor, the existence or
not of a low stage, the use of the ekkyklema, etc. In many respects, Hour-
mouziades book shares a number of assumptions with Arnott (1962), and
the two scholars seem to have reached similar conclusions regarding, e.g., the
notion that the stage action took place before an essentially unchangeable
background, or that fifth-century actors performed on a slightly elevated
stage. Furthermore, Arnott was a great believer in the power of the word,
which in his view could transform a sparse and neutral scenery into whatever
the action of the play required, without the playwright having to resort to
illusionism.
The following decade saw the publication of Oliver Taplins epoch-making
The Stagecraft of Aeschylus (1977), which redefined the categories through
which Greek tragedy had usually been viewed.7 Among many other things,
Taplin argued that the traditional structural divisions (episode, stasimon
etc.), although purportedly going back to Aristotle (Poetics 1452b1727), prove
problematic when applied to fifth-century tragedyto say nothing of the
fact that the relevant chapter of the Poetics may well be an interpolation.8
For Taplin, it is the exits and entrances of actors around act-dividing
choral songs that really function as structuring devices. Taplins analysis
6 Such as the highly contestable idea that there was a special Lenaean theatre for plays
presented at the Lenaea festival; see the criticisms offered by Segal (1965).
7 Some of Taplins important conclusions had already been set forth in Taplin (1971) and
(1972).
8 Taplin (1977b) 4960, 470476.
4 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
of the structural divisions of tragedy has been challenged by Poe (1992) and
(1993), but the blow it has dealt the Aristotelian categorization is hard to
ignore. Taplin also argued that the skene-building and its central door first
became significant theatrical constituents in Aeschylus Oresteia, though this
particular thesis did not meet with universal approval.9 Another important
thesis proposed in Taplins book was that any significant stage action can
and must be indicated in or deduced from the script; in other words, no stage
business is to be assumed unless there is implicit or explicit textual evidence
for it. As a result, the extravagant spectacle and crowds of supernumeraries10
sometimes imagined into the production by earlier scholars no longer have
a place in the serious analysis of Greek tragic theatre. All in all, Taplins book
urged (and largely achieved) a permanent shift from the largely philological
approaches to Greek tragedy that were characteristic of earlier scholarship
to a much more nuanced and inclusive type of analysis focusing on the
plays as works meant for and perceived through performance. Aristotles
timeless advice, to the effect that playwrights in composing their works
ought never to lose sight of the stage businesssetting [the plays action]
as far as possible before [their] eyes as if they were themselves present [at
the action] (Poetics 1455a2425)remains indispensable also for critics of
Greek tragedy.11
At about the same time (and the chronological coincidence was no
doubt symptomatic of a paradigm shift in the study of Greek drama), there
appeared a number of publications focusing on the type of problems Taplin
(1977b) was raising. For example, Hamilton (1978) attempted a taxonomy
and interpretation of the various ways in which entering characters in
Greek tragedy are announced, or not announced. In an ambitious study,
Mastronarde (1979) explored instances in which the expected continuity
between speech (or rather speech acts) and consequent response seems to
be disrupted, as when questions seem to be ignored, or orders to remain
unexecuted.12 The basic question Mastronarde asked is essentially the same
as the one underlying Taplins almost contemporaneous book: can we ever
believe that a truly significant gesture or movement took place which is
more accessible format (and with many new insights) in Taplin (1978); cf. also Taplin (1983)
and (1987a) for more specific applications of his general approach.
12 A digital version of this important work is freely available online since 2008: see http://
13 Mastronarde (1979) 2.
14 Quotation from Mastronarde (1979) 3.
15 The term was coined by Fraenkel (1950) ii.305: for Greek tragedy there exists also
basic than linguistic devices such as metre and metaphor.16 In his response,
Goldhill (1989) argued that performance criticism, for all its undeniable
merit, is quite inadequate as a means of understanding ancient theatre,
unless it is firmly anchored in an awareness of the cultural parameters
the symbolisms, the mentalities, the assumptions, the ideologiesthat
provided a context for and qualified the experience of ancient performance.
To explore dramatic technique, Goldhill insisted, is to engage with large
issues of interpretation; there can be no such thing as an interpretation-
free or culturally unbiased approach to performance. Moreover, Goldhill
postulated, there is no real divide between text and performance: from
a post-structuralist point of view, performance is a text, a set of semiotic
and narrative elements whose meanings are constructed by an expectant
audience sharing specific communication codes and conventions.
16 Quotation from Wiles (1987) 143. For another attack on Goldhill, and on deconstruction,
from the point of view of speech-act theory see Clark and Csapo (1991).
making sense of ancient performance 7
17 In favour of role-splitting in Greek tragedy see e.g. Sifakis (1995) 1921; in the Coloneus:
All in all, it seems we are still a long way from explaining the circumstances
that may have necessitated the three-actor rule. One way to go about it,
it seems, is to consider whether the presumed rule has more to do with
performance effectiveness than with competition regulations or logistics. In
the large space of the Theatre of Dionysus, one might argue, it would have
been especially difficult to convey to the audience a clear sense of who was
speaking at what time, especially given the additional restrictions imposed by
the mask. Admittedly, gesture and body language would have been crucial in
helping the audience identify which actor was speaking at any given moment.
Still, it is surely no accident that even when three persons are onstage, there
is scarcely ever a genuine three-way dialogue: on the contrary, dialogue is
conducted between pairs of speakers (A and B, then A and C, and so on). One
imagines that it would not always be easy for spectators, especially those
sitting in the upper rows, to make out who was talking to whom on stage,
even when only three actors were present. If this is a valid point, then it
would surely have been pointless to increase production costs by bringing
more than three actors on the stage simultaneously.
Masks, especially those of Greek New Comedy and Roman Comedy, have
rightly been interpreted as semiotic agents, conveying sets of signs that are
part of a wider process of theatrical signification.18 In a series of influential
papers,19 W.T. MacCary argued that certain types of New Comedy masks were
assigned to particular characters, thereby conveying essential information
about their identity and role, their attributes and typical modes of behaviour.
Thus, New Comedys highly typified masks made characters both recogniz-
able and predictable. Responding to MacCarys analysis, Brown (1987) argued,
on the contrary, that, at least in the case of Menander, masks conveyed only
such basic information as age, sex and status.20 This would no doubt have
made some stock characters immediately recognizable; however, personality
traits or behavioural patterns would have been established in the course of
18 For a refreshingly introductory essay on masks in the ancient theatre see Marshall (1999),
who also puts forth some challenging propositions regarding the function of the ancient
theatre mask (e.g. that it was simple and unindividuated [minimalistic], or that its effect
was not an alienating one).
19 MacCary (1969), (1970), (1971) and (1972).
20 See also, on this point, Marshall (1999) 190191 for the six basic mask types (Old Man,
Mature Man, Young Man; Old Woman, Mature Woman, Young Woman). Marshall denies
that status or rank was conveyed by the mask, and argues that above all else, clear visual
communication over distance seems to be the principal benefit of fifth-century mask-wearing
(191).
making sense of ancient performance 9
the play, by the words and actions assigned to each particular character. To
date, the fullest treatment of the New Comedy mask as the privileged master
sign of New Comedys signification system in performance is Wiles (1991).21
Using a wealth of comparative material spanning several cultures and ages,
as well as a spectrum of theoretical insights (mainly from structuralism),
Wiles explores the ways in which masks crucially contribute to a nexus of
semiotized information, organized in sign-systems.22
For modern audiences, the mask can be an alienating, even disturbing
device, but Wiles (2007), in a work hailed as one of the most important
books on Greek drama to appear in the last twenty years,23 has argued
that masks in Greek drama were sacred objects, literally effecting the
transformation of their wearers into the mythical persons enacted onstage.
For Wiles, Greek drama was primarily a religious experience, and the mask
was instrumental in instantiating the presence of gods and heroes in the
context of Dionysiac drama; one senses here the influence of Schechners
(1988) emphasis on the affinities between performance and ritual as effective
actions. Wiles book also covers a very large range of mask-related topics, from
the manufacturing of masks in antiquity to modern theatre practitioners
use of and experimentation with masks,24 and provides valuable insights into
the implications of the mask for the performers use both of their bodies and
of their voices.
The chorus is at once the most emblematic part of Greek drama and the
element that causes the greatest perplexity to modern theatre practitioners
staging Greek plays.25 This is at least partly due to the chorus being regarded,
implicitly or not, as somehow distinct from the stage action, no doubt owing
to what is perceived as the chorus spatial separation from the actors. How-
ever, this is an anachronistic misconception prompted by modern bourgeois
26
Cf. Revermann (2006a) 35. See also Meineck, this volume.
27
See further Wiles (1997) 52.
28 Quotation from Wiles (n. 27). On the controversy over the shape of the orchestra in
the Theatre of Dionysus at Athens (circular vs. rectilinear) see Scullion (1994), esp. 3841
and Wiles (1997) 4452, both making an eloquent case in favour of a circular orchestra; see
however Csapo (2007) 99, 106 and Meineck, this volume, for counter-arguments in favour of
a rectilinear shape (both of them with further important bibliography). Whatever the truth
may be, Wiles (1997) 4950 use of Andocides, On the Mysteries 38 as evidence for a circular
orchestra is misguided. Andocides report that the conspirators of 415bc stood in the orchestra
of the Dionysiac theatre does not mean that they arranged
themselves in a perceptible circle dictated by the circular space of the orchestra. As M.L. West
(2000b) pointed out with reference to a similar argument put forth by Revermann (1999) with
respect to Heniochus fr. 5.68 K-A, means simply on all sides, all round, and does not
(any more than English round < rotundus) imply a circular area.
making sense of ancient performance 11
29 Webster (1960), (1961), (1962), followed by second and, in some cases, third editions (see
knowledge (cf. also Taplin 1997). At about the same time, Green (1994) used
a large array of archaeological evidence, ranging from vase-paintings and
sculptures to terracottas and mosaics, as a heuristic tool to gauge the impact
of dramatic genres on society, including popular culture, over a vast period
of time, covering over a thousand years. Green argued that the experience
of the theatre was truly central to the lives (both emotional and social)
of a considerable chunk of the population, not only in Athens but also in
the Greek world at large.31 Adopting a similar approach, Revermann (2005)
published an exemplary case-study of the Cleveland Medea Calyx Crater
(a Lucanian vase dated to ca. 400bc), in which he provided insights into
the cultural history of Greek tragedy in the fourth century bc by attempting
to situate visual evidence into its social, aesthetic and intellectual context.
The central questions here concern, first, the process whereby the painter
reconfigured a theatre-inspired topic in order to achieve a personal (re)telling
of the narrative; and, second, the context of use within which the vase was
designed to perform and interact with its target viewers.32
The use of iconography as a means of providing privileged access into near-
contemporary perceptions of ancient performance was forcefully contested
by Small (2003), who argued that ancient images seemingly inspired from
the theatre cannot in any way be illustrations of any given performance,
even when they include inscriptions pointing to specific plays. The vast
majority of such images, Small insisted, reflect a variety of sources, including
oral traditions such as free-floating mythic narratives, which simply happen
to be based around the same mythic cycles that inspired specific plays
by specific authors. Thus, the pictorial record can be no safe guide to the
performance (or any particular performance) of ancient drama, much less to
the reconstruction of lost plays. In a similar spirit, a few years earlier Giuliani
(1996) had concluded, with reference to depictions of the Rhesus myth in art,
that vase-paintings are not illustrations of specific dramatic performances or
epic narratives but representations of mythic matrices configured (under the
influence of epic, drama, or other vehicles of myth) in a specific society at a
specific point in time. Indeed, Giuliani interestingly conjectured that Apulian
vase-paintings seemingly bespeaking theatrical influence may actually reflect
mythic narratives embedded in funerary declamation by orators familiar
31 For a more specific discussion of the relation between tragedy and iconography see
Contextualizing Performance
Despite the advances made by scholars towards a genuine understanding
of the use and function of the ancient scenic space, on the basis of material
and artistic as well as textual evidence, such approaches may be thought by
some to project an anachronistic image of theatre as a secluded, autonomous
33 Against Giulianis hypothesis see Taplin (2007) 165 with nn. 2122. Further, J.R. Green
pointed out (BMCR 2007.10.37, n. 5) that famous passages from tragedy might have been
recited at funerals by out-of-work or second-grade actors.
34 See also Csapo (2010), chapters 1 and 2, where he eloquently discusses a number of
introduction. One may consult with profit, e.g., March (1987); Carpenter (1991); Shapiro (1994);
and most recently Woodford (2003), who gives a judicious account of the processes whereby
artists transform myths into images, often through radical selection, adaptation or even
distortion.
14 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
36 For a pithy statement of this traditional definition of theatre cf. e.g. D.F. Sutton, BMCR
2004.07.61 (in a review of D. Wiles, A Short History of Western Performance Space, Cambridge
2003): For true theater to occur, there must be a clearly understood demarcation between
the dramatic space occupied by the actors and the everyday space occupied by the audience.
37 However, as Bassi (2001) 347 points out, Wiles structuralist bias leads to some indecision
about the relationship of drama to democracy since ideology is not easily reducible to binary
oppositions.
38 See Wiles (1997) 133160 passim.
making sense of ancient performance 15
ancient evidence see Csapo and Slater (1994) 109110 (nos. 48).
41 On the theatrical potentialities of the Odeums proximity, and on their exploitation in
Cratinus Thracian Women, see Revermann (2006a) 302305. On other possible symbolisms of
the Odeum see Wiles (1997) 5457, 140141.
42 Quotations from Revermann (2006a) 113.
43 I.G. ii2 1006 (122121 bc); I.G. ii2 1011 (106105 bc); for the epigraphic evidence see further
Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 60 nn. 1, 2, 4; for English translations of the primary sources see
Csapo and Slater (1994) 110111 (nos. 913).
16 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
44 For the evidence see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 6163; for English translations see Csapo
3), 9596; for English translations see Csapo and Slater (1994) 117119 (nos. 3337), 160161
(no. 112).
46 Since Goldhill (1990) is an expanded version of Goldhill (1987), references will be made
only to the former. Especially on public honours during the preplay ceremonies and on their
political import see P. Wilson 2009a.
47 Adopting a comparable approach, Hall (1997a) has argued that Athenian tragedy, while
promoting and asserting the dominant polis discourse, simultaneously challenges official
ideology by including in its multivocal form viewpoints otherwise excluded from the public
discourse of the city, such as those of non-Athenians, women, and slaves. In a recent collection
of studies, Hall (2006) has focused on the interface between classical Athenian society and its
theatrical fictions by looking in detail at a series of revealing world/stage interactionsthat
is, at a series of ways in which phenomena manifested in the fictional world of the stage, and
phenomena in the world that produced that stage, were engaged in a process of continuous
mutual pollination (quotation from pp. 34).
making sense of ancient performance 17
Overview of Scholarship
Performance criticism of Roman drama, both comic and tragic, is a recent
development in classical scholarship. The pioneering publications, in the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, on Latin comedy by influential
German scholarssuch as Schlegel, Ritschl, Leo, and Fraenkelfocused
either on the various degrees to which (mainly) the comic playwrights of the
early Republic were indebted to Greek drama, or on the appreciation of the
linguistic, stylistic, and metrical features of these authors, which rendered
their texts worthy of serious study as autonomous literary creations regardless
of their respective literary models.49 Both of these methodological approaches
yielded invaluable results and laid the foundations for a better understanding
not only of the originality of individual Latin playwrights but also of the ways
in which ancient cultures developed and national identities were formed.
But studies of this type (with the possible exception of Fraenkels remarkable
work)50 paid little or no attention to the performative aspect of the plays in
48 For additional considerations on the question of how the Great Dionysia, and the
(1973) 2124; Ritschl (1845); Leo (1912) 87187; and especially Fraenkel (1922/1960/2007) (from
now on page-references to Fraenkels book will be those of the revised Italian translation
of 1960 and of the English translation published in 2007). The views of nineteenth-century
German scholars on Roman comedy are discussed by Halporn (1993) 191194, but his account
is greatly indebted to the insightful remarks of Fraenkel (1960) 16, 399 = (2007) 14, 390.
50 Fraenkels meticulous and text-focussed approach to the search for original theatrical
patterns in Plautine drama does not suggest that he himself was insensitive to the theatrical
dimension of the plays he discussed. Elaine Fantham, who attended Fraenkels lectures and
seminars on comedy at Oxford in the early 1950s, describes how Fraenkel analysed Plautus
techniques of enhancing dialogue, action and context; see her paper Eduard Fraenkel:
Vorplautinisches und Plautinisches delivered at the American Philological Association
Annual Meeting in Chicago in 2008 (for an abstract see http://apaclassics.org/index.php/
annual_meeting/abstracts/abstracts_for_the_2008_annual_meeting_in_chicago). This is the
impression one gets also from Stephanie Wests recollection of the great man (S. West 2007).
18 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
question and did not consider the practicalities of staging such texts, the
significance of visualising plays as a sequence of scenes enacted in (temporary
or permanent) theatres or at other locations perceived by the audience
as theatres, or the social and moral implications of acting in the Roman
world. It is all too easy to forget that, at least in the Republic, the comedies
of Livius Andronicus and his successors, and the tragedies of Ennius and
his contemporaries, were not texts destined for private reading or public
recitation but scripts composed for live performance in a public space in
front of an audience.
This may seem an obvious point now, but specialised discussions of aspects
of staging and of the visual and material culture of comedy and tragedy in
Rome (such as masks, costumes, doubling of roles, and specific parts of the
theatrical building or of the locations which served as performance spaces)
were rare before the 1920s.51 The scholarly landscape changed with the publi-
cation, in 1920, of Margarete Biebers volume on the material and pictorial
evidence pertaining to ancient theatre (including the Roman period), a work
that had an even greater impact when its richly illustrated English version
appeared in 1939;52 happily this coincided with the publication of a series of
studies (most of them articles by William Beare) that focused exclusively on
Roman staging topics. Beare published articles dealing with, amongst other
things, side-entrances, seats, the meaning of the term angiportum, masks,
the stage curtain, and costumes on the Hellenistic and the Roman stages.53 It
is possible, then, to see how, at least in the Anglophone world, these publica-
tions, as well as their contemporary studies on Greek theatre production,54
not only contributed to the growing scholarly interest in Roman scenic antiq-
uities but also paved the way for the appearance in 1950 of the comprehensive
monographs on Roman theatre by Beare and (two years later) by George
Duckworth, whose volume contains two very useful chapters on the visual
51 Cf. e.g. Bauer (1902); Saunders (1909), (1911a), (1911b), and (1913); Prescott (1910); Gow
(1927) on Greco-Roman stage antiquities. Both Bieber (1920) and Bieber (11939) have, of
course, been superseded by the latters second edition, the invaluable Bieber (21961), with
almost completely revised chapters on the Roman theatre and an additional 300 illustrations.
However, her discussion on the architectural aspect of theatrical buildings in Italy and the
provinces is now inferior to the excellent study of Sear (2006), on which more later.
53 See Beare (1938), (1939a), (1939b) (building on Harsh 1937), (1939c), (1941), and (1949).
The fruitful subject of exits and entrances in the Latin comedy of the Republic had already
been discussed by Bennet (1932) and Johnston (1933).
54 These include Pickard-Cambridge (1946) and (11953/21968), and Webster (1948), (1949),
and (1956).
making sense of ancient performance 19
55 Beare (11950); page-references henceforth will be only to the revised third edition of
1964, which usefully incorporates reprints of many of Beares earlier publications on staging
matters; Duckworth (1952) 73138.
56 See Bieber (21961) 232: There hardly could be a better frame and more gorgeous
background for the tragedies of Seneca (ad5ad65) than this type of scaenae frons, which
belongs to his period. Cf. Beare (31964) 235: It is incredible that Seneca, one of the richest
men in Rome and a man who openly admits his distaste for close contact with the common
people or their amusements, should have composed plays intended to win the favour of the
general public. The dramatist who writes for the stage must take into account not only the
tastes of his audience but the requirements of the stage; and the internal evidence of the
Senecan plays shows that the author has not visualized the actions of his characters.
57 Before Zwierlein (1966) see Marti (1945), who had argued that the tragedies of Seneca
Plautus and Terence employed to refer to the process of rendering a Greek play into Latin:
see, e.g., Pl. As. 11, Trin. 19; Ter. Eun. 7; and cf. Cic. Fin. 1.7.
59 See Handley (1968) and, among others, Bain (1979b) and Damen (1992) and (1995). For a
most sensible assessment of the scholarly contributions so far see Danese (2002).
20 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
The last twenty years, however, have seen several important studies in
many areas related to vital components of Roman theatrical performance,
such as the stage and the architectural space surrounding it, masks, costumes,
props, acting style, and comic business involving non-verbal behaviour.60
Furthermore, there is a stronger emphasis on the performative aspects of the-
atrical genres other than Republican comedy and Imperial tragedy: tragedy
in the Republic, mime, and pantomime are no longer ignored or briefly dealt
with in accounts of Roman drama.61 Authors of recent commentaries on
individual plays of Plautus, Terence, and Seneca pay attention to issues of
dramaturgy and theatrical visuality as well as to points of philology and
interpretation.62 This is arguably the most important development in Latin
performance-criticism, as it signals a shift in methodological approach:
the texts of the Latin playwrights are viewed as performance events, and
metre, language registers and word morphology are no longer studied as
an end in themselves but are combined with evidence from Roman mate-
rial culture, social history, and politics to enhance our understanding and
appreciation of what such performances may have meant to their original
audiences.
In the last twenty years, there have been at least five contributions
bringing again to the fore the question of the physical aspects of Latin drama
(mainly comedy). First, the monograph of Beacham (1991), in an overview
of the history of Roman theatre (including tragedy, mime, and pantomime),
employed textual, historical, and visual evidence (Roman wall paintings
found in houses at Rome and at, or near, Pompeii) to reconstruct images and
a full-scale replica of the temporary theatrical stage erected in Rome before
the appearance of permanent theatrical structures.63 Then came a cautiously
60 Details will be mentioned below in the relevant paragraphs of the sections on Republi-
and venues for dramatic performances, actors, and productions (1520), as well as a collection
of the testimonia on theatre buildings (5867) and on sensational stage-spectacles (7481).
On mime and pantomime see also Csapo and Slater (1994) 369389, as well as Halls detailed
discussion in this volume with earlier bibliography.
62 As far as comedy is concerned, one would single out the excellent volumes of Barsby
(1999) and Christenson (2000). For Senecan commentaries see below n. 85.
63 His theory has been sceptically received in some reviews and in recent accounts of
Roman stagecraft: see CR 42 (1992) 322 [P. Brown], JRS 83 (1993) 196 [N. Lowe], CW 86
(19921993) 364 [G.W.M. Harrison]; Marshall (2006) 32; and Manuwald (2011) 65. Before the
publication of Beacham (1991), his views on wall painting and the stage had been presented in
Beacham (1980); in 1984 Beacham had a full-scale replica wooden stage built at the Arts Centre
of the University of Warwick in order to stage a series of Plautine comedies and test whether or
making sense of ancient performance 21
not the action of the plays was smoothly realised within the framework of the constructed
set. Beachams contribution to this volume is a fascinating account of the significance of
theatricality in the Roman domestic environment.
64 See Marshall (2006) 115 (Introduction), 1620 (Opportunities for Performance), 4956
(Set).
22 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
troupes, the doubling of roles, the comic routines, and the serious tone of
some Plautine scenes. Additionally, like Beacham, Marshall enthusiastically
interprets Plautus texts as scripts; he is thus less interested in Plautus style,
language, and debts to Greek New Comedy. His experience in directing
and in performing in a number of Plautine plays has enabled Marshall to
ask some penetrating questions about the position of actors on the stage
(blocking), the dramatic pace, and the use of gestures. Marshalls work
is now supplemented by Manuwald (2011) 41186, which is currently the
most accessible and bibliographically up-to-date overview of Republican
theatrical productions with examples from comedy (both fabula palliata and
fabula togata), tragedy and historical plays (on which Manuwalds scholarly
expertise is invaluable), mime, pantomime, and Atellane comedy.
Republican Theatre
Theatre nowadays is normally a comfortable experience. Unless viewers
go to watch a play in open-air locations such as the theatres of Herod
Atticus in Athens and of Epidaurus in the Peloponnese, the expectation
is that they will be seated inside a building which has been specifically
built or modified to function as a theatre, and is permanently set within
an urban area. It is therefore easy to forget that the first performance of
the plays of Plautus, Terence, and other Republican playwrights (comic and
tragic), whose plays have come down to us only in fragments, took place in
Rome in temporary, improvised, open-air, but by no means simple, wooden
constructions, which no longer survive, but may have had very elaborate and
expensive decoration, and were situated in non-theatrical locations such
as the forum, the Circus, or the area in front of the temple of the god to
whom a festival was dedicated. The shape and size of these stages cannot
be described with certainty. However, it has been reasonably argued that
permanent architectural features, such as the tiers of a Circus or the steps
leading to the entrance of a temple, would have been used (at least in early
theatrical venues of the Republic) as the auditorium facing a temporary
stage, which would have been erected specifically for the dramatic games
(ludi scaenici) of a festival, and dismantled once the festival was over.65 This
65 Temporary theatres in Rome: Vitr. 5.5.7, Sear (2006) 5457, Marshall (2006) 47, Manuwald
(2011) 5556; and cf. above, n. 63. Lavish decoration: Val. Max. 2.4.13, 6, and Sear (2006) 55
56, Manuwald (2010) 6467. Theatrical space in the forum: Moore (1991), Marshall (2006)
4045 (discussing evidence such as Pl. Curc. 466484) and Manuwald (2011) 57 with earlier
bibliography. In the Circus: Polyb. 30.22.1, cited by Athen. 14.615a, and Franko in this volume.
making sense of ancient performance 23
In front of a temple: Cic. Har. Resp. 24, and Hanson (1959), Goldberg (1998), Manuwald (2011)
57. Seats: Beare (1939a), Rawson (1987), Moore (1994).
66 See Panayotakis (2010) 2526 for primary sources and recent bibliography on this festival.
67 Sear (2006) 5761, 133135, Plan 25, and Figure 30; and Manuwald (2011) 6263. Lavish
spectacles in its inauguration: Erasmo (2004) 8391; Beard (2007) 2229; Manuwald (2011) 62,
73; differences from Greek theatres and cultural landmark of Roman identity: Wallace-Hadrill
(2008) 153169.
68 See Cic. Fam. 8.2.1 and Manuwald (2011) 63.
69 For instance, singing or dramatised recitals of literature: Pliny NH 37.19; Panayotakis
(2008).
24 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
Plautus Menaechmi see Gratwick (1993) 33 or for Amphitruo Christenson (2000) 2021), but a
useful overview with examples from all types of Roman drama (including fabula Atellana)
may be found in Manuwald (2011) 69.
73 Traditionally the contrast is between the forum and the countryside/the harbour, but it
is not always clear in the extant scripts which of these destinations lies in which direction.
Earlier bibliography on side-entrances includes Rambo (1915), Johnston (1933), Beare (1938),
and Duckworth (1952) 8587. On polarities and wing entrances see Leigh (2004) 105111;
Marshall (2006) 51.
making sense of ancient performance 25
74 Stage altar: Duckworth (1952) 8384; Marshall (2006) 5354; Manuwald (2011) 72.
75 Aulaeum, the theatre-curtain: Isid. 18.43; Amm. Marc. 26.15; Beare (1941); Duckworth
(1952) 8485; Manuwald (2011) 6970. Siparium, small curtain or screen: Cic. De prov. consul.
6.14; Iuv. 8.185186 and schol. Iuv. 8.186; Apul. Met. 1.8; Festus 458.1113 L and Paul.Fest. 459.4
L; Nicoll (1931) 105109; Beare (1941); Sear (2006) 8; Manuwald (2011) 70. Scabillum, a kind of
hinged clapper attached to the sole of the foot, and used for beating time for dancers in the
theatre (OLD s.v. 2): Cic. Pro Cael. 6465; Auct. de dub. nomin. = GL 590.4 K. Early mime-shows:
Panayotakis (2010) 2227.
26 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
76 For spectacular effects in tragedy and comedy, as well as for some salutary remarks
on the thin line between seeing and imagining objects, especially on the tragic stage, see
Manuwald (2011) 7273.
77 Ketterer (1986a), (1986b), and (1986c); Marshall (2006) 6672; Manuwald (2011) 7273;
Sharrock (2008); and Ley (2007b) 281283. Props (in relation to Greek drama) are also discussed
in this volume by Revermann, Tordoff, Fletcher, and Ley.
78 In addition to the scholarly works on masks in New Comedy mentioned earlier in this
Introduction (above, pp. 89), see also Duckworth (1952) 9294; Beare (1939c) and (31964)
192194; Marshall (2006) 126158 (the most comprehensive discussion on masks, as far as
comedy is concerned); McCart (2007); and Manuwald (2011) 7980. Costume and shoes:
making sense of ancient performance 27
appearance of a Roman actor would have invited the audience to decode the
visual information conveyed, in order to draw their own conclusions, even
before the actor spoke, about the social and financial status, the age, sex, and
reputation, and the serious nature or comic potential of the character he
was playing. A sense of hierarchy, similar to the structured order of classes
in Roman society, applied also to the stage, with, for instance, the actor
of elevated tragedy, at one end of the spectrum, wearing a sombre mask
and high boots, and the actor or actress of the low mime, at the other end,
wearing neither shoes nor a mask. This typology, however, should not be
seen as an externally imposed straight-jacket, confining the playwrights
creative genius and resulting in boring and predictable plays, but as an
opportunity for him to subvert generic conventions, thereby amusing his
audience with unpredictable twists and turns either in character portrayal
or in the variation of the plays atmosphere.79 The latter effect is achieved,
for instance, in Plautus Rudens with the introduction of the tragic character
of the maiden Palaestra, whose misfortunes are skilfully interwoven with the
farcical banter of the pimp Labrax and other lowly figures, such as the greedy
fisherman Gripus and the insolent slave Sceparnio, to create a masterful
fusion of tragedy and comedy.
Much more difficult to describe in detail is the issue of stage action. There
is no comprehensive overview of stage business in Roman comedy covering
complete scripts and fragments: Panayotakis (2005) 181187 and Marshall
(2006) 159202 are good starting points to the discussion, although both of
them discuss only comic genres. It is difficult to say anything substantial
about stage action in Republican tragedy, given the fragmentary status of the
scripts. In very few cases there are in Latin scripts explicit stage-directions,
such as those found in the Greek Charition-mime (dated to the Imperial
period) that relates the rescue from the barbarians of the heroine Charition
by means of wine and the malodorous farting of the comic slave.80 But even
Duckworth (1952) 8892; Beare (31964) 184192; Marshall (2006) 5666; and Manuwald (2011)
7578 (invaluable for its information on tragic costume). Acting style and gestures: Csapo and
Slater (1994) 283285; Handley (2002); Fantham (2002); Panayotakis (2005); Manuwald (2011)
74; see also Dutsch in this volume.
79 Cf. Marshall (2006) 131132; he views the mask as a tool at the disposal of the actor,
who, by his acting, may give the character type represented by the mask refreshingly new
dimensions.
80 In the so-called Charition-mime (P.Oxy. 413) there are indications in abbreviated form
of the points at which there ought to be musical accompaniment, and of the moments in the
plot where the comic slave ought to fart; see Andreassi (2001) 55, 59, 60, 62, 68, 71, and 73. For
surviving stage directions in Greek drama see Taplin (1977b) 15, 371 n. 3; Taplin (1977a); and
Handley (2002) 168169.
28 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
Imperial Drama
The subject of Roman theatre design in Italy and the provinces during the
Empire has been extensively discussed, both in general terms and with
special attention to individual theatre sites, by Bieber (21961) 190222 and Sear
(2006), who provide clear illustrations and full accounts of the archaeological
remains. The large and lavishly decorated buildings of the late Republic and
the Empire hosted performances of entirely new plays (the most celebrated
example being a new tragedy, Thyestes, composed by L. Varius Rufus, and
produced in 29 bce as part of the continuing celebrations for Octavians
victory at Actium), as well as low mimes and tragic pantomimes.81 Mime
(in the form of both an unscripted spectacle and a literary play performed
by maskless actors and actresses with bare feet) and pantomime (with its
libretto and a chorus accompanying the gestures of a professional masked
solo male or female dancer) existed simultaneously and harmoniously in
the theatrical culture of Rome in the late Republic and the Empire. Visually,
the re-enactment of mythological scenes through the dance of a skilled
pantomimus (imitator of everything) must have been a stunning spectacle
to watch, and recent scholarship on the topic has done well to focus not
only on the visual features of the Roman pantomime (mask, costume, and
movements) but also on its significance for, and place within, the rhetorical,
sexual, and intertextual discources operating in Italy and the provinces
during the first two centuries ce.82
81 For an overview of the types of plays performed in the theatres of the Empire see Bieber
(21961) 227253.
82 Mime from the early Republic to the fifth century ce: Panayotakis (2010) 132. Visual
features of Imperial pantomime: Jory (1996), Hall (2008c), Webb (2008a), Wyles (2008), Hall
in this volume.
making sense of ancient performance 29
83 The best discussion of revivals of Republican plays in the post-Augustan era is Manuwald
(2011) 108119.
84 Tac. Dial. 23, 11; Plin. Ep. 1.15.2, 3.1.9, 3.7.5, 5.3.2, 6.21.2; Suet. Cl. 41.1; Ovids tragedy, the
Medea, was not intended for the stage, if we are to believe Ovid, Tr. 5.7.27.
30 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
85 See the commentaries of Tarrant (1976) 78 and (1985) 1315 (to be read alongside his
ground-breaking article of 1978); Fantham (1982); Coffey and Mayer (1990) 1518; Ferri (2003)
5661; Boyle (2008) xlxlii.
86 See Kragelund (1999). The list of Senecan critics who participated in stage productions
of Senecan plays and then reported on them is to be found in Fitch (2000) 2; to his list add
now Stroh (2008).
making sense of ancient performance 31
staged the Trojan Women. Fitch (2000), in an excellent piece, offers a useful
summary of the debate on whether Seneca envisaged performance when
writing his tragedies. On the whole, Fitch adopts a cautious and sensible
approach to the problem by recognising that we need not take the rigid
view that the whole corpus of Senecas tragedies was composed either for
performance or for recitation; his comparison of Senecan drama with modern
performances of opera and the light that the latter may throw on the staging of
the former is especially instructive.87 In an equally convincing paper Shelton
(2000) offers a fascinating discussion of the ways in which the Romans
experience of watching real violence and death in the spectacles of the
theatre and the arena conditioned their reception of the Trojan Women.
On the other hand, Goldberg (2000), who clearly favours recitation over full-
scale productions of the tragedies, shifts the angle of the debate, and gives
it an aesthetic perspective, because he visualises Seneca as a member of a
private, rhetorical, educated, and aristocratic circle of poets, who, by means
of their tragedies, deliberately distanced themselves from the crowds that
delighted in the vulgarity and cruelty of the mimes, pantomimes, and other
popular entertainments staged at the amphitheatre.88
87 Fitch (2000) 7: Seneca may have expected or thought it likely that his plays would be
performed in excerpts more often than in the full text. So when he composed the plays his
imagination became more theatrical in the climactic scenes than elsewhere. I do not mean
that Seneca had no expectation of performance of the whole text, but only that he had a more
lively expectation of performance of individual scenes. Comparison of Seneca and opera:
Fitch (2000) 8.
88 However, it is far from certain that all the mimes that were staged in Senecas era were
coarse and void of the literary qualities attested in elevated literary genres, and it is instructive
to remember how fond Seneca was of the sententiae of the mimographer Publilius.
32 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
89
Quotation from p. 54.
90
See, for instance, Dingel (1967) and (1971); Ketterer (1986a), (1986b), and (1986c); English
(1999), (2000), and (2006/2007); Poe (2000); Marshall (2006) 6672; Ley (2007b); and Chaston
(2010).
making sense of ancient performance 33
91 Props are also dealt with in Graham Leys Rehearsing Aristophanes in the third part of
the volume.
34 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
Greek Tragedy
The next section concerns issues related to the opsis of tragedy. In Aeschylean
Opsis Anthony Podlecki takes as his starting point the ancient information
that Aeschylus had earned for himself a reputation for stunning visual effects.
He then looks for examples of opsis (in the narrower designation of that
term, scenic effects) in all of the extant tragedies by Aeschylus, as well as in
what can be gleaned from the titles and fragments. This is a comprehensive
investigation that explores the evidence for, among other things, the use of
supernumeraries, masks, costumes, and choreography by Aeschylus. Podlecki
also offers insights into the famous Aeschylean silences, as well as into
Aeschylus use of terrifying sights such as monsters and ghosts.
Geoff Bakewells Theatricality and Voting in Eumenides focuses on one
of the most important scenes in the Oresteia, namely the casting of ballots
at Eumenides 711753. Throughout the first two plays of the trilogy, charac-
ters seeking vengeance have used legal language to justify their claims. At
Agamemnon 810818, for instance, the Greek king likens the destruction of
Troy to the outcome of a trial conducted by the gods. In typically Aeschylean
fashion, what was originally metaphorical becomes visible on stage later on.
And yet there are significant contrasts between the two trials, with the later,
actual one bearing a greater resemblance to the dikastic proceedings with
which the Athenian spectators were familiar. The ballot Athena holds and
casts at lines 734735 is highlighted by the deictic and serves as a focal-
izer for the dike dispensed in Eumenides. As such, this prop deserves recogni-
tion alongside the trilogys other prominent carriers of meaning. In particular,
Bakewell argues, the ballot stands for an approach to Justice rooted in rules,
making sense of ancient performance 35
represents Artemis sanctuary, on the altar for human sacrifices that stands
in front of the skene, and on the statue of Artemis that Iphigenia brings out
of the skene at a climactic moment. All of these physical items are associated
with human sacrifice, and all of them are endowed with shifting significations
that are established and then modified. Beyond physical objects, a factor of
special importance for this gradual acquisition of meaning is the presence
of the Black Sea, which lies unseen near Artemiss temple (1196): the verbal
descriptions of the sea and seashore combine with the visual properties
to create a larger imaginative set, and creates a numinous atmosphere
both of impending doom and of potential for creation, since it is at the
seashore that Iphigenia performs a (devised) purification ritual that secures
the Greeks escape. Insofar as it suggests the eventual cleansing of Orestes
blood-guilt, the Black Sea also supplies subliminally a preparation for the
sudden appearance of Athena as a dea ex machina.
Vayos Liapis Staging Rhesus draws attention to issues of staging arising
from the problematic Rhesus. The plays author introduces more speaking
characters than he knows what to do with, inserts spectacular scenes for
spectacles sake with little concern for coherence, employs (in all likelihood)
a fourth actor for the role of Alexander, a part that is however dramatically
redundant, and even presents an onstage transformation of one divinity
(Athena) into another (Aphrodite, of all goddesses), for which there is no
precedent or parallel in serious literature. Despite these and other obvious
faults of dramaturgy and plot-construction, Rhesus is a treasure-trove of
information on fourth-century theatre performance, and an extremely
interesting piece of work from a visual point of view. For instance, it takes
place almost in its entirety at dead of night, which means that the playwright
has to go into the extra trouble of conveying a sense of surrounding darkness
at a daytime performance. It probably has no use for the skene-building, and
the entire action probably takes place in the orchestraan arrangement
unparalleled in Greek tragedy after early Aeschylus, and no doubt an instance
of deliberate archaism in stagecraft. In other respects, too, Rhesus seems keen
on reviving long-forgotten theatrical practices, e.g. in the anapaestic opening
by the chorus or in Hectors role as the stationary recipient of a series of
messenger narratives, reminiscent of Eteocles in Aeschylus Seven.
Greek Comedy
Comic opsis is an extremely fertile field of study, and a number of papers in
this volume explore various aspects of comic visual techniques. This section
is ushered in by Toph Marshalls paper Three Actors in Old Comedy, Again,
making sense of ancient performance 37
which revisits the question of the number of actors in Old Comedy, arguing
for a hard limit of three actors, as had been the case in contemporary tragedy.
This supports the case of MacDowell (1994) against the consensus that a
soft limit was in place (i.e., that occasional extra actors were sometimes
used), but also adopts the lower limit of three advocated by Marshall (1997)
against MacDowells limit of four. The importance of this question bears on
a number of larger issues concerning the nature of the Aristophanic text,
the purpose of competition regulations, and the demands placed on comic
actors in the fifth century. Further, it is argued that the use of three actors
in Birds (414bce) yields interpretative benefits absent from the audiences
understanding of the play if more had been used.
The next paper is Jeffrey Rustens The Odeion on his Head: Costume
and Identity in Cratinus Thracian Women fr. 73, and Cratinus Techniques of
Political Satire. The papers point of departure is a fragment from Cratinus
Thracian Women (PCG fr. 73), noting a detail of costume which turns out
to be highly significant for that authors methodology of political satire:
Here comes Zeus the onion-headed, / Pericles, with the Odeion on top of
his head, / now that the vote on ostracism is past. Rusten challenges the
unanimous assumption that the wearer of this remarkable headgear was
Pericles, and invokes artistic evidence to suggest that the reference here is to
Zeus, whose comic mask is shown to wear a polos on Southern Italian and
Attic vases. Accordingly, ought to be taken not as a proper
name ( ) but as an adjective, , most glorious. That in
this fragment a god is described in language that recalls Pericles would not be
surprising since it would conform to Cratinus practice in Dionsyalexandros
and Ploutoi.
Finally, in Rehearsing Aristophanes, Graham Ley takes on a little-studied
aspect of ancient performance, namely rehearsal, in particular in relation
to the use of stage properties in Aristophanic comedy. In contrast to the
aesthetic economy of Greek tragedy, Aristophanic comedy is lavish in its
use of properties and the material aspects of theatricality. Aristophanic
stage properties tend to be seen as temporary instrumental objects, their
abundance simply servicing the joke-of-the-moment, in contrast to the
symbolic value invested in isolated tragic properties, whose significance
may resonate throughout the play. There are, however, many aspects of
the more complex theatricality of comedy that call for attention. The
central question is how performances of this kind were prepared: how
essential to the formation of the spoken script are the properties and other
elements of theatricality in Aristophanic comedy? Is it possible to build
up a picture of the process of preparation that led to a performance of
38 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
Integrating Opsis
This final section concerns ways in which non-theatre arts or elements
are integrated into the opsis of theatrical performance. It is also related to
modern receptions and perceptions of visuality in relation to the staging and
performance of tragedy.
George Kovacs in Stringed Instruments in Fifth-Century Drama points
out that the complex polarity between lyra and aulos in classical Athens (with
Athenians privileging the former over the latter, socially and aesthetically)
was inverted on the stage: it is the aulos that was the primary instrument in
these most prestigious and public events. The sound volume of the auloi and
their connection to Dionysus through the satyr Marsyas seem to have made
it an ideal instrument for dramatic performance. The lyra must have been
difficult in presentation and was used sparingly. There is, however, some
evidence for the use of the lyra on stage, especially where it had thematic
relevance in the play, either as a plot device or as a defining feature of a
making sense of ancient performance 41
specific character. Kovacs further argues that, when used onstage in tragedy,
lyrai appeared in the form of a traditional tortoise-shell (chelys) lyra and
were accompanied by an offstage professional playing a concert kithara
(box lyra).
With Gonda Van Steens paper Bloody (Stage) Business: Matthias Lang-
hoffs Sparagmos of Euripides Bacchae (1997) we move to the rapidly
developing field of reception studies. The 1997 production of Euripides
Bacchae by the Swiss-born director Matthias Langhoff caused an outcry in
Greece. With a naked Dionysus, a French actress who butchered the modern
Greek words, and a city of Thebes that resembled a drab provincial town,
the production shocked Greek audiences and critics alike. Van Steen uses
Langhoffs production as a case-study of modernization that was perceived
to be consuming itself in the bold stage business of the directors opsis. Her
paper analyses the relationship between opsis and immediate reception and
examines the various visual choices that Langhoff made and that, in Greek
eyes, seemed to distort the original text, taint the sacred ancient setting
of Epidaurus, and subvert the long-standing prestige of a state-sponsored
theatre company, the State Theatre of Northern Greece.
This section, as well as the volume itself, is rounded off by Fiona Macin-
toshs engrossing paper From Sculpture to Vase-painting: Archaeological
Models for the Actor. Star actors from the late nineteenth and the early twen-
tieth century, most notably Jean Mounet-Sully and Sarah Bernhardt, turned to
classical sculptures and vase-paintings for guidance on their own patterned
movements and gestures in their interpretation of classical roles. These out-
standing French actors were both sculptors and were both understood to
self-sculpt as they performed on the stage. In this sense, they represent
the culmination and the end of a long tradition in European theatre his-
tory, in which the theatrical ideal was classical and essentially sculptural.
The sculptural ideal involved a fixity of stancean attitude, a marmorial
appearanceand grew out of two concurrent influences: Winkelmanns
(and later Schlegels) obsession with sculpture as the supreme art form, and
the predominance of the proscenium arch theatre.
The present volume is the outcome of a collaborative effort that lasted several
years. Its origins may be traced back to George W.M. Harrisons plan, in the
summer of 2006, to hold a conference on the opsis of ancient theatre. This
turned out to be unfeasible owing to practical reasons, but it soon became
clear that the project could (and should) grow into an edited volume. The
editors wish to thank the contributors to this volume not only for their
exemplary cooperativeness but also (and principally) for their thoughtful and
42 vayos liapis, costas panayotakis, and george w.m. harrison
G.M. Sifakis
When Gilbert Murray wrote, more than ninety years ago,1 that even to
accomplished scholars the meaning [of the Poetics] is often obscure, as
may be seen by a study of the long series of misunderstandings and
overstatements and corrections which form the history of the Poetics since
the Renaissance he surely did not expect things to change for the better any
time soon. His pronouncement would be equally valid today in the face of a
flood of publicationseditions, translations, commentaries, monographs,
and the likewhich appeared in the second half of the 20th century and
steadily continue to come out in the 21st.2 It seems as if new contributions to
the study of that short work, which Aristotle produced late in his career, do
very little to lighten an already overcast landscape.
This can hardly be blamed on the author, whose style is plain, unem-
bellished, and by and large lucid, even if it can at times be elliptical and
syntactically complex. The treatise on the art of poetry also contains sev-
eral allusions or direct references to his other works, which ought to help
understand it, had they not often been ignored as earlier, irrelevant or incom-
patible with the argument of the Poetics (such inconsistenciesit has been
suggested more than onceshould not be considered a problem because
even a philosopher is supposedly entitled to change his mind). However,
centuries of studying and interpreting Aristotles work have resulted, on the
one hand, in a great variety of widely differing interpretationsas to what,
for instance, is the meaning of the katharsis brought about by tragedyand,
on the other hand, in misunderstandings firmly established by unreflective
repetition.
* I would like to express my gratitude to Prof. Stavros Tsitsiridis for his assistance in the
preparation of this paper, and to Prof. Vayos Liapis for his editorial comments.
1 In his Preface to Ingram Bywaters translation of Poetics (1920, repr. 1967) 4.
2 Listed up to 1996 by Schrier (1998), and then by Malcolm Heath in his ongoing
February 1995.
9 Taplin (1995) 95.
10 Taplin (1995) 96.
48 g.m. sifakis
but agree with Taplins aforementioned statement. And surely I cannot deny
the obvious, namely, that Aristotle clearly states that the potential of tragedy
exists without public performance and actors. Whether this statement can
be taken as evidence for Aristotles fixation with this new-fangled reading, is
another matter, as is the question whether it amounts to a dismissal of theatre
production on his part. For we have to remember that the theoretician we
are talking about was the original annalist of Athenian theatre, and author of
Productions () and Dionysiac Victories (as well as On Tragedies) on
which all work about the history of drama was based in antiquity.11 Moreover,
we have to ask: should or could Aristotle classify tragedy, not with epic as
a species of poetry, but with spectator sports or spectator politics, with
genera, that is, which he should have to invent for the purpose? After all the
dramatists called themselves poets,12 as did all other authors who consistently
speak of the dramatists as poets throughout antiquity.
The crucial question, however, is not whether Aristotle underestimated
theatrical performance, but whether he really made two opposing statements
within the limits of the same chapter of his short work. This is what is really
at stake, regardless of whether one addresses the problem with respect for
the philosopher, as Halliwell does, or with Taplins critical attitude.13
11 Diogenes Laertius 5.26. 2426. Fragments of Didaskaliai: 8.48.618629 Rose; see Pickard-
934, 947, Lys. 149, Ran. 84, 858, 1008, 1055, 418, 1528.
13 Who, I guess, could hardly subscribe to Scaligers designation of Aristotle as imperator
16 The missing subject here is, strictly speaking, , those who imitate, variously
understood as persons/people who imitate by acting, actors, poets effecting the imitation by
those who act, and so forth. The crucial question, however, is whether to accept that Aristotle
implies performers who carry out the imitation by acting (prattontes is a participle of manner),
or poets effecting imitation through persons (i.e. dramatic characters) who act. To answer
this question we have to take into account that poets are repeatedly the subject of mimeisthai
(imitate) in Poetics (1448a1, 26 and, I believe, 29), and that the participles prattontes and
drontes are the objects of the same verb (at 48a1, 23, 27, 29) or refer to characters (49b37, 50b4,
60a14). I think, therefore, that Aristotle is intentionally nonspecific in this passage, and for
this reason I suggest tragedians (actually, an epexegesis of mimoumenoi) as the subject of
, carry out the imitation, since this term signifies in English both writers
and actors, as does its ancient equivalent, tragoidoi (actually, the Greek term is even more
generic, and includes tragic performances and contests). See also n. 18 below.
17 All unattributed translations are my own literal renderings of Aristotles text.
18 On this part of the definition, see Tsitsiridis (2010) 3334, who points out that if actors
are to be understood as the subject of dronton at 49b26 (as in Heaths translation: performed
by actors, not through narration, [1996] 10) and of the synonymous participle prattontes a
few lines below (49b31) Aristotle cannot be blamed for undervaluing performance. For my
part, I do concur with this conclusion, but would hesitate to accept an explicit reference to
actors in the definition of tragedy (see n. 16 above). The participle dronton is an absolute
genitive of manner (qualifying ) which means precisely by enactment and stands
in direct contrast to narration. For a similar construction cf. Arist. Athen. Constit. 18.2.9, where
means in conjunction with a number of confederates (tr. Kenyon [1984]
2352).
50 g.m. sifakis
(c) In the third and last enumeration, the parts are ranked in order of
importance on the basis of their contribution to the (end, aim, purpose)
and (work, job, function) of tragedy (50a1550b20). The three parts
corresponding to the object of imitationplot, characters, thought, in that
ordercome first, the parts corresponding to the means of imitation
diction, song compositionfollow, and spectacle, the part corresponding to
the manner of imitation, is placed last. What is remarkable at first sight is
not that opsis gets the lowest ranking, but the fact that, in a discussion of the
qualitative elements of tragedy as a poetic genre, language is ranked fourth
(50b12). This kind of evaluation may be difficult for a modern reader of poetry
to appreciate, but we have to recall the very beginning of Poetics, in which
Aristotle announces that he will discuss the poetic art and its kinds, and how
the plots should be constructed if the poetry is to be well accomplished (47a9).
There follows his fundamental statement to the effect that all kinds of poetry,
as well as music and other arts, are imitations differing from each other in
the objects each art represents, and in the means and manner it employs in
order to accomplish its purpose. So, when we later reach the definition of
tragedy and the discussion of its parts, we should not be surprised by their
evaluation and ranking: the most important of these (parts) is the structure
of things; for tragedy is an imitation, not of people, but of actions and life ()
therefore the incidents and the plot are the aim of tragedy, and the aim is
the greatest thing of all (50a15, 23).19 Plot is thus equated with the purpose of
tragedyto which we will return belowand raised to the highest level of
importance as far as the composition of a play is concernedat the expense,
it would seem, of characters: for there could be no tragedy without action,
whereas there could be (a tragedy) without characters, which is the case
with the plays of most modern poets whose tragedies are characterless
(50a2425). Yet, this statement does not underestimate ethe (or dianoia for
that matter). The reason why ethe, while being the second most important
part, is unequivocally ranked below the plot is because tragedy dealt with
traditional myths in which things were set in motion by the will of gods,
with which the human characters tried to cope; the latter, however, did not
instigate the action as they normally do in modern drama.
19 And the end is everywhere the chief thing is Bywaters freer translation (in Barnes
[1984] 2. 2321). Rostagni (1945), in his commentary, usefully refers to the conclusion of the
definition of tragedy () and to the definition of telos in Metaphysics 994b916,
where we read: ,
(the reasonable man, at least, always acts for a purpose; and this is a limit, for the
end is a limit) (1516, tr. Ross).
opsis in aristotles poetics 51
The stories represented by tragedy may have been traditional, but tragedy
as a dramatic genre had moved away from its ritual/oral beginnings and
evolved at a fast pace, alongside prose and the visual arts, to become the
best kind of poetrysuperior to epic, as Aristotle argues in the last chapter
of his treatiseand the most characteristic art form of Classical Athens.
Clearly, the poetic masterpieces of the great tragedians were not scripts for
actors to display their skills like the scenarios of the Commedia dellarte,
or the sequences (dan) of Noh drama in which actors perform long typical
routines. On the other hand, the proper means of imitation in tragedy are
language and music, lexis and melopoiia, just as they are in Shakespeare and
by analogythrough a different writing codein Western classical music,
where there is no scope for improvisation. Such compositions, intended as
they are for performancewhether dramatic or musical, are completed
by their authors and given their final shape in and by writing, before they are
performed. This is why they outlive their creators and in some cases achieve
immortality.
For the same reason, because the dramatists work begins with the
conception of an action (praxis) to be represented (or dramatized) and ends
with the composition of the verses to be spoken, delivered in recitative, or
sung, Aristotle states that the potential of tragedy exists without public
performance and actors (50b18). Now the potential may not always be the
same thing as the actual effect that the reading of a play might have on the
reader, and Aristotle knew very well that there was no reading public as such
in antiquity, at least outside the philosophical schools. So to criticize him for
an alleged fixation with this new-fangled reading (see p. 47 above) is rather
unfortunate since it can hardly be substantiated.20 Besides, his estimate about
tragedys retaining its potential for readers was dead right, or the great plays
would not have continued to be read and treasured thousands of years after
their creation.
Still, the above statement and its complement about the art of the mask-
maker have to be harmonized with Aristotles earlier inclusion of opsis in the
limited number of formative elements that determine the quality of tragedy.
In order to resolve this apparent inconsistency we, first, have to pay close
attention to Aristotles terminology.
To begin with, the arrangement (or even the universe) of the spectacle (
) is mentioned in the first enumeration (see pp. 4849 above)
because it necessarily ( ) would be a part of tragedy since tragic
imitation is carried out by enactment; whereas so far as the execution of
the visual aspects of performance is concerned the art of the mask-maker is
more decisive than the art of the poets (
[50b1920]). It seems to
me safe to assume that the latteri.e. opseis in the plural, mentioned in
conjunction with the art or craft of the skeuopoios (chiefly mask-maker)21
refers primarily to prosopa / masks (and secondarily to costumes, sets and
stage-properties), whereas the arrangement or universe of the spectacle can
be taken to refer to theatre production as a whole, perhaps including acting,
delivery and movement. Between the two, opsis (in the singular) seems like
a generic term for spectacle.22
The execution of the visual aspects is credited to the art of the mask-maker,
which is clearly stated to be distinct from, and unrelated to, the art of the
21 Because masks were called (implements) in the sense of tools of an actors trade,
just as the leather- and cardboard-puppets of a Karagiozis player are called (tools) of
his trade (the shadow-puppets term corresponding to prosopa is figures / figores).
22 What Aristotle means by opsis is a popular topic for speculation that I do not intend
to review here. There is, however, a significant Byzantine text that needs to be mentioned:
an anonymous short treatise On tragedy ( ), in the form of an epistolary essay,
published by the late Robert Browning in 1963 (6781; reprinted by Perusino [1993] 2632).
Browning tentatively attributed it to Michael Psellos (the 11th-century historian, philosopher
and polymath); but regardless of the uncertainty of its authorship the treatise draws on a
source that most likely goes back to late antiquity. It shows awareness of Aristotles Poetics,
but attempts to improve on it by offering a different list of constituent parts of tragedy right
from its beginning: , , , ,
, . , , , , , ,
, , , ,
, hi . (Tragedy, about which you asked, has as its subjects
passions and actions, which it imitates, of whatever sort either of these may be. The means by
which it effects the imitation are plot, thought, diction, metre, rhythm, song, and in addition
to these the visual aspects (opseis), the stage sets, the places, the movements; of these some
are rendered by the maker of stage-sets, others by the khoregos, and others by the actor.)
Opseis (plural) is either one of four elements of spectacle, in which case it probably refers
to the appearance of the actors, or it has to be taken as a dramatic constituent which is
then subdivided into the three elements following it. Unfortunately, there is no indisputable
correspondence between the spectacle parts and the tasks of the people responsible for them.
A different view is expressed by Rerusino (1993) 3940 and Bonanno (2000) 407410, who think
that there is indeed a clear correspondence and that the treatise elucidates and supplements
Aristotle.
opsis in aristotles poetics 53
poet. The poets, however, were also called didaskaloi (and tragoidodidaskaloi
or komoidodidaskaloi, respectively)23 with reference to the function many
of them performed as producers (or stage directors) of their own plays
well beyond the fifth century; and the art of didaskalosliterally teacher,
mastercould hardly be thought to be unrelated to opsis. Therefore, it is
necessary for us to assume that the same personthe dramatic poetoften
had to be master of two different, though overlapping, trades, corresponding
to the composition of his plays and their stage presentation. Given that
didaskalos and didaskalia are the closest Greek terms to producer and stage
production, it is remarkable that the first historian of theatre and author of
such works as Productions () and Dionysiac Victories (see above
p. 48) does not use these terms in Poeticsexcept once: Aristotle uses the
word (producers of tragedy)24 in his brief historical sketch
of the beginnings of drama (49a5), when no distinction could yet be made
between poets and performers.25
Now, according to Aristotles doctrine about empeiria (experience, prac-
tice without formal knowledge of principles), techne (art, set of rules, system
of making or doing),26 and architektonike (architecture, master-art or science
which employs other, subsidiary, arts to pursue its purpose),27 didaskalia
might have been considered an architecture that used a host of supplemen-
tary arts, including poetry, music, acting, and a variety of visual arts and crafts,
to achieve its end. Aristotle touched on acting, though from the viewpoint of
the orator, when he wrote, a few years before the Poetics, the first systematic
handbook (literally, a techne) on Rhetoric, but unlike the Roman masters
of rhetoric, Cicero and Quintilian, he only focused on voice management
and delivery, and ignored deportment, gestures and body language. Shortly
afterward he also wrote what was to become the basis of every study and
theory of poetry and drama ever since. But the Poetics is, precisely, a treatise
23 Callimachus
[frr. 454456 Pf.] must have been a standard work, Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 70. See also, for
instance, Kratin. fr. 256; Ar. Ach. 626; Eq. 507, 517; Pax 737; Thesm. 88; Isocr. Panathen. 168. 12;
Arist. Eth. Eudem. 1230b19; Athen. 15. 56; Pollux 1. 79, 4. 122, 5. 100, 7. 46, 10. 96.
24 Inaccurately translated as writers of tragedies (Bywater), poets of tragedy (Heath),
and so forth. Butchers tragedians and Jankos periphrasis (Janko [1987] 5), others presented
tragedies instead of epics, are perhaps preferable, the former because it is nonspecific and
the latter because it circumvents the difficulty.
25 Cf. the preceding phrase: , when tragedy
Metaphysics 980b29982a2.
27 Eth. Nic. 1094a10b11, 1141b2327; Metaphys. 981ab6; Phys. 194b24.
54 g.m. sifakis
on the art of poetry; it was not devised to be about the composite art of
stage presentation of dramatic poetry (didaskalia) as well. The latter was,
of course, generally recognized (because it was so widespread) in antiquity,
and Aristotle collected historical evidence about performances and con-
tests in the dramatic festivals of Athens. However, didaskalia as a techne (or
rather architektonike in the Aristotelian sense), i.e. a system of principles
and interdependent rules organized so as to reflect actual practice and offer
potential guidance to performers, did not exist in antiquityperhaps it did
not come to be until thousands of years later, and Aristotle cannot be
blamed for not attempting to deal with it. Unlike the scope of Natya Sastra,
the Sanskrit poetics of theatre arts (in which dramatic poetry and music are
included),28 the composite art (actually, architektonike) of theatre production
is not a subject that could have been included in Aristotles Poetics. This is
why he could say without a trace of exaggeration, or lack of esteem for the
theatre, that the spectacle was something atechnotaton, utterly ignorant of
art rules; not merely the element which is the least artistic of all the parts,
and has least to do with the art of poetry,29 but an art in its own right that had
never been studied, described or systematized.30 Still, he includes opsis in
the parts of tragedy, because tragedy is intended for the stage; but that does
not make spectacle a part of tragic poetry, and Aristotle is careful to allow no
uncertainty about it. We will return to this question after we examine the
concept of the nontechnical in Poetics, in comparison with the use of the
same concept in Rhetoric.
There is a useful parallel between Poetics and Rhetoric in that both treatises
deal with the composition of literary works intended for public performance,
but their author refrains from discussing the latter because performance
relies on different arts (separate from the art of composition) which had not
been methodically examined by Aristotles time. Just as opsis is emotionally
affecting (psychagogikon) in tragedy, so hypokrisis, acting (mainly voice
modulation in the delivery of a public speech), is very powerful (
), as Aristotle writes, but nobody has so far attempted (to make
that [opsis] is not part of the poets art, but someone elses (Halliwell [1998] 340) is right in its
first part, but hardly so in its second (someone elses).
opsis in aristotles poetics 55
31 How and to what extent these nontechnical means of persuasion were used in Athenian
courts of law is a matter of recent dispute (see Thr [2005]) that has no direct relevance to the
subject of this paper.
56 g.m. sifakis
B.
.
But to give rise to this effect by mere spectacle is less artistic and depends on
spending. (14, 1453b78)
In both passages spectacle is said to be something unartistic (literally,
nontechnical). Passage A describes spectacle as unrelated to poetic art;
passage B describes it as an unartistic and expensive means to use in order
to bring about an aproximation of the tragic emotions (it actually results in a
sense of the portentous rather than of the terrible, and so it has nothing to do
with tragedy). The noticeable relation between these passages has prompted
interpreters to equate atechnotaton and atechnoteron as referring to poetic
art in both cases. But can this equation be valid? Much depends on whether
and (italicized in the translations of the two passages above) is explicative or
simply connective. Gudeman labeled it (in both passages) epexegeticum,32
and Sykoutris wrote that the (phrase) hardly related to poetic art explains
atechnotaton.33 More recently, R. Janko added a comment on passage A to
his translation of Poetics, which echoes Gudemans suggestion that and in
passages like those quoted above is equivalent to d.h. (i.e.): (the spectacle)
is less artistic, i.e. less germane to the art in question, poetic composition.34
Else simply replaced and with a comma in his translation and turned the
(element) least integral to the art of poetry in passage A into an epexegesis
of atechnotaton.35 However, and does not even make sense as explicative in
B, and does not have to be explicative in passage A, either. In both passages,
spectacle is qualified by two complements connected with the conjunction
and. These qualifications, although related, are not synonymous, and should
not be read as if the second clarifies the first. Which is exactly what has
happened with respect to unartistic and unrelated to poetic art.
It should be kept in mind that spectacle is a part of tragedy as much
as plot, character drawing, thought, poetic language and music are, but
it is hardly related to poetic art, which is actually the subject of Poetics.
Once this distinction between tragedy as dramaimplied by the definition
of passage (a) reads as follows: die szenische Ausstattung dagegen ist zwar reizvoll, liegt aber
der Dichtkunst ganz fern und ist ihr am wenigsten angemessen (Gudeman [1921] 25).
35 As for the costuming [= opsis], it has emotional power to be sure, but is the least artistic
element, the least integral to the art of poetry (Else [1963] 274).
58 g.m. sifakis
We should recall in this connection that several of the six formative elements
of tragedy may be seen to correspond to different arts or sciences, some of
which had already been the subject of major works by Aristotle, notably the
ethical works and Rhetoric. This is why he does not discuss dianoia in the
Poetics, because, as he says, [c]oncerning Thought, we may assume what is
said in the Rhetoric, to which inquiry the subject more strictly belongs (Poet.
19, 1456a3436, tr. Butcher). Melopoiia he does not even define because it is
too completely understood to require explanation (1449b35, tr. Bywater),
although it is possible he returned to the subject in the second (now lost) book
of Poetics (fr. 5, Bywater, Kassel) along the lines of his discussion of music as
imitation of emotions and ethical qualities we find in the last book of Politics.
Ethos he discusses briefly with reference to character-drawing so as to indicate
how the dramatic characters might be designed in a manner consistent with
tragic plots, but all basic concepts about ethical characteristics and virtues,
moral states and their relationship to emotions, as expounded in the ethical
works, are taken for granted in Poetics; and the same is true of Aristotles
fundamental account of the psychology of emotions and their contribution
to choice () and decision-making which is offered in the second
book of Rhetoric. But when we come to opsis there is no technical frame of
reference to which this formative element could be related. So the only thing
the philosopher could do was to point out this fact, as well as to assert that
theatre production was no part of tragic poetry, and later offer some practical
advice to the tragic poet, as we shall see, regarding the composition of a play
that was by definitionAristotles own definitionbound for the stage.
We are now better prepared to appreciate what Aristotle says about
opsis: it belongs to the six formative elements of tragedy because they [all
agents concerned: tragic poets and performers] carry out the imitation by
36 (1449b23).
37 (1447a13).
opsis in aristotles poetics 59
In any case, Aristotle also has some concrete advice, as far as theatre
production is concerned, to offer the aspiring dramatic poet. It comes in
the last chapter devoted to the construction of plots (Poet. ch. 17):
(The poet) should construct the plots (of his plays) and work out the diction
while at the same time placing (the action) before his eyes as much as possible;
for in this way, by seeing most clearly as if he were present at the incidents
themselves, he could find out what is appropriate and the contrary would be
least likely to escape notice. An indication of this is the fault found in Karkinos
[].38 And also by working out at the same time as many (incidents) as possible
with the (appropriate) figures (of movement); for owing to nature itself those
who are in a state of passion are most convincing: he who is tempest-tossed
38 Here follows a problematic short passage (21 words) about what escaped the notice of the
poet Karkinos because he had failed to visualize the situation in which the hero Amphiaraos
made his entry from the temple. We do not have the play and cannot understand what it was
that displeased the spectators, but S.H. Butchers supposition (in his 1894 edition of Poetics) is
still as good as any other: Amphiaraus was on his way from the temple. This fact escaped the
observation of one who did not see the situation. On the stage, however, the piece failed, the
audience being offended at the oversight (
).
60 g.m. sifakis
manifests his distress and he who is in anger manifests his irritation most
truthfully. This is the reason why the art of poetry requires a person who is
intelligent rather than manic; for the former of these are flexible while the
latter are beside themselves. (1455a2234)
I do not intend to repeat here what I have written about this passage in a
recent article on which the above translation is based.39 I shall only highlight
a few points bearing directly on the argument of the present paper. The
advice that the poet should place the action before his eyes, as if he were
present at the incidents themselves, while putting together the plot and
elaborating on the diction of his work sounds reasonable enough and perhaps
even applicable to any fiction writer. However, the reference to Karkinos
failure in actual theatre conditions shows that Aristotle speaks of plays that
will satisfy or displease the audience on account of their construction as
dramatic pieces intended for performance.
Even more clearly pertinent to performance is Aristotles requirement that
the dramatist should work out, at the same time as he composes his play, as
many incidents as possible in terms of schemata. This is usually translated as
gestures, but the word means figures, and in this case it should be taken
to mean figures of movement on the stage, including blocking (working
out the movement and positioning of actors), gestures, and even dancing.
Aristotles advice is pregnant with meaning because (a) he asks the poet
to envisage the action and its future performance, and so to anticipate the
work of the didaskalos while writing his play. (b) He implies that this can be
done by visualizing the characters when they are involved in emotionally
charged dramatic situationsalways crucial in tragedyas if they were real
people experiencing strong emotions; because owing to nature itself those
who are in a state of passion are most convincing: he who is tempest-tossed
manifests his distress and he who is in anger manifests his irritation most
truthfully; the poet will thus be able to incorporate (or imply) such physical
movements and behaviour in the composition of his text. (c) Finally, Aristotle
offers his assessment regarding the poets who are best suited to become good
dramatists: they are not the ecstatic but the intelligent ones, because only the
latter have the flexibility necessary for visualizing the emotional behaviour
of their characters as people going through predicaments in real life. This
can also be taken as indirect encouragement or discouragement, as the case
might be, to poets striving to become dramatists.
39 Sifakis (2009).
opsis in aristotles poetics 61
It is easy to appreciate why, by placing the action before his eyes, the poet
could prevent mistakes in turning a story into a well-articulated dramatic plot
that will play well before a theatre audience. However, this recommendation
is coupled with Aristotles further suggestion that the poet should work out
not only his plot at the same time as the diction, but also elaborate at the
same time as many (incidents) as possible with the (appropriate) figures (of
movement)the keyword in both cases being the verb (to
elaborate, work out in detail at the same time). It is obvious, then, that his
advice equally refers to performance and acting, something that is confirmed
by a similar passage from the Rhetoric, in which the practice of public speakers
to elaborate their speech () with figures of movement
and cries and clothes and acting in general is approvingly referred to, as it
makes them appear more pitiable: they thus make their disaster appear near
at hand by making it come into sight either as something about to happen
or something that has just happened.40
As we have seen, Aristotle (in the face of the above passage) does not
include gestures and body language in his discussion of acting (p. 53 above),
and we do not even know whether he would consider acting as a part
of the arrangement (or universe) of the spectacle (p. 52), which was
probably something more limited in scope than didaskalia / stage production.
However, the fact that he recognizes the power of acting both in theatres
and law-courts41 (although he states bluntly that hypokritike had not yet been
developed as an art form and its use depends on natural talent, see p. 55
above), unrelated though it is to opsis as such, surely testifies to his interest
in, and incisive observation of public/dramatic performances, particularly
when he defines what he calls the agonistic (competitive) style of diction as
hypokritikotate (most suitable to acting), further subdividing it into ethical
(expressive of ethos) and emotional. Hence the actors, he continues, are
after plays of this kind, and poets are after such actors (capable, that is, of
imitating character and emotions respectively [Rhet. 1413b912]). But here I
must refrain from further quoting Aristotles discussion of acting in Rhetoric
and refer the patient reader to earlier work of mine on this topic.42
40 []
( ,
) (Rhet. 1386a2935). The crucial expressions
used in this passage and in the one from the Poetics translated above (p. 59) include forms of
the verb (elaborate) and the phrase or (to put
before ones eyes).
41 For law-courts in particular see Edith Halls seminal paper: Hall (1995) and (2006a).
42 Sifakis (1998) and (2002).
PROPPING UP GREEK TRAGEDY: THE RIGHT USE OF OPSIS*
David Konstan
In this chapter, I undertake first to show that Aristotle, in the Poetics, does not
take the negative view of opsis or visual effects that many scholars suppose;
rather, he maintains that the use of such effects must be in the service of
the emotions proper to tragedy. Second, I argue that the Greek tragedians
indeed used stage props and other visible items in the way that Aristotle
recommends, and I provide several illustrative instances.
After enumerating the six parts or elements of tragedy, and describing the
first four (plot, character, thought, and diction), Aristotle goes on to state
(Poetics 1450b1520):
Of the last [two], melody is the greatest of the relishes [], whereas
visual effect [] is indeed the most stirring, but also the most unartistic
[] and least appropriate to the poetic art. For the power of tragedy
exists even without performance and actors, and besides, the art of the stage
designer is more important than that of poets in regard to the production of
visual effects.
This statement has led scholars to infer that Aristotle held the visual aspect
of tragedy (and to a degree also musical accompaniment) in contempt, and
in explanation of his attitude it has been suggested (among other things) that
he encountered drama chiefly through texts rather than in performance.1
* This chapter is dedicated to my friend and colleague, Stavroula Kiritsi, who has taught
me much about the performance of ancient drama. I wish also to thank Anne-Sophie Noel for
detailed comments on an earlier draft; I am particularly grateful to her for sending me a copy
of her unpublished talk (see Noel unpublished in the bibliography), and to see that we are
largely in agreement about Aristotle and the role of props.
1 See, e.g., Taplin (1977b) 477, who suggests that, on Aristotles view, the play is best
appreciated when read; Halliwell (1986) 343, for the idea that Aristotle was responding to
the loosening of the bond between text and performance; Bonanno 1997 on the intensely
literary environment of the late fourth century (it was the time when Lycurgus collected the
scripts of tragedy for preservation); also Hunter 2002. On Aristotle and reading of scripts, see
Bassi 2006. Billault 2001 suggests that Aristotle was responding to the relative decline of the
role of the poet in the 4th century, which was eclipsed by that of the actors and khoregos: En
distinguant lart potique du spectacle thtral, il [Aristotle] spare aussi le pote de ceux
dont l activit permet les representations. Marzullo 1980 suggests that Aristotle was reacting
rather to the exaggerated use of visual effects in tragedy of his own time; J.I. Porter (2010)
64 david konstan
But Aristotles view of opsis is more nuanced than many commentators have
supposed.2 Thus, a little later (1453b114) he affirms that it is possible, to be
sure, for what is frightening [ ] and pitiable to arise from visual
effects, but it is also possible for it to arise from the arrangement of events
itself, which is prior and pertains to the better poet. Aristotle then explains
why: For the plot must be arranged in such a way that one who hears the
events both shudders and feels pity as a result of what occurs, even without
seeing them: this is what one would experience upon hearing the plot of the
Oedipus. Aristotle goes on to observe:
To provide this by way of visual effect is more unartistic and also requires
financial support. Those who provide not what is frightening but rather merely
what is monstrous [ ] via visual effect have nothing in common
with tragedy. For one must not seek every kind of pleasure from tragedy, but
just that which is appropriate to it. Since the poet must provide pleasure from
pity and fear through representation, it is clear that this must be embedded in
the events.
Aristotle would seem to be allowing that the tragic emotions can be elicited
by opsis, but that this is properly the job of the story. Hence, a tragic poet must
not rely on visual effects alone, or primarily. But he then appears to qualify
this concession by associating opsis with a certain kind of shock effect rather
than with the emotions of pity and fear proper. At least to the extent that
visual effects are productive of this alternate response, it is not appropriate
to exploit them in tragedy. Toward the end of the Poetics, however, where
Aristotle extols tragedy as superior to epic, he seems to grant visual effects a
greater value. He repeats that one can appreciate drama, like epic, by reading,
but adds that tragedy has everything that epic has (it can even exploit the
hexameter meter), but has in addition, as no small element, music and
115 affirms: If Aristotle claims to be able to experience fear and terror (and therefore pity and
possibly catharsis) merely from reading Oedipus the King, or from hearing it read, then it is
surely because in his minds eye he is hearing the voices, the screams, the choral antiphonies,
the verbal rhythms, the staccatos and stichomythias, is visualizing the staging and the scenery,
the stumbling of the blinded king, and so on, just as the poet had done when he composed
the drama to begin with. Contra Scott 1999, who insists that dance (and to a lesser degree
spectacle) were essential to Aristotles theory of tragedy; on the importance of music, see
Sifakis (2001) 5471, who defends, among other things, the importance of relishes in cuisine
(without hdusmata there is no cooking, p. 57).
2 Cf. De Marinis (2009) 1 pur restando, nellinsieme, allinterno di una concezione del
teatro come fatto verbale-letterario, le considerazioni che il filosofo antico [i.e., Aristotle]
dedica alle varie componenti semiologiche ed espressive dello spettacolo, e in particolare ai
rapporti fra testo scritto e scena, sono in realt molto pi complesse e sfaccettate, quando
non contraddittorie, di quel che risulta di solito dalle moderne interpretazioni della Poetica.
propping up greek tragedy 65
visual effects, through which pleasures are most vividly produced (1462a15
17). This would seem flatly to contradict Aristotles earlier censure of visual
effects, and indeed many editors have bracketed the words .3
The reason for the deletion is partly that the word element () is in the
singular, and so would seem to refer to just one part of tragedy, not two (music
and visual effects), and partly the fact that Aristotle had earlier specified that
music was the most pleasing element (the word for relishes [] is
related to that for pleasures []), whereas visual effect was responsible
rather for what is frightening or shocking. But it is also, no doubt, due to a
perceived inconsistency between this claim for visual effects and Aristotles
earlier insistence that the pleasure deriving from such effects has nothing to
do with that specific to tragedy (and he repeats a few lines later that tragedy
must not produce just any kind of pleasure, 1462b1314).
I wish first to argue, or rather observe, that Aristotle does not maintain
that the pleasure produced by visual effects is necessarily incompatible with
the pleasure proper to tragedy.4 Visual effects can indeed give rise to strong
responses in the audience that are not the emotions specific to tragedy,
according to Aristotle, and should not be exploited to this end. But they can
also provide, or at least support, a suitably tragic pleasure in conjunction
with the right kind of muthos. To see how, we must consider just what is at
stake in the production of pity and fear, and why this should be at odds with
what Aristotle calls , that is, mere shock or horror, which not
3 Deleted, e.g., by Spengel 1837, followed by Kassel (1965) 48; Bywater (1909/1984) 2340
(translation adapted to follow Kassels text, though Bywater retained it in his 1909 edition);
Whalley (1997) 137; retained by Halliwell 1995, in the new Loeb edition, and defended
somewhat tentatively by Janko (1987) 156; Heath (1996) xxxvi, xlviii expresses doubts, but
retains it in his translation (p. 47). On the plural, see Bonanno 2000.
4 Chaston (2010) 7 makes a stronger claim: To privilege the visual does not appear at
odds with Aristotles views. She bases her view on two passages in particular. In the first (Poetics
1148b1518), Aristotle explains the pleasure that is derived from viewing images (), and
relates this to the pleasure people take in seeing an imitation (); but this pleasure
is not necessarily that appropriate to tragedy. In the second (Poetics 1449b3133), Aristotle
states that since agents produce representation [], it follows first, of necessity, that
the arrangement of the visual [ ] should be some part of tragedy. But
Aristotle is here justifying the inclusion of visual effects at all among the parts of tragedy; by
arrangement (), Aristotle refers to the appearance or composition (or, perhaps, the
decorative quality) of individual items such as masks, costumes, or scenery, not, I think, as
some take it, to lordine di ci che si vede (De Marinis (2009) 2). I may add that Aristotles
recommendation that the playwright visualize the action and the gestures and postures of
the actors (Poetics 1455a2234) shows that he certainly has performance in mind, but does
not bear directly on his discussion of opsis; see especially Sifakis 2009 for the interpretation of
this passage.
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only differs from the emotions that tragedy seeks to elicit but fails even to
qualify as an emotion at all, as Aristotle understands the idea.5
How, then, does tragedy elicit pity and fear? I have argued elsewhere
(Konstan 2008) that these emotions are not responses to moments of high
tension in a play, for example to Philoctetes howls of pain in Sophocles
tragedy, or the self-blinding of Oedipusthat is, the moment at which he
appears on stage with bloody sockets, or when the action is narrated by the
messenger. Rather, it is the story of Oedipus sufferings from beginning to
end that arouses pity and fear in the audience, and similarly for Philoctetes,
however pitiable he may seem when he is overcome by the anguish of his
wound. To put it differently, pity and fear are aroused by the complete action
or praxis, with its beginning, middle, and end. They are not episodic, but
totalizing, and correspond to the kind of praxis that is proper to tragedy. Let
me briefly review the evidence for this interpretation.
Pity and fear are first mentioned in the Poetics in the definition of tragedy:
Tragedy, then, is a representation of a serious and complete action that
has magnitude , effecting, through pity and fear, the catharsis of such
sentiments [] (1449b2428; translations are my own). The most
natural way to understand this statement, I think, is that pity and fear are a
consequence of the complete action. In the next passage concerning pity and
fear, Aristotle observes: since the representation is not just of a complete
action but also of frightening and pitiable things, these things [i.e., things
that are frightening and pitiable] occur most of all when they occur contrary
to expectation on account of each other [i.e., are causally related]. For in
this way they have more of the amazing than if they occur spontaneously
and by chance (1452a16). Once again, pity and fear seem to respond to the
chain of events that constitute the action as a whole, and not to individual
moments. Aristotle cites in illustration an actual event in which a statue
of Mitys fell upon and killed Mitys assassin: though accidental, the end is
morally satisfying, and Aristotle concludes by saying: Thus such stories are
necessarily the finest (1542a1011).
In his discussion of recognitions, Aristotle affirms that they are best
in tragedy when they coincide with the reversal (peripeteia): for such a
recognition and reversal will have either pity or fear, and it is of such actions
that tragedy is assumed to be a representation (1452a36b1). The moment of
recognition is of course often surprising, but it is the reversal, which heralds
5 For as shock, see Freeland (1992) 121; cf. Dadlez (2005) 354.
propping up greek tragedy 67
the denouement and the completion of the action, that elicits pity and fear. So
too, Aristotle maintains that the composition () of a tragedy should be
complex (or intricate: ) rather than simple (), and imitative
of frightening and pitiable things (1452b3033): what is imitated is, I take
it, the tragic praxis as a whole. Again, when Aristotle states that only those
plots are productive of fear and pity in which a man of high station, but not
outstandingly virtuous, suffers misfortune, and this on account of an error
rather than vice (1453a710), it seems clear that these emotions are elicited
by the story, not by isolated pathetic episodes. Finally, Aristotle notes that
the kinds of actions best suited to produce fear and pity are those that occur
among kin ( , 1453b19); it is the entire praxis, as represented in
the play, that generates the tragic emotions.6
I have been arguing that it is the complete praxis that produces pity and
fear because, if this is in fact the case, it is clear why Aristotle will not have
approved of the effects caused by visual props, insofar as they merely induce
a sense of shock or horror that is independent of the action or plot. Pity and
fear are, for Aristotle, distinct from such elementary and instinctive responses
as shock or horror, which do not have the moral complexity of emotions or
path proper. Consider the image of the self-blinded Oedipus, as he staggers
on stage from the central portal of the palace, no doubt wearing a bloodied,
eyeless mask. Is this sight in and of itself pitiable? The answer is clearly no. For
if Oedipus deserved to be blindedif the act of killing his father had really
been criminal, for examplewe would not pity him, according to Aristotle,
any more than we pity murderers who have been condemned in court. The
same holds true for Philoctetes agonies: if he is suffering them justly, there
is no room for pity, which Aristotle defines as a kind of pain in the case of
an apparent destructive or painful harm in one not deserving to encounter
it, adding that it must be of the kind that one might expect oneself, or one
of ones own, to suffer (Rhetoric 2.8, 1385b1316); as a result, we tend to pity
people who are in some respect similar () to ourselves. Nor would such
spectacles inspire fear in the audience, inasmuch as fear too, or at least fear
for others, depends on recognizing ones similarity to the person in danger;
as Aristotle puts it in the Poetics, pity concerns the undeserving person,
fear concerns the one who is similar (13, 1453a26). Since the spectators do
not regard themselves as vicious, they will not recognize a likeness between
6 The simple act of murdering a kinsman is not in itself productive of pity and fear; it must
occur as a result of a chain of events that makes the deed seem both necessary and surprising.
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in this way, and in what follows I offer a few illustrations of what Aristotle
might have considered to be a proper use of opsis.7
At the beginning of Sophocles Oedipus the King, the scene is carefully set
out, in the manner of the Greek tragedians, who had a habit of incorporating
stage directions in the dialogue.8 As Oedipus surveys the group that has come
to supplicate him, his first words are (children, 1), further specified
as young brood ( ), and he repeats the vocative in v. 6 (). At
this point, he turns and hails a single old man as (9). In between these
two addresses, he proudly identifies himself as Oedipus, famous among all
men (8). Sophocles has created a vivid tableau, and the old priest confirms
the arrangement in his opening statement: You see our ages as we sit at
your altars, some not yet strong enough to fly far, others heavy with old age
(1517). He goes on to identify himself as a priest of Zeus, and the others as
the cream of the unwed youths ( , 1819). Dawe (1977) 206 has
explained that the latter contrast is one of function (priest vs. acolytes), and
that there are just two groups on stage. his must be right; the age of the
acolytes can be very young, as the description of them as still fledglings
suggests. It is a vivid opening scene, with children on one side, aged men
on the other, and Oedipus in the centre, though it is not designed to instil
horror in the spectators. Why has Sophocles been so careful to project it in
the text? The reason may lie in the way it signifies a central theme of the play.
Although it is not stated explicitly, the audience can be expected to have
known that the riddle which the Sphinx posed, and which Oedipus solved,
went roughly like this: What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs in the
afternoon, and three legs in the evening (alternate version: What has one
voice, and is four-footed, two-footed and three-footed?).9 Oedipus answer
7 It has been suggested that opsis in the Poetics refers exclusively to masks and costume
(cf. Else (1967) 90; Else (1986) 136; Halliwell (1986) 338339; Chaston (2010) 11), but there does
not seem to be a good reason to restrict the reference so narrowly; to be sure, props and stage
scenery were sparse, but might be said to have a special impact for that very reason; so Taplin
(1977b) 478, who maintains, rightly in my view, that opsis must mean what is seen and cannot
have a more superficial sense (that is, just masks and costume).
8 Cf. Wilamowitz (1914b) xxxiv: e verbis poetarum satis certo colligi actionem; Taplin (1977b)
doubt has been expressed on whether Sophocles would have been familiar with this version
of the riddle (the relative chronology of the two Oedipus tragedies is not certain), but the
implicit logic of the play makes it likely, in my view, that he was. See also Athenaeus 10 456B,
citing Asclepiades, FGrHist 12F; AP 14.64; Tzetzes on Lycophron 7; Apollodorus 3.5.8; Diodorus
Siculus 4.64.34; scholia on Euripides Phoenissae 50; scholia on Odyssey 11.271; hypothesis to
Aeschylus Septem; Mythographus Vaticanus 2.230.
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was, of course, Man, with the times of day standing for the stages of life:
infancy, maturity, and old age. But as critics have seen, there is a sense in
which the answer refers more particularly to Oedipus himself, who in the
course of the single day on which the action takes place will discover the
secret of his own infancy and end up blind and in need of a staff, that is, the
third leg that characterizes the dusk of life.10 Teiresias indeed predicts that
Oedipus will end up depending on a stick (, 456), and it is plausible
that, after blinding himself, he emerged with such a prop in hand.11 I would
suggest that, although there is no explicit mention in the text, the priest and
the other old men at the opening tableau too are equipped with canes, and
that the scene thus encapsulates the trajectory of Oedipus over the course
of the action, from child to adult to ruined old man. The disposition of the
actors on stage, together with the conspicuous prop of the walking stick,
condense the plot into a powerful image that would seem to collapse human
life into a single moment; the visual simultaneity of the three ages of man
mirrors the dramatic evolution of the protagonist.
A second example of how a prop may serve to symbolize the theme of
a tragedy, I suggest, is the wreath in Euripides Hippolytus, from which the
second version of the play takes its epithet, Stephanias or Stephanephoros;12
the reference is to the wreath (, v. 73) that Hippolytus carries to
place on the statue of Artemis near the beginning of the action. This wreath,
which has been plucked, we are told, from an untouched or virgin meadow
( , 7374; cf. 76), would appear to symbolize, among other
things, Hippolytus own virginity, on which he insists ( [80] may
bear this sense), although the association of the wreath with virginity is
not as marked in classical literature as it is in other cultures.13 At all events,
10 Cf. Kirk (1986) 17, who notes, in connection with the name Oedipus, that the man who
knows, oide, the truth about the three ages of man as contained in the Sphinxs riddle is the
very one who rejects that truth by confounding the three ages in his own case.
11 George W.M. Harrison suggests to me that the walking stick on which Oedipus pre-
sumably leans when blind may also be an ironic recollection of the scepter he carries as king
(there may be a hint of this irony in Teiresias words).
12 Stephanias: Aristophanes of Byzantium, in the hypothesis to the play; Stephanephoros:
to Aphrodite 119-2-0: ,
; Hes. Theog. 5778 (of Pandora); Pindar Partheneia fr. 94b1112:
; Bacchylides 13.5856. In Goethes Faust, Margarete laments: Zerrissen
liegt der Kranz, die Blumen zerstreut (Shredded lies the wreath, strewn the flowers). Der
Kranz der Keuschheit (the wreath of chastity) is a well-known symbol. On the wreath in the
Hippolytus, see Dingel 2009.
propping up greek tragedy 71
14 The evidence that Sophocles introduced scene painting in our sense of the word is
Hippolytus that work in much the way the wreath may have done, that is, to unite thematically
different moments in the play. One is the veil, with which Phaedra covers herself in shame
(, 243, 250), and with which Hippolytus, when he is dying at the very end of the tragedy,
asks to be covered (, 1458); the otherand far more speculative, as Nikolsky notes
is the couch (, 131, 180) on which Phaedra lies in her desperation, and which perhaps
reappears (or something resembling it: a stretcher, perhaps) at the end of the tragedy when
the torn body of Hippolytus is carried on stage (he is lifted up at 13581363, but conceivably is
simply being supported by an attendant). For discussion, see Nikolsky (2011) chapter 7; also,
Noel 2009 on the bed as a prop in the Hippolytus and other tragedies.
72 david konstan
If the above examples are any indication of how props and settings were
typically employed on the Athenian stage, at least by the best dramatists, then
Aristotle was not necessarily prescribing how opsis should be employed so
much as recording actual practice. Of course, not every stage prop necessarily
had a symbolic function. Philoctetes bow, for example, is essential to the
action, but may not have carried an extra symbolic valence or charge; or if
it did, I have not discovered it.17 But in the bare island that Philoctetes has
inhabited alone for ten years, and which would offer little distraction to the
eye as a backdrop to the action (as always mainly verbal) of the play, there is
one feature that might have borne a meaning beyond itself, and that is the
cave in which Philoctetes found shelter, and more particularly the fact that it
had two mouths or entrances. Odysseus offers this description of Philoctetes
habitat at the very beginning of the play, as he instructs Neoptolemus to
reconnoitre the territory: It is now your job to assist me with the rest, and
see where there is a twin-mouthed rock, of such a sort that in the cold there
is a double seat in the sun, while in summer a breeze sends sleep through the
perforated chamber (1519). Several scholars have argued that the second
entrance to the cave was from behind the skn, and hence out of sight to
the audience.18 Without taking a firm position on the utility of the double
entrance for entrances and exits (whether of Philoctetes or of Odysseus),
I would like to suggest that the two mouths of the cave have a symbolic
function, and one that may incline us to think that both were visible. In this
case, I suspect an allusion to the cave of the nymphs in the Odyssey, where
again an or cave is said to be provided with two doors (13.109), one
facing north and accessible to mortals, whereas that looking to the south is
reserved for the gods.19 The double entrance to Philoctetes cave may thus
carry a hint of his connection with the divinized Heracles, who will make a
17 Vayos Liapis and Anne-Sophie Noel advise me that Philoctetes bow does function as a
powerful symbol, condensing the plays major themes and plotlines (Philoctetes hardship
but also his dangerousness, the Greeks callousness towards him but also their need for him)
into a visually arresting material object. See further Fletcher, this volume.
18 Cf., e.g, Woodhouse (1912) 240242, who describes the cave as a natural tunnel, pierced
through an angle of the cliff, and with a single visible entrance; Dale (1956) 104106 (repr. in
Dale 1969); Inoue (1979) 226n30; OKell 1999; contra Robinson (1969) 3437, who argues that
both mouths of the cave were visible on stage; Linforth (1963) 97n2. Kamerbeek (1980) 29 ad
1619 inclines toward Woodhouses view, without feeling absolutely sure about it.
19 The cave of the nymphs caught the attention of ancient commentators, most conspicu-
surprise appearance ex machina at the end of the play, and something too of
the mystery of mankinds relationship to the gods generally.
In the Prometheus Bound attributed to Aeschylus, but very likely edited
and produced by his son under the fathers name (see West 2000), the feature
that dominated the stage in the original performance was doubtless the rock
to which Prometheus was bound. Like the bow in Sophocles Philoctetes, this
bit of scenery is necessary to the plot, and whatever implicit meaning its
looming presence suggested was a by-product of its function in the story. But
there is another striking visual element in the play that has no such integral
role, and perhaps was incorporated not just for shock effectthough it may
have had this toobut for its symbolic significance. I am referring to the
swift-winged bird ( , 286), which, guided by thought
alone, draws the chariot of Oceanus as he enters, very likely swung in on the
crane that was used for such epiphanies (so the scholia ad 284b).20 There is
no precise indication of the nature of this creature, but the scholia (ad 284a)
affirm that it is the or griffin, a birdlike but four-legged animal, and
most swift.21 If so, we may imagine that it anticipates the later appearance of
Io, a woman bearing horns (, 674) and thus another hybrid creature:
doubtless her mask was spectacular. If there was a kind of mirror or echo
effect in the representation of mixed species near the beginning and toward
the latter part of the play, then it would resemble the way the staff and the
wreath are deployed in Sophocles Oedipus and Philoctetes respectivelya
visual device serving to bind together two crucial moments in the action.
Assuming that Aeschylus (or his son) sought to produce such an impres-
sion, we may inquire whether, in addition to the visual responsion, the
imagery of hybridization had some deeper connection with the theme of
the tragedy (or indeed the trilogy as a whole). In pursuing this possibility,
one is led to pile conjecture upon hypothesis, and the result is necessarily
speculative at best. But this is an unavoidable hazard in the analysis of opsis
as a handmaiden to the muthos, such as Aristotle (I believe) would have
approved, and if nothing else, the effort itself may open up some productive
lines of inquiry. More than thirty years ago, I ventured an interpretation of
the exchange between Oceanus and Prometheus in the Prometheus Bound,
according to which Prometheus recitation of the torments endured by
Atlas and Typho served a double purpose (Konstan 1977). On the one hand,
Martin Revermann
The iconography depicting Telephus taking the baby Orestes hostage at the
altar is commonly, and rightly, considered to be theatre-related, inspired by
Euripides Telephus tragedy of 438.1 But what exactly does instil in the viewer a
sense of tragedy, both in the sense of a specific type of narrative and a specific
kind of theatre? The cues are different ones, and they work cumulatively:
movement and proxemics (i.e. the relative position of the figures); the choice
of scene; and the match between the visual narrative seen on the vase and
the play, the performative narrative that has come down to us as a script.
But at least equally crucial cues are provided by the props in this scene:
the blood-stained altar and, most of all, the two swords: one about to be
drawn by Agamemnon and positioned very prominently in mid-centre of
the visual field, the other held less conspicuously but as an equal threat by
Telephus. It is those two weapons that vitally contribute to the sense of grave
imminent danger that the viewer needs in order to construct the picture as
tragic. But their force, in conjunction with the other cues provided in the
picture, extends beyond the situational towards the generic: the swords point
to tragedy. It is, I believe, not an overstatement to call the sword the tragic
prop. The so-called Wrzburg actor, that precious sherd which adorns just
about any handbook on the Greek theatre, holds a tragic mask in his right
handand a sword in his left hand, cueing us into realizing that mask and
prop in an equal manner indicate and confer his stature as a tragic actor.
Embodying as it does a sense of crisis and, at least potentially, lethal violence,
the sword captures the essence of tragedy and tragic conflict.2
866868.
2 When close to a thousand years after those vessels were made and painted Heliodorus
opens his monumental novel by zooming in on the enigmatic aftermath of a killing spree at
78 martin revermann
Evidence from comedy illustrates this point even more clearly. In Aristo-
phanes Wasps, Philocleon asks for a sword in case he gets defeated in the
upcoming argument with his son
And give me a sword. For if I am beaten by you in our argument, I will fall on
the sword. (Wasps 522f.)
Philocleons request may or may not be fulfilled. But the issue of physical
materialization is, in fact, a secondary one. The sword is so closely associated
with tragedy and its world of doom, menace and terminal destruction that
its sheer mention suffices to create a paratragic modality which confers to
Philocleon the status of a paratragic hero, not dissimilar to the way that
significant silence, another feature appropriated from tragedy,3 evokes a
similar modality before (317) and at the end of the agon (741). The symbolic
power of the sword, then, is so pervasive that it manages to generate
theatrical meaning irrespective of its physical manifestation. While a visible
sword would add a different sensematerial and more permanentto this
modality, the sheer fact that the sword is being called for is enough to generate
such a modality in the first place.
Old Comedy, of course, indulges in stage properties which, in conjunction
with proxemics, are chiefly responsible for creating the impression of genre-
typical busyness. Proxemics and props are in fact linked in the form of the
carrier entry which is a standard way of producing a prop on the comic
stage. Time and again it is theatre-related vase paintings, indispensable
witnesses to the visual poetics of Greek drama, which reveal to us the
pivotal importance of props to comic playwriting: in the Goose Play vases,
for instance, appropriately named after what quite certainly was the prop
of the play (possibly together with the stick).4 Or they may bring home
to us just how central a prop we see mentioned in a script actually is in
performance. The now-famous Wrzburg Telephus crater with its parody
of the Telephus scene (discussed at the beginning of this paper) shows five
(!) props: a large wine jar, a wine skin, the little boots for that wine-skin,
the blood-stained altarand, of course, the big kitchen knife at the very
centre. This, a domestic and mundane object, is what the grand sword of
the tragic Telephus has morphed into in the hands of a comic playwright
who pursues a strategy entirely characteristic of comedy: deflate in status
the beach, he configures his protagonists, Theagenes and Charicleia, as a tragic tableauwith
her holding a sword (Heliodorus 1.2).
3 Discussed for tragedy by Taplin (1972).
4 Taplin (1993) 11.3 and 10.2 with pp. 3032.
generalizing about props 79
(sword becomes house knife) and inflate in size (make the knife a big one!).5
This prominence in comedy does not mean that tragedy, or satyr play for
that matter, dismisses props as secondary or superfluous. On the contrary:
the urn in Sophocles Electra is a very well-known example (to which I will
return), and the lyre in Sophocles satyr play The Trackers (Ichneutai) may
well have occupied a similarly prominent postion. The difference, rather, is
one of quantity and concentration. Comedy with its short attention-span
devotes less time individually to a greater number of props while tragedy,
once choosing to dwell on a particular physical object, will not easily loosen
its grip.
5 The huge dung beetle in Peace operates along a similar paratragic strategy of combining a
deflation in status (Bellerophontes horse becomes a dung beetle) with an inflation in physical
size.
6 There is a surprising shortage in Theatre Studies of work dedicated solely to props, in
whatever historical period and theatrical context. The best and most incisive discussions
known to me are a more general one, the inspiring chapter on stage objects in McAuley (1999)
169209, and Sofers case-study oriented monograph on the stage life of props (Sofer 2003).
Neither of these discusses props of the ancient Greek or Roman theatre. For Greek tragedy the
case studies discussed in Taplin (1978) 77100 are highly stimulating. Chaston (2010) pursues
a cognitive approach to props in tragedy.
80 martin revermann
dimension into Greek theatre (or any theatre, for that matter). Instead,
my interest is entirely utilitarian: I believe that aspects of psychoanalysis
illustrate quite well the theatrical dynamics of props as I see them, namely as
visualized mini-narratives in their own right, as stage objects with stories to
tell. They therefore make a particularly strong appeal to audience collusion,
collaboration and, most importantly of all, imagination, which I consider
a key dimension of the ancient Greek theatre. And it may well be this
strong imaginative appeal of props which ultimately accounts for why
psychoanalytical dream analysis can be so illuminating for analysing stage
objects. After all, dreams, like theatre, are exceptionally creative acts of
human self-expression: highly visual, intensely emotional, fully dramatized
and lavishly theatricalised.
As detached (or detachable) and tangible physical entities of some
durability, props tend to have a continuity and presence on stage not normally
shared by more ephemeral elements of theatrical communication such as
words or gestures. The power of props resides not least in the fact that,
qua not being based on verbal codes, they are immensely communicable,
more communicable in fact than language itself. As a rule of thumb, every
spectator understands, or thinks that he or she understands, props. The codes
generated by props as communicative systems are universally decodable, at
the level of denotation, connotation and annotation alike: a table is a table,
a sword is a sword.7
But while this may be a useful initial working hypothesis, instances
where this working hypothesis breaks down are highly illuminating. In the
production of Euripides Medea by the Japanese director Yukio Ninagawa,
which was originally conceived in 1978 for a Japanese audience and then
toured the world for just over 20 years playing to most diverse audiences,
elements from the Greek and the contemporary Western theatre were
interwoven with features of the Japanese theatre traditions Noh, Kabuki
and Bunraku (Japanese puppet theatre).8 This strategy of cross-cultural
theatrical fusion was, for instance, evident in Medeas final exit on the chariot
where the corpses of Medeas two boys were represented by two white
7 For an introduction to theatre semiotics as applied to the ancient Greek theatre see
Revermann (2006a) 2545. A useful introduction to semiotics and semiotic concepts in general
is Chandler (2007), while Danesi and Perron (1999) apply semiotics more broadly to Cultural
Studies.
8 Smethurst (2000) and (2002) are two excellent discussions which contextualize this
plot, as drivers of the dramatic, of their supremacy and replaced them with
discontinuous, disjointed and fragmented enactments of raw theatricality to
which physical objects add a forceful material presence.11
The most interesting and relevant comparator tradition in this context,
however, is Japanese Noh theatre. As far as props are concerned, the Noh stage
itself is uncluttered and clean. But this only serves to highlight the impor-
tance of two key props, at least one of which is featured in very many Noh
plays. The first is the wide-spread use in Noh of simple rectangular frames,
classified as tsukurimono = assembled thing or, specifically associated with
the principal actor (shite), as torii.12 As props and sign systems, these frames
are just about as polyfunctional and mobile as can be: they may, for instance,
represent a palace, a carriage, a grave mound or a hutjust about anything,
in other words, a human being can stand on, sit in or move with. With this
peculiar rectangular structure we are arguably moving beyond the symbolic
into a theatre of pure abstraction and imagination. The second key prop in
Noh is the fan, an extraordinarily beautiful and flamboyant stage object. For
the main actor (shite) in particular it is a principal means of expression, since
dance movements conducted while carrying the fan can symbolize a wide
range of activities and emotional states (like joy or sleeping).13 Naturalistic
props, i.e. objects that actually represent on stage exactly what they represent
off stage, are in fact rare in Noh, the most memorable one being a huge bell
that is the central prop of the Noh play Dojoji (in the plays signature scene
the shite has to jump under the massive bell as it falls to the ground).14
If there is, then, a continuum of sorts in the handling of stage objects between
the extremes of symbolist compression on the one hand and naturalistic
exuberance on the other, trying to situate within this continuum (very much
at the macro-level) the use of props in the ancient Greek theatre of the 5th
and 4th centuries is a worthwhile and illuminating exercise. There is no
reason to believe that Greek theatre, in this or in other aspects, was ever
15 The most perceptive discussions of this scene continue to be those by Taplin (1977b)
(and best-known) naturalist manifesto, Strindberg emphasizes that the naturalist theatre he
envisions calls for a small and intimate stage. Strindbergs short-lived own theatre in Stockholm
was indeed called the Intimate Theatre, and the interest of naturalist theatre in the room as
generalizing about props 85
physical conditions meant that the theatricality of the theatre, i.e. the fact
that it is an artificial construct rather than some replica of real life, was always
fully exposed and laid bare: among many other things, the omnipresence
of the chorus and the ornately dressed aulos player, the use of theatrical
machinery like the mekhane or ekkyklema in full view of the audience or the
presence of stage hands to remove props (mentioned right at the beginning
of the parabasis of Peace) all attest to that fact quite vividly. It is not at all
trivial to note in this context that the sheer size of the ancient theatres meant
that no playwright or actor could take it for granted that everyone in the
audience would in fact even be able to see all stage objects in sufficient detail
(not to mention that no visual aids were available to the ancient spectator).
This may well be one of the reasons why props are regularly dwelt on in the
scripts themselves: in this kind of theatre stage objects need text in order to
catch an audiences attention and to acquire the theatrical significance that
the playwright wants to invest them with.
As visual mini-narratives with stories to tell props on the Greek stage exist
both in the visual and in the narrative dimension. Their analysis is con-
sequently situated within an interesting nexus of visual, performative and
textual poetics. The urn in Sophocles Electra illustrates those interconnec-
tions in an exemplary fashion. This stage object is an alternate narrative
which is deceitfully counterfactual: what if Orestes were dead? is the ques-
tion it poses to anyone who is exposed to it (including the audience), and this
question leads to discrepant decoding (this time among characters). The urn
provokes and explores the (largely bipolar) reactions to this counterfactual
scenario of Clytemnestra (joy), Electra (destitution), the chorus (horror) and
Aegisthus (skeptical curiosity) respectively. The prop thereby turns into a
complex emotional focalizer of significant emotional impact, dramaturgical
relevance and performative power, to be watched unfold by those who have
superior awareness of actual reality (Orestes is alive), i.e. Orestes, Pylades
and the audience (but not the chorus).
As objects to be seen props are singled outin a theatre with no artificial
lighting and no spot-light effectby leaving their mark in the script and/or
a setting which articulates environment and becomes a dramatis persona in its own right is
well known. This and other features are discussed in Williams (1977), a stimulating reflection
on key aspects of naturalism/realism.
86 martin revermann
him. What is, however, truly remarkable about the relationship between
narrative and prop in Greek drama is that a significant number of props,
certainly in tragedy, only exist in narrative and never physically materialize
on stage. Who sees the noose with which Iocasta hangs herself, or the
chariot on which Hippolytus dies? The long eyewitness narratives that are
so characteristic of Greek tragedy feature a wide array of props. Given the
nature of those eyewitness narratives, many of those props are associated
with violence, often spectacularly so. These props are wholly imaginary in
the sense that they never physically materialize.19 But they are not imaginary
in the sense that they do not exist, or only exist as something ephemeral,
perfunctory or evanescent. Quite the contrary: by appealing to the audiences
imaginationby forcing, even, the spectator to re-create them, individually,
in their own theatre of mindthese imaginary stage objects have a
presence that arguably engages the spectator even more than a prop that is
visible on stage. The necessity for their imaginative materialization in the
mind(s) of the spectator(s) engages, involves and not least empowers the
onlooker in extraordinary ways (Shakespearean drama, staged in its original
context, may be the only true comparator here). Props may be seen as the
19 It is, however, worth mentioning that props invoked in eyewitness narratives do mate-
rialize on theatre-related vase paintings, which regularly depict off-stage action. Moreover,
there may have been cases where the crucial prop of an eyewitness narrative (the murder
weapon, for instance) was being presented to the audience in the subsequent revelation scene.
The cloth in which Agamemnon was caught to be killed was re-used by Orestes and appears
to have been presented to the audience twice, after each murder (the implication of Ch. 980,
see Taplin (1977b) 358 pace Garvie (1986) 320). Also, the sword with which Agamemnon is
killed (Ag. 1262f. and 1529) may have materialized on stage later on, although the argument
against Clytemnestra holding that murder weapon is a strong one: she herself points to her
right hand, and not the murder weapon, as having accomplished the bloody deed (1405), and
the contrast with Aegisthus who needs guards to protect him with their swords (1651) seems
deliberate. Clytemnestra, in fact, appears to be associated with the axe rather than the sword
(Ch. 889), and the sparse surviving iconography of the actual murder, some of which may
actually pre-date the Oresteia, shows her not as the primary killer (and not even necessarily
armed), see Easterling (2005) 3336 and Hall (2005) 5761. In the corresponding scene of the
Choephori where the bodies of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra are being presented, Orestes the
avenger probably did hold the murder weapon (possibly from as early on as Ch. 892), even
if it is not mentioned until the beginning of Eumenides when Orestes is being described as
(still?) holding on to it (Eum. 42): the effect of the perpetrator being glued to his murder
weapon certainly seems too good to miss out on. In Sophocles Electra, by contrast, the logic
of the revenge trap set by Orestes requires the absence on stage of any weapons or other
murder-related props. The situation in Euripides Electra is not entirely clear. Electra specifi-
cally emphasizes that during the actual killing they were both pushing the sword (12211226),
but nothing in the script points to the murder weapons visibility later on. The preserved text,
however, is lacunose at a decisive moment (11771181, Orestes first words when entering after
the murder).
88 martin revermann
preserve of the actors who hold them, the directors who stage them and the
playwrights who invent them. But their potential is only fully actualized at
the very moment when they start to communicate with their audiences, who
have eyes, and minds, to see.
ACTORS PROPERTIES IN ANCIENT GREEK DRAMA:
AN OVERVIEW *
Rob Tordoff
* I would like to thank the editors and the anonymous referee for helpful comments and
suggestions. Any and all remaining shortcomings are mine. I am also very grateful to a number
of contributors who were kind enough to share their chapters with me: R.C. Ketterer, David
Konstan, G.M. Sifakis and Rosie Wyles.
1 For the reasons for critical inattention to props in recent theatre scholarship (in
particular, the idealization of the allegedly bare stage of Shakespeare), see Harris and Korda
(2007) 211.
2 Misunderstanding of Aristotles Poetics on the subject of opsis (spectacle) is in no small
measure to blame here (for corrective discussions, see Konstan and Sifakis in this volume).
It is frequently held that Aristotle thought the visual aspects of theatre to be relatively
unimportant, ranking them low among the six parts of tragedy (1450a710), describing them
as of least concern to the art of the poet (1450b1617), and making them the responsibility of
the skeuopoios (1450b20), probably meaning primarily a mask-maker as in Ar. Eq. 232 (but
if the term skeue may not also cover costumes and props, it is difficult to see what would;
cf. Konstan in this volume). As Sifakis (this volume) shows, the key to the problem is that
Aristotle conceptualizes the work of the poet as an art (techne) and distinguishes it from the
(in some cases inartistic) business of other theatre practitioners, among them the didaskalos
or producer; the Poetics, then, is not the place to expect analysis of these aspects of dramaturgy.
There are hints in the evidence of a lost play by the comic dramatist Plato that ancient theatre
practitioners treated props with considerable theoretical sophistication. It is not clear whether
the title, Skeuai, is best translated as Masks, Costumes or Props, but Pirotta (2009) 272 argues
for the last. Of the meagre fragments, only 142 K-A appears to say anything much about props
(contrasting Euripides scripting of an actor, possibly playing Electra, carrying a water jug with
the idea of an actor carrying a pot of hot coals), but the text is badly corrupt. Nevertheless,
the mere fact that Plato wrote such a play at all suggests a highly developed interest in this
otherwise neglected aspect of performance.
90 rob tordoff
performances.3 The list of the requisite items of scenery, costume, and props
is a rich array of the material stuff of the stage. Admittedly, the document
is not a list of items required for a tragic or comic performance, and in date
it is very distant from the theatre of classical Athens, but such lists must
have been made for all types of dramatic performance in antiquity over the
centuries, since when a play is to be performed someone must undertake
the humble task of deciding what things will be needed for performance and
must go about acquiring them.
This paper does not pretend to survey all the ground left untouched by
classical scholarship in the matter of stage properties. That is the task of
a book that has yet to be written. Equally, the terrain is not entirely terra
incognita, since valuable information on props in tragedy and in Aristophanic
comedy is to be found in two unpublished doctoral theses and a handful of
articles by two scholars, Joachim Dingel and Mary C. English, as well as in
remarks in more general works on performance, staging and costume.4 In
some respects, the survey of the evidence for fifth-century (and some early
fourth-century) Athenian drama is already quite well advanced, but it is not
widely known, nor easily accessible. To my knowledge, there is no general or
synoptic account of Menanders props; I have attempted a few steps towards
ameliorating this particular situation below.5
I might as well admit at this point that little of what I say will not seem
obvious to some reader somewhere; after all, the findings I present are
accessible to all sensitive interpreters of Greek drama and students of the
archaeological and visual-culture material for Greek theatre practice (in this
3 Csapo and Slater (1994) 378. I have borrowed the point made here from Marshall (2006)
72.
4 Dingel (1967), (1971); English (1999), (2000), (2005), (2006/2007). For tragedy, Taplins
((1978) 77100) discussion of Objects and tokens subsumes remarks on costumes, scenery and
props. For Aristophanes, Stone (1981) 244259 gives a useful overview of the most common
accessories, but the limits of her study are clear in the very cursory discussion of one-off
accessories used for special effects on pp. 257259; Poe (2000) 283287 makes excellent remarks
on the uses of props in Aristophanes, and in the appendix on pp. 292295 usefully catalogues
objects removed and introduced by mute extras. However, none of the work mentioned offers
systematic analysis or documentation of the props required by any individual play; nor, for
that matter, does a manual of performance of classical theatre such as Walton (1987). Hughes
(2012) provides detailed discussion of comic costume and much besides, but makes almost
no mention of props. For excellent examples of what detailed attention to props has to offer
the interpretation of an individual drama, see Ketterer (this volume) on Euripides Iphigenia
among the Taurians and Raeburn (2000) on Euripides Electra. For a good overview of the
material aspects of ancient Greek and Roman performance, see Ley (2007a).
5 There are some good remarks in Ley (2007a) 279281.
actors properties 91
case, principally decorated vases and terracotta figurines, but also media such
as relief sculpture and mosaics). I have persisted because the widespread
inattention of classicists to stage properties in Greek drama seems to me
unjustified, especially in light of the painstaking, methodical groundwork
that has already been carried out by the scholars mentioned above. In
drawing heavily on unpublished material, this essay aims less to pioneer
new ground than to adumbrate for the reader a preliminary cartography,
in the hope that it will pique interest and encourage further exploration.
With its focus on actors properties (for what is meant by this term, see the
discussion below) the analysis presented here is far from a full investigation
of all material objects used in the performance of Greek drama and may
perhaps seem idiosyncratic to some readers. However, I hope by restricting
the terms of inquiry to make meaningful comparisons across the theatre
practice of the fifth and fourth centuries, between tragic drama and the
comedies of Aristophanes and Menander.
The use of props in theatre performance can be analyzed in two fundamen-
tal ways: quantitatively and qualitatively. A quantitative analysis catalogues
the props required for (or known to have been used in) the performance of a
given dramatic text and reveals the comparative level of materiality of the
stage production and the kind of props that a playwright brings on to the
stage most frequently. Qualitative analysis pursues a range of second-order
questions, interrogating indices of meaning such as the social-symbolic qual-
ities of the objects found in performance. This essay deals almost exclusively
with the elementary, quantitative analysis, but in the closing remarks I sug-
gest a few directions in which a qualitative, materialist analysis of props
might be developed.
Before any analysis of props may be attempted, the researcher requires a
working definition of what a prop is. Over the years a number of definitions
have accrued to the terms prop, hand prop, property, stage property and
so forth.6 One of the earliest studies of props in Renaissance theatre, Felix
Bosonnets The Function of Stage Properties in Christopher Marlowes Plays,
defines a prop as any portable article of costume or furniture, used in acting
a play.7 Arriving at the question from the study of gesture in Shakespeare,
David Bevington sees props as appurtenances worn or carried by actors.8
Although Bevingtons definition is narrower than Bosonnets, the two taken
together show just how difficult it is to separate props from all the other
things on the stage; it is all too easy to blur props into the background or
the scenery of a play or to bundle them off into the tiring house along with
costumes.9
The central difficulty here is that finding an acceptable definition of
props depends on the questions which are to be asked about them. Under
a materialist analysis of the kind illustrated for Renaissance theatre by the
essays in Harris and Kordas Staged Properties in Early Modern English Drama,
a broad definition is logical: if the focus is on objects, their materiality,
the frequency of their stage appearances and their cultural biographies,10
then every single object on the stagecostume and scenery included
is important. The authors duly specify that, for their purposes, the term
stage property shall embrace all the moveable physical objects of the
stage.11
Here, a semiotic approach such as that applied to the theatre of Plautus by
Robert Ketterer is extremely useful for sharpening distinctions.12 All props,
like all the objects on stage, have a basic denotative function; upon this
foundation, further (connotative) functions may be built.13 In the language of
theatre semiotics, the denotative function of a prop is to represent an object
in the fictively constructed world of the play.14 Every object placed on the
stage appears to the audience as a sign of some thing in the fictive world of
the play.15 The signified may be more or less close in appearance to the sign:
9 Cf. Kowzan (1968) 68, who sees a greater difficulty with the distinction of props
(accessories) and scenery (decor) than with that of props and costume: Any element of
costume can become an accessory as soon as it plays a particular role independent of the
semiological functions of clothing On the other hand, the frontier between the accessory
and the decor is sometimes hard to define. Indeed, Kowzan does not attempt to define it.
10 For the term cultural biography, see Kopytoff (1986).
11 (2002) 1.
12 Ketterer (1986a), (1986b), (1986c). Compare Revermanns ((2006a) 3940) discussion of
importantly different from that in general use in semiotics. There, denotation is the conceptual
meaning specified by the relationship between signifier and signified. For example, the
signifier table does not gesture towards any particular table in the real world, but instead
points to the concept of a class of items of furniture which language users recognize as
possessing a cluster of distinctive qualities consistent with being a table. Cf. Danesi and Perron
(1999) 8081. In theatre semiotics, the denotative meaning of a prop is the object in the world
of the play which it represents. Performance provides the context in which the audience will
understand, for example, that a wooden sword is lethally sharp blade and not a wooden sword.
15 Cf. Elam (1980) 7.
actors properties 93
for example, a wooden sword on the stage may represent a real sword in the
world of a play; equally, it might represent a wooden sword in the world of
the play; but in either case it is a sign.16
Ketterer suggests that where a prop has only a denotative function,
it is essentially scenery. It is there to lend verisimilitude to the scene
and completes the stage picture (1986a: 207). Some props have further
connotative functions: labelling an actor or a scene, or serving a symbolic
function (1986a: 208).17 For example, the stick in Greek drama frequently
labels a character walking with it as old (e.g. Aesch. Ag. 75); a lamp labels a
scene as taking place either in a dark interior or at night (e.g. Ar. Nub. 7, Eccl.
122). A symbolic function of a prop is a further step from relatively concrete
connotations of time, place, circumstances, or character to connotation of
abstract concepts.18 The urn in Sophocles Electra (already iconic in antiquity:
see Aulus Gellius 6.5) is a celebrated example. The object denotes a funerary
urn, it connotes the (false) death of Orestes and may be said, for example,
to symbolize deception and the thematic interplay in the drama of the
emptiness of words and the desire for concrete action.
Ketterers definition of props runs as follows: [Props] are the objects
carried on and off stage during the course of the play, and usually, though
not always, distinct from costumes and masks which, like scenery, remain
permanent for the characters.19 The essential point is that props are things
manipulated by the actors to create visual meaning (frequently causing them
to appear on and depart from the stage) during the performance. This is my
preferred definition of a prop for general purposes, but I need to draw a few
further distinctions for the special aims of the present discussion.
The following passage from Euripides Suppliants illustrates the problem.
In lines 110111, Theseus asks Adrastus to uncover his head, which is wrapped
in his short cloak (), and to answer him, adding a further line of
gnomic encouragement; then Adrastus and Theseus speak at length. The
obvious way to play the scene seems to be for Adrastus to uncover his head
after 112 and greet Theseus in the next line. Subsequently, Adrastus leaves the
stage after 777 and re-enters some twenty lines later. His cloak is portable,
16 Cf. Kowzan (1968) 6869. For criticism of this approach, see Revermann (2006a) 45.
17 Connotation in the context of props and theatre semiotics presents no confusion of
definition with that in general use. Connotation is an extension of the denotative meaning of
the sign to embrace further referents that are connected to it by association or analogy. See,
for example, Danesi and Perron (1999) 8182.
18 Ketterer (1986a) 208.
19 Ketterer (1986a) 193.
94 rob tordoff
it is carried on and off stage and the actor manipulates it to create visual
meaning; it seems, therefore, to fit the definition of a prop. At the same
time, it is a piece of clothing and is being worn, and in that sense it seems
to belong to Adrastus costume.20 In order to rule out uncertainties of
this kind, we require a watertight definition of what a prop is, which will
separate it from costume and scenery. What I propose below is complex
and artificial, but its aim is to enable comparison across different plays in
different genres.
A few prefatory remarks first. It is tempting to think of props as objects
with strong connotative functions, and much work touching on props in
Greek drama implicitly or explicitly adopts such a definition, focusing only
on objects with symbolic functions (i.e. props endowed with the greatest
connotative significance) to the exclusion of more mundane objects.21 The
problem begins, in my view, with the distinction between denotation and
connotation. I am inclined to doubt that anything on the stage can have
only a denotative function; even objects placed in the background carry
implications for the audience about the nature of location in which the scene
is set (a vase never touched by the actors will appear a more or less rare and
expensive piece, for example), and even minor details of costume transmit
some information about the character wearing them. This is what Martin
Revermann usefully terms the semiotization of the theatre experience: that
is to say, the collaborative conspiracy of communication between actors
and audience in which all signals emanating from the stage are accepted
as deliberate and meaningful by receivers anticipating them as such within
the frame established by the performance.22 Connotative functions may be
stronger or weaker, but they are inescapably present.
The weaker the connotative functions of any item are, the greater the
temptation will be to assimilate it to scenery or costume. To illustrate
with an imaginary example,23 which has nothing to do with ancient Greek
20 A closely parallel difficulty is presented by the veil in the analysis of the Alcestis below.
At 1121 Alcestis veil must be moved aside or taken off altogether. In the former case it would
remain costume, in the latter, if removed by Heracles or dropped by Alcestis herself, it would
be counted a prop. Since nothing in the text indicates that the veil is removed rather than
thrown back, I assume that it is not.
21 The bow in Sophocles Philoctetes is a well-known example. See, for instance, Harsh
(1960); Segal (1980). An important exception, though still focused on symbolic functions, is
the recent work of Colleen Chaston (2010).
22 See Revermann (2006a) 36, 5051.
23 More or less imaginary: something along these lines happens in the opening scene
of Federico Fellinis 1957 film Le Notti di Cabiria, and a handbag is suddenly snatched
actors properties 95
and hurled with great force in Yasmina Rezas 2008 stage play Le Dieu du Carnage. Doubtless,
further parallels could be found.
24 The numerous props brought on stage in Aristophanes by mute extras at the bidding of
the speaking actors do not belong in this category. For discussion of these items, see Poe (2000);
cf. Revermann (2006a) 137139 on carrier entries. Props belonging to mute extras include, for
example, the sticks belonging to the old Thebans in the prologue scene of Sophocles Oedipus
the King, as discussed by Konstan in this volume (see next note).
25 Choral props only appear in a minority of instances. They are important in the
development of visual meaning and are indisputably part of the total materiality of the
play; in many cases, they serve the same functions in the hands of the chorus as they would in
the hands of the actors. The suppliant branches held by the Danaids in Aeschylus Suppliants
(2122, cf. 191193 etc.) are central to the theme of the play and are also used by one of the
actors: at 481483 Danaus gathers up some of these ritual items to take to the city. Konstan
(this volume) demonstrates the importance of props belonging to extras in his discussion of
the opening scene of Sophocles Oedipus the King.
96 rob tordoff
26 The mask is considered part of the actors costume, except if it is used when not being
worn, as at Bacchae 1165 where a mask is probably used to represent the Pentheus severed
head.
27 The term hand props mentioned above is avoided in this essay to allow prop to include
such large items as chariots and so forth. Stage machinery, such as the ekkyklema, is not
counted with vehicles such as chariots and wagons in the category of props, although it may
be moved on the actors command as the ekkyklema is at Ar. Thesm. 265.
28 They are generally items which are indisputably props in other plays.
actors properties 97
in fact everything on stage except the actors bodies. In the former case, it
is likely that the role played by the prop will have left its mark on the text,
though that will not always be true, particularly where the scene-setting and
characterizing functions are concerned, as the analysis of Euripides Alcestis
below demonstrates. By restricting the discussion in this essay (for reasons
of space) to props narrowly defined and then again to actors props, I do not
attempt to offer a picture of the total materiality of the ancient Greek stage.
In fact, I am not sure that such a project is feasible for ancient Greek drama,
lacking the evidence of copious stage directions and contemporary reports
of theatrical productions which exist for Renaissance drama, for example.
Nevertheless, I do make calculations of the relative materiality of different
dramas based on the securest evidence for actors props found in the texts
and in the material-culture evidence.
The rate of materiality is determined by the number of props per one
hundred lines of text,29 excluding all lines given to the chorus. The point
of the exclusion of the choral parts is to make possible a comparison of
fifth-century Greek drama with the late plays of Aristophanes, which largely
lack their original choral lyrics, and with the plays of Menander, which
include no lines for the chorus. This procedure, admittedly, involves a certain
amount of distortion, but given that the full extent of the lines sung and
spoken by choruses after the end of the fifth century are irrecoverable, the
method is the best that can be applied to an incomplete set of data. In
this essay, I consider only the props of the surviving tragedies of Euripides,
including the proto-satyric Alcestis among these. For reasons of space I
omit the dramas of Aeschylus and Sophocles, which I hope to discuss in
a subsequent publication. There is, in fact, no aspect of the uses of props in
the extant plays of Aeschylus (excluding the spurious Prometheus Bound)
and Sophocles which cannot be very closely paralleled in Euripides practice.
Therefore, the results given here constitute a survey of well over half of
extant Greek tragedy, and from them some general conclusions may be
drawn.
For an illustration of the procedure, we can turn to Euripides first extant
play, Alcestis (which, as it happens, has quite a rich list of props and therefore
a relatively high level of materiality).30 The props necessitated by the text of
the play are the following:
29 For the application of the method to Renaissance drama, see Bruster (2002).
30 For Euripides, I have used the OCT (1984) of J. Diggle.
98 rob tordoff
(#1) Bow, (#2) Quiver and Arrows (belonging to Apollo): line 39, cf. 35.
(#3) Sword (belonging to Thanatos): line 74.
(#4) Couch / Stretcher (for Alcestis): line 267, cf. 233.
(#5) Funeral Bier for Alcestis corpse (with burial adornment): lines 607
608, cf. 149.
(#6a, #6b ) Burial Adornment brought by the servants of Pheres:
lines 612613, cf. 631.
(#7) Ivy wood31 Drinking Cup (carried by Heracles): line 788, cf. 756.
(#8) Garland of myrtle (worn and removed by Heracles): line 831832,
cf. 759.
Here we run into a series of problems about what constitutes a single prop.
Apollos bow is a single item and clearly counts as a single prop. The quiver
and its arrows presumably consist of at least three separable objects (the
quiver and at least twobut probably many morearrows), but since in
Alcestis the quiver contains the arrows and the arrows are not at any point in
this play taken out of it (as an arrow is, for example, in Sophocles Philoctetes
at line 1299), the quiver full of arrows may be said to count as a single prop for
the purposes of visual meaning on stage. By analogy, item #5, the funeral bier,
may be said to count as a single prop, even though it carries Alcestis corpse (I
assume in this case that the corpse is an actor wearing the mask of the dead
queen and dressed in funeral attire, though a dummy for the corpse would be
possible); it is also possible that the stretcher and the funeral bier are in fact
the same basic object, but in view of the decoration of the bier (mentioned in
149), which will have made it visually distinct, it seems preferable to count two
props here. The funerary gifts brought by Pheres represent a more difficult
case: since the adornment is carried by servants (plural), and since no single
item of funerary decoration could presumably require more than one man
to carry it, at least two distinct objects are involved, and there may have
been more.32 Therefore, as the case of Pheres grave gifts demonstrates, our
method of counting props shall aim to establish minima of discrete items,
or discrete sets of items which belong naturally together, such as pairs of
shoes or quivers full of arrows. In this case, the minimum is two. The garland
worn by Heracles, under the above definition, would usually be a part of his
costume, but since he probably removes it from his head at 832, it is here
considered a prop.
31 For discussion of the etymology of the adjective (ivy) and the likely appearance
see Parker (2007) on Alc. 606, citing Kurtz and Boardman (1971) 144.
actors properties 99
A further difficulty arises when we reflect that the list drawn up above
only includes props that have made an impression on Euripides text. It
is not unlikely that more props were in fact used in the production than
can be located in a close study of the text. There is one certain case. In the
fourth book of the Onomasticon, Pollux informs us that clubs and lion-
skins are standard items of male tragic costume.33 When Heracles enters at
Alcestis 476, the Chorus (and no doubt the audience) recognize him instantly
(478), presumably because he is wearing a lion skin and carrying a club,
just as Dionysus, when disguised as Heracles, must do in Aristophanes
Frogs at lines 4547.34 However, the text of Alcestis, apart from the tiny
clue hidden in the fact that the Chorus does not (need to) ask Heracles
who he is in order to convey this information to the audience, has left no
trace of the prop and the article of costume which were surely required
for this scene. It is also very likely that the combative but geriatric Pheres
walks with a stick: the staff is a ubiquitous sign of old age and infirmity
(not to mention a number of other characteristics including errancy, rustic
origins and beggary) on the ancient Greek stage (e.g. Euripides, Heracles 254
etc.). If we add the club and stick as props #9 and #10, the total number of
eleven props over the number of lines in the play excluding all choral parts
multiplied by 100 yields a comparative materiality of 1.4 props per 100 lines
in Alcestis.
If the analysis is extended to Euripides surviving tragic dramas, the full
set of results is as follows:
33 Pollux, Onomasticon 4.117; see Csapo and Slater (1994) 395 for a translation.
34 Numerous early to mid fourth-century Athenian terracotta figurines of a comic Heracles
dressed in a lion-skin and carrying his club (and in many cases his bow as well) have been
found: see, for the nearest contemporary examples, Webster (1978) AT 11, AT 26, AT 27. For
an illustration, see Green and Handley (1995) pl. 34. Similarly, an Attic red-figure vase dating
to around 410 depicts a comic Heracles riding in a chariot and carrying club and bow: see
Webster (1978) AV 6 (= Louvre N 3408). A phlyax vase from Apulia dated to the second quarter
of the fourth century (Trendall (1967) no. 22 = Berlin F 3046) and illustrating a comic Heracles
has been connected to this scene in Frogs, but it shows Heracles himself, not Dionysus dressed
as Heracles; nevertheless, the figure wears a lion-skin and carries the bow and club, which
he uses to knock at a door (for an illustration, see Bieber (1961) 133, fig. 487). The non-comic
vase painting evidence for Heracles agrees with the vases mentioned in routinely depicting
Heracles with his club and sometimes with his bow or a sword as well. See, for example,
Beazley (1963) 15 no. 6 (= Arezzo 1465). The evidence supporting the idea of the lion-skin
and club as the two basic attributes of Heracles on stage (as suggested by Frogs 4547)
seems overwhelming. For full discussion of Heracles costume and props, see Wyles (this
volume).
100 rob tordoff
Props /
Play Props 100 lines
Alcestis 11 1.4
Medea 3 0.3
Children of Heracles 10 1.1
Hippolytus 7 0.6
Andromache 5 0.5
Hecuba 4 0.3
Suppliants 12 1.1
Electra 17 1.5
Heracles 6 0.6
Trojan Women 15 1.4
Iphigenia among the Taurians 15 1.3
Ion 12 1.0
Helen 18 1.3
Phoenician Women 14 1.0
Orestes 9 0.6
Bacchae 8 0.8
Iphigenia at Aulis 13 1.1
The most common items on the tragic stage are Weapons and Armour and
Funerary Items (grave gifts, biers to carry corpses and so forth). The next
most common group is formed of other Ritual Items, especially suppliant
branches and sacrificial paraphernalia. The data show that in regard to props,
Euripides stage practice remains fairly consistent over the entire span of his
career. On average a tragedy uses roughly one prop every hundred lines. A
tragic drama with a high number of props may approach a rate of 1.5 props
per 100 lines, while at the other end of the spectrum it is not uncommon for
a tragedy to have very few props at all (Medea and Hecuba are performed on
the barest of tragic stages).
Turning to comic drama, we find a far greater number and a larger range
of different types of prop on the stage of Aristophanes. The construction of
a list of props for an Aristophanic comedy, especially for one of his earlier
works, is a considerable undertaking. The following list and commentary for
the Knights (a relatively simple case) illustrates some of the complexities
involved.35
In the prologue scene the two slaves require (#1) a wine jug (113), (#2) a
cup (120), (#3) an oracle text (i.e., a papyrus roll) (116117, cf. 177) and also (#4)
35 Compare the analysis of the properties of Knights by English (2005) 3 with nn. 1723.
For the text of the play, I have used the OCT (2007) of N. Wilson.
actors properties 101
a garland (221), which is worn first by one slave and is subsequently given to
the Sausage Seller. The Sausage Seller brings (#5) a table (152, 169, cf. 771, 1165)
and numerous items of professional sausage-making equipment, including
(#6) sausages (488) and perhaps related ingredients (cf. 160161, 454455),
(#7a, b ), a number of knives (489), (#8) a bottle of olive oil (490), (#9) a
head of garlic (493), (#10) a meat-hook (772) and (#11) a ladle (922).
Later the Sausage Seller presents Demos with (#12) a cushion (784), (#13)
a pair of shoes (872) and (#14) a tunic (883, cf. 886). In response, Paphlagon
offers Demos (#15) a garment of some kind, which smells of leather (890
892). Soon afterwards, the Sausage-Seller gives Demos (#16) a jar of ointment
(906) and (#17) a hares tail (909). Demos demands (#18) Paphlagons signet
ring (947) and gives (#19) another signet ring (959) to the Sausage-Seller.
At lines 9971001 the two suitors for Demos affections each bring out a
pile of oracles (#20, #21), read out probably at least four different texts each
and either quote others from memory or proclaim them by improvisation
(10141089). Demos picks up (#22) a stone from the ground (1028). Paphlagon
provides (#23) a foot-stool (1164) and (#24) a barley cake (1166). His adversary
counters with (#25) a loaf of bread (1168). Paphlagon brings (#26) a pot
(1171) of soup and the Sausage Seller produces (#27) a pot (1174) of higher
quality soup. Paphlagon offers (#28) some sliced fish (1177), while the Sausage
Seller brings out a barrage of food offerings: (#29) a piece of meat out
of the soup pot (1178) and (#30, #31, #32) three different types of sausage
meat (1179). Paphlagon provides (#33) a flat cake (1182), and the Sausage
Seller finds Demos (#34) some more entrails (11831184) and a cup (1187) of
wine, which may or may not be the same as prop #2 (on the principle of
establishing minima it should be considered the same). Paphlagon offers
a different (#35) flat cake (1190). The hare (#36) served by Paphlagon is
stolen by the Sausage Seller (11941200) and given to Demos. Each suitor
has a (#37, #38) hamper of goodies (12111213), originally brought on stage
at 1151. Paphlagon wears a special (#39) crown or garland (1227, cf. 1250),
which he takes off (and probably gives to the Sausage Seller). A slave boy
brings Demos (#40) a stool (1384), and Demos gives the Sausage Seller (#41)
a frog-green garment (1406). These items, at a bare minimum, seem to be
presupposed by the text. Some plates or pots for the various types of offal,
meat, and fish presented to Demos cannot be excluded (four would probably
suffice, two each for Paphlagon and the Sausage Seller). There may be more
items among the Sausage Sellers equipment, and there may be more food
left in Paphlagons hamper (1218) if the contents of the hamper are to be
revealed to the audience, but it is, in my view, impossible to resolve these
questions.
102 rob tordoff
A few other items are found in the text, including a special feature of the
rejuvenated Demos costume, a golden cicada brooch (1331) and some pieces
of scenery: a harvest wreath on Demos door (728) and a rock representing the
Pnyx (754). Under the definitions given above, these items are not considered
props (i.e. they are not moved in the actors hands on to or off the stage, or
from one part of the stage to another). Even assuming that the wine-cup was
reused, and assuming only two knives among the Sausage Sellers gear, no
meat-hook (the latter is particularly uncertain) and no extra dishes in the
food-serving scene, at least forty items of stage property would need to be
included on the producers list. This yields a rate of props per 100 lines of
roughly 3.8.
The quantitative analysis may be taken in another direction. For example,
if we group the props found in Knights into categories of kinds of objects, the
following picture emerges.
References
Kinds of Prop (see the list above) Total Number
Clothes and Accessories #4, 1315, 1819, 39, 41 8
Documents #3, 2021 A large number of oracles
Food and drink (includ- #12, 6, 89, 2427, 20
ing containers of) 2838
Furniture #5, 12, 23, 40 4
Luxury Items #1617 2
Tools, Utensils and #7, (#10, 11 excluded) 2 (or more)
Implements
Other #22 1
36 For a sense of the range of different utensils for cooking and eating mentioned in comic
are Food and Drink, frequently represented by the vessels in which they are
served or contained. The next largest group is made up of smaller Domestic
Items, followed by Trade Tools and Arms and Armour. Ritual Items and Clothes
follow close behind, reflecting the importance of scenes of sacrifice and of
scenes in which garments are changed on stage.
As Mary English has argued, Aristophanes dramaturgy reveals a large
shift in the use of stage properties over a nearly forty-year career. She counts
numbers of props per play and demonstrates on the basis of these figures
that there is a significant decline in the number of props from Acharnians
to Wealth. The following table uses Englishs figures for numbers of props in
each play of Aristophanes.37 As will be made clear below, I do not agree with
every detail, but the general picture is basically the right one, and for reasons
of space I do not go into detailed discussion here.
Approx. Props /
Play date Props 100 lines
Acharnians 425 117 11.7
Knights 424 49 4.7
Wasps 422 51 4.6
Peace 421 53 5.3
Clouds II 419 28 2.4
Birds 416 57 4.4
Lysistrata 412 38 4.0
Thesmophoriazusae 412 52 6.1
Frogs 405 33 3.0
Ecclesiazusae 392 30 2.9
Wealth 388 18 1.6
37 See English (2000) 150 n. 5. Adopting her figures yields a rather different rate of props
per 100 lines for Knights than the one calculated above.
104 rob tordoff
pre-adaptation of dramatic form, waiting in the wings to play its part. The
category of Domestic Items was already a large one in the 420s; in the 390s
and 380s it simply became yet more significant by the decline of other kinds
of prop on the comic stage.
Line Quantity
number Props (minimum)
200 Water jar (hydria) 1
375 Mattock 1
393 Sheep 1
405 Rugs 3
433 Pipes (aulos) 1
440 Baskets 2
440 Ritual Vessels (chernibes) 2
440 Offerings 1
448 Baskets for food 2
448 Wine jars 2
616 Mattocks39 2
758 Wheeled couch(?)40 1
964 Garlands 3
964 Torch 1
38 For the plays discussed, I have used the revised OCT (1990) of F.H. Sandbach.
39 presumably refers to the two mattocks, but possibly also to other implements
carried at this point: cf. Gomme and Sandbach (1973) ad loc.
40 It is possible that Knemons words here (] ) are a metatheatrical
reference to the ekkyklema rather than a direct reference to a wheeled couch, an item which
seems somewhat out of place in his austere household.
106 rob tordoff
us garlands probably means no more than three, one each for Knemon, Sikon
and the speaker. In the case of the rugs at line 405, the fictive world of the
play clearly requires more than two of them, given the large number of guests
expected at the feast; the number that could reasonably be carried by the
actor playing Getas will dictate the upper limit, but it is impossible to say what
that was because it depends primarily on the size and weight of the rugs used.
Sikons exclamation at line 405 at the number of rugs that Getas is carrying
and his command at line 406 that Getas pile them up suggest that the num-
ber should be at least three; two rugs hardly make an impressive pile but, nev-
ertheless, cannot be absolutely ruled out. In one further place, it may be pos-
sible to reduce the number of requisite items. Knemons reference at line 448
to the celebrants carrying hampers and wine jars may be entirely an imagina-
tive product of his ornery hyperbole, or may be his uncharitable description
of the baskets and the lustral water that have just been mentioned (line 440).
If the latter is how the play is staged, the minimum number of necessary props
would stand at nineteen; however, given Menanders practice elsewhere (see
below), I do not think this assumption can be made with any confidence.
Calculating the frequency of props per hundred lines in Dyscolus produces
a result of 2.37, counting twenty-three props and 969 lines. In other words,
the stage is definitely busier than that of Aristophanes Wealth and closely
comparable to that of the second Clouds.
Constructing a similar list for the Samia yields the following picture of the
stage:
Quantity
Line number Props (minimum)
104105 Baggage of Demeas and Nikeratos(?) 2
284 Knives 2
283284 Other cooking equipment(?) 2
297 Basket 1
321325 Strap 1
373374 Baby 1
388, cf. 570578 Stick belonging to Demeas 1
399 Sheep 1
577 Stick belonging to Nikeratos 1
687 Cloak 1
687 Sword 1
730 Ritual vessel for water (loutrophoros) (?) 1
730 Pipes (aulos) (?) 1
732 Torch 1
732 Garlands 3
Fr. Incense 1
Fr. Brazier 1
actors properties 107
Line
numbers Props Quantity
248 Stick 1
363 Bag 1
386 An object set with precious stones41 1
386 Axe 1
387 Ring 1
404 Torque 1
404 Crimson cloth 1
867 Baby 1
The surviving lines of the play, including fragments, amount to a little more
than 625 lines. The frequency of use of props per 100 lines is 1.28.
In the Perikeiromene the picture is closer to that of Dyscolus.
41 The phrase clearly refers to some luxury item set with jewels, but it is
Line
number Props Quantity
179 Long cloak (himation) 1
291292 Key(?) 1
354 Short cloak (chlamys) 1
355 Sword 1
476 Pipes (aulos) 1
756757 Box 1
773 Piece of woven cloth 1
996 Pig 1
9991000 Garland 1
Props /
Play 100 lines
Dyscolus 2.37
Samia 2.71
Epitrepontes 1.28
Perikeiromene 2.0
42 Arnott (1959) argues that dummies were probably widely used instead of live animals.
actors properties 109
Epitre- Perikei-
Kinds of Prop Dyscolus Samia pontes romene Total
Animals 1 1 0 1 3
Agricultural / Industrial / 3 0 0 0 3
Trade Tools, Equipment
Clothes and Accessories 0 1 0 2 3
Documents 0 0 0 0 0
Domestic Items (including 1 9+++ 1 3 14+++
kitchen utensils)
Food (and containers 4 0 0 0 4
holding food)
Furniture 1 0 0 0 1
Garlands 3 3 0 1 7
Lamps and Torches 1 1 0 0 2
Luxury Items (excluding 3+ 0 5 0 8+
clothes)
Money 0 0 0 0 0
Ritual items 5 2 0 0 7
Weapons and Armour 0 1 0 1 2
Walking sticks 0 2 1 0 3
Other 1 2 1 1 5
Total props 23 22 8 9 Over 60
From its two root words, sken- and graph-, skenographia literally means
scene painting, which reflected its earliest use. We know that in the first
century bc Vitruvius used it in a context which scholars sometimes translate
as perspective. It remains hotly debated whether the perspective described
by Vitruvius is what we call linear perspective.1 It also is unclear what the
nature of skenographia was at the time of its birth in the fifth century bce
and where precisely it was placed on the skene or stage building. The textual
sources are few and widely scattered in date and no uncontested material
remains of skenographia exist to supplement that information.
I begin chronologically with our earliest mention of skenographia in
the fourth century bce. Aristotle (Poetics 1449a18) says: Three actors and
skenographia with Sophocles.2 That places the beginning of skenographia
may informally be defined as a system of depiction that follows geometric rules to convert
a three-dimensional scene to two-dimensions and that reflects what we see rather than
what really is. More formal definitions refer to horizon lines and picture planes among
other aspects. The classic example of linear perspective, taught to most every American
school child, shows a road or railroad tracks receding into the distance with the two sides
gradually converging on a single vanishing point, even though in reality the two sides are
parallel and therefore cannot meet. Moreover, linear perspective applies not only to physical
aspects of the setting, but also to every element within a scene including the figures. For a
technical treatment, see Willats 1997, especially Chapter Two (Projection Systems). For a
consideration of the philosophical aspects, including Damisch and Lacan, see Iversen 2005.
For the history of linear perspective, see Veltman 2004, especially 8292 for antiquity. Finally,
gargantuan is the only word to describe the amount of scholarship on linear perspective;
whereas that on skenographia is merely huge. I make no attempt to be complete even for
recent references.
2 My translation. Pollitt (1974) 236240 provides the best compilation of the literary
references in the original Greek and Latin with translations, as well as discussion. Also good
on the textual tradition is Camerota 2002. Beer (2004) 2629 suggests that skenographia is
not literally scene-painting but rather a verbal description of the setting. He can maintain
112 jocelyn penny small
in the fifth century bce.3 Other later sources (Vitruvius 7, praef. 11) agree
on the date in the fifth century bce, but substitute Aeschylus for Sopho-
cles.
The next citation comes from Polybius in the second century bce who
paraphrases Timaeus: To glorify history he [Timaeus] says that the difference
between it and declamatory writing is as great as that between real buildings
and structures [ ] and the
appearances of places and compositions [] in skenographia.4
is sometimes translated as furniture and other times as
structures, which I prefer.5 Most movable furniture could well have been
real and just placed on stage. It would not need to be painted. The
structures could then refer to things that are large and cumbersome like
buildings and hence good candidates for facsimiles rather than the real thing.
Next, Pollitt translates as subjects rather than compositions
like other translators. Neither choice is entirely satisfactory. Nor do Aristotle,
Timaeus, and Polybius tell us precisely what skenographia is.
Our next citation chronologically comes from Strabo in the first cen-
tury bce who (5.3.8 [236C]) likens the Campus Martius with its monuments
to a skenographia: And the works which are located throughout the area
and the land itself and the brows of the hills which, in rising above the
river and reaching up to its channel, present to the sight a scene painting
[ ]all these provide a view which it is
difficult to ignore.6 Strabo uses skenographia, in modern terms, as a painted
backdrop with a landscape dotted with buildings.
Vitruvius at the end of the first century bce is one of our fullest and most
problematic sources. He says (1.2.2):
that erroneous interpretation only by ignoring the later textual evidence. For an excellent
discussion of the classical antecedents for this passage and Vitruvius 1.2.2 (to be discussed
shortly below), see Gros 2008. Senseney (2011) provides good summaries of some of the issues
associated with skenographia, but his belief that the Greeks must have used linear perspective
in designing their buildings skews his discussion. Finally, for a thorough review of the texts
and the issues involved, see Rouveret (1989) 65127.
3 Some scholars think that the line is a later interpolation and not Aristotelian. Brown
(1984) credits G.F. Else (in 14 n. 2) with first suggesting this idea. Against whom, see Ley 1989.
4 The Greek of the last part of this sentence is important:
.
Polybius 12.28a 1.42.1. My translation.
5 LCL [W.R. Paton] and Scott-Kilvert for furniture and Pollitt (1974) 236 No. 2 as
structures.
6 Translation from Pollitt (1974) 236 No. 3.
skenographia in brief 113
7 Translation from Rowland and Howe (1999) 2425. Words are bolded as they are in the
arguments, words, etc.) and living (the orderly arrangement or disposition of time, activities,
etc.). Vayos Liapis (personal communication) suggests that , as the Greek equivalent
of dispositio, could be translated similarly in the Polybius (12.28a 1.42.1) passage quoted above
as design. The idea has much merit, but also entails problems, because Polybios implies
that is a part of skenographia; whereas Vitruvius reverses that relationship by making
skenographia one of three elements that comprise dispositio.
9 For example, Morgan 1960.
10 White (1956) 51.
114 jocelyn penny small
subject [res], that is in what way lines should respond in a natural relation
[ratio naturalis] to the point [acies] of the eyes and the extension of the rays
[radii] once a fixed [certus] place [locus] has been established as the center, in
order that from a fixed position [res] the images of buildings in the paintings
of the stage-buildings [imagines aedificiorum in scaenarum picturis] reproduce
an appearance [species] with some [lines] seen extending [prominentia] and
others receding when painted on the vertical [directus] planes and fronts [of
the stage-building/scaena].
In contrast to the previous passage where the theater goes unmentioned,
here Vitruvius speaks only about the theater and optics with no mention of
architectural drawings of any kind. He does not use the term skenographia,
but the more literal description of images of buildings in the paintings of the
stage-buildings. The context is important. Vitruvius began Book 7 (Finish-
ing) with a discussion of the treatises written before his time in part to credit
his predecessors. Hence when Vitruvius who, like me, is working chrono-
logically through the sources, comes to the fifth century bce, he refers to
Agatharcus and the fact that Agatharcus influenced the philosophers Dem-
ocritus and Anaxagoras. Vitruvius is not concerned here with architectural
plans for real buildings. Instead he wants to stress how one person influences
another.
In other words, the earlier passage (1.2.2) describes the tools the contem-
porary architect needs. The later passage acknowledges Vitruvius debt to
his predecessors. It is not at all clear that the word skenographia existed
in the fifth century bce. Our earliest citation is by Aristotle in the following
century. Furthermore, Agatharcus was a painter and it is his painting that
drew the attention of the two philosophers. The usefulness of that kind of
depiction for architects was not yet apparent. Most important of all Vitru-
vius uses the word scaenographia only in 1.2.2.11 Nor does he elsewhere
refer to its two companions, ichnographia and orthographia. In other words,
Vitruvius considers skenographia solely as a type of technical architectural
drawing, and once he has finished the discussion of such drawings, he has
no need to refer to any of them later. Hence when Vitruvius (5.6.8) discusses
the three different kinds of setting for the theater, he does not use the word
skenographia but rather describes the decoration of the scaena. Similarly,
11 Vitruvius does refer to the scaenae frons [front of the stage building] in several passages,
all of which deal with the construction of the theater itself except for one (5.6.89) that
concerns its decoration. This passage, as is to be expected, presents its own problems. It does
not deal with the form of the decoration but just the choice of subject and its placement on
periaktoi, another enigmatic element discussed briefly below.
skenographia in brief 115
Pliny (Natural History 35.37 (113)) maintains the same distinction when he
mentions Serapio [who] painted stages [scaenae] well, but could not paint
a person.12
The bifurcation of the meaning of skenographia continues in the later
sources. The use of perspective today in the context of art provides a good
analogy. Art historians are very careful to define what they mean by per-
spective; whereas the general populace generally means linear perspective
when they use perspective alone. Both uses coexist contemporaneously.
Similarly, skenographia continues to refer to painted settings (or more liter-
ally scene painting) in later sources.13 Nor does its meaning remain fixed, for
in the fifth century ad Hesychius (s.v.) considers skenographia a synonym
of skiagraphia, loosely translated as shading or shadows.14
At this point our discussion becomes two-pronged. First, what was
skenographia in its connection to the theater; and, second, has Vitruvius
described linear perspective?
Scholars divide into two major groups: those who believe in elaborate
painted sets and those who espouse minimalist decoration.15 Both face
one insurmountable problem: no tangible evidence. Theaters in the fifth
century bce were temporary structures made of wood. Except for a central
entrance most of the plays could make do with virtually no setting beyond
that embedded in the plays themselves. For example, the Agamemnon
opens:
I ask the gods some respite from the weariness
of this watchtime measured by years I lie awake
elbowed upon the Atreidaes roof dogwise to mark
the grand processionals of all the stars of night.16
We immediately know who is speaking, the watchman, and where he is, the
palace of Agamemnon.
12 My translation.
13 As scene painting, see: Plutarch, Life of Aratus 15.2 = Pollitt (1974) 237 No. 5; Sextus
Empiricus, Against the Mathematicians 7.88 = Pollitt (1974) 237 No. 6; Heliodorus 7.7.7 = Pollitt
(1974) 237 No. 7; Heliodorus 10.38.3 = Pollitt (1974) 238 No. 8; and Diogenes Laertius 2.125 =
Pollitt (1974) 238 No. 9.
14 Pollitt (1974) 238 No. 10. Skiagraphia presents its own problems, which cannot be
addressed here. Pollitts main discussion of skiagraphia follows on 247254. Summers (2007)
discusses the entanglement of the two terms in his first chapter (1642).
15 For incredible fantastical reconstructions of the sets for various plays, see Bulle and
Wirsing 1950. For the minimalist view, see Pickard-Cambridge (1946) who discusses the
scenery period by period and remains an invaluable source.
16 Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 14. Translation from Lattimore 1953.
116 jocelyn penny small
Once permanent stone theaters appeared in the fourth century bce, the
problems of indicating setting actually increase. If one erects a temporary
theater, it can be adapted to suit the plays being staged. If one, however, has
a permanent theater, certain aspects become fixed. The most important
difference between classical and contemporary theaters generally goes
unremarked. Today we are accustomed to bare stages with easily changeable,
movable flats, scrims, and, indeed, whole built settings of rooms, buildings,
outdoor scenes, etc. The evidence from permanent Roman stone theaters
indicates that the Romans, and probably the Greeks, were content with one
permanent backdrop whose only requirement was three entrances with the
central one being the most important. These permanent backdrops could
not be easily hidden or camouflaged. Furthermore, it is not likely that a
long-standing tradition of elaborate sets adapted to individual plays would
be replaced by a one-scene-fits-all setting. Consider how in the twentieth
century we became increasingly discerning in what we required for sets in
movies, television, and, of course, stage productions. I think that classical
sets were always rudimentary by our standards.
In the fifth century bce the most obvious place for skenographia would
be on the stage-building (skene), as implied in the word. Nonetheless, it still
is not clear where the paintings would go. If the building had any entrances,
then presumably the skenographia could go between and/or above them.
The Hellenistic theater gets a low stage with a formal stage building. From
the Hellenistic evidence, both inscriptions and actual remains, openings,
called thyromata, could be filled with pinakes, which presumably could
be changed.17 The pinakes could be installed in two places: the episkenion
with large openings above the logeion or stage itself and the proskenion,
between the front edge of the stage and the floor of the orchestra, with
smaller openings than in the episkenion. A cement pinax decorated with a
wooden door has survived from Priene.18 Bieber suggests that curtains, siparia,
positioned above the thyromata, could be dropped to cover inappropriate
pinakes and cites a Roman marble relief from Castel San Elia with separate
curtains for each opening/thyroma neatly gathered at the top.19
17 Csapo and Slater (1994) 434 s.v. thyroma. Bieber (1961) 111112 with figs. 423425 (theater
at Priene) and 120125 with figs. 426429 (theater at Oropus). Bieber remains remarkably
useful for her broad discussion and extensive illustrations.
18 Bieber (1961) 123 with n. 54.
19 Bieber (1961) 180 with fig. 629, a marble relief from Castel San Elia with a theatrical scene
above with siparia gathered between low columns. Another example of the use of a curtain to
hide a portion of the scaenae frons is the relief with the putative periactus discussed below.
skenographia in brief 117
By the end of the first century bce most Roman theaters were no longer
temporary wooden structures, but had a multi-storey scaenae frons that
is embellished throughout with columns. While this facade provides the
required three entrances, it also provides no obvious place for skenographia,
that is for decorated flats of whatever nature. For a specific well-preserved
example, consider the Theater at Orange whose theater building has largely
survived.20
The Romans, and probably the Greeks, seem to have gotten around the
limitation with the use of periacti (periaktoi)a three-sided device that
could be rotated to display one of three possible settings (city, country, and
satyr-play/cave). As the scene changed, someone would turn the device
to the appropriate scene.21 (Figure 1) Viewers who can live with such a
simple signal of location are not terribly demanding. Unfortunately not
only has no periactus survived, but also scholars do not agree about the
placement of the periacti, how many there were, or even if they existed in
the fifth century bce.22 It is assumed that skenographia would have been
used to decorate the periacti. In other words, we have another tantalizing
reference that tells us nothing about what skenographia actually was or
looked like.
We now turn to the second prong: how should Vitruvius 1.2.2 be inter-
preted? Two relatively lengthy passages expand on Vitruvius citation. The
20 Sear (2006) 245247 s.v. Arausio and especially pl. 67. Sear (2006) is the best compendium
of Roman theaters with a catalogue of extant theaters, their plans, and photographs, as well
as an excellent introduction to their architecture and workings.
21 Vitruvius 5.6.8.
22 Pickard-Cambridge (1946) 126 is against their use in the fifth century bce. Morgan
(1960, 147 plan = deltas in circles) puts three on each side, for which see Figure 1. Rowland
and Howe ((1999) 247 fig. 83 top) have two, but within doorways. Sear (2006) 8 has one at
each end and says that one has survived at the theater in Lyon (236 s.v. Hyposcaenium):
At south end an inclined platform for the machines (cf. Arausio [theater at Orange].)
So if this is a periactus, only the mechanism for its turning would seem to have survived.
Schnrer (2002) 69 figs. 8082 places three together in a large opening whose placement
is not clear. Wiles ((1991), 4244; pl. 3) suggests that a Roman relief shows a periactus,
but his argument is not compelling: the broken line and dizzy angles suggest that we
are actually looking at a sculptors rendering of a trompe loeil scene painting set on a
periaktos that is not quite flush. This city scene is covered by a curtain, probably because
its grandeur belongs to tragedy. Faintly behind the curtains, we can trace the line of the
pediment on which the periaktos rests. Unfortunately too many Roman reliefs and paintings
exhibit similar characteristics from the odd angles to the curtains without portraying
periacti. While Bieber ((1961) 9293, fig. 324) also thinks that the scene is comic, she
makes no mention of a periactus. Marble relief, Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale
575.
118 jocelyn penny small
first has been variously attributed to Geminus (1st c. bce), Heron of Alexan-
dria (Definitiones I35.13 = 1st c. ce), and Damianus (4th c. ce).23 No matter
who wrote it, it fits well with the first Vitruvian passage. It says:
What is skenographia [or the skenographic part of optics]? The skenographic
part of optics seeks to discover how one should paint [or draw] images of
buildings. For since things do not give the appearance of being what they in
fact are, they look to see not how they will represent the actual underlying
shapes, but, rather, they render these shapes in whatever way they appear. The
goal of the architect is to give his work a satisfying shape using appearance
as his standard, and insofar as is possible, to discover compensations for the
deceptions of the vision, aiming not at balance or shapeliness based on real
measurements [or reality] but at these qualities as they appear to the vision.24
23 Pollitt (1974) 96 n. 44 gives a good summary of the attributions and hence the possible
dates.
24 Translation from Pollitt (1974) 239240 No. 12. Italics and comments between brackets
are Pollitts.
skenographia in brief 119
25 Translation from Pollitt (1974) 239 No. 11. Italics and comments between brackets are
Pollitts.
26 Compare the well-known statement attributed to Lysippus: he used commonly to say
that whereas his predecessors had made men as they really were, he made them as they
appeared to be. Pliny the Elder, Natural History 34.19 (65). Translation from LCL (translator,
H. Rackham).
27 Edgerton (1975) 26.
28 For example, the horizon line isocephaly (Edgerton (1975) 26).
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29 From an art historians point of view, so also Richter (1974) 3. From more of a scientific
precinct and then within the precinct, which would not be visible in linear
perspective; and we see Trajan, depicted larger than the other humans, about
to perform the ritual.
Fourth, the appearance of a tapering colonnade in Roman wall paintings
and in literary descriptions of colonnades does not inevitably imply an
understanding of how linear perspective works. The most quoted example
comes from Lucretius (4.426431):
When we gaze from one end down the whole length of a colonnade, though its
structure is perfectly symmetrical and it is propped throughout on pillars of
equal height, yet it contracts by slow degrees in a narrowing cone that draws
roof to floor and left to right till it unites them in the imperceptible apex of
the cone [donec in obscurum coni conduxit acumen].35
Colonnades abounded in classical architecture. Photographs today, for
example, of the reconstructed Stoa of Attalos II in the Agora in Athens
portray the precise effect described by Lucretius.36 The Latin of the last line of
Lucretius is important, because it indicates less the idea of a vanishing point
and more that of the object not being viewable in the distance. Furthermore,
Euclid (Optics, Definition 2, which I quote in full) uses similar wording
in an unambiguous context that precludes the idea of a vanishing point:
and that the figure included within our vision-rays is a cone, with its apex
[] in the eye and its base at the limits of our vision.37 Next, no classical
depiction of colonnades shows them like the modern railroad tracks with a
vanishing point. Instead the colonnades taper from the sides to the center,
but never meet. A horizontal cross-section joins them to each other in a
manner that reflects the common construction of peristyles, as the Second
Style cubiculum from Boscoreale, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art,
New York, demonstrates.38 The visual cone is a theoretical idea that classical
theories of vision used to describe how rays emanate from (a) ones own eyes,
(b) from the objects themselves, or (c) mix in between.39
Fifth, the pseudo-perspectival scheme applies only to the architectural
framework of the decoration of a room, as also seen in the cubiculum from
passage from Vitruvius (7, praef.11). Ings (2007) 154161 provides one of the clearest descriptions
of classical optics and vision.
122 jocelyn penny small
40 While details of the walls are readily available, complete views of the side walls are
more difficult to find. See: Bergmann et al. (2010) 31 figs. 5556. Also see the bibliography on
4748. Lehmann 1953 remains very useful. For color photographs with details: http://www
.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/03.14.13a-g.
41 Little (1971) pl. III fig. 2.
42 Panofsky (1991) 39 calls the scheme a fishbone or, more formally put, vanishing-axis
principle.
43 So also Lehmann (1953) 150, but without the technical explanation. For a description of
how the fovea (central focusing part of the eye works) compared to the overall view of a scene,
see among many others: Macknik et al. (2010) 2930. They (ibid., 46) offer an analysis similar
skenographia in brief 123
to mine for how Eschers Ascending and Descending (1960) works: He (Macknik) found that
he couldnt look at the structure globally. He could only really see one area of the staircase at
a time . since you can see only one local area at any given time, small, gradual errors along
the entire structure could not be seen with the naked eye.
44 Ings (2007) 160.
45 Brownson (1981) 165. The idea of the picture-plane is post-Antique.
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The focus on individual objects and not their place in the whole scene
becomes especially apparent in South Italian vase-painting from the fourth
century bce. The emphasis is on apparent, because it is not so much the
way objects were represented that changed, but that the change in their
surrounding settings made visible the way objects were viewed. In the fifth
century bce single scenes on vases begin to be portrayed on multiple levels.
For instance, the dead and dying Niobids on the Niobid krater are dispersed
about a rolling countryside.46 At this point nothing jars our visual sense. How
to render three-dimensional elements, like humans, occurs slowly and is
mastered element by element and sometimes part by part. For example, by
the end of the sixth/beginning of the fifth century bce shields show both the
exterior and interior.47
In South Italian vase painting the number of levels increase and the use
of rectilinear objects seen from oblique views makes clear that no overall
coordination exists for any given scene. Consider the volute-krater by the
Varrese Painter, ca. 340bce, in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.48 (Figure 3)
Side A depicts the death of Thersites whose headless body lies on its own
ground-line directly beneath the aedicula with Achilles, his murderer, and
Phoenix. The aedicula is depicted in a three-quarter view that one looks up
at, since the rafters are visible. The couch on which Achilles sits is shown in
a similar three-quarter view, although its underside is not visible. Achilles
and Phoenix, however, are depicted orthogonally, virtually head-on. We can
remove them from the aedicula and place them in any scene with a single
ground line and they will seem appropriate. The same is true for the figures
dispersed around the aedicula, each of whom has his own wavy ground line
despite appearing to float in the middle of the space. None of the figures
has had his proportions adjusted to fit where he appears. Everyone is pretty
46 Paris, Louvre G 341, from Orvieto. ARV 2 601 No. 22. BAD No. 206954 (with photographs
Painter, Theseus shield is elliptical and shows both exterior and interior, with a hint at its
roundness by the use of hatching. Interior of a kylix; ca. 490/480 bce; Munich 2640; ARV 2 402
No. 22; BAD No. 204363 (with photographs and bibliography).
48 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 1900.03.804. Padgett et al. (1993) 99106 with numer-
much to the same scale. Of the objects scattered in the field around Thersites
that indicate the struggle between him and Achilles, two matter. On the far
left at the bottom a basin has fallen off its support, yet the water seen in
its interior defies gravity and looks level. The footed basin, on the right just
beyond Thersites head, looks empty, but like its counterpart is depicted at
an angle.
The problem is that if we are looking up at the rafters in the aedicula, how
can we simultaneously be looking down at the inside of the two basins? A
scene in linear perspective could not allow such an occurrence, but if each
object is viewed separatelythe way we normally zoom in on detailsthen
the artist can choose the view that suits him (and the scene) best. In this case,
the artists canonical view is looking down at a basin to see its farther rim
and contents. Canonical is a term commonly used in cognitive science to
refer to the view from which an object, building, etc. is most easily identified
and hence captures what is most typical about that object.49 Canonical views
tend to become formulaic so that whenever a footed basin, for example, is
required, the canonical view is used. Because we cannot physically in any case
take in the details of the two vases and the aedicula simultaneously, it actually
does not matter for the artist or, indeed, even the viewer that one overall
schema was not used for the vase painting.50 Finally, indirect corroboration
comes from the scenes in the main panels in Roman wall-painting. While
buildings may be depicted in a three-quarter view similar to the aedicula on
the vase with Thersites, it is never applied uniformly throughout the scene
to either the figures or the structures within the panels.
Thus far I have avoided grappling with precisely what Vitruvius (1.2.2) may
mean when he said in Whites more literal translation: scenography is the
sketching of the front and of the retreating sides and the correspondence
(convergence) of all the lines to the point of the compasses (centre of a
circle). Pollitt is more explicit: And finally scaenographia is the semblance
of a front and of sides receding into the background and the correspondence
of all the lines [in this representation] to [a vanishing point at] the center
color photograph: Schrner (2002) 67 fig. 77. Similarly, the Room of the Masks in the House
of Augustus is often used as an example of what a Roman theater would look like, but it, too,
is strikingly free of skenographia except, of course, for its own rendering. In other words, it
does not tell us where the skenographia went, but rather how it was used. See Iacopi (2008)
20 bottom.
49 For definitions and a history of the idea, see Blanz et al. 1996.
50 Perry (1937) presents an argument about Greek life and literature that parallels mine
here.
skenographia in brief 127
A.J. Podlecki
Our ancient sources make clear that Aeschylus had won for himself a
reputation for his stunning visual effects. The ancient Life in some MSS
several times touches on this topic: he far surpassed his predecessors in
the arrangement of the skn, the brilliance of the production, the outfits of
the actors ; (T 1 Radt sect. 2); he used the visual elements and the plots to
make a vivid and striking impression rather than to deceive (sect. 7); he
embellished the skn and made a striking visual impression on the viewers
through brilliance, graphic designs, use of the mekhane, altars and tombs,
trumpets, apparitions, Erinyes . (sect. 142). The entry under his name in the
Suda-lexicon (not always a credible source) reports that he was the first to
use frightening masks daubed with colours (T 2, line 5). Can this reputation
be corroborated in what actually survives?
Supernumeraries
4 T 66. The source seems suspect, especially insofar as Pollux says that the number of fifty
choreutai continued until the Eumenides of Aeschylus, when the public took fright in view of
their size, and the law reduced the number of the chorus (Csapo and Slater (1994) 394).
5 The operative word is relatively. It is widely held that P.Oxy. 2256 fr. 3 points to a date
for Suppl. in the archonship of Arkhedemides, 464/3 (see Garvie (2006) ch. 1), but this view was
vigorously challenged by Scullion (2002) 90100 (a reference I owe to an anonymous Reader),
who argued for a date in the 470s. Some of Scullions arguments are met by Garvie (2006)
xxiv. For my purposes here the dating is inconsequential; the play is full of opsis, whenever it
was first presented.
6 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 197 took the view that Athenaeus is to be understood as
aeschylean opsis 133
and first adorned [his actors] with costumes that conveyed the visual
impression of heroes and heroines, Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 6.11 [T 106].7 The
costumes would be especially important in a play like Persians, a point to
which I return below.
Silences
citing Chamaeleon only for the innovations in choreography, not costume, but this seems to
me over-subtle. The point is of no particular importance for present purposes.
7 Tr. by Csapo and Slater (1994) 261. Aristophaness Aeschylus justifies his use of high-
flown language: it suits the demigods to use exalted expressions, just as they wear much more
impressive clothing than we do (Frogs 10601061, Henderson tr.).
8 Poetics 1460 a 32. It was this passage that elicited Lucass comment about Aeschyluss
Choreography
Monsters?
((2008b) 261).
12 See Lucas (1968) 187188.
aeschylean opsis 135
Compare the remark in section 7 of the Life, cited at the beginning of this
essay: [] {}
. Radt ad loc. cites the exchange in Frogs where
Euripides remarks that his rival
(833834). In the Prometheus Bound (assuming for the moment that Aristotle
thought it was by Aeschylus) Prometheus warns Io of the dangers that lie in
wait for her as she completes her journey to the Nile Delta. She will arrive
at Kisthene, territory of Gorgons, where the three daughters of Phorkys
dwell, three ancient maidens, shaped like swans, with a common eye and
one tooth; these women are never in sight of the suns rays, nor of the moon
at night. And near them are their three winged sisters, the human-loathing
Gorgons with snaky locks, whom no mortal can gaze on and still have life
(793800). What actually survives of Phorkides is an incomplete line cited by
Athenaeus as coming from that play: he plunged into the cave like a wild
boar.13 Athenaeus took this as referring to Perseus, and if that is correct,
the likelihood is strong that it formed part of a tetralogy that dealt with
the story of Perseus and Andromeda.14 Not much else can be asserted with
confidence about the play beyond the fact that Perseus decoyed the Phorkides
and stole their common eye, thus interfering with their role as protectors
of the Gorgons. Schan thought that it ended with Perseuss slaying of the
gorgon Medusa ((1967) 108) and he looked at the iconographic evidence for
hints about how the play might have developed. As plays in Hades Lucas
(1968) 188 suggested Psykhaggoi and Sisyphus Stone-roller (),
of which only a few lines survive. It appears to have been a satyr-play and,
from the title, must have involved Sisyphuss punishment in the Underworld.
The leading character of Glaukos Pontios drew Platos notice. This Glaukos (a
Glaukos of Potniai, as we shall see, was part of the Persians group) was almost
unrecognizable because some of the old parts of his body had been broken
off, others had been crushed, and his whole body marred by the waves, while
other accretionsshells and seaweed, and stoneshad grown upon him
so that he was more like a wild animal than he was like himself (Rep. 611
cd, Grube tr.). It is a pity that we dont know in what contexts the Dog-
heads ( fr. 431) and Eyes-in-chests ( fr. 441) were
mentioned, or possibly appeared.15
Persians
Attire is important in this play (a feature that has not been unnoticed by
critics).17 The emphasis throughout the opening section is on the opulence of
the society which has launched this apparently invincible expedition.18 The
enormous panoplied, gold-caparisoned army was intended to make a strong
visual impression on their Greek adversaries: (48).
It would be surprising if this had not been matched by resplendent costumes
for the chorus. As Thalmann notes, they must have been dressed as befitted
Oriental nobles of high rank . Their dress must have been splendid ((1980)
267). The music, dance, and costumes must have made a performance of
the Persians very impressive (ibid. 267 n. 23). For her part, the Queenlet
us call her Atossaarrived in an elaborate chariot and with appropriately
corresponding magnificence of apparel; an audience would see this, but
readers learn of it only retrospectively.19
How the conjuration scene (vv. 623680) and the climactic appearance
of Darius were managed in the original production we can only speculate,
but it must have been spectacular in every sense of the term. Famously (and
perhaps shockingly to the audience) when the young successor appears he
is disheveled and in rags (907), just as his fathers ghost had foretold (833
836)a humiliating sight, totally demeaning for an Oriental monarch and
repellent to his subjects, who wanted their ruler to look like a man equal
.
aeschylean opsis 137
20 Noteworthy is Aristotles remark about the arousal of pity by the garments and the
like of those who have already suffered (Rhet. 1386b2 Roberts tr.; Halliwell (1998) 338 n. 6).
In Frogs Aeschylus flings the charge at Euripides, You made your royals wear rags, so that
theyd strike people as being piteous [] (10631064, Henderson tr.).
21 Possibly inspired by the play are scenes on a Lucanian volute-krater of the late-fifth
century (Trendall and Webster (1971) III.1,26; Kossatz-Deissmann (1978) 121123, with Tafel
25,2).
22 Sommerstein tr. He suggests Aktaion as an alternative attribution (the jaws in that case
Suppliant Women
The fifty daughters of Danaus enter a grove on the outskirts of Argos with their
father, fleeing from their cousins, the fifty sons of Aegyptus (the number is
specified at v. 321). They are fearful and in some distress, as they demonstrate
by some vehement gestures like tearing their veils (vv. 120121; cf. Libation
Bearers 425428). They are dark-skinned (154155), and when Pelasgus arrives
the first thing that strikes him is how exotic they look with their unhellenic
attire, their luxurious barbarian robes and headpieces (234236).26 Pelasgus
greets their claims to kinship with the Argive people with incredulity: You
resemble more closely Libyan women, he tells them (279280), or nomadic
Indian women, or flesh-eating Amazons (284287). They share their unusual
appearance with their father, who later asks Pelasgus for an escort to get
him through the city safely precisely on the grounds that because he looks
different he may be at some risk from the locals (495498). Their Aegyptiad
cousins, too, have a striking appearance: Danaus from his vantage-point later
says he can see them aboard the pursuing ship, their black limbs standing
forth from their white clothing (719, Friis Johansen tr.). They are threatening
to attack with a large black army (745). Somewhere in the orchestra, perhaps
around its periphery as in Septem, were representation of gods of the Greek
24 Mentioned explicitly or by title are Athena (130, 164), Ares (135), Aphrodite
(140), Apollo (145, 159), Hera (152), and Artemis (154). As Thalmann remarks ((1978) 82),
The repetitions of (lines 127, 135, 145, 149) suggest that [the chorus] actually gesture or
move toward each of the statues in turn. There is a good discussion of the importance of these
statues as significant stage properties .constant presences throughout, casting a watchful
eye over the action by Torrance (2007) 39.
25 Taplin lists some proponents of the visible defender side ((1977b) 150 n. 1). He himself
demurs on the (to me, rather flimsy) grounds that there is insufficient sign of their presence in
the text (ibid.; so too Hutchinson (1985) 105, 111 the unattractive theory). The case for visible
defenders onstage is made by Poochigian (20072008), who meets head-on the problem of
the mixture of tenses (future tenses at Gates 1, 5 and 6, past tenses at Gates 2, 3 and 4).
26 Their strange headgear comes in for a mention again later, 431432. Paley aptly comments
doubtless there was much of colour and splendour, if only for stage effect ((1879) 27).
aeschylean opsis 139
27 That something was there for the audience to see is guaranteed by deictics in the text:
in the Septem ((1970) 122). The metre is largely dochmiac with, from vv. 418 to the end, a large
admixture of cretics (an agitated metre, Webster ibid., 123).
29 Webster says it is too corrupt to expound [sc. metrically] ((1970) 124).
30 Friis Johansen and West accept Schtzs emendation for the MSS o. Taplin
demurs ((1977b) 233). Even if they enter later, as Friis Johansen and others believe, they are
certainly onstage in time for their mistresses to address them as (976).
140 a.j. podlecki
Oresteia
Agamemnon
Whether Clytemnestra was present throughout the first song (parodos)
of Ag or whether she only entered at the end of it must be one of the
most disputed stage directions in Greek tragedy (Taplin (1977b) 280; cf.
Taplin (1972) 8994). If she entered early, i.e. at v. 40 or just after 83, her
silent presence will have coloured the audiences visual impressions of
the lengthy parodos. In any case, she does not actually speak until v. 164.
There may have been some stage business to match the lighting of the
sacrificial fires ordered by her to which the Chorus refer at vv. 261 and 475
477. Perhaps extras were employed. Taplin has Clytemnestra exit at 614 and
re-enter at 855 (with her maids, since 908ff. does not look like a summons,
(1977b) 307 n. 1). His grounds are that [h]er silent presence throughout
the intervening scenes before 854 is highly undesirable (ibid., 303304
n. 4). But if she were present, as Denniston-Page ((1957) 117) and others
believe, then her silence would be significantsinisterly so. Cassandra,
who had entered with her new master in his chariot toward the end of the
second stasimon (the Chorus address him at v. 783), finally breaks her silence
and from 1072 on engages with the Chorus in what Webster calls a long
lyric dialogue ((1970) 126). Her sections are mainly dochmiac throughout
31 My guesses as to what may have happened can be found at Podlecki (1975) 28.
32 Sommerstein (2008b) 5 (either the first or the second play); see Garvie (2006) 183204.
aeschylean opsis 141
and thus reinforce the content of her anguished outbursts; the Chorus begin
with relatively calm iambic trimeters but finally burst into lyric metres, again
mainly dochmiac, for their last three stanzas (11191177). I take it that the
whole last part of the scene would have been played with appropriate, even
exaggerated, gestures to match the vehement language with which Cassandra
strips off the various pieces of her prophets attire from 1264 on. The visual
climax of the play comes with Clytemnestras re-appearance at 1372 with the
bodies of her victims, along with the cloth she used to ensnare her husband,
as well as the murder weapon (probably, though not quite certainly, a sword).
Her change to present tenses with (1383
1386) may indicate that she mimes these actions onstage.
Libation Bearers
We can only guess how the elaborate kommos (vv. 306478) was staged.
The significant visual element here is, paradoxically, the frustration of the
expectations of the audience that the ghost of Agamemnon might actually
appear, as the of Darius did in Persians.33 It is perhaps not so surprising
here as it was in Agamemnon that the murderer should emerge from the
palace with the corpses of his victims as Orestes does at v. 973, but the
audience will certainly have noticed the similarity of these two mirror
scenes, and the bloody garment that Orestes holds up at 980 as a witness to
the justice of his act serves as a kind of bridge between them.34 The closing
lines, with Orestes hallucinating the menacing advances of the Erinyes (1021
to the end), may have been accompanied by appropriately emphatic gestures
by the actor.
Eumenides
Guesses abound about how the complicated entries and re-entries of actors
and Chorus were staged, but clearly there was much to keep the spectators
engaged. Horrified at what she has seen inside Apollos temple, the Pythia
emerges from the shrine on all fours (v. 37), and when all the Erinyes are finally
in the orchestra it is clear from the dialogue that they are masked and garbed
in a manner that makes them look truly repulsive. The Life retails a story
33 Garvie (2009) 260. There are other parallels between the two plays in the dramatic uses
35 (T 1) sect. 9, (Csapo and Slater (1994) 260). It is alluded to also in the entry in Pollux cited
(Podlecki (1989) 164165). Himmelhoch 2005 makes a case for Athenas entrance by chariot
and retention of v. 404.
aeschylean opsis 143
ance, bedecked with aegis and in full war regalia, will have been striking. She
departs at 489 in the direction of her city, announcing her mission to choose
judges of homicide under oath (483), and with these in tow and doubtless
accompanied by various she returns at 566. Besides the jurors
there were attendants bringing benches, two voting urns, and other parapher-
nalia, and with them a . The final procession of Eum was undoubtedly
a grand and impressive stage event (Taplin (1977b) 411), one which demands
a larger number of extras than any other surviving tragedy (ibid., 80). There
will have been attendants who brought the sacrificial victims mentioned by
Athena at v. 1007,37 as well as the torches which the text shows accompanied
the final procession (1005, 1022, 1029, 1041). In Athenas last speech the text
is unfortunately disturbed at a crucial point, but in v. 1028 the reference to
individuals dressed in scarlet-dyed attire has generally (and I believe cor-
rectly) been taken as the goddesss cue that the Erinyes are to be, or perhaps
already have been, re-robed in the crimson cloaks worn by metics in Athens
when they took part in official ceremonies like the Panathenaia. The last
lines of the play (10321056) are a choral celebration in stately dactyls of the
truce that has been negotiated through the patient manoeuverings of the
citys patron goddess. It is not certain how these subsidiary choreutai are
to be identified. Taking their lead from a scholion on v. 1032 many editors
assign the lines to the listed in the ancient dramatis personae.
West designates them , temple-wardens ((1990a) 294; (1998) 397).
Taplin resurrects and endorses Hermanns plausible theory that the jurors,
who (with a little help from Athena) had decided Orestess case, simply took
on this additional function ((1977b) 237, 393, 411).
37 Athena refers to female who are to guard her statue (v. 1024). Whether they
38 These are generally gathered into tetralogies on the not altogether satisfactory grounds
that since Sophocles is reported to have discontinued the practice, Aeschyluss works are to
be assembled in this way wherever possible (more on this at Podlecki (2009) 319320).
39 Schol. Iliad 22.351; Lykophron Alex. 269270 with schol. Taplin illustrates and discusses
a splendid Apulian volute-krater of c. 350 which he considers more than likely related to
Phrygians ((2007) 8587; ill. also at p. i).
40 Its exact placement in the sequence (if they did form a sequence) is controversial; see
discussion of the staging of Prometheus Bound Mastronarde raises the possibility that in that
play the choreuts were in individual cars (which could have been no more than lightweight
frames worn around the body of the walking choreuts) ((1990) 267; 15 choreuts wearing
car suits measuring about 3 wide by 4 long, ibid. 267 n. 60). I owe this ref. to Prof. Liapis.
42 There is iconograpic support for the suggestion of a chorus with or on dolphins: see
Trendall and Webster (1971) I.11, 14, 15 from the period 520480 bc (the dolphin-riders are
male, but the presence of aulos-players shows these are choruses). See Webster (1970) 29 and
Kossatz-Deissmann (1978) 16. A fine Apulian dinos of the mid-fourth century shows seven
Nereids, six of them riding dolphins (the seventh is on a horse), each carrying a piece of
armour: greaves, helmet, and so on (LIMC VI.1 cat. 344: Ruvo, Museo Jatta J 1496).
aeschylean opsis 145
Pollux. 4. 130 (Csapo and Slater (1994) 397398). See Sommerstein (2008b) 274275; Podlecki
(2009) 325326. Taplin (1977b) 431433 challenges the generally accepted view that the
weighing of souls took place on stage and that Zeus himself held the scales, but that still
seems to me where the available evidence points, nor do I share Wests doubts ((2000a) 345
347 about the authorship of Psykhostasia, which West attributes to Aeschyluss son Euphorion.
146 a.j. podlecki
46 Ixion may have covered the sequel: Zeuss purification of Ixion (mentioned twice in
Eum., 441 and 717718) and the latters sacrilegious passion for Hera.
47 Sommerstein and others suggested these were nymphs accompanying Artemis, whom
Actaeon had offended ((2008b) 244). There are graphic depictions at Kossatz-Deissmann
(1978) Tafeln 2832; Schan (1967) 132138.
aeschylean opsis 147
The basic plot involved Prometheuss bestowal of fire not on humans (as in
the back-story to . ) but on the lovable but unruly and oversexed
satryrs. Prometheus apparently taught the little beasties how to make torches
(shown on numerous vases)48 and warned them that if they got too close to
the flame, theyd be mourning their beard like the proverbial goat that had
done the same (fr. 207). There were abundant opportunities here for spirited
activity, goat-play so to speak. From here on the matter gets cloudy. I am
not of the fairly large number of critics who think that Prometheus Bound
has been proven to be indisputably un-Aeschylean.49 Let us, however, start
from the position of some of the nay-sayers, that the (non-extant) Unbound
was by Aeschylus, but the surviving play was composed or put together
specifically to be a companion piece to it, as Taplin proposed ((1975) 464).
Well, to judge from the plot, there was plenty of visual (and frightening)
action in the Unbound: there was a Chorus of grimy Titans, recently released
from their captivity in Tartarus, who, in one of the preserved fragments say
(interestingly for our topic) that they have come to observe ()
Prometheuss trials and the suffering that his bondage entails (fr. 190). In
response, Prometheus tells them to behold (aspicite) him bound and
chained to these rugged rocks (fr. 193.2),50 the wedges still visible which
Hephaestuss cruel skill had driven though his broken body. He is unable to
stave off the attacks of the bird Zeus has sent because he is held fast in Zeuss
chains, as you see I am (ut videtis, fr. 193. 20). At some point Heracles turned
up and Prometheus instructed him about the best route to follow in pursuit of
(probably) Geryons cattle and the golden apples of the Hesperides. Returned
from his exploits, Heracles shot the dreaded birdonstage, as is apparent
from the single line cited from his prayer on aiming his bow, May Apollo
the hunter direct my arrow straight! (fr. 200, Sommerstein tr.). The title
guarantees that Prometheus was freed, and there was almost certainly also a
rapprochement effected between the former adversaries, but how exactly
this was brought about is anyones guess and in another single-line citation,
Prometheus, still iron-firm in his hostility, refers to Heracles as the dearest
son of an enemy father (fr. 201). Sommerstein thinks that it is possible that
[Zeus] appeared in Prometheus Unbound ((2008b) 275).
48 Beazley 1939.
49 See Podlecki (2005) 197200. I am pleased to see that recently Edith Hall has joined the
small group of the unpersuaded ((2010b) 230).
50 Sommersteins tr. of the passage in Tusc. Disp. 2.2325, which is Ciceros (presumably
Given the lingering doubts (not mine) of the status of Prometheus Bound, it
would perhaps be imprudent to do more than list in summary fashion those
elements that bear on the present topic. Here is a play that was spectacular
in every sense of the term,51 with something to impact the visual sensibilities
of the most blas viewer: Kratoss ugly mask (v. 78), which was almost certainly
matched by one worn by the mute Bia; Oceanids speeding in, perhaps in
some unusual way;52 Oceanuss arrival on his fantastical hippocamp; Io, her
metamorphsis into a cow already begun (588), entering at 562 with a jerky
song almost entirely in dochmiacs; Hermess sudden appearance at 944,
probably on the mekhane; and the final cataclysm, where the apocalyptic
language might have been matched by some scenic (and almost certainly
also sonic) effects.53 A visual point that has been overlooked is Prometheuss
repeated urgings of all within his hearing to view, regard, be beholders
of, and thus be able to testify to, the maltreatment he is suffering through
the agency of the ungrateful new despot on Olympus whose benefactor he
had been.54
Aristotle advised the budding dramatist to visualize the incidents [of the
plot] as much as he can; he will then realize them vividly as if they were
being enacted before his eyes.55 Luckily for us, Aeschylus seems to have been
instinctively doing just this as he composedand directedhis very visual
dramas.
bags filled with pebbles and blown up, which are knocked against bronze vessels below and
behind the stage (Csapo and Slater (1994) 397). Pickard-Cambridge ((1946) 236) suggested
that the may have been a special kind of revolving prism, raised high up,
with a metal surface flashing in the sun. There is no evidence of when such devices were
first introduced, but the view that they were unavailable to Aeschylus is based largely on a
priori reasoning: a primitive theatre would have had no use for such relatively advanced
techniques of theatrical realism.
54 I have analyzed some of these aspects at Podlecki 1973.
55 1455a2326, Grube tr. ((1958) 35).
THEATRICALITY AND VOTING IN EUMENIDES:
*
Geoffrey W. Bakewell
Capital court cases make for compelling drama. This was as true in ancient
Greece1 as it remains today, and the voting scene in Aeschylus Eumenides
(lines 711753)2 ranks as one of the most theatrical moments in the entire
Oresteia. Athena has just finished instructing the court trying Orestes for
matricide, saying that it is now time for them to stand, raise their ballots, and
do justice ( / , 708709).
With Apollo and the Erinyes trading angry reproaches, the jurors proceed
to an altar or table, where each deposits his voting token in one of two
urns. The goddess then speaks again, claiming it as her task to render a final
verdict ( , 734). She declares her intention to vote for the
defendant, explains her reasoning, and states that a tie will result in acquittal.
The suspense is palpable as she herself approaches the urns and deposits
her token. The spectators undoubtedly sympathized with Orestes anguished
* I thank Toph Marshall, Jennifer Wise, Vayos Liapis, and the members of the Humanities
Research Group at Creighton University for their extremely helpful comments on earlier
versions of this piece.
1 Suspense likewise attends the mock voting scene in Aristophanes Wasps, with Philo-
notes inter alia three important elements that are absent from the scene yet mentioned or
hinted at elsewhere in the play: the summoning of witnesses; the swearing of an oath by the
jurors; and a founding speech by Athena. He further argues, on largely formal grounds (400),
that Aeschylus text of the trial in Eum[enides] has been considerably disrupted and cut, and is
corrupt on a scale which has not been seriously entertained since the heady days of Kirchhoff
and Wecklein. While 566571, 575677, and 711777 are substantially as Aeschylus left them,
lines 678710 have been displaced and altered, and lines 572574 are the corrupted edges of a
large lacuna. Fortunately for us, the lines analyzed here belong to one of the sounder portions
of the scene. Unless otherwise noted, the Aeschylean texts presented are those of West (1990);
all translations are my own.
150 geoffrey w. bakewell
cry: How will the contest turn out? ( ;, 744).3 The very
next line emphasizes the visual dimension of the proceedings, as the Erinyes
ask their mother Night whether she is watching: ; (745). Mutatis
mutandis, Samuel Johnson was right: nothing concentrates the mind quite
like the prospect of a hangingespecially someone elses.4
To date, scholars studying this passage have focused on a number of
important issues, including the number and stage movements of the jurors;5
the related question of whether Athenas ballot is a tying or a casting vote;6
the rationale behind her decision;7 and the implications of the verdict.8 Yet
an important theatrical element of the voting scene has been comparatively
neglected to date. At line 735, the goddess vows her support for the defendant:
(I will cast this vote for Orestes).
The best reading of the line is that a voting token is actually present, and that
at some point thereafter Athena places it in the urn for acquittal.9 The main
3 How much the audience knew or suspected about the trials outcome is unclear. While
Jacoby (1954) FGH IIIB Suppl. p. 24 claims that Aischylus was the first to bring Orestes before
the Areopagus, Sommerstein (1989) 5 argues more tentatively that prior versions of the tale
existed. Even if the latter is correct, many of the spectators might have been unfamiliar with
such pre-Aeschylean works. At Poetics 1453a20, Aristotle lists Orestes among the heroes often
treated by tragedians. Yet elsewhere (1451b2526) he states that such standard stories, although
delightful, were familiar to only a few ( ,
). Nor would the existence of the proagon necessarily change matters. If the practice
dates back as early as 458, we still do not know how much poets actually revealed about their
upcoming productions. (On evidence for the proagon, see Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 6768;
Csapo and Slater (1995) 109110, nos. 48.) Finally, even an audience expecting Orestes to be
acquitted might not know how this would transpire.
4 Hill and Powell (1934) iii.167.
5 Many scholars hold that ten jurors cast their ballots seriatim during the ten couplets
comprising lines 711730. For a judicious review of the scholarship surrounding these lines
and the controversial triplet at 731733, see Sommerstein (1989) 222225.
6 Tying: see Wilamowitz (1893) ii.332, (1914a) 183185; Gagarin (1975). Casting: see Hester
the earlier choral division at the moment of the kings murder in Agamemnon. On mirror
scenes in general see Taplin (1989) 100103.
9 Pace Goldhill (1984) 258, whose emphasis on ambiguity in the language of the Oresteia
leads him to stress the difficulty of reading a dramatic text as specifying its performance. His
specific objection that the tense of is future is not however compelling. Gagarin
(1975) 124 n. 13 plausibly suggests that the verb implies that Athena deposits her tying vote
sometime before line 742. Or the future tense could also be performative, announcing an
act that is already under way; the promise held in such futures is often fulfilled by its mere
enunciation. On the use of the future tense to emphasize present intention see Goodwin
(1890) 20 para. 72.
theatricality and voting in eumenides 151
reason is the deictic modifying .10 But another comes some fifteen
lines later, when Apollo cautions the anonymous jurors to count the votes
correctly. To this injunction he adds the further, gnomic comment:
,/ (great
suffering comes from lack of judgment, whereas a single cast vote saves a
house, 750751).11 The spectators attention is thereby concentrated on the
remarkable power of a single ballot, . And we should therefore
understand Athena at line 735 as not merely having hers in her hand, but
holding it aloft, the better to serve as a representative example.
Many of the spectators will have been acquainted with both the prop
and the process. As citizens of the young democracy, they had become
accustomed to hearing arguments and casting their votes in various bodies,
above all the popular law courts.12 As fifth-century jurors, they made use of
the same one-ballot, two-urn system depicted here by Aeschylus.13 Moreover,
following the introduction of sortition for the archonships in 487/6,14 the
membership of the Areopagus had gradually become more diverse; more
spectators were thus familiar with its workings.15 Collard rightly terms the
10 According to Taplin (1989) 150, it is usually the case that the deictic refers to someone
present in sight of the audience or at least to be imagined as within sight of the speaker.
( can also refer with some vividness to absent persons who have just been spoken of, and
are thus present to the speakers mind. For examples of such usage see Lloyd-Jones (1965)
241242; Diggle (1994) 49 n. 2; Hutchinson (1985) 111 ad 408.) Taplin (1989) 150 adds that when
tragedy uses to denote absent people, they are usually nearby within the skene. It is worth
noting that in Libation Bearers, Aeschylus twice uses a deictic to refer to an important prop
that is clearly present ( , this cloak, (1011), , this weaving (1015)).
Similar to the passage we are considering (Eumenides 735) is the terminology used to describe
Philocleons voting token in Aristophanes Wasps: /
(Take this ballot, close your eyes, bring it to the farther urn, and
let him off, father, 987988).
11 There is no fully satisfactory emendation of the first part of line 751. See West (1990b) ad
loc. and Sommerstein (1989) 233. The phrase is, however, widely deemed sound.
12 On the variegated terminology referring to the popular courts see Boegehold (1995),
who claims (1819) that heliaia, as the entire system of popular courts, distinguished that
particular area of the states functioning from that of the boule and the ekklesia One could
say heliaia to invoke court in its generic sense when, for example, defining court procedures
for allies or authorizing a scrutiny of qualifications for citizenship In such uses, heliaia
is interchangeable with or .
13 Boegehold (1995) 21 notes that the change in voting procedure from one pebble to
two specially designed ballots, seems to have been made sometime after 405bce but before
the mid-4th century.
14 AthPol 22.5; see Rhodes (1993) 272274.
15 Ephialtes reassignment in 462 of many of the Areopagus powers to other bodies,
including the dikasteria, will have been the topic of many conversations public and private. On
152 geoffrey w. bakewell
the reforms themselves see AthPol 25.14 and Rhodes (1993) 311322. On Aeschylus attitude
toward them see Macleod (1982) 127129.
16 The noun is repeatedly used to describe the jurors (81, 483, 684, 743).
17 (2002) xvixvii.
18 (2002) lvi (italics added). In discussing Eumenides court, Wilamowitz (1893) ii.333 argues
alles was wir als besonders areopagitisch kennen, ist fern gehalten [everything that we
recognizes as peculiar to the Areopagus is removed]. He concludes (334) that diese Athena
und dieser Areopag sind 458 fr die modern empfindenden gedichtet, fr die verehrer des
volksgerichtes, und der ganze proce ist so gehalten, da er die formen allein hervorhebt,
die diesem gerichte mit jedem gerichte gemeinsam sind [this Athena and this Areopagus
were composed in 458 for modern sensibilities, for those who prized the dikasterion, and the
whole trial is conducted in such a way as to emphasize only the features which these two
institutions [Areopagus and dikasterion] have in common].
19 On the original use of these objects as ballots, see Boegehold (1995) 28. The earliest
official bronze ballots found in the Agora date to the fourth century (ibid., 82).
20 Taplin (1978) 77 argues that stage properties are a particularly straightforward means
for the dramatist to put his meaning into tangible, overt form. At Poetics 1455a2223, Aristotle
advises the tragic poet to construct his plots and elaborate them with diction in as visual a
way as possible ( ). On props as focalizers in comedy see
Revermann (2006a) 243244 and this volume.
21 E.g. Goheen (1955) 115126.
theatricality and voting in eumenides 153
token with a vigorous, downward motion of her arm.22 At least one visual
meaning seems clear: the moment of reckoning has arrived. The tapestries
led Agamemnon to his death, and the sword forced Clytemnestra to hers.23
Now the has come for Orestes.
But of course Athenas ballot does not kill Orestes: it saves him. Although
following in the train of these other prominent objects representing claims to
justice, it nevertheless departs from the older patterns pervading the House
of Atreus. Some of these differences are manifest in the way Aeschylus may
have staged the balloting. I say may have advisedly, for the poet himself
left us no stage directions, the surviving parepigraphai are unhelpful in this
regard,24 and some inferences are stronger than others. Nevertheless, the
views sketched here lie well within the scholarly mainstream. Let us begin
with the backdrop. In the preceding plays, the skene may have been painted
to depict the ancestral palace of the Atreidae.25 In Eumenides the haunting,
looming presence, whose walls could all but speak,26 is gone. In its place
stands an outline of a temple to Athena on the Akropolis.27 Located somewhat
to the front of the temple, at the rear of the orchestra, was a set of benches
carried on by the jurors.28 And in front of them was the thymele, or perhaps a
22 The goddess later reverses this movement at line 752, raising her arm to declare Orestes
the victor. On the gesture see Boegehold (1989).
23 Taplin (1989) 356 comments on the extensive parallelism of the two earlier scenes: a
man and a woman dispute over going into the house. It is a matter of victory and defeat, life
and death.
24 See Sommerstein (1989) 105 ad 117.
25 The Oresteia is widely thought to make the first dramatic use of the skene qua building.
According to Padel (1990) 348, the likelihood is that from the first, tragic scene painting
consisted of flat panels, painted with architectural shapescolumns, pediments, roofs
attached more or less permanently to the skene wall. Fitton-Brown (1984) 11 argues that given
Eumenides changes of venue, the locations in the Oresteia cannot have been fixed by means
of painted scenery.
26 Agamemnon 3738.
27 See Wilamowitz (1914a) 180: fr den Wechsel des Schauplatzes [in Eumenides] war in
der Pause gar nicht viel zu tun ntig. Die Tempelfront blieb; sie bedeutete nun einen anderen
Tempel [not much had to be done during the interlude for the change of dramatic locale
in Eumenides. The temple faade remained, denoting now another temple]. He adds (181)
da der Schauplatz bei Athena, also auf der athenischen Burg spielt, ist klar and sogar auch
zugestanden [it is clear and indeed stated that the [voting scene] occurs at Athenas [temple],
that is, on the Athenian Akropolis]. See further Wilamowitz (1893) ii.334335. By contrast,
Sommerstein (1989) 123 argues that if one has to specify where the action is located from
[line] 235 to the end of the play, one cannot say anything more precise than Athens. In the
present scene [i.e., lines 235298] we must be on the Akropolis, in fact inside the temple of
Athena Polias where the (80) was housed. But the trial scene takes place on
the Areopagus (685 ff.).
28 Sommerstein (1989) 185 suggests that, based on Aristophanes Wasps 90, it is more
154 geoffrey w. bakewell
table, atop which rested a pair of urns.29 As the voting begins, the jurors rise,
with their vertical movements recalling other actions earlier in the trilogy:
the watchman rousing himself at the start of Agamemnon, the king standing
and alighting from his chariot, the Erinyes stirring from sleep at the start of
Eumenides. Something momentous is afoot.
The break with the past becomes immediately apparent in the direction
that the jurors and Athena move to cast their ballots. In both Agamemnon and
Libation Bearers, the justice-bringing props moved away from the audience
and approached the impenetrable wall of the palace faade.30 Clytemnestras
textiles ushered Agamemnon to and through the deadly door, while Orestes
sword31 drove his mother into the house in her turn. But in Eumenides, Athena
and her ballot likely move in the opposite direction, away from the skene and
towards the audience.32 The implications are profound. For one thing, justice
has become more transparent: administered in an outdoor setting, it is now
visible to and verifiable by all. For another, Athena has repeatedly addressed
the jurors as the Athenian people, the (681); their movement
toward their peers in the audience suggests that the demos now has a greater
role to play in judging the affairs of its brilliant dynasts.33 Put simply, justice
takes a new course in Eumenides.34
likely that the jurors sat on benches rather than on the ground or putative steps leading
to the skene.
29 Sommerstein (1989) 185: there must also have been a table on which stood two voting
urns, bearing distinctive marks (perhaps letters) to show which was for condemnation and
which for acquittal; since this table was the focus of the audiences attention for a considerable
time (711753), it should be prominently placed, well forward in the orchestra. Cf. Wilamowitz
(1893) ii.332333: wo die Urnen standen, wird nicht klar, da sie sowol vor der Gottin stehend
gedacht werden knnen, wie auch die Gottin whrend ihrer Rede sich an den Tisch begeben
konnte [where the urns stood is not clear, because they can be imagined as standing before
the goddess, or she could move to the table during her speech].
30 On the general significance of the skene and its fateful door see Padel (1990) 354356.
On Clytemnestras control of the doorway in Agamemnon see Taplin (1989) 300. Garvie (1986)
xlii notes that in Libation Bearers we are still conscious of the palace door behind which
Clytaemestra waits, and through which Orestes must eventually gain admittance.
31 Taplin (1989) 359 argues that Orestes sword is likely visible at Libation Bearers 973.
Clytemnestras call for the man-killing axe ( ) at line 889 and Orestes
unusually rapid entrance shortly thereafter (on which see Taplin (1989) 351352) suggest that
the sword made its initial appearance even earlier.
32 As implied by e.g. Sommersteins reconstruction ((1989) 185).
33 Griffith (1995) 124. See also Wise, who interprets ((1998) 166) the vote of Athena as an
Mass following Vatican II, when: 1) the altar was moved forward from the rear wall of the
theatricality and voting in eumenides 155
Another crucial difference is that the ballots are cast by disinterested par-
ties. As Sommerstein notes, despite the frequent legal metaphors, in reality
justice/punishment in Agamemnon invariably consists in the taking of vio-
lent revenge by the injured party or his/her representative.35 Zeitlin likewise
observes that while Orestes actions in Libation Bearers constitute a step for-
ward, on occasion he too relapses into the old ways.36 The hands carrying the
ballots in Eumenides thus convey a broader shift, with a court system replac-
ing the legal practice of self-help. The placement of the contending parties
emphasizes this development visually. According to Sommerstein, Orestes
and the Erinyes were probably located on opposite sides of the orchestra;
the chorus will have grouped themselves behind their leader.37 I envision
his separation as taking the form of a stage left/stage right split. Standing
downstage from the benches at the rear of the orchestra and upstage from
the altar/table towards the front, the opposing parties will then have formed
an up-to-down gauntlet through which the jurors had to pass before voting.
The urns into which the ballots are cast are fraught with significance. The
word used to describe them at line 742 is .38 In the preceding plays, this
same term was repeatedly connected with the deaths of men. At Agamemnon
435, for instance, the chorus refers to the urns that arrive from Troy filled
with the ashes of dead warriors.39 At line 1128 in the same play, Cassandra
foresees Agamemnons death in a well-watered tub ( hi
).40 And at line 99 in Libation Bearers, Electra uses an urn to bring to her
dead father the liquid offerings commanded by her mother. In Eumenides,
by contrast, the contents of the urns give life. Apollo makes this clear at
line 748, when he tells the vote-counters to count correctly the shakings-out
of ballots ( ). If the voting urns were made of
sanctuary; and 2) the Celebrant consecrating the Host stood with his face rather than his back
to the congregation.
35 Sommerstein (1989) 19.
36 Zeitlin (1965) 497498: the restoration of his patrimony as a secondary motive may be
evidence that [Orestes] is not the perfect dispenser of justice [R]elatively free though he
may be of base and deceptive motives, he might also have become corrupted by his role as
avenger.
37 Sommerstein (1989) 185.
38 LSJ s.v. state that in tragedy, the word is used of a vessel of any kind. According to
Boegehold (1995) 210, the urns that served as receptacles for the ballots [in classical Athens]
are variously called kadoi, kadiskoi, hydriai, or amphoreis.
39 Agamemnon 437 depicts Ares as a gold-exchanger of bodies who send urns packed
urns.
156 geoffrey w. bakewell
metal and not clay,41 this might have additional implications.42 And once the
ballots have been exposed and tabulated, their power is spent; they are not
brandished again later, like the deadly garment at Libation Bearers (980ff.).
Put differently, the justice dispensed in Eumenides is lasting; unlike robe and
sword, the ballot does not give rise to claim and counter-claim.
There is one final dimension of Athenas to consider: the prop
provides another example of Aeschylus penchant for making the verbal
visual. Many scholars have shown how the poets chains of imagery become
increasingly concrete in the course of the Oresteia.43 For instance, the bindings
on Iphigenia become enmeshed with the net cast over Troy; these fibers
are in turn interwoven with the cloths leading into the palace and the
robe constricting Agamemnon. And all these images are of a piece with
the garment displayed by Orestes.44 Athenas ballot is likewise a physical
summation of the Oresteias insistent focus on law.45 Daube showed that
Agamemnon in particular is steeped in legal metaphor.46 Nowhere is this
clearer than at lines 810818, when Agamemnon enters. He begins his
triumphal homecoming by likening the destruction of Troy to the outcome
of a trial conducted by the gods:
810
,
47
815
.
41 According to AthPol 68.3, by the fourth century a bronze urn collected the ballots that
counted, whereas a wooden one got the discards. Rhodes (1993) 731 conjectures that at an
earlier stage in the history of the courts ordinary [i.e., clay] amphorae were used. Taplin (in
Hart (2003) 132) notes that in Peter Halls 1981 staging, the auditory dimension of the voting
scene was crucial: you heard the pebble drop.
42 According to Lyons (2003) 94, in ancient Greece valuable metal objects were generally
associated with men rather than women; the use of bronze urns might therefore be one more
sign marking Athenas court and its justice as a male institution.
43 E.g. Zeitlin (1965) 463.
44 Taplin (1978) 81 notes the resemblance between Clytemnestras cloths and Libation
Bearers robe: it is unlikely that the same stage property was used throughout both for the
coverlets and the trap; but even so the associations between them are clear.
45 On the trilogys concern with legal matters see e.g. Collard (2002) lvi.
46 (1938) 104112.
47 The reading is that of Page (1972) et al.; on the phrases
48 Fraenkel (1950) ii.371 notes that in Aeschylus and Sophocles, the adjective
was at some level inscrutable. In the Athenian court, by contrast, true justice
is a product of men, and intelligible to them.52 For another, the god-jurors
in Agamemnon are described as / .
According to Fraenkel, the point is that the gods, by virtue of their own
divine insight, hear the claims direct, and not as a human judge does by way
of speeches from the parties involved and the examination of witnesses.53 But
the phrase is simultaneously disturbing, as it intimates that Agamemnons
gods may simply have disregarded the pleas of the Trojans.54 In Eumenides, by
contrast, Athena places great emphasis on both parties right to speak and be
heard,55 and assures the Erinyes that their claims received full consideration.56
And then there is the matter of the verdict. The trial described in Agamem-
non results in conviction, that of Eumenides, in acquittal. More significant still
is the fact that the earlier plays metaphor depicts a mass trial, with a single
proceeding used against a group of defendants, the inhabitants of Troy.57 But
in the later trial, the fate of Argos is separate from that of Orestes. Although
he does swear that his acquittal has made his countrymen reliable allies of
Athens (762766), there is no hint that they would have been punished had
he been convicted. Perhaps the most important difference is the disparity
in the vote totals. According to Agamemnon, the gods reached their verdict
against Troy unanimously, .58 But the Iliad, of course, casts a
number of the gods as stalwart supporters of Troy. And Agamemnon itself
raises insistent doubts about whether the destruction of Priams city was
truly just. The chorus, for instance, back Agamemnon and his cause. Yet in
52 See Macleod (1982) 134; Rose (1992) 250. Sommerstein (1989) 225 observes that if
mortals and immortals act together as partnerspartners almost but not quite equal
that is thoroughly in conformity with the spirit of a play which narrows to an extraordinary
extent the gulf in power between men and gods.
53 (1950) ii.375. See also Goldhill (1984) 66.
54 Macleod (1982) 133134.
55 According to the oath cited in Demosthenes Against Timocrates, the classical Athenian
the audience. At Thucydides 3.36, an Athenian assembly in 428 re-opens the case of Mytilene,
all of whose men had been condemned to death: and on the following day they regretted it
immediately, considering that they had enacted a savage and weighty decree, to destroy an
entire city rather than the guilty (
, ).
58 For a similar usage, see Aeschylus Suppliant Women 605, ,
(the Argives decided unanimously). Fraenkel (1950) iii.589 paraphrases the words to mean
with an unambiguous result, in a decision leaving no room for doubt.
theatricality and voting in eumenides 159
the second stasimon, even they express misgivings about the venture. True,
they begin by faulting Helen and Troy for the war. But as Knox has shown,
their lion imagery comes back to bite the Greeks, implicating them in crimes
as well.59 Their conclusion in the fourth antistrophe is worth noting: Justice
shines in smoky dwellings, and honors the righteous life (
,/ / , 774776). But as the end
of Agamemnons legal metaphor reminds us, it is the houses at Troy that
now smoke (818). And in contrast to the unanimous verdict imagined by the
king in Agamemnon, the relatively even division of votes in Eumenides (753)
suggests that elements of justice can be found in the claims of both sides.
In conclusion, the ballot that Athena holds aloft and casts at lines 734741
is a focalizer for the new type of dispensed in Eumenides. This important
stage property, highlighted by the deictic , replaces the self-help sought
by Clytemnestra with deadly fabrics and by Orestes with the sword. The
goddess stands for an approach to justice that takes into account
competing viewpoints, and thus proves more transparent, more impartial,
more communal, and more lasting. It represents the triumph not of guile or
violence, but of the good kind of ,60 a persuasion that is rooted in oaths
and rules, evidence and arguments. In Libation Bearers, Electra famously
asked (120) whether she should pray for the arrival of a judge () or an
avenger () to press her case. The ballot cast by Athena in Eumenides
now seals the verdict of her courts jurors, dikasts who bring both justice
() and victory ().
59 (1952) 1922.
60 Macleod (1982) 135 notes that by the end of Eumenides, persuasion is no longer as
earlier in the trilogy a force that leads to crime or death it is now the agent of the continuing
peace and happiness of the city.
UNDER ATHENAS GAZE:
AESCHYLUS EUMENIDES AND THE TOPOGRAPHY OF OPSIS
Peter Meineck
1 The term Theatre of Dionysos is not found at all in fifth or fourth centuries except
a distinction between the theatre and the cinema. Since then the phrase has come to be
broadly applied to cultural specific genres of visual culture such as scopic regimes of gender,
class, photography and documentary film to examine the cultural underpinnings that operate
in the presentation of and comprehension of images.
3 See Zeitlin (1994) 145.
162 peter meineck
but it should be stated at the outset that although I do believe that visuality
was an essential part of ancient drama and one that has often been neglected,
it operated in tandem with the aural elements of a playthe music, lyrics
and words. Greek drama was not mime. Words delivered in the form of live
utterances existing in the moment they are spoken or sung in the ears of the
audience were as important as a tilt of the masked head, a gesture of the hand
or the steps of a dance. In fact the Greek theatrical experience needed both
the aural and the visual to be completebut there has been much already
written about the words of Greek drama and this brief study is an attempt to
balance the scales a little by focusing on the visual.
The key to understanding the importance of this topographical opsis
lies in Greek dramas close connections to the presentation of performative
collective movement such as processions, street revels, parades, dance and
choral performance (what I term symporeusis4) and how they interacted
with the landscape they moved through. Symporeutic performance forms had
a great deal of influence on fifth-century theatre, the space it was performed
in and the nature of the relationship of the visual field available to the
spectator. The example we will examine in detail is Aeschylus Eumenides,
and how the brand-new colossal bronze statue of Athena by Phidias erected
on the Acropolis in the late 460s / early 450s bce had a powerful bearing
on the structure and reception of the Oresteia. Thus, when Aeschylus brings
his Orestes to Athenas statue in the Athens of Eumenides and then has the
goddess appear on stage, he is forging a relationship with his spectators
immediate visual environment and creating a vivid political and social
connection between the mythological world of the play and actual events
existing in the here and now of the spectators. The Bronze Athena was the first
monument to be erected on the ruined Acropolis, more than 20 years after the
Persian destruction and at the time of the Oresteias performance had either
just been completed or was in the final stages. According to Pausanias it stood
so tall that it could be seen from Cape Sounion some 30 miles away.5 This
great agalma (adornment) may well have been one of the first major public
works undertaken by the new radical democracy and stood as a symbol of
Athenian defiance in the face of Persian aggression and Spartan dominance
and as a bold new expression of Athenian cultural hegemony.
The spectators at the theatron at the Sanctuary of Dionysos Eleuthereus,
whether members of the Athenian demos or foreign visitors, were engaged
6 For a description of the way in which peripheral and foveal vision operate when viewing
artworks see Livingstone (2002) 6971. The mask helped guide foveal vision in the open-air
environment of the ancient stage and the chorus, far from dropping out of sight between
their odes, contributed a further level of visual emotional engagement by constantly listening,
reacting and moving in the peripheral vision of the spectator.
7 See Rehm (2002) 35.
8 See Revermann (2006a) 113.
9 See Woodruff (2008) 3148.
10 Panegyricus (iv.4445) cited in Goldhill (2000b) 167.
11 On extramssive vision, see Lindberg (1976) 215 and Wade (1998) 1113; Plato, Timaeus
45bd, Republic 6. 507d508c and Theaetus 156de. Though Aristotle (On the Senses, 2. 438a
164 peter meineck
be looked at was akin to being touched. In this context vision could never be
passive, but instead, was a reciprocal act and this attitude had a great bearing
on the way visual information was conveyed in the Greek theatre. Spectators
did not watch in a darkened room, as most modern theater-goers do, being
guided to look at where a director chooses to focus their view; instead, they
assembled in the open-air where they could see the reactions of their fellow
spectators, contemplate the stunning views of their city and countryside and
gaze on the masked actors that effectively provoked intense individuated
emotional responses. The actors were also involved in this reciprocal visual
process by placing their masks before the gaze (prosoponface, also
the term for mask)12 of the spectatorsthe mask was gazed on and also
gazed out.13 This idea of extramissive vision is pithily summed up by Ruth
PadelEyes ex-press. Something in comes out.14
Athenian tragedy has a close relationship to the visual performative
devices inherent in other forms of Greek ritual and theoric activity, which
were usually presented by some form of symporeusis. Public dances, pro-
cessions, sacrificial parades and street-reveling all helped ritualize the space
they travelled through and provided a cultural basis for Greek dramas close
relationship between narrative and environment. Processional and move-
ment performance forms such as the komos were an essential part of Greek
festival culture, creating both a dynamic visual display and providing large-
scale collective participation. Thus, symporeusis had a profound effect on
ancient drama and its influence can be discerned in many interrelated areas,
such as the festival environment that drama was placed in, the theatrical
use of the chorus, the location and architecture of the theatre, and much
438b) rejected the prevailing concept of extramissive vision where sight was thought to be
facilitated via rays emitting from the eyes, he begins Metaphysics (1.980a) extolling Sight, as
the most loved of all the senses and the one that most of all, makes us know.
12 The earliest occurrence of the term applied to a mask seems to be the word []
(though it was restored at a later date) found on an Attic inscription dated to 434/3 (IG 13
343.7.) This may relate to the use of a mask in ritual practice. By the mid fourth century bce
we find also applied to the mask in Aristotles Poetics (1449a35), referring to the
disfigured features of the comic mask.
13 Evidence for the tragic mask in fifth century vase painting and relief sculpture indicates
that the eye-holes were filled in with sclerae (whites) with a small hole that represented the
pupil that the wearer looked out of. Therefore the frontal gaze direction of the mask out to the
spectators was very important in facilitating emotional engagement. See figs 1.11.9 in Csapo
(2010) 131. The mask was able to display an astounding variety of emotional states and was
not at all an unchanging visage. I have addressed this quality of the mask in detail in Meineck
(2011).
14 Padel (1992) 60.
under athenas gaze 165
15 On the route of the procession of the City Dionysia see Sourvinou-Inwood (2003) 6799.
perceptual frame of Greek drama as zooming between the mythic past and contemporary
religious practices. Revermann (2006a) 111115 applies the Bakhtinian concept of chronotopes
to Greek drama and proposes that tragedy favors closed, fixed and linear chronotopes while
comedy is more open, fluid and discontinuous (111).
166 peter meineck
aetiology for the Areopagus council, marking its recent political and social
role in real Athenian society with an ancient foundation myth linked to
an actual physical locationin this case Ares Rock in Athens just a few
hundred feet to the west of the Sanctuary of Dionsyos where the play was
presented.
In addition to the processions staged by a city, the journeys the traveling
theoroi (viewers)19 undertook were frequently in the form of a procession
and the cult sites they visited, such as Delphi, Olympia, Dodona and Isthmia,
were organized with the movement of the procession in mind.20 This is vividly
displayed in Aeschylus Eumenides, where the Pythia describes the arrival of
Apollo in theoric terms and pictures the god traveling from Delos (famous for
its Ionic theoria), to Athens and then being escorted to Delphi by a retinue
of Athenians in a sacred procession that is imagined as building the roads
and clearing his way (1117). Even when a state-sanctioned theoria was not
being performed, the sanctuary itself offered the visitor a plethora of images
for personal sacred viewing via the visual display of statuary, architectural
detail, wall paintings, offerings and monuments. This focus on the sanctuary
as a place of ritual movement can be found in the writings of Pausanias who
describes the sites he visits in such terms, his own topographical narrative
echoing the processional movement of the theoric rituals that were held
there.21 Thus, in Euripides Ion (205218) the Chorus of Athenian women
visiting Delphi gaze on the sculpture and architectural details, compare
them to the Acropolis in Athens and demonstrate their knowledge of the
mythological scenes on display.
While certain Athenians, usually from the upper echelons of society, took
part in state-sponsored theoria to important pan-Hellenic shrines such as
Delphi, the polis itself developed theoric festivals designed to imbue a sense
of civic identity and connect the city of Athens with the surrounding cult
sites of Attica.22 Within the city, processions provided the visual context for
a large number of cult activities throughout the year and it would certainly
not be a stretch to maintain that the dominant performance form of fifth
19 Rutherford (1998) 131156 prefers the terms pilgrim, but Scullion (2005) 111130 objects
second half of the fifth century conformed to an architectural scheme and spatial plan that
reflected the needs of the procession, what he has termed processional architecture.
21 See Elsner (2000) 5258, who plots Pausanias description of the sanctuary of Zeus at
4071.
under athenas gaze 167
century Athens was the procession.23 The parade at the City Dionysia also
included foreign visitors in the total participatory experience and for them a
visit to the City Dionysia was certainly a theoric expedition. An inscription
relating to the foundation of a colony at Brea from 446/5 bce orders the allied
states to bring a cow and panoply of armor to the Panathenaea (presumably
as a sacrificial offering and dedication) and a phallus for the Dionysia. This
strongly implies these foreign representatives actually participated in the
Dionysian procession itself.24 Additionally, according to Isocrates, during the
second half of the fifth century the annual tribute collected from the allies
may have been paraded in the Sanctuary of Dionysos before the theatron.25 In
Clouds, Aristophanes offers us a glimpse of what deities looking from above
made of all this visual activity. Here the clouds are imagined gazing down
on a city where great temples, splendid statues, and sacred sites are teeming
with holy initiates, sacred processions, sacrifices, choral songs and dances.
Athens observed from the heavens is a city of ritual performance and works
of art that visually honor the gods, and the ode itself concludes by focusing on
the very festival the spectators of this play are attendingthe City Dionysia.26
On to Athens, maidens bearing rain
The hallowed land of Cecrops race,
Full of the bravest men
Where the initiates seek to attain
Acceptance to a sacred place.
The house of Mysteries for holy rites.
Where the heavenly gods gave
Massive temples with statues grand
And godly processions to sacred sites
The splendid sacrifices that crown the land.
Celebrations held throughout the year
Then sweet Dionysos comes in spring.
And the resonant tone of the pipes we hear
As the joyous chorus dance and sing. (Aristophanes Clouds, 299313)
23 Burkert (1985) 99. Parker (2005) 456487 lists thirty-nine known processional annual
festivals in Athens.
24 IG 13 46.1113. 446/5.
25 Isocrates On The Peace 82. See Goldhill (1999) 89. For a detailed analysis of Goldhills
sources see Rhodes (2003) 104119. See also Griffin (1998) 3961; Osborne (2004); Sommerstein
(1997). For a solid argument against Goldhills view of what he terms pre-play ceremonies
see Carter (2007) 3543.
26 The reference is to festivals of Dionysos held in the spring and so it could imply the
Rural Dionysia, Anthesteria or the Lenaea except that Clouds placed third at the City Dionysia
in 423 bce. The text we have seems to be a later revision possibly made sometime between
419417 bce and perhaps never performed. See Storey in Meineck (1998b) 401405. See also
Sommerstein (2009) 176191.
168 peter meineck
The culmination of the great procession of the City Dionysia was the
Sanctuary of Dionysos Eleuthereus and the theatron that was erected to
receive those who came to observe the sacrifices and performances in honor
of the god. Early festivals to Dionysos likely revolved around participation in
a procession which would halt at key points in the city and present choral
performances to processional participants who gathered to watch.27 As the
festival increased in size, so viewing stands were erected to accommodate
the growing numbers who wanted to spectate, initially in the flat open
ground of the Agora. Around 540530 bce, on the southeast slope of the
Acropolis, the first temple of Dionysos was built and remains of a retaining
wall that marked off a large terrace directly above have also been dated to this
time.28 This may well indicate that the Sanctuary of Dionysos Eleuthereus
was founded at this time before a natural slope in the Acropolis rock,
forming a theatron or viewing area. This date coincides with the aims
of Pisistratus to create pan-Attic festivals to tie Attica together within a
centralized Athens.29 Then around 500 the theatron seems to have been
expanded, perhaps to accommodate more citizen spectators as a result of the
reforms of Cleisthenes, which further increased participation in the festival.30
The fifth-century festival retained its procession and placed the performances
and culminating sacrifices in a stationary location where large numbers could
attend. The spatial dynamics of this performance space strongly reflected
the influence of symporeusis and was essentially an open movement space
for the presentation of choral drama flowing in and out of two eisodoi (side
roads).31
natural theatre and divides this into two broad categories: eruptions and processions. An
eruption is a static event that unfolds in one location where a crowd gathers to watch, whereas
a procession has a predetermined route and a fixed, final goal. It follows an organized structure
and a commonly understood form. Hence, the visual displays inherent in the procession
are important in communicating identity, status and power. Schechner describes how the
procession has a tendency to make several stops along its route where associated stationary
performances take place. These are processional eruptions and spectators can gather to
watch, participate and/or continue to follow the procession to its ultimate goal. See Schechner
(1988) 153186.
28 See Moretti (2000) and Goette (2007).
29 Sourvinou-Inwood (1994) and (2003) 100104. Parker (1996) 9293 and Connor (1990)
Greek theatre and the Japanese Noh stage. Also Revermann (2006a) 5253 & 134135. Entrances
from the skene doorway added another dimension to the Greek stage, forcing the focus of the
under athenas gaze 169
spectators on sudden and often surprising entrances. With an entrance from an eisodos the
line between on and off was always ambiguous and fluid. See Taplin (1983) 157158.
32 Those who have advanced the theory of a rectilinear orchestra include, Anti (1947);
Gebhard (1974) 428440; Phlmann (1981) 129146; Moretti (2000); Goette (2007). For surveys
of the history of the scholarship concerning the archaeology of the Theatre of Dionysos see
Scullion (1994) 366 and Ashby (1988) 120. Bosher (2006) 151160, tables 6.1, 6.2 and 6.3,
has recently surveyed theatre remains in Greece and of eight known fifth-century spaces
(Aixone, Argos, Athens, Chaeronea, Ikaria, Thorikos, Trachones and Sparta), only one is
known to be circular and that is the sanctuary of Artemis Orthia at Sparta, which may have
had another function in cult than the performance of drama. Scullion (1994) 3841 objects to
a rectilinear orchestra on the grounds that the natural bowl shape of the cavea would favor a
circular form and make straight rows of seats nonsensical. However the cavea of the south
east Acropolis slope is not as acute a curve as Scullion proposes, as can be seen in the plan
by Dimitris Tsalkanis (http://www.ancientathens3d.com/katathmeg.JPG) and on the model
of the Acropolis in the Acropolis Museum in Athens showing the southern slope as it may
have appeared in 480 bce by M. Korres and P. Demetriades. A good photo of this model can
be seen in Vlassopoulou (2004) 3, fig. 1. Wiles (1997) 6386, has been a passionate advocate
of a circular orchestra suggesting that the center of that space was the strongest point on
stage. Yet this theory neglects the fact that the skene was almost certainly established on the
center far edge of the playing space, which would have upstaged any events presented in
the center of the orchestra. Where the skene was located was the focal point of the space and
it is not coincidental that this was where the stage developed in later Hellenistic theatres.
Wiles objects to the entire premise of a rectilinear orchestra that he describes as a frontal,
confrontational space (52) and prefers to advocate the idea of a collective self-awareness
among the spectators as citizens gazed at each other across a circular playing space. The
problem with this attractive social theory is the fact that masked theatre demands visual
and acoustic frontal engagement (Meineck 2011). Wiles builds his assumption of a circular
orchestra on the premise that the dithyrambic kuklios choros proves that the orchestra must
170 peter meineck
work at the site suggests that the although a major renovation was begun
in the 440s, with stone front seats and structural elements to support the
stage building and machinery, the theatron remained a wooden structure.
Recently, wood grain imprints from fifth century post-holes have been found
in the soil, suggesting that this wooden structure was permanent, or at least
the superstructure for the wooden benches (ikria) was, and rectilinear.33
To demonstrate this significance of the visual environment to the original
spectators experience of tragedy we turn to the question of the colossal
bronze statue of Athena on the Acropolis and the relationship of this
important visual symbol to Aeschylus Oresteia of 458 bce, the impact of
which has not been discussed before. We can assume that at the time the
trilogy was staged any visitor to Athens from Attica or abroad must have been
struck by the destruction wrought by the invading Persians in 480 and 479bce
on the sacred buildings on the Acropolis, clearly visible from all over Athens
and certainly during the procession of the City Dionysia or as the attendees
walked along the Street of Tripods to enter the Sanctuary from the East.
Apart from some clearing of debris and the shoring up of a retaining wall, the
Acropolis had been largely left untouched despite the rapidity with which the
Athenians had rebuilt their homes and civic buildings.34 For nearly 20 years, it
was left as a ruin, a physical reminder of the ravages of the Persian destruction
and a deep scar on the landscape of the city of Athens. With this in mind, Paul
Cartledge imagines the spectators attending the production of Aeschylus
Persians in 472 glancing backwards at the sight of the actual destruction
and registering the potent political message.35 Thus, as Argyro Loukaki has
written, ruins are partly social constructions because they depend on social
will for their perpetuation.36 So, when the Parthenon was begun in the mid-
fifth century it was deliberately situated to the south of the old ruined temple
have been circular. Not so. Simply watch any circular dance performed in Greece today,
most of them take place in the town square. In my own work I have previously agreed with
Mastronarde (1990) 248 n. 3, If the Theater of Dionysus had operated for generations with a
rectangular orchestra, why was a circular orchestra introduced? See Meineck (2009a) 174175;
(2009b) 351352 and Meineck and Woodruff (2003) xiixiv. I now feel that in the light of recent
interpretations of the available archaeological evidence we must not automatically assume
there was ever a circular orchestra in the fifth century. For the temporary nature of the wooden
seating (ikria) see Csapo (2007). On the capacity of the theatron see Csapo (2007) 9798, who
places it at between 4,000 and 7,000.
33 See Papastamati-von Moock (forthcoming) and Meineck (2012).
34 See Thompson (1981) 343345.
35 See Cartledge (1997) 19.
36 See Loukaki (2008) 16.
under athenas gaze 171
37 See Gerding (2006) who has argued that the area was left clear to provide space for the
Panathenaea procession.
38 See Ferrari (2002) 1135.
39 Diodorus 11.29.3, translated by Meiggs (1972) 504.
40 Isocrates. Panegyricus 156; Cicero De Rep. III.15; Pausanias 10.35.2, and Plutarch Pericles
17. For the epigraphic evidence see Krentz (2007) 731742. For discussion on the existence of
an Oath of Plataea see Mark (1993) 98104 and Rhodes and Osborne (2003) 440448.
172 peter meineck
Pausanias reports that the spear tip and helmet of the Bronze Athena could
be seen 30 miles away by sailors rounding Cape Sounion and heading into port
and that the statue was financed by the spoils from Marathon.41 Demosthenes
wrote that the statue was paid for by the Greeks in recognition of Athenian
valor in the face of the Persians and was named Athena Promachos
implying a warlike stance with thrusting spear.42 However, she seems to have
been depicted standing with an upright spear and holding a shield at her
leg, not in the more aggressive pose usually associated with the Promachos
type.43 This huge bronze Athena dominated the Athenian skyline for perhaps
700 years, until she was taken to Constantinople, where she may have stood
mounted on a pillar in the Forum of Constantine. An inscription dating to
455450bce lists the costs of the statue including the workforce, materials
and wages for the public officials in charge.44 This act of public accountability
is characteristic of a project undertaken by the state as an instrument of the
democracy rather than a personal, aristocratic monument meant to glorify
an individual or family. It has been estimated that the total cost was the
substantial sum of 83 talents and that it took nine years to cast and erect.45
Thus, the nature of this public inscription combined with the inference that
the erection of the statue may have been perceived by Sparta as an affront
to the spirit of the Oath of Plataea seems strongly to indicate the work of a
newly emboldened democracy keen to assert its civic and military pride.
The Bronze Athena stood across from the entrance to the Acropolis in
front of the earliest extant remains, the ancient Mycenaean retaining wall.
She was positioned on an axis with the old destroyed temple of Athena Polias
and looked to the westin the direction of the naval victory at Salamis. Even
after the building of the Parthenon, Erectheion and Temple of Athena Nike,
the statue still dominated the Acropolis skyline and the Propylaea was built
to line up with her so that the first sight encountered when entering the site
was the colossal Athena.46 Furthermore, she would have been visible from all
over the city of Athens, her burnished bronze shining brightly on sunny days.
Perhaps Sophocles had her in mind when the chorus of Salaminian sailors in
41 Pausanias 1.28.2.
42 Demosthenes On the False Embassy 272, and the scholiast on Demosthenes, Against
Androtion 13 (597.56).
43 On the evidence for the appearance of the bronze Athena see Hurwit (2004) 7984;
Pollitt (1996) 2834; Lundgreen (1997) 190197; and Mattusch (1988) 168172.
44 IG I3 435.
45 Dinsmoor (1921) 118129. Hurwit (2004) 8081 makes the suggestion that the statue may
have been ordered by Kimon to commemorate his victory at the Eurymedon ca. 470466 bce.
46 For a possible reconstruction of the Bronze Athena see Hurwit (2004) 63, fig. 56.
under athenas gaze 173
Ajax imagine themselves rounding Cape Sounion and haling Athens (1219
1221). The Bronze Athena of Phidias was in every sense a true agalmaa
brilliant adornment, aptly described by Jeffrey Hurwit as an early classical
Statue of Liberty,47 and it was erected at a time of great political and social
upheaval in Athens. The domestic political ramifications of the Oresteia,
with its references to the tension between the new democratic government
and the Kimonian faction are, by now, very well known,48 additionally, in
the spring of 458bce, the Athenians were in conflict with Corinth, Aegina
and Epidaurus, three of the most important Spartan allies, and had recently
made an alliance of their own with Argos against Spartan aggression.49 If the
Oath of Plataea had indeed been a real event binding Athens and Sparta
together, at least superficially, then the erection of this statue may well have
been observed as a very visible breach. In any event, just a few short months
after the performance of the Oresteia 14,000 Athenians faced a Spartan army
in direct conflict at the battle of Tanagra.50
In the Eumenides, Aeschylus conflates the symbolism of the Athenian past
with the imagery of the new democratic present by placing one of the most
sacred Athenian icons, the small ancient wooden idol (bretas) of Athena, in
a dynamic visual relationship to the colossal brand-new statue standing on
the Acropolis. At Eumenides 80, Apollo tells Orestes to come to the city of
Pallas and sit clasping her ancient image in your arms.51 This was the ancient
xoanon (crude wooden idol) or bretas (small statue) of Athena Polias (of
the city), reported by Pausanias to have been of great age and to have fallen
from the sky.52 The bretas has been described by John Kroll as a protective
talisman of the city and was reportedly taken to Troezen aboard a ship
when the Athenians evacuated.53 Unfortunately, there is little consensus as
to exactly what this statue actually looked like, although Tertullian writing
around 197 ce described it as a rough stock without form and the merest
rudiment of a statue of unformed wood.54 Other than that we know very
indicated.
52 Pausanias 1.26.6.
53 Kroll (1982) 65. Plutarch Themistocles 10.
54 Tertullian Ad nationes 1.12.13. See also the supposed comments of Aeschylus cited by
Porphyry (On Abstinence 2.18) on the virtues of archaic, crude idols relating to poetry. See
Sommerstein (2002) 160.
174 peter meineck
little of its appearance though there is epigraphic evidence from the late
370s bce listing ornaments that the idol wore, including: a diadem, earrings,
a neck band, five necklaces, a golden owl, a golden aegis with gorgoneion
and a gold phiale (libation bowl) that she held in her hand.55 In addition to
these accoutrements, the Athena Polias was dressed in a highly ornamental
saffron-colored peplos embroidered in purple with images of the mythic
battle between the gods and giants that was delivered at the end of the
Panathenaic procession. It may well be this peplos that is depicted at the
culmination of the Parthenon Frieze.56 The idol was housed in the Temple of
Athena Polias, before it was evacuated in 480bce in advance of the Persian
destruction. The knowledge that it was paraded at the Panathenaea festival
combined with representations of other xoanon-type idols suggests a statue
of no more than a few feet in height.57
The term bretas occurs seven times in the course of the Eumenides making
it clear that Aeschylus intended his spectators to imagine the statue of Athena
Polias.58 Yet, it is not known where the statue was housed after 479 bce until
the completion of the Erectheion in 406 bce. Gloria Ferrari has suggested
that the charred and ruined cella of the old Temple of Athena Polias may
have remained standing after the Persian destruction and been bolstered
to receive the bretas on its return from Troezen or Salamis.59 Wherever the
bretas was housed the presence of the brand-new and highly visible statue
of the Bronze Athena at the gateway to the Acropolis would strongly suggest
that Athena was now to be envisioned as maintaining a vigilant and defensive
gaze over both shrine and city. Whereas the bretas was placed out of public
sight for much of the time, the Bronze Athena was on display as a sentinel for
all to see. This exact sentiment is reflected at Eumenides 920 where Athena is
described as ,/ -/
the guard-post of the gods,/the protector of their altars, the delight (agalma)
of the divinities of Greece. Thus, the age-old continuity of the ancient idol
that had to be removed from the city in 480 bce can be contrasted with the
55 IG II2 cited by Kroll (1982) 68 n. 18. For the various opinions on the appearance of Athena
Polias see Hurwit (2004) 17; Steiner (2001) 91; Robertson (1996) 4647; Donohue (1988) 143144;
Kroll (1982); Herington (1955).
56 See Hurwit (2004) 147, fig. 107.
57 Sourvinou-Inwood (2003) 98100. There is an image of a small bretas on south metope 21
of the Acropolis and Hurwit has suggested that it could be a representation of Athena Polias.
Hurwit (2004), 17 & fig. 19.
58 Aeschylus Eumenides; 80; 242; 259; 409; 430; 446 and 1024.
59 See Ferrari (2002) 1135. For discussion on the existence of what has been called the
opisthodomos see Hurwit (2005) 2425; Hurwit (2004) 7678; and Linders (2007) 777.
under athenas gaze 175
immovable permanence of the new colossal bronze statue that might stand
against the kind of devastation of sacred shrines and idols suffered at the
hands of the Persians.
When they came to the land of Greece, they did not scruple to plunder the
images of the gods and set fire to temples: altars have vanished, and the abodes
of deities have been ruined, uprooted, wrenched from their foundations.
Aeschylus, Persians 808817 (translation, Alan Sommerstein)
We cannot be certain if Aeschylus used a prop statue of Athena Polias in
Eumenides, or intended his audience to imagine the bretas and staged Orestes
at the foot of an altar or statue base. Indeed the frequent textual references
may indicate that it was not physically depicted. We should remember that
at the end of Libation Bearers, Orestes states that he sees the Furies, which
were probably imaginary. There are several examples of characters in Greek
tragedy describing physical objects and scenes that were not staged. Notable
among them is the chorus of Euripides Iphigenia at Aulis (164302), who
describe the Greek fleet assembled to sail on Troy and the major Greek
heroes, and the chorus of Euripides Ion who vividly describe the sights of
Delphi (184218). There is also much dispute about whether prop statues
were used in Aeschylus Suppliants, Seven Against Thebes and Agamemnon
(519520).60 In the representational conditions established by a theatre of the
mask we must not assume that something appears on stage simply because it
is mentioned in the text. Likewise, we should not assume that the text alone
indicates everything that was shown on stage.
Aeschylus does produce Athena on stage at Eu. 397 as a speaking character
in the play and this representation clearly resembles the new bronze statue
of Phidias. Here, Athena describes herself as having rapid and unwearied
foot and flapping the folds of my aegis from the shores of Scamander in
the Troas, where she says she has claimed new territories for the Greeks.61
This is not the embodiment of the small sacred idol spirited to safety from
the Persian invaders in 480bce, but a confident, martial Athena coming
from battle and describing herself in vigorous motion. Deborah Steiner has
shown how artists, poets and historians blur the lines between the actions
of gods and their representations and fuse deity and cult image through
60 Taplin (1977b) 377; Sommerstein (1989) 123124; Ewans (1995) 201; and Rehm (2002) 91,
all envision a prop statue. Wiles (1997) 195200, has pointed out the importance of statues in
Aeschylus Suppliants, and Seven Against Thebes. See Meineck (1998a) 12.
61 There were recent Athenian engagements at Abydos, Sestos and Byzantium. See Kennedy
a sense of their mobility. For example, Herodotus relates how the idols of
Damia and Auxesia fell to their knees rather than allow the Athenians to
remove them from their sanctuary on Aegina (5.86.3).62 This amalgamation
of inanimate statue with animate deity is reflected in Eumenides by Athenas
sweeping, movement-filled entrance coming immediately after the Erinyes
have sung and danced the binding song. This incantation roots Orestes in
place and stands in marked contrast to the stress on the rapid mobility and
freedom of movement of Athena when she enters.63 Additionally, Aeschylus
emphasizes this fusion of statue and deity by developing the way in which
Orestes addresses Athena: at 235243 Orestes speaks to the bretas as if the
idol was the goddess; then at 287298 he calls to a far-off Athena, hailing
her to come to his aid and once Athena arrives he addresses her directly
(443469).
As for Athenas physical appearance in Eumenides, Alan Sommerstein
has written, it is likely that she [Athena] appears as the warrior goddess,
in gleaming bronze armour and, the very brightness of her armour would
make an effective contrast with the dark garments of the Erinyes.64 Therefore,
the sight of the on-stage Athena would have strongly evoked the brand-
new gleaming statue (agalma) of a fully armed Athena standing over the
Sanctuary of Dionysos on the Acropolis. The term agalma is connected
to the verb agallo meaning to take delight in or to make glorious and
when applied to a statue it implies something that is clearly meant to
be seen and admired as opposed to the bretas, which existed within a
tradition of mediated viewership. Such idols were usually displayed at key
festive moments to invigorate the gods presence in the community and
their concealment or display took on significant meaning depending on
the deity represented.65 Like the theatrical mask, statues operated within
an extramissive scopic regime in that they were both gazed upon but also
gazed out. This notion of a statue of a deity actively watching was also
encapsulated in the presence of the xoanon of Dionysos, which formed the
primary visual focus of the procession at the City Dionysia and may well have
also been placed in the theatron where it acted as a divine spectator gazing
on the performances staged in the gods honor.66 This capacity of divine
statues to possess the power of sight is reflected in the mythic tradition that
statues averted their eyes at the sight of a transgression. For example, in
Euripides Iphigenia in Tauris the idol of Artemis turns and looks away to
avoid witnessing an impiety (IT 11651167). It was also believed that the highly
ornate inlaid or painted eyes of bronze, and occasionally marble, statues held
both positive and negative powers.67 We see this in Agamemnon where the
deities who face the sun are implored by the messenger to let these eyes
of yours be bright (519520) and Menelaus is portrayed longing for Helen,
clutching at phantoms and hating beautiful statues with empty eyes / devoid
of desire (418419).68
The term agalma is used extensively by Pausanias to describe the statues
he encounters on his travels, but is found only once in the Iliad (4.144) where
it describes a gleaming, highly valuable cheek plate for a horse. It occurs
seven times in the Odyssey with regard to descriptions of jewelry or offerings
and at 8.509 it is used to describe the Trojan horse as a delight for the gods.69
In the Oresteia, the word occurs at moments when the value of something
under view is being emphasized: when Agamemnon is wrestling with the
decision to sacrifice his daughter he calls Iphigenia the delight of my house
(Ag. 208); Helen is described as resembling a gentle adornment of wealth
(Ag. 740); and when Electra sees a lock of hair on her fathers tomb she says it
gives, glory to this tomb and honor to my father (Cho. 200). In the Eumenides
Aeschylus draws a distinction between the dank and dark Erinyes and the
brilliance of Athena and the Olympians particularly at 5556, where the term
is used (for the first time in the Oresteia) to describe statues of divinities
(agalmata), which according to the Pythia should not suffer the disgusting
sight of the Erinyes.
Athena herself was often associated with the power of sight and she is
variously described as glaukopis silver-eyed or owl-eyed, oxuderks sharp-
eyed and ophthalmitis eye-goddess. She wears the petrifying apotropaic
prosopn of Medusa on her Aegis and possesses the power to delude the sight
of mortals as she does so effectively in Sophocles Ajax (1133). Yet, she is
also depicted as looking kindly upon what seems hateful as at Eumenides
406407 where she immediately sees the Eryines as new visitors and says
they amaze her eyes. At the start of Eumenides the Pythia says that their very
appearance is not fit to bring before a statue of the gods or under the roofs
of men and that she has never before seen such a sight (5557). In contrast,
when the Eryines eventually accept Athenas offer to become the Kindly
Ones (Eumenides) and reside in Athens, she looks on their fearsome faces
and sees great benefit coming to these citizens (990991).
At the resolution of the Oresteia, Athena offers to escort the Eumenides
to their new home in the eye of the whole land of Theseus (10251026),
namely, the Acropolisstill largely in ruins, apart from the brand-new
Bronze Athena. The Eumenides are encouraged to offer the Athenians the
fruits of the earth and plentiful flocks (907) that will give greater fertility
to those who are pious and cherish the race to which these righteous men
belong (909910). They reply that they foresee that the bright light of the
sun may cause blessings, beneficial to the life of Athens, to burst forth in
profusion from the earth (923925). These are apt pledges for a people who
have been struggling to rebuild their city and help further to reinforce the
Oresteias status as a work that advocates political, social and urban renewal.
As the chorus of Athenians rejoices at their new blessings under the wings
of Pallas (1001), the spectators seated in the theatron would only need turn
their heads and look up, or remember the image of the new statue of Athena
towering over the Sacred Way as they had paraded the statue of Dionysos a
few days before, to appreciate the significance of that line.
As well as creating a new aetiology for the Areopagus council, the Oresteia
might also be understood as a foundational production that not only
actively linked its themes to the current socio-political situation, but also
oriented its content to the visual presence of a city at a key moment of
civic renewal. By applying a visual dramaturgy then, perhaps we might
posit a new theory about the Oresteiathat even more that the Parthenon,
the production of the Oresteia under the newly completed Bronze Athena
marked the moment when Athens began both materially and socially to
rebuild.70 As the Eumenides are led to their new mythical home within the
70 What became of the Bronze Athena? Niketas Choniates wrote of her (if it was her) in
1204 and told how she had been installed in the Forum of Constantine after being removed
from Athens. In 1203 many people, fearing the oncoming Crusaders, thought that the pagan
deitys outstretched hand (that formerly held an owl or Nike) was beckoning to the Western
armies to come and destroy their city. Convinced of the statues maleficence an angry mob set
upon her, tore her to the ground and the Bronze Athena of Pheidias was completely destroyed.
See Nicetas Choniates, Historia, ed. van Dieten (1971) 558559. See also Jenkins (1947) 3133
and (1951) 7274.
under athenas gaze 179
Rosie Wyles
The significance of a performance can run far beyond the moment of its
enjoyment by the original audience; it has the potential to reverberate
through years, decades, and even centuries of theatre history. The more
distant in time from the original performance, the quieter the reverberations
and the less direct the connection perhaps. But, just as it is possible to find a
literary archetype lurking beneath the surface of a much later composition,
so too the original performance can be identified as the impetus for a chain
of theatrical creations and conceptualisations spanning across centuries. The
literary analogy, however, is not exact in this important respect: while a text
deals in words, a theatrical performance combines words, visual media and
stage action. The reception and influence of a production, therefore, is not
limited to its text but may be expressed through any one of its performance
elements. In the case of Euripides Heracles, it is the status given to Heracles
costume by its first performance, c. 415bc, which exerts an influence across
centuries of theatre history.
The gaining of this status depends on the principle that the cultural
significance of pieces of costume or props has the potential to be changed by
theatrical performance. Sofer, in a fascinating study, has shown how props
may become the iconic representative for plays and for certain moments
within them. After the performance, the props retain these layers of meaning
and subsequent productions must negotiate them.1 Within ancient theatre
there are some clear instances of where props seem to have become iconic in
this way. Such an association could emerge through the celebrity of particular
actors; so the fifth/fourth-century tragic actor Timotheus made the sword
iconic for Sophocles Ajax, and the urn became iconic for Sophocles Electra
because of the fourth-century tragic actor Polus.2 Sometimes the dramatic
* I would like to thank Judith Mossman, Alex Gwakyaa, the anonymous reader of this
722.
2 The scholiasts comment on Sophocles Ajax 864 reveals that Timotheus of Zacynthus
182 rosie wyles
performed Ajaxs suicide so effectively that he gained the nickname sphageus (slayerthe
word used for Ajaxs sword in this scene); see Stephanis (1988) no. 2416 and Easterling (1997c)
222 n. 36. The actors fame associated this prop with Sophocles play. Similarly, the story told
by Aulus Gellius (6.5) about Polus use of his own sons urn in a performance of Sophocles
Electra suggests that a comparable association was forged between this prop and its play.
3 For the costumes representing plays in this scene, see Macleod (1974).
4 Aristophanes here exploits the principle of theatrical ghosting, see Carlson (1994a) and
(1994b). For the self-reflectiveness of Telephus rags see Wyles (2007) 111138 and (2011) 6269.
5 Heracles is recognised immediately in Alcestis (477478) which suggests that he is
wearing his usual costume, but the costume goes otherwise unmarked in the play, L. Parker
(2007) ad loc. Similarly, though Sophocles makes Heracles attributes conspicuous by their
absence in the Trachiniae, this does not establish the same self-reflexive symbolism for them
that Euripides will.
heracles costume 183
to what the costume symbolises, since after this production it could signal
not only the characters identity but also the intention to engage in theatrical
self-reflection. It is in this sense that Euripides Heracles, c. 415, marks
a beginning for the costume since this production endowed it with the
symbolic status which was exploited in theatre and culture (more generally)
over the following seven hundred years.6
The symbolic status of Heracles costume is set up by Euripides handling
of it in Heracles and then reinforced by Aristophanes treatment of it in
Frogs. The key symbol-forging scene for the costume in Euripides tragedy
comes after Heracles has killed his wife and children in a fit of madness. The
scene shows the hero realising what he has done and facing a dilemma over
how to go forward. Heracles response to the news is to veil himself; this,
in effect, imposes his semiotic death on stage, since by this action and his
separation from his weapons, his stage-identity is destroyed (so that Theseus
even fails to recognise Heracles, 1189).7 The resolution of the play depends
on Heracles progression from this liminal state, which is framed as a crisis
in identity; he is dead and can only come back to life by unveiling himself
and taking up his weapons. The importance of this second action to the
recovery of his identity is made explicit by Heracles speech to his weapons
(13771385):
What pain, again, these weapons give me, though they have been my constant
companions! I am tornshould I keep them or throw them away? They will
hang at my side as I kneel and speak like this: With us you killed your wife and
children; if you keep us you keep the killers of your sons! Shall I then carry
them in my hands? How can I justify it? But am I to strip myself of them, the
weapons with which I performed the finest deeds that Greece has witnessed?
Am I to submit to my enemies and die a shameful death? I must not part with
them, but keep them, whatever misery they bring!8
6 This approach fills some of the gaps in our understanding of the cultural placement
and appropriation of Heracles; offering a supplement, for example, to Rawlings and Bowden
(2005).
7 The notion of semiotic death is similar to the idea of corpsing on stage; the laugh
of an actor can destroy the conjured stage-existence of a character and the removal of key
semiotic elements of costume may similarly undermine his/her fragile presence. In fact, the
fundamentals of the idea can already be seen in Andromaches loss of her headdress (Iliad 22.
466472), though, of course, the impact of such symbolic actions is far greater when visualised
on the stage. On semiotic death, see Wyles (2007), 107108. I am grateful to Vayos Liapis for
the further implicit examples of such a semiotic death of Heracles in Sophocles Trachiniae
and Xerxes in Aeschylus Persians.
8 Translation Davie (2002).
184 rosie wyles
Throughout the play Heracles has been defined as a conquering hero, and
his lionskin, club, and bow have been the visual symbols of this identity.9
This speech reiterates the weapons importance to his identity and his
dependence on them. Even if they have gained an unsavoury layer of meaning
as representatives of familial killing, Heracles recognises that without them
he will die, not only through a literal vulnerability but also because, on
the theatrical level, without them he has no identity. The progression from
the complete loss of identity to its final recovery, when Heracles, unveiled,
chooses to retain his weapons and go on living, operates on a metatheatrical
level. Heracles takes up his pieces of costume and becomes himself, inviting
the audience to reflect on the theatrical process of constructing stage-
characters through costume. Through this dramatic handling, Euripides
establishes the lionskin, club, and bow as symbols for the reliance of the
tragic art (and its characters) on costume.10
While Euripides established the potential of Heracles costume as a means
for thinking about the nature of theatre, Aristophanes treatment of it in
Frogs, produced in 405bc secured its status as the costume par excellence
through which to think about costumes role in character-construction. In
this comedy, Dionysus dresses up as Heracles in the hope that this will aid
his passage to the Underworld. Before setting out, he visits Heracles to ask
for some advice. The audience is offered the striking visual spectacle of
Dionysus dressed in effeminate soft boots and yellow dress with lionskin
on top and club in hand. As though this were not enough, he then comes
face-to-face with Heracles, who wears his usual costume. The juxtaposition
of the two figures is intended to be ridiculous, and its humour is given further
emphasis by Heracles, who cant stop laughing at the sight of Dionysus
strange outfit (4547). The deeper significance of the scene, however, is the
implicit comment that it offers on the theatrical use of costume and, for our
purposes, the strengthening of the symbolic status that Euripides production
had established for the costume. The sight of the two figures side-by-side,
one exemplifying the Heracles costume functioning successfully to create a
plausible stage character, and the other (Dionysus) showing it in a context
where it fails to convince, invites reflection on how theatre costume operates
and the criteria necessary to its success.
The impact of the self-reflective statement made by this visual spectacle
is heightened by the signals that lead the audience to expect it. Aristophanes
arranges a dramatic scenario for the opening of this comedy which should
immediately signal to alert spectators that he is about to make a comment
on the nature of theatre (and specifically costume). The scenario recalls two
earlier Aristophanic comedies in which the comic hero, similarly seeking
help, visits a tragedian, and engages in an interaction which makes an implicit
comment on the nature of theatre costume; see Acharnians 292489 and
Thesmophoriazusae 39279.11 In Acharnians, Dikaeopolis visits Euripides,
borrows the costume of the tragic character Telephus and dresses up in it,
while in Thesmophoriazusae, Euripides himself will go with his relation to
visit Agathon and borrows garments from him to dress up the Kinsman as a
woman. The twist in Frogs, of course, is that Dionysus, as god of drama, has
no need to borrow a costume (he has it already!) and his interaction with
tragedians will be saved for later in the play. Aristophanes could, therefore,
expect his experienced viewers to be alert to the game he is playing in
Frogs, through the combination of these signals. Aristophanes treatment
of Heracles costume, and its placement at the culmination of a series of
costumes in his plays used to comment on theatre, crystallises its symbolic
status in theatrical discourse.12
These two 5th-century productions, Euripides Heracles and Aristophanes
Frogs, and the traces of them left in their texts, established Heracles costume
as theatrically good-to-think-with and secured its cultural significance
over the following centuries. There are clear indications that by the 4th
century bc, Heracles had gained centre stage when it came to questions of
13 For the reception of Euripides Heracles within antiquity from a different perspective,
For a comprehensive discussion of the vase, see Taplin and Wyles (2010) passim.
15 Taplin and Wyles (2010) fig. 13.1, p. 233.
16 Wyles (2010) 232236. Another explanation is that the figure is in fact Heracles himself,
see Buschor (1932) and (19511953). But even if this is the case, then since the figure carries
a mask, he must be understood to be Heracles dressed-up in costume to play the part of
Heracles! So it still invites reflection on the nature of theatre costume.
17 The Attic red-figure pelike, now in Boston (MFA 98.883), invites similar reflection through
the juxtaposition in its image of two chorusmen dressing up in costume (one fully dressed
and in character, the other still dressing and therefore in ontological limbo between actor and
character). The bell-krater fragment from Taranto (now in Wrzburg H 4600 [L832]) depicting
a tragic actor holding his mask also engages with the same idea (though in a less thought-
provoking way, since there is neither the blurring of boundaries found on the Pronomos vase
nor the suggestive juxtaposition of the Boston pelike).
heracles costume 187
The next vase shows a figure dressed as Heracles, indicated by the lionskin
flying from his shoulders and club in hand, approaching a sanctuary door
and followed by a slave, who is riding on a donkey and carrying baggage.18
The connection between this vase and the opening of Aristophanes Frogs is
suggested both by the general outline of the scene and its details.19 As such
the vase implies a cultural familiarity with the scene and, therefore, offers
evidence for the spread of the symbolic status held by Heracles costume;
that is to say, people in West Greece could now also recognise it as good-to-
think-with in theatrical discourse. The impact of the vase in strengthening
the costumes status in this respect may be limited, since the image does
not make it clear that this is Dionysus in disguise (only the identification
of the scene can allow the viewer to fill in the gap).20 If this is indeed how
the figure was presented on the vase (rather than a result of restoration),
then the image could only have evoked the theatrical statement made by
Aristophanes (it does not reiterate it independently). On the other hand, the
vase may offer significant evidence for the wider impact of Aristophanes
statement and the thinking about Heracles costume which it invites, if it
points to the performance of the play in the Greek West. This remains, at
least, a possibility and, in light of Csapos recent discussion of a number of
vases of this kind, is one which I find inherently likely.21
The third vase also hints at Heracles special place in theatrical discourse
and confirms the spread of this thinking across the Mediterranean by the
4th century bc. The red-figure calyx krater from Paestum, South Italy, dates
to the mid-4th century bc and shows a theatrical rendering of the madness
of Heracles.22 In the scene, Heracles, dressed strangely (see below), carries
a baby towards a bonfire of furniture, while behind him, his wife Megara
stands aghast in the doorway, holding a hand to her head. On the upper
level between columns, Mania (madness), Iolaos and Alcmene look on at the
action below; all names are inscribed. In the past Heracles unusual costume
and the furniture led to the suggestion that the vase reflected a tragicomedy,
it is now generally accepted, however, to reflect a tragedy.23 Though this
18 The vase is the Apulian krater, dated to 375350 bc, now missing but formerly: Berlin St.
no evidence for tragicomedy as a dramatic genre in Italy at this time and denies any comic
elements in the picture.
24 See Flacelire and Devambez (1966) 103104, and Taplin (2007) 143145; contra Hart
(2010) 79.
25 Csapos principle of not expecting perfect conformity between pot and production
details in the text is helpful, see Csapo (2010) 60. On tragic costume, see Wyles (2011).
26 On the feathers, see Taplin (2007) 145. In the same place, Taplin also implies that the
transparency may suggest womens clothing, but the garment itself, the exomis, more readily
suggests (to me) a slave or worker.
heracles costume 189
unseen, behind him.27 The vase offers a visual juxtaposition similar to the
one staged in the opening sequence of Aristophanes Frogs. In the play, the
contrast is between a failed attempt to create a character (through costume)
and a successful one, and similarly the vase contrasts the half-formed rep-
resentation of Heracles with the real thing to humorous effect. The image
on the vase may be set at a remove from the stage, but it is possible to see a
relationship between the idea played with in this image and the one explored
in the opening of Aristophanes Frogs: both choose to make a self-reflexive
comment about their art through the figure of Heracles and both use visual
juxtaposition to do it. The vase therefore offers evidence for the model set up
by Euripides and Aristophanes being transferred from theatrical discourse
and exploited for self-reflection by other art forms.
These four vases show the exploitation of the symbolic status of Heracles
costume, which had been set up in the 5th century, extending into the
4th century. The model is both reasserted and developed further through
the engagements with it reflected in these vases. The last column krater in
particular shows an expansion of the model beyond theatre and suggests that
it had become especially well established in cultural consciousness. These
vases engagement with the Heracles model also needs to be understood in
the context of the trend suggested by the production of Heracles Choregos by
Nicochares, which was written around the same period as the Pronomos vase
was made. This comedy presented Heracles as a theatre producer, involved
at one point in giving directions about costume (fr. 8 K-A). Doubtless if more
of the play survived, it would be possible to see how Nicochares used the
figure of Heracles to reflect on other theatrical processes during the comic
action. The comedy suggests that Heracles now held a place in the cultural
imagination which could allow him to be used to think about theatrical
processes in general. Collectively this evidence confirms the strength of
the heritage left by Euripides and Aristophanes productions, and suggests
that through it, Heracles emerged in the 4th century as a distinctive figure
associated with the critical analysis of the nature of theatre and art in general.
The 4th-century evidence has demonstrated the reassertion of the sym-
bolic status of Heracles costume both through exploitations of it in theatre
and outside it. Meanwhile, the text of Euripides play, and even more impor-
tantly reperformances of it, kept the original model alive in the cultural
imagination as a touchstone for these appropriations.28 The evidence sug-
gests that the symbolic status of Heracles costume was familiar over a broad
geographical sweep (allowing the recognition of appropriations to many). So,
for example, an inscription from Tegea, dating to the 3rd century bc, tells us
of an anonymous actors participation in performances of Euripides Heracles
at both the Delphic Soteria and the Heraia.29 Visual evidence complements
this inscription and suggests that Heracles continued to be a familiar figure
on the tragic stage during the Hellenistic period or that, at the very least,
performances of the play continued to be evoked in the cultural imagina-
tion through artistic representations. The terracotta figurine of a tragic actor
costumed as Heracles (holding a club in one hand and the bearded mask
in the other), dated to 175150 bc and from Amisos, offers a representative
example of this.30 Whether the figurine was produced in response to a per-
formance of Euripides Heracles or another Heraclean tragedy (or simply
theatre in general), continuing familiarity with Euripides play could allow
the figurine to evoke the remembered or imagined staging of it. This cognitive
process brought the symbolic status of Heracles costume, as established in
that play, into greater prominence in cultural consciousness.31 This figurine
29 Stephanis (1988) no. 3003. On this inscription see also Revermann (1999/2000).
30 Paris, Muse du Louvre CA 1784. Illustrated in Hart (2010) no. 18, p. 49.
31 Violaine Jeammet suggests that the figure could represent the Euripidean hero given
the plays popularity during the Hellenistic period, see Hart (2010) 49. The Tegean inscription
certainly implies a strong performance tradition for the play since it is performed in two
different festivals on the circuit and its selection suggests an assurance that it would be
popular with the audiences of both. This is all the more striking, given the limited survival
of inscriptional evidence for performances. This inscription therefore implies that were our
evidence for the performance record of tragic productions in this period more complete, then
Euripides Heracles would feature amongst the most popular. Certainly the survival of two
papyri from c. 250 bc, P. Hibeh. II 179 and P. Heid.VI.205, which record lines from Euripides
Heracles, suggest a continued familiarity with the text in this period and the much later
papyrus from c. ad 215, P. Vat. Gr. 11, implies the persistence of its cultural presence (on these
papyri see Bond (1981) xxxiiiv). Also significant here is the placement of the Heracles Mad as
the climax in a list of Euripidean roles, starting with Canace from the Aeolus, played by Nero,
see Suetonius Nero 21 (I am grateful to Judith Mossman for this point; see below for further
indications of stage familiarity in the Roman period). So that, even if Euripides Heracles
did not emerge as one of the canonical tragic texts, on which see Easterling (1997c), it was
nevertheless culturally familiar and suggests that any artistic representation of tragic Heracles
might be interpreted by reference to Euripides play. I would suggest, therefore, that the
inscription and papyri demand that the tradition of representing the tragic Heracles (or actors
in that role), in art, is understood to bear some kind of relationship to Euripides play and
performances of it. The much later evidence of Philostratus Imagines 2.23, shows exactly this
kind of approach being taken to an artistic representation of the Madness of Heracles: he
describes the scene and refers to his experience of hearing Heracles in the play of Euripides.
This comment is used to direct his reader to the theatrical conjuring of the scene to enable
them to picture the image. Here we have an appeal to the theatrical experience in order to
heracles costume 191
also suggests, if not necessarily the popularity of the tragic Heracles on the
stage, then certainly his popularity in art which may point to the cultural
prominence of the Euripidean tragic Heracles.32 The survival of further visual
evidence depicting the tragic Heracles confirms his popularity and by exten-
sion, the impact on the cultural status of the play.33 At the same time, staged
adaptations of Heracles and parodies of it, such as those found in two of
Plautus comedies, would also have brought the Euripidean original to life in
the minds of the audience.34
The reassertion of the costumes symbolic status through these perfor-
mances opened the door to a broader cultural appropriation of the model as
interest in representing the tragic art grew. Heracles costume, through its
5th-century treatment, offered a model to explore the processes of a theatri-
cal event and also to represent them. He, or a piece of his costume, is shown
standing for tragedy in general in a relief from Smyrna, dating to the 2nd cen-
tury bc, on which Euripides passes Heracles mask to the personification of
the Stage (Skene).35 Far more significantly, because it becomes a widespread
phenomenon, his costume is taken on by Melpomene, Muse of Tragedy, as
a means of symbolising her art form. The cultic association between Her-
acles and the Muses (in general) emerged in the Hellenistic period and is
be able to respond to a piece of art. The representations of the figure of tragic Heracles in
art throughout antiquity, implies engagement in a similar process (whether on a conscious
or subconscious level) and suggests that the play was being evoked, and its performance
tradition being kept alive, in the cultural imagination.
32 The popularity is suggested by the use of terracottaa cheap material for a mass market.
33 The figure from Amisos is, therefore, only a representative example and I would
suggest, that the arguments that I make for it, would apply to this other evidence: the tragic
statuette from the Athenian agora, c. 250 bc (Agora museum, Athens T862), the numerous
representations of his tragic mask (LIMC 4, 257270), his depiction in tragic costume on
1st-century bc Arrentine cup moulds (LIMC 4, 1481) in Pompeian wall painting, Bieber (1961)
fig. 766, and in the Theatre of Sabratha in the early 3rd century ad, Bieber (1961) fig. 785.
34 Adaptations such as the one hinted at on the Asteas krater (see above). For parodies
see Plautus Menaechmi 826875 and Mercator 842956. The parody in Menaechmi is of more
direct relevance, since it includes stage-business with a comic substitute for one of Heracles
iconic props: Menaechmus II (Sosicles) threatens to pound and crush his enemys every bone
and limb with a stick (853856) which in the context of the parody can be understood to be a
substitute for Heracles club (Menaechmus threat, in his feigned madness, echoes Heracles
reported action, in actual madness, of striking his son with his club and shattering his skull,
Eur. Heracles 992994). The parody in Mercator is of a different importance, since if it imitates
a parody already in Philemons Emporos, then it suggests the place of Heracles in the theatrical
landscape of the audiences imagination from the 4th century bc to the 2nd; on these parodies
and the debt to Philemon see Frank (1932). I am grateful to the anonymous reader of the
proposal for this volume, for directing me to Plautus.
35 Istanbul Arkeoloji Muzesi, 1242. See LIMC Herakles no. 265 and Bieber (1961) fig. 109.
192 rosie wyles
reflected in its art.36 But it is later Melpomene, above all, who is connected
to Heracles and is depicted wearing his lionskin, leaning on his club and
carrying his tragic mask. One of the most famous examples of this type of
representation is the marble statue of Melpomene now in the Vatican, which
shows her holding the tragic mask of Heracles.37 This statue dates to the 2nd
century ad but there are earlier examples to show the cultural currency of
this association, and the variety of media on which it is represented suggests
a widespread familiarity with the conceptualisation.38 Particularly important
amongst this evidence is the series of denarii minted by Pomponius Musa in
66 bc, which included a coin showing Melpomene, leaning on a club, wearing
a lionskin and bow, and holding a bearded tragic mask.39 The coins secure
the date of the emergence of this phenomenon in Rome to at least as early
as their minting and possibly even back to over a hundred years before.40
In light of his costumes theatrical past and cultural status, the develop-
ment of this specific association between Melpomene and Heracles comes
as little surprise. Melpomene sports pieces of Heracles costume because it
had become the ready model through which to think about the theatrical
process of becoming a character. Melpomene shows her tragic art form in
action by wearing pieces of costume and carrying a mask, just like an off-stage
actor. The advantage of Heracles costume is not only that it represents a
character which is clearly different from her own (and will therefore signify
her theatrical appropriation of an identity) but also that it has a history in
this discourse of representing theatre in operation. All this relied on the
strength of the costumes symbolic status in the first place (reinforced by
reassertion), but at the same time, Melpomenes appropriation of it ensured
a widespread cultural familiarity with the special place of the costume in
theatrical discourse well into the Roman period.
Theatrical activity in Rome also offers an explanation for the continued
theatre-reflective status of the costume and the strength of its potential
for cultural exploitation, and it is, in fact, pantomime performances which
see LIMC 7 under the supplements: Mousa, Musai (by Faedo), 9911013 and Mousa, Mou-
sai/Musae (by Lancha), 10131059.
39 See LIMC 4 Herakles no. 1482 = LIMC 7 (supplement) Mousa, Mousai no. 268; also
Nobilior brought back from his campaign in Ambracia and displayed in his Temple to Hercules
and the Muses, dedicated in 179bc; see Webster (1967b) 5859 and 123124.
heracles costume 193
41 On pantomimes emergence see Halls introduction in Hall and Wyles (2008) 140.
42 See Wyles (2008).
43 It was also exploited in the discourse on plastic art, see above.
44 Macrobius, Sat. 2.7.1617.
194 rosie wyles
Apollophanes suggests; Heracles club is listed amongst the props which the
actor has supposedly sold in order to make some quick cash, suggesting the
roles ready inclusion in an actors repertoire.45 This, together with the evident
reassertion of the costumes status through representations of Melpomene
and pantomime performance, leaves no doubt that Seneca had the inevitable
task of negotiating the symbolism of Heracles costume when he wrote his
tragedy Hercules Furens in the middle years of the 1st century ad. Even if
the performance context of this play remains controversial, its format (a
dramatic text) must imply both Senecas engagement with the performance
history of this tragic theme and its impact on audience response.46 Whether
Hercules Furens was performed in a recital or in a more conventionally
theatrical performance, the props making up Heracles iconic costume
were present (either physically before the audience or conjured in their
mind), and that presence implies embedded layers of symbolic meaning
which had to be negotiated by Seneca. Given the special status of these
props and the cultural prominence of the symbolism created by Euripides
and Aristophanes, Seneca could not expect to overwrite their existing
symbolism; so instead he exploits it. He makes Heracles weapons the
central focus to the final act of this play and creates much of the dramatic
tension of the ending through an exploitation of their established symbolic
status.
Above all, Seneca makes use of the idea that Heracles iconic pieces of
costume embody his identity, in order to create the sense of crisis and tension
in the final act. At the end of Act 4, Amphitryon orders the removal of the
weapons from the unconscious Heracles, in case he goes mad again (1053).47
The action is intended for his protection, but, in fact, its dramatic effect
(whether on the stage or in the imagination) is to strip Heracles of his identity.
The scenario is the same as in Euripides: the plays closure will depend on
confirm.
heracles costume 195
following references in Lucians works: Wisdom of Nigrinus 11; How to write history 23; Apology
for the salaried posts in the great houses 5; The dead come to life or the Fisherman 3133. For
discussion of tragic costume in Lucian, see Kokolakis (1961). Stage familiarity is also implied
by Philostratus reference to Heracles, see Imagines 2.23.
196 rosie wyles
their life-style. But it is not possible, just as the slave cannot change his fortune
either if he ever puts on the tunic of the master, either surreptitiously or indeed,
when his master actually allows him for fun.51
The issue at stake here is the transformative power of costume. It is exactly
this issue which Aristophanes engages with in the dressing-up scenes of
Acharnians 292489 and Thesmophoriazusae 39279, and revisits, this time
using Heracles costume, in his Frogs (see above). Aristophanes choice of
costume in Frogs is not incidental but exploits the theatrical statement
made in Heracles: Euripides had demonstrated the transformation (re-
construction) of a stage character through costume, and Aristophanes
explores a counter-example in which the costume does not transform
as it should. At the core of both dramatic treatments of the costume is
the question of transformation and the ontological status of the stage
character: Heracles is stage-dead until he unveils himself and puts his iconic
costume back on, whereas in Frogs, Dionysus own stage presence prevents
him from successfully creating another. In Libanius, the issue is set at a
further remove since he addresses the question of whether the performer
is transformed by the adoption of costume, but the central concern is still
the same. Libanius choice of Heracles, and specifically his lionskin and
club, as a means of exploring the issue and refuting his opponents, points
to the strength of the model set up by the 5th-century stage treatment
of the costume and confirms that it had been firmly established as the
locus to discuss the ontological issues surrounding the creation of a stage
character.
Conclusion
The passage of Libanius also hints at a final facet of the significance of Hera-
cles costume which evidently influenced his choice of it. While the costumes
continued value in theatre (where its symbolism was both exploited and
re-asserted) and in theatrical discourse (within plays, in texts, in artistic rep-
resentations of the tragic art) should by now have become clear, the picture
of its broader cultural significance is yet to be completed. In fact, Heracles
costume becomes a centrepiece in discourses of power and it is precisely its
suitability for exploring ontological status that makes it such a potent symbol
in this domain.52 Alexander the Great, Gaius and Commodus are all reported
to have dressed up in Heracles costume.53 The context of this dressing-up is
left deliberately vague in each case, yet the hints of a theatrical framework
for the adoption of the costume are not entirely suppressed.54 Whether or not
the action was intended to be theatrical, the point is that it was possible
to interpret it theatrically and though Heracles is listed as just one of a
variety of gods whose attributes are adopted (in the cases of Alexander and
Gaius), playing with his costume arguably had different implications, given
its history.55 The appropriation of the costume, read in a theatrical light,
invites reflection on the issue of ontological statusif costume transforms,
then are these leaders men or gods? The 5th-century treatment of Heracles
costume had given it the status of a semiotic shorthand for the process
of transformation enacted through theatre costume. The adoption of the
costume by these leaders when framed theatrically, could, therefore, evoke
the transformative power of its attributes. I am not suggesting that these
leaders were necessarily making a claim to divinity through dressing up,
but rather that the action (and the possibility of a theatrical interpretation
of it) invited consideration of the question. Heracles tragic costume was
the perfect medium for the blurring of lines and suggestion of ontological
ambiguity. This prominent real-life experimentation with the ontological
implications of Heracles costume made it an even more potent example
for Libanius. It also draws attention to a possible explanation for why
Heracles costume became such a powerful model in theatre. Apart from the
costumes suitability as an inherently identity-strong outfit and Euripides
52 Even before Euripides play, Heracles had probably already been used to political ends
by Peisistratos, on which see Boardman (1972), (1975) and (1989), though for arguments against
see Moon (1983) 97118, esp. 101106 and Cook (1987). But my point here is that the theatrical
treatment of Heracles costume and the symbolic meaning which it invested in his attributes
gave a new potential meaning to any rulers appropriation of them. The connection between
Heracles and theatricality may not have been necessary to these leaders identification with
Heracles but it certainly altered the possible interpretation of the association.
53 Alexander: Athenaeus Deipnosophistae 12, 53 = 537de; Gaius: Philo Embassy to Gaius
Bellermore (1994) makes a persuasive case for Gaius career as a pantomime dancer being
misrepresented (so as to hint at blasphemy) in this passage.
55 There is necessarily the possibility of disjunction between each leaders intention for an
action and its subsequent interpretation; a case in point is Antony whose association with
Hercules is presented in a theatrical way by Plutarch for the purposes of exposing Antonys
character through comparison to tragic or comic Heracles, see Antony 4 with Pelling (1988) ad
loc. I am grateful to Judith Mossman for this point.
198 rosie wyles
56 So that even if Heracles ontological ambiguity makes him almost taboo as a project for
tragedy (see Silk (1985) 7), ironically it is precisely this status which makes him an excellent
model through which to think about the theatrical processes underpinning tragedy.
WEAPONS OF FRIENDSHIP:
PROPS IN SOPHOCLES PHILOCTETES AND AJAX
Judith Fletcher
Stage props are powerful generators of meaning that are inseparable from
other elements of the theater. Distinct from passive scene-setting objects,
they interact with the material presence of the actor, the authorial words of
the script, and the reception of the spectators to create drama. This essay
will focus on the dynamic network linking objects, bodies, text and audience
in two Sophoclean dramas that accord great importance to stage properties,
specifically the bow of Philoctetes and the sword of Ajax. It is significant
not only that both these props are weapons, but also that these weapons
are, rather paradoxically (especially in the case of Ajax), gifts that evoke
the protocols of ritual friendship.2 As indispensable stage props they are,
moreover, extensions of the embodied characters, Philoctetes and Ajax, and
additionally of two other men, both deceased: Heracles and Hector, who
seemingly haunt the dramas, and who thus give special meaning to the
objects that Philoctetes and Ajax handle.
Even the most rudimentary production of the tragedies must acknowledge
the materiality of the bow and the sword. The plot of Philoctetes is organized
around the acquisition of the bow of Heracles which is in the possession of
Philoctetes and which the Achaeans require to conquer Troy. The sword
of Hector is the instrument of Ajaxs suicide, the climax of the drama,
although there is controversy about how that event was staged in the original
production. My thesis is that these objects, the bow and the sword, each so
central to the meaning of their respective tragedies, gain their significant
status within the drama because they import a narrative history that connects
1 Sofer (2003) 3.
2 See Herman (1987) 6061 on the role of gifts in ritualized friendship.
200 judith fletcher
each protagonist with another male who has died before the play opens, but
who still continues to haunt the dramatic text. Both tragedies exemplify
Carlsons concept of the haunted stage: not only are Philoctetes and Ajax
haunted in that they rely on their audiences memory of previous ghost
texts, but dead men actually continue to influence living men, so that the
past intrudes persistently and uncannily into the present.3 The points of
entry for these phantoms, in both cases, are stage properties, the bow and
the sword. The objects are gifts that have brought with them the spectral
presence of their former owners who never entirely relinquish them. The
bow and the sword summon up, as it were, a ghost-text, that relies on the
audiences recognition of an earlier narrative.
These are not the only objects in tragedy that possess such semiotic
density and narrative power. Most tragedies could be produced with minimal
stage properties; when they are obviously necessary, however, they can have
a potent effect on the dramatic action.4 While objects in the real world
derive meaning from their utilitarian function, stage properties have more
complex meanings. Any object that is part of a dramatic production exists,
to quote Elam, in quotation marks.5 It is a link between the world of the
audiences experience, and the representation of reality that they apprehend.
The Sophoclean weapons that I am considering go beyond this function to
serve as links between the dramatic past and present. To quote Sofer they
take a journey. In other words, their semiotic functions develop or change
over the course of the drama.
Tragedy features several instances of objects that import a history that
impinges on the dramatic present. Among the most common are recognition
tokens. In plays such as Aeschylus Libation Bearers, Sophocles Electra and
Euripides Electra, Iphigenia in Tauris, and Ion, small tokens prove the identity
of characters and legitimatize their relationship to other characters by
evoking past events. A piece of textile proves the identity of Euripides Ion,
and weaves present and past together. Often these tragic stage properties
become symbols of a particular history that will offer a resolution to a
problem. After the revelation of the tokens, a bond is re-established between
family members. These are not static objects that simply help to set the
3 Carlson (2001) 11: all theatre is as a cultural activity deeply involved with memory and
haunted by repetition.
4 As Taplin (1978) 77 notes in his survey, properties are used sparingly in tragedy, an
stage (as a table might signify a kitchen), but like the bow and the sword
they signify a past relationship, and carry with them a narrative of these
relationships.
These two featureshistory and interpersonal relationshipsare ele-
ments of the weapons that I am about to discuss. Some stage props, like the
recognition tokens, are indispensable to the drama and occupy a position
between the material world of the stage that is occupied by the actor, and the
text as narrative, i.e., the history of the action leading up to the present. Other
stage properties, while still performing this function, are more dangerous,
operating as narrative kernels that, at the moment of crisis, irrupt into the
action, bringing their dangerous history with them. In other words, they do
not resolve the crisis (or effect the lusis), but rather help to create it. Most
notable among these are the gifts sent by Medea to Jasons new bride, and
by Deianeira to Heracles. These gifts have histories; in the case of Medea we
learn only that they are her inheritance from her grandfather Helios. But
Deianeiras gift to Heracles is more complex. The casket that she gives to
Lichas contains a garment that the audience does not see, but which they
know is anointed with a salve given to her by the centaur Nessus. The most
significant relationship in the drama is between Nessus, who seeks revenge,
and Heracles who will die from the centaurs poison. The gift, both complex
and concealed, activates this revenge. The duplicity of Deianeira, like that of
Medea, registers as a form of concealment of the object.
The stage props that we are about to discuss are also gifts, and also function
to secure relationships between men. They exist in the material space of
the theater, as unconcealed and potent signifiers of a past that is about to
penetrate the present. They illustrate Sofers observation that such objects
can become drawn into the action and absorb complex and sometimes
conflicting meanings.6 They also challenge the notion of ownership or
possession in the strictest sense. Neither the bow nor the sword belongs
completely to the men who hold them, but they are still in some way under
the control of the dead donors whose presence haunts the action of the play.
Furthermore since these objects are weapons they have a potential to be
used as such; the implied destination of their journey is a violent one, and
always looms on the horizon of the audiences expectations.7
6 Sofer (2003) 2.
7 Elam (2002) 85 elaborates on the Jaussian idea of an audiences horizon of expectations
which include its knowledge of the text, and conventions of the genre and production.
202 judith fletcher
I. The Bow
8 Taplin (1978) 89; see his full discussion ((1978) 8993) on how the significance of the
bow develops and deepens in light of what is said and done in connection with it. Segal (1980)
299 is more monolithic suggesting that the bow symbolizes civilization.
9 Dion of Prusa (Or. 52) compares the three versions of Philoctetes. Although all three
dramatists feature the theft of the bow, only in Sophocles tragedy does the bow possess special
properties.
10 Rehm (2002) 139.
11 Webster (1956) 66 gives a plausible recreation of the original production that includes
an ekkyklema to represent the ledge from which Philoctetes threatens to jump. Seale notes
that the scenic details are not simply a backdrop but are personalized. Philoctetes addresses
the natural features in an intimate way. More than any other hero in Sophocles, Philoctetes is
a character defined by natural context, Seale (1982) 26.
weapons of friendship 203
As we must imagine, the landscape has remained inert until the play opens;
the only human activities, Philoctetes foraging and hunting, are routine, and
have become part of the terrain. They change nothing. Philoctetes is himself
but one step away from the natural world, a wild man, a primitive cave-
dweller who would prefer to remain separate from human history rather
than return to Troy. The bow, the single cultural object, is all that stands
between the abandoned man and the natural world; it is a tool that gives him
some sort of dominance over his environment, but only enough to keep him
alive. Without the bow, Philoctetes cannot survive; he would become prey
for those creatures that he now hunts (as he realizes in his despair, 11561158).
Yet its existence in this landscapeat once so seemingly barren and yet so
pregnant with meaningis consistently being redefined. For most of the
dramatic action the bow is never actually used; it is ostensibly static, but
nonetheless it throbs with significance, calling upon its past, poised before its
future, each equally as momentous and glorious. The bow is what prevents
Philoctetes from being consumed by his environment, but more importantly
it is ultimately what causes him to leave that environment; it is the reason
that Odysseus and the Greeks come to Lemnos. Thus the bow evolves from
a means of keeping one man alive, to a weapon that will destroy a city. It
exemplifies Sofers definition of a prop as an object manipulated by an actor in
the course of a drama: something an object becomes rather than something
an object is.12 This conception of the enlivened stage property helps us to
appreciate the dynamic presence of the bow in Sophocles Philoctetes.
The bow then has a career. Its past and future of are, of course, absent from
the immediate view of the spectator (just as the Lemnian landscape in which
the bow has operated is invisible); the bow, although it is no ordinary object,
exists for now in a mundane present, although that is soon to change. We
must note that Philoctetes use of it, as an infallible hunting weapon, a simple
object, is a purpose much reduced from that of its original owner.13 While
Heracles killed mythical Stymphalian fowl, Philoctetes shoots ordinary doves
to provide sustenance for my belly (288). This utilitarian function contrasts
evocatively with the bows special prestige. And it demonstrates how a stage
property derives meaning and purpose from the character that handles it.
For Philoctetes the bow is his livelihood, but this is a day of transition. The
other men who have come to Lemnos cause the bow to become something
much more significant.
The bow absorbs meaning, to borrow Sofers terms, from these visitors to
Lemnos.14 We lose something essential to our understanding of the lively
stage property, if we try to identify the bow as a stable signifier. Harsh, for
example, thinks of the bow as an objective and unchanging symbol against
which the three vacillating human figures are constantly being measured
throughout the play. Gill notes that the bow is the special instrument of
art (heroic achievement) that is inseparable, in the play, from friendship.15
These interpretations, although they are certainly useful, position the prop as
a fixed signifier. Sofers approach, on the other hand, allows us to go beyond
these attempts at stable semiotic classification. As he argues, a stage property
is not a static or stable signifier whose meaning is predetermined by the
playwright. A props impact is mediated by gestures of the individual actor
who handles the object and by the horizon of expectations available to
historically situated spectators.16
Accordingly any prop becomes most enlivened during periods of semiotic
crisis.17 And the slippery signification of the bow is at the heart of this play.
Its meaning is up for grabs, literally and figuratively. Philoctetes obstinately
refuses to give it up; he insists that the bow be dedicated solely to sustaining
him in his solitary existence on this lonely island. And yet spectators know
that there is more to the bow than this. They know this because Odysseus
will tell Neoptolemus so in the early moments of the play, but they also know
its history because they bring something to the drama. Their own horizon of
expectations adds meaning and nuance to the bow. There is a history and
a career attached to this object; its mere presence is enough to import a
complex narrative: Heracles exploits, his death indirectly by the venom of
his own arrows mixed with the blood of Nessus, and his own enmity towards
the Trojans. And the bow promises just as complex a futurethe conquest
of Troy, the behavior of Neoptolemus, so noble in this play, but (according to
the Epic Cycle) so ruthless in war. This stage prop illustrates how the sheer
physical reality of opsis can never be separated from text or plot.
The bow falls into Sofers category of a lively prop because it transcends
the default function of stage objects: to convey visual information about
instructions for him to use trickery, make the theft-of-the-arms story suspicious; cf. Podlecki
(1966a) 237.
24 This is the first time that Heracles is named. Philoctetes again mentions the bow of
Heracles at 942943. In his apostrophe to the bow, he refers to himself as the comrade
of Heracles (1143). At 1406 he refers to the shafts of Heracles as weapons to ward of
enemies when he returns home with Neoptolemus. With the exception of 1410, when Heracles
announces himself, Philoctetes is the only character to mention Heracles by name.
weapons of friendship 207
into boarding the ship for Troy. But when the men come out of the cave,
Philoctetes is seized by an acute attack of his malady.
Philoctetes now hands the weapons once again to his new friend for
safekeeping, with the hope that they may not be so full of woe for you
as they were for me and the one who owned them before me (776777). Like
Yoricks skull Heracles bow is a reminder of an absent subject. It is as if the
weapon, when bestowed as a gesture of friendship, carries with it a ghost of
its former owner. Props are haunted mediums, as Sofer observes.28 In this
case the weapon seems to impose the physical condition of its donor onto its
new owner. Philoctetes like Heracles is being wasted away by a flesh-eating
diseasealthough the cause and career of the two ailments are not identical,
the agony is comparable. As the pain becomes more intolerable Philoctetes
envisions himself as Heracles, and he pleads with Neoptolemus to take his
own role in the immolation of his predecessor (799803):
, ,
,
,
, .
O child, noble youth, take me, burn me up, noble boy,
in that fire that is called Lemnian. I, too, once deemed it right
to do this for the son of Zeus, in return for these same weapons,
which you now keep safe.29
A flurry of stage action now follows: Neoptolemus, who still holds the bow,
reveals the truth of his mission and the necessity of Philoctetes presence
in Troy with the weapon; smitten by a pang of strange pity (965), he
then decides to return the bow to the disconsolate Philoctetes. Odysseus
intervenes; there is a tussle for control of the weapon. Perhaps Odysseus bluffs
when he claims that either Teucer or himself could wield the bow in Troy
(10551059), but he prevails for the moment. He leaves with Neoptolemus,
who returns after the kommatic exchange between Philoctetes and the
chorus (10811216).30 Failing to persuade the recalcitrant exile back into battle,
Neoptolemus finally agrees to take Philoctetes home. There is further violence
for control of the bow, and Neoptolemus must defend his decision against
mus, symbolic of the power of decision that still rests with him.
weapons of friendship 209
Odysseus.31 He then asks Philoctetes to stretch out his hand to receive the
weapon, the culminating gesture in a series of references to hands.32 Is the
bow an extension of Philoctetes, or is it the other way around? Can he choose
what to do with the bow, or does the stage property now have a life of its
own?
During all this activity the function of the bow has been hotly contested,
and subtly redefined. Odysseus insists that it must be used as a weapon
to defeat Troy; Philoctetes, especially in his kommatic exchange with the
chorus, considers the bow to be essential for his existence on Lemnos. To fully
appreciate how bereft he is, we need to bear in mind that the spectators have
never seen him without the bow, but during the entire kommos the weapon
is absent. Philoctetes laments it (apostrophizing it as a lost friend, 1128
1140) as he laments his own sure death: without this nurturer of a miserable
life (1125) he will be unable to feed himself (11051110). Even though he has
learned that the bow is essential for the conquest of Troy, he nonetheless
refuses to think of it as anything but a hunting weapon.
Although Neoptolemus restores the weapon to Philoctetes, he tries to
redefine its function. He insists that the bow must be used in battle, and
indeed verifies this opinion with a recitation of the oracle, but he cannot
persuade Philoctetes to join forces with the Greeks. When he fails to persuade
the wounded man even with a promise of healing, he concedes to take him
home. But although Neoptolemus has reluctantly agreed to take Philoctetes
and the bow back to Greece, the bow is undergoing a transformation. The
action performed on the stage property suggests its new significance. That
Philoctetes is starting to think of the bow as a weapon against men, not just
beasts is evident when he finally tries to use bow against Odysseus (1299
1301):
. , .
. , , , , .
. , , , .
Phi: But you [Odysseus] will take no pleasure [in the fall of Troy], if this
arrow flies straight.
Neo: No, dont, by the gods, let the arrow fly.
Phi: Let go of my hand, by the gods, dearest boy.
31 Seale (1982) 43 remarks on how the melodramatic tussle with Odysseus reveals
demanded a right hand pledge from Neoptolemus before he slipped into a coma; Odysseus
puts his right hand on his sword (1255); Neoptolemus responds with the identical gesture.
210 judith fletcher
This is the first time the bowstring has been drawn and the arrows aimed
during the performance, and it signifies unequivocally that this instrument
is not simply a means of securing food, but can be used in combat between
men, albeit the arrow is aimed against the wrong man here. But again, having
persuaded Neoptolemus to take him home, he promises to use the bow to
defend his savior against any Greeks who might attack him for supporting
Philoctetes. Of course once he has returned home he no longer needs to
forage for sustenance, so the new purpose of the bow is not surprising. But it
is remarkable how this promise seems to trigger the divine intervention of
Heracles, which implies that Heracles still defines the function of the bow.
This deus ex machina, required to keep the plot on course, has disappointed
many scholars who see it as the ultimate humiliation of Philoctetes. But
Taplin gives a more positive interpretation:
Heracles is the visible and audible proof that Philoctetes has not gone through
all his suffering only to do a favour to the leaders of the Achaeans.33
The appearance of Heracles also confirms that he possesses the bow
in both the supernatural and the genitive senseand will continue to
possess it as it goes to Troy. He announces that Philoctetes will use it to
kill Paris, and to acquire plunder that will be an offering to himself (1431
1432). And Philoctetes, whose sufferings and friendship had each seemed to
be programmed by the experience of Heracles, will reenact an earlier heroic
deed of his friend by using the bow to take Troy a second time. As the wielder
of the bow he will recreate Heracles destruction of Troy (14391441).34 And
thus ends the journey of this liveliest of all tragic stage properties.
The sword that Hector gives to Ajax is a more sinister object than the bow that
Heracles bequeaths to Philoctetes. According to Charles Segal it betokens
the mutability of human affairs, as Ajax comes to realize that his enemys
33 Taplin (1971) 39. Gill (1980) 139 notes that Heracles implies that possession of the
bowthe visible symbol of the capacity for heroic action in partnershipcarries with it the
obligation to exercise that capacity in action. The disappointed critics include Ussher (1990)
11 for whom the resolution only emphasizes that the gods are evil; and Ringer (1998) 124 who
believes that Sophocles created characters that refuse to conform to their traditional roles,
only to use the gods to force them into compliance. Both critics fail to account for the positive
aspect of Philoctetes return home and eventual healing.
34 According to Homer (Il. 5. 638642) Heracles used his bow to destroy Troy after he was
gift, even if it was ostensibly offered in friendship, cannot but bring harm to
himself and the Achaeans.35 Like the bow, the sword is an object exchanged
as a gift, and like the bow it is never entirely in the possession of its recipient.
The important difference between the bow of Philoctetes and the sword of
Ajax is the context in which they were given. When Hector gives the sword
to Ajax in the Iliad (7.303312), he names it as a friendship gift, but with
the understanding that Trojan and Greek will meet again on the morrow to
continue their combat.36 To quote Segal once again, the sword links donor
and recipient, the Trojan and the Greek, in a bond not of friendship but of
battle to the death, the true constant of their relationship.37
Clearly this weapon of friendship has, like the bow, a history stretching
back before the opening of the stage action, a history that reaches into the
drama to connect with the present. It, too, is an object that takes a journey;
its significance develops in the course of the play. The sword is also an object
of prestige that begins its stage career not as a weapon to be used in battle but
as an instrument that kills animals. There is, however, a significant difference
here. Ajax misuses the sword in a bout of insanity when he kills livestock in
the belief that he is slaughtering his enemies. Deprived of the weapons of
Achilles, which he feels he deserves, he now turns on his former comrades
the Atreidae and Odysseus. Athena in one of her most malicious moments
does not stay his hand (as she did for Achilles in the Iliad), but rather makes
him hallucinate that he is confronting the Achaeans who insulted him. She
gloats at the delusion, but Odysseus is less sanguine. He finds the spectacle
sadly instructive as an exemplum of human existence (125126):
.
For I see that we who live are nothing more than
phantoms or fleeting shadows.
Odysseus universalizes Ajaxs experience, and thus gives meaning to his
sufferings. Nonetheless it is Ajaxs unique torment to leave the delusional
world where he subdues his enemies, and re-enter a reality in which he is
now deeply shamed: as Tecmessa recognizes, he experienced pleasure in
the fantasy, but now feels pain as he returns to the world he shares with her
(271276). The spectral world of his imagination quite obviously impinges on
the reality in which the disgraced hero must now exist. This contrast is made
most forcefully when Tecmessa reveals the traumatized Ajax to the chorus,
his shipmates. Opening the door to the skene she introduces the spectacle of
her disgraced man wallowing among the slaughtered and tortured animals
(346347):
,
,
Behold him; I have opened the door. You can look at his deeds,
and the condition he finds himself in.
The audience had seen Ajax earlier in the grips of his delusionat that point
he was a spectacle to be revealed by Athena to Odysseus; now he is made
into a spectacle again, not by a goddess but by a woman, and his degradation
seems to be complete.38 He calls on his shipmates as they gaze upon him in
his humiliation: do you see () the bold warrior, the strong of spirit
(364). The emphasis on looking and spectacle here is noteworthy. Ajaxs own
vision has been twisted along with his mind ( ,
447). Both the external and internal audience (Odysseus) witness the first
display in a series that will culminate with the ceremonial suicide of Ajax.
The juxtaposition of the delusional killing of his enemies on the actual
slaughter of the livestock, however, has another very pointed implication.
Ajaxs fictional victims, his enemies, are also the enemies of Hector. As the
play unfolds it becomes apparent that the personality of Trojan Hector
has in some sense been superimposed on Ajax. Sophocles manipulates his
audiences reception by making allusions to the Iliadic figure of Hector, so that
when the sword is finally highlighted as the property of Hector, the spectators
have already become aware of his ghostly influence. A spectral version of
Hector is apparent in Ajaxs interaction with his concubine Tecmessa, a scene
which (as many critics have recognized) evokes the poignant scene on the
Trojan Walls, the Homilia, between Hector and his wife Andromache. The
ghost text becomes noticeable when Tecmessa tries to dissuade her husband
from suicide (485524), an echo of the conversation between Andromache
and Hector (Iliad 6. 407465): the claim that her husband must replace her
dead family; the plea not to leave his son an orphan; the imperiled status of a
wife left captive in a strange land. These citations do not turn Ajax into Hector,
but contrast the patriotic Trojan with the increasingly isolated Achaean.
38 In his discussion of the opening moments of the play Seale (1982) 145 remarks that
Athena speaks not of disclosure but of exhibition when she reveals Ajax to Odysseus.
weapons of friendship 213
Nonetheless they import the Iliadic figure into the shadowy backdrop of a
play that has already intimated the existence of different psychic realities, a
world of phantoms and fleeting shadows.39
Hector haunts this play, just as Heracles haunted Philoctetes, although the
audience does not quite know why yet. It is not until Ajax prepares for his
suicide that the figure of his Trojan enemy-friend is expressly mentioned. In
a famous speech that has exercised scholars, he achieves his anagnrisis, one
of the most philosophical recognitions of tragedy. An external audience who
knew the story of Ajaxs suicide could understand his words to mean that he
is going to die, but his internal audience, Tecmessa and the chorus, interpret
his words more optimistically to mean that he will submit to the Atreidae.40
What is significant for our discussion is that this is the first time that Ajax
mentions the sword, which he specifies as the cause of his misfortune (646
692): a gift of an enemy ( , 662) that is in reality no gift:
ever since I took this gift, I have had no good from the Greeks. Indeed Ajax
uses language to suggest a kind of identification with the sword: For even I,
who used to be so tremendously strongyes, like tempered ironfelt my
tongues sharp edge () emasculated by this womans words (650652).41
In response to this softening, this impulse to change from his stern fixity,
Ajax intends to die.
He describes the preparations for the sword, which will be buried in Trojan
soil, where no one will see it (658659). It is at this point that Hectors sword
becomes the focus of attention, just as the bow of Philoctetes was put in the
spotlight by Neoptolemus reverential words. The sword, which must have
been in Ajaxs hand at the opening of the play, has not been specifically
labeled as Hectors swordunlike the bow of Heraclesbut thus labeled it
is transformed from an ordinary sword to a lively prop.42
39 These similarities are discussed by Brown (1965) 118 who proceeds to illustrate how
Hector, with his devotion to family and city, functions as a contrast to Sophocles Ajax. Similarly,
Sorum (1986) 369372 notes how the Homeric echoes help to distinguish between Ajax and
Hector, and thus explode the parallels.
40 Tecmessa is present during this meditation; Ajax sends her indoors at its conclusion
(685). The controversy over the lines (the term Trugrede, or Deception Speech is a misnomer),
full of calculated double-entendres is endless. Is Ajax purposefully deceiving Tecmessa and
the Chorus, or do they misunderstand his ambiguous language? See Crane (1990) 101 n. 1 for a
summary of the issues and bibliography.
41 This is Jebbs translation. (651) also means weapon point, e.g. Il. 15. 389; see Cohen
by the audience, but from the comments of Athena and Odysseus it is clear that he had used
the sword to kill the cattle (10, 26, 30, 55, 97, etc.).
214 judith fletcher
Ajax leaves with the sword; there is an interlude when the messenger
reports the oracle of Calchas warning that Ajax must remain indoors.
Tecmessa sends the chorus in search of him; and she leaves the scene.
Suddenly the acting space is empty, an unusual phenomenon in tragedy.
This lonely spot is now occupied only by Ajax.43 It is a remarkable moment
of theater shared by the audience and the isolated warrior. The spectator is
afforded a privileged glimpse of a private moment, and at the center of this
spectacle is the sword, anthropomorphized now as the butcher ( ,
815). In violation of one of the conventions of tragedy Ajax apparently kills
himself in full view of the audience, an act that is both intensely private
and unseen by any internal spectator, and yet is simultaneously shared by
the external audience.44 It is impossible to reconstruct the staging of this
suicide, but it would be anticlimactic, to say the least, to have it occur out
of sight of the audience.45 Props come to life when they confound dramatic
convention, as Sofer realizes.46 In the presence of the audience this stage
property becomes a focal point of the action, and reveals the absent subject
who has been haunting the text from the very beginning. But during this
moment of isolation, as he is hidden from the humiliating gaze of any internal
audience, Ajax dies a warriors death, smitten by the sword of his enemy. It is
as if the sword of Hector, even before it physically enters the body of Ajax,
has already taken control of its victim. So uncanny is the force of the object
in his possession, it is as if the object possesses him. The literary ghost of
Hector never really relinquishes his ownership of the sword, just as Heracles
never truly lets the bow out his control. And the sword does not stop being
a prop once it has entered the body of its victim. Like Hector, Ajax remains
unburied for some time. After the suicide, his corpse, still pierced by the
sword, remains in view of the audience until Tecmessa covers it with a cloak.
43 Scullion (1994) 89129 has challenged the common notion that there was a change of
scene after the departure of the chorus at 812. Heath and OKell (2007) 363380 explore the
implications of this unchanging scene for the rest of the play.
44 Ajaxs suicide remains one of the great mysteries of Sophoclean stagecraft to which I
can offer no solution. How did he fall on his sword before the audience, and how did the actor
playing Ajax leave the acting space to return as Teucer? Suggestions include the use of an
ekkyklema or a screen, but to my knowledge there has never been an answer that proposes an
elegant use of the conventions of fifth century dramaturgy. For a discussion of the different
proposals, see Wormans lengthy note ((2001) 241 n. 52.
45 I fully agree with Seale (1982) 165 that, The text and the dramatic development require
The woman who had displayed the abject hero to the chorus, now covers his
body from view.47
III. Conclusion
One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it.48
Chekhovs famous dictum has a special applicability to Sophocles Philoctetes
and Ajax. Their focal stage properties take a journey that ends with them
being used as weapons. Both heroes have of course employed their weapons
to slaughter animals before the play begins, but both the bow and the
sword, which appear on stage with the heroes, will assume their most deadly
function, which is to kill men, during the dramatic action. Philoctetes will
eventually draw the bowit cannot sit idle, or it would disappoint audience
expectations. The bow does not kill anyone during the performance, but, as
I have argued, once Philoctetes aims it at Odysseus he tacitly activates the
true function of the bow. The sword that Ajax handles, or rather mishandles,
fulfills its function as a combat weapon when it kills Ajax. Furthermore, as
haunted mediums these stage properties evoke the absent subjects who
possess the weapons. The ghostly presences of Heracles and Hector seem
to share the bodies of the actors representing Philoctetes and Ajax, and to
guide the stage properties on their journeys.
47 As noted above (n. 44), this would be a dramaturgical necessity in the original production
since the actor who plays Ajax must return to play Teucer.
48 The dictum is rephrased several times, but this particular quote comes from a letter to
Robert C. Ketterer
* I wish to thank the editors for their encouragement and careful assistance as I wrote
with the worship of Artemis in Attica. See the extensive discussion of Kyriakou (2006) 23
30 and especially notes ad 14581461 and 14621467a. Similarly, see Scullion (19992000).
Disagreement with Scullion is to be found in Seaford (2009) and M. Wright (2005) 357359.
3 The approach to stage properties here has been informed by my own work on Plautine
props (Ketterer 1986a) and by Dingel (1967 and 1971). General statements on props in Greek
tragedy may be found in Taplin (1978) 77; Raeburn (2000) 149; Ley (2007a), especially 274279.
For a recent detailed study of how stage propertiesboth visible and verbally described
can have cognitive value for audience interpretation of what it sees and hears see Chaston
218 robert c. ketterer
in a dialogue with the words and action, at first reinforcing a sense of threat
and dread while it appears that sister may sacrifice brother, and then acting
as a foil for the action as Iphigenia separates herself from Artemis cult and
manages the Greeks escape.
We will first observe what the stage-setting probably looked like to
the audience as the play began, and then how the significations of the
stage properties shift boldly over the course of the prologue, parodos and
first episode (1391). Of special importance to this gradual acquisition of
meaning is the presence of the Black Sea, which lies unseen near Artemiss
temple: the verbal descriptions of the sea and seashore combine with the
visual properties to create a larger imaginative set, and create a numinous
atmosphere that suggests impending doom, but also potential for new
creation. In this physical context Iphigenia devises a ritual of purification
that provides the means for the Greeks to steal Artemis image and make
their escape. Her invented ritual implies in addition the final cleansing of
Orestes blood-guilt, and, I will argue, supplies an unstated, visual preparation
for the sudden appearance of Athena as dea ex machina at the end of the
play.
Let us begin with the skene as it appears at the plays beginning. It
represents a temple and walled precinct. The temple is in the Doric peripteral
style with triglyphs, and a gilded exterior. Central gates are secured with
bronze bolts and fixtures.4 Iphigenia comes out of these doors to speak the
first part of the prologue. In front of her, probably in the orchestra, there
stands a monumental altar that drips down murder ( , 72).5
Its cornices ( and , 7374) are stained with blood; they are
also hung with the spoils (, , 7475) of sacrificial victims, which
may have been pieces of armor or the victims own heads: Cropp translates
(2010), together with the review by Sansone (2010). I also found helpful ideas about types and
meanings of tragic stage space in Padel (1990). For the ability of stage properties to convey
history and narrative see Revermann, this volume.
4 The relevant lines are 9597 (exterior wall), 99 and 1286 (bronze fixtures on doors),
113114 (triglyphs, hence Doric style), 128129 and 405406 (columns and gilding). See Kyriakou
(2006) 37. The details of the temple were probably painted on a canvas covering for the skene.
Pylades suggests they might climb in by a scaling ladder (97), suggesting probably that they
must first get over a precinct wall. The text here is vexed and the exact details of the temple a
little unclear: Cropp (2000) 57 and ad 113114; Kyriakou (2006) ad 113114a.
5 The text gives no indication of where the altar was located. The description suggests a
large structure that would be too big to sit on the stage and was probably in the orchestra.
Thus Poe (1989) 127 and cf. 137; Cropp (2000) 57 and n. 110. But see Kyriakou (2006) 37, who
believes the altar was on the stage rather than the orchestra. This essay assumes the altar is a
three-dimensional object sitting in the orchestra.
euripides iphigenia among the taurians 219
6 The text describing the altar is somewhat uncertain; figurative language has resulted
in confused readings in the manuscript. Some have argued the temple itself was hung with
and stained with blood, citing the chorus at 402406 where human blood moistens
altars and colonnades. Cf. Hdt. 4.103, who says the Taurians impaled the heads of victims
on stakes; Amm. Marc. 22.8.33 says they hung them on temple walls. But as Kyriakou points
out, at this moment in the play the two men seem only to be inspecting the altar. For the text
and interpretations see Hourmouziades (1965) 5253 and n. 2; Cropp (2000) 57, and notes ad
6775; Kyriakou (2006) 3739 and notes ad 7275.
7 OBryhim (2000) argues that the details of sacrifice come from Phoenician and Carthagin-
ian rites. For his compilation of the details of the Taurian rites, see ibid. 3031.
8 Kyriakou (2006) ad 15: The succinctness of the genealogy is striking.
9 Burnett (1971) 63.
220 robert c. ketterer
her to the land of the Taurians and this temple, where she oversees a cult
devoted to loathsome sacrifices (2841).10 These lines establish the identity
and nature of the temple and altar in the present dramatic time and associate
Iphigenia with them as their principal agent.
Iphigenia ends her portion of the prologue scene with an account of her
previous nights dream, which was full of architectural detail: she was swept
back again to her maiden rooms in Argos, where she saw the whole house
shaken to the ground. The cornice ( 47) of the house fell, leaving only
one column standing that had blond hair ( , 5152) and a mans
voice. In her dream Iphigenia anointed this column with her stranger-killing
skill (53). Awake, she misinterprets the dream-omen, and believes it was a
sign that Orestes has died. She exits back into the temple to prepare a ritual
of mourning for Orestes. Orestes and Pylades enter from the eisodos and
describe to one another the architectural detail of the onstage altar with
vocabulary that repeats Iphigenias description in her dream, thus linking
the visible altar with the dreams message: her collapsed cornice and blond-
haired column become the of the altar. It is now clear
what a true interpretation of the dream should be: Orestes alone of the family
has survived and is present. There is imminent danger that Iphigenia herself
will sacrifice him and that his remains will serve as on the onstage
altar. The altar has become a potent visual signifier of the threat that faces
brother and sister, and an ironic marker of their inability to interpret the
facts that lie before them.
At this point we first learn that Orestes and Pylades have been sent to steal
the goddess image housed in the temple (8592). Unable to see a way into
the temple, the two men retreat back to a cave by the seashore to plan their
next move. Iphigenia then leads in the chorus, and during the parodos pours
a libation in memory of Orestes onto the ground (160166), as is suitable for
an offering for the dead. The scene re-enacts the parodos and first episode
of Aeschylus Choephoroi (22211), but with the difference that the tomb of
Agamemnon has been replaced in IT by Artemis bloodstained altar, where
his daughter may kill her brother rather than reunite with him.11 The chorus
recounts once again the familys tragic history, lamenting the fall of the house
of Atreus (186190), referring obliquely to the quarrel of Atreus and Thyestes
10 The text is disputed in lines 3841, and it is possible that the exact nature of Iphigenias
sacrifices may only have been made clear at lines 5358 where Iphigenia refers to her
. See Cropp (2000) ad loc.; Kyriakou (2006) ad 35[41].
11 On the general debt of the IT to the Oresteia see Burnett (1971) 7072; Sansone (1975)
(191197), and finally naming the whole family the children of Tantalus
(200). The family history, they sing, has piled murder upon murder, anguish
upon anguish ( , , 197).12 As the chorus sings these
lyrics, they must dance near or around the altar, which takes on once again the
significations it had in opening of the prologue when Iphigenia related her
family lineage and Orestes had remarked that the altar drips down murder
(). Choral movement, music, words and the stage-set combine to create
a theatrical sign of the tragic horrors of the house. Iphigenia then concludes
the parodos with a lament for her own fate (203235), focusing first on her
role as sacrificial victim at Aulis, then on her role in the sacrifice of other
foreigners who, lamenting and weeping, pour their blood out on the altars.
At the end she weeps not for these victims but for Orestes, whom she believes
to be dead.
There is no altar quite like this in extant Greek tragedy. Even its basic
signification, that of an altar for human sacrifice, is not its own, but belongs to
the imagined place of sacrifice within the sanctuary. Its especially gruesome
appearance makes it a place of destruction rather than a protector of
suppliants or a place to make offerings that will bring salvation from
troubles.13 Cropp calls the altar a permanent symbol of the character of
the Taurian sanctuary.14 As we have seen it is also a kind of screen on which
various meanings can be projected by the actors and chorus according to
whether they are speaking of the past or present. Temporally therefore the
altar unites past and present, shifting with the first 235 lines of spoken text
to illustrate or memorialize the past violence of the Tantalid family, the
sacrificial altar at Aulis, and the immediate threat to Orestes and Pylades.
The first episode continues to extend the meaning of the set, locating it
in a larger imaginary landscape that will impact the outcome of the play. In
the prologue, Orestes had addressed Apollo (8586), saying, You told me
to go to the boundaries of the Taurian land, / Where your sister Artemis has
altars. Iphigenia described herself as an inhabitant of barren lands in the
hostile sea (218219). The messenger speech in the first episode provides a
description of the geographical boundary on which the temple and altar sit,
and the imaginative set is thus expanded to include the land and sea that
surround the onstage sanctuary.15
12 The text of this choral ode is desperate; I am accepting, exempli gratia, the emendation
of Barnes.
13 Dingel (1971) 352 n. 84.
14 Cropp (2000) 57.
15 Padel (1990) 343 calls this theatrical space-at-a-distance, one of those dramatic places
222 robert c. ketterer
Shirley Barlow has observed that the language of the IT continually calls
to mind the seas presence, suggesting that it provide[s] a recurring visual
focus for the main action.16 However, in the first episode that focus is blurred,
since language describing the sea and the land are conflated. At the end of
the parodos, a cattle herder arrives, who reports that he and his fellows have
captured Greeks at the seashore who may be sacrificed to Artemis. Iphigenia
is puzzled: And what have herdsmen to do with the sea? He replies, We
went to wash the cattle in sea water. (254255). Iphigenia accepts the answer
without comment, but the mental image of cattle and herdsmen wading
in the sea is slightly disorienting.17 The tension of this juxtaposition is re-
emphasized by the diction and hyperbaton of the herdsmans lines as he
begins his monologue at 260261:
(When we were driving the forest-fed cattle
into the sea that flows from the Symplegades, )
The cattle are not at the shore because that is their usual haunt: they are
forest-fed ( ), the rhyming adjective invented by Euripides
sounding vaguely absurd caught between the phrase flowing through the
Symplegades and the word sea.
The cattleherd reports that two foreigners had been observed in the cave
at the shore. As the herdsmen were debating what to do about them, one of
the strangers suddenly appeared to go mad and waded into the water. He
began to slaughter the cattle like a lion (297), while crying out that a Fury
was swooping down on him from the air, about to fling at him the stony image
spectators were invited to imagine when someone came in from far off bringing news from
outside. She believes that most tragic settings are poised on a threshold or boundary (356),
but she is thinking principally of the skene and the door to its interior. I argue that in IT the
larger conceptual set that includes both the visible properties and and the imagined seascape
beyond comprises that tragic boundary where, as Foley (1985) 64 says, there takes place the
fulfillment of a divine plan and a constructive escape from the disaster of a crippling past.
16 Barlow (1971) 25. She adds, It is by the sea, just offstage, that all the most important
events of the play (except the recognition scene) take place. Edith Hall and Matthew Wright
have also examined the importance of the Black Sea for the IT; Hall (1987); Wright (2005)
158225, especially 169191. On the significance of the seashore for the play see Buxton (1992)
and (1994) 103.
17 Kyriakou (2006) ad loc., cites passages in Vergil Ecl.3.96 and Theoc. Id. 5.145 as com-
paranda, but in these cases sheep and goats (not cattle) are in fresh water. In a personal
communication, a colleague reported having seen sheep in Greece washed in the sea to rid
them of ticks.
euripides iphigenia among the taurians 223
of his mother. The quick phrase like a lion calls to mind the violent heroism
described in similes in epic in which the hero successfully visits mayhem
and slaughter on his opponents. But the circumstances of Orestes battle
immediately undercut any heroic impression the simile may make.18 Orestes
makes the Homeric image too literal by attacking real cattle, and so his actions
must also evoke the wretched and ludicrous irony of Ajaxs end, when he
went mad and attacked real cattle, mistaking them for his enemies.19 The mix
of allusions is surreal: a tragic hero who is like a lion appears to be trying to
slaughter Furies who are actually cattle while standing hip-deep in sea water.
The oddity is consistent with the peculiarity of herdsmen congregating at the
seashore. The conflation is continued further as the battle moves to the land:
instead of blowing the usual war trumpet used in tragic battle narratives, the
herdsmen blow on conch-shells to rally their forces (303), and attack the two
Greeks in a wave or surge (316).20
Orestes land battle in the water demonstrates his larger predicament: he
has come to steal the of Artemis from the local temple, and so the
sea and land surrounding that temple as well as its people are united in the
opposition to his quest. Both sea and land are given the anthropomorphizing
epithet hostile, inhospitable (()): the land is so described early in the
play by a despairing Orestes (94), and the chorus use the synonym
(402). The Black Sea, which Orestes had to cross to get to the Taurians, is
repeatedly termed by the characters and chorus, and by the plays
two messengers who report Orestes struggles with the sea.21 This sense of
the combined hostility of the elements is reinforced by the references to
at 12.4148 is particularly relevant here. For lion-similes in epic and in drama see Wolff (1979),
who notes that the uncontrolled savagery in the simile can have negative connotations. I think
Wolff overstates the negative in his reading (147) of this passage in IT. It is interesting to note,
however, that Euripides here appears to reverse the simile from the way it is used in A. Eum.
193 where the Furies are like avenging lions and Orestes their victim (Wolff (1979) 146147).
19 A reference to Ajax in this passage is also noted by Platnauer (1938) ad 254 and by
Phoe. 859. Kyriakou (2006) ad loc., notes the literal use of elsewhere in the play at 756,
1379, 1393, 1397. Hall (1989) 122 explains the seashell as primitive, or at least rustic: see also
West (1992) 121 on conchs and horns, where he notes that a cattle horn () was available
to rustics. A cattle horn would be a reasonable alternative here for the cattle herders, but
Euripides seems deliberately to make a marine connection.
21 Lines 125, 218, 253 (herdsman), 341, 394395, 437, 1388 (second messenger). Manuscript L
has the later term , but that has been emended to forms of by general agreement.
See Buxton (1992) 212; Wright (2005) 169 with notes 4142; Kyriakou (2006) ad 123125; for the
ancient name of the Black Sea, see Allen (1947); Bond (1981) ad E. Herc. 410.
224 robert c. ketterer
the Symplegades, or Clashing Rocks that block ships entry into the Black
Sea.22 Iphigenia makes the first reference with a cogent statement of this
hostile pact between the sea, the land and its inhabitants when she calls the
Taurians those who live within the crashing rocks of the the unfriendly sea.
(124125).23 The temple itself, at the opposite end of this unfriendly sea from
the Symplegades, is also a meeting of land and crashing waves: Orestes says
the temple is at the borders of the Taurian land (85); Thoas observes that the
sea surge falls upon the temple itself ( , 1196).
Yet there exists in this dramatic landscape the possibility of success as
well as mortal danger. Mircea Eliade has concluded from a comparison of
creation stories that dangerous bodies of water can be characterized as the
first, pre-creative form of cosmic matter, and, at the same time, the world
of death, of all that precedes and follows life.24 He observes further that An
unknown, foreign, and unoccupied territory (which often means unoccupied
by our own people) still shares in the fluid and larval modality of chaos.
Applied to the IT, these observations suggest that Orestes, by passing over
the unfriendly sea to the land of the Taurians, faces a threat of death which is
mythically the equivalent of the non-existence or chaos, but is also the state
of being that precedes creation. The mise en scne contains the potential for
both success and failure, and the first audience of this new version of the
Atreid story could not be certain at this point which aspect of this world
might prevail.25
This is not overly abstract theorizing applied to an individual case. As
Matthew Wright has pointed out in detail, Euripides similarly identifies
the sea as an obstacle and a configuration of potentially creative chaos in
his Andromeda, which was probably produced within a few years of the
IT.26 Andromeda provides a clear case of the sea as a chaotic and hostile
22 They are mentioned seven times in this play, nearly always in connection with threat or
chorus: Kyriakou (2006) ad 123125. For the Symplegades as gateway to barbarism and chaos
see Eur. Medea 1, a play in which there is also considerable reference to the sea (Porter (1986)
27). Hall (1987) 429 suggests that, [T]he rocks are the mental as well as the physical barrier
between darkness and light, the unknown and the known, barbarism and civilization.
24 Eliade (1959) 4142.
25 In regard to the ambiguous nature of the sea, compare also Buxton (1994) 99100: The
sea made all things possible [for the Greeks]. Like all friends, however, it was potentially false.
It was hard to know when the seas dark side would burst out.
26 On dating, see Wright (2005) 4446. Wright groups IT together with Andromeda and
Helen in important thematic ways, including their collective interest in the danger and
euripides iphigenia among the taurians 225
force, although in a different configuration with the power of earth and sky.
Andromeda, chained to a skene that represents the seacoast of her own land,
is to be a victim of the sea in the persons of the Nereids and the devouring sea
monster they call forth; Perseus, son of the sky god Zeus, possibly flying in on
the mechan, ultimately kills the sea monster and rescues the earth maiden.
He is then opposed by the natives of the land, whom he defeats, and then flies
with Andromeda back to the sky, ultimately to beget children by her. In mythic
terms, this is a conquest of watery chaos, followed by a subordination of earth
to heaven. In the final scene of Andromeda, the presiding deity (probably
Athena) announced that the whole cast was ultimately to be immortalized
as a group of constellations.27 The ancient astronomical writers describe the
configuration of these constellations as retelling the moment when Perseus is
about to kill the sea creature that threatens Andromeda.28 Thus, the moment
of heavens conquest over chaos and then earth was monumentalized in
heaven itself as a celebration of that victory and of the established order of the
cosmos. This final act of creation will be an important point of comparison in
relation to the aetiologies at the conclusion of the IT and the final meanings
of its stage setting.
If the comparison of the IT with the Andromeda shows Euripides thinking
in similar mythological and narrative terms as he wrote both plays, then we
can also see more clearly the special danger in IT. In the Andromeda Perseus
faced only one obstacle at a time, first the sea, and then the land. In the IT
Orestes must encounter the united opposition of sea and land together. At
the same time, the world of the IT, like the cosmos in Andromeda, might
also be viewed as a region with the potential to be made into a realm of
divinely created order. In the explicit terms of the play, this will mean it
can be converted from savagery to civilization, specifically Athenian Greek
civilization.
And indeed, positive forces seem to inhabit the menacing world repre-
sented by the stage set: some of the herdsmen at first mistake Orestes and
Pylades for sea-gods and behave in a reverent manner (267274). The more
cynical Taurians reject this identification of the strangers and attack them,
yet there remains some kind of divine power that protects the two Greeks
destructive power of the sea. See especially 206211. He suggests the three may have been
performed together in 412bce (ibid. 4355).
27 For an airborn Perseus arriving at a landscape that is washed by the sea, see Andromeda,
frr. 124125 Kn.; Andromeda as sea-monster food, frr. 115a, 122, 145 Kn.; Athena as dea ex
machina Test. iiia Kn.
28 Eratosthenes Cataster., Epit. 36; also 22, 15, 17; Manilius Astr. 2.2529; 5.538618.
226 robert c. ketterer
and prevents the herdsmens missiles from harming them: It was incredi-
ble (), says the herdsman (328329). None of our countless hands
could hit the goddesss sacrificial victims with a throw.29 At the end of the
first episode, in a complex monologue (342391), Iphigenia examines her
own responses to sacrificing Greeks. Onstage with only the chorus and the
bloodied altar, she rehearses in detail her horror at her own sacrifice at Aulis
and contemplates the revenge she might take on Helen and Menelaus for
whose cause she was sacrificed, exchanging an Aulis here for the one there
( , 358). But she finally rejects the concept
of taking vengeance for her own sacrifice at Aulis, and concludes (385391):
It is not possible that Leto the consort of Zeus gave birth to such enormous
foolishness. I reckon the story of Tantalus feast to be incredible (): that
eating his sons flesh was a pleasure for the gods. And I think that the people
here, since they themselves are murderers, transfer their fault to the goddess.
For I dont believe any of the gods is evil. In this scene the significations of
the altar shift kaleidoscopically from immediate threat to Orestes to a double
of the altar at Aulis, and back again, but with a difference at the end. At the
beginning of the play, Iphigenia had been linked as the altars priestess with
its meanings and menace. By the end of Iphigenias monologue the danger to
Orestes is no less, but she herself has begun to create a schism between the
practice of human sacrifice and its justification. From this point forward the
altar begins to stand in opposition both to Atreid children and eventually
even to the goddess to whom it is consecrated.30
This process of separating Iphigenia from the cult over which she presides
is completed by the end of the recognition scene, when brother and sister
have been reunited and the three Greeks resolve to attempt escape with
Artemis image. At this point Iphigenia abandons human sacrifice, of course,
and she takes a further step (10171023):
Iph. How can it happen so that we will not be killed
and get what we want? Thats where our return home
is ailing, even though we have the will.
Or. Maybe we could kill the king?
Iph. Thats a dreadful thing youve said, for strangers to murder their host!
29 Sansone (1975) 287 sees this sequence as a re-enactment of the sacrifice at Aulis, with
ment] distances the goddess Artemis from this particular cult, albeit without eliminating the
connections, especially since the audience may have found Iphigenias speculation convincing,
but had no way of knowing whether it was right.
euripides iphigenia among the taurians 227
Or. But if it will save you, and me, we ought to risk it.
Iph. I could not do it. But I appreciate your zeal.
With this brief exchange, Iphigenia rejects the violence that has thus far
characterized her familys dealings with the world, and turns Atreid drama
in a new direction. She now rejects all that the altar has signified about her
family history.
The image of Artemis that Iphigenia subsequently brings out of the temple
has been referred to throughout the play by the words and ,
and is once called a (1359). Thoas says it sits inside the temple on an
immovable base or foundation (, 1157). It is agreed to have fallen into
the temple from heaven (8889, 986, 1384), an origin which puts it in the
group of very old religious images, such as the legendary Palladion at Troy,
the Omphalos at Delphi, the statues of Dionysos Kadmeios at Thebes, and
of Artemis of Ephesos.31 It was probably wooden (both and
can suggest that), but in any case small and light enough to be carried
by Iphigenia, who is the only person allowed to touch it (10441045).32
Such objects may serve multiple functions: Faraone differentiates between
talismansimages that by their mere presence protect a city or region,
even if they are kept in an inner sanctumand apotropaia, images placed
openly on boundaries to frighten away evil-doers.33 Artemis statue seems to
serve both these functions, hidden within its temple, but like its temple, an
apotropaic presence on the border to protect the land from foreign invaders.34
Unlike the temple and altar that were present from the opening of the
play, the cult statue makes a dramatic entry, and at once bears multiple, even
contradictory, significations that have already been given to it in the course of
the action. When in the prologue Orestes described the quest assigned him by
Apollo, the image was for him a goal and a prize, an object like Jasons golden
fleece, to be retrieved from the barbarians and returned to Greece.35 It is also
a cure, for if he succeeds he will be relieved of his sufferings (7983). But when
Iphigenia emerges from the temple with the image in her arms, she has taken
31 Cropp (2000) ad 8788 and 1359. Burkert (1985) 91 and n. 84. On images fallen from
heaven and the Palladion, see also Faraone (1992) 5, 7. The image is notable among the
comparatively large number of props in this play. See Tordoff, this volume.
32 See representations in Roman art at LIMC ii/1 (1984), 965969, 1019, 1029, 1040.
33 Faraone (1992) 4.
34 On temples of Artemis as shrines marking and defending borders and margins, see
by the repeated mention of the Symplegades and the choral reference to Orestes passing the
never-resting promontories of Phineus where Jason met the Harpies (423424).
228 robert c. ketterer
over control of the quest and its object. By repeating the action that Artemis
performed for her at Aulis, that is, by removing the goddess bodily from the
temple and from the presence of human sacrifice, Iphigenia begins to fulfill
the stated will of Apollo. The will of Artemis herself is nowhere expressed.
Her image also represents the negative divine power that sits at the center
of the hostile landscape, vividly represented by the threatening altar that
is in full view. Hence there is a clash of significations and the destructive
and creative potentials signified by the set and image of Artemis still stand
unresolved and create a dramatic tension that was potentially very powerful
for the original audience.
After the procession has left the stage, a second Taurian messenger reveals
to King Thoas the success of Iphigenias scheme. He twice points to, and thus
foregrounds, the onstage altar to express his outrage at the theft of Iphigenia
and the statue (1314, 1320). The Greeks escaped to their ship with the image
and headed out to sea; but as they reached the open sea, a squall blew up, and
the wind and waves drove the ship back to the shore and to the clutches of
the waiting Taurian escort (13781410). Thoas is about to pursue the escaped
Greeks with all his forces when Athena appears suddenly to save the Greeks
ship and the chorus who are in mortal danger for having aided the escapees,
and to announce a newly forged connection between the Atreids and Athens.
The image of Artemis, says Athena, is meant to go to the temple at Halae
in Attica, and the rite established there shall include holding a sword to a
mans throat and drawing blood in memory of the rite of human sacrifice.
Iphigenia herself is to serve the cult of Artemis at Brauron, near Athens,
where finally she will be buried and where the clothes of young women who
died in childbirth will be brought as offerings.
Even sympathetic readings of IT can find that some of the events in the
exodos lack dramatic motivation. The sudden squall and wave that send
the Greek ship back to land occur as if by chance, suddenly, and without
human action, and thereby reverse the action of the play one last time. The
appearance of Athena to set things right is unexpected in a play that has so
far had chiefly to do with Artemis and Apollo.36 Our demonstration of the
impulses that structure the play puts us in a better the position to assess this
final series of events.
Let us begin with the squall. The Taurian messenger describes it to Thoas
as follows (13911397):
36 For the problem and possible justifications for Athenas entry, see Kyriakou (2006) ad
But the ship, while it was within the harbor, proceeded to its mouth but, once
it had emerged, it met a violent wave and was hard pressed. A terrible wind
had arisen suddenly and was pushing the ship astern. But the sailors kept up
their effort, futilely kicking against the wave while the inrushing surf carried
the ship back to land.37
Scholarship has been unnecessarily puzzled about the source of the wind
and wave.38 The Taurian messenger gives Poseidon credit for returning the
Greeks to shore, observing that The lord of the sea, holy Poseidon, hostile to
the Pelopids, watches out for Ilium, and now will grant you and your citizens
to have the son of Agamemnon in your power, as it seems, and his sister, too,
who has forgotten the attempt at murder in Aulis and is caught betraying the
goddess (14141419). Athena confirms that the same god has calmed the sea
at her request (14441445). Poseidons opposing wave () answers the
wave of herdsmen that attacked Orestes and Pylades in the first messenger
speech. It is thematically and dramatically right that, when the Taurian forces
from the land fail to stop the Greeks, the should rise to prevent
their escape. The event finally assigns a name to the force that was active
from the beginning. Iphigenia may tell Thoas that the seashore is the most
appropriate place to purify the and the matricidal Greek (The sea
washes away all of mens evils 1193), but she is only partially correct. The sea
remains . The meeting of sea and land is still a place of extreme danger
for the Greeks, for the region is a final battleground between the forces of
chaos in the play, on the one hand, and Orestes and Iphigenia on the other,
who represent the combined wills of Apollo and, as it emerges, of Athena.
Would the Athenians have been surprised that it was Athena who saves the
day? Apollo and Artemis are more frequently invoked, and even maligned,
by the human actors throughout the play as the proximate causes of the
action. Given the free invention that Euripides was exercising, he may
even have intended a surprise. On the other hand, Athena appears several
times ex machina in plays that Euripides probably wrote during the same
decade, settling Apollos quarrels in the Ion, for example, and apparently
also pronouncing the epilogues of the Andromeda and Erechtheus.39 Looking
(1985) 7880 date Erechtheus to after the Peace of Nicias, with a tentative preference for the
years around 416 bc.
230 robert c. ketterer
further back in dramatic history, she notably ends the Oresteia, the action of
which is, as we have seen, paralleled in IT. In the IT itself Athena is mentioned
briefly in Iphigenias lament in the parodos (222), and by Orestes in his
account of his stay and trial in Athens (960, 966). Kyriakou concludes that,
The prominence of Athens and especially religion in the play make the
appearance of Athena as dea ex machina and the announcement of cults and
aetiologies less surprising or unexpected than in other plays.40
The prominence of Athens, is perhaps an overstatement, and the debate
over the issue indicates that there remains a problem of dramatic preparation,
at least as we (and Aristotle) might expect it. I would like finally to suggest,
however, that Euripides employed, as elsewhere in the play, unstated associ-
ations between the visual and the suggested, and has anticipated Athenas
entry by the way Iphigenia engineers the escape with the statue. Specifically,
I want to argue that the ritual she invents for the cleansing of Artemis image
is based on historically documented Athenian rituals for purifying images
of Athena, and so might lead a fifth-century Athenian audience to be less
surprised at her appearance.
Iphigenia tells Thoas that Orestes matricide has polluted the temple and
the image and that to purify them she must take the statue and the two Greeks
to a remote area of the seashore their heads covered and their hands bound
(12041205). They are to be accompanied by Thoas retinue, while Thoas
himself covers his head with his cloak to protect himself from pollution, and
the Taurian population is to remain indoors so as not to witness the event. A
procession comes onstage from the temple doors that includes Orestes and
Pylades bound and hooded, sacrificial lambs, men with lighted torches, and
sacrificial equipment. Joined by Thoass guards, they make an impressive
parade consisting of at least eight people, the animals, sacrificial equipment
and lighted torches.41
The details of Iphigenias pseudo-ritual, like so much else in this play, are
made up of disparate elements from multiple sources. The act of covering the
face seem to have had a parallel in at least one Artemis cult from Achaean
Pellene.42 The Plynteria, the annual festival during which the statue of Athena
Polias was washed and given new clothes by Athenian virgins and matrons,
may also be referenced, given that Artemiss clothes are included as part of the
procession to the shore (1223). Most interestingly, however, the rite in IT has
43 The similarity of the rite in IT to the Athenian Palladium ritual and (perhaps) the
guess what Euripides consciously intended, I would propose that the close
connections between the real and the fictional rituals result in dramatic
preparation for the theophany of Athena at the end.47
To conclude IT with a ritual similar to one associated with an Athenian
murder court is to create yet another parallel to the Oresteia and its cele-
bration of the Areopagus court. But the parallel is introduced only to be
undercut. In the Oresteia, resolution is achieved by trial and exoneration for
violent acts already performed. In IT a new dramatic world is achieved by
Orestes and Iphigenia because they break the old pattern of murder and ret-
ribution by avoiding violent acts altogether: Iphigenia does not kill Orestes,
nor does Orestes kill Thoas; even the battle at the shore takes place between
oddly unarmed troops. The children of Agamemnon create new order and a
new narrative for their family.48
The action of the IT recreates what Eliade calls that time (illud tempus)
an original moment of creation in which the world is formed out of chaos. As
in the Andromeda, the powers of the sea and land that represent primal chaos
and death have been conquered. Our world is created, with its abolition
of human sacrifice symbolized by the evacuation of the statue of Artemis
from her temple, and replaced by the rites at Brauron and Halae. Thoas in
his final speech, addressed to the goddess Athena, acknowledges the power
of Artemiss departed image as a now-changed signifier of this new order:
Let them go to your land with the goddess statue (), and may they
dedicate the image () there with good fortune!
Significantly, this cosmic shift takes place not at Artemis temple and
altar, stained by human sacrifice and emblematic of chaos; the new world
is established at a more powerful center, the border where the primal
elements of sea and land conjoin. The temple and altar that remain are
now permanently separated from their cult statue and priestess, and soon
even of its chorus of captive Greek maidens who served the cult (14671469,
14821483). Iphigenia had rejected violence at the human level. At the divine
level, Athena also rejects force and performs an act of creation, calming chaos
and establishing the new order through the civilizing medium of her natural
influence (, 1444) with Poseidon. She resolves the sense of fragmentation
and hurt signified by the first words and images of the play. The rituals at
Halai and Brauron, in which Iphigenia and the feature, whether actual
47 Euripides seems to have made a similar move elsewhere. For an argument that the Argive
festival of Hera similarly provides an unstated thematic structure and ironic counterpoint to
Euripides Electra, see Zeitlin (1970).
48 Cf. Sansone (1975) 292295.
euripides iphigenia among the taurians 233
or invented, encapsulate the storys ending on the levels of both genre and
myth. They celebrate the successful completion of Orestes quest, for they
enshrine the objects of that quest, the statue of Artemis and the person of
Iphigenia, in their new and civilized Greek homes, purified of the horror of
the onstage altar.
And yet, the altar with its streams of blood and top pickings is still onstage
at the end as it was in the beginning, even as the actors and chorus make
their exits. Sansone has suggested that while the play presents one stage
in the evolution from barbarism to civilization, [Euripides] does not want
us to imagine that that evolution is in any sense complete, that the Greeks
have successfully purged themselves of all their former barbarism.49 Foley
observes that the past and the present are reconnected through [the new]
ritual [in Greece], a ritual that must ultimately be continually reenacted (like
myths in drama) as a means of recapturing the crucial memory of the original
violent event.50 The altar may make just these points, for though it has been
voided of its power in the dramatic present, the history it has represented,
Tantalid and Taurian, remains a reality in the world of the play.51 For those
in the audience less inclined to accept happy endings, it may be an ironic
reminder of the sordid path that led to the creation of the new world and
in consequence always a part of that worlds present.
real and believes that the connection established by the play allow certain dark aspects of
Athenian cult to be articulated, problematized, and explored at a safe symbolic distance.
STAGING RHESUS*
Vayos Liapis
There is no denying, Eduard Fraenkel wrote, that the author [of Rhesus] was
a highly gifted man of the theatre.1 Indeed, Rhesus is extremely interesting
from a visual point of view, despite faults in stagecraft and plot-construction.
Its author had an evident taste for the spectacular and the novel,2 even
sometimes at the price of dramaturgical consistency. In what follows, I
shall first single out instances exemplifying the authors dramaturgical skills
and/or his taste for visual extravagance. Subsequently, I shall discuss cases in
which he seems to have been overwhelmed by his own excessively ambitious
designs.
In Rh. 380387 the anapaests announce, as usual, a new characters entry, here
Rhesus arrival.3 In Euripides, as in Sophocles, characters entering directly
after a strophic chorus are typically unannounced, unless they are part of
a moving tableau.4 That Rhesus entrance is announced here underlines
its remarkable nature,5 which was in all likelihood visually manifested as a
spectacular chariot procession, as Taplin ((1977b) 77) has suggested.6 There is
admittedly no mention of a chariot, but the shepherds amazed description
* I am grateful to Oxford University Press, and to Hilary OShea in particular, for permission
to use here material that also appears in my commentary on Rhesus (OUP 2012). Thanks are
due to Almut Fries, George W.M. Harrison, Toph Marshall and Antonis Petrides, as well as to
an anonymous reader for Brill, whose criticisms improved the argument in various ways. I am
responsible both for the use I have made of their advice and for any errors that may remain.
1 Fraenkel (1965) 239: Aber es ist auch nicht zu leugnen da der Verfasser ein sehr begabter
Theatermann war.
2 Cf. Burnett (1985) 13, partly anticipated by Grube (1941) 439; see also Poe (2004) 25, 32.
3 Cf. Taplin (1977b) 7077, esp. 73.
4 See Hamilton (1978) 70; cf. Taplin (1972) 84; for the term moving tableaux see
of Rhesus arrival (Rh. 301308) has led us to expect a sighting of the splendid
vehicle; moreover, a chariot entrance would allow us to get a glimpse of
the famous horses which will come into prominence later in the drama
(Rh. 623624, 671, 797798, 835840). Chariot entries, which may have been
commonplace in the early theatre, are lacking in Sophocles and rare in
Euripides,7 but as Taplin (l.c.) argues they may well have become popular
again in the fourth century. In Rhesus, which is rife with reminiscences
of classical tragedy, the chariot scene may be harking back to Aeschylus
Persians, where (as becomes clear from lines 607609 of that play) the first
entry of the Persian Queen was made ceremonially in a vehicle;8 or this
could be a visual reminiscence of Agamemnon, where the returning king
entered on a chariot (cf. 906 ). It must be admitted,
however, that the above considerations are not compelling. Apart from the
fact that, as already mentioned, it is never made explicit that Rhesus actually
enters on a chariot, one might argue that the shepherds detailed description
of it could serve as a substitute for any attempt at staging.9 And it is perhaps
significant that at Rh. 383384, when Rhesus is about to appear onstage,
the fearsome bells are transferred from Rhesus horse trappings (which is
where they had been in the shepherds narrative, Rh. 306308) to his shields
.10
There are further instances of archaic elements related to the performance
of Rhesus. For instance, it appears that the play has no use for the skene-
building. Most critics have assumed that the scaenae frons (assuming that
there was such a thing) represents Hectors tent, as is the case in Sophocles
Ajax. However, as was pointed out already by Morstadt ((1827) 6 n. 1), the term
describing the place where Hector or the Trojans sleep is never , tent,
but an unspecific () or .11 By contrast, the Greeks, who
7 Taplin (1977b) 76 recognizes only two chariot-entries in E.: El. 988 (cf. 998999
Pers. 163164; cf. further Podlecki, this volume. As A. Petrides points out to me, Roman tragedy
also seems to have delighted in grand processions, to judge from Cic. Fam. 7.1 with reference
to Accius Clytaemnestra and Livius or Naevius (?) Equus Troianus.
9 Quotation from Taplin (1977b) 201.
10 I owe this point to Almut Fries.
11 Cf. 1, 9, 14, 2224, 88, 574576, 606, 631, 660, and note that in A. Ag. 559562 the Greek
are in the open field. See further Wilamowitz (1926) 286 = (1962) 413; Bjrck (1957) 1314;
Taplin (1977b) 455 with n. 3; Jouan (2004) lvii.
staging rhesus 237
have a permanent camp rather than a bivouac, lodge in tents or huts (45,
61 , 255 ). After all, there would be little use for a skene in a play
where all entrances and exits, Hectors included, are evidently made by the
side-entrances, never by the skene door (see below on exits and entrances).
As has been remarked, the entire play [] demands that there be no barrier
between actors and chorus,12 and it is a reasonable assumption that the
entire action takes place in the orchestra. Parallels for such a configuration
are found only in Aeschylus (Persians, Seven, Suppliant Women, and the
spurious Prometheus Bound), never in Sophocles or Euripides.13
Another example of Rhesus revival of earlier theatrical practices is the
anapaestic opening by the chorus, which is consistent both with Aeschylean
practice, e.g. in Persians and Suppliant Women,14 and with the style of
Euripides early choral entrance-songs.15 Finally, Hectors (rather dull) role
as the stationary recipient of a series of messenger narratives16 may be seen
as yet another nod to archaism: one is reminded of Eteocles in Aeschylus
Seven, likewise the rather static recipient of a series of reports.
The gifted man of the theatre (see p. 235 above) who wrote Rhesus shows
considerable skill in constructing theatrical space and in outlining the plays
imaginary topography. This has been demonstrated in particular by David
Wiles and especially by Luigi Battezzato,17 on whose remarks I have partly
drawn for what follows. One of the side-entrances, which we shall call
eisodos A (it may have been to the audiences right, but this is impossible to
263264, 1920.
15 Cf. Ritchie (1964) 341344. It should be noted, however, that the chorus anapaests soon
evolve into an alternating structure, as they are balanced by Hectors iambic responses; and
this alternation between anapaests and iambics is most closely paralleled in the heavily
interpolated prologue of Iphigeneia in Aulis (148, 115162); on the Iphigeneia prologue having
been interpolated in (among else) the fourth century bc see Kovacs (2003) 8083.
16 Hectors sleeping-place is the visual centre of the action; it is to him that the chorus,
as well as several characters (Aeneas, the shepherd, Alexander, Rhesus charioteer), address
questions or report the nights events; it is he who is initially the target of Odysseus and
Diomedes murderous attentions; it is to him, naturally, that Rhesus presents himself; see
Strohm (1959) 266, 269.
17 Wiles (1997) 156; Battezzato (2000), esp. 367368; cf. Albini (1993) 81.
238 vayos liapis
determine), was supposed to lead off to the Trojan camp, and also at some
further distance to the Greek camp. The opposite side-entrance, which we
shall call eisodos B (perhaps to the audiences left), was imagined to lead off
to the area surrounding Mt Ida, to the city of Troy, and to the future bivouac
of Rhesus Thracian army.18 It will be useful to reproduce here Battezzatos
convenient scheme of Rhesus spatial arrangement (somewhat adapted for
clarity and completeness):19
The rationale behind this reconstruction is, briefly, as follows. The play
emphasizes that Rhesus quarters are separate from the rest of the Trojan
army (Rh. 518520, 613615), which suggests that the Thracian bivouac must
be accessible through a different eisodos from the Trojan one, so that the
separateness (cf. 520 ) of Rhesus bivouac may be rendered visually in
no uncertain terms. This arrangement is strongly favoured by two additional
considerations. Firstly, in 627637 Odysseus and Diomedes, who are setting
out to murder Rhesus, must leave the acting area through a different eisodos
from the one leading to the Trojan camp, since the latter must be reserved
for Alexanders imminent entrance (Alexander must be kept in the dark
about the two Greeks murderous mission, cf. 640641, and so the two parties
cannot be allowed to run into each other). Secondly, Rhesus is said to have
arrived through the glades of Mt Ida in order to avoid an encounter with the
Greek army (Rh. 282286), and so he cannot have used the eisodos leading to
the Greek camp. It follows that both Mt Ida and Rhesus bivouac are imagined
as being on the same side of the acting area, and thus as being accessible
through the same eisodos.
As for the location of the Trojan camp, it is beyond doubt between
the Greek encampment and the Thracian bivouac, since it is repeatedly
stressed that the Greek spies could only have reached the Thracians by
18 The term eisodos (plur. eisodoi) rather than parodos/-oi will be used throughout to
designate the theatres side-entrances: see Taplin (1977b) 449. It used to be generally assumed,
on the dubious authority of Pollux 4. 126127 (Lex. Gr. ix/1. 239 Bethe), that the eisodoi were
imagined to lead to specific off-stage localities, identified a priori as the countryside or the
port or the city etc. However, it has been convincingly argued by Hourmouziades (1965)
128136 that the spatial directions represented by each eisodos were not fixed by an a priori
convention but had to be determined anew for, and by, each play. Cf. also Taplin (1977b)
450451; contra, however, Wiles (1997) 133160 passim. See further Intro, pp. 3, 14.
19 Cf. Battezzato (2000) 368.
staging rhesus 239
passing through the Trojan camp (696698, 808813, and esp. 843846).20
This explains why the Trojan guardswho must be positioned at some
distance from the Trojan bivouac and closer to the Greek camp, so that they
may adequately survey the lattercannot help causing a commotion among
the allied army when rushing to Hectors (cf. 18, 89, 138139).21 The
arrangement suggested here also explains why the Greek marauders fear
that they may at any moment run into some Trojan guard (565573): they
are crossing the Trojan camp. It must therefore be assumed that the same
eisodos will have led both to the Trojan and to the Greek camp, despite the
fact that this, admittedly, obscures the antithesis Trojan vs. Greek, which
is otherwise very clear-cut in the play. The only alternative arrangement
available, namely having each of the two eisodoi lead to one of the two enemy
camps, would entail the improbability of having Diomedes, who is heading
for the Thracian bivouac, sneak out at 636637 through the same eisodos
as the one Alexander, who is coming from the Trojan camp, uses in 642.
Since Alexanders imminent approach had been announced already at 627,
it seems unavoidable that on this arrangement the two characters should,
impossibly, meet.
As an addition to Battezzatos scheme, I point out that the place where
Hector is spending the night (indicated as Hectors in the scheme
above) is apparently imagined as being closer to the Thracian bivouac than
to the Trojan one. Athena informs the Greek scouts that Rhesus is resting
nearby (613 ), i.e. near Hectors (575576), adding as we have
already seen that the Thracian bivouac is at a considerable distance from
the rest of the Trojan army (613 ). By contrast, if
Rhesus thunderous arrival (308, 383384) does not seem to bother the
sleeping allies,22 it is undoubtedly because the Thracian follows a route that
is sufficiently removed from the Trojan camp to prevent aural contact.
The two eisodoi are an integral part of the plays imaginary topographyof
the mapping-out of its fictional dimensions in space. The eisodoi function
as visual markers, signposting and articulating theatrical space. It is against
this spatial backdrop that actors exits and entrances are played out.
20 Cf. already Hartung (1843) 40; see further Battezzato (2000) 368.
21 As Battezzato (2000) 368 n. 9 points out, lines 138139 imply that the Trojan allies (and,
presumably, the Trojans themselves) are all in the same place.
22 Cf. Morstadt (1827) 12 n. 1, 3031.
240 vayos liapis
above). Athena, too, should probably use eisodos B for her entrance: since as
we saw Odysseus and Diomedes enter by eisodos A, the goddess must appear
through eisodos B in order to intercept them. This is after all the eisodos
she will have to use if she is imagined as coming from Mt. Ida, whence one
assumes she would have a vantage view over the Trojan plain (as Zeus does
in Iliad 8. 47). Her entrance by eisodos B also allows her to see Alexander
coming (627): she is facing eisodos A. By contrast, Diomedes has his back
to eisodos A by which he entered (565ff.), and so presumably cannot see
Alexander (630).26
Moreover, it is through this same eisodos B that Rhesus charioteer will
enter to report his masters death (728ff.), and will be later carried off (877
888) to the Trojan palace (872, 877). Odysseus and Diomedes will also exit by
eisodos B to murder Rhesus (Odysseus at 626, Diomedes at 636), although as
we saw it may be preferable to assume that Odysseus will re-enter (with the
chorus hard on his heels) by eisodos A. Further, Hector and Rhesus, together
with the latters retinue, will use eisodos B to exit at 526, since they are heading
for the Thracians bivouac. Finally, Hectors re-entrance at 808ff. is a puzzle:
it is impossible to determine whether he used eisodos B or not, since his
whereabouts after showing Rhesus and his Thracians to their bivouac are
never specified (cf. p. 249 below).
A word is needed on Athenas epiphany at Rh. 595. I consider it probable
that she appeared at ground level, rather than ex machina: one may compare
e.g. Apollo in Alcestis, Hermes in Ion, Dionysus in Bacchae, and most probably
Athena herself in Ajax.27 If she is convincingly to pretend she is Alexanders
patron goddess (646ff.), it seems preferable to have her maintain a semblance
of intimacy by being on the same level with her protg. The idea of an
appearance on the skene-roof 28 is rendered unlikely by the fact that the skene-
building is, as we have seen, otherwise unexploited in Rhesus. That Odysseus
recognizes the goddess from her voice (608609) by no means implies that
she remains invisible, and thus removed from stage-level.29 For as Heath
remarks ((1987) 165), the emphasis on non-visual means of recognition is a
26 Mastronardes hypothesis ((1990) 275) that Athena entered through an auxiliary door
concealed behind painted shrubbery seems unnecessary. For Athenas appearance at ground
level rather than on high see further the next-but-one paragraph.
27 Thus Heath (1987) 165166; contra Mastronarde (1990) 278.
28 As advocated by e.g. Morstadt (1827) 29 n. 1; Wilamowitz (1926) 287 = (1962) 414; Ritchie
Dolons Entrance
hearing of my words (despite Ritchie (1964) 115); cf. Ar. Av. 30, Ach. 513 (with Dunbar, Olson
ad locc.). In Il. 10. 299312 Hector makes a similar proclamation, likewise prefacing his speech
with a question addressed to all those present.
33 e.g. Ritchie (1964) 113115; Poe (2004) 26.
34 Cf. also Burnett (1985) 20, who sees in Dolons materializing unannounced out of
forth, at long last, a potential saviour. There is an interesting parallel for such
an arrangement in Shakespeares Titus Andronicus (5.1.152153), where an
otherwise unidentified Goth, of whom there has been no mention in the
entire scene, speaks two lines towards its end, probably coming forward from
the group of Goths already accompanying Lucius.36
The alternative suggested by Ritchie ((1964) 114) involves having Dolon
hear Hectors proclamation from off stage and enter, unannounced, in order
to respond to it (so also, essentially, Poe (2004) 2627). This, however, is
untenable. Firstly, Hector cannot be so desperate as to issue a plea for help
throughout the Trojan camp, which would cause the allies morale, already
at a low ebb, to sink even further (cf. Rh. 138139 I expect the army will be
in commotion, having heard of this nightly council); Ritchies parallel of
Soph. fr. 314. 3940 Radt is thus specious. Secondly, whenever a character,
unannounced and unsummoned, enters in response to stage business,37 he
clearly identifies both himself and the reason for his entry;38 Dolon does
nothing of the sort here. Moreover, as Poe (2004) 27 is aware, Dolon, if entering
by one of the eisodoi, would have to cover a considerable distance in order
to walk up to Hector, in which case his arrival would have to be explicitly
announced, so that the pause required for the actor to reach the acting area
could be acknowledged and accounted for. And as we have seen (despite
Ritchie (1964) 115), there is no functional skene-building for Dolon to appear
from.
Stagecraft Virtuosity
Hecabe, Ion, Iphigeneia in Aulis, Phaethon, Andromeda; cf. Ritchie (1964) 136; Diggle on Phaeth.
63; Walton (2000) 138.
40 Sophocles Laconian Women (, fr. 367369a Radt) has been adduced as a possible
parallel by Ritchie (1964) 136137 (cf. Walton (2000) 138), since it may have dramatized the
nocturnal theft of the Palladium. But that play may just as well have been concerned with
244 vayos liapis
was mounted on an open-air stage in broad daylight, there would have been
no question of realistically representing the darkness on stage: it is rather
through verbal indications that the nocturnal setting is conveyed to the
audience. The impression of surrounding darkness is carefully insinuated
already at the outset (e.g. Rh. 1, 2, 5, 89, 13, 25, 42), sustained throughout the
play (e.g. 55, 66, 111, 223, 289, 331, 518, 528555, 570571, 615, 678679, 697, 736,
774, 824), and dispelled only in the last twenty lines, in which the imminent
coming of the morning is heralded (984985, 991992).41
The authors keenness to dazzle the audience with innovative spectacle is
further evidenced in what is perhaps the plays most action-packed section,
namely lines 565674.42 To begin with, the actors in this section move in and
out of stage at almost breakneck speed, at least by the standards of extant
Greek tragedy. Exits and / or entrances, including the chorus own, occur every
2530 lines approximately (see Rh. 564, 595, 626, 637, 642, 664), a pace quite
unparalleled in extant Greek tragic drama. Even more impressively, this thick-
and-fast succession of exits and entrances leads to a chaotic scene in which
the chorus charge into the orchestra in hot pursuit of a fleeing Odysseus
(675ff.). This must have been visually arresting, as well as fraught with
unmistakable comic nuances; especially the repeated injunctions strike,
strike, strike [him] batter, batter, batter [him], with their threat of impending
stage violence, recall Aristophanes Acharnians 281283.43
Another impressive piece of stagecraft must have been the momentarily
empty stage just before Odysseus and Diomedes entrance at 565. The chorus,
on their way to wake the Lycians, the next watch of the night (543545,
562564), will have left the orchestra in the direction of the Trojan/allied
camp. As we saw above (p. 238), both the Trojan and the Greek camps are
supposed to be situated on the same side of the playing area, and so the
chorus will have to use the same eisodos as the entering Greeks (eisodos A:
Odysseus entry into Troy in a beggars disguise (see Radts apparatus, TrGF IV p. 328); in
which case no nocturnal setting would have been necessary. Sophocles Nauplios Pyrkaeus is
also another possible night-time playalthough for all we know it may have dramatized the
aftermath of Nauplios actions (cf. Sophocles Ajax) rather than enacting or narrating them in
real time.
41 See further Compagno (1963/4) 249256; Ragone (1969) 85; Ritchie (1964) 135137;
Phlmann (1989) 55; Burlando (1997) 1116; Jouan (2004) xxxviiixl; and especially Fantuzzi
(1990) 2627, who points out that maintaining a theatrical fiction of darkness in a theatre
bathed in sunlight must have required an unusual effort by the audience, who should have
been alert enough to pick up the verbal hints, and even by the actors, who would have had
persuasively to deliver such an anti-realistic piece of theatre (cf. also Harsh (1944) 252).
42 Cf. Ragone (1969) 82.
43 Cf. Poe (2004) 24.
staging rhesus 245
see p. 240 above). As a result, the stage will remain momentarily empty to
prevent the two parties from walking into each other. The hiatus thus created
may strike some as clumsy,44 but it can actually be a very effective means
of accentuating the critical moment when the time bomb that will lead to
the plays catastrophe starts ticking: after a brief spell of emptiness, silence,
and immobility, we watch the two Greeks sneak into the orchestra. Anyone
remotely familiar with Iliad 10 will instantly realize that these are Rhesus
future murderers, since one of them is immediately identified as Diomedes.
The closest parallel to thisalthough admittedly it does not involve a chorus
departureis probably Aeschylus Eumenides 33, where the Pythia enters
the Delphic temple only to come out again after a brief interval, crawling
on all fours. That scene, like the Rhesus scene under discussion, is all the
more stunning for the empty stage that precedes it.45 A performance space,
to quote Peter Brooks famous formulation, is by definition an empty space
waiting to be filled with visual and aural stimuli.46 A theatre stage that is
empty of motion and sound is bound to produce an unsettling effect.
However, this remarkable scene proves, on closer inspection, to be prob-
lematic. Choral exits of this sort47 are always theatrically expedient in
tragedy.48 Consider, for instance, Aeschylus Eumenides 231 (change of scene
from Delphi to Athens, 235ff.); Sophocles Ajax 814 (Ajaxs suicide must take
place in an otherwise empty stage, 815ff.); Euripides Helen 385 (Menelaus
entrance monologue in 386ff., in which he identifies himself, must not be
heard by anyone else); Alcestis 746 (the chorus would not have allowed the
news of Alcestis death to be broken to Heracles).49 In the case of Rhesus,
44 Cf. e.g. Battezzato (2000) 368369 with n. 13; Kovacs (2002) 410 n. 16. A seemingly
plausible alternative was proposed by Wiles (1997) 156: Odysseus and Diomedes enter before
the chorus departure but remain invisible by hiding behind some obstacle. However, this is
an impossibility: if the two Greeks had overheard the Trojan guards and/or witnessed their
departure, then Odysseus would neither advise Diomedes to watch out in case there are any
guards around (Rh. 570) nor express surprise at the realization that the Trojan bivouac is
empty (574, 577).
45 Cf. Taplin (1977b) 362363; Sommerstein on A. Eu. 33. For the empty stage in New Comedy
across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed
for an act of theatre to be engaged. Yet when we talk about theatre this is not quite what we
mean.
47 The ancient technical term is , cf. Pollux 4.108 (Lexicographi Graeci ix.1,
233.11 Bethe).
48 Cf. Ritchie (1964) 118120; Burlando (1997) 4445.
49 Ritchie (1964) 118119 adds E. Phaeth. 226 Diggle = fr. 781.13 Kannicht to the list of mid-
however, theatrical expediency comes at the rather dear price of an exit moti-
vated by a somewhat tenuous pretext (the chorus need to wake up the next
watch, but in real life this should have been done by one or two watchmen
only, not by the entire guard), which moreover turns out to be false, since
the change of guard never actually takes place.50
that Rh. has von allen erhaltenen griechischen Tragdien die lngste Personenliste.
53 Cf. Wilamowitz (1926) 287 = (1962) 414.
staging rhesus 247
paragraph, this scene seems to require the extra expense of a fourth actor
(see further pp. 250253 below) but does not seem to serve any discernible
dramatic purpose.
Although it may have respectable mythic ancestry,54 the scene is multiply
bizarre. First of all, a divinity appearing in the guise (not of a mortal or
an animal but) of another divinity is unparalleledcertainly in tragedy
and, as far as I can ascertain, in serious Greek literature.55 Even in comedy,
where divine transformations are more freely used for comic effect,56 this
seems to have been exceptional: in a comedy by Amphis (fr. 46 K-A),57 Zeus
took on the features of Artemis in order to insinuate himself into Callistos
company; but this seems to have been no more than comic burlesque, unfit
for serious poetry.58 Further, however one imagines Athenas transformation
being staged, it would seem hardly appropriate for the fierce virgin goddess
to assume the trappings of the goddess of sex. Indeed, it seems safe to assume
that this would have been inconceivable in fifth-century Athens, where even
the comic poets, otherwise merciless in their derisive portrayal of gods,
customarily exempted their citys tutelary deity from their satire.59 This scene,
one is tempted to surmise, has nothing but mere sensationalism to suggest it:
we are presumably meant to revel in the paradox of one divinity appearing as
her exact opposite to fool the latters mortal protg. There is no question of
Athenas transformation being somehow enacted onstage: despite e.g. Bates
54 A black-figure neck-amphora from Vulci (500490 bc) depicts on one side a woman
facing a hoplite looking back and on the other two crouching hoplites, one of them looking
back: see CVA Netherlands 3 (Leiden, 1972), 31 with pl. 38. Tiverios (1980), esp. 6466, reviving
an earlier suggestion by J.E.G. Roulez, argued that the crouching soldiers are Odysseus and
Diomedes lying in ambush, the female figure Athena (possibly posing as Aphrodite), and
the hoplite next to her Alexander. That both Alexander and one of the crouching hoplites
look back may suggest apprehension, which fits a night-raid episode. Further, Tiverios (1980)
6772, and pl. 14- identified the same theme split up between two Attic black-figure olpai
(525475bc).
55 Cf. Jouan (2004) xxxv f., liii. Bond (1996) 268 tries to downplay the anomaly by arguing
that the effect of Athenas transformation on Paris is the same as it would be if she were to take
mortal form (e.g. as Hector or Aeneas). But this is to beg the question: why did the playwright
plump for the anomalous option?
56 Cf. e.g. Dionysus disguise as Paris in Cratinus Dionysalexandros, on which see Rever-
inveigles Ajax in Sophocles play. However, as Fraenkel (1965) 240 remarked, in Ajax Athena is
ruthless in the exercise of her power, which perfectly becomes a Greek deity; in Rhesus she is
merely frivolous.
248 vayos liapis
(1916) 10, if Athena were to step out to change costume her exit should have
been expressly signalled in the script; and at any rate, the verbal reference to
her disguise should suffice as an indication of her perceived transformation.
The implications of this scene are more far-reaching than may appear
at first sight. Alexanders entrance, which necessitates Athenas onstage
transformation, does not seem to serve any dramatic purpose whatsoever,
save the (rather cheap) thrill occasioned by the goddesss sensational trick.60
This was already seen by Wilamowitz61 and by Pearson,62 although critics have
striven in vain to discover a less undignified role for the Alexander scene.
Thus, it was argued by, among others, Pohlenz and Ritchie that Alexander
is brought in principally as a means of filling the interval required for the
murder of Rhesus off stage.63 However, not only does this fail to determine
Alexanders dramatic function (how does a mere interval-filling character
bring the plot forward?), it also misses a crucial point. In Greek tragedy, it
is by no means necessary for dramatic action to unfold in real time: the
actual time required for Rhesus murder could have been compressed into a
few minutes of stage-time during which, for instance, the chorus might have
re-entered to express their anxiety over the suspected infiltration of their
camp (cf. 675ff.).64 Such compression of dramatic time, albeit not common,
does occur in all three tragedians, most strikingly perhaps in Aeschylus.65
Moreover, as pointed out by Albini (1993) 83 n. 2, the conversation between
Alexander and Athena /Aphrodite lasts for barely more than twenty lines,
that is ca. 80 seconds at most; by real-time standards, the massacre of Rhesus
and his Thracians cannot be over in such a short time.
60 Cf. Norwood (1954) 44 with n. 5. On the triviality of this scene cf. Burnett (1985) 40.
61 Wilamowitz (1926) 287 = (1962) 414: Wir mgen den Tragiker gering schtzen, der den
Alexandros lediglich um dieses Tricks willen einfhrt.
62 Pearson (1921) 59: Athenas interference is that of a mischievous stage-puppet, whose
Alexander episode as a mere time-filler was also accepted by, among others, Fenik (1964) 19
n. 1 (with misgivings), Kitto (1977) 340, and Lesky (1983) 398.
64 The suggestion is also made by Burnett (1985) 38.
65 Thus, in Ag. 810 Agamemnon arrives from Troy not long after the news of the citys
fall has reached Mycenae by beacons (281ff.), which in real life would mean that he was
travelling almost at the speed of light. In Eu. 235 Orestes arrives from Delphi to Athens (a
distance of c. 170km.) in the space of c. 140 lines. In S. OC 10431095 Theseus goes off to chase
the abductors of Oedipus daughters, is imagined as riding as far as Eleusis (1049), and yet is
back at Colonus by 1096; and in E. Su. 364381 Theseus is able to travel from Eleusis to Athens,
hold a popular assembly there (349353, 393394), and return to Eleusis, all in the space of 25
lines. Most impressively perhaps, in Andr. a mere 35 lines, the length of a single choral song
(10091046), suffice not only for Orestes to go from Pharsalos to Delphi and kill Neoptolemus,
but also for the news of the murder to travel back to Pharsalos.
staging rhesus 249
3. In 806ff. Hector enters the stage in a fury, having just been apprized of
Rhesus murder. The last time we saw Hector he was about to show Rhesus
and his retinue their bivouac for the night (518526). If we are to trust Athenas
statement to Alexander at 662, Hector is still with the Thracian army even at
the very moment when Rhesus is being killed. Nonetheless, Hector cannot
have been in the Thracian bivouac while it was being infiltrated by the Greek
marauders, or he would not be in a position convincingly to berate the guards
for their negligence (cf. 808 ff.). The contradiction seems to be irresolvable;
as Morstadt (1827) 5051 saw, the author simply leaves us in the dark as to
Hectors whereabouts during this critical time. This is no more than a piece
of slovenly dramaturgy.
66 Cf. already Hardion (1741) 520521 and, more recently, Ragone (1969) 79 and Paduano
(19841985) 267. Even Grube (1941) 440 n. 1, a supporter of the authenticity of Rhesus, found
himself obliged to acknowledge this awkwardness.
250 vayos liapis
67 This piece of plot-mismanagement has been castigated by several scholars, e.g. Morstadt
(1827) 56; Vater (1837), pp. xliii f.; Hagenbach (1863) 25; Menzer (1867) 18; Albert (1876) 24;
Kannicht (1966) 297 n. 6.
68 For lists of such scholars, and for those in favour of a fourth actor, see Ritchie (1964) 127
n. 1 (who wants a three-actor Rhesus); Battezzato (2000) 367 n. 1 (who argues for a four-actor
play). Battezzato (2000) 369 gives 15 lines as the space available for the actor playing Alexander
to slip back into Odysseus costume, i.e. from 664 to 681. But 681 ( , ) is
too late: the chorus etc. at 675 suggest that they are in pursuit of Odysseus, and so
Odysseus must be visible as early as 675.
69 The theory, as well as the term, was first proposed by Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 148.
Alleged cases of lightning changes of costume in Euripidean drama adduced by Ritchie (1964)
126129 are effectively refuted by Battezzato (2000) 370371.
70 The problem Battezzato identifies was already hinted at by Bond (1996) 270 n. 28, who
did not pursue it further. If the play was performed in the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens, then
on Battezzatos reconstruction the actor playing Alexander/Odysseus would have to cross a
distance of some 30m (more precisely, between 28 and 33m) from one eisodos to the other.
On the much-debated question of the spatial dimensions of the Theatre of Dionysus cf. the
convenient overview by Mastronarde (1990) 248249. For reconstructions of the Periclean
staging rhesus 251
Pace Battezzato, I consider it likelier, as we have seen (p. 240 above), that
Odysseus re-entered by eisodos A, that is to say by the same eisodos as the
one used by Alexander for his exit, and so the Alexander/Odysseus actor
would not have to scurry from one eisodos to another. (It is true, however,
that the Alexander/Odysseus actor would still have to rush from eisodos
B to eisodos A during the ca. 50 seconds between lines 626 at earliest and
642 at latest, since at 626 Odysseus exits by eisodos B towards the Thracian
bivouac and at 642 Alexander enters by eisodos A, coming from the Trojan
camp.) Still, I am as convinced as Battezzato is that a fourth actor is required
for Alexanders part, though for a different reason. For the same actor to
play both Odysseus and Alexanders roles, a very considerable amount of
nimble back-stage coordination and sheer physical effort involving several
stage-hands would be requiredas indeed was the case in a modern three-
actor production of Rhesus, in which Odysseus was able to change in time
to reappear as Alexander.71 Such pitch-perfect coordination was no doubt
possible in the ancient theatre too, but it would also recklessly open up the
performance to more numerous, more precarious and more unpredictable
contingencies than those involved in a regular, run-of-the-mill staging of any
given play. There is no reason why even a moderately competent playwright
would want to encumber his production with more technical difficulties
(and, consequently, with a greater margin for error) than those he would
have to deal with anyway. Moreover, advocates of a three-actor Rhesus fail
to take into account that, as we saw (p. 248 above), Alexanders entrance is
anything but essential for the plot, which makes it all the more incredible
that the Rhesus author should have submitted his third actor to so much
senseless scuttle on account of an unnecessary scene. Positing a fourth actor
for the role of Alexander does not remove the redundancy of that scene,
but at least avoids the precarious solution of a single actor having to change
masks and costumes, twice over, in the space of a few lines.
In attempting to circumvent the difficulties presented by Alexanders
entrance, some scholars have suggested that Athena was a disembodied
voice rather than an actor physically present on stage.72 This, again, is very
stage see Pickard-Cambridge (1946) 16 fig. 7 (ca. 33m. long); H.-J. Newiger in Seeck (1979) 461,
494 (ca. 28.2 m long).
71 See Marshall 2002, with reference to a performance directed by George Kovacs, in the
Basement Theatre, at the Arts and Culture Centre in St. Johns, Newfoundland, in October
2001.
72 Thus notably Vater (1837) p. lv n.*, followed by Hartung (1843) 40 with n.*, Taplin (1977b)
unlikely: Ritchie (1964) 128129 pointed out that, while off-stage voices are
sometimes used for cries and short utterances , they would not be
sufficiently audible or distinct for a part of such magnitude as Athenas. Other
ways of dealing with this difficulty have been suggested, but carry very little
conviction: the reader may consult with profit Battezzato (2000) 369373,
who effectively refutes all of them, leaving the use of a fourth actor as the
only plausible alternative.
If Rhesus does indeed require four actors, what does this signify for its
date? Pace Battezzato (2000) 367, this is an important argument against a
fifth-century date, since his alleged examples of four-actor plays from the
fifth century are, in my opinion, specious.73 In Choephori 886900 there is
probably enough time for the Servant to enter the skene-building through
the central door and reappear as Pylades through the same door.74 The strain
this would have involved for the actor would have been outweighed by the
stunning theatrical effect of having Pylades speak for the first and only time
(900902), thereby foregrounding him as the spokesman of Apollo.75 By
contrast, in Rhesus, whether one uses a fourth actor or somehow manages
to whisk the third actor out of sight and then back on stage in a matter of
seconds, the fact remains that, as pointed out above, the Alexander scene is
totally superfluous from a dramaturgical point of view. As for Battezzatos
second alleged example, namely Oedipus at Colonus, a fourth actor would
admittedly obviate the need to have the part of Theseus taken in turn by
each of the three actors.76 But role-splitting is a possibility taken seriously
into account by Pickard-Cambridge and Sifakis;77 and even if a fourth actor
is unavoidable in the Coloneus, that play is late enough to account for the
break from the three-actor rule, which is otherwise invariably respected in
fifth-century tragedy. All in all, then, it seems that Rhesus use of four actors
should be put down to its having been produced in an age in which fifth-
century conventions were giving way to experimentation with new dramatic
forms. As to the distribution of parts, here is one among several possible
configurations:
73 Against Battezzato, on this point, see also Poe (2004) 31 with n. 58.
74 Cf. Garvie (1986), pp. xlviilii, esp. l.
75 Garvie (1986), p. l.
76 That is to say, third actor from 550 to 667, from 1109 to 1210, and from 1500 to 1555; second
actor from 887 to 1043; first actor from 1751 to the end. For the argument, and discussion, see
Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 142. Cf. also McCart (2007) 255257.
77 Pickard-Cambridge (n. 76); Sifakis (1995) 1921; contra Battezzato (2000) 372 with n. 42.
staging rhesus 253
C.W. Marshall
I. Context
* This paper was originally presented at the Celtic Classical Conference in Cork, Ireland
(July 2008). My thanks go to Keith Sidwell and the other participants, and to Vayos Liapis
and the presss anonymous reader for their helpful comments. I remain responsible for all
conclusions reached. Part of the writing of this paper was supported by the Social Sciences
and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
1 Only Euripides Cyclops with its three characters has no doubling, but it was part of a
tetralogy in which the actors surely adopted different roles: when considered as part of the
full entry in the dramatic competition, even this apparent exception involves doubling.
2 Among the ancient testimonia, see, e.g., Aristotle, Poetics 1449a1419, Horace Ars Poetica
192, and Martial 6.6 (explained by H. Parker 1994). For a general modern statement, see
Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 135156.
258 c.w. marshall
three speaking actors. This is, in itself, improbable, and even Oedipus at
Colonus adheres to the rule if the character of Theseus may be shared between
actors.3 The application of the Three-Actor Rule to tragic texts produces
surprising parallels between characters that yield an interpretative benefit
for understanding the play.4 It is never necessary for a spectator to recognize
the actor/character tension, but it is information that can enhance the
understanding of the play or of the performance, supplementing audience
appreciation for the theatrical moment.
It is less clear that the Rule of Three Actors was in effect in the late-fourth
century. While no fragment of tragedy or comedy unambiguously presents a
scene in which there are more than three non-choral speakers, if the Rule
of Three Actors remains in effect, then part-splitting apparently becomes
normative (as seen in Menanders Dyscolus). This may be seen as a relaxation
of the fifth-century rule (the earliest evidence for which being Oedipus at
Colonus and Aristophanes last play, Wealth5), or it may be a re-imagining
of it, where the performance aesthetic rewards part-splitting. Whatever the
case, it indicates a diachronic development in stagecraft practice and the
aesthetic that produced it.6
The situation in Old Comedy is less straightforward. Though one can
only deal with probabilities in any case, it seems worth asking whether the
performance expectations of Aristophanes seem to adhere to the articulation
of the Rule in either of the two senses already established, or in some
other sense.7 A quick survey of representative opinions shows the range
3 Ceadel 1941 and Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 142144. Such part-splitting does not adhere
to a modern, Western dramatic aesthetic, perhaps, but it is certainly conceivable. The extensive
deletions proposed by Mller 1996, which have found some approval from Dawe (2001) 1521,
would eliminate Ismene as a speaking character from the Sophoclean play and in so doing
would also remove part-splitting from tragedy and the fifth century. The issue is fraught, and
cannot be decided here, but too much cannot be placed on the example of this play.
4 See, e.g., Pavlovskis 1977; Damen 1989; Cohen 1999; Dickin 2008.
5 See Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 153.
6 In contrast, Konstantakos (2005) 207213 argues that fourth-century (Middle) comedy
could use a fourth actor, and that if anything this represents continuity from the fifth century,
with the rules being tightened in the 320s or 310s. This proposed development, increasing
regulation by the end of the fourth century, would be anomalous if true.
7 These are questions I have discussed previously, in a 1997 article, where the emphasis
was on answering arguments in MacDowell (1994) that four actors were regularly used, with
particular attention being paid to Acharnians. Konstantakos (2005) 208 n. 66 characterizes
my position as far-fetched because it might prove more exhausting for an actor. It is more
demanding, but the point is irrelevant. Section IV of the present study considers the demands
on actors directly.
three actors in old comedy, again 259
8 Pickard-Cambridge (1968) 153, and generally see (1968) 149153, following Russo (1994).
9 Walton (1980) 143, and see 142143.
10 Henderson (1987) xliixliii on Lysistrata; Olson (2002) lxiiilxv on Acharnians.
11 This view has been endorsed by Revermann (2006a) 1.
12 Henderson (1987) 177; MacDowell (1994) 328; Marshall (1997) 78.
260 c.w. marshall
the likelihood that the Rule of Three Actors, as used in tragedy, was also
in force for the period of Old Comedy that is represented with complete
plays.
II. Evidence
13 How the rule was applied may also have changed over time (or conceivably by festival),
and it is always possible that in given years a different rule (say, with a higher limit) was
employed. There is no external evidence that any of these possibilities were the case. While
we can see how the rule developed through the classical period, I see no indication from
the plays that there was a change during the period of Aristophanes career (427c. 388). To
assume ongoing experimentation with the rule without evidence removes the possibility of
any coherent formulation about its function.
14 See for example Dover (1968) lxxxxcviii and Russo (1994) 97109 though of course the
neutral on the question of doubling: those who have published on the number
of actors in comedy (such as Dover and Russo) are not arguing for the rigid
application of the Rule. When Revermann describes the high likelihood that
this ending [in Clouds] was never performed in front of an audience (2006:
228), his conclusion stands independent of any consideration of the Rule of
Three Actors. The most neutral way of dealing with the problem is simply
to exclude Clouds from consideration when positing an initial conclusion.
Once formulated, the conclusion can be measured against Clouds to discover
the implications of the formulation for that play (and this process might in
turn force us to reconsider the initial formulation). Similarly, the presence of
a momentarily empty stage at Wealth 1170 does not make the play somehow
unperformable. Though recent editors have not accepted Bergks insertion of
a missing XOPOY ([song] of the chorus) after 1170, the argument is equivocal,
and Revermanns arguments for its restitution are strong.15 In any case, the
disagreements exist because of our lack of knowledge of the fourth-century
chorus and dramatic construction, and not because of the number of actors.
Even without an act-break, however, there is no overlap of actors and the use
of three remains a possibility.
Clouds is not the only play where the surviving text does not correspond to
the performance script. The extant text of Frogs contains several doublets in
the final scene (first isolated by Sommerstein), where lines from the original
405 production are found alongside the revised text of 404.16 The presence
of these doublets and the knowledge that the play was reperformed outside
of the competitive context mean that Frogs too must be removed from
consideration about the nature of the Rule. Consequently, while greater
alteration to the text is required than Sommerstein allows for Plouton to have
been a silent character in the 405 production (as would be required for a strict
application of the Rule, as I see it), the fact that there are extensive detectable
variants in the final scene means that the play is also best excluded from our
initial consideration.17
A third play to be excluded is Lysistrata. As Revermann has argued, the
ending of Lysistrata as it survives in the manuscripts can only be adequately
explained if the play was re-worked for reperformance, in a Spartan context,
such as in the South Italian colony of Taras.18 Lysistrata was the one play
for which in 1997 I could not make what I felt was a reasonable case using
only three actors.19 Revermanns argument that the play was at least partially
re-written for South Italian reperformance is strengthened when the Spartan
context of the problem passages, involving the presence of Lampito, are
acknowledged. Lysistrata appears to operate with a uniquely individuated
pair of chorus leaders, and given that the chorus is the most financially
demanding aspect of a production, a South Italian reperformance would not
be obliged to preserve choral aspects deriving from the Athenian competition
any more than it would have to adhere to the Rule of Three Actors. In this
context, it may be significant that Revermann also argues for South Italian
reperformances of Frogs and Acharnians.20 Frogs, we know, has been revised
in any case, but the presence of Acharnians in this set, while I believe it can
be performed with three actors in any case, nevertheless warrants future
examination from the perspective of MacDowells difficulties in getting the
play to adhere to his proposed four-actor limit.
Revermanns general conclusion is almost certainly applicable to the
remaining eight plays (excluding Clouds, Frogs, and Lysistrata): there is
a strong case for assuming that the preserved texts of fifth-century drama
reflect an advanced stage of the plays evolution in which the experience
of at least one production (and quite possibly only one production) under
competitive conditions is already incorporated into the script ((2006a) 95).
In all eight plays, the assignment of roles to actors can be done in a way that
fits each of the three suggested principles for role assignment (no hard limit,
a hard limit of four, and, the most restrictive of these, a hard limit of three).
Further, while Revermann does not accept the use of only three speaking
actors, it is his discussion of Lysistrata that provides the key to integrating
this play into the three-actor scheme that I propose.
In addition to Aristophanes plays, there is other evidence, of limited
applicability. Among the hundreds of fragments of Old Comedy that survive
in quotation or papyrus, there are only two non-extant plays for which there
is enough information that a reconstruction might involve more than three
speaking actors. In Eupolis Demes,21 four dead leaders return to Athens
19 Konstantakos is correct that Marshall cannot stage Lys. [sc. in its surviving form]
with only three actors ((2005) 208 n. 66). No one, however, proposes staging the play without
ventriloquism, which renders that objection moot.
20 The case for reperformances of Frogs and Acharnians is almost similarly strong on the
basis of iconographic evidence from South Italy (Revermann (2006a) 69, and see n. 11).
21 Storey (2003) 111174 and Tel 2007.
three actors in old comedy, again 263
ing stagehands, a master and an apprentice. Both need not be speaking characters. Given
264 c.w. marshall
from vase-paintings and comic fragments does not allow us to exclude any
of the three possibilities we are considering.
There are a number of other factors that may be invoked but which cannot
be given determinative weight in assessing this question. These include later
texts (which may reflect non-competitive and/or non-Athenian performance
traditions) and subjective and aesthetic qualities. This last category is really
quite extensive, and we need to be wary of it. Because a particular doubling
combination seems appealing or metatheatrical or otherwise desirable
does not constitute evidence for it. We cannot assume that Aristophanes
wants to be illusion-breaking or otherwise disruptive, and we should be
wary of transferring our theatrical tastes, conditioned primarily in the West
from twentieth-century naturalistic and postmodern theatre traditions,
onto antiquity. Once a hypothesis is reached, these subjective elements
do emerge, and it becomes possible to describe the (likely) benefits or
liabilities of a particular doubling combination. If a particular role assignment
leads to these qualitative improvements, it may be seen to be preferable to
rival role assignments. Such aesthetic qualities must be seen as secondary,
though, since they are bound to be culturally conditioned. The plays are
the primary evidence, and, as previous publications have documented,
the eight plays of Aristophanes for which there is not positive evidence
of extensive post-performance re-writing, can be allocated between three
speaking actors, between four speaking actors, or between three or four with
minor apprentice actors (as Russo describes them).
The fact that the roles in the performance texts can be divided between three
actors does not mean that they were, of course. Nevertheless, if we accept
that the eight plays allow for any of the three modes of division (each of
which may have several possible permutations, depending on the play), we
do begin to see interpretative benefits of assigning the roles only to three
actors, as I argued in 1997. What do I mean by interpretative benefits?
Three things are primary. Above all, using three speaking actors creates a
simplicity, a cleanness of movement, that (I believe) should be preferred due
the unusual depiction of Aegisthus, the generic differences in representation, and the large
number of extraneous non-dramatic individuals on these vases generally, all sorts of doubt
remain.
three actors in old comedy, again 265
to a principle of the lex parsimoniae.25 In section V, we shall see that this also
corresponds to an economic savings, though I do not claim such benefits to
be evidence in themselves.26 The second benefit follows from this, but is seen
through the perspective of an ancient theatre professional: the assumption
of a three-actor limit provides fewer permutations and matters of choice
for the director (who need not have been the poet, something more true
with Aristophanes than any other known Greek playwright), and this leads
to an increased sense of theatrical structure and implied stage directions.27
Third, it provides an opportunity for the playwright, director, and actors,
working as a team, to showcase their technical virtuosity under the pressures
of performance. When there exist opportunities for surprising an audience
with novelty, technique, or additional humour, a solution deserves attention,
or at least consideration. The coincidence of these three qualities leads to
a sense of interpretative benefit that is simply lacking if there is either no
limit, or if the hard limit is four speaking actors.
A detailed examination of Birds shows how using three actors clarifies
the stage action of that play. Birds was produced at the Dionysia of 414,
and was directed by Callistratus. A few months previously at the Lenaea
Aristophanes had competed with a medical comedy, Amphiaraus, which
Philonides had directed. Aristophanes had worked with both men previously,
and his work with them in these comedies demonstrates a full understanding
of the theatrical form, in a context where as playwright we may assume
he provided a dramaturgical shape to the play to facilitate its direction by
another.
Though Birds is the longest surviving Greek comedy and has the most
speaking roles, the structure of the play reveals a clear, organized, and
methodical design focused around Peisetaerus. The pattern of the play
is completely modular, with each unit articulated in some way by the
chorus. There is nothing accidental about the dramatic structure, and the
25 This logical principle is akin to Occams Razor (entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter
necessitatem).
26 Cleanness of movement can involve onstage actions, entrances and exits, and, as I have
financial exigencies associated with production in the fifth century resulted in the use of parts
during rehearsal, with only an actors own lines written out (this is suggested by P.Oxy. 4546,
for example; see Marshall 2004 and Revermann (2006a) 8794), there is no possible confusion
from the actors perspective, since the part has the roles the actor will play on it. There is no
decision required for the performer, who has literally in hand exactly what lines he will need
to deliver come performance day.
266 c.w. marshall
A B C
184 Euelpides Peisetaerus Slave
(7 lines for change)
92675 Euelpides Peisetaerus Tereus
[Parabasis at 676800]
Obviously, the four roles can be divided between four actors, but if they are
divided between three, then we have a benchmark for a simple costume
change in this play: it must be possible for one actor to change from the Slave
to Tereus within seven lines. The change requires no backstage movement
(the slave enters the skn door, and Tereus emerges from it), and, at a delivery
pace of between ten and twenty lines per minute,29 this leaves somewhere
between twenty and forty seconds for the change, which must constitute
(at least) a change of mask and, likely, the addition of Tereus costume.30
This is an unproblematic theatrical move. The effect is enhanced for the
audience because of the nature of the hoopoes costume, which may be very
elaborate. The specific details of the costumes appearance do not mean that
the change requires any more time: indeed it likely involves putting on the
same elements as any other costume. MacDowell believes it would be more
convenient if different actors played them ((1994) 330), but it certainly was
not required, and a space of seven lines is comparable to the change from
Alexandros to Odysseus in Rhesus, which can easily be performed.31
28 No hierarchy is assumed between actors: while it is likely that the actor playing Peisetarus
would have been thought of as the protagonist, I present them here in the order that they
speak.
29 So many variables go into the determination of pace of delivery that anything more
prescriptive than this seems rash; this pace is offered as a rough benchmark only, though it
has implications of total length of a play (see also Revermann (2006a) 333337).
30 Alternately, the Tereus costume could be pre-set beneath the slave costume, but though
Kovacs (see Marshall 2002), in part to answer the claims of Battezzato 2000. Though this was
a more intimate venue than the Theatre of Dionysus at Athens, the physical demands for
three actors in old comedy, again 267
Moments like these are desirable for performers, allowing them to display
their technique, coordination, and successful physical effort, and they are
rewarding for spectators.
The second module, which follows the parabasis, involves the arrival of
would-be citizens to Nephelokokkugia:
A B C
801846 Euelpides Peisetaerus
(11 lines)
859894 Peisetaerus Priest*
(9 lines)
904953 Poet* Peisetaerus
(5 lines)
959990 Peisetaerus Oracle Collector*
(1 line)
9921019 Meton* Peisetaerus
(1 line)
10211031 Peisetaerus Inspector*
(4 lines)
10351057 Decree Seller* Peisetaerus Inspector*
[Second Parabasis]
*This role could be played by the other actor (A or C).
the performer changing costume and mask are no different between the two performance
spaces. For a different view, see Liapis in this volume.
32 Issues of maintaining a consistent offstage geography are important in this case, but the
268 c.w. marshall
Peisetaerus eventually engages with both the Inspector and the Decree
Seller, but (significantly) neither of them relates to the other (both take all
their cues from Peisetaerus). They are effectively unaware of each others
presence, because they are on opposite sides of the performance area, along
different eisodoi. With this established, and conceding to a desire not to
have costume changes over the span of a single line unless there is some
obvious benefit, whatever allocation is made for this final scene ripples back
through the module, and, as is seen in the figure, means that the simplest
staging is also the most effective: with no backstage runs, and only one actor
making costume changes at each eisodos entrance, the two actors alternately
approach Peisetaerus from alternating sides, in a rhythmic, regulated fashion,
the mechanical efficiency of which offsets Peisetaerus increasing frustration.
Both actors A and C are kept on different eisodoi, which means that regardless
of their on-stage actions, it is possible to preserve a cleanness of movement
backstage, to assist with the smooth running of the show as it is being
evaluated in competition.
Following the Second Parabasis (10581121), the third module again focuses
on Peisetaerus encounters with single characters, as war breaks out:
A B C
11221163 Messenger A* Peisetaerus
(6 lines)
11701184 Messenger B* Peisetaerus
(5 lines)
11891261 Peisetaerus Iris*
(9 lines)
12711307 Herald A* Peisetaerus
[Strophic Kommos]
*This role could be played by the other actor (A or C).
fantastic nature of the plot means that neither eisodos needs to lead clearly to an established
offstage location. One could have all the characters who are refugees from Athens appear
along the same eisodos as Peisetaerus and Euelpides had first entered, if it is felt that such
consistency is required. My belief is that it is not, though removing the spatial alternation
does complicate the physical demands being placed on actors needlessly.
three actors in old comedy, again 269
more preparation time than the 25 lines that would be provided if the Iris
actor also played Messenger A. Further, if it is important, both Messengers
and the Herald come from the direction of the walls, which is where Euelpides
had headed on his departure. Continuity with the Euelpides actor and the
Euelpides side of the performance area is not needed, but may be seen as a
convenient default.33 A short strophic kommos follows (13131336).
The fourth module presents three more two-character scenes:
A B C
13371372 Father Beater* Peisetaerus
13731409 Peisetaerus Cinesias*
14101469 Informer* Peisetaerus
[Strophic Song]
*This role could be played by the other actor (A or C).
equally be the same character returning immediately. Dunbar (1995) 15 assumes they are played
by the same actor, and there is no need to imagine them as requiring a meaningful costume
change to distinguish one from the other. Both, it would seem, are avian in appearance. This
was first suggested for Messenger A by Rose 1940, arguing that the repeated question in 1122
evokes the cooing of a pigeon; though Thompson 1940 objected, this view has been upheld
by Dunbar (1995) 594 (Sommerstein (1991) 274 prefers Thompsons breathless panting). For
Messenger B, Sommerstein believes it is quite possible, though not provable, that he is masked
and costumed as a bird ((1991) 277; and see Dunbar (1995) 608).
34 Revermann (2006a) 336 argues that they double each other and may have been cut in
performance.
270 c.w. marshall
is rather that things make better dramaturgical sense if they are (and this
is irrespective of whether a given role is assigned to actor A or C). Birds is
constructed with an onstage organization, that creates a clear, clean pattern
to the narrative. Further, this regular, clockwork rhythm to the performance,
with alternating exits and entrances on (often) opposite sides of the stage,
and the associated modular design, would be disrupted if there were a fourth
actor present. There is no particular reason to add a fourth actor at any
point: the only rushed costume change so far has been from the Slave into
Tereus (7 lines) and (if they are separate) Messenger A into Messenger B (6
lines). Both of these moves can be done in practice, and neither requires any
backstage movement from the performer. If the elegant alternation between
two actors is lost, the wings become cluttered, as additional bodies cross
simultaneously.35 Further, this clarity comes despite the large number of
characters that need to be represented. Now, it remains true that it is possible
an available fourth actor was simply not employed at all these points, but that
is open to the objection that the play calls explicitly for the re-appearance
of Euelpides (lines 837847), when he never in fact returns. This narrative
inconsistency is most naturally explained by a limitation on actors: The
absence of this major character from the second half of the play is hard to
explain except by the hypothesis that the number of actors was limited, and
the actor of this part was wanted to play other parts later.36
With this in mind, we can now examine the final module in the play,
following the strophic song at 14701493:
A B C
14941552 Peisetaerus Prometheus*
[Strophe]
15651693 Poseidon* Peisetaerus Heracles* [Triballian]
[Antistrophe]
17061719 Herald B* Peisetaerus
*This role could be played by the other actor (A or C).
35 One may compare Rhesus 564, where the chorus departure is along the same eisodos as
the entry of Odysseus and Diomedes. This likely indicates a momentary pause in the action
as the stage remains empty. It seems the effect was not adopted widely.
36 MacDowell (1994) 330. Had Aristophanes desired, he could certainly have brought
Euelpides back to the stage. Whatever the reason for Aristophanes decision to include
Birds 837847 as part of the design of his play, the passage calls attention either (a) to the
absence when a fourth actor is available, or (b) to the absence which is determined by the
Rules existence (as would be known to the audience). The latter possibility is more easily
interpretable alongside Aristophanes metatheatrical humour in other plays.
three actors in old comedy, again 271
The final module comprises three scenes. Two of them follow our expected
pattern of two-character exchanges, and my assignment of Prometheus to
Actor C and the Herald to actor A is essentially arbitrary (though A had
played the Herald earlier, and it is possible that they are to be seen as the
same individual).37 Nestled between two strophes, however, is a scene where
a delegation is sent by the gods to Peisetaerus. In some ways this provides
a possible comparandum for the lost delegation scenes in Gerytades and
Demes. The delegation comprises Poseidon, Heracles, and a Triballian god,
all of whom apparently speak, as does Peisetaerus. As MacDowell writes,
arguing against Pickard-Cambridge, The Triballian utters only three very
short speeches in bad Greek, but the last of them at least is quite intelligible
(16781679), and there is no good reason why the actor who speaks them
should not be regarded as a speaking actor ((1994) 331).
I believe on the contrary that there are good reasons. While the final
sentence (16781679) may be comprehensible in the manuscripts (unlike
the Triballians previous utterances at 1615 and 16281629), it emphatically
need not be comprehensible to the audience: as with the Triballians other
lines, it is immediately interpreted by Heracles, in this case with the phrase
paradounai legei (1679 He says hand her over). Nothing the Triballian says
needs to be understood by the audience (the barbarian speech is always
interpreted), and so it comes to a balance between the unexplained absence
of Euelpides on the one hand, and who speaks three incomprehensible lines
on the other. In 1997 I suggested that the lines were in fact spoken by the
Heracles actor, in the same sort of ventriloquism that Aristophanes must
have used in Lysistrata with Cinesias baby (Lys. 879). The Triballian thus
becomes an exact parallel for Pseudartabas in Acharnians, as a fourth body
on stage is given barbarian, incomprehensible speech voiced by one of the
three actors who were permitted to speak by the rules of the competition. I
continue to prefer this to the notion of an apprentice actor, in part since the
role would otherwise require a line to be divided mid-verse between actors
for that performers only lines. More important, though, is that however the
Triballians lines were delivered, the need for a fourth actor in Birds cannot
be pinned to this role.
37 Dunbar (1995) 15 and 744 identifies this speaker as the same Herald who had appeared
at 12711307. Regardless of whether this is meant to be the same herald or a different one, it
seems likely the actor is the same.
272 c.w. marshall
38 Russo 1994 does some of this, and see Dover (1968) lxxviilxxx.
39 These numbers are taken from Russo (1994) 163, 136, 70.
three actors in old comedy, again 273
If we look at the ten performed plays, excluding Clouds (as Russo does), we
have a range for the lead actor (whom we may think of as the protagonist) of
between 350 and 600 lines, with a mean of 471 and a median of 467.40 There
is no sense of chronological development or differences depending on the
festival in which the play was performed; some parts were simply larger than
others. Only with Frogs (where the Dionysus actor speaks roughly 390 lines)
does another actor speak a greater number of lines than the largest single
role. Indeed, Russos division for Frogs between three actors (excluding his
use of apprentices) is the most equal of all the plays: 390, 370, and 395 lines.
Except for Frogs, it is always the case that the lead actor speaks significantly
more lines than any of his colleagues. The range for the other actors, given
Russos role assignments, is between 60, in Peace, to 435, for the Euelpides
actor in Birds (and, as we have seen, there are ways to make this number
larger still, but well leave that to the side for now). For these actors the mean
is 285 lines, and the median 297. The demands placed on the second and third
actor in terms of the number of lines delivered, then, is on average just over
60% of what is expected of the lead actor, and again there is considerable
variation: Russo (1994) 136 notes the comparative inactivity of the so-called
third actor in Peace and Clouds: like Birds, these plays are apparently built
around two-speaker scenes. The demands placed on the koryphaios exceed
what is asked of either the second or third actors in Acharnians, Wasps, Peace,
and Birds; additionally the total for the koryphaios exceeds the mean and
median for the non-protagonists in Knights and Frogs. We can also compare
these figures with the demands placed on actors in tragedy: the lead actor in
Aristophanes is typically learning 5060 % of the lines expected of the lead
actor in The Oresteia.41
If one is going to oppose the assignment of roles in Old Comedy to only
Three Actors, one cannot do so on this basis alone: when actors double
roles, they are often assigned significantly fewer lines (perhaps as a form of
compensation, perhaps simply as a contingency of narrative demands). The
amount of total stage time given to all three can end up roughly equal. By any
account, there are different qualities that are sought in an actor, as in the case
40 Because these numbers are close to each other, the weighting is not likely to be distorted.
Russo (1994) 215 calls the actor who plays Xanthias and Aeschylus the protagonist (first actor)
in Frogs because the total number of lines is larger, but for consistency I consider the allocation
involving the fewest changes (in this case, Dionysus) to be the protagonist.
41 Marshall 2003 argues that the three actors apart from the chorus in The Oresteia speak
850, 805, and 397 lines, excluding the satyr play Proteus. It should also be remembered that
tragedies apparently do get longer in the last two decades of the fifth century.
274 c.w. marshall
of tragedy, but all the plays exhibit a remarkable consistency in what those
demands are. Another measure we may choose to include is the number of
discrete speeches an actor has to learn, which will correspond to the number
of cues he has. By this measure in Birds, Peisetaerus is the most exacting role,
with 313 cues. In contrast, the Trygaeus actor as 244 cues, Dicaeopolis has
209, and Strepsiades (according to the surviving text of Clouds) has 282. Cues
are one measure by which the demands of comic actors can be seen to be
comparable, and even to exceed, those of tragic actors.
What should we conclude from this? For one thing, it becomes clear that
employing four or more actors does not change the nature of the demands on
the actors in performance. Even if we were to try to divide roles exclusively
with a goal of creating equity, the prominent size of a few roles means it
would not be possible meaningfully to change the nature of the demands
placed on the secondary actors, and in most cases, it would have no effect on
the demands on the lead actors. So increasing the number of speaking actors
does not make things meaningfully easier for the three already there. Indeed,
increasing the number of actors can increase and complicate the demands
on backstage movement, when the role economy that emerges from most
plays is lost.42
Further, the example of Birds allows us to eliminate from consideration
the possibility that the fourth actor was an apprentice of some kind. If we
follow Russo and Dunbar (who in turn are following a tradition that goes
back to Beer 1844), the assignment of only the Triballian to the fourth actor
serves no value as an apprenticeship: the size of the role (three unintelligible
lines, and three cues) represents roughly one percent of what is typically
expected of the second and third actors, and just over half a percent of what
42 There are ways to make it harder for the actors and the audience, of course. Sifakis
1995 proposes that part-splitting was regularly applied to fifth-century texts, and that the
protagonist hops between roles from one scene to the next. Part-splitting was apparently
sometime used in the classical period (Oedipus at Colonus, Wealth, and Menander), but there
is no reason to think that it was ever introduced when not required by the Rule of Three
Actors. It offers no perceptible theatrical benefit from its implementation (the virtuosity of an
individual playing multiple roles is present regardless), and undermines the possibility of a
cohesive meaning to be gained from a character, a play, or a tetralogy, in favour of showcasing
declamation. It would also increase the demands of backstage logistics, as costumes and masks
need to be passed from one actor to another, which increases both the time between scenes
and the amount of backstage movement. Further, the introduction of part-splitting requires
the audience to perceive the actor/character distinction. I would argue for a heterogeneous
appreciation of any effect, instead of an expected effect that the audience may only selectively
be able to follow.
three actors in old comedy, again 275
the lead actor must do. The pedagogical value of such an experience for a
fledgling actor is questionable, since what would be asked is so far removed
from what any of the three competing actors, or the koryphaios, or any of the
choristers, are expected to do.43
V. Why It Matters
Where does this leave us? None of the three possibilities can be certainly
eliminated, either a hard limit of three speaking actors, a hard limit of four, or
a soft limit. My hope nonetheless is that this argument has shifted the ground.
Whatever supposed problems may exist with only three speaking actors must
be measured against the increased inefficiencies of actor demands, backstage
movement, and theatrical clarity. To my knowledge, no one has answered
MacDowells arguments in favour of a hard limit over a soft one: so much of
the comic competition is unknown, but it seems rash to discard what we do
know to have been operating. Given the prestige associated with dramatic
victory (as documented by P. Wilson 2000, for example), it seems specious
to suggest that roles such as the Triballian were an attempt to somehow
secretly circumvent competitive regulations. If a playwright were to desire to
circumvent the rules, one would expect him to come up with something a
little more obvious than three mumbled lines. Go big or go home (as they say):
compare Euripides satyrless satyr play Alcestis in 438there is something
that gets noticed (and, unsurprisingly, does not win, though the tetralogy
continues to have jokes made about it into the fourth century).
If there were circumstances where four or more actors were permitted,
Old Comedy simply would not look like it does. A hard Rule of Three Actors
removes this aspect of disappointment, and allows the comic playwrights
opportunities to demonstrate their clever manipulation of limited resources.
We have come a long way since the days when doubling was seen as an
arbitrary straightjacket poets imposed upon themselves, or something that
perhaps was needed to make sense of actors wearing masks (an argument,
incidentally, that becomes circular, for masks are then justified as necessary
because of the role doubling). Nor is there any sense that the audience is
incapable of handling a scene with more than three actors in a masked theatre
tradition, as the rich examples from Roman comedy (for which there was no
44 It is very probable that the same actors acted in all four plays in a tetralogy: no evidence
1972 (and see Dunbar (1995) 480481); it is certain, however, that at least some of the time,
there were five competitors.
46 We do not know if it was possible for an actor to perform at more than one festival in
a given year (the limitation would be due to practical issues of rehearsal time rather than
three actors in old comedy, again 277
Similar numbers are required with a soft limit. Considerably greater comic
acting talent in Athens, on a year-by-year basis, is required if the Rule of Three
Actors is not observed in comedy as it was in tragedy. While the number of
lines to be memorized is roughly half that of a tragic actor, we cannot simply
say that the demands on performance were similarly halved: comic actors are
responsible for many more cues, and many more lines begun mid-verse, to
say nothing of the physical demands of performing slapstick and polymetric
cantica. So if we prefer something other than a comic Rule of Three Actors
(which still requires either 9 or 15 speaking comic actors at each festival) we
need to explain why there were so many more working comic actors as there
were tragic ones in Athens.
This leads to a third variable. While we today are in doubt as to what the
staging convention was, in fifth-century Athens there was no corresponding
doubt. The playwrights and the actors, and all the theatre professionals,
knew what the regulations were, and acted accordingly. Birds demonstrates
that if the assumption is that it is a three-actor play, then a great many
implied stage directions emerge automatically from the text, so that the play
becomes easier to visualize than if the assumption is that there were four
or an indeterminate number. The presence of a hard Rule of Three Actors
works alongside the modular design at the level of the narrative, in order to
provide a clear theatrical structure to the events depicted.
The nature of these arguments could be strengthened if we begin to
look at the specific nature of the roles doubled. The opportunities for
creative interpretation of characters, of juxtaposition, of exhibiting a range of
dialectical and delivery styles, etc., all enhance what the actor can give to the
performance. Regardless of the degree of awareness of the actor beneath the
mask and costume, there must be recognition at some level by the audience
when an actor doubles roles. While not every member of the audience would
necessarily be fully aware of all the doubling occurring,47 due to the high
level of individual participation in the competitions (with 1,000 singers
annually competing in dithyrambs at the Dionysia alone), a fair degree of
any strict prohibition, I suspect), and consequently we cannot say whether we should add
to this number the actors at (at least) the Lenaia as well. Assuming the Rule of Three Actors
was also operating at the Lenaia, that could add up to six more tragic actors (and double the
number of comic actors), but there are too many suppositions to do anything useful with this
information. The numbers given here therefore represent minima.
47 Indeed, it may have been more extensive still: Russo (1994) 73 argues that in Acharnians
one character switches from a speaking actor to an extra and back. Similar claims are made
for role allocation in Clouds (9297) and Lysistrata (181185).
278 c.w. marshall
Jeffrey S. Rusten
Cratinus was considered the first political satirist of ancient comedy (test 17,
19 Kassel-Austin = Rusten (2010) 177), especially in his constant attacks on
Pericles (Dionysalexandros test. 1, frs. 73, 118, 171, 258259, 324, 326). These are
attested foremost in numerous fragments cited in Plutarchs Life of Pericles,
though it is important to remember that Plutarchs Old Comedy citations are
not derived from study of the texts of full plays, but from previous excerptors
of Pericles-related comic citations.1
Yet none of Cratinus twenty-nine preserved titles is overtly political, nor
do any of them hint at a contemporary subject (with the notable exception
of Pytine, about himself). The most frequent titles are in the category of
literature (Archilochuses, Odysseuses, Cleoboulinas) and especially myth
(Dionysuses, Dionysalexandros, Nemesis, Plutuses), and Bakola has argued for
his persistent and widespread adaptation of forms from Aeschylean tragedy
and satyr play, as well as a strong individual authorial persona, as the basis
of his compositional profile.2
Assuming that it is correct that Pericles was Cratinus special bte noire,3
how can Cratinus have satirized him so frequently when not a single one
of his plots seems able to accommodate him directly? This is in sharp
contrast to the demagogue-comedies of the later fifth century influenced
by Aristophanes Knights, like Eupolis Maricas and Platons Hyperbolus,
1 Uxkull-Gyllenband (1927) 729, Stadter (1989) xlivliiii, noted for the present fragment
especially by Miller (1997) 224. For Plutarchs distaste for old comedy as anything but a
historical source see Table Talk 7.8 711F = Rusten (2010) 83 Nr. 7.
2 Bakola 2009, see also Guidorizzi 2006.
3 So Pieters 1946; Rosen 1988; Vickers 1997; McGlew 2006.
280 jeffrey s. rusten
Peisander and Cleophon4 This question is brought to the fore especially in one
fragment which is universallyand, I think, wronglyassumed to prove
that Cratinus did bring Pericles as a character on stage.
PCG Cratinus fr. 73, cited by Plutarch, is usually printed and translated as
follows:
Plutarch, Pericles 13.910: ,
, ,
,
.
,
, .
Plutarch, Life of Pericles 13.910: They say that the Odeion, in its interior
arrangement with many seats and columns, and with its roof constructed
to slope uphill to a single peak, is modeled in imitation of the pavilion of the
king of Persia, and Pericles supervised this too. That is why Cratinus once again
mocks him in Thracian Women:
Here comes Zeus of the onion-head,
Pericles, with the Odeion on his cranium,
now that the ballot on ostracism is past.
This fragment has by no means been neglected by scholars; but like Plutarch,
they all without exception assume the following:
1) that the character whose entry is announced (for PCG
compare Knights 146, Plutus 1038, Wasps 1324, Lysistrata 77) is Pericles,
stated most decisively by PCG in the introduction to the play: prodiit
in scaena Pericles, (on fr. 73 their reference to Pollux 4.143 implies they
think this fragment is evidence for a portrait-mask).
2) that the passage gives us some sort of information about
a) the appearance of the Odeion, and
b) a terminus post quem for its construction.
On the latter two points, however, numerous discussions have produced
nothing conclusive: initial speculation that the structure was circular with
4 Sommerstein 2000.
the odeion on his head 281
conical roof has been countered with archaeological evidence that the actual
Odeion was rectilinear and pyramid-roofed;5 likewise, an original assumption
of an early date, based on the ostracism of 443/2 that expelled Pericles
opponent Thucydides son of Melesias, has been dismissed by those who
note that a vote on whether to hold an ostracism occurred every year in
January or February.6
Rather than focusing on tangential and equivocal evidence on the chronol-
ogy of Pericles building program or the Odeions shape, we can more rea-
sonably look at what the audience is directed to viewthe characters
headgearas an important visual clue to his identity. Once this identity
has been established, we can read the fragments relation to Pericles as more
complex than simply appellatur Pericles (so PCG), and as indicative of
a frequently attested technique of Cratinus political satire.
No discussion of the text has asked what it is that the character is supposed to
be actually wearing on his head, or why he should be wearing any headgear at
all.7 The only nods to the question are the minimal remarks by Davison (1958)
34 (Work on the Odeion must have been completed or why would Pericles
be wearing it as a hat?) or Miller (1997) 219220, who calls the fragment a
reworking of the familiar comic joke about the odd shape of Pericles head
as a novel form of headgear, and a comic cap.
Yet when it comes to the costume of Old and Middle Comedy we have a
substantial resource in the numerous comedy vases of fourth-century Magna
Graecia, combined with a few even from late fifth-century Attica. In the
words of Green, there are roughly 112 surviving examples of comic scenes
in noting the relevance of the polos of Zeus, but still postulates the characters identity as
Pericles-Zeus and suggests (303305) that the crown is modeled after the Odeion (which
doesnt strike me as necessary for the joke).
282 jeffrey s. rusten
and here I mean by a comic scene one that includes two or more identifiable
actorsApulian (Tarentine) 74; Lucanian 2; Sicilian 16; Campanian 9; Paestan
12.8 These are not just pictures of individual actors or masks, but remarkably
evocative scenes, which, unlike most tragic vases, show the figures in their
theatrical setting.9 In most cases, they do not illustrate stories from the Greek
comedies, but attempt to reproduce the experience of watching a play on
stage. Despite a slight displacement chronologically and geographically, these
images have been demonstrated to bear connections with the staging of Attic
Old Comedy as well: Csapo and Taplin have shown that one of them depicts a
scene from Aristophanes Thesmophoriazusae (Rusten [2010] 435 Nr. 1); and a
number of Attic precursors from the late fifth century still exist, most notably
a splendid Attic chous now in the Hermitage Museum depicting in great
detail the costumes, masks and props of a performance of Old Comedy.10
The comic masks in these scenes (indeed in all art relating to Old and Middle
Comedy) have been systematically categorized by Webster and Green in
an attempt to reconstruct a repertory of mask-types by age, gender, social
status and comic role.11 The results are not entirely conclusive, and have been
critiqued on the assumption that comic masking (and its translation into
art) are unlikely to have been reducible to a simple scheme.12 But there is
one category of charactergodswho are much more recognizable from
costume and mask than any others. Among these the most frequent is
Heracles, with his trademark club and lionskin, and he appears in Birds
and Frogs; the next most frequent in art is Zeus, recognizable often from
his scepter and thunderbolt, but even more so from his comic headgear, the
polos, a ridiculous little projecting crown in the center of his masked head,
unattested in serious Zeus-portraits.13 There are seven clear visual examples,
two of them late fifth-century Attic:
and 430433.
11 See Rusten (2010) 426428.
12 See Wiles 2008 and Marshall 1999.
13 LIMC VIII.1, s.v. Zeus nos. 221223, pp. 342343, 346 (Iphigeneia Leventi). It is normally
worn only by goddesses: see V.K. Mller 1915. Pace Leventi Nr 220, there is no reason to think
the isolated Gnathia figure wearing a polos and carrying a torch on Taranto 4646 (8953) (late
3rd century, Konnakis group = Trendall (1967) 81 Nr. 183) is Zeus. The only comic Zeus known
to me without a polos is the eagle-holding figure on stage in Bari 2970, = Trendall (1967) 27 Nr.
17, Rusten (2010) 436 Nr. 4 (with illustration).
the odeion on his head 283
Figure 1. Dirce painter, Sicilian red figure kalyx krater, 380360 bce, Madrid, Museo
Arqueolgico Nacional 11026 (L. 388) = Trendall (1967) 53 Nr. 82.
Figure 2. Fragment of a red figure Apulian bell krater, early 4th century bce, Museo
Nazionale, Taranto 121613 = Trendall (1967) 45 Nr. 61. Zeus with polos and staff sits
huddled in a chair on a stage with Dionysus (also with a polos) holding a thyrsus to
his left.
284 jeffrey s. rusten
Figure 3. Red figure Apulian bell-krater, by the Cotugno painter, ca. 380, Malibu,
J. Paul Getty Museum 96.AE.113 (ex coll. Fleischman F 313) = Rusten (2010) 437 Nr. 5
(not in Trendall 1967), Green (2001) catalogue Nr. 11 (2003) 125 n. 22. Zeus (mask G,
with polos and eagle-scepter) runs to embrace a girl, with stole billowing over his
head, whose face he does not yet see; to left, a slave (mask ZA) stage-naked, stands
confidently with hand on hip holding a rod.
the odeion on his head 285
Figure 4. Paestan bell-krater by Asteas, ca. 350340, Vatican U 19 (inv. 17106), Trendall
(1967) Nr. 65, Green (2003) 127 n. 30. (= Rusten (2010) 438 Nr. 6). Zeus (mask G, wearing
tiny crown) sticks his head through a ladder as he carries it, to his right Hermes
(mask Z, with caduceus and petasos) starts to point to the window between them,
where a young woman (Alcmena? Danae?) looks out.
286 jeffrey s. rusten
Figure 5. Apulian bell krater, by the Iris painter, ca. 370360, St Petersburg, Hermitage
State Museum, 299, Trendall (1967) Nr. 31, Green (2003) 126 n. 27. = Rusten (2010)
438439 Nr. 8. Heracles (mask J) drops into his mouth food from a sacrificial basket
which he holds in his left hand. To left, Zeus (Mask G) with crown and eagle scepter
sits on a high altar raising a thunderbolt; to right, white-haired caped man (mask L)
has turned his back on Heracles to raise an amphora over a fountain.
Figure 6. The Phanagoria chous Attic red figure Chous, 425375bce, St Petersburg,
Hermitage State Museum, Phi 1869.47 (Rusten forthcoming) = Rusten (2010) 429430
Nr. 100. In the central scene, three young men, dressing as comic characters with pad-
ded undergarments and phalluses, each holds an old mans mask in his hand. The
leftmost mask (Greens Mask G) wears a polos.
the odeion on his head 287
Figure 7. Attic red-figure stemmed plate fragment by the Painter of Ferrara from
Spina, late 5th early 4th century bc, Ferrara, Museo archeologico nazionale inv.
29307 = ARV 2 = Beazley (1963) 1306/8, Webster (1978) AV1.
There are also two Attic examples from the late fifth century bce, each
depicting in isolation a large-nosed mask with chin-beard (mask G) wearing
a polos depicted that can plausibly be identified as Zeus.
In all these cases Zeus polos marks him as a comic king, sometimes as
an adulterer (Nr. 34,),14 sometimes as an ineffectual blusterer (Nr. 1, 2, 5).15
Against this background, it would be perverse not to assume that the entering
character with notable headgear in Cratinus fr. 73 is identifiable as a polos-
wearing Zeusespecially since that is who the speaker says he is.16
14 Cf. scholia Peace 741, scholia Birds 568, TrGF Adespota 619.
15 Green 2003 argues that mask G is in itself a pompously ridiculous character.
16 Since nothing is known of Thracian Womens plot, it is not immediately apparent why
Zeus might be walking on stage in it. It is a plausible guess (though without support from
the fragments) that it concerned the Thracian cult of Bendis established at Athens in the
early 420s Delneri 2006 and Planeaux 20002001. In such a context neither Pericles nor Zeus
has an obvious role, but Aristophanes usage shows that gods and heroes can plausibly make
fleeting appearances in otherwise unrelated plots (Peace, Birds, Frogs)a sudden appearance
288 jeffrey s. rusten
But if he is Zeus, why does the comment on his entrance contain so many
obvious references to Periclesthe polos facetiously identified as his Odeion,
the adjective onion-headed, and above all, his actual name? Cobet (1873)
371 thought that naming the target outright ruined the joke and proposed
to delete it, but we need not go that far, since it need not be understood
as a name at all, as we can see from another fragment of Cratinus that is
mythically framed but politically charged. Cheirones fr. 259 is usually printed
and translated thus:
Plutarch, Life of Pericles 24.9
.
:
.
Plutarch, Life of Pericles 24.9 (on Aspasia) In comedies she is called new
Omphale and Deianeira and Hera as well. Cratinus comes right out and
calls her a whore in these words:
And the goddess of the well-reamed ass
bore Hera, Aspasia,
a bitch-faced17 whore.
Here we find a matching pair of divine-political names. Has Cratinus melded
into a single unit Aspasia-Hera to match Pericles-Zeus (so McGlew (2002)
4445)?
Such a desperate solution ignores the fact that the names of both Pericles
and Aspasia were substantivized adjectives as well as names, and can be
written and understood both in upper- and lower-case. Thus Katapygosyne
can have given birth to A Hera to gladden ones heart (aspasian) and fr. 73
can be translated:
Here comes Zeus of the onion-head,
with the Odeion on his cranium,
the one full of glory (ho perikles),18
now that the vote on ostracism is past
by Pericles is rather harder to motivate, pace McGlew (2002) 46, who imagines occasional
appearances [by Pericles] in plays whose narratives ultimately pursued unrelated directions.
17 Also used of Hera by Hephaestus, Iliad 18.396, and of Helen by herself, Iliad 3.180.
18 Cf. Ibycus fr. 1.13 (PMG 282 APage): ] -
.
the odeion on his head 289
Similarly the comic writer Theopompus in the early fourth century implied
that Callistratus of Aphidnas attempt to bribe the judge of the dead actually
were directed to a political figure (PCG fr. 31, the meter is dactylic hexameter):
Athenaeus 11.485C (after Theopompus fr. 41, in a nest of citations on the deep
drinking-goblet called Lepast)
,
,
, .
Athenaeus 11.485C and in the Mede:
In such wise once Callistratus entranced the sons of the Achaeans,
giving them dear cash, when he an alliance did seek.
Alone he failed to entrance Rhadamanthys slight in body,
the man-loosener, with a flasknot until he gave him a Lepast.
Rhadamanthys appropriate epithet the man-loosener might also be the
name Lysander.19
In Thracian Women fr. 73, as in Cheirones and Theopompus Mede, a god is
the primary reference but a human name is appended as an adjective, and
especially in Thracian Women Zeus is loaded with so many descriptive ele-
ments that belong to Pericles that the audiences initial visual identification
of Zeus is repeatedly undermined by his real reference.20
Here we see a specific instance of the Cratinean method famously termed
, in this case meaning indirect presentation by the hypothesis-
writer to Dionysalexandros.21 Cratinus did not shrink from using names of
contemporaries in many of his plays. But when it comes to his bte noire
19 Though evidently not the Spartan general, who was killed in 395 (Xenophon, Hellenica
3.5.19). Unlike Pericles and Aspasia, is never actually attested as an adjective rather
than a name, and so, like PCG, S.D. Olson in the new Loeb Athenaeus capitalizes it and
translates Rhadamanthysthats Lysander. PCG note that Kaibels unpublished manuscript
took it as an adjective, and a parallel case is , used in the classical period as an
adjective only in the famously ambiguous instances Aristophanes Peace 992 and Lysistrata
554, on which see Lewis 1997. Vayos Liapis prefers to take Bergks emendation with the
adjective (compare of wine), and translates The only man he could not entrance
was Rhadamanthys slight in body, | Not before he gave him a man-loosening drinking cup
(), namely a lepast. Thus The joke is that C. couldnt bribe Rh. with money [as he did
the Achaeans], but did manage to bribe him with a big pitcher of wine.
20 Revermann 1997 by contrast argues that in Dionysalexandros the verbal identification of
the characters may have been undermined by the visual similarity of the ram-Dionysus to the
large head of Pericles.
21 See especially Dobrov (2010) 366369, with extensive bibliography of previous discus-
sions.
290 jeffrey s. rusten
Pericles, there is no evidence that he ever needed to put him or any other
political figure on stage, or even identify him unambigiously, to mock him.
In another theogonic fragment of Cheirones (fr. 258) we encounter again a
Zeus who is redolent of Pericles:
Plutarch, Pericles 3.34: ,
, .
, .
. :
,
.22
Plutarch, Life of Pericles 3.4: She gave birth to Pericles, in other respects faultless
in appearance, but elongated and asymmetrical in his head. Therefore nearly
all the likenesses of him are attached to helmets, evidently because the artists
were unwilling to shame him. The Attic poets called him squill-headed, for
the squill and the onion are the same. Among the comic poets, Cratinus in
Cheirons says:
Faction and venerable Time
joined in love23 and bore
the greatest of all tyrants;
him the immortals24 called
their Head Man.
Bakola (2009) 180229 has recently argued (with reference to Dionysalexan-
dros, Ploutoi, Nemesis, and Seriphians, but not mentioning this fragment) that
infusing a plot that is primarily mythical with persistent elements of political
satire is a characteristically Cratinean technique. Perhaps his practice stems
from having spent his earlier career under the constraint of a decree banning
explicit portrayals of actual persons in a comedy (439437, see Rusten (2010)
89 Nr. 21; Rusten (2006) 2526); but in any case, it seems that there is only one
case where Cratinus (unlike Aristophanes and Eupolis) definitely portrayed
a real person on stage, and that was himself, in Pytine.
22 The meter is lyric iambic, burlesque of Aeschylus, L.P.E. Parker (1997) 31.
23 The diction of this fragment and the next (but not the meter) mimic the genealogy of
the gods in Hesiods Theogony.
24 For the play on the Homeric distinction between divine (vs. human) name for someone
Graham Ley
In the transition that Greek drama has undergone in the last generation from
being assessed primarily as a text to being understood also as a script, the
scholarly emphasis has generally fallen on production, ancient or modern.1
In this study, I shall attempt something slightly different, which is to consider
ancient theatrical production from the perspective of the preparation of
the performance. Calling this process rehearsal should set up the study in
the right way, since it also raises the useful question whether or not it is
legitimate and helpful to think of rehearsal in relation to the fifth-century
theatrical preparation. Ultimately, my aim here is to ask if different sequences
in Aristophanic scripts require different kinds of preparation for production.
It is important to acknowledge that the ancient sources pointing to
Greek theatrical preparation and rehearsal are few and far between, and
that to struggle to squeeze a convincing picture exclusively out of them is
probably the wrong approach.2 The alternative is to try to achieve a balance
of probability, which can at least raise the question If it did not work like this,
then how did it work?.3 With theatre-making that is always a valid question,
and there must be mundane answers to all questions of that kind, even if
they are well hidden.
I shall start by reviewing some of the more standard building-blocks for
a study of this kind, and in the course of that review I shall refer to recent
work on the practice of the Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre as a stimulus
to asking what I hope will be the right kind of questions, initially of Greek
tragedy but also of comedy. I shall then turn my attention to the Aristophanic
scripts, and see what emerges from an approach to them that has preparation
1 Perhaps increasingly in the last decade on the modern, with the series of monographs
issuing from the Archive of Greek and Roman Performance in Oxford, if by modern one would
mean from the Renaissance forwards: consider, as a fine example, the intricate theatrical
history revealed in Hall, Macintosh & Taplin (2000) along with a reception study of three of
Aristophanes comedies in Hall & Wrigley (2007).
2 Some of them, those from the Byzantine era, are not very ancient at all, and yet they
are often amalgamated with evidence drawn from classical Greek authors or inscriptions.
3 I am not advocating dispensing with the painstaking work of e.g. Pickard-Cambridge
and his revising editors (1968), Csapo and Slater (1994), and P. Wilson (2000).
292 graham ley
4 Ley (2006) on the material circumstances of theatrical production, and (2007a) on the
uses of costume and properties; Ley (2007b) concentrates on tragic scripts in performance.
5 For the text of Aristophanes, see N.G. Wilsons studies (2007), which accompany his new
Aristophaness Clouds occasions the most discussion, e.g. Dover (1972) 103105, summarizing
the introduction to his edition of Clouds (1968) lxxxxcviii. Revermann (2006a) has revisited
the subject in his Appendix C, 326332.
7 Csapo and Slater (1994) 1011, sections I.14 and 15B respectively; the latter may be the
first recorded instance of the sad truth that borrowed books may never be returned, although
at least Ptolemy had the good grace to supply and forfeit a deposit.
rehearsing aristophanes 293
8 In one contemporary anecdote relating to 400bc, the mercenary general Xenophon (of
Athenian birth) remarks on seeing wrecked cargoes of books on the shore of the Hellespont,
amongst other flotsam and jetsam: Xenophon Anabasis 7.5.14. Wise (1998) 21 marshals this
and other evidence to present a thriving book culture by the end of the fifth century in
Athens; by contrast, Thomas (1989) 1920 and 32 offers a far more restricted view of the topic.
Aristophanes Frogs has references to books and reading, and these are discussed along with
other ancient sources in Dover (1993) 3435; see also Csapo and Slater (1994) 12.
9 Csapo and Slater (1994) 1112, section I.17AC for the re-production of plays by Aeschylus.
Euaions name is found on a number of Athenian vases from the fifth century, prompting
speculation about their connection with performance: Trendall and Webster (1971) 45.
10 In the case of a writer/poet/composer, texts and scripts might form part of the family
tradition and transmission on which Thomas (1989) passim rightly places such emphasis in
this period.
11 For accounts of tragic scripts as compositions for voice, see Ley (2007b) 8385; on vocal
which appear from our scripts to be handed to the performers by the author-
composer. The question that poses itself about the surviving scripts is about
the role they had in the extended process from composition to production
and post-production preservation. Even if we assume that our texts contain
the final touches of the composer, at the post-production stage, altered or not
by subsequent hands and performers, that will still not answer the question.12
In modern production, which takes advantage of printing, we would expect
multiple copies of a script for most of those involved in the production
process. In productions in Renaissance England that was not the case, and I
shall be considering how actors only had parts, while master scripts were
few. What should we expect of ancient production?
Firstly, any copy would have to be by hand. A manuscript tradition
carried forward in a scriptorium over many years is very different from
the compressed time that we associate with the schedules for theatrical
production. It is just possible that many copies might be produced by literate
slaves employed in an ergasterion or workshop and working aurally from
dictation from a master-copy.13 If there was a book industry at Athens, then
it would either have worked like that or by a kind of arithmetical progression
of copies from copies, all of them taken from one master copy, which would
be slower and industrially less efficient in the use of labour. I have no idea
whether authors themselves dictated their compositions to literate scribes
(slaves) in the first instance, or whether, and to what extent, different kinds
of people through the course of the fifth century in Athens had works read
to them rather than reading them personally by sight, or out loud. Dionysus
in Aristophanes Frogs supposes that he was reading a book of Euripidess
Andromeda to/by himself, but do we assume that a fictional Dionysus is
typical? I shall look a little later at the issue of timescales for the process
Whatever changes happened during the rehearsal phase, there is a strong case for assuming
that the preserved texts of fifth-century drama reflect an advanced stage of a plays evolution
in which the experience of at least one production (and quite possibly only one production)
under competitive conditions is already incorporated into the script. Csapo and Slater (1994),
in addition to material drawn from Clouds (56, section I.2AC; see also n. 6 above), present
an anecdote (6, section I.5) about the comic playwright Anaxandrides, active in the middle
of the fourth century bc. He was alleged to have given away the scripts of his unsuccessful
comedies as wrapping-paper to incense-sellers, instead of revising the scripts (for publication)
in line with the standard practice of other playwrights.
13 I have outlined the workings of the ergasterion system in Ley (2006) in connection with
other industries at Athens; such workshops do not necessarily imply widespread distribution,
or an immense market in the modern sense.
rehearsing aristophanes 295
of preparation and production, but it seems very unlikely that there would
be much time for copying, unless plays were written not in the six to nine
months before actual production, but in the previous year. That possibility
would present us with a kind of theatrical preparation which would be
very odd, especially since theatre at Athens was dependent on the creation
of (a continuing sequence of) original scripts. Would all authors be able
and willing to prepare that far in advance? Would the evident and essential
topicality of comedy bear that kind of advanced timing?
At this point, it may be constructive to look at the situation in the
Renaissance theatre in England. The one certain difference is that the
creation of scripts was far more intensive in that commercial industry
than in the system of state patronage and annual festivals at Athens, and
plays were generally performed in quick succession rather than in extended
runs of a particular play. The implications for rehearsal can be followed
through. So Peter Thomson gave an indicative example drawn from the
activity in the autumn of 1598 of the Admirals Men at the Rose Theatre in
Southwark, London, with a play called Civil Wars: Part One by Thomas Dekker
and Michael Drayton. His conclusion was that there may not have been
much more than twenty-four hours of rehearsal in total, probably spread
over about two weeks or less; that leading actors worked hard in personal
preparation; and that only unconventional or technically demanding
scenes were tested through rehearsal.14 In addition to the importance of
the actors written parts, which I shall discuss further in a moment, Thomson
drew attention to the book-keepers (prompters) copy of the script and to
the plot, a sequential summary of the episodes of the play indicating which
actor-characters were required for them, which was hung on a board in the
tiring house (the approximate equivalent of the scene-building in Athens).15
Thomsons informative summary of practice has been extended recently by
Tiffany Strawson in two fascinating studies, the second of which was written
in collaboration with Simon Palfrey.16 Strawson confirms the hyper-activity
of the theatres in the 1590sthe Admirals Company played on every day
except Sunday and presented fourteen different plays in January 1596and
observes that plays might be allotted anything between a few days or two
to three weeks for preparation.17 She looks at preliminary readingsof an
unfinished script for the actor-sharers in the company, and of the whole
script by the author(s) to the companyand at the group rehearsals that
concluded the process, which might be very limited in number, but would
probably include passages of collaborative song and dance.18
But Strawson reserves her greatest attention for the actors parts, the roll
that included all the lines that an actor would speak and the cues for them,
of which the earliest substantial example in English is the part of Orlando
in Robert Greens Orlando Furioso from the early 1590s, which survives in
the leading Elizabethan actor Edward Alleyns bequest to Dulwich College
in London.19 What Alleyns part reveals is that he is given short cues, of one
to three words, but no indication of how long he has to wait for them or
of which character gives them, and occasional stage directions, either in
Latin or in English. But Strawson and Palfrey are careful to note that the
actor is not informed by the part where or at whom he is to look, how
far forward he is to walk, and so on. Taking into account the speed of
preparation, their conclusion is that movements must either have been left
to the actor to determine as he cons the part or were stock.20 Although
this may seem pragmatic and common-sensical as a conclusion, it strikingly
leaves out of account the degree to which a script, even when divided into
parts, may contain in the words themselves indications of specific actions
or gestures.21
The reliance on parts as a fundamental method of preparation has a set
of consequences for the process as a whole. When actors learned their words
and roles independently, then group rehearsals might be very limited, and
confined to specific moments: as Palfrey and Strawson observe, particular
group elements of the playjigs, songs, dances, sword fights, perhaps crowd
or climactic sceneswill have benefited from ensemble rehearsal.22 In the
Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre, a part might also represent the ownership
of a set of roles in plays by a particular actor. Parts were also useful in the
economy of the English Renaissance theatres and the dangers of piracy, in
albeit briefly.
22 Palfrey and Strawson (2007) 72.
rehearsing aristophanes 297
performance or publication, since the existence of parts did away with the
need for multiple copies. Palfrey and Strawson also comment on the scarcity
of paper, the expense of making copies, and how laborious the act of copying
was.23
The idea that parts may also have been used in the ancient Greek theatre
has recently received support from the publication of a papyrus fragment
which has been interpreted as an ancient actors part for the character of
Admetus in Euripides Alcestis. The distinctive feature of the fragment is
that it passes over intervening lines from the chorus or the character of
Alcestis in our text of Euripidess play, and a succession of scholars has
concluded that the only sensible interpretation of it is that it must be a
part.24 But if that is the case, then it conspicuously lacks cues, and the date
and provenance of the papyrus place it a long way from the fifth century bc
in Athens, approximately in the period of the late Roman republic and early
empire, and at least eventually located in Egypt. It has to be said that this
evidence is slender, when compared to an authentic part kept by the actor
Edward Alleyn and carrying handwriting that may well be his.25 Yet it does
not stand completely in isolation from other kinds of evidence about the
process of preparation, and the more significant question is whether it is
consonant with them.
One thing that stands out from comparison with preparation in English
Renaissance practice is the absence of commercial pressure, and the almost
madly high level of productivity that goes with it. The Athenian festivals
involved a great number of dancers in dithyrambic choruses, and performing
through a tragic trilogy and satyr play must have been exhausting for a chorus
of volunteers and satisfyingly demanding for actors. But as far as we can
tell, there is an extended period available for preparation in ancient Athens.
It would make little sense for the archon to appoint the dramatic khoregoi
almost immediately after taking office, and probably in late June or early
July, unless the khoregoi felt that their process of selecting and training
the chorus needed as long as it could be given.26 Although the selection
of chorus members, and the necessary trainers (for dance and voice) might
take time, the competition for prestige would put pressure on the khoregoi to
27 The most comprehensive account, with references to sources and evidence, comes from
P. Wilson (2000): on the place set aside for training, the khoregeion, see 7174, on recruitment
7580, and on training 8186. Yet there is an important caution that should be registered,
which is that most of the detailed evidence relates to dithyramb rather than to drama.
28 I would stress the way in which, under the khoregic system, a conceptual distinction
was maintained between the spheres of the actors and khoros, and it may be that there also
remained a certain separation in practical terms between the two constituent elements of
drama.: P. Wilson (2000) 8485.
29 See Csapo and Slater (1994) 226, section IV.11.
30 N.W. Slater (2002) 27, 29, 66; see also N.W. Slater (1990b), especially 390391.
rehearsing aristophanes 299
31 Csapo and Slater (1994) 221, in the opening paragraph to section IVAi with the references
given there, have a good, concise summary of the case for this conjecture, which goes back to
Aristotle.
32 For a detailed analysis of the surviving tragedies of Aeschylus in this respect, see Ley
(2007) 445.
33 It might have been acceptable to be named both as the winning playwright and the
winning actor; but the introduction of a separate competition for actors makes more sense if
that coincidence was (extremely) unlikely, because playwrights no longer usually acted.
34 Revermann (2006a) 92 calls this the modularity of rehearsals, presenting his interpre-
tation of it at 9294.
35 There is no clear evidence about the procedure for the selection of playwrights, or its
timing. But there is no obvious alternative to a judgment by the archon, who could not have
listened to all the playsand whole playsfrom all the candidates. Circumstances will surely
have differed; on some occasions, playwrights may have been far advanced with their work,
300 graham ley
dances to initiate the choral training would then follow that earlier need for
exemplary material. In such a context, choral songs and dances that were
separated from the surrounding action of the episodes would prove to be
a convenience, in a tendency of which one result was the insertion of set
pieces that had no relation to the plot of the play.36
On the other side of the process, leading actors would expect to know at
an early stage which character (or combination of characters) would offer
them the finest opportunities for success in the competition, and might be
expected to press the playwright urgently for at least some of their parts.
We might assume that actors could learn their parts privately, and rehearse
them independently, and many extended speeches from tragedy could be
learnt and initially prepared in that manner.37 For preparing stichomythia,
and complex three-actor exchanges, we might assume the ensemble of actors
working together: while the lines for an alternating exchange could just be
learnt independently, the excitement that polished stichomythia could bring
to tragic performance would be dependent on ensemble rehearsal.38 It is
just possible that an actor might learn and prepare a solo song by himself,
with the help of a musical accompanist; but it seems perverse to assume
that the composer himself would not be involved in imparting all musical
components of the script, solo or choral.39
on others not. The same may be true of the kind of presentation made, by the playwright
alone or with others to speak parts. The situation for Aristophanic comedy, as the second
section of this essay will suggest, is probably that plays were fully developed later.
36 Aristotle, Poetics 1456a2532 (section 18), ascribes this innovation to the tragic playwright
call for evocative gesture and might involve the impersonation of another character, usually
in extreme distress. Although ultimately they need to be integrated into the performance as a
whole, since they are addressed to the presence of other characters and the chorus as well as
expansively out to the audience, these speeches are a good example of what an actor might
be able to prepare independently.
38 As Wise (1998) 94 explains, in stichomythia, meaning is created between speakers. In
isolation, the utterances are incomplete: the meaning of each is absolutely dependent on
its position in the two-part exchange. Like Herington before her, Wise insists on the radical
impact of this form of impersonated immediacy by two actors: it was something that drama
and theatre could do for listening spectators that even animated epic recitation could not.
See Herington (1985) 140.
39 Marshall (2004) 33 is very tentative about this, perhaps because he is working from the
implications of later Greek papyri, while Revermann (2006a) 9293 in his account of rehearsal
modularity refers to Marshall. If the composer did not impart the musical components to
the performers himself, then he would have to impart them to a trusted intermediary, which
seems a convoluted and difficult approach to the problem.
rehearsing aristophanes 301
Be PreparedOr Unprepared?
Rehearsal and the Scripts of Aristophanes
One of the features that strikes us most forcefully about many Aristophanic
comedies is the sheer stamina required of the leading performer. The
performer carries the play with his energy, which we know is active as well
as verbal and persuasive. This is something we do associate broadly with
comedy, and we know that it can result in burn-out: Molire collapsed on
stage and died soon after, and British and Irish audiences at least will be
sadly aware of the sudden deaths of such great comic performers as Reginald
Perrin and Dermot Morgan. It is as if comedy places a responsibility for
success heavily on individual shoulders, and certainly comic performers
may be solo in principlealthough they work with othersin a manner
that tragic performers are not. Aristophaness Acharnians is Dikaiopolis,
his Peace is Trygaios, and Birds proves to be Peisthetairos, although it does
not start off like that. In fact, this prominent feature became enshrined in
Cedric Whitmans phrase Aristophanes and the comic hero, which almost
provides a critical parallel to Bernard Knoxs delineation of the heroic temper
in Sophocles, although both were less concerned with the demands made
on performers than with an ideological vision of the heroic individual in a
resistant community.42
If this is one striking feature of Aristophanic performance, then it is
counter-balanced by a second, which is that we encounter and are enter-
43 On these Aristophanic double-acts, see in particular McLeish (1980) 131143, who gives
perhaps too much emphasis to those that sustain Women at the Thesmophoria and Frogs, at
the expense of the others to which he refers at 132.
44 These and subsequent line numbers are taken from N.G. Wilsons Oxford Classical Text
of Aristophanes (2007).
45 It should be said that the same number of lines will not necessarily represent the same
extent of performance timethat is, some parts of the plays will perform more quickly than
others.
rehearsing aristophanes 303
46 The agon may also be defined as a sequence in two, balancing sections, which has
short sung and danced introductions from the chorus to the verbal exchanges, with actors
concluding each section in a burst of shorter lines. The whole and its constituent elements
would require the honing of specific vocal skills. On actors vocal skills see Csapo (2002)
135143.
304 graham ley
two surviving plays; but if we except those two, then in the fifth century
the requirements of the parabasis confirm similar arrangements to those
proposed for the tragic chorus.47 Plays may also have self-contained danced
songs for the chorus, which involve none of the actors. In Acharnians, there
are four of these danced songs apart from the more complex parabasis,
the first coming with the arrival of the chorus; additionally, there is one
shorter danced song, with its two parts divided by dialogue. This substantial
contribution to the whole performance, which could be developed in training
apart from the actors, is matched by equally substantial parts of the play in
which the chorus is involved in sequences of song and dance or other forms
of action with the actors. For Acharnians, the chorus arrives after the opening
scene, and then pursues Dikaiopolis during and after his celebration of the
rural Dionysia (lines 234393). The chorus is then at rest during Dikaiopoliss
visit to Euripides, but activates itself after that (from line 490 forwards). Apart
from one brief comment (576577), it is at rest during the exchange between
Dikaiopolis and Lamachos (572625). After the parabasis, it is again at rest
during the scene with the Megarian and the informer (710835), which it
follows with a danced song (836859). It is at rest again in the scene with the
Boeotian and Nikarchos (860928), but it joins in a song and dance with the
actors at the close of that scene, and from then until the end of the play it is
recurrently involved, with the notable exception of the sequence involving
Dikaiopolis and Lamachos.48
Even if a considerable time may have been spent on training the chorus in
complex and relatively self-contained sequences that would have an effective
role in the performance as a whole, it is evident that a comedy could also
demand a great deal of integrated rehearsal of the chorus with the actors.49
Exploring this in full detail is beyond the scope of an outline essay; but the
47 Dover (1972) 4953 has a short, explanatory section on the parabasis in general, while
Bowie (1982) looks very closely at the relation between the parabasis in Acharnians and the
rest of the play.
48 Readers wishing to track my references to Acharnians in translation might do well to
refer to the new version of the play by Michael Ewans (2012), which is accurate and direct.
These thoroughly actable translations are accompanied by useful resources (list of properties,
parts for doubling, glossary, and theatrical commentary) for those aiming to explore the plays
in the studio or to go into production.
49 Unfortunately, most of the sources for our understanding of choral training, which are
helpfully collated by Wilson, come from the fourth century bc, and relate to dithyrambs.
Dramatic rehearsal is also rather different from choral training, although dramatic choruses
will surely have been given vocal and dance training as part of their regime, with the composer
probably coaching the chorus into the specific requirements of the production. In general,
see P. Wilson (2000) 8186.
rehearsing aristophanes 305
kinds of involvement vary greatly, and are not just those where physical
coordination in a playing space is the prime requirement, as in sequences
of pursuit or combat. Sequences of that kindsuch as the arrival of the
chorus in Acharnians and Knights, or the combat of the semi-choruses in
Lysistrataneed to be placed alongside danced songs which actors and
chorus must rehearse together, and even extensive sections of dialogue
between the chorus and an actor, such as that between the chorus and
Dikaiopolis (lines 284346) immediately after their attack on his Dionysiac
procession.50 Wherever these rehearsals took place, they must have been
laborious and time-consuming, since such integrated performance cannot
be the result of a last-minute rush into production.51
This involvement of the chorus in diverse ways with the actors also
highlights the separation and self-containment of some scenes for actors. My
brief analysis above of Acharnians conveys a sense of the chorus falling silent
in some sections, and one can indeed isolate from the script a set of scenes in
which two actors work together physically and verbally. Acharnians is helpful
in this respect because it does not depend on one of the double acts that are so
apparent in other comedies, since its leading character is by definition a man
apart.52 So the exchanges between Dikaiopolis and Lamachos (lines 572
625 and 10951142) would be rehearsed as dialogue, with perhaps some
preliminary individual preparation by Dikaiopolis of his longer runs in
the first scene, at lines 598606 and 607617; these are interestingly divided
by only two words from Lamachos, in what might be easily memorized as a
cue.53 In this scene, there is a single, short contribution from the chorus (576
577), but the whole first section (572594) with its divided lines and repartee
signals dual rehearsal. The second scene is of more orthodox stichomythia,
with some few lines divided between the actors, but it is introduced by a more
complex sequence, in which two different messengers give short, prepared
50 Ewans (2012) 205208, in the section of his theatrical commentary on Scene 2, provides
a very good impression of the complexity of the interaction in space between actors and
chorus here.
51 What P. Wilson transliterates as khoregeion (see n. 27 above) was the name for a site
at least temporarily dedicated to the training of a chorus (2000) 7174; but whether such
places would have been suitable and used for rehearsals incorporating actors as well is open to
question. Could the theatre itself have been allocated to composers and khoregoi, on restricted
and controlled access, during the winter months?
52 While he is undoubtedly a fellow-spirit, Demigod is not in any meaningful sense a
speeches to which both Lamachos and Dikaiopolis react briefly. In the first
scene there is some play with a property, Lamachoss helmet and plume;
if the multifarious properties were in fact brought into the theatre in the
performance of the second scene, it might still have been rehearsed without
them in the first instance, since the dialogue discards them all very quickly.
This may also be true of the scene with Euripides, in which properties
are plainly crucial to the eventual performance, but might be introduced
relatively late in the rehearsal process. Dikaiopolis here has the bulk of
the lines, and although some sections might just be prepared individually
beforehand (465489 have only two, one-line interjections from Euripides,
and 435444 is a short set-piece for Dikaiopolis), dual rehearsal would be
essential. Here again this duality is varied by an introductory section with a
different actor playing Kephisophon, as for the second scene with Lamachos,
but in this case it could just be rehearsed separately. There are other, very
simple scenes on this dialogue pattern, those with the Farmer and the
Bridegroom, with slight differences between them: individual preparation
(e.g. lines 10581068) would give Dikaiopolis much of the Bridegroom scene,
which is not possible with the Farmer.
The scenes with the Megarian and Boeotian have interesting similarities
and differences. That with the Megarian is fundamentally for dual rehearsal,
with a short intervention involving a third actor in a quick physical beating
(lines 818827), and tiny contributions from the Megarians daughters. The
scene with the Boeotian has a similar structure (dialogue followed by the
intervention from Nikarchos), but it also appears to have more intricate
play with properties, as well as a couple of Theban pipers and a slave or
more, and the physical beating just before the wrapping up of Nikarchos.
But that sequence is sung and danced (lines 929951), with contributions
from Dikaiopolis, the Boeotian and the chorus, and concluded with a short,
further dialogue between Dikaiopolis and the Boeotian (952958). Although
similar in structure at first glance, these scenes require very different kinds
of preparation, and possibly different kinds of space in which to prepare.54
Something similar may be true of those obviously large and complicated
scenes involving many characters and potentially many extras, which may
have been prepared and rehearsed in stages and in different kinds of space.
54 English (2007) has a very full discussion of the importance of properties to these scenes
in Acharnians, but she does not consider rehearsal. Once again, Ewans (2012) 215216 and
216218, in his theatrical commentary on these scenes, is helpful in revealing the true contrast
between them in the practicalities of performance and production.
rehearsing aristophanes 307
55 Olson (2002) lxiiilxv gives a succinct review of the likely division of the roles between
actors in Acharnians.
56 McLeish (1980) 34 has that conclusion to his review of the different stages of development
of script and performance: At some date not too far from the start of the festival, the performers
must have had access to the theatre for rehearsals.
57 I have also left aside in this discussion any questions about the division of roles and
summer to the archon, and that the script may subsequently have been made
in patches. But, however we choose to look at it now, the process of rehearsal
is embedded in it.
ROME AND EMPIRE
HAVENT I SEEN YOU BEFORE SOMEWHERE?
OPTICAL ALLUSIONS IN REPUBLICAN TRAGEDY
Robert Cowan
1 For brevity and convenience, fragments are cited from what remains the standard edition
of all the fragments of Roman tragedy, Ribbeck (1897), and the most easily-available and, for
Anglophone readers at least, most user-friendly, Warmington (1936). The standard editions
of the individual dramatists, Jocelyn (1967), Dangel (1995) and Schierl (2006), all include
concordances between their and Ribbecks numerations.
2 Gildenhard (2010) 153.
3 A good survey of the evidence and a persuasive hypothesis may be found in Goldberg
(1998).
4 Among the considerable and growing body of scholarship, see esp. Taplin (1992) and
(2007), and most recently Revermann (2010) and Csapo (2010) 3882. Csapo (140167) also
dismisses Roman mosaics of Menandrian scenes as evidence for the performance of Greek
New Comedy at Rome.
312 robert cowan
Yet it is the loss of the playscripts themselves which is the most damag-
ing. Much of our understanding (or at least our beliefs) about the theatrical
aspects of Greek drama and Roman comedy, though supplemented by archae-
ological evidence and testimonia in non-dramatic texts, is derived from what
can be deduced from the surviving scripts. We know that Agamemnon walks
into his palace on the purple tapestry which Clytemnestra has rolled out
because he tells us that he is about to do so. We know that the personified
Demos has been rejuvenated in the Propylaea and emerges on the ekkyklema
in splendid attire because the Sausage-seller describes this as it happens.
We know that Theopropides knocks loudly at the door of his locked house,
because he announces his intention to do so and accompanies it with appro-
priate shouts.5 Most scholars would agree, while making the same allowance
as him for the unknowability of the details, with Taplins fair rule of thumb
that the significant stage action is implicit in the text.6 The surviving frag-
ments of Republican tragedy do throw up the occasional cue to such effect.
In Ennius Hectoris Lytra, Patroclus makes it clear that Eurypylus is beginning
to faint from his injuries, and Eurypylus in turn indicates that, as at the end of
Iliad 11, Patroclus binds his wound.7 Pacuvius Parthenopaeus leaves neither
the ancient audience nor the modern reader in any doubt that he is showing
a recognition token (be it a ring or an bracelet) to his mother, the eponymous
Atalanta: suspensum in laeuo brachio ostendo ungulum (I am showing [you]
the ring hung on my left arm).8 Likewise, when the unidentified speaker of
Accius, Amphitruo fr. 86 R3=50 W asks set quaenam haec mulier est funesta
ueste, tonsu lugubri? (But who on earth is this woman in funereal dress,
with hair loosed in mourning?), we may share his or her puzzlement regard-
ing her identity (though Alcumena must be the most likely candidate), but
we are quite sure about both the fact of her entrance and the nature and
957); , , / ,
(Ar. Eq. 13311332); sed quid hoc? occlusa ianua est interdius. / pultabo. heus,
ecquis intust? aperitin fores? (Pl. Mos. 444445).
6 Taplin (1978) 17. See also the Introduction to this volume, p. 4.
7 Patr. laberis; quiesce Eur. et uolnus alliga. fr. 180 W, following Bentleys reconstruction
from Cic. Tusc. 2.38. Ribbeck reduces it to his notes on Enn. inc. fab. 314325. Cf. Hom. Il.
11.827847 and see further Koster (2000).
8 Pac. Atalanta fr. 64 R3=59 W. As Schierl (2006) 178 ad loc. notes, Mit ostendo kommentiert
der Sprecher seine Handlung; she further compares Epidicus em, ostendo manus. (Pl.
Epid. 683). Mllers emendation ostende, though considered erwgenswert by Schierl and
approvingly mentioned by Warmington, seems unnecessary. If correct, it would still serve as a
visual cue, as Atalanta instructs Parthenopaeus to perform the same action.
optical allusions in republican tragedy 313
significance of her costume. Yet such cues are rare, and moreover isolated.
Even where they have been preserved, we crucially lack the continuous
dialogue which has enabled Marshall, by employing concepts like focus,
to reconstruct with a high degree of probability the blocking and action of
whole scenes of Plautine comedy.9
Nevertheless the situation is not utterly desperate.10 As we have just seen,
some embedded cues are preserved among the book-fragments of Republican
tragedy,11 and from these some significant actions can be reconstructed,
even if it is only that of the single movement which is described, announced or
commanded in that particular fragment.12 With a smaller degree of certitude,
but still a high one of probability, the version of a myth which (as can be
deduced, though with the risk of circularity) the dramatist followed will
tend to suggest that a certain tragedy included certain scenes featuring
certain actions. Such surmises can be supported by surviving fragments
which, while not serving as visual cues in themselves, nevertheless must
have been uttered during a scene in which a particular action took place.
Even greater confidence can be felt about the existence of certain scenes and
their constituent visual aspects when the plot of a tragedy can (probably)
the discovery of a large part of Caecilius Statius Faenerator on a papyrus from Herculaneum
(P.Herc. 78) holds out some hope for the future. See Kleve (1996) and (2001).
12 In addition to the three fragments already discussed, we might include: Liv. Andr.
Aegisthus 1314 R3=1213 W; Naev. Iphigenia 18 R3=20 W; Lycurgus 2631 R3=2732 W; Enn.
Achilles 1 W=Achilles Aristarchi 13 R3; Hectoris Lytra 143144 R3=162163 W, 199 W=inc. nom. rel.
335 R3; Hecuba 172 R3=213 W; Iphigenia 181182 R3=220221 W; Medea exul 235236 R3=289290
W; Telephus 287 R3=339 W; Thyestes 296 R3=354 W; 298 R3=355 W; 306 R3=361 W; Pac. Antiopa
16 R3=15 W; 350352 R3=1820 W; Chryses 98 R3=89 W; Dulorestes 133 R3=154 W; Iliona 197201
R3=205210 W; 214 R3=222 W; Medus 228 R3=241 W; 238 R3=251 W; Niptra 244246 R3=266268
W, 256267 R3=280291 W; Periboea 312315 W=311312 +291292 R3, 317 W; Teucer 313314
R3=337338 W, 326 R3=344 W; inc. fab. 360361 R3=1516 W; 400 R3=17 W; Acc. Antenoridae
123 R3=82 W; Antigona 138139 R3=90 W; 140141 R3=9192 W; Astyanax 187188 R3=151152
W; Atreus 233 R3=198 W; Clytemnestra 29 R3=244 W; Diomedes 277 R3=260 W; Epigoni 289291
R3=277279 W, 302 R3=287 W, 304 R3=289 W; Eurysaces 374375 R3=335336 W, 382383 R3=368
369 W; Melanippus 439 R3=417 W; Neoptolemus 470 R3/W; Oenomaus 498499 R3=495496 W;
Philocteta 568 R3=570 W; Phoenissae 592 R3=595 W. Acciuss. Philocteta 525536 R3=527540 W
does not indicate any action but is a detailed ecphrasis setting the scene around Philoctetes
cave on Lemnos. I omit fragments which seem to belong to messenger speeches, prophecies
and other narratives of action in the past or future, though it is possible that some may be
describing action elsewhere onstage.
314 robert cowan
be reconstructed, not merely from the general outline of a myth, but from
a specific model from Attic tragedy (as with the Euripidean antecedents
of Ennius Hecuba, Pacuvius Antiopa, and Accius Bacchae, among many
others), or sometimes a non-tragic, often epic source (Ennius Hectoris Lytra,
Accius Epinausimache and Nyctegresia from the Iliad, the latters Medea
siue Argonautae probably from Apollonius Argonautica), or from the plot-
summaries, perhaps deriving from ancient hypotheses, preserved in the
Fabulae of Hyginus.13 Of course, the element of speculation and the need
for caution remain great, and even the surviving lines (let alone the lost
spectacle) frequently show how the Republican tragedians have diverged
from their models or how Hyginus mythographical synopsis differs from
what must have been the action of the tragedy.14 Nevertheless, some infer-
ences about stage action can be drawn, especially when the shards of evi-
dence, so far from conflicting, positively corroborate each other. Finally,
there are the explicit testimonia for the visual aspects of the performance
of Republican tragedy. These come entirely from the last decades of the
Republic, almost two hundred years since the first performance of Livius
Andronicus Latin version of a Greek tragedy, and between twenty and
forty years after the death of Accius. The testimonia, mostly from Cicero,
are primarily evidence for late Republican reperformance and are thus
at best problematic as evidence for the theatrical practice of tragic pre-
mieres in the second century. However, they remain valuable evidence for
that late Republican practice, and in a number of cases preserve details of
staging which were probably shared by earlier and even original produc-
tions.
The subject of this chapter is not, however, the stagecraft of Republican
tragedy in general but what is, if anything, an even more elusive issue:
that of visual intertextuality. The ways in which one dramatic performance
can evoke recollections of another, not by means of verbal reminiscence,
but through similarities in their visual dimension, is a generally neglected
area, not least because it is so hard to establish, let alone to interpret. Yet
it remains an intriguing aspect of theatrical semiotics in general and, I
13 On this last, see esp. Schierl (2006) 2225, with further bibliography.
14 A representative example of each: Enn. Medea exul fr. 242243 R3=294295 W, unless they
are from a separate play closer to Sophocles Aegeus (so Jocelyn [1967] 342350, with extensive
discussion), seem to extend the action of Euripides Medea to the eponymous characters
arrival in Athens. Pacuv. Medus fr. 252263 W=trag. inc. 186192 R3, Medus 239242 R3 are
clearly from a touching recognition scene between Medea and the blind, deposed Aetes, but
Hyg. Fab. 27 makes no mention of such a scene or even of Aetes appearance in the play.
optical allusions in republican tragedy 315
18 non uentus fuit, uerum Alcumena Euripidi, Pl. Rud. 86. See Skutsch (1967) 129130.
19 Sharrock (2009) 281 on this very line: There is one particular kind of tragic moment
which belongs quintessentially to comedythat is parodic direct reference.
20 Useful discussions of praetextae include Flower (1995) and Manuwald (2001). Wiseman
(1998) 174 and much of his other work builds on the intriguing but controversial hypothesis
that much of Roman myth and history derives from their dramatization in praetextae.
21 A view put forward by Bilinski (1958) and still regularly accepted, e.g. by Boyle (2006)
124.
optical allusions in republican tragedy 317
of the same play. There is therefore ample indication that the audiences of
Republican tragedy were expectedwith varying degrees of competence
and sophistication corresponding to their education, their experience of
earlier performances and even their general perceptivenessto recognize
and interpret a complex of allusions embedded in the performance in front
of them. That these allusions should not only be verbal but also visual seems
highly probable in a genre where opsis and spectacle played so large a part,
and indeed I hope to show that the evidence for visual allusion is all but
incontrovertible in some cases. However, I shall first survey some of the
theoretical and practical issues surrounding the very notion of optical and
specifically theatrical allusion in general and particularly with regard to
ancient drama, before considering its implications for Republican tragedy.
Intertextuality and allusion remain among the most widely studied but
also the most controversial aspects of classical literature.22 Whether the
intertextuality be taken as a multidirectional property of autonomous texts
whose signifiers float free, or allusion as an intentional, directional, authorial
act, the questions as to what constitutes an allusion or intertext, how it
is to be recognized and by whom, and how it might be interpreted once
it has been recognized are among the most fraught as well as the most
stimulating in current criticism. However, when dealing with written texts,
and especially with the self-consciously learned culture of Alexandrian
poetry and its Roman successors, where the obscurity of the reference is
part of the point, those who wish to propose arcane allusions have at least a
historicist defence against the objections of those who might brand them
hyperintertextualists.23 The situation with visual and above all theatrical
allusions is even more difficult. Controversial though the identification of
verbal allusions are, most critics would accept that shared lexical, formal
and metrical features constitute at least the basis on which one can go on to
argue whether something is an allusion or not. Even the criteria by which
might single out as influential surveys of the field and its theoretical implications Conte (1986),
Fowler (1997) and Hinds (1998).
23 The word is coined by D. West (1990) 71, quoted by Lyne (1994) 196197, with a
defence of intertextuality. For an equally characteristic but more extensive sceptical view of
intertextuality, see D. West (1998) 4649.
318 robert cowan
one image, tableau or action might visually suggest another are far harder
to establish. Next there is the transitory nature of theatrical performance,
which means that the viewer cannot dwell on, let alone revisit a moment
of spectacle in the same way that even an ancient reader could scroll back
through his book-roll. Finally, there remains the question as to how visual
allusions, once they have been established as such, might be interpreted by an
audience or indeed by different members of that audience. Before focusing
on the specific issues raised by ancient drama and especially Republican
tragedy, it will be worth considering these issues a little more.
The very notion of visual allusion raises intriguing cognitive issues, which
are not dissimilar to those involved in verbal allusions.24 Any image, be it
a flat picture, a three-dimensional statue, or a theatrical scene, serves as
an allusion either to something in the world or an imaginary entity, or to
another image. As such, scholars of painting and the plastic arts have grappled
with notions of what constitutes an allusion in visual terms and how it might
be interpreted.25 Stephanie Ross, for example, draws intriguing parallels
between the way that Manets Dejeuner sur lherbe alludes to Raphael, or
Liechtensteins Cathedral series alludes to Monets paintings of the Rouen
Cathedral, and the operation of allusions in literary texts, extending this
further to allusion in music and across modes. Yet such allusions in and
to static images, though they share with theatrical allusion the problem
of what aspects of visual configuration might be considered sufficiently
similar for one instantiation to allude to another, lack the dynamic, transient
and ephemeral quality of drama. A painting can be looked at for a long
period and on unlimited occasions, allowing at least as much opportunity
for registering, recognizing and interpreting an allusion as when reading a
Callimachean hymn or a Vergilian eclogueperhaps more, since the act of
reading, however slow and however oft-repeated, is still a sequential process
contingent on the passage of linear time, whereas the viewing of a painting
is a non-linear process.
An intriguing middle-ground is held by allusions in film and television.
These share with theatre the transience of the moving image, but that
transience can be overcome by the possibility of reviewing and, in the
successive ages of video, DVDs and digital movie-files, the time-manipulating
24 See Wade (1990) for some interesting reflections on the subject, though his emphasis is
more on the allusive relationship of pictorial images to reality than on that between two
different mimetic images.
25 See for example Hermeren (1975); Ross (1981); Irwin (2001).
optical allusions in republican tragedy 319
advance buttons on VCRs and DVD players, [episode 138] features numerous images full
of easy-to-miss details, such as a glimpse of Groenings office, fast spoof credits, and the
trademark public display notice (quotation from S. Knox (2007) 74). On intertextuality in The
Simpsons, see also Irwin & Lombardo (2001) and Gray (2006).
27 Biguenet (1998) 138.
28 Issacharoff (1989) 4849.
320 robert cowan
but symbolizes all the overblown, hyperbolic bombast with which comedy
routinely characterizes tragedy.31 This agonistic tendency is widespread in
comedy, Old and New, where the superiority of the lower genre is often
asserted by parodic allusion to the higher.
Yet the problem with extrapolating from comic allusive practice to tragic
rests not so much with the formers adversarial tendency per se but rather in
the self-conscious nature of the allusions and the closely related issue of how
they are signalled. Because, as we have seen, comedy generally demands that
the audience recognize tragic motifs, characters and scenes as tragic, it tends
to make quite sure that they cannot be mistaken for phrases, mythological
characters, or actions independent of a specific tragic instantiation. As a
result, most comic allusions are either so explicit or otherwise so clear that
they can be confidently identified as such. Tragedy, even at its most self-
conscious and metatheatrical, can never be explicit about such matters, and
rarely can it signal them unambiguously by other means. Moreover, tragic
allusion tends to be to the action, content and characters of other tragedies,
rather than to the tragedies as tragedies. To put it in Aristotelian terms, one
might say that tragedy alludes to the praxis rather than to the mimesis of
the praxis. With these caveats in mind, however, the important evidence of
comedy for optical allusion can be tentatively put forward.
Even with comedy, it is problematic to determine what an audience can
be expected both to recognize and remember. To begin at one extreme,
Revermann expresses caution as to what might stick in an audiences memory
and produce an appropriate response even in the course of one performance:
An intertextual reference will less easily get lost on the spectator if the
reference is to a moment of the ephemeral performance which stuck out for
its visual and/or verbal humour and got as many of the audience as possible
physically involved through laughterif the reference is, in other words, not
pitched as intertextual but intratheatrical.32
Certainly the criterion of peculiarity is key to both memory and recognition.
An image (or indeed a phrase) must stick out if it is to stick in the memory
and be susceptible to recall, but it is also its unusual features which lead an
audience to think that an image with similar unusual features is meant to
recall it rather than to belong in a sequence of independent, nondescript
images. Yet the issue of memoryand even of being old enough and having
31 Of the equally large bibliography on comedys construction of tragedy see esp. the subtle
35 , / , /
(Eur. Bellerophon fr. 306 Kannicht). On the competence of Classical Athenian theatre
audiences see Revermann (2006b).
optical allusions in republican tragedy 325
even if restagings at the major festivals were not yet performed, it would
seem plausible that a combination of deme performances, written texts of
playscripts and word-of-mouth about a particularly memorable spectacle
would combine to enable a substantial section of an audience to recognize
spectacles which resembled them. There is also the question of precisely
what the different forms of verbal assistance are which tragedy might use
to signal an allusion. In order to answer this, we must turn to actual (or at
least possible) examples of tragic allusion.
To get a sense of how tragic allusion, lacking many of the self-conscious
signals available to comedy, might operate, it is obviously useful to consider
the phenomenon in fifth-century Attic tragedy, the only branch of the genre
earlier than our Republican examples for which we have a number of extant
playscripts as well as other evidence such as testimonia and vase-paintings.
As a starting point, and with an eye to Revermanns cautionary words about
the limits of intertheatricality even between different parts of a single
performance, we might consider Taplins notion of mirror scenes. As defined
by him in The Stagecraft of Aeschylus, a mirror scene is [t]he repetition or
reflection of an incident or scene in such a striking way as to recall the
earlier event.39 A year later, he devoted a whole chapter of Greek Tragedy in
Action to the phenomenon and presented various examples in (most of) the
nine plays whose theatrical features are discussed throughout that volume:40
Odysseus successfully preventing Neoptolemus from returning the bow to
Philoctetes, the latters hand outstretched, is juxtaposed to his later failure
to do so as the young hero puts the bow in the same outstretched hand;
Hippolytus joyful initial entrance with his band of merry men is set against
his later departure into exile accompanied by them.41 The concept of mirror
scenes has been taken up by many subsequent studies, such as Gallaghers
pairing of the Euripidean Electras scenes with the Old Man and with Orestes,
or Mitchell-Boyasks of the god-sent seizure suffered by Philoctetes with
the healing appearance of the divine Hercules.42 In addition to its intrinsic
probability and interest, this paradigm aids our purposes in suggesting that
audiences (or, as ever, some parts of them) can make thematically significant
39 Taplin (1977b) 100; for his discussion of mirror-scenes, specifically in Persians, see 100104.
40 Taplin (1978) 122139. He remarks that OT does not include, so far as I can see, any
outstanding mirror scene (131) but R. Griffith (1996) 57 makes a case for the prostration of the
suppliants before Oedipus in the prologue and later before Teiresias.
41 Soph. Phil. 971982 ~ 12221298, with Taplin (1978) 131133; Eur. Hipp. 5871 ~ 1098101,
43 Among general studies of tragic allusion, see esp. Garner (1990) for the verbal approach.
Thalmann (1993) is more nuanced and reflective on the issues, but still deals with the tragedies
largely as written texts (the term is used throughout, in preference to plays). Alion (1983)
vol. 2: 11147 deals with schmas, thmes et situations such as supplication, vengeance,
homecoming and sacrifice, but her treatment is more on the level of structures and dramatic
patterning than on specific visual spectacles.
44 Easterling (1997b) 168169. The two subsequent quotations are from the same pages.
optical allusions in republican tragedy 327
that it shows how such allusions might be signalled without the explicitness
of comedy or the proximity of occurring in the same play. The spectacle of a
young woman with an urn would not in itself stick out for an audience as
reminiscent of Electra in Libation Bearers, especially when the Sophoclean
and Euripidean urns are used for such different purposes. Yet when the
character is already identified as Electra and the context set as that of the
imminent return of Orestes, the spectacle of the same character bearing an
urn does offer the strong possibility of reminiscence, and then indeed the
different uses of the vessel become the significant differences which make the
allusion meaningful. We may therefore consider this an important general
criterion for identifying a tragic visual allusion. Such allusions in tragedy are
more susceptible to recognition when the scenes alluding and alluded to
feature the same characters and/or the same plot.
As a variation on this scenario, just as the case of Electra and the urn might
suggest how variations in the spectacle can underline the variations in an
iteration of the same tragic plot, so a visual allusion might draw attention to
parallelisms (and, as ever, distinctions) between two different tragic plots. Of
course, unless the spectacle is so unique and unmistakable, its appearance in
the alluding tragedy will not in itself be enough to recall the tragedy alluded
to. This sort of allusion is most likely to be recognizable and meaningful if
the plot of the alluding tragedy already has other, non-visual connections
with that alluded to, such as the same characters or setting, or dramatizes
a different episode in the same larger mythical narrative. An example from
Attic tragedy which Sorum tentatively proposes is an allusion in Euripides
Iphigenia at Aulis to Aeschylus Agamemnon:45
[The] references in the prologue and first episode set both the mythological
and theatrical scene for Clytemnestras arrival on stage ensconced in a chariot,
accompanied by her daughter and infant son, and welcomed by her husband,
a tableau which may itself recall Agamemnons arrival home in Agamemnon.
This is a very attractive suggestion. It has the virtue of recognizability, owing
not only to the same characters being involved but to the importance
of Iphigenias sacrifice as a motivation for the Aeschylean Clytemnestras
murder of Agamemnon. Yet it also has important and meaningful differences:
the inversion of the roles as husband welcomes unsuspecting wife, the
45 Sorum (1992) 537. She observes at n. 31 that Page considers the relevant lines an
interpolation and as a result [a]lthough the entrance of the family provides a stunning
visual allusion, its inclusion is not vital to my argument in light of the number of Aeschylean
references.
328 robert cowan
And so, at last, to Rome. Many of the issues and objections mentioned in
the last section apply also to the possibility of visual allusion in Republican
drama, but there are marked differences. Fifth-century drama, and especially
tragedy, had spread throughout the Greek and subsequently (to some extent
simultaneously) the Roman world. Its plots, speeches, odes and spectacles
could become familiar certainly to the educated and perhaps to a wide range
of the potential audiences of ludi scaenici. Contact with Greek culture through
Etruria, Magna Graecia, Sicily and numerous other routes can be traced at
Rome from earliest times, and it is improbable that tragedy was not part of
that culture.
In terms of the visual dimension, it is notable that the majority of
the vases depicting scenes from Attic drama come from Magna Graecia.
Many of the vases are self-explanatory, with labels for the characters, and
would enable even someone who did not recognize the scene depicted
to convince themselves that they did. Even these, though they are less
valuable as evidence for pre-existing familiarity with Attic drama, could
themselves serve to disseminate familiarity with tragic (and comic) stage-
pictures even among those who had never seen a play.49 Yet other vases
offer less help and can be taken as evidence that the stage-picture was, for
whatever reason, already familiar to viewers. To take one example which is
suggestive for a visual allusion which I shall propose below, Taplin discusses
an Apulian loutrophoros from the 330s depicting the blinding of Polymestor,
whose details are only comprehensible to someone with a knowledge of
Euripides Hecuba, in which that action occurs.50 It should also be noted that
such representations of scenes from tragic myth (and, by extension, from
49 On the performance and general reception of Attic drama in Magna Graecia, see esp.
Allan (2001).
50 The play is needed in order to make full sense of the picture: Taplin (2007) 141142,
metatheatricality in Republican tragedy are prominent in the studies of Erasmo (2004) and
Boyle (2006), though both tend to adopt rather too broad a definition of the phenomenon.
332 robert cowan
survives from Accius Hecuba, but we can only wonder how the innovative
and revisionist young Turk of the three great Republican tragedians might
have engaged with Ennius staging (also unknown) of Polydorus ghost, the
discovery of his body, and the blinding of Polymestor, especially following
Pacuvius subsequent radical rewriting of the myth in his Iliona.58 Likewise,
Accius Andromeda clearly engaged with Ennius version (itself closely
imitating Euripides), and fr. 111 R3=71 W of the play (misera obualla saxo sento
paedore alguque et fame, wretched, surrounded by a rampart of rugged rock,
with filth and cold and hunger) surely describe the eponymous heroine
waiting for the sea-monster. It could either be delivered by Andromeda
herself while she is onstage bound to the crag, thus recalling what was surely
Ennius dramatization of the same scene in imitation of Euripides prologue,59
or it could be a cross-modal allusion whereby what was staged in Ennius was
narrated in an Accian messenger-speech.60 Such speculations must remain
just that, and any conclusions drawn from them will inevitably be based
on circular arguments, but that later Republican tragedians dramatized the
same plotsand plots which lend themselves to striking visual effectsas
their predecessors, without in some way evoking the earlier staging seems,
to say the least, unlikely.
Yet the most suggestive examples of probable visual allusion in Republican
tragedy come in plays which deal not with the same plot as a predecessor,
but with a variation on or sequel to it. This phenomenon is most prominent
in the tragedies of Pacuvius and it has become almost a critical topos to
describe some of his plays as sequels, and in particular sequels to those of
his uncle, Ennius.61 The two examples on which we shall focus are the Medus,
which depicts Medeas return to Colchis after her time in Iolcus, Corinth and
58 Enn. Hecuba fr. 172 R3=213 W (uide hunc meae in quem lacrumae guttatim cadunt. Look
at this boy on whom my tears fall drop by drop), with its close rendering of Eur. Hec. 760
( ;) make it clear at least that Hecuba did lament over
Polydorus body onstage. On Pacuvius Iliona, see below.
59 Enn. Andromeda fr. 9596 R3=117118 W (hnox sacrai quae caua caeli / signitenentibus
earlier stage of the myth, perhaps with negotiations between Cepheus and Perseus. On all three
Andromeda plays (as well as those by Sophocles and Livius Andronicus), see Klimek-Winter
(1993).
61 Fantham (2003) 102103; Manuwald (2003) 39; Boyle (2006) 8889. It is very tempting
to read this situation as a very reified example of Blooms Oedipal anxiety of influencea
temptation perhaps not entirely to be resisted. Cf. Fantham (2003) 99: how would it affect
your creative originality to reach fifty still in the shadow of your uncle?
optical allusions in republican tragedy 333
auerat, pro suo fratre educauit, ut, si alteri eorum quid foret, parentibus praestaret. she
brought [Polydorus] up in place of her own son; Deipylus, however, whom she had borne to
334 robert cowan
through bribery and the offer of marriage to Electra, to kill Polydorus, but
owing to the swap, he kills his own son, Deipylus, in the belief that he is
Polydorus. Deipyluss ghost reveals his death to his mother in a dream and
begs for burial. Meanwhile, Polydorus has visited Delphi to enquire about
his parents (de parentibus suis sciscitatum, Hyg. Fab. 109.3; his motivation is
obscure) and has been told that his homeland is destroyed, his father killed
and his mother enslaved. Puzzled to find that the situation in Thrace is rather
different from this, he is enlightened as to his true identity by Iliona. The two
then blind and kill Polymestor.
As this summary shows, the play is not strictly a sequel to Euripides
Hecuba in that it does not follow on from the events in that play but rather
corrects them, providing a variant.67 However, it shares many of the features
which we have seen to be characteristic of sequels. It deals with several of
the same characters as the charismatic original; with its similar but distinct
plot, it manages to be both more of the same and satisfyingly different;
it amplifies and corrects, satisfying the audiences desire for a happy
ending (of a sort). The confusion of identities, eventually rectified through
an anagnorisisa recurrent feature of Pacuvian tragedy68is also mimetic
of the play status as resembling the Hecuba but not quite being it. We might
even tentatively detect a troping of the filial relationship which a sequel
has to its original in the centrality of Iliona, the daughter of Hecuba, in the
Iliona, the sequel to the Hecuba.69 This relationship, both between queens
and between plays, would have been most strikingly brought out by what is
arguably the most famous scene in Republican tragedy, the appearance of
Deipylus ghost to the sleeping Iliona, requesting burial (Pac. Iliona fr. 197201
R3 = 205210 W):70
mater, te appello, tu, quae curam somno suspensam leuas
neque te mei miseret, surge et sepeli natum hi
prius quam ferae uolucresque hi
neu reliquias semesas sireis71 denudatis ossibus
per terram sanie delibutas foede diuexarier.
Polymestor, she brought up in place of her brother so that, if anything were to happen to the
other one, she could render him to her parents. Hyg. Fab. 109.1.
67 On the Iliona, see esp. Ribbeck (1875) 232239; Wallach (1979); Manuwald (2000b), (2003);
Mother, I call on you, you, who lighten your care by floating it in sleep
and have no pity for me. Arise and bury your son .
before the beasts and birds hconsume my whole corpsei
and do not let my half-eaten remains, the bone stripped bare,
stained with blood, be disgracefully dragged to and fro about the land.
Iliona awakes and poignantly calls for the ghost to stay (202 R3 = 211 W)
age, adsta, mane, audi!
iteradum eadem ista mihi hi
Come, stay there, wait, listen!
Just one more time hspeaki those same words to me
Cicero alludes several times to the scene,72 and some of the details of its
staging emerge in the comments of the Scholia Bobiensia on Cic. Pro Sestio
126 and those of Porphyrio and [Acro] on Horace, Saturae 2.3.6062, the
latter depicting the notorious scene when the actor playing Iliona, one
Fufius, could not be woken from a real, drunken sleep by Deipylus, so that
the whole audience bellowed Mother, I call on you! It is clear from all
these testimonia that the scene was of immense visual power. When Cicero
compares Appius Claudius Pulchers suddenly popping out from beneath the
benches of the comitia as if he were going to say mater te appello, there is no
further resonance with the Pacuvian scene except the visual parallel, a clear
indication that Deipylus ghost had sufficient impact to stand as paradigmatic
for such a sudden appearance.73 The Scholia Bobiensia ad loc. emphasize the
strikingly (but characteristically) sombre costume of the ghost (sordidatus
et lugubri habitu, ut solent qui pro mortuis inducuntur, filthy and dressed in
mourning garb, as is the habit of actors playing dead people).74 When Cicero
is ridiculing the irrationality of the ghosts desire for burial at Tusc. 1.106,
he points the absurdity by emphasizing how the dramaturgy of the scene
(including its musical dimension) magnifies the misplaced pathos felt by the
audience.
This was clearly a scene which resonated for Roman audiences, and there
is no reason to believe that this impact was not felt from its first performance.
Yet part of its significance also derives from its visual allusion to the prologue
72 Tusc. 1.106 preserve the lines above. Other references at Sest. 126 and Ac. 2.88.
73 I take the suddenness of Appius appearance to be the main point of the allusion but
Kaster (2006) 359 plausibly suggests that we are to understand that Appius, emerging from
beneath the planks, looked like a shade arising from Hades.
74 Notoriously, both Schol. Bob. and Porphyrio refer to the ghost as that of Polydorus rather
than Deipylus, but this is clearly a confusion arising from Pacuvius (and Ilionas) swapping of
their names. See Wallach (1979) and Schierl (2006) 318319 for full discussion.
336 robert cowan
75 Eur. Hec. 158. No fragment of Ennius Hecuba can be securely assigned to the prologue,
but undantem salum (162 R3=202 W) seems a likely rendering of (Eur. Hec. 26). Jocelyn
(1967) 303304 remarks on Gellius assertion (11.4) that Enniuss version closely imitated
Euripides that it has a reliability quite lacking in apparently similar assertions by Varro and
Cicero. On the two plays, see also Scafoglio (2007).
76 Mossman (1995) 5051; Lane (2007).
77 Lane (2007) 292.
78 Cf. Scafoglio (2006) 3334.
79 In addition to this visual dimension to the allusion, doctus Pacuuius may be alluding
to the appearance of Patroclus ghost to Achilles at Il. 23.65107, which strongly influenced
Euripides and which Deipylus ghost even more strongly recalls.
optical allusions in republican tragedy 337
80 TLL II.273.4661 s.v. I.3 imploro, precor, oro. Our line is the earliest instance cited.
81 TLL II.274.51275.34, s.v. II.2 voco, nomino, significo, with eight instances from comedy,
among which note esp. Pl. Epid. 589: si me appellet filiam, matrem vocem. The audiences
expectations about the ghosts identity partly depend on what information about the swapping
of the children and the murder has been imparted in the prologue or other scenes (if any) prior
to the ghosts appearance. However, even if they have been explicitly told that Polymestor has
killed Deipylus thinking he is Polydorus, those familiar with the canonical Euripidean and
Ennian version might still irrationally expect the ghost to be Polydorus.
82 Fr. 204 R3=213 W (quos ego ita ut uolui offendo incolumis, I find them safe and well, just
as I wished) would fit Polydorus surprise at finding Polymestor and Iliona, his supposed
parents, unharmed in spite of the oracle. Similarly, fr. 211 R3=214 W (ne porro te error, qui nunc
lactat, maceret, so that the misunderstanding which now misleads you should not torment
you) makes sense as Ilionas preamble to telling her brother the truth.
83 Cf. Schierl (2006) 317.
338 robert cowan
allusion to the two Euripidean punishments, which are thus brought forcibly
to mind. The blinded Polymestor makes a memorable entrance singing
agonized dochmiacs at Eur. Hec. 1056, and while the only surviving fragment
of the Iliona referring to the blinding is (presumably) Ilionas demand that
Polydorus help her perform it,84 it would seem at least plausible that the
eyeless king might appear before exiting again to be killed, rather than the
whole two-tier revenges being reported in a single messenger speech.85
In support of the possibility that Pacuvius Polymestor entered after his
blinding, it is tempting to interpret the brief exchange in fr. 210 R3 = 223 W (A:
cur inlaqueetur hic? B: mecum altercas? tace!, hPolydorus?i:Why should
this man be entangled? hIliona?i:Are you arguing with me? Shut up!) as
indicating the helplessness of the blinded Polymestor, its acknowledgement
by Polydorus, and the implacability of Iliona. In any case, whether audiences
at the ludi scaenici saw the blind Polymestor, as they saw his Euripidean and
Ennian equivalents, about to suffer the narrated fate of his sons in those
earlier plays, or whether a Pacuvian narrative conjured an image reminiscent
of an Ennian stage-picture, a final visual allusion was used to connect the
plays and to assert the superiority of the Iliona.
Pacuvius Medus is more precisely a sequel to Euripides Medea and Ennius
Medea Exul in that in follows on (after an interval) from the plot of those
plays and does not presuppose that events unfolded differently from the
way in which they depicted them. Like the Iliona, it tropes its status as
sequel through the relationship of its eponymous character to that of its
predecessors: Medus is the son of Medea, just as Medus is Medeas sequel,
though, unlike Hecuba, Medea herself plays a central role in her sons tragedy.
The plot can, again, be largely reconstructed from Hyginus (Fab. 27), though
again the fragments indicate some important scenes, notably a touching
anagnorisis and reconciliation between Medea and Aetes, which are not
reflected in the summary. Medus, Medeas son by the Athenian king Aegeus,
while searching for his mother, is shipwrecked and captured in Colchis, where
Aetes throne has been usurped by his brother Perses. Since the usurper
had received an oracle predicting his death at the hands of Aetes offspring,
84 fac ut coepisti hanc operam mihi des perpetem: / oculis traxerim (See to it that, in the
same way as you have begun, you render this help to me in future: let me pull [the sight]
from his eyes!) 208209 R3=220221 W. I follow Schierls acceptance of the paradosis of the
second line and suggestion exempli gratia of the supplement aciem. Ribbeck emends to oculos
transaxim, and Warmington follows him.
85 I use messenger speech as a generic term for a narrative of offstage events, but fr. 215
Medus claims to be Hippotes, son of Creon, the late king of Corinth whom
Medea had killed along with his daughter, but is still imprisoned. Meanwhile,
Medea arrives in her dragon-chariot and falsely tells Perses that she is a
priestess of Diana and can deliver Colchis from its current famine. When she
learns that Perses is holding Hippotes (as Medus claims to be), she assumes
that he has come to avenge his father and persuades Perses that the young
man is Medus, sent by Medea to kill him; she asks the king to hand him
over to her to be killed. When Medus is led out, a recognition takes place
and Medea urges him to avenge Aetes by killing Perses. This he does and
establishes the kingdom of Media.
There are many facets to the relationship which Pacuvius establishes
between his sequel and the canonical Medea-tragedies which it follows,
especially in his depiction of the character of Medea herself, and I have
discussed some of these elsewhere.86 A number of visual allusions might
have pointed the relationship: for instance, Medeas duplicitous interview
with the tyrannical Perses might have recalled that with Creon; or her
(initially murderous) confrontation, bearing a sword, of her (unrecognized)
son Medus might have recalled her exit into the skene to kill her and Jasons
sons. Here I wish briefly to focus on one moment of visual allusion, one
that probably belongs to the category of cross-modal allusion between
visual representation and ecphrastic narrative which we noted at the end
of the last section. That Medea arrived in her dragon-chariot is attested
not only by the unreliable Hyginus (Fab. 29.3: quo [i.e. to Colchis] Medea
in curru iunctis draconibus cum uenisset ) but also by Cicero; it is also
clearly referred to by two of the surviving fragments, one securely assigned
to the Medus by Nonius (linguae bisulcis actu crispo fulgere, their forked
tongues flashed like lightning with their vibrating motion, fr. 229 R3 = 243
W) and one from Cicero very probably belonging to it (angues ingentes alites
iuncti iugo, enormous winged serpents joined by a yoke, fr. 242 W = inc.
fab. 397 R3). These senarii most plausibly derive from a messenger-speech
describing Medeas arrival. Some scholars have taken Ciceros reference to illo
Pacuuiano curru (Rep. 3.14) as indicating that she entered using a Roman
version of the mekhane. Further support for this thesis has been drawn from
allusions to Medeas dragon-chariot in Lucilius, Varro, and Augustine which
are less obviously connected with the Medus, as opposed to one of the Medea
86 Cowan (2010) 4548. Among other discussions of the Medus, see esp. Ribbeck (1875)
318325; Dondoni (1958) 9599; Della Casa (1974); Arcellaschi (1990) 101161; Nosarti (1993);
Fantham (2003) 108112; Schierl (2002) and (2006) 342385.
340 robert cowan
plays.87 Yet, quite apart from issues of stage technology in the Republic,88 it
seems improbable that such a spectacular entrance, having been enacted
on-stage, would be duplicated in the narrative of a messenger-speech. In
terms of the presence of the visual allusion, it is ultimately unimportant
whether the dragon-chariot appeared onstage in the Medus or not. A direct
visual reminiscence of the chariot so famous from the exodos of Euripides
Medea, from numerous vase-paintings,89 and possibly from Ennius Medea
Exul (though this again raises the issue of a Republican mekhane) would
be immensely effective. Yet a cross-modal allusion would almost point
the reminiscence more, as the messenger recalls and recreates his visual
experience of seeing the dragon-chariot in a way parallel to the audiences
recollection of their visual experience of seeing Medeas escape from Corinth.
In either case, the visual allusion serves an important purpose in connecting
the Medea of this play with Euripides and Ennius heroine. In mythological
real-time, even allowing for the miraculously restored fertility of Aegeus, the
conception, gestation and maturation of Medus would require about sixteen
years and nine months to have elapsed between the end of the Medea and
the opening of the Medus. Yet the image of Medea arriving at Colchis in her
dragon-chariot, be it in the minds or the actual eyes of the audience, must
theatrically suggest that the same infanticidal, regicidal barbarian witch is
flying into this tragedy, almost with the blood of her children still dripping
from her hands. It is with this visual connection, regardless of the dictates
of chronology, in mind that the audience can make its judgement as to
whether Medeas same-but-different actions in this sequel indicate that hier
ist die Zauberin und Intrigantin brig geblieben or whether le dnouement
apportera une complte rhabilitation de Mde en tant que mre et en tant
que fille. Perhaps, as I have argued elsewhere, they might ask themselves
need we choose between the same old Medea and a new, positive Medeais
not the point that they are overlapping, even identical?90
Limitations of space, combined with the even greater paucity of evidence
on one side and the overabundance of critical discussion on the other,
prevent me from extensive discussion of two of the main ways in which
amphora, all depicting the flight in the chariot. On the second of these, see also Revermann
(2010).
90 Ribbeck (1875) 325; Arcellaschi (1990) 245; Cowan (2010) 47.
optical allusions in republican tragedy 341
Republican tragedy alluded visually to the Roman world outside the time
and space of the ludi scaenici and back again. So many excellent studies
have been made of the use of late Republican re-stagings of tragedy to
allude to contemporary events (often, as in the opening of Pompeys theatre,
with a significant visual dimension) that I shall simply direct the reader
to the existing scholarship.91 The fragments of fabulae praetextae are, if
anything, even more scanty than those of tragedy and as a result offer even
less indication of staging. It is not even clear how various events which
surely must have been featured in particular praetextae were represented,
whether enacted onstage, narrated in messenger-speeches, or represented
in a combination of the twofor instance, Fulvius Nobiliors capture of
the eponymous city in Ennius Ambracia, the rape of Lucretia in Accius
Brutus or the deuotio of Decius in his Aeneades siue Decius. It does seem
clear, however, that the formal features of praetextae were modelled closely
on those of tragedies, and the reworking of Atossas dream from Aeschylus
Persians in Accius Brutus suggests that content too connected the genres.92
On this basis, it would seem plausible that, as with this verbal and structural
allusion in the Brutus, visual aspects of praetextae might evoke not just the
generic scenic conventions of tragedy but specific scenes and tableaux from
specific plays. To go further is to speculate even more than we have hitherto.
Yet if we accept the verbal echo of Euripides Phoenissae which La Penna
detects in the sole fragment of Ennius Sabinae,93 we might also wonder
whether the successful intervention of Hersilia and the Sabine women in the
war between their husbands and their fathers might have carried a visual
reminiscence of Jocastas unsuccessful intercession with Polynices in his war
against Eteocles. Did anything, we might still further wonder, in the visual
representation of Accius Decius and his self-sacrifice recall Menoeceus in the
same dramatists Phoenissae?94 Sadly, wonder is all we can do in the current
state of the evidence, wonder and hope for miracles from Herculaneum.
With that, we emerge from the cauea and from our world of speculation on
the visual dimension of Republican tragedy, visual allusion in classical drama
as a whole, and on the particularly elusive intersection of the two. Little
91 Beacham (1991) 156163; Champlin (2003) 295305; Erasmo (2004) 81101; Boyle (2006)
that I have proposed can be incontrovertibly proven, but I hope both that a
degree of plausibility may be found in the hypothesis that visual allusion was
a feature, and perhaps a particularly marked feature, of Republican drama,
and that one day the papyri of Herculaneum may provide the evidence with
which the hypothesis can be tested.
ANICIUS VORTIT BARBARE:
THE SCENIC GAMES OF L. ANICIUS GALLUS AND
THE AESTHETICS OF GREEK AND ROMAN PERFORMANCE*
In 167 bce, Romes inhabitants beheld a somewhat bizarre yet highly sig-
nificant public spectacle. Bizarre because of its seemingly incongruous
conflation of the refined, Greek, and scripted with the raucous, barbarous,
and spontaneous; significant because it inspired an eyewitness account of
a staged performance contemporary with Terence. This chapter examines
the victory games offered by the Roman imperator L. Anicius Gallus as a
reflection of performance aesthetics for theatrical ludi. Anicius spectacle
celebrates a Plautine aesthetic by subjecting Greek modes and performers to
the whims of Roman adaptors and spectators. Like Plautus, Anicius crowds
his stage with a boisterous conflation of Greek and Roman elements. Like
an impresario, the Roman imperator assumes the role of a Plautine clever
slave who directs his army of performers in feigned improvisation. The chaos
onstage is only apparent, for it is a scripted assault upon and redeployment
of Greek modes of performance. Anicius probably presented his spectacle
on the Quirinalia, a Feast of Fools that could inspire and authorize the may-
hem. Our account of Anicius games only survives through the Greek gaze of
Polybius and a subsequent filter of Athenaeus. Polybius, blinkered by inap-
propriate expectations, condemns the show as an embarrassing debacle,
and critical reception has often adopted his perspective in considering them
a paradigm of Roman boorishness.1 Terence might have agreed, for his plays
represent an attenuating reaction to the bombastic Plautine and Anician
adaptations of Greek theatrical culture. Terences prologues laud his plays by,
inter alia, disparaging both the sort of public performance Anicius provided
and those spectators who preferred it.
* I wish to thank Sander Goldberg, Shawn OBryhim, the anonymous reader, and the
editors for their careful criticisms and thoughtful suggestions. All translations are my own,
except as noted.
1 Goldberg (1995) 3839, reacting to such views. The present study agrees with and expands
Our account of Anicius games comes from Polybius Book 30.22, a fragment
that survives thanks to Athenaeus, who selected it for the climax of a section
on kings and generals who were jokesters (, 14.613d15e):
And Lucius Anicius, who had been the Roman general, conquered Illyria and
brought back as prisoner of war Genthius the king of the Illyrians, along with
his children. In celebrating his victory games in Rome, he produced absolutely
ludicrous events,2 as Polybius records in his History, Book XXX. You see, after
sending for the most famous theatrical artists () from Greece and after
constructing a very large stage in the Circus Maximus, he first brought on the
aulos-players all together. These were Theodorus of Boeotia, Theopompus,
Hermippus, and Lysimachus, who were very famous. And so, after stationing
them on the stage, he ordered them to play all together to accompany the
chorus. While they were playing through the musical scores in harmony with
the rhythmic dance,3 Anicius sent word to them that they were not playing well.
He ordered them to show more competitive spirit. And when they expressed
puzzlement, one of the lictors demonstrated that they should turn around
and march against each other and make a sort of battle. The aulos-players
quickly got the idea, and after receiving [a command?] familiar to their own
wantonness, they created a huge melee. The aulos-players, after making the
dancers in the middle pivot in unison against those on the edges, marched
against each other, blowing nonsense and playing their auloi in discord. And
the dancers, echoing them4 and mounting the stage, charged their opponents
and retreated again in turn. And when one of the dancers, tucking up his robe
at the right moment, turned around and raised his fists as if boxing against the
aulos-player charging him, then indeed there came wild clapping and roaring
from the spectators. And while these were still fighting in battle formation, two
dancers with a music band were brought into the orchestra, and four boxers
climbed the stage, along with buglers and trumpeters. And with all these men
struggling together, the result was indescribable. But concerning the tragic
actors, Polybius says that, If I tried to recount it, I would seem to be making a
mockery After Ulpian had narrated these events and everyone burst out
laughing at these Anician spectacles,5 there arose some comments about the
so-called
The basic facts are fairly clear. A huge stage was built for the occasion
in the Circus Maximus, a venue used for theatrical ludi, including the
or of the dancers.
4 We do not know how the chorus echoed the aulos-players, though the verb epiktupountes
suggests stamping their feet. Olson (2011) 109 renders it: stamping their feet and shaking their
costumes in time with the pipe-players.
5 Athenaeus puns on Anicius and A-nikioi, invincible.
anicius vortit barbare 345
licentious mimes of the Floralia (Wiseman 2006). The Circus breadth and
flatness provided ample capacity, and tiered seating could afford superior
sightlines for viewing the choreography of the performers (Goldberg (1995)
39). The precise shape of the performance area is unclear. Athenaeus account
identifies an orchestra (dancing space) and a stage, called both a skn and
a prosknion.6 Anicius summoned and presumably paid for famous Greek
theatrical artists, including a chorus of unstated size, four aulos-players,
dancers, other musicians, and tragic actors. The account leaves unspecified
whether the four boxers, buglers, and trumpeters were Greek or Roman.
In the midst of the very first act, that of the four auletai with a dancing
chorus, a lictor came forward at Anicius command either to initiate or to
mark a surprising twist in the entertainment. The lictor perhaps
demonstrated verbally, perhaps mimedto begin a mock battle. A melee
ensued, first in the orchestra, then on the stage, to the crowds delight.
Two factors of preservation complicate interpretation of the spectacle.
First, the concluding direct quotation about the tragic performers suggests
that Athenaeus may be embellishing, abbreviating, or otherwise paraphras-
ing Polybius throughout the passage. In particular,
presents a crux: does Athenaeus laugh with Anicius and the Romans at an
extravagant joke? Or, sharing Polybius disdain, does Athenaeus laugh at
Anicius as buffoon? Since Athenaeus includes the anecdote to exemplify
kings and generals who appreciated and cracked jokes, the context presents
Anicius spectacle, though quite different in nature and scale from verbal
quips, as a prank rather than a disaster. Second, Polybius was a hostile witness
who likely came to the show with unsuitable expectations that significantly
distorted his assessment. He was a Greek aristocrat brought as hostage to
Italy late in 168 after the defeat of Perseus at Pydna. Anicius games might
have been one of his formative impressions of the conquering Romans, and
the abuse of eminent Greek artists likely offended his nationalism. Polybius
aesthetic values are hard to deduce from his Histories. Although he frequently
quotes Homer, he shuns discussion of drama.7 For all his analytic virtues, Poly-
6 Walbank (1979) 446 observes that since Polybius uses skn and prosknion interchange-
ably, we should not assume a proscenium; Gnther (2002) 128129 believes that stage and
proscenium offered separate performance spaces. Klar (2006) 172 speculates that Anicius used
a scaenae frons to display triumphal booty.
7 The only comic dramatist named in the extant Histories is the obscure Archedicus
(12.13). Polybius mentions Euripides four times, but never Sophocles nor Aeschylus, nor any
Latin dramatist. Nevertheless, he does mark the potential for dramatic pageantry to inculcate
values when his discussion of Roman superstition credits tragoedia with instructing the plebs
(6.56.811).
346 george fredric franko
bius apparently was no aficionado of the theater. He did, however, see great
pedagogical value in music and dance, and the public performance of such by
youths in the theaters.8 Polybius became a great admirer of Aemilius Paullus
and an intimate companion of the young Scipio Aemilianus, both highly
cultured and Philhellenic statesmen of the mid-second century. Whether or
not Polybius ever saw himself as a member of the supposed Scipionic Circle
or of a Philhellenic cultural and political faction, one may reasonably assume
that his esteem for Paullus and Scipio Aemilianus colored his account of
Anicius games.
Anicius victory celebrations suffer from comparison to two separate
victory celebrations of Aemilius Paullus in 167, a triumph at Rome and games
at Amphipolis. Livy (45.43.13) compares the triumphs to Anicius detriment:
With the memory of Paullus Macedonian triumph still lingering not only in
their minds, but almost before their eyes, Lucius Anicius celebrated a triumph
over King Gentius and the Illyrians on the Quirinalia. Everything seemed
similar but hardly on par with Paullus: the imperator himself was lesser, as
Anicius was compared with Aemilius both in noble family and in office (a
praetor versus a consul); Gentius could not be compared with Perseus, nor the
Illyrians with the Macedonians, nor spoils with spoils, nor cash distributions
with cash distributions, nor gifts with gifts. Accordingly, just as Paullus recent
triumph outshone this one, so this one appeared to those examining it on its
own merits not at all contemptible.
We do not know whether Livy found an explicit comparison in his source (he
names Valerius Antias at 45.43.8) or simply articulated what was implicit but
obvious. As for games, in an insightful interpretation Edmondson (1999)
argues that the elaborate spectacles staged within eighteen months of
each other by Paullus at Amphipolis, Anicius at Rome, and Antiochus near
Antioch engaged in conscious competition, each leader hoping to outdo
his predecessor. Paullus set a high standard, and Edmondson concludes
that Anicius games were a fiasco because the vulgar Roman crowd, whose
influence controlled events, humiliated both the famous Greek performers
and Anicius himself. For Edmondson, Anicius attempted innovations
backfired (88). But Polybius account clearly states that the crowd loved
it. The newly arrived Greek aristocrat, who had no familiarity with popular
Roman spectacles and thus could not measure the success of the performance
nor grasp its goals, probably assumed that Anicius aimed to copy Paullus
8 See especially 4.2021, a digression on the civilizing influence of music and dance upon
the Arcadians.
anicius vortit barbare 347
9 Goldberg (1995) 39: [i]t was certainly not a Greek show, which is why it offended
Polybius, who came to it with inappropriate expectations. It was a Roman show fashioned
from Greek elements, and that is the key to its significance.
10 Gnther (2002) 125, apparently unaware of Edmondsons study, dismisses comparison
like the scurrilous verses in the triumphal parade, partially serves to avert divine wrath from the
triumphator. Polybius refusal to describe the performance of the tragic actors is particularly
frustrating, for we cannot know if anything therein spoofed Pacuvius Paullus, likely staged
subsequent to Paullus triumph.
348 george fredric franko
((1999) 84). What if his goal was to respond to Paullus by rendering a farcical,
even Plautine, barbarization of Greek culture?12
If tragedy framed Paullus triumph, comedy shaped Anicius. Livy (45.43.8)
pointedly records that Anicius soldiers were especially jocular and celebrated
their commander with an abundance of scurrilous triumphal verses (laetior
hunc triumphum est secutus miles, multisque dux ipse carminibus celebratus).
more significantly, Anicius may have exploited the Roman calendar by
presenting his games on the Quirinalia, producing a ludic celebration
appropriate to the Feast of Fools. Livy records that Anicius triumph fell
on the Quirinalia, a festival for Quirinus. But that same date is also the Feast
of Fools (stultorum feriae) based upon its association with the Fornacalia,
a festival in honor of Fornax, the goddess of ovens. The yoking of the two
festivals is explicit in Festus and Plutarch,13 and Ovid mischievously links
them to jab at those who accept the traditional deification of Romulus.14
Athenaeus does not make clear whether Anicius victory games were part
of his triumph, and Livys report of the triumph makes no mention of ludi.
But since Athenaeus does call the games epinikioi, which typically denotes
triumphales, it remains possible that Anicius games did fall upon the Feast
of Fools.15 Such a synchronicity insinuates that Anicius arranged a triumphal
entertainment appropriate to the calendar: a feast of defeated Greeks acting
like fools at the behest of the Roman imperator.
The staging of scenic entertainment thematically appropriate to the
occasion finds suggestive parallels. Shakespeare offers the clearest and
most illuminating one, for in 1594 The Comedy of Errors (based on Plautus
Menaechmi) premiered on December 28, Holy Innocents Day, a Feast of
Fools. The success of the play thereafter linked confusion and errors with
Holy Innocents Day, as declared by the contemporary account of the Gesta
12 Gnther (2002) 127, focusing on textual analysis of Athenaeus and Polybius, rejects the
interpretation of Anicius ludi as parody. Her study does not, however, interpret the show in
light of ludi scaenici.
13 Festus identifies the two festivals: stultorum feriae appellabantur Quirinalia (304L, 418 L).
Plutarchs Roman Question #89 (Why do they call the Quirinalia the Feast of Fools?) suggests
that the Fools were those who did not celebrate the Fornacalia with the rest of their Curia,
perhaps because they did not know to which Curia they belonged.
14 Thus Robinson (2003 and 2011) on Fasti 2.475532.
15 Walbank (1979) 446 concludes that Anicius games were probably the result of a votum,
and quite distinct from his triumph; contra Edmondson, who believes that they could have
been part of the triumph ((1999) 92 n. 48, n. 49). Tacitus (14.21) somewhat confusing discussion
of theatrical spectacles mentions Mummius triumph in 145bce, thus implying that a triumph
could include spectacles on stage, if not actual plays.
anicius vortit barbare 349
16 [A]nd after such Sports, a Comedy of Errors (like to Plautus his Menechmus) was played
by the Players. So that Night was begun, and continued to the end, in nothing but Confusion
and Errors; whereupon, it was ever afterwards called, The Night of Errors. Kinney (1988)
elucidates the connections between the plays themes and its occasion.
17 Although Hassel (1979) overstates the correspondences of plays and the liturgical
calendar, some plays clearly were chosen for staging on relevant feast days.
18 Zorzetti (1980) argues for the Republican praetextae as timely celebrations of imperium;
Flower (1995) suggests votive games rather than triumphs as their context. Wiseman (1998)
probes connections among drama, history, and occasion.
19 Versnel (1970) 5693 and Beard (2007) 219256 investigate the ambiguous and liminal
state of the general during his triumph. Beards rigorous criticism of individual elements
recalling divinity (the imperators costume and painted face, the route to the temple of Jupiter
Optimus Maximus, the slave reminding him of mortality, etc.) does not destroy the core idea
that the general was superhuman for that day.
350 george fredric franko
exalted status, for scurrility pervaded the triumph, most notably in the ribald
verses mocking the conqueror. Such debasement carries a whiff of jocular
social inversion, of Saturnalia. Indeed, M. Fulvius Nobiliors choice to cele-
brate both his ovation in 191 bce and his triumph in 186 during Saturnalia
documents a readiness to exploit the thematic overlap of the two rituals.
Similarly, Plautus Amphitruo provides a nearly contemporary Roman medi-
tation on the ambiguities and lampoonery of the triumph. The play abounds
with triumphal imagery and clearly portrays Amphitryon as a triumphant
imperator returning home. In a remarkable set of Saturnalian inversions,
Plautus shows us a lowly actor portraying almighty Jupiter, who imperson-
ates a triumphant general to make carnal conquest of the generals wife.20
This plays unusual mythological theme, with a cast of gods and royalty sur-
rounding the birth of Hercules, portends something far more elevated than
typical Plautine fare. However, ridiculous farce subverts the potentially seri-
ous or tragic elements of the story. The result perforates generic boundaries
to create, in Mercurys words, a tragicomoedia (59, 63), a genre befitting both
the story of the birth of demigod Hercules and the ambiguities of a Roman
triumph.21
Even if we sever a connection between Anicius games and his triumph
on the Quirinalia, the ludic context of votive games still suggests that the
shows progress was scripted rather than improvised. To Edmondson (1999)
84, the spectators became dissatisfied with the sophisticated, sedate Greek
style entertainment, and as they made their displeasure known, Anicius
bent to their will. But Polybius account credits Anicius with the initiative
and nowhere alludes to the audiences dissatisfaction. Deviation from the
norms of Greek performance did not begin with the intervention of the
lictor in the middle of the first act; rather, pre-show configurations suggest
that the imperator directed events from their inception. The huge size of
the stage merited mention, and perhaps it was designed to accommodate
an extraordinary number of artists performing simultaneous shenanigans.
The presence of trumpeters and buglers waiting in the wingsRoman
20 Beard (2007) 253256; cf. ONeill (2003) 20: the play is, in some sense, functioning as
an extended triumph song. We do not know if Amphitruo was staged as part of a triumphal
celebration or votive games, though ONeill (1820) connects it with M. Fulvius Nobilior.
Richlin (1992) 10 links the spirit of obscenity and inversion in the scenic ludi Florales, triumphs,
and Saturnalia.
21 Aspects of Saturnalia and mythological travesty in Amphitruo could remind us of satyr
drama (ONeill (2003) 20). Rehm (2007) 195 provocatively connects satyr plays and the palliatas
Saturnalian spirit: Rather than satyrs, the Romans used the image of the Greeks when putting
their reversed world on stage.
anicius vortit barbare 351
22 Edmondsons (1999) 83 plausible suggestion that four players were needed to amplify
the sound for the large venue accounts for their initial deployment but not their subsequent
performance as separate, competing entities.
23 On Polybius and such dances, see Ceccarelli (1998) 17, 222. Alternatively, Goldberg (1995)
39 suggests that the performers movement in lines recalls Roman dancing practice.
24 The power of general as impresario underlies the work of director Bryan Doerries The
Theater of War, which explores the plays of Sophocles (strategos and tragedian) as rituals of
communal therapy for his audience of veterans.
352 george fredric franko
The impresario stands outside the world of the play; he is not a character.
Yet within the world of the play, or at least in Plautus plays, we find his
persona in the clever slave. The clever slavea star part likely played by the
impresario himselfself-consciously and metatheatrically appropriates the
roles of both impresario and imperator. These are, perhaps, the two most
pervasive analogies for the Plautine servus callidus. As impresario, he is at
times the playwright, director, or manager scripting the action and directing
the movements of his troop of helpers (N.W. Slater (1985) 1213). Characters
frequently describe the progress of his scripted or improvised deceptions
with military terminology appropriate to the imperator. His attempts to
bamboozle an opponent, be it father, pimp, or miles gloriosus, become an
assault, a siege, an epic battle.25 Most famously, Chrysalus lyrical song in
Bacchides likens his machinations to a second storming of Troy (925978).
He casts his victory as a Roman triumph (971) but disdains celebrating one
as too common (10681075). Plautus need not refer in any play to a particular
triumph or set of triumphs because Roman concerns about triumphs and
booty are perennial and pervasive.26
The clever slaves successful appropriation of military terminology and
tactics gains poignancy by juxtaposition to the figure whose military training
fails him: the miles gloriosus. Plautus frequently links the two stock characters
in comic symbiosis.27 Miles Gloriosus, in which the crafty slave Palaestrio
outwits the braggart Pyrgopolynices, best exemplifies the technique. The
braggart soldiers conquests resonate with contemporary Roman overseas
expansion, and comical lists of defeated opponents (e.g. Curculio 442448)
no doubt struck a chord in an era of contested triumphal celebrations over
exotic tribes and kingdoms, when a speaker such as Cato could accuse a
commander of defeating phantom opponents to secure a triumph.28 Anicius
faced a difficult challenge in legitimating his triumphal celebration, for it
was the third within a three-month span, following those of Paullus and
Octavius. Moreover, his victory was so quick that, as Livy observed (44.32.5),
25 Fraenkel (2007) 159165 gives the essentials, which appear to hold true for other authors
of the palliata but not for Greek New Comedy. MacCary (1968) gives fuller lists of military
images.
26 Gruen (1990) 129140. Fontaine (2010) 126 encapsulates the ambiguity of the clever slaves
servus (or in Curculio, a parasitus) callidus. Truculentus offers instead a meretrix callida.
28 Cato: de falsis pugnis (190 bce); Hanson (1965) 61; Goldberg (2007) 133: Almost every
prominent Roman of the day was a potential gloriosus. Paullus claim to a triumph met
opposition due to political wrangling rather than a lack of merit.
anicius vortit barbare 353
uniquely, this war was completed before it was announced at Rome that it
was commenced. This sounds potentially like a sham triumph. In essence,
Anicius avoided identification with a miles gloriosus, the agelast boasting of
inflated exploits, by presenting a show that implicitly assimilated him to a
servus callidus, the comic hero.
Triumphs, votive games, and theatrical performances of the middle
republic manifest a competitive spirit, as the goal of such spectacles is not
simply to imitate, but to outdo (Flower 2004; Edmondson 1999; Bell (2004)
138150). If Anicius, ex-praetor of an undistinguished family, could have
little hope of surpassing the lavish spectacles of the noble, Philhellenic, ex-
consul Paullus, he still could do to Paullus what Plautus and his peers did
to their Greek models. The goal of Plautine-style palliata is not to replicate
the style and substance of Greek New Comedy but to twist it to serve Roman
tastes. Plautus himself describes his process of adaptation: Plautus vortit
barbare, Plautus barbarizes it (Trinummus 19). He does not simply translate
his originals into Latin, he perverts them; the transformation is not Latine but
barbare, barbarous. The derogatory cultural implications of barbare become
a badge of honor celebrating the destruction of the naturalism and orderly
presentation of Greek originals. We now possess enough of Menander to
identify with confidence the pervasive dramaturgic changes rung by Plautus
and his peers. They excise choral interludes to present plays with continuous
action rather than measured progress over five acts. They change meters
and introduce polymetric song to make their productions more operatic
and less naturalistic. Their plots privilege the farcical and indeterminate
over the naturalistic and conclusive. Characterization becomes caricature, as
derived from stock types of the Atellan farces. Metatheatrical references call
attention to and spoof the dramatic conventions inherited from the Greeks.
Plautus sums up the competitive relationship between Roman adaptors and
Greek originators in Mostellaria 11491151: si amicus Diphilo aut Philemoni es
dicito eis, quo pacto tuos te servos ludificaverit; optumas frustrationes dederis
in comoediis (If youre a friend of Diphilus or Philemon, tell them how your
slave de-luded you. Youve supplied the best deception scenes in comedies).
Roman New Comedy combats the Anxiety of Influence by thumbing its
nose at its Greek cultural paternity. Greek modes do not provide standards for
emulation but raw material for Roman fun because the goal is not imitation
and competition for a Greek audience, but triumphing through subversion
and reconfiguration for a Roman audience.
Highbrow critics who see the goal of the palliata as imitation rather than
subversion have sometimes misunderstood the process of Plautine adap-
tation. In the twentieth century, the most notorious example is Norwood,
354 george fredric franko
who assails Plautus as the worst of all writers who have ever won permanent
repute, claiming that he wrote plays like a blacksmith mending a watch
((1932) 4, 1). Norwood, imprisoned by a viewpoint that esteems naturalism
in dramatic art, could not see that Plautine comedy self-consciously draws
attention to its theatrical heritage and thereby ridicules conventions. Nor-
wood has ancient ancestors. Aulus Gellius, comparing passages of Menander
with his Roman adaptor Caecilius Statius (3.23), judges the Roman playwright
grossly inferior. Gellius condemns Caecilius for sloppiness and proffering
mangled bits of Menander stitched together with the language of tragic
bombast. While Menander appears brilliant and appropriate and witty
simple and naturalistic and delightful, Caecilius chooses to play the fool,
ignoring naturalism in characterization to drag in god-knows-what kind of
farcical stuff. Such complaints about farce, tragic bombast, slapstick, and
generic violations sound familiar: the negative evaluations of Norwood and
Gellius about Plautus and Caecilius echo Polybius criticism of Anicius show.
The highbrow judgments of Greeks and Hellenophiles favor purer Hellenic
originals over the salty Roman adaptations that mock them.
As we understand and adjust for the perspectives of Norwood and Gellius,
so, too, we must understand and adjust for Polybius particular gaze. Perhaps
the most unpalatable aspect of Anicius games for Polybius is the gleeful
destruction of established temporal, generic, and spatial boundaries. Obvi-
ously, the performances of dancers and boxers and buglers should be separate
and sequential rather than mixed. Dancers should not duke it out with musi-
cians nor occupy the stage alongside prizefighters. Anicius show dissolves
boundaries of the performance space in a way that recalls (or derives from)
Italian rather than Greek New Comedy. Permanent Hellenistic Greek the-
aters clearly divide the stage for actors, orchestra for choruses, and seating for
spectators. The chorus in Greek New Comedy serves a dual function of estab-
lishing boundaries both within the play and the theater: their four dances
demarcate five distinct acts and their occupation of the orchestra separates
actors on stage from spectators in seats (N.W. Slater (1987) 45). Roman New
Comedy eliminates the chorus, interludes, five-act structure, and orchestral
space. When Anicius dancers sally forth from the orchestra to storm the
stage occupied by aulos-players, we behold a simulacrum of how the palliata
reconfigures performance space by evacuating the orchestra. The immediate
proximity of actors and spectators in the cramped temporary playing spaces
of the palliata allows actorsespecially in Plautusdirect engagement with
the spectators verbally and probably physically throughout the plays (Gold-
berg 1998; Moore 1998; N.W. Slater (1987) 68). Likewise, the intrusion of
Anicius lictor, a Roman authority figure foreign to the Greek milieu of the
anicius vortit barbare 355
performance, recalls the intrusion of the Choragus into the middle of Curculio.
The Choragus stops the play and collapses spatial and temporal boundaries
by giving the audience a tour of the Roman Forum utterly incongruent with
the fictive world of Epidaurus. Such blurring or abolition of the theaters
spatial boundaries among performers, musicians, and audience appealed
to the Roman aesthetic. Jory (1986) 149 draws attention to a much later
anecdote in Lucian (De saltatione 8384), wherein a pantomime portraying
Ajax gone mad dashed across the stage, took the flute from an accompanist,
and smashed Odysseus over the head. Lucian reports that: The whole theater
went mad with Ajax, leaping and shouting and flinging up their garments, for
the riff-raff and the totally ignorant took no thought for propriety and, unable
to distinguish what was good from what was bad, thought that this sort of
display was the pinnacle of mimicry of the emotion of madness. Lucians
assessment blames ignorance for the audiences approval. But more likely that
approval comes from the audiences endorsement of ignoring or transcending
familiar boundaries, of going all-in contrary to conventions of mimesis.
Romans exhibit a preference for exuberant, frame-breaking spontaneity over
precise execution of scripted performance.29
Spontaneity can, of course, be an illusion. Plautus is a master of scripted
spectacle masquerading as improvised chaos.30 While the actors work from
scripts rather than improvise, the characters they portray, especially the
clever slaves, appear to be making it up as they go. This brings us back to Ani-
cius lictor. Polybius, not an experienced spectator of Roman entertainments,
claims that the performers were puzzled by the lictor and then dismisses
their rowdy response with a slap at their stereotyped moral laxity. He assumes
that the lictors intervention was spontaneous rather than prearranged, and
that the apparent confusion of the performers was itself not part of the show
scripted by the imperator. Such an assumption fails to grasp the distinction
between truly improvised programs and rehearsed programs that replicate
improvisation.
The concluding scenes of seemingly spontaneous festive dancing in
Menander and Plautus help elucidate the Plautine aesthetics of Anicius
29 Perhaps Massingers The Roman Actor (1626) best grasps and interprets the Roman
fascination with shredding the boundaries of mimesis. Anicius show violently and metathe-
atrically breaks the walls of genre and decorum not unlike the conclusion of Mel Brooks
Blazing Saddles (1974), where the cowboys burst through a studio wall and begin punching
members of a dance chorus.
30 Barsby (1995) 70: Though Pseudolus itself is not an improvised play, it is specifically
written so that it shall appear to be. Cf. Marshall (2006) 245279; N.W. Slater (1985).
356 george fredric franko
show. Menanders Dyskolos closes with two slaves browbeating the misan-
thrope Knemon into joining them in a dance as a wedding occurs offstage.
Although one may focus on the scenes cruelty in torturing the injured
Knemon, the episode also fulfills a socializing function, for the physical
linking of bodies serves to rehabilitate the curmudgeon and integrate him
into his new family connections. Quite likely, the dance represents a group
or chain dance of the sort performed by women at a wedding (OBryhim,
2001). While a laughable element of transgressive sexuality underlies the
slaves jests (892, 945) and the sight of three men performing the dance of
women, the scene is not gratuitously cinaedic. Now that Knemons misan-
thropy has been defeated, the scene celebrates a new social cohesion enacted
through the performance of structured dance steps. In contrast, Plautine
scripts direct their performers to commence what appears to be abandon-
ment of a coherent script in favor of impromptu revelry. The conclusion of
Plautus Stichus, a play based on a script of Menander, demonstrates how
Plautus vortit barbare. To celebrate a happy homecoming and reunion of
married couples, Stichus declares they should behave like Athenians (670), a
Plautine code for Greeking-it-up with a party.31 Stichus and Sangarinus inter-
rupt their heavy drinking to invite the piper to imbibe (754765), thereby
dissolving the boundary between the stage and the wings, as well as the
worlds of the play and the theater.32 When the sated piper resumes playing,
the slaves commence competitive Ionian and cinaedic dancing (qui Ionicus
aut cinaedicust, qui hoc tale facere possiet? 769). The revelry is an end in itself
without thematic ties to the earlier action; plot and characterization yield
to seemingly improvised and unbridled physical display. This party almost
certainly was not the conclusion to the Menandrean original (Lowe (1995)
2829). The scene is thoroughly Plautine, as indicated by its similarity to
the conclusions of Pseudolus and Persa. In Persa, Toxilus declares a formal
triumph in Roman military language (753757) and celebrates with Paeg-
nium and Sagaristio through a mixture of competitive cinaedic dancing and
punching the pimp (Benz 2001). Such cinaedic dancing served in Plautus to
represent the epitome of the Saturnalian: the removal of everyday mores that
31 Cf. pergraecari (Mostellaria 64, Poenulus 603) and congraecare (Bacchides 743).
32 The command for the piper to stop playing in Dyskolos differs significantly because it
does not break the frame, for the party at Pans shrine effectively excuses and incorporates
Menanders piper into the naturalistic realm of the play (Gomme and Sandbach (1973) 266
267). The effect is akin to music in a film coming from a jukebox onscreen rather than an
overdubbed soundtrack.
anicius vortit barbare 357
33 Moore (2012) 110; cf. Habinek (2005) 177193. Given that the lewdness of Ionian dancing
included hiking up ones clothes to expose oneself (Lawler (1943) 6768; Pseudolus 12741278),
we might wonder about Anicius dancer lifting his robe to box the aulos-player. Did the crowd
cheer merely his pugilistic stance or that he also flashed his genitalia at the piper?
34 Lowe (1995) 31: Actors unencumbered by a permanent skene would find it much easier
to stage indoor scenes than dramatists writing for the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens in the
fourth and third centuries bc it is likely that on an improvised stage the distinction between
inside and outside would at least be blurred.
358 george fredric franko
35 Wright (1974) remains fundamental for establishing the genres normative style and
Terences renovations. Karakasis (2005) linguistic analysis confirms and refines Wrights
broader generalizations.
36 Typical is Segal (2001) 242246.
37 Gilula (1981), Sandbach (1982), and Parker (1996) lay to rest the misconception that
about the performance made those Romans laugh, and what might that
laughter reveal? Since we have no comprehensive and insightful scholarly
treatment of Roman laughter akin to Halliwells (2008) Greek Laughter, we
must fall back to the general, ahistorical theories for the nature of laughter
advanced by philosophers and psychologists.38 Two of the theories that best
illuminate the positive reception of Anicius spectacle are incongruity and
superiority. The incongruity theory, focusing upon cognitive response, sees
laughter as a reaction to an incongruity between a viewers (or listeners)
preconceptions and real objects (Morreall (1987) 6, 5455). Dancers are
not supposed to box, and prizefighters are not supposed to share the
stage with musicians. Anicius games foil expectations and thereby elicit
laughter. Interpretation through the incongruity theory entails that the
Roman audience understood the norms of the genre and performance, and
their clapping, rather than hissing and hooting, signals their approval of the
transgression. Put another way, the Roman spectators knew the difference
between a concert and a prizefight, and the incongruous conflation amused
them.
The superiority theory perhaps offers us greater insight into the audiences
approval of Anicius games. A spectators sense of superiority has been
identified as a prime motivator for laughter since Plato and Aristotle, with
perhaps the theorys most famous expression given by Thomas Hobbes:
Laughter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden
conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity
of others, or with our own formerly (apud Morreall (1987) 20). An audiences
sense of superiority provides a social frame conducive to derisive laughter.
Clearly Anicius games catered to this sense of superiority because the crowd
was celebrating a Roman triumph over inferior Greeklings.39 The finest
performers in Greece, at the command of the imperator, engaged in degrading
behavior. Indubitably a similar show by Roman performers would also have
produced laughter and applause; however, the chauvinistic and xenophobic
elements amplified the positive reception. Anicius produced a kind of ethnic
humor, not unlike Plautine quips that silly characters are Greeking it up
(pergraecari, congraecare). Anicius show, like Plautus, reads almost as an
38 Lowe (2008) 117 offers a brief useful survey of approaches and their application to
ancient comedy; primary sources in Morreall (1987). Segal (1987) remains fundamental on the
Saturnalian, carnivalesque nature of Plautine comedy.
39 Cf. Gruen (1992) 218: By turning it into a fiasco and inviting a Roman audience to egg
on the entertainers in activities that discredited their talents, he braced the spectators sense
of their own cultural superiority.
360 george fredric franko
Richard Beacham
By the period of the late Republic / early Principate, the typical Pompeian
town house was divided into two distinct and, to a significant extent,
functionally separate realms. The first consisted of the entrance areas (fauces
and/or vestibulum), leading on to the atrium, tablinum and adjacent rooms.
Often the tablinum itself was framed by two smaller recessive flanking areas,
which Vitruvius designates as the alae.2 Structurally set apart from this
ensemble was a second area to the rear of the house with rooms opening off
of one or more peristyles. Within these two primary areas, further spatial
distinctions were possible. A defining feature of each area was the formalised
disposition of public and private spaces around a large central space in a
manner that reflected and conditioned the social rituals that occurred within
them, while allowing a significant degree of flexibility in the social use of the
house.
The demarcation between sections associated with the atrium and those
with the peristyle became a symbolic threshold, a place of transition, between
public and private, non-privileged and privileged, Roman and foreign:
the introduction of the peristyle alongside the traditional atrium allows
a constant play between the traditional and the exotic that acts as a powerful
tool for social differentiation and control (Wallace-Hadrill (1997) 240).
Through the design, dcor and disposition of space in their houses, elite
Romans not only could signal their active participation in attaining the
refinements and cultural benefits offered by Hellenic example; they also gave
visible and tangible expression to their status within the highly competi-
tive world of Roman upper-class society. Vitruvius (6.5.15) describes the
architectural features as an index to the social status of the owner. Thus,
for those of modest rank, only basic domestic elements were appropriate;
others, such as bankers, should command something a bit larger and osten-
tatious (speciosiora), while lawyers and orators required more elegant and
spacious accommodation for the reception of audiences. At the apex of
the social/architectural hierarchy, the houses of the most important and
respected owners evoked the grandeur of public architecture (magnificentia
operum publicorum), of which theatres were amongst the grandest and most
public. By imitating the architecture and dcor of grandiose and impressive
theatres, basilicas, libraries, and picture galleries, and encoding these sym-
bolically into their imposing vestibules, atria and peristyles, elite Romans
displayed wealth, luxury and the dignitas appropriate to their station in
society.
But the ultimate effect of incorporating such elements into the domestic
environment was not merely to symbolise visually through static signs
the householders public persona and status. They communicated deeper
and more subtler messages as well. We cannot distinguish between the
architectural and visual world of the Roman educated elite on the one hand,
and their mental and rhetorical world on the other.3 In providing virtual
stage settings derived from public analogues, houses and dcor enabled the
owners to engage in flattering fictions and encourage guests and visitors to
become willing and complicit spectators within a discourse of theatricalism,
observing patrons within these derivative and allusive spaces, and perceiving
3 Elsner (1995) 77. Elsner discusses in this context the ancient practice of mnemonics.
Within the field of rhetorical training Roman orators and writers had developed a theory and
technique for creating imagined spaces as an aid to memory. This involved conceiving an
internal choreography within the minds eye, through which the speaker visualised himself
moving through an architectural environment, each section of which contained a symbolic,
frequently spectacular or emotionally evocative, prop, to trigger memory of the desired
verbal sequence and argument within his speech. The images through which the speech (or
other body of extensive information) was to be remembered were placed by the imagination
within the particular locations of the notional building which the speaker had installed in his
imagination. See Quintilian, Inst. Orat. 11.2.1826; Cicero, De Orat., 2.86, 2.351360; Rhetorica Ad
Herennium, 3.1624. Elsner notes in connection with mnemonics, if in the Roman house, the
layout served regularly as the means for ordering and memorising speeches, then equally
the order and structure of these very houses are the three-dimensional embodiment of the
process of structuring thought Romans thought by means of their housestheir visual and
architectural environment.
otium, opulentia and opsis 363
gardens.
5 These and the entire range and context of theatrical expression and influence are the
subject of Beacham and Denard, Living Theatre: Roman Theatricalism in the Domestic Sphere
(Yale UP, in press).
364 richard beacham
Roman houses used illusionistic wall paintings, dcor, and the configuration
of the rooms in which these figured, to transform their bare architecture
into dizzying arrays of fictional space and encourage visitors and inhabitants
imaginatively to respond to the make-believe qualities of the ambience.
Domestic viewers reactions to the exuberant fictionalisation of the house
was in turn influenced by their familiarity with the whole range of cultural
forms and practices that had appropriated aspects of theatricalism, as well
as with the theatre itself.
Domestic dcor frequentlyand particularly through paintingdepicted
explicitly theatrical elements, such as stage architecture, costumes, masks,
scenery, and actors.6 Even when these were shown in a less accurate,
more fanciful manner, such paintings set forth to the viewer the vision
the possible worldthat an actual theatrical event precipitated in the
minds eye of the theatre-goer. This persistent evocation of the referents
of theatrical performance was itself a performance of sorts within the all-
pervasive theatricalism of Roman culture.
Valerius Maximus (5.4.ext. 1) noted the theatricalising power of images
when combined with verbal exposition (of the type a domestic visitor
was likely to have encountered on a tour of the house). In the case of a
mythological picture (ubiquitous on Roman walls), mens eyes are stunned
and stare when they see the painted image of this deed, recreating by their
astonishment at the spectacle before them the circumstances of that ancient
event, believing that in those silent painted limbs they see living, breathing
bodies. That must also be the effect on the mind when it is encouraged to
think of things long past as if they were at hand by more powerful verbal
images.7 It seems likely that frequently visitors primary previous visual and
verbal experience of the mythic subject matter of the paintings was through
its depiction and enactment in the theatre, and such spectators would draw
upon a theatricalised understanding of the scene to animate and render it
imaginatively more immediate.
6 Although beyond the scope of my topic here, I have written extensively on the depiction
(often stylised) of Roman stage sets in fresco compositions, and have produced ancient drama
upon stages (including a production at the Getty Roman Villa in Malibu, reconstituted from
such evidence http://www.didaskalia.net/issues/vol2no3/beacham.html). See Beacham (1991)
6985; 169182; (1999) 28; and the full treatment in (forthcoming, Yale), Living Theatre: Roman
Theatricalism in the Domestic Sphere. See too Kings Visualisation Labs major project: http://
www.skenographia.cch.kcl.ac.uk/.
7 Translations of classical authors are my own unless otherwise indicated.
otium, opulentia and opsis 365
Figure 1. Villa of Oplontis, Room 14. (Blazeby for Kings Visualisation Lab)
The Street
Along the streets of Pompeii and Herculaneum very grand houses stood
side by side with humble dwellings and shops. Possibly ancient owners
located sumptuous dwellings amidst less imposing structures precisely to
render them notable by contrast with their surroundings. Although there
was little external indication of the type of dcor or display found within, the
doors opening from the street (normally left open during the day), provided
those passing or lingering outside, or about to enter the house, impressive
glimpses of its interior, usually along an actualor not infrequently a visually
contrivedcentral axis.8 In conjunction with the views beyond them, the
doors thus created an effect like a theatrical scene of disclosure, deriving its
expressive power from a sequence of withholding, partly revealing and then
releasing its visual content to the visitor. In a few cases, most notably the
house of Epidius Sabinus (9.1.20)9 with its prominent podium running across
the entire front faade of the house, the effect was enhanced by raising the
doorway above the level of the street and sidewalk.
Roman theatre displayed a variety of scenic devices that could both
conceal and then reveal scenery. However, and more fundamentally, the
conditions that the visitor/spectators encountered, both in the theatre and
in the Roman house, can be understood and compared by drawing upon
the concept of ecological space.10 This is an interpretation of visualisation
as determined by our habitation, as embodied creatures, within a physical
and stable environment. We do not generally perceive or locate ourselves
either visually or psychologically within an unstructured, open, and infinitely
8 See Franklin (1980) 9294. On open doors, Tacitus, Ann. 2.83; Wallace-Hadrill (1994) 5;
Flower (1996) 188. See Kellum (1999) on theatrical aspects of the Roman street.
9 I use the standard system for locating houses at Pompeii. The first number indicates the
region; the second the insula; the third the actual building. There are comprehensive maps of
Pompeii based on this system in Van der Poel (1984).
10 Developed by cognitive psychologist James Gibson. See Gibson (1979). For embodiment
11 Elsner (1995) 6667. Elsner discusses (op. cit. 61; 6667), the nature of inside and
outside in the configuration of the Roman house, and the depictions of architectural space
upon its walls.
12 Bek (1980) 180, describes the symmetrical framing of views as a succession of planes
The Vestibulum/Fauces
The prominence of doors for the unfolding of the plot in Roman dramas
has been emphasised first by the characters themselves and subsequently
by scholars analysing their mise-en-scne. Indeed, in a number of surviving
texts, the doors almost take on the role of a character.13 The entrance to the
actual Roman house was normally attended by a doorkeeper, the ianitor
(or ostiarius), whose role might be thought of as analogous to that of the
prologue/induction figure encountered in theatrical performance. Often he
explicitly juxtaposes the world of the play with the world from which the
spectators have come, to fashion from concurrent but incompatible realities
a conjunction of opposites (which is renewed and reinforced from time to
time in the course of the play), essential to the concept of theatricalism.14
The domestic figure too was neither inside nor outside the fictive space,
but bestrode both while accompanying the visitor as s/he moved from one
realm of experience and perception into another. Just as the spectator, once
s/he left the external world to enter the ludic space of the theatre, underwent
a process of induction in both time and space, passing along corridors
and stairways before being delivered by the vomitorium into the radically
different spatial and visual ambience of the theatrical realm, so too the
visitor coming into the Roman house passed through an analogous process
before entering into the atrium and the areas extending beyond it comprising
the sphere of its patron.15 Some households employed a nomenclator who
(vestibula) made dangerous by the huge throng; there you stand not only on a precipice, but
on slippery ground. (Epist. Mor. 84.12).
16 Seneca describes the role of the nomenclator, De Ben. 6.33.4.
17 The ancient sources indicate the ambiguous nature of the terms. Apart from its use by
Vitruvius, fauces does not appear to have been employed as a term to describe the passageway
leading from the door to the atrium. Both vestibulum and fauces are discussed extensively in
Leach (1993), (1997) 5355, and (2004) 2324; 29.
18 Kellum (1999) 284. She cites ancient references to the significance of thresholds,
including Ovid Trist. 1.3.55; Juvenal 1.96; and the article by Ogle (1911) 251271. See too on
the subject of liminal rites-of-passage Turner (1969) and van Gennep (1960).
19 After being greeted by Trimalchios ostiarius, Encolpius is surprised by a painted guard
dog, and then observes along the fauces pictures depicting both actual and mythologized
events from the patrons life (Sat. 29).
otium, opulentia and opsis 371
The Atrium
Having arrived at, and crossed the threshold into, the atrium, the visitor
becomes more deeply immersed in an architectural and decorative ambience
that invites comparison with the theatre.20 Like the cavea of the Roman
theatre, the atrium (sometimes the rooms around it were called the cavum
aedium,) is a self-contradictory conjunction of polar opposites: external
and internal, public and private; real and fictional. It is partly enclosed
by an architecture that through the grandeur of its materials modulates
and conditions the perception of the spectator, but is also open to the sky.
Like the cavea of the theatre it was sometimes shaded from the sun by vela
(awnings).21
At the centre of the atrium, its perimeter often set off by patterned marble
or mosaic, was the rectangular impluvium filled with water, and frequently
embellished with small statues or a fountain. We know that Pompeiis Large
Theatre from the period of Sulla (80 bc) until ad79 had a series of water
basins (some six in all), of various shapes and sizes, prominently located in
its orchestra. One of these, circular, had a diameter of over seven meters,
another, rectangular, was some six by four meters, with a depth of over one-
and-a-half meters: closely resembling an over-sized impluvium.22 We do not
20 In the House of the Faun (6.12.25), one entered the atrium over a strip of mosaic
depicting two masks of tragedy, with Dionysian drums surrounded by a sumptuous garland of
fruit.
21 Pliny (Nat. Hist. 19.2425) describes the vela used in different contexts, including the
great star spangled awning above Neros amphitheatre, and then notes that red awnings are
used in the inner courts (cavis aedium) of houses and keep the sun off the moss there; but for
other purposes white has remained consistently in favour.
22 Tosi (2003) 165; 168169.
otium, opulentia and opsis 373
know what the function of these was, or whether they were normally covered
over, or left constantly in view. One possibility is that they were for aquatic
displays, another that they served as fountains or as part of devices to spray
cooling scented mist out over the audience. In any case, they existed, theatre
visitors would have been aware of them, and such awareness may further
have contributed to the theatrically inflected perception of the mise-en-scne
of the house, posited here.
A number of explicit examples of the importation of columns from the
theatre directly into aristocratic atria suggests how their deployment helped
to cast the house as a public space which thereby demanded to be compared
to public venues such as theatres.23
At Pompeii and Herculaneum both real columns (as in the enormous
atrium of the House of the Silver Wedding 7.4.216, or the House of Epidius
Sabinus 9.1.20 with sixteen grand Doric tufa columns) as well as painted
images of columnsas I discuss below with regard to the Villa at Oplontis
are frequently displayed in atria. And, analogously, but also as a cultural
referent, the scaenae frons of the theatre was the columned structure par
excellence; there the great multitude of columns along the wall of the faade
filled no architectural purpose save to publicise, dignify, and aggrandize the
space, communicating an impression of power and sumptuousness to the
spectators. In effect their function was to perform.
The atrium, again like the cavea of the theatre, and not just aesthetically
but also functionally, was a place of arrival and departure that could be
very crowded, while it might also be a venue where visitors could linger to
observe the scene and activity unfolding in front of them. A reflection of
this multiplicity of function may be observed in the fact that unlike other
areas within the house with which particular styles and types of painting
tended to be associated, the variety seen within atria suggests there was no
consistent atrium style of decoration (Wallace-Hadrill (1994) 47).24 What
is clear, however, is that in addition to serving as the hub of many and
23 Pliny condemned the growing extravagance of private houses, and specifically cited
as an example of such indulgence the six columns placed by the orator Licinius Crassus in
his atrium in 95 bc (Nat. Hist. 17.6.1; Val. Max. 9.1.4). A scandal arose when Marcus Aemilius
Scaurus recycled into his atrium columns of Melian marble, which he had earlier used to
embellish the temporary stage he constructed as aedile in 58bc; Pliny, Nat. Hist. 36.2.56. The
columns were later recycled again, this time to the Theatre of Marcellus, in an interesting
example of architectural intermediality.
24 Although the decoration of the atrium of the Villa of Oplontis, discussed below, is the
diverse activities taking place within the house, the atrium also played a role
as its ritual, symbolic, and religious centre.25 As the most public location
within the house; that most frequently encountered by visitors; the venue
for performances by both clients and patron where they ratified their
roles through ritual; and the area with the strongest symbolic connections
to the household and its paterfamilias, the atrium was, in addition to its
other attributes, a place dedicated to displaya showcasewhere the
dignity and authority of the household and its owner were made visible and
broadcast to the public.
As Dwyer notes ((1991) 29), In every respect, the atrium house was a
place ideally suited for doing private business. Ideal as a theatre in which the
dominus might be viewed, the atrium along with the tablinum was also an
ideal theatre for the dominus to keep watch over his adherents, his family,
and his possessions.
Its theatrical potential was sometimes evoked by poets for setting dramatic
scenes.26 It was both the central meeting place between the external and
internal world, and also the place where symbolic transitions were staged,
such as weddings, funerals, and the coming-of-age rites of male children.27
After the body of a family member had lain in state upon a dais, when car-
ried forth from the atrium for the public ceremony of the funeral, the space
marked the deceaseds ultimate departure from the family. Other obliga-
tory rituals and sacrifices honouring the ancestors, warding off unfriendly
spirits, or devoted to the shrines of the household protective spirits, the
lares familiares, or to the genius of the Paterfamilias, took place within
it.
The cavea of the theatre was similarly the site of ceremonies devoted not
to private, household concerns and protective spirits, but, analogously, to
those associated with the public and the social community, some of which
might be represented by individual shrines. Both the domestic and the
theatre settings served comparable functions, and both were able to adapt
and draw upon the syntax of theatricalism to represent and achieve these
functions.
25 For an analysis of the various household functions taking place in the atrium, based on
an assessment of the archaeological finds in atria at Pompeii, see Allison (1993) 47. See too
Flower (1996) 199 ff. to which my discussion is indebted.
26 E.g. Ovid Met. 5.24, 153 and 12.215.
27 It was also (for those invited into the interior) literally a transitional space, like the
theatre itself. Cf. Scagliarini (19741976) 1819, 6 etc., who classifies it as such.
376 richard beacham
28 For a discussion see McKay (1975) 3234; Wiseman (1982) 2849. For sportula see also
Marquardt (1886) 207212. For the related gift-giving custom of the sparsio see Nibley (1944
1945).
29 Graefe (1979) 1: 114116 details the literary and pictorial evidence for use of such gift-
dispersing devices in the theatre and amphitheatre. For a reconstruction of the mechanism
of the linea see Killeen (1959). For the sparsio see Nibley (19441945). Seneca likens the
distribution of such gifts suspended above them and the subsequent mad, destructive and
demeaning scramble, to the wanton role of fortune in mens affairs. (Epist. 74.79).
30 In general see appendix Existimatio and Fama in Yavetz (1983) 214227.
otium, opulentia and opsis 377
by Horace as packed (stipata). Again, like the theatre, with its strict
categorisation of spectators, clients entering the atrium were also organised
according to status, and might be permitted to enter singly, in select company,
or as a crowd.31
Finally, as an extension of their visual character, both cavea and atrium
shared the quality of being simultaneously real and fictive; actual social
and hierarchical conventions and activities operated within them, but they
also displayed potent evocations of the past, and expressed a variety of
symbolic associations. In each, performances took place in the presence of
both the living and the dead. Each often had statues and busts of prominent
figures displayed within it; inside atria ancestral masks and insignia of office
were objects of observation as well as veneration by spectators,32 while in
the theatre, honorific inscriptions, trophies and works of art reminded the
audience of past patrons and illustrious leaders. In the house (analogous
to the prominent disposition of statues in the theatre), the masks were
elevatedsometimes framed within individual cupboardsto be visible
over the heads of what was frequently a crowd of spectators.
On one level of course such domestic displays and practices associated
with them might be viewed as straightforwardly commemorative and allu-
sive: they evoked ideas and called to mind cultural memories associated with
past or present individuals. However, it seems likely that such images both
in the house and the theatre, and the imaginative ambience they created,
impacted more strongly upon ancient viewers than simply acting as aids
to memory. From the period of the early Greek philosophers, thinking of
something was conceived within some ancient philosophical discourses as
itself a creative act: to call a thing to mind was to bring it into existence.33
The Roman was accustomed to thinking in metaphorical terms. His mind
was a storehouse of word pictures : faith, victory and generosity are
mere concepts to us. The Roman vividly personified such ideas, their names
invoked for him concrete images (Fears (1981) 845). Representative images
and objects gathered into a particular space had the capacity to change
it, to transform it into a cognitive magnetic field: an aestheticised zone
experienced as simultaneously fictive and real.
31 Horace, Epist. 2.1.60; Seneca: Epist. Mor. 76.12; De Ben. 6.34.15; Cons. Ad Marciam 6.10.1;
In the atrium, the masks and busts were similarly provocative. Sallust wrote
I have often heard that Quintus Maximus, Publius Scipio and other illustrious
citizens of our state, used to say that the sight of their ancestors portrait
masks fired their hears with an ardent desire to merit honour. Obviously they
did not mean that the actual mould of wax had such power over them, but
that the memory of what others have accomplished kindles in the breasts
of noble men a flame that is not quenched until their own prowess has won
similar glory and renown (Jugurtha 4, trans. S. Handford 1963).
Pliny the Elder noted that in his day portrait masks in atria were being
displaced by statues and busts, sometimes including honorary statues of
patrons placed there by clients. (Nat. Hist. 4.17.5). Earlier it was different.
Outside and around the entrance there were other pictures of great ancestors
and here were attached spoils taken from defeated enemies, which not even a
purchaser of the house was permitted to remove. Thus the houses celebrated
a perpetual triumph even though the owners changed. (Nat. Hist. 35.6
7).34
The custom of displaying in perpetuity military spoils and associated
ornaments both outside the house and in its vestibule and atrium was a
uniquely Roman practice.35 Patrons of theatre buildings enjoyed similarly
lasting honour. During the early imperial period (influenced perhaps by
Pompeys suggestive example) it became customary to display in theatres
statues of members of the imperial family alongside gods and goddesses,
the Muses, victorious generals and the like. Sometimes, in addition, painted
panels depicting the Emperor and his family were set up against the stage
building, to enable them, as it were, to enjoy watching the performances
(and the audience), while the audience in turn contemplated and revered
their painted representations.36 Thus, in effect a dynamic two-directional
process of spectatorship was effected; the audience were onlookers, but
also themselves actors, under the gaze both of the statues of their political
masters and their flesh and blood surrogates, the elite politicians and
34 triumphabatque etiam dominis mutatis aeternae domus. In the case of Pompey the
Greats rostrata domus, decorated with the prows of captured warships, the house was taken
over by Mark Antony and eventually inherited by the Emperor Gordian, when it still held
these ancient ornaments (Capitolin. Gord. 3). For other ancient references to the practice see
Welch (2006) 110 with n. 41.
35 See Welch (2006) 110112.
36 Klar (2006) discusses the use of the theatre and in particular its stage faade to display
37 Cicero noted, for example, that the family of Brutus had before them every day to
inspire their actions in freeing our country the mask of Lucius Brutus, their illustrious
ancestor (Phil. 2.26). He referred to an opposing advocate having to live up to and respond to
the mask of his father (Pro. Planc. 51). He advised an associate to pick masks for display in his
atrium which reflected his own moral values (In Pis. 1). He noted how ancestors could rebuke
a person who did not live up to their example (Phil. 2.105). He observed how a successful
defendant might return home, don festive garb, and open and decorate his ancestral masks, to
complement and in effect take part in the celebration (Pro Sulla 88). A defendant who lost, by
contrast, would return to face the mourning image of his father (Pro Mur., 88). See too Pliny
Epist. 5.17.6.
38 As for example in Appians description of Caesars funeral (Civil Wars 2.147.612).
39 Polybius, 6.53.61, using the word thama to denote a visual display; Diodorus, 31.25.2.;
Suetonius, Vesp.,19.2. At Caesars funeral, Suetonius (Div. Jul. 84.4) reports, the actors wore the
robes they used in triumphal processions: another example of intermedial theatricalism.
otium, opulentia and opsis 381
atrium, and subsequently outside publicly in the town, the dead were enacted
back into life again, in a manner which ensured that, thereafter, both the
masks and the atrium itself retained potent theatrical associations.
The structures represented on the west and east walls of the Atrium are char-
acterised by refined detail, colour, and sumptuous ornament. Significantly,
the ranges of columns forming the extreme flanking walls which close the
faades are joined together by reinforcing wooden joistsan indication that
the entire architectural ensemble, although finely crafted, was nevertheless
meant to depict, and be seen to depict, temporary (and probably wooden),
rather than permanent stone architecture. Stone columns would not be
linked by lateral wooden bars to provide structural strength and stability.
The setting virtually broadcasts its message: the noble refinement, wealth,
and importance of the household for which it provides a magnificent
382 richard beacham
entrance and focal point. But, more than this, the dcor is coordinated and
presented to elicit an active and complicit visual and bodily participation by
the spectator. It thus establishes a theme which has been convincingly shown
to characterise the visually dynamic coordination of space, viewing points,
and the commingling of real and fictive vistas throughout the entire villa
complex.40 The effect is as if an unseen directorial hand were encouraging
the blocking of actors and spectators movement around an elaborate stage
set to ensure that particular effects are achieved and perceived.
In this carefully conceived and exquisitely executed visually opulent realm,
the visitor (conditioned by the real-life theatrical referent evoked by the
painted faades) could simultaneously appreciateand hold in mind
both the impressive material conditions of the villa itself, and its patrons
power to focus attention upon his dignity, culture, and conspicuous taste for
aesthetic elegance by commanding the creation of the spectacular show at
hand. The dcor is a practical illustration of Plutarchs insight that wealth
loses all radiance without an audience (Mor. 528a).
40 Bergmann (2002) 97120. She noted that the villa depended upon the co-ordination of
diverse media, and that the effects of the ways in which these media were co-ordinated have
not been fully explored (p. 90).
otium, opulentia and opsis 383
41 See Bergmann (1991) 65. See also the seminal article by Drerup (1959) and that by King
(1950) 7696. The former writes (p. 150) of Roman visual theory: external things do not lead
their own lives, do not exist in themselves, but rather change as elements in a field of vision
for the observing eye; they become scenery which is pictorially framed by the four sides of the
window.
otium, opulentia and opsis 385
mentioned earlier, a similar visual theory informed the use of painted panels,
flats, and the creation of framed vistas in ancient theatrical scenic practice.
The Tablinum
Usually the tablinum opened directly off the atrium, from which its space
was frequently concealed by a simple curtain or folding doors. It thus
was an important spatial crossroads and visual focal point, controlling
potential access from both sides, from which it was also lit. Normally
in Pompeian houses this room displayed more complex paintings than
the atrium, suggesting an area where, because of the nature of business
conducted there, the eye was encouraged to linger. It provided a highly
dramatic location for displaying the patron. As well as his abode, the domus
was the seat of the patrons business and public life, and the symbolic (and
to some extend practical) focus both of the house, and of his affairs, was the
tablinum, where according to Pliny (Nat. Hist. 35.2.7), records were kept of
family affairs and achievements accomplished in office by the householder.
386 richard beacham
42 Dosi and Schnell (1992) 46. Dwyer (1991) 27 has suggested that in this environment,
the dominus was set off as a static presence on a stage, not unlike the image of a god in his
sanctuary. However, although the comparison to the stage is apt, the patron is far more
likely to have been seen as an active (if performing) agentmoving and addressing and
interacting.
43 Again, this is a moment that might be compared to one in the theatre, when the principal
actor appeared before the audience and The crowded assembly of the theatre with its
contingent of silly women and children is moved by the sound of such a splendid line as
I am present and come from Acheron (Cicero, Disp. Tusc. 1.16.37). But if in part positioned
as an actor, the domestic patron also unquestionably occupied the seat of honour. In the
theatre, this was in the cavea (or as patron of the games in the tribunal), facing the stage.
In the domus, this spatial hierarchy was reversed: the seat of honourthe patrons seat or
couchwas centre-stage in the tablinum. The ambiguity echoes that between oratory and
acting.
otium, opulentia and opsis 387
Figure 13. House of the Silver Wedding (5.2.1). Axial vista from
fauces through the atrium and into the peristyle. (AAR, 27016)
of the ideas and actions that resided, dormant, in the imaginative realm
on the other side of the scenic faade until vocal and physical expression
liberated and projected them into the performance. The spectators only saw,
imaginatively or actually, what they were allowed to see via the persons who
stood facing them from the stage, whose agency in turn was modulated by
the spatial organisation of the venue.
In the theatre, this transaction was conditioned by the use of scenic
elements, and the same was true of the Roman house, including the tablinum.
The Roman spectator was accustomed to looking at framed images both in
the theatre and in the home, when viewing the latter from a location in the
atrium, through the doors of the tablinum and into the parts of the house
beyond. In the theatre these framed images were fashioned upon wooden or
canvas panels; in the house, alongside images very frequently shown framed
in the format of wall paintings, the spectator saw such views through the
rectilinear apertures of doorways or windows.
Two further qualities often characterised the perception of vistas in
domestic architecture, and both are frequently observed in the spatial
strategy governing the deployment of the tablinum. The first, noted earlier
otium, opulentia and opsis 389
44 Bek (1980) Part III: Axes and space in antiquity, 164203; quotation from p. 183.
45 This aspect of the House of the Faun is discussed by Zanker (1998) 3940, who notes the
provision of a special room reserved for the Alexander mosaic positioned on an axis visible
from both of the houses peristyles, and by Coarelli (2002) 7677, who discusses the division
of the house into two realms.
46 Bek (1983) 83 notes in reference to the House of the Vettii: The tendency to stretch the
line of vision by means of the optical illusion of false perspective supports the suspicion
that besides the harmony, an air of spaciousness was the sought-after effect to visualize the
beauty and magnificence of the domicile and its owner.
47 See Schnyder (1962) who discusses perspective and axiality in terms of the location of
viewers and the composition and positioning of painted scenery in ancient theatres.
390 richard beacham
The Peristyle48
The visual and spatial organisation of the house induced complicit participa-
tion in a theatrically inflected experience of viewing; a transaction between
patron and spectator within the domestic expression of a visual culture in
which porticoes, windows, gardens, and terraces all point to an architectural
obsession with space, light, and panorama.49 Vitruvius (5.9.5) illustrates this
phenomenon specifically in peristyles located behind a theatre: The space
between the colonnades under the open sky should be embellished with
greenery; because walks in the open are very healthy especially for the eyes,
because the clear and purified air that emanates from green things, flowing
into the moving body, clarifies the vision and by clearing away the thick
humour from the eyes leaves the vision sharp and the image distinct.
Most of the living and reception rooms of the Pompeian house typically
lay beyond the tablinum, around the perimeter of a peristyle. Some of the
grander houses had two. The provision of a peristyle, an architectural entity
widely found in the Greek world, evoked both the Greek peristyle house,
but also the Hellenic shrines and palaces in which it figured, associations in
turn imported into sumptuous Roman rural villa architecture. Consequently,
urban peristyles, while evoking such associations, also visually called to
mindwhile the activities taking place within them physically embodied
the lifestyle of great country or seaside estates. Such urban peristyles were
therefore allusive on several levels, and analysis of examples at Pompeii
suggests that all of these were consciously exploited by their creators and
their users. Zanker and others stress how certain houses, such as that of
Loreius Tiburtinus (2.2.5), which was fashioned with the aid of perspectival
effects as a miniature villa, or the house of Marcus Lucretius (9.3.5) with its
raised garden carefully framed in a vantage point from the tablinum, are in
effect stage settings. By playing at being what they are not, the spaces and
their occupants in effect become what they play.50
48 Various terms were used (sometimes interchangeably) which relate to the area termed
each as an Inszenierung.
392 richard beacham
Figure 17. House of the Small Fountain (6.8.23) showing the juxtaposition
of real and painted columns. (Denard for Kings Visualisation Lab)
51 In Plautus Mostellaria (908ff.) characters view and discuss the domestic peristyle
53 Vitruvius 7.5.12, who notes that in them, because of their size, painters designed stage
otium, opulentia and opsis 395
faades in the tragic or comic or satyric style; Cicero, de Orat. 3.121; de Orat. 1.7.28; Dom.
116; Tusc. 4.7; Att. 13.29; Aulus Gellius 11.3.1. Cicero, Off. 1.144; Att. 1.18.1. Apart from Vitruvius,
the word exedra occurs infrequently in ancient literary sources, and according to Allison
(2001) 186 was used mainly by Roman aristocrats to communicate their intellectuality, and
in circumstances in which its physical characteristics also conflict with those of so-named
spaces in Pompeian houses.
396 richard beacham
Figure 19. House of the Marine Venus (2.3.3) looking from the ambulacrum
through the peristyle columns to paintings of festooned curtains on the
long west wall, and mythological paintings on the south wall. (Foglia)
55 See also Dickmann (1997), especially p. 132. Bek (1980) 187 points out that it was
possible through the presence of two separate ensembles of rooms to give two distinct
thematic spheres; e.g. the House of Menander, in which the town and public life are
emphasised in the atrium section, while nature and rural delights characterise the peristyle
section.
398 richard beacham
hand, when these were not closed by doors or curtains. These rooms opening
off the garden potentially provided a rich repertoire of spaces and images, to
encourage and extend the scenically induced contemplation of mythic or
imaginary realms introduced in the peristyle.
Cicero alludes in his letters and other writings to the peristyles symbolic
association with various types of refined behaviour, and how in turn its
provision and dcor served as a setting for the self-representation of the
patron and his guests. In his villa at Tusculum, he designates one area of the
peristyle as his Lyceum, and another as his Academy (Div. 1.8; 2.8; Tusc.
1.89; 2.9; Att. 1.11.3). To furnish these with appropriate props, he sought
and acquired from his friend Atticus objects specifically suitable to the site
and its associations (Att. 1.5.7; 1.6.2). Later (see Att. 1.8.2), Cicero urged him to
procure more statues and other objects appropriate to our study and the
site particularly things you deem right for the gymnasium, and still later
he asked for something specifically worthy of the dignity of the Academy
(Att. 1.9.2). Atticus sent a statue of Athena (Hermathena), and when it arrived
otium, opulentia and opsis 399
Cicero expressed his delight with it, primarily it seems because it was right
for him (mihi gratum) and an appropriate ornament for the site (Academiae
proprium meae) (Att. 1.4.3).56
On the other hand, Cicero was displeased by the figures of bacchantes
and a statue of Mars which his agent Fabius Gallus purchased (Ad. Fam.
7.23) either for the Tusculum property or for his home on the Palatine.
Statues of the Muses might well have been a suitable acquisition for the
library, and one appropriate (aptum) to my interests. But where am I to
place these bacchantes? And what, pray, should I, a peace-maker, do with
a statue of Mars? He then notes that he is preparing some new alcoves
(exhedria) in the small portico of his Tusculum villa, which he intended to
decorate with paintingsindeed, if anything of this sort appeals to me, it
is a painting.
Residents around the Bay of Naples were already thoroughly Hellenised
in their customs, and unlike at Rome itself, devotion to the Greek lifestyle
and valuesself-consciously and often ostentatiously pursueddoes not
appear to have been tainted by strongly negative connotations; likewise,
the determined pursuit of pleasure and leisureotiumassociated with
Hellenistic values does not seem to have been a source of significant anxiety.57
The use of peristyles was part of a process through which an element of self-
dramatisation (making-believe we are Greeks) was introduced into the
culture of Pompeiis inhabitants as evidently a desired and widely embraced
addition. Seneca the Elder called attention to a practice exemplifying this
phenomenon, by which Roman orators might deliver a speech in Latin and
then remove their togas, put on a pallium, and return, as if with a change
of mask, to declaim in Greek.58 Suetonius (Aug. 98) recounts how Augustus
himself, journeying in Campania during the last days of his life, gave gifts
(munuscula) of togas as well as cloaks [Greek pallia], proposing that the
Romans use Greek dress and language and the Greeks Roman.
56 See Leen (1991) whose translations of these letters I have used. Evidently as one who,
amongst other things, wrote on philosophy and political science, such Athenian institutions
seemed to him appropriate. Certain of his writings were notionally set in Athens, e.g. de Fin.
5.4.8.
57 On the topic see, generally, Toner (1995).
58 Controversiae 9. 3.13. Centuries earlier Plautus had noted the phenomenon of having
fun and carousing in the Greek manner for which he coined the term pergraecariGreeking
it up. Suetonius (Tib. 13) says that Tiberius habit in Rhodes of continuously wearing Greek
dress made him an object of contempt. For critical views of Romans donning Greek dress, cf.
Cicero Verr. 2.513.31; In Pis. 38.92; Phil. 2.30.76; Aulus Gellius 13.22.1; Livy 29.19.11.
400 richard beacham
The domestic peristyle did indeed evoke the Greek world and the pleasures
and pursuits associated with it. But, complementing and extending this,
its arrangement and dcorthe paintings, statuary, gardens and related
amenities and the manner in which these were displayed and accessed
suggest that it offered withdrawal in more than a purely physical sense, and
encouraged a theatrically mediated state of contemplation and fantasy. As
nymphs, demi-gods and gods populated the landscapes of the poets, the
spirit of a mythic world hovers around the Pompeian peristyles, giving them
a breath of locus amoenus through their decoration and horticulture, their
opus topiarium. (Bek (1980) 188).
The inhabitants of Pompeii, through their peristyles, displayed a further
important element of allusion and role-playing. Many Pompeian house-
owners clearly took villa architecture as their model, to construct what were,
in effect and intention, miniature villas. Zanker has characterised these
as the stage sets for a new lifestyle of leisure. Certain rituals associated
with this style were sometimes enacted in reality and sometimes only in
the imaginations of the villa inhabitants and their guests.59 The designers
often arranged fountains, pools and watercourses, nymphaea and small
shrines mimetically to suggest exotic or sacred landscapes, or elements found
in grand rural villas. The central area might have substantial collections
of statuary, sometimes constituting an integrated programme of related
themes, while others eclectically evoke a diverse range of associations.
Plants, birds, and the suggestion of garden landscapes were painted upon
the low masonry wall that frequently surrounded the garden apparently
to encourage the visitor to move imaginatively to and fro between a view
of the actual garden and a vision of fantasy realms. Similarly, around the
perimeter of the columned portico, the views of the actual garden in the
interior were juxtaposed with depictions upon the structural walls of the
corridor.60
59 Zanker (1998) 18. He discusses the villa urbana, pp. 1620, 136140, and the creation of
urban cognate architecture, pp. 145ff. See too Clarke (1991) 2325. Vitruvius uses the term villa
pseudourbana, (6.5.3).
60 Vitruvius (7.5.2) lists paintings of harbours, coastlines, rivers, shrines, mountains, forests
and herds of animals amongst the subjects depicted along the ambulationes of the house.
See also Bek (1980) 188: the often admired naturalism in, for instance, the frescoes from
Livias villa may be explained as the illusionistic-impressionistic representation not of this
tangible reality, of Livias garden, but of a different symbolic world, perhaps a Garden of the
Hesperides.
otium, opulentia and opsis 401
The peristyles contents and decoration, and the rooms opening off it in
relative seclusion from the front portion of the house, could be fashioned as a
theatricalised zone; an extended area within the domestic complex offering
scope for the presentation and perception of a variety of actual and imagined
experience.61 For example, visitors entering the House of the Golden Cupids
(6.16.7), after passing through a quite small and plainly decorated atrium
with a similarly diminutive reception area (exedra) and modest tablinum off
of it, then entered a peristyle almost four times larger than these entrance
areas to find themselves in a physical and aesthetic environment in which it
may well have seemed that the idea and physical expression of the theatre
and the home had so pervasively intermingled that they had merged. The
61 The topic has been widely discussed and illustrated. See for example, Zanker (1998)
145203. For a comprehensive description of gardens at Pompeii, and a catalogue of the artistic
works associated with them, see Jashemski (1993).
otium, opulentia and opsis 403
focal point of this was its garden, which, Zanker has suggested ((1998) 169ff.),
like the seeing place (theatron) of the theatre itself, was meant to be looked
at rather than walked within. Its mixed realities and the type of cognitive
blending these encouraged in the mind of the visitor, are a compelling
physical embodiment of the mental phenomenon singled out by Cicero
(Orator 39.134): the manner in which metaphors (including visual metaphors)
transport the mind and bring it back, and move it this way and that, to
produce a pleasurable response in the perceiver.62
Often guests could admire elaborate paintings of animals and hunting
scenes (frequently set off by painted curtains) evocating the very entertain-
ments they viewed in their amphitheatre, and saw advertised upon the walls
of the same houses which might contain pictures of such scenes.63 The sort
an oration. They are like those objects which when used to embellish the stage or forum are
called ornaments.
63 E.g. houses of Marcus Lucretius Fronto (5.4.11a); the Ancient Hunt (7.4.48); the Ceii
404 richard beacham
(1.6.15); of Romulus and Remus (7.7.10); the Ephebe (1.7.1012); Loreius Tiburtinus (2.2.2); the
Epigrams (5.1.18); the Chariot (7.2.25); and the New Hunt (7.10.3). For discussion of garden
painting, see Michel (1980).
64 E.g. Jashemski (1993) 6973; Zanker (1998) 184189. Cf. Leech (2004) 130132. Allison
(1992) 244, in her analysis of the painting of animals in the peristyle of the House of the Ancient
Hunt, notes: the rectangularity of the landscape elements, including regular cut blocks for
the foreground bank, suggests that this was an artificial landscape, perhaps an amphitheatre.
See Calpurnius Siculus (7.5772) on the animal games in Neros amphitheatre, ad 57.
65 Only one painting however (in the peristyle of the House of the Ancient Hunt, 7.4.48)
has been recorded at Pompeii that depicts humans hunting beasts. See Allison (1992) 244;
Zanker (1998) fig. 108; Carratelli and Baldassarre (19902003) 10. 826.
66 Cooley and Cooley (2004), 208210; Carratelli and Baldassarre (19902003) 7. 105111 pls.
4454.
67 Petronius (Sat. 8990) casts Eumolpus in the role when he provides a lengthy verse
commentary about a painting of the fall of Troy that had caught Encolpius attention.
Eventually passers-by begin to throw stones at him, which the poet dismisses, pointing out
whenever I go into the theatre to recite anything this is the sort of welcome the throng gives
me. Later (92) he says that his verses similarly get him thrown out of the bathhouse, as if it
were the theatre.
otium, opulentia and opsis 405
68 Plinys letters (2.17 and 5.6) describing his Laurentian and Tuscan villas provide a glimpse
at what such a narrative and commentary might include. For their discussion, see Bek (1980)
175179. See also Philostratus Imagines, Book 1, 4 in the translation by A. Fairbanks (1931), 47,
where Philostratus sets the scene for his extensive discussion of paintings displayed in a villa
near Naples, to a group of young men.
69 It is important to bear in mind, that cubiculum, normally translated as bedroom, was by
no means limited to this use. Such rooms might change their use according to the particular
furnituremuch of it portablethat was placed within them, and serve multiple purposes of
sleeping, eating, private meetings, theatrical performance etc. They were in effect polyscenic
spaces, and changed in meaning and activity, according to how their settings were arranged.
See Riggsby (1997) 3656.
70 See e.g. Quintilian 1.2.8; Plutarch Moralia 712-B; Pliny Epist. 3.1.9.
408 richard beacham
Dorota Dutsch
Introduction
This essay began with the question: how much is known about the gestures
made onstage by Roman actors? To answer this I originally planned to
excavate Quintilians discussion of the rhetorical gestus in the Institutio
Oratoria (11.3.85124) and to unearth the examples of gestures and postures
that Roman rhetoricians deemed fit for the stage. Upon closer examination,
however, Quintilians discussion turned my attention from the particular case
of theatrical hand gestures to the general issue of a code, that is, from the
samples of parole, to the Roman perceptions of the very langue of theatrical
gesture and its relationship to other forms of social performance.1
With Quintilians views as a starting point, combined with insights from
Cicero, illustrated manuscripts of Terence, and Donatus commentary, I
propose both (1) to reconstruct the Roman perceptions of gesture as a
system of communication and (2) to identify the perceived characteristics
of theatrical movement. The resulting observations will form a coherent
picture of how theatrical practicein particular the relationship between
the performers gesture and his scriptwas envisioned in classical and late
Rome.
* This paper is a revised and updated version of an article Towards a Grammar of Gesture:
A Comparison between the Types of Hand Movements of the Actor in Quintilians Institutio
Oratoria 11.3.85184 originally published in Gesture 2 (2002), 2: 265287. The author would
like to express her gratitude to the editors of this volume for useful suggestions and to Carolyn
Jones for her timely help with last-minute revisions.
1 For a definition of social performance see Goffman 1959.
410 dorota dutsch
2 The publication of the Institutio can be dated before the death of Domitian in 96ce (cf.
Inst. 10.1.91). Quintilians discussion of gesture and other rhetorical treatises are often regarded
as a potential source of information about theatrical delivery. See e.g. Taladoire (1951) 92122;
Fantham (1982a) 259261; Graf (1992) 49; Aldrete (1999) 67; Dodwell (2000) 26.
3 In the present section, the references to Chapter Three of Book Eleven of Quintilians
Institutio Oratoria will indicate only the numbers of paragraphs, e.g. 102 for Quint. Inst. 11. 3.
102. All translations are mine unless indicated otherwise.
4 The concept of manual eloquence goes back at least to Cicero, cf. Graf (1992) 37 n. 3.
5 Cf. Bonnell (1962) 898 on timere used by Quintilian in a meaning close to admirari in
Inst. 9.2.26.
6 hImprobanti, a suggestion made by Winterbottom in the apparatus, would complete
language, which, according to Cicero (De orat. 3.149) included some natural names (vocabula
rerum), some words used metaphorically (quae transferentur), and some used with new
meaning (quae novamus) or newly coined (quae facimus ipsi).
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 411
use pictorial gestures that signify things by imitation.9 He writes that he has
never seen a public speaker make the gesture of demanding a cup, threatening
someone with a flogging, or imitating the letter D by crooking the thumb
(11.3.117). We can surmise that the actor or a pantomime dancer, might on
the other hand, have made such gestures when playing scenes representing
banquets or angry masters threatening servants with flogging. This ban on
pictorial gestures from public speaking is the first piece of information about
the differences between the two codes that we can glean from Quintilian.
The other category of gesture calls for more detailed commentary. Hand
positions denoting emotion, measure, and action form a category of ges-
ture Quintilian defines as naturally produced. Such gestures constitute a
spontaneous language and as such are drastically different from gestures
created to merely imitate actions. Symbolic gestures are in fact a language
used spontaneously by everyone and for which all human beings are appar-
ently hardwired. Quintilians belief in the natural and intimate connection of
such gestures to thought (cf. 11.3.84 and 97) can be traced back to the Greek
rhetorical tradition.
Aristotle notes that the subject of hypokrisis has not yet been fully explored,
precisely because it draws on nature rather than art, and therefore does
not lend itself easily to theorizing (see Rhet. 1403b151404a19).10 Aristotles
disciples, Theophrastus of Eressus and Demetrius of Phaleron, nevertheless,
attempted to theorize body language, presenting it as a visible manifestation
of the human mind.11 Stoic writings on rhetoric likewise implied the existence
of a privileged connection between thought and non-verbal expression. For
example (according to Plutarchs On Stoic Self-contradictions), Chrysippus
commented on the proper order and arrangement of gestures as well as
speech:12
9 Graf notes the essential division between gestures produced naturally and those which
indicate things by mimicry, and observes that this categorization is not reflected in the
description of gestures. He also offers a comparison between Quintilians discussion and
categories proposed by modern theorists: ideographs, pointers, pictorial gestures, and batons
((1992) 3839). For references to other ancient sources discussing delivery see Meier-Eichhorn
(1989) 1121 and Graf (1992) 3738.
10 Thrasymachus, a fifth-century sophist, was according to Aristotle (Rhet. 1404a 14) the
first author to discuss delivery (cf. Diels and Kranz (1972) vol. 2, pp. 319326). See Sonkowsky
(1959) 268272 on Aristotles interest in delivery, possibly developed by Theophrastus, as a
likely source of Ciceros view on the natural link between voice, posture, and gesture with
emotions in De oratore 3. 213227.
11 Cf. Diog. Laert. 7.43. Movement of the body was mentioned as one of the themes of
Theophrastus rhetoric by Athanasius (ca. 4th ce), cf. Fortenbaugh et al. (1992) vol. 2, p. 558.
10. See fr. 164169 in Wehrli (1968) 3637 with the latters comments, pp. 8082.
12 For the reference to the Stoics interest in rhetoric, see Diog. Laert. 7.43. Sonkowsky
412 dorota dutsch
I think that we should not only pay attention to an honest and natural order of
speech, but also, in addition to speech, to the proper elements of delivery (
) with respect to the tones of voice that impose themselves,
and the expressions of the face and the hands.13
The assumption that oral delivery is really the art of controlling the bodily
manifestations of human thought seems to have also functioned as the
cornerstone of Ciceros view on bodily eloquence: For every emotion
has received from nature, as it were, its own (suum) facial expression, its
own sound and its own gesture (De oratore 3.216). Ciceros use of suus here
closely corresponds to Chrysippus use (at least according to Plutarch) of the
adjective oikeios when describing the proper kind of language and delivery,
as both words imply an intimate and innate connection between thought
and expression. Epicureans, for their part, stressed the connection between
non-verbal and verbal language, presenting the former as the blueprint for
the latter.14 Lucretius in De rerum natura (5. 10301032) observes that infants
communicate by pointing to things, using gestures even before they activate
the ability to speak.
Quintilian, then, worked within a tradition that conceived of gesture as
a natural interpreter of the mind, one that can be compared to language. His
lengthy lists of the various functions of gestures in the excerpt quoted above
emphasize the complexity of human communication, both verbal and non-
verbal. The comparison between gesture and spoken language is introduced
at the beginning of paragraph 85 with the arresting statement that hands are
capable of speech, and is emphasized again in Quintilians culminating obser-
vation that gestures constitute a universal human language (sermo) (87).15
Quintilians views on spoken language, presented in Book One of the
Institutio, allow us to discern the logic behind the apparently chaotic
catalogue of what gestures can achieve. Quintilian begins his expos on
language with the rudimentary Peripatetic distinction between verbs (verba),
described as the energy empowering communication, and nouns (nomina),
(1959) 268269 argues that the Aristotelian division of styles according to the psychological
effects they produce influenced the Stoic views on emotions and speech. On the Stoic concept
of language as a part of human nature, see also Long (1974) 125 and his reference to Sextus
Empiricus (Adv. Math. 8.275).
13 Plut. St. rep. 1047AB, cf. Long & Sedley (1987) vol. 2, p. 189.
14 The Epicureans also claimed that nouns and verbs were the very first words uttered by
men born from the earth, cf. Diogenes of Oenoanda, 10.2.11, Long and Sedley (1987) vol. 2.
p. 101.
15 Omnis enim motus animi suum quendam a natura habet vultum et sonum et gestum.
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 413
regarded as a sort of matter manipulated by the verbs. All other words are
classified as conjunctions (coniunctiones), which supposedly link the verbs
and nouns (cf. 1. 4. 18). He continues his history of grammar by explaining
that the Stoics later added several new concepts to this list: the article and
the preposition were classified as conjunctions, while the appellation (i.e.
the common noun) and the pronoun were distinguished as different types
of the noun (1.4.19).16
It is the Peripatetic set of distinctions that informs the catalogue of gestures
in Book Eleven. Certain gestures are explicitly said to function as parts of
speechdemonstrative adverbs and pronouns (87)while others are listed
in ways that implicitly reproduce the categories of verba and nomina specified
in Book One.17 Thus, Quintilian represents gestures (8588) either as verbs
(the actions we perform by means of gestures) or as nouns (the notions we
indicate by means of gesture). Quintilian renders most gestures as verbs and
regroups them into two lists in paragraphs 86 and 87:
An non his poscimus pollicemur, vocamus dimittimus, minamur supplicamus,
abominamur timemus, interrogamus negamus, gaudium tristitiam dubitationem
confessionem paenitentiam modum copiam numerum tempus ostendimus? Non
eaedem concitant, inhibent, [supplicant] probant himprobant?i, admirantur,
verecundantur?
Do we not use them to demand and promise, summon and dismiss, threaten
and implore, loathe and revere,18 ask and deny, show joy, sadness, hesitation,
admission of guilt, remorse, measurement, quantity, number, and time?
Do they not also prompt, forbid, [revere], approve, hdisapprovei, convey respect
and hesitation?
Nouns introduced as direct objects of the verb ostendimus denote mostly
emotions and numeric concepts:
Ostendimus gaudium, tristitiam, dubitationem, confessionem, paenitentiam,
modum, copiam, numerum, tempus.
We show joy, sadness, confession of guilt, regret, quantity, number and time.
16 Quintilian pursues his chronological account, describing the theory of Polemon, which
have a predicative character, and the deficient lekta, i.e. verbs without a specified subject, cf.
Long (1974) 133137.
18 Cf. Bonnell (1962) 898 on timere used by Quintilian in a meaning close to admirari in
Inst. 9.2.26.
414 dorota dutsch
his discussion of locutionary acts in Lecture VIII; see especially Austin (1962) 9899.
20 Cf. Meier-Eichhorn (1989) 60.
21 Some gestures are polysemous (cf. Table 6) and have different meanings corresponding to
two or three different categories (as, e.g. the one described in 94 that can be deictic, numeral
and predicative) and are named more than once in the Tables 25. Let us now consider
how this specific catalogue of natural gestures might be related to the gestures used on
stage.
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 415
deictic gestures (Table 1),22 three gestures denoting measure (Table 2), four
hand positions expressive of emotionsastonishment (100), astonishment
mixed with indignation or fear (103), anger and remorse (104), and horror
(114) (cf. Table 3)and a number of predicative gestures signaling narration
or discussion and expressing promise, agreement, encouragement, or praise
(Table 4).23 Quintilian makes specific references to the actual parts of an
22 Numerical gestures (Table 3) are mentioned only in passing (the outstretched index
finger used in argumentation can also signal the number one, 95); counting arguments on
fingers is mentioned as one of the few gestures requiring two hands (114). Lastly, gestures used
to denote measure or time are described as faulty (122).
23 Two more gestures, both used to manifest modesty (Table 4) also reveal the speakers
state of mind. The wording of the respective descriptions of these two gestures: gestus
verecundae orationi aptissimus [a gesture most appropriate in modest speech] (96) and
manus maxime apta parce et quasi timide loquentibus [a hand position most appropriate
for those who speak cautiously, almost with hesitation] (100) insists on speech, rather than
on emotions. In this respect it differs from other definitions of emotional gestures, which
directly link the hand movements with feelings: gestus admirationi conveniens [a gesture
fitting in wonder] (101), id admirantes facimus et interim pavescentes [we do this when we
are surprised and sometimes when we fear] (103), manum in paenitentia vel ira admovemus
[we approach the hand in regret or anger] (104), abominamur [we loathe].
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24 Macrobius Sat. 3.14.11 refers to a treatise, allegedly composed by Roscius, comparing the
by the Roman rhetoricians (cf. Wehrli [1968] p. 35, fr. 162). See also Cic. De orat. 1.128 and
3.22.83, Orat. 59 and Quint. Inst. 11.3. 111, 137, and 182.
26 For an incisive comparison of the orator and the actor, see Graf (1992) 4851 and Fantham
2002; Aldrete (1999) 6773 offers a survey of the changing attitudes towards the two styles of
delivery; Gunderson (2000) 111148 analyzes the theoretical construct of the orator. Connolly
(2007) argues that references to acting and effeminacy are a part of a larger scheme that
recasts the competitive relations between members of the Roman elite in gendered terms.
See also Gardner (1993) 135136 for a discussion of the legal situation of public performers and
Edwards inquiry into the reasoning underlying the disapproval of actors and acting ((1993)
98136). Taladoire (1951) 2829 has references to all places in the Roman drama that might
possibly refer to the actors gesture.
420 dorota dutsch
of an actor who would use several different gestures (varias manus) while
reciting only three lines of Eunuchus (11.3.182) suggests that comic actors
were in the habit of making several different movements in quick sequence.27
On this occasion, Quintilian translates the difference between rhetorical and
theatrical delivery into a rather interesting culinary metaphor. In this analogy
he compares the frequent pauses, voice modulation, and gesticulation of
an actor reciting the first three lines of Terences Eunuchus with the true
flavor of rhetorical delivery. Oratory, we read, has a flavor all its own, quite
unlike the zest and spice of the stage. Rhetorical delivery does not need many
condiments because, unlike theatrical delivery, it relies on the taste of true
action (11.3.182).28 But the main ingredientsone must noteremain the
same.
Another issue to which Quinitlian draws attention is the speed with which
each movement was performed. While different paces were apparently
appropriate for different gestures (Inst. 11.3.106), slow movement passed
for more dignified and, therefore, more appropriate not only for the orator
but also for a tragic actor, and even for a comic actor playing a respectable
character (Inst. 11.3.112).29 The desired deportment of an orator coincides thus
simply with that of a dignified character on stage. The orator, according to
Quintilian, would have made most gestures with the right hand only (11.3.114)
as his left hand would have been holding the toga or the scroll. He does
name a small number of gestures that require both hands, those signifying
horror, apology and supplication, prayer, demonstration, and invocation
(Inst. 11.3.114115). The actor, presumably, would have had more liberty to use
both hands. He might have also been free to make larger movements than an
orator, whose hand, according to teachers of gesture (artifices), would have
had to move within prescribed limits: no higher than his eyes, no lower than
his chest (Inst. 11.3.112), and no further to the right than his left shoulder (Inst.
11.3.113).30
27 This statement will not contradict Inst.11.3.108, where Quintilian refers to the many
elements of one statement where the gesture falls, if we assume that the phrase gestus cadit
refers to repetitions of the same gesture, rather than to the quick sequence of various gestures,
which is suggested by the expression varias manus in 11.3.182.
28 For the culinary metaphor cf. Astydamas TrGF 60 F 4; Metagenes fr. 15 Kassel/Austin;
Wilkins (2001) 100. In the Greek fragments, however, the emphasis is quite different: it is the
dramatic work itself (rather than its delivery) that is envisaged as a kind of sumptuous dinner,
complete with all sorts of side-dishes.
29 Macrobius reference to the alleged delivery competitions between Cicero and Roscius
also implies that the actors style would have involved a greater frequency and variety of
gesture (Sat. 3.14.11).
30 The orator was allowed to use gestures that involved movements reaching beyond the
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 421
The style of gesture, like any cultural practice, was also subject to fashion.
Quintilian is aware that what passes for theatrical in one school may
be perfectly acceptable in another place and time. For example, when he
condemns the habit of striking the forehead and clapping ones hands as
stagy (scaenicum), he has to disagree with Cicero who approved of striking
both the forehead and the thigh (Inst. 11.3.123). This is all the more significant
given that the latter gesture can be traced back to sources describing the
deportment of public speakers partaking in the lively political debates in fifth-
century Greece.31 Another of Quintilians anathemas, trembling movements
of the hand, which he condemns as fit merely for the stage, was considered
acceptable by some foreign schools, especially for a version of the gesture
of encouragement (Inst. 11.3.103).32 Quintilians focus on frequency, speed,
and size of gestures as well as his reports of disagreements among teachers
of rhetoric as to what is and what is not fit merely for the stage confirm
that, stylistic differences aside, he thinks of the gestures used in oratory and
drama as rather similar.
trunk of his body on certain occasions, but he had to choose the context with great caution
(cf. Aldrete [1999] 13).
31 According to Plutarch (Nicias 8.3) it was Cleon who first introduced this to public
speaking: he used to strike his thigh when addressing the assembly; he also did a number
of other indecorous things, such as shouting, pulling off his cloak, or rushing around when
speaking. See e.g. Wohl (2003) 81 with n. 17.
32 While this may be just a self-fulfilling prophecy, it is worth noting that Plautus Miles
Gloriosus (199215), which offers one of the most reliable testimonies to the nature of theatrical
movement in the original performances of the palliata (cf. Graf (1992) 4951), agrees closely
with Quintilians observations and confirms his statements about the nature of theatrical
gesture and the differences between the movements of actor and the orator. The brief passage
from Miles describes with considerable precision the postures and gestures of the actor playing
the clever slave Palaestrio as he meditates on a conundrum of the sort often faced by such
characters in comedy. Palaestrio is depicted as changing postures and gestures at breakneck
speed, and the situation reminds us of Quintilians description of the actor playing a young man
in Terences Eunuchus (11.3.182). The actor portrayed as playing the role of Plautus Palaestrio
seems to have a predilection for noisy and violent gestures (cf. 11.3.112). He is beating his chest
with his fingers (cf. 11.3.124) and counting by striking his thigh with the fingers of his night
hand (cf. 11.3.122.), not to mention the use of his left hand (cf. 11.3.114).
422 dorota dutsch
33 For this meaning of exprimere, attested more than once in Cicero, see OLD p. 652, 6 a, b,
accidental) as being part of the theatrical semiotic code and thus endowed with meaning or
semiotizatized. See Revermann (2006a) 50; Elam (1980) 79.
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 423
their support to his thoughts (ad sensus) rather than to his words (ad verba)
(11.3.89).35 Quintilians criticism of gestures based on words pertained not
only to pictorial gestures but also to symbolic gestures used out of context,
for example in quotations. Thus, an orator illustrating his narration with
imitations of gestures of the people to whom he briefly referred in narration
would be making gestures ad verba, as an actor always did, not ad sensus,
as an orator should.36 This injunction against evoking the gesticulation of
characters whose words were cited was so strong that even the comic actors
playing respectable characters apparently avoided this practice (Inst. 11.3.90
91). It is worth noting that Quintilians objection to gestures illustrating
another characters words in citations confirms that, like Cicero, he is indeed
taking scripted drama into consideration in theorizing the actors or dancers
gestures as subservient to text.37
35 Abesse enim plurimum a saltatore debet orator, ut sit gestus ad sensus magis quam ad
verba accomodatus.
36 This interdiction would have concerned brief references made in narration. The ora-
tor might have been allowed to introduce some gestures in the longer passages when he
spoke in the first person in the name of someone else, using the popular rhetorical device of
prosopopoeia. Quintilian does signal elsewhere that differentiating delivery styles was desir-
able in prosopopoeia (Inst. 6.1.26; cf. Aldrete (1999) 36), though he seems to refer mostly to
linguistic characterization and voice, and never mentions gestures directly in this context. See
also Boegehold (1999a) 79 on the necessity to reproduce the clients gesture in Greek forensic
oratory.
37 For Greek attitudes towards gesture, see Green 2002 and Csapo 2002.
38 Ciceros Brutus attests to the authors mistrust of the technique of theatrical gesticulation.
The gestures of Sulpicius, the tragic orator, apparently had a unique charm that seemed
more appropriate for the Forum than for the stage (203). The ideal was a naturally charming
gesticulation (gestus natura venustus) that seemed artistic, but was not a result of art (272).
Cicero disregarded movements that smacked too obviously of professional training; he
described his rival Hortensius as showing more art in his gesture than befitted a public speaker
(303).
424 dorota dutsch
orator on the one hand and the studied gesticulation of an actor on the other,
may also have reflected practical considerations pertaining to the manner in
which each performer was expected to choose his gestures. Lets begin with
Quintilians description of the gesture of anger or remorse (11.3.104), which
he regards as permissible for the public speaker. He suggests that this gesture
was linked to two particular phrases:
Quin enim compressam etiam manum in paenitentia uel ira pectori admouemus,
ubi uox uel inter dentes expressa non dedecet: Quid nunc agam? Quid facias?
Also, when expressing remorse or anger, we move a clenched hand towards
our chest, and it is not unfitting on such occasions to say through the teeth
What should I do? What can you do?
Quid nunc agam? is a stock exclamation of distressed characters in Plautus
and Terence, and it features prominently in an excerpt that Quintilan chooses
to illustrate a typically theatrical delivery:39
Ut si sit in scaena dicendum:
quid igitur faciam? Non eam ne nunc quidem,
cum arcessor ultro? an potius ita me comparem,
non perpeti meretricum contumelias?
Hoc enim dubitationis moras, uocis flexus, uaria manus, diuersos nutus actor
adhibebit. (11.3.182)
For example, if the following lines were to be recited on stage, the actor would
delay as in hesitation, and would use voice modulation and various movements
of hands and head:
What should I do? Not go, even now
when she summons me on her own accord? Or should I rather pull myself
together
not to endure the insults of prostitutes?
This brief passage from Eunuchus (4648), quoted by Quintilian, begins
with a question almost identical to the one quoted in 11.3.104 as typically
accompanying the gesture of touching ones chest with clenched fist. In
this particular contexta demonstration of the peculiarities of theatrical
gesturewe must expect a passage that evokes characteristics of theatrical
gesture. It is therefore striking that the excerpt begins with an expression
that would requireaccording to Quintilians own instructionthe pre-
programmed gesture of touching ones chest with a clenched fist. The
39 For quid agam, see e.g., Plautus Am. 1056 (Bromia having witnessed a miracle), As. 106
(Staphyla tormented by Euclio), Cas. 938 (Lysidamus who has just been victim of sexual
assault); Terence Ad. 485 (Demea upon learning that Aeschinus fathered a child), Heaut. 674
(Syrus scheming); Ph. 199 (Antipho learning of his fathers return).
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 425
existence of certain phrases that call for particular gestures gives a whole
new dimension to the notion of gesticulating ad verba rather than ad sensum,
and suggests that actors might have been trained to use certain gestures
consistently to illustrate certain phrases; Quintilians advice, approving of
the gesture of anger and remorse, would suggest that some aspects of this
practice were considered acceptable by first-century teachers of rhetorical
delivery.
The Carolingian manuscripts reproducing a late antique illustrated manu-
script of Terence (ca. 400), suggest that by the late fourth and early fifth
century the tendency to associate gestures with certain phrases took the
form of a meticulous set of rules. These rules would probably have observed
in recitation of drama, a performance genre blending the theatrical and
rhetorical traditions.40 The manuscripts from the branch of the Calliopian
edition of Terence contain illustrations representing actorsmasked and
gesturing, placed at the head of each new scene. The repertory of gestures
represented is limited (the Andria, for example, uses a combination of 14
hand positions). Gestures are used with striking consistency and always to
illustrate the line the character speaks in the first exchange involving all his
or her interlocutors.41 For example, Plate 1, reproducing Eunuchus 1.1 in the
Parisian copy of the late antique Terence, would correspond to the words
etiam atque etiam cogita (think again and again). The figure of Phaedria (to
the left) is consequently shown with a thinking gesture rather than with the
gesture that would illustrate his initial line (What should I do now?).
Donatus note on Andria, 101, testifies to a situation in which the per-
formers gesture was literally dictated by Terences choice of one particular
adverb. The scene features Simo telling his freedman Sosia the story of his
sons (Pamphilus) visits to the courtesan Chrysis, which the father initially
considered perfectly acceptable. The comment pertains to the lines convey-
ing Simos reaction to Pamphilus behavior at Chrysis funeral:
40 The dating of both of the miniatures discussed in detail in Dutsch 2007, where I argue
(along with Dodwell 2000) for a late third century date. The manuscript of this article had
been prepared before the publication of Wrights meticulous reconstruction of late antique
Terence, based on the Vatican copy (Wright 2006). Wright argues persuasively for an early
fourth- rather than late third-century date, and I now concur with his view. Samples of these
illustrations are reproduced here on Plates 13: a tentative glossary of the gestures used in
the miniatures, with cross-references to Quintilian (see Dutsch 2007). On the recitatio and its
different types see Dupont (1997); cf. Hollingsworth (2001); see Dutsch 2007 for some (albeit
inconclusive) evidence to continued theatrical performance.
41 On the tendency to depict the first instance of communication rather than the first lines
spoken by a character, see Dutsch 2007. For attempts to decode the repertory of the hand
positions used in the miniatures, see Dodwell (2000) and Dutsch (2007).
426 dorota dutsch
Plate 1. Parisinus Latinus 7899, folio 36, from left to right: Phaedria
and Parmeno in the first scene of the Eunuchus. Reprinted with
the permission of the Bibliothque nationale de France.
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 427
illustrate her opinion that such references are too numerous and too specific to be dismissed
as evidence for ancient performance ((1985) 370372). Cf. contra Basores opinion that all
references to gesture are derived from rhetorical theory, quoted by Graf (1992) 57 n. 37.
43 A specific deictic gesture used regularly with the pronoun hic, haec, hoc is referred to in
Plate 2. Parisinus Latinus 7899, folio 6, from left to right: Simo, Sosia,
and two silent figures in the first scene of the Andria. Reprinted
with the permission of the Bibliothque nationale de France.
towards a roman theory of theatrical gesture 429
If we now turn to the miniatures to see how they portray the same scene,
we will find Simo with the gesture commanding attention (cf. Plate 2, left).
This gesture illustrates the orders Simo issues when entering on stage (An.
289) addressing Sosia and the silent slave characters (take this inside and
leave; Sosia, wait ) rather than his later account of his thoughts (An. 110), but
in the second scene (Plate 3, left) he is shown with a variation of the thinking
gesture corresponding to non dubitumst quin (there is no doubt that).44
While such a perception of theatrical gesture as mechanically dependent
on the script may well have been a late development associated with the
practice of recitatio, Quintilians comments indicate that public speakers as
well as actors might have been trained to follow certain expressions with
specific gestures several centuries earlier.
Conclusion
A.K. Petrides
1. Introduction
This chapter will assess claims made about the pantomime mask by the
character Lycinus in Lucians (On Dance), still our most
important written source on ancient pantomime.1 The claims are made
in the process of Lycinus defending the novel art of pantomime against
highbrow forms of performance ( , Salt. 2,
lines 1718), solemn as they are in their antiquity ( ,
Salt. 2, line 4) and unassailable in their privilege of being part of the
official games (, Salt. 2, lines 2122). Hence Lycinus construes the
mask of pantomime as contrapuntal to the tragic mask of his day. Lycinus
statements, we shall see, are heavily informed by his paradoxical classicization
of pantomime; consequently, they are ideologically refracted. To analyse
Lycinus discursive practices and to hold in mind the whimsical nature of this
dialogue, in general, is of the essence, in order to sift through and qualify his
claims. Nobody can deny, however, that from the crevices of Lucians rhetoric
consistently pour out more than glimpses of the contrasting perceptions of
pantomime in the imperial period, as well as, on occasion, invaluable insights
into the realities of pantomime performance. The dialogues description of
the material aspect of pantomime (masks, costume, etc.), at least, has been
shown to be fairly accurate in its essentials.2 The dialogues evidentiary value,
1 Scholarship on pantomime has flourished in the last ten years. Four major books
Lada-Richards (2007), Garelli (2007), Hall & Wyles (2008), and Webb (2008b), the first two
largely based on material published earlier in the decade by the authorsas well as a series of
important articles, e.g. Montiglio (1999), Jory (2001) and (2004), Vesterinen (1997) and (2005),
now complement, update, correct and synthesize the most fundamental earlier works of
Robert (1930), Wst (1949), Kokolakis (1959) and (1960), Rotolo (1957), and Jory (1981) and
(1996). The work of W.J. Slater on various detailed issues of the history of pantomime has also
been pivotal: see, for instance, W.J. Slater (1993), (1994) and (1995).
2 On the pantomime mask, for instance, see Jory (1996) 1819 and (2001); and Garelli (2007)
we shall argue, is not null. The main thesis of this chapter is that Lycinus
claims, and his juxtaposition of pantomime and tragic masks, can provide
insights into the poetics of the former.
2. (Un)Classical Genres
6 Lada-Richards (2008) 299. On the fundamental affinity of pantomime, rhetoric and art
(1996).
the poetics of the pantomime mask 437
,
, , ,
.
I think now it is time for me to show that [the pantomimes] body [should]
conform to Polyclitus Canon. The pantomime must be neither too tall nor
exceedingly long-limbed nor very short and dwarfish in nature, but composed
in exactly the right measure; neither extremely plump, for he would not
be persuasive, nor overly skinny, because the latter quality reminds one of
skeletons and reeks of death.
The pantomimes body, in short, needs to display the same harmonic com-
position and composure, the same , as his mask. The body, more
expansively, stands for the art itself.
The importance of Polyclitus Canon for Augustan classicism is commonly
known and was expressly promoted already in Antiquity.9 The Canon,
and its most distinguished specimen, the Doryphoros, had after all been
clearly quoted in the famous statue of Augustus himself at Prima Porta. The
Doryphoric type, writes J. Pollini, was seen as a metaphor of masculine
beauty and moral purity and strength. These virtues are also connected with
the concept of ideal youth, one of the cornerstones of Augustan classicism
in art and literature, an expression of Augustus conscious effort to renew
state and society. Furthermore, undoubtedly contributing to the Roman
interest in Polykleitan works were the order and unity inherent in the ideal or
perfect schema of the Canon.10 Unity and order were the ideological staples
of the Principate. According to Lycinus, unity and order are the foundations
of pantomime, as well. Typically overstating his case, Lycinus even goes as
far as to suggest that the pantomime unifies the three parts of Platos soul
(Salt. 70): the , when it enacts an irate character; the ,
when it represents lovers; and the , as it bridles each different
passion.
The tragic actor, in contrast, has a fairly straightforward job to do, for
Lycinus, as everything has been taken care of by the poets, who lived a long
time ago. He himself is only responsible for his own voice, i.e., to deliver
upon by Neumeister (1990). On Augustan classicism, see most importantly Elsner (2006) with
earlier bibliography. On the impact of Polyclitus on Augustan classicism see Zanker (1978);
Pollitt (1978); Maderna-Lauter (1990); Lahusen (1990) 376385. On Augustus and pantomime,
see also Hunt (2008).
10 Pollini (1995). All quotations are from p. 268.
438 a.k. petrides
11 There is, of course, a tremendous (and slightly comical) amount of special pleading in
Lycinus genealogy of pantomime (Salt. 725), but the rhetorical point is clinched irrespective
of the accuracy of detail. On the actual origins of pantomime, see Garelli (2007) 2591.
12 On Lucian and the tragic performances of his time see Kokolakis (1960).
the poetics of the pantomime mask 439
Let us now examine Lycinus basic assertions one by one beginning with
the most overt of them, namely that the expressive mask of postclassical
tragedy, as opposed to that of pantomime, was a dominant and domineering
sign in performance. First of all, Lycinus portrayal of the mask as a physical
object, even if rhetorically inflated, is accurate (no surprises there, as tragedy
was still being widely performed in Lucians time). Archaeological evidence
corroborates the claim that by the second century ad tragedy had indeed
developed such a voluminous mask and a correspondingly overstated cos-
tume as Lycinus suggests.13 This was the final stage of an evolution initiated at
the end of the fifth century by the introduction of the , a lamda-shaped
extension over the forehead.14
It is also a fact that the mask of postclassical tragedy was not simply
oversized. It went through a significant change in outlook compared to
its classical antecedent, as the mask maker started sculpting the turbulent
emotions of the characters on the mask itself.15 The communis opinio that
postclassical tragedy grew exponentially more rhetorical and sentimental,
although logical and probable, eventually rests only on an inevitably creative
and oftentimes circular reading of surviving fragments and testimonia. By
contrast, however, there is little doubt that as time went by the mask was
ever more warmly embracing pathos as a matrix for the sculptor.
Lycinus is historically correct in another, third point. Expressive masks like
those of postclassical drama (the mask of New Comedy evolved along similar
lines) became inevitably the focal point of the actors body on stage. The
13 See, for instance, Green (1994) 158, fig. 6.10, an ivory figurine from Paris (Petit Palais,
inv. A DUT 192). The tragic character of the figurine with his high-platform shoes and his
elongated mask comes very close to Lycinus description.
14 n the and its possible semiotic significance see Petrides (2010) 116. For the masks
of Hellenistic drama, see Bernab Brea (1998) and (2001), with excellent illustrations of finds
from Lipari.
15 See, for instance, Bernab Brea (1998), fig. 7, 12, 13, 20, 2730 etc.
440 a.k. petrides
masks expressiveness was not mere show; its overall physiognomy was also
a significant visual clue for the characters inclination towards virtue or vice.
As physiognomical theories became ever more dominant in Hellenistic and
Imperial times,16 the exterior of the mask was understood to provide entrance
to the interior of the character: the was ticket to the or .
Physiognomics was not, of course, a clear-cut way to approach any character
or any mask; it emitted an intriguing set of visual signs, which played out
dynamically in the course of the action. Physiognomics semiotized the facial
features of the mask. There is much to be read now on the postclassical
mask; much that necessarily channels the gaze of the spectator up towards
the head.17 So much importance attached to the visual connotation of ethos
and pathos through the mask that it automatically established a different
model of interaction between body, word (verbal signs) and face in the
acting: body and word now draw attention to the , not vice versa.
The focus has been dragged upwards.
As far as the scant surviving illustrations allow us to discern,18 the mask
of classical tragedy was wrought in quite a different mode.19 First of all, it
was of natural proportions (no until very late in the fifth century),
and of naturalistic countenance. Most importantly it was apparently as
expressionless, or of a nonspecific expression, as the faces on the friezes of the
temple of Zeus at Olympia or on the Parthenon. his lack of facial expression
on the classical tragic mask is of monumental significance for the art of the
actor and the overall semiotics of performance. Classical tragedy registers a
stony, seemingly apathetic face, which, however, is in fact endowed, like the
pantomimes body, with a protean ability to transform and to express a large
spectrum of emotions. To illustrate this adaptability of the classical mask of
16 On Physiognomics in imperial times and especially in the period of the Second Sophistic
see especially, in a bibliography that piles up fast, Barton (1994), Gleason (1995) and Swain
(2007).
17 For a more detailed discussion of this process of semiotization in postclassical theatre,
classical tragic masks on vase paintings along with a discussion of the evidence mainly from
the theatre anthropologists point of view.
19 There have been many interesting, yet widely dissenting studies of the classical tragic
mask. To name but the most recent: Marshall (1999) summarises the fundamental masking
conventions obtaining in the fifth-century; Halliwell (1993) regards the mask as a secular,
theatrical object; whereas Wiles (2007), in the spirit of modern performance studies, theatre
anthropology and French structuralism, makes the contrary case for re-introducing Dionysiac
mystification into our understanding of the fifth-century mask. Closer to Wiles are Frontisi-
Ducroux (1995) and Calame (1995) 97136 and (2005) 185211.
the poetics of the pantomime mask 441
tragedy, David Wiles has evoked a modern analogue, namely the neutral
mask developed by 20th-century actors and directors Michel Saint-Denis
and Jacques Lecoq.20 The neutral mask is, in Jacques Lecoqs famous phrase,
un visage [] en quilibre, [qui] doit servir ressentir ltat de neutralit
pralable laction, un tat de rceptivit ce qui nous environne, sans conflit
intrieur.21 Other similar experiments,22 as well as comparative studies on
the practices of Noh theatre, support Lecoqs findings.23 The expressionless
or neutral mask, far from being a liability or a drawback, was actually an
advantage. Its emotional gamut is paradoxically much more diverse than that
of the expressive mask. The neutral mask becomes a blank canvas, a space
waiting to be filled. Emotion is not to be served to the spectator through
a sculpted grimace. It is to be inscribed on the mask by the actor and the
spectator. The actors body, his movements and gestures, the verbal signs he
emits imprint pathos on the mask. The focal point of such acting is not the
face, but the body which provides depth to the face. The expressionless
mask configures the actors body into a balanced, egalitarian system of
signifiers, with the emphasis, though, still remaining determinedly on the
body.24
What about pantomime, then? Let us have a look at the images on pp. 448
450. Figure 1 shows a mask of postclassical tragedy. Figures 2 and 3 are
specimens of pantomime masks. Figures 4 and 5 depict masks of classical
tragedy. The first thing that jumps to the eye is that, as a rule, pantomime
masks are indeed as starkly different from those of postclassical tragedy
as Lycinus proposes. They are indeed lifelike and naturalistic both in their
proportions and in their depiction of the features of the human face. There is
no evidence that the masks of pantomime were physiognomically encoded.
They are neither strongly individualised nor elaborately typed, although
some general types can be discerned.25 Compared to masks of postclassical
tragedy, masks of pantomime can be fairly said to show no expression at
all (in some specimens the eyebrows seem slightly arched, but this hardly
and functionality of the neutral, nonspecific expression of the Noh mask: it allows the
performer to conjure the greatest range of emotions through the omote [i.e. an archaic Japanese
word meaning face and mask] by becoming an evocative, nonspecific instrument for the
spectators imagination.
24 Varakis (2010) 25 reaches similar conclusions as she compares Classical and Hellenistic
registers). In fact, all the above suggests that the further the pantomime
mask distances itself from that of postclassical tragedy the closer it seems
to come (to return?) to the classical tragic mask. Even the shut mouth of
the pantomime is much closer to the apparently moderate orifice of the
classical mask than to the more exaggerated openings of contemporary tragic
specimens. The pantomime mask, too, I argue, has a good claim to being
perceived as neutral.
How can one explain this phenomenon? Is Lycinus right? Did pantomime
indeed revert to the aesthetics of classical tragedy? A first answer must be
that, if it did so, it was surely not in any conscious and straightforward
way. We could believe, of course, that a genre developed under the aegis
of Augustus displayed conscious conservatism in iconographic terms. After
all, the tragic and comic ornamental masks at the gates of the Theatre of
Marcellus in Rome did show the same kind of conservatism (they reflect
early rather than late Hellenistic types of masks).26 It is perhaps also possible
that generic antagonism with tragedy urged pantomime to differentiate
his visual aspect as clearly as possible from that of its rival. However, as
far as I know there is no clear evidence other than Lycinus rhetorical
constructions in On Dance suggesting that pantomime as a genre had a
classicizing agenda.27 This eulogistic classicization of pantomime may well
be put forth by Lucian as an equally extreme counterweight to the diatribes
against the genre. Nevertheless, we must not gloss over the visual similarities
between pantomime and classical tragic masks as if they were a mirage
or simple coincidence. They may well point to useful parallelisms in the
function of the mask. To my mind, we are in the range of strong probability
suggesting that pantomime and classical tragedy, independently of each
other, generated a comparable kind of mask as they looked to cater to similar
semiotic needs in performance. In pantomime, the process is more likely to
have been intra-generic than the result of external pressures. It was a matter
of poetics, not polemics or ideology.
In fact, any mask other than one of the neutral kind would be unfit for
pantomime, redundant and even distracting from the crux of the perfor-
mance: that is, the pantomimes ability to impersonate the and
(Salt. 67) of a number of characters in sequence (five, more or less, as it
appears), purely by way of bodily movement, gesture and dance and with
the absolute minimum of representational appurtenances. The pantomime
performer was judged on his knack for bending his body in such a way that
it remoulded itself into a diversity of forms, thereby enacting a narrative.
We have it on good authority that the scarf (pallium) which accompanied
the dancers ankle-length robe could be used for creating various
during the dance.28 The dancer could also sometimes use props, as well,29
but this is as far as he would go by way of using external means to create
meaning. In terms of external equipment and accoutrements, Ruth Webb
notes, the pantomime was minimalist. The effect was created almost entirely
by the dancers skills and, crucially, his interaction with the audiences
knowledge of the stories and characters he represented. To achieve his effect,
the dancer needed to prompt the spectators to contribute imaginatively
to the creation of the scenario as a whole, imagining settings and even
other characters.30 Costume, masks and props were ancillary accessories
rather than indispensable prerequisites of the pantomimes art. The masks
in particular were certainly a plus in large-venue performances. They further
contributed atmosphere and gravitas, even a sense of mystique to the dance.
But their semiotic value was little and they were certainly far from self-
standing or even foregrounded signs.31
An unnamed, but apparently illustrious pantomime performer living
in the times of Nero proved this point to the sceptical Cynic philosopher
Demetrios (Salt. 73). Demetrios disparagingly considered the dancer himself
a , a side-act, to the magnificent visual elements of the performance:
the choral song, the music of the wind and percussion instruments, the silk
garments and of course the . It was all these, to his mind,
that decorated () the art of the pantomime, not the dancing,
which itself it was pointless ( ). In response to this criticism, the
anonymous pantomime performer ordered all accompaniments to silence32
even shot arrows to the audience, among whom was Augustus himself.
30 Webb (2008a) 47.
31 Some scholars even suggest that changing masks in the course of the performance may
have been common in the canonical form of the genre, but may not have been obligatory
in modified versions of it, such as performances in dinner parties, etc.: see Rotolo (1957) 5;
Webb (2008a) 48. The theory presupposes, evidently, a kind of generic pantomime mask in
accordance with the generic costume.
32 Of course, an experienced spectator of pantomime would know what Libanius, Or. 64.113,
444 a.k. petrides
and then danced on his own devices ( ) the story of Ares and
Aphrodites adultery. The effect was so impressive that the Cynic cried: I
can hear, man, not only see what you are doing! You give me the impression
of talking with your very hands! It is not clear whether
implies that the pantomime disposed of costume and mask as well in this
epideictic performance, but it seems to be implied.33 Anyway, the moral of the
story is that no paraphernalia were absolutely indispensable in pantomime
performance. The fancy of a bare pantomime is, of course just as much
of a rhetorical device as a tragedy doing away with actors and competitive
festivals altogether (Aristotle, Poetics 1450b1620), but both these texts show
how hierarchies of signs can be constructed either in performance practice
or on the prescription pad of a theoretician.
That the mask on its own did not have even the minimum representational
purchase is clearly suggested in another anecdote recounted by Lycinus
(Salt. 76). This is the story of a performance gone awry. In the story, although
the chorus had apparently announced that Hector was the character to be
mimed next, the mask itself was clearly insufficient to denote Hector in any
meaningful iconographic way or in any physiognomical fashion suggestive of
his . Nor was that the point: the body was the point. The inconspicuous
mask and costume34 immediately shifted the glance to the performers
small stature, and this is where it all went wrong: the audience were seeing
Astyanax, not his father! The anecdote, which refers explicitly to Antioch, the
seat of Lucius Verus indulgence in the spectacles and the only city mentioned
by name in On Dance, may well be genuine. At the same time, however, it
recalls a number of similar stories, in which a pantomime is faulted for
elements of his performance. Some of these stories have the great Pylades
himself as the protagonist.35 One suspects that at least one of the purposes of
points out: that the dance figures of the pantomime are so absorbing during the performance
that it is as if the voice of the chorus has been silenced altogether, even if it is there.
33 It is certainly implied in Plutarch, Moralia 711e7f2, in a context comparing the two
different versions of pantomime developed by Pylades and Bathyllus. After having disqualified
tragedy from the symposium altogether, because it is contriving () too many
dramatic effects in putting on pathetic and pitiful stories, the character Diogenianos proceeds:
,
, ,
,
. Minar translates the difficult underlined phrase aptly as a straightforward
unaccompanied dance.
34 It is a fair inference that the dancer did not change costumes as the characters alternated
such stories, beyond the fact that anecdotes are intrinsically interesting, could
have been to caution trainee dancers against common errors. The caveat here
would be clearly that the neutral masks substantial input is constructed by
the spectators as part of a whole cluster of signifiers holistically interpreted,
rather than dished up to them by a semiotized, dominant mask.
It transpires, therefore, that Lycinus may well be hitting upon the truth
arguing that the mask of pantomime was diluted into a harmonious sym-
phony of collaborating signs rather than being promoted as a (cacophonous)
star act. The neutral mask has all the characteristics and semiotic properties
that pantomime required. It has, as we said, the ability to act as a pointer
to other signifiers in the performance, to reflect the gaze elsewhere, to the
signs that are most crucial to the art. It bears nothing but the most generic
information; hence it is open to being written upon. It is the kind of mask
that can accentuate the body of the performer most boldly, as it stands out
only for its ability to integrate itself into the whole.
4. Conclusion
36 On authenticity, see Anderson (1977). On the dialogues date, see Kokolakis (1959) 37.
37 On the notorious difficulties encountered in pinning down Lucians own voice in his
works, see among many others Branham (1989) and Whitmarsh (2001) 247294.
38 This is an old view of Roberts (1930, 122), revived by Jones (1986) 68, but generally
discredited.
39 This is, more or less, Lada-Richards view, more concisely expressed in Lada-Richards
(2008) 298304.
446 a.k. petrides
40 Scholars used to surmise that Craton was a stand-in for a famous detractor of pantomime,
the sophist Aelius Aristides; see Kokolakis (1959) 910. The view that Lucian is responding
directly to Aristides here or in Nigrinus or elsewhere, in the manner that Libanius Oratio 64
was explicitly such a response, has been abandoned.
41 Cf. for instance the argument that pantomime was not made part of the competitions
() because it was too good for the games (Salt. 32), or that Proteus was actually a
mimetic dancer, whom myth transformed into a creature with actual metamorphic abilities
(Salt. 19)a playful way to turn a familiar metaphor (cf. Lib. Or. 64.117) into usable fact! On
Proteus as a metaphor for the performer, see Webb (2005) and Lada-Richards (2007) 9697,
for other flaws in Lycinus line of argument.
42 Garelli (2007) 266.
the poetics of the pantomime mask 447
of the neutral kind of mask in antiquity, akin but not directly related to the
mask of classical tragedy, and sharply contrasted with the postclassical tragic
mask.
That the pantomime mask bears a superficial physical resemblance to
the mask of classical tragedy, as much as it distinguishes itself sharply from
its postclassical development, seems to be a demonstrable fact. For sure, it
does not seem likely that pantomime programmatically wished to return to
classical values and ideals, as Lycinus classicizing construction of the genre
suggests. Theatrical are first and foremost practical tools, not rhetorical
weapons. In the same time, however, theatrical mould to the semiotic
requirements of performance. This must be all the more so in genres such
as pantomime, which are wont to economise on the use of representational
contraptions of any physical kind. I tried to show that the neutral kind of
mask is ideally suited for pantomime.
Therefore, to my mind, the safest conclusion is the following. Any similarity
in the outlook of the masks of classical tragedy and pantomime must have
been the result of the two genres reaching similar sculptural solutions
while looking to satisfy comparable semiotic needs. Pantomime developed
a neutral mask of its own, akin in function to the neutral mask of classical
tragedy but not genealogically related to- or formed under any immediate
influence from classical tragedy. The reason was, I suggested, that pantomime
performance required an ensemble of signifiers with the focus thrown on the
body rather than on the face. The latter, foregrounding the face, was the effect
of the expressive mask of postclassical tragedy. That pantomime deliberately
shied away from this effect in an attempt to improve on the great rival genre
is something that Lycinus seems to imply as he tries to bestow classical
splendour and authority upon pantomime. We obviously need to take this
claim with a pinch of salt. Anyhow, the pantomime mask, neutral as it was,
was undoubtedly decorous enough to invest the pantomimes routine with
gravitas and aesthetic appeal. It was also minimally representational as to
facilitate audience awareness of character change (especially as such change
seems to have structured the plot, as well), but not so overly conspicuous
as to distract the viewer from the master sign of the performance, that is,
the dancing body of the performer. Lucians On Dance, therefore, rhetorical
as it may be, can allow us to form an idea of the poetics of the pantomime
mask.
448 a.k. petrides
Edith Hall
One of the most important media through which the inhabitants of the
Roman Empire had access to the canonical stories which had first been
dramatised at Athens in the fifth century bce was in the performance of
pantomimes, serious balletic narratives in which all (panta) the important
roles were mimed by a silent male solo dancer. When recently writing the
introduction to the first collection of essays entirely devoted to this art form,
New Directions in Ancient Pantomime,1 it struck me that much of the important
testimony which needed to be put together as contextualising material
had previously remained almost completely unfamiliar to most scholars
of ancient drama, and has usually been given only a perfunctory treatment
even in histories of ancient entertainment. The present volume offers an
ideal vehicle for introducing theatre historians as well as classicists to the
new developments in our understanding of this intriguing medium, and to
that end I here offer an adapted and condensed version of that introductory
essay.
The pantomime dancer was accompanied by music and the words of
the libretto, which was performed by singers and sometimes a speaking
actor or herald. But it was the dancers skill in communicating through
movement and gesture, and in transforming himself from one role to another
assisted by little more than a change of mask, which thrilled antiquitys
enthusiastic pantomime fans. This glamorous medium of entertainment,
where the text was subordinated to the visual language, was regarded by many
educated people in antiquity as vulgar and degenerate;2 their prejudices
were inherited by classical scholars, who until recently almost ignored
pantomime, except for its role in Roman politics. For young aristocratic
males of the equestrian class seem to have been particularly intimate
with pantomime dancers, and to have found a way of expressing dissent
and dissatisfaction with the emperors authority through such decadent asso-
ciations.3 In 15ce Tiberius attempted to control the amount of money spent
on public shows as well as the violent conflicts between the fans of rival
pantomime dancers (Tacitus, Annals 1.77.4). By the fourth century ce, the
partisan groups that supported particular theatrical performers had devel-
oped a loud political voice, and were able, by chanting slogans in the theatre,
to exert considerable demagogic and political influence. As part of main-
stream Roman political history, this aspect of pantomime has been relatively
well investigated.4
The mediums nature as a performance genre has fared less well. This is
partly because the evidence is so patchy and diverse; there are hardly any
certain visual images and no undisputed example of a pantomime libretto.
The explicit surviving testimony is troublesome: it mainly consists of two
rhetorically tendentious treatises by defenders of the medium (Lucian and
Libanius),5 biased condemnations by moralists and church fathers, and
some rather uninformative inscriptions and short poems. Yet an effort to
understand this late chapter in the history of ancient theatre performance is
rendered indispensable by the extent of its impact on ancient culture. Until
well after the triumph of Christianity, pantomime dancers performed in every
corner of the Roman Empire, from at least as early as the second decade of
the first century bce, when a reference to a pantomimos first appears in an
inscription from Priene in south-west Asia Minor.6
The formal conditions under which the pantomime dancers performed
could vary enormously. They were sometimes joined by an assistant actor, or
groups of dancers of either sex. They could dance to the accompaniment of a
large orchestra and choir, or a single musical instrument and a narrator or solo
singer. The tone of the performances could vary from danced drama on high-
minded tragic themes, to stagings of quaint Arcadian adventures involving
Pan and satyrs, to risqu semi-pornographic masque. Ancient polemicists
and even medical writers certainly suggest that pantomime dancers could
arouse strong sexual responses; the Pergamene doctor Galen prided himself
on the case of Justus wife, from whose pulse he had been able to diagnose
not illness but her infatuation with a pantomime dancer named Pylades (On
Precognition 14.630.15; see also Juvenal, Satire 6.66).
Yet at the heart of all pantomime performance was the notion that a story
could be told through a dancers silent, rhythmical movements, poses and
gestures. The author of a late Latin poem expressed succinctly what was
special about this type of performer:
He fights, he plays, he loves, he revels, he turns round, he stands still, he
illuminates the truth, and imbues everything with grace. He has as many
tongues as limbs, so wonderful is the art by which he can make his joints speak
although his mouth is silent.7
Since the stories that were told in pantomimes were often drawn from the
tragic repertoire, and pantomime shared other features with the venerable
conventions of tragic theatre, its practitioners sometimes used of themselves
the label actor of tragic rhythmical movement (
). The term is found, for example, on a Delphi inscription of the late
second or early third centuries ce, attached to the statue of a pantomime
named dancer Apolaustos.8 The inscription, which originally accompanied a
statue of this superstar, recorded some of the highlights in his glittering career.
He had travelled all over Greece and the Hellenised East, winning victory in
festival competitions in any city worthy of the name. Rewarded at each with
a portfolio of honourscash prizes, honorary citizenship or membership of
the council, a coveted priesthood, a statue, an honorific inscriptionthis
artist was felt to be one of the best travelled and most illustrious individuals
of the day.9
Although Galen saw the proliferation of statues of dancers as a sign that
the world had forgotten about the value of hard work (On Precognition 14.599
605), Apolaustos professional tours look more demanding even than those
undertaken by the modern stars of opera, ballet, or rock music. But itinerant
pantomime celebrities were certainly not a feature exclusive to the Greek
East and Italy. More than a century after Apolaustos, a theatregoer in Arausio
(Orange) in southern France, the location of an impressive Roman theatre
adorned with a statue of Augustus, wore a terracotta medallion declaring that
he was a fan of the dancer Parthenopaeus.10 This dancer must have travelled
the theatres of Gaul competing, with the help of his assistant, to the sound
of a portable water organ (Fig. 1).
7 Latin Anthology 100.710, ed. Shackleton-Bailey (1982) 8889; translation by the author.
8 Fouilles de Delphes iii.1.551.
9 See W.J. Slater 1995.
10 The medallion, manufactured and found at Orange, is now in the museum at Saint-
Germain (cat. no. 31673). For a discussion, see Perrot (1971) 93.
454 edith hall
11 Fantham 1989.
pantomime 455
9.505.17). This dance idiom, with its elaborate gestures and detailed imitation
of the passions, conditioned and reflected other types of cultural practice
and discourse, from rhetorical declamation to epic poetry, from the visual
and decorative arts to philosophy, love poetry and prose fiction.12
Quantitatively speaking, pantomime played a more important role in edu-
cating the majority of inhabitants of the Roman empire in mythology than,
for example, recitations of poetry. Libanius makes this explicit: pantomime
is a form of instruction for the masses ( ) about the
deeds of the ancients, and its broad social appeal is expressed in his images of
the humble goldsmith educated in myths, and the slave who sings songs from
the pantomimes as he runs errands in the market-place (Or. 64.112). Most
work on pantomime has tended to focus on the infatuation of Roman upper
classes with the medium under the Julio-Claudian and Flavian Emperors, but
pantomime transcended all class boundaries: Seneca wrote in a letter that the
clamour and applause of the common people did honour to the pantomime
dancers (Ep. 29.12). It is not just that the medium seems to have penetrated
every corner of ancient life, at least if we are to believe Dio Chrysostom when
he says that pantomime dancers performed in the streets, and even offered
lessons there, taking no notice of the vendors and street brawls around them
(Or. 20.9). It is not even just that pantomime enjoyed an astonishingly long
floruit, since the successive attempts by Christian Emperors to ban dancing
across the empire proved ineffective in some cities; Byzantine versions of
pantomime can be identified as late as the middle of the 7th century ce.13 It
is even more important that it was performed over such a wide geographical
area.
The textual evidence is particularly disappointing when it is contrasted
with the scale of activity implied by the sheer number of theatres that were
in use across the vast regions covered by the Roman Empire. We know of one
hundred and seventy five theatres in Italy and Sicily, and considerably more
than that have been found in the provinces, from Lisbon (Olisipo) in the
west and Catterick (in the northern part of the British county of Yorkshire)
in the north to Comana in Cappadocia. No fewer than fifty-three theatres are
attested for one of the six North African provincesAfrica Proconsularis
alone.14 Entertainers travelled immense distances to perform for audiences
12 See Garelli 2007 and the essays by Huskinson, Lada-Richards, Schlapbach, and May in
18 See Easterling (1993) and (1997c); Csapo (2004a); Hall (2007a) and (2007b); Csapo (2010),
esp. ch. 5.
19 Hall 2008b.
20 Ath. 1.20d; Zosimus, Historia Nova 6.1; Suda s.v. Alexandria, pantomimos, and Bathyl-
los. See also Leppin (1992) 284285, 217218 and Goldberg (2005) 119120.
458 edith hall
21 On the terminological connections with the ancient discussion of tragedy see Jory (2004)
154155.
22 On attempts to identify early Greek ancestors of pantomime dancing see above all
Kokolakis 1959.
23 See Wiseman (1985) 198205, who discusses the possibility that Catullus poem about
Gallus, his Attis (no. 63), was danced as a pantomime at the Megalesia (i.e., Megalenses Ludi),
the Roman festival of Cybele; see also Newman (1990) 357366.
24 Stephanis (1988) no. 1389; see Robert (1969) 241; on the Greek terminology, see also
Vesterinen 2005.
25 The contents of this paragraph owe much to Jory (2002) 238240.
pantomime 459
Sarugh implies that this was the type of floor preferred by discriminating
pantomime dancers.33 This meant that Pompeii had two stone theatres when
Rome had not yet acquired even one, which may suggest the availability at
Pompeii of a wide range of diverse performances differing in scale, type and
number of personnel.34 The Pompeii amphitheatre followed soon afterwards,
and at the beginning of Augustan period the wealthy brothers Marcus
Holconius Rufus and Marcus Holconius Celer completely restored the large
theatre, dedicating it to Augustus. They added lavish marble ornamentation
and increased the capacity of its theatre to five thousand spectators, creating
additional seating for the lowest-ranking members of the audience, including
slaves and the poor, even if it was constructed to keep them apart from the
rest.35
The very variety and size of venues at Pompeii raises the question of the
type of performance space in which we should expect to place the ancient
pantomime dancer, and the answer seems to be that he danced wherever
people paid him to do so. Besides amphitheatres, there was a large variety of
theatre types across the Roman Empire, ranging from small roofed odea and
cultic or private theatres to vast public performance spaces. These all featured
a cavea that was semicircular, or somewhat exceeded a semicircle, but in
other respects they displayed considerable regional differences in terms of
stage construction and design, facilities, equipment, seating arrangements,
and shape of orchestra.36 One of the advantages of the pantomime idiom was
therefore its flexibility in terms of the possible venues and the number of
personnel required: the minimum was probably the dancer plus one other
person, singing a song and playing an instrument, a combination that could
easily be accommodated in the dining space of a private person. Indeed,
Zarmakoupi has identified just such a space at the Villa Oplontis at Torre
Annunziata, between Pompeii and Herculaneum, which is believed to have
belonged to Neros second wife Poppaea and was undergoing elaborate
renovations at the time of the eruption.37
33 The sole manuscript (which also contains metrical discourses by another Syriac homilist,
Isaac of Antioch) is in the British Library (Add MS 17158, folios 148). Unfortunately, the text
of Jacobs first homily is almost entirely missing, and parts of homilies 2 and 3 are illegible. But
an edition and translation of what survives was published by Cyril Moss in 1935 in Le Muson:
Revue d tudes orientales vol. 48; a version of his translation, slightly rephrased and updated,
can be found in an appendix to Hall and Wyles 2008.
34 Zanker (1998) 6568 calls the small theatre an odeum.
35 Zanker (1998) 4446, 107109, 113.
36 See Sear (2006) 2536.
37 Zarmakoupi 2007, especially chs. 45; see also Sear (2006) 4647.
pantomime 461
Libanius letters and orations convey his love of the old city where he
resided, with its entrepreneurial culture and addiction to entertainment:
it was, after all, the sort of place that had a beautiful mosaic depicting a
smiling female personification of GethosunePleasure, or Delightin its
public bath complex.43 Libanius describes the Antiochene theatre happily
resounding with contests of pipes, lyre and voice and the manifold delights
of the stage (11.218). Libanius received his higher education in the Classics at
Athens, before returning to an appointment as the head of the best school
in Antioch and the citys official sophist, whose duties included writing on
its behalf to the Roman emperor. As the last great Atticist pagan scholar, he
watched with dismay the encroachments of Christianity into the old classical
curriculum, and did not approve of them. Since, like Lucian in De saltante,
Libanius is in his oration in defence of the dancers responding to Aristides
attack on them, he was plugging into a controversy that was already two
centuries old, and was almost certainly recycling information and images. It
has been proposed, therefore, that his treatise may not be reliable as a source
of factual and empirical data. But the Emperor Julians Misopogon, a satirical
oration on Antioch published in 363 ce, confirms Libanius impression that
there were many actors living there: it was the sort of metropolitan centre
which, says Julian, had more mimes than ordinary citizens.44 Life there for
professional performers must have been attractive, at least after Commodus
decree in relation to the city, which (according to Malalas 285.1216) included
amongst its provisions one that gave public support to mimes and pantomime
dancers.
Other cities challenged Antiochs claim to supremacy in the field of
pantomime, however, since one third-century source specifies Caesarea in
Palestine as the city most closely associated with the production of brilliant
pantomime dancers.45 Pantomime dancers were available for hire in Roman
Egypt. Pantomime is associated explicitly in the sources with Carthage and
Uzalis in North Africa. The case of Sabratha is particularly intriguing. Its
theatre is decorated with a superb sculptural depiction of the five roles of
Paris, Hermes, and the three goddesses judged by Paris preening themselves,
all with the closed mouths of the pantomime mask, dating from the late
second century ce,46 and it was at Sabratha where Apuleius himself was
put on trial. Apuleius novel Metamorphoses, often known as The Golden
Ass, includes one the few ancient descriptions of a dance on a mythological
theme, the Judgment of Paris ballet in book 10. This was an outstandingly
popular theme not only in the theatre, but in rhetorical exercises and
the visual arts of the imperial period. Becker and Kondoleon point to
the beautiful mosaic illustrating the theme from the Atrium House at
Antioch, and suggest that it might well have been among the entertaining
vignettes enacted in the banquet rooms of Roman Antioch 47 Pantomime
performance of the Judgment of Paris in a much larger, public arena is
implied by its depiction on a Roman mosaic from Kos as part of a larger
composition, including wild beast hunts, seemingly depicting amphitheatre
spectacles.48
It is important not to neglect the Western provinces of the empire, where
pantomime was enjoyed just as much as in the old Hellenised cities in what
is now Turkey and Syria. A colourful anecdote preserved by Dio Cassius
recounts how a mediocre freedman dancer named Theocritus failed to
impress the connoisseurs of pantomime at Rome, but delighted the allegedly
more boorish Gauls for whom he performed at Lugdunum (Lyons) in Eastern
France (Roman History 17.21.2). Pantomime was certainly performed in south-
western France at Narbo (Narbonne) and Arelate (Arles), with its stunning
12,000-seat theatre completed under Augustus, and dazzling orchestra, paved
in pink and green with a white marble border.49 It was at Trier (Augusta
Treverorum), a city with a spectacular ancient theatre, that Salvianus was
educated, before moving to work as a priest in Massalia (Marseilles) in the
mid-5th century ce, and he is a harsh critic of pantomime. Correspondingly,
it was at Trier that there was originally discovered the most famous ancient
depiction of a pantomime dancer, holding his masks; it is an ivory plaque
now in Berlin (Fig. 2).
81.
464 edith hall
What was it like to be one of the men who entranced huge audiences in
such theatres? How did it feel to be Vincentius, the glory of the pantomimes,
when he danced the well-known stories and held the theatre until the
evening stars rose at Timgad, the Numidian colony for veterans built by
Trajan?50 No doubt he enjoyed his wealth and celebrity. He will surely have
relished his ability to mesmerise his spectators as well as move them to
tears (Augustine Confessions 3.2.4). No doubt he gained immense satisfaction
from conversing with all kinds of audiences not through verbal language
but through gesture, nod, leg, knee, hand and spin (Sidonius Apollinaris,
Carmina 23.269270). But since we have lost documents such as the treatise
on pantomime that the Augustan star Pylades is said to have written
(Athenaeus 1.20e), we have no subjective records of the dancers thoughts
and experiences, although comparison with writings on other global dance
traditions such as Kathakali can prove suggestive.51
Pantomime masks were distinguished from tragic masks by their closed
mouths and greater visual beauty. An invaluable comment in Fronto tells
us that the pantomime dancers costume was very distinctive: he details
the remarkable uses to which a single garmentthe mantlecould be
put (On Orations 5). It could also play the role of a propits fluid fabric
allowed it to be moulded to represent a swan, the tresses of Venus, or the
scourge of a Fury. Much of the pleasure in pantomime seems to have been
generated by the transformation of the dancer into different roles within
the individual story: if he was dancing a pantomime version of the story told
in Euripides Bacchae, for example, he would successively assume the mask
and persona of Dionysus, Tiresias, Cadmus, a messenger, and the delirious
Agave (Greek Anthology 16.289). It is difficult to reconstruct exactly how the
changes of mask and costumes were effected, but the language of costume
clearly worked differently in pantomime from the way that it functioned in
conventionally staged tragedy.52
Women featured prominently in the stories told by the pantomime
dancers. They are also to be found at times in the choirs that accompanied
it (Libanius Or. 64.87), amongst the patrons of the medium (notably the
elderly Umidia Quadratilla mentioned by Pliny (Ep. 7.241ff.), who does not
50 See the memorial poem for Vincentius, in limping iambics, first published by Bayet 1955
and translated into English in Csapo and Slater (1994) 383. On the Timgad theatre itself, see
Sear (2006) 274.
51 Webb 2008a.
52 Wyles 2008.
466 edith hall
might say, of the central function of pantomimoi as links between Greek culture and Roman
spectacle.
54 Starks 2008.
55 On the Charition mime see Hall 2010.
56 On the relationship between pantomime and the pyrrhic dance see Ceccarelli 1998,
ch. 9.
pantomime 467
saffron-coloured cloud is released through a spout, releasing a sweet odour that reached
everyone in the theatre (10.34). Joseph of Sarughs third Homily on the Spectacles of the Theatre
berates the pantomime dancer because he mimes the stories of the gods, and burns perfume
at the plays (folio 11 verso b of PBarc Inv. nos. 158ab, 159ab, 160ab and 161a, incorporated as
fols. 3336; see Hall and Wyles (2008) 415).
58 Discourse to the Greeks 22 = PG VI, 837, as translated in McKinnon (1987) 2.
468 edith hall
59 Paedagogus II, iv = PG VIII, 440441, translated by McKinnon (1987) 34. For the cultural
Annie Blis, and constructed by Jean-Claude Condi, in Pch and Vendries (2001) 46. For
an instrumentalist dressed as a Bacchic dancer playing one (as well as a double aulos), on
a sarcophagus of the second century ce in the Capitoline Museum at Rome, see the image
reproduced in Pch and Vendries (2001) 46.
61 See Lucian, De saltante 2, 63, 68; Libanius 64.97; Blis 1988.
62 See Pch and Vendries (2001) 98100.
63 Translated by McKinnon 1987.
pantomime 469
69 For Statius Agave libretto see Juvenal, Sat. 7.8287; for Lucan see the anonymous Life of
74 Zanobi 2008.
75 Hall 2008a.
pantomime 473
new Muse of Pantomime. The identification of the ancient name with this
novel and sophisticated dance medium is perhaps best expressed in Nonnus
revisionist Dionysiac epic, when he describes the Muses performance at
the wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia: Polymnia, nursing-mother of the
dance, waved her arms, and sketched in the air an image of a soundless voice,
speaking with hands and moving eyes in a graphic picture of silence full of
meaning (Dionysiaca 5.88).76 Silence full of meaning: there could be no
better description of the fragmented, disjointed but commanding evidence
for the cultural significance of ancient pantomime.
George A. Kovacs
* An early stage of this paper was delivered to the Classical Association of Canada.
C.W. Marshall and Ian Storey both read late drafts and provided many helpful comments;
Ian Storey also kindly allowed me to consult his (then) forthcoming Loeb edition of comic
fragments. Roy Hagman and Cindy Ellen Morgan, performers with the medieval ensemble
Hurly Burly in Peterborough Ontario, lent their expertise in pre-modern instruments. Robin
Osborne and Peter Wilson both kindly showed me drafts of their articles on the Pronomos Vase.
1 Harps enter the visual record in Athens surprisingly late, circa 430bc (Bundrick (2005)
30). They are mentioned but do not appear on stage in the fifth century as far as we can tell.
2 The evidence limits me to plays of the fifth century, but several fourth-century come-
dies have suggestive titles: Anaxilas Lyropoios; Antiphanes Aults; Philetaerus Philaulos;
Theophilus Kitharidos.
3 Throughout this chapter, I favour the Attic Thamyras over the Homeric Thamyris.
478 george a. kovacs
ancient music theory, Barker (1989), Maas and Snyder (1989), West (1992), Creese (1997),
Mathiesen (1999), Landels (1999), and Bundrick (2005) are all useful.
5 Cf. Odyssey 21.404409 and Heraclitus fr. 51 DK (= 27 Marcovich),
, a stringing like for a bow or lyre bends back upon itself, see Snyder
(1984).
6 Back views offer the vase painter the opportunity to depict the more colourful side of
the lyra.
7 Hymn to Hermes 3954; Ichneutai from P.Oxy 1174 287295 and 312325 (fr. 314 R, both
passages are fragmentary, but the chorus must hear of the ox hide for their accusations of
cattle rustling at 335).
8 Theseus is seen with a lyra only in early representations. In the fifth century, he loses
the association with this aristocratic instrument; see P. Wilson (2004) 299.
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 479
with built-in arms that curved out and back in toward a pair of parallel posts
for the string yoke. This lyra was larger and heavier than its shell counterpart:
vase depictions often include a sling to help bear the weight of the kithara,
which was held outward from the body during playing. A piece of cloth was
often hung from the back, apparently for decoration, though it may have
had some practical use (for drying sweaty hands or strings? See Mathiesen
(1999) 266). Where the chelys lyra was more traditional and mythological,
the kithara was a fifth-century concert instrument. As the strings tightened
against a fixed frame, greater tension (and therefore volume) was possible
(Landels (1999) 6566). Size of the sound box likely had some effect on
volume, but not much: a modern upright bass is not much louder than a
guitar. Professional kitharidoi (musicians who played and sang) frequently
engaged in competition, and the larger instrument was more technically
demanding. The kithara may have become more complex toward the end of
the fifth century with additional strings, in conjunction with the rise of the
New Music, but this complexity may rather be attributable to new playing
techniques (Maas 1992). When a lyra appeared in the hands of an actor, it
was surely the kithara, played by an off stage musician, that actually provided
the sound in performance.
For each of the chelys lyra and the kithara, there is a smaller but distinct
cousin relevant here.9 The barbitos was another shell lyra, constructed from a
smaller shell with longer arms that flared out before curving back in toward
the string yoke. Visual representations indicate Dionysian associations and
the barbitos seems to have been most commonly played at kmoi and
symposia: it was a party instrument. Its proportionally smaller sound box
and longer strings would not have provided a great deal of volume, and
so the instrument was best suited to private settings. The barbitos would
not have been ideal for theatrical use, though we do know of at least one
likely appearance. At Knights 522, the Old Comedy poet Magnes is
plucking, twanging, or strumming.10 This, we are told by the scholiast, is
9 The phorminx, the smaller box lyra known to Homer, had by the fifth century been
relegated to exclusively female use in smaller social contexts. Early references suggest a
continuity with the larger kithara, which succeeded it.
10 Playing technique is uncertain, as is the exact implication of this verb, which can be
used of stringed instruments or of the bow. Maas and Snyder (1989) 64, 84 analyze positions of
the right hand in the visual evidence and conclude that the kitharists uses [the plectrum] in
a stroke that sweeps outward across the strings, sounding all the strings that are not damped
with the left-hand fingers. This technique, they conclude, is applicable to both kithara and
chelys lyra.
480 george a. kovacs
11 The scholiast lists the titles of five plays, only one of which is attested elsewhere. The
scholiast may be inferring the titles from the text, but it is difficult to see why the scholiast
would infer the title Barbitistai from the reference to strumming when there were other, more
theatrical instruments to choose from; see Storey (2011).
12 Orpheus: Athens Nat. Mus. 15190 (LIMC Orpheus 30); Mousaios: New York MMA
Samuel D. Lee Fund 1937 37.11.23 (LIMC s.v. Eumolpus 1). Mousaios and Thamyras appear on
one Attic pyxis together, with Mousaios playing a harp and Thamyris playing a Thracian lyra,
Athens, Nat. Mus. 19636 (LIMC s.v. Thamyris, Thamyras 9). See Philippaki (1988).
13 Athens Nat Mus 1469, ARV 2 1084.17, for instance, shows a youthful-looking kitharists
standing on a small podium between a winged figure (presumably Nike) and a bearded man
with a staff who seems to be judging the musician. One particularly interesting example (New
York MMA Fletcher Fund 1925 25.78.66; LIMC s.v. Silenoi 97) shows three satyrs playing
Thracian lyrai before an aults in performance costume. The satyrs are labelled as Singers at
the Panathenaia. The satyrs are not seen playing in unison, but this should not be taken as
evidence for asynchronous playing. Rather, the artist has drawn each at a different point in
the act of strumming, and the three figures (virtually indistinguishable) together represent
the complete action.
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 481
by foreigners, slaves, and women. Yet the auloi were everywhere in Athens.
The story of Athena and Marsyas, preserved in Pausanias account (1.24)
of a statue group on the Acropolis, articulates the ambiguity: Athena has
discovered and now rejects the instrument, while the satyr Marsyas picks it up
(P. Wilson (1999) 7477). This dichotomy is not always borne out in practice,
as Wilson acknowledges: aultai were everywhere in Athens from drinking
parties to triremes to theatrical productions, and musicians could achieve
great fame. Not only that, the place of kitharidia in Athenian intellectualism
and other manifestations of cultural elitism grew far more complex as the
fifth century progressed, bound up as it was with the politically fraught New
Music (P. Wilson 2004). Nevertheless, this division of aulos and lyra reflects
the general perception of the ancients themselves and makes a useful starting
point for dramaturgical analysis.
Greek theatre (and tragedy in particular) was regarded as the most
prominent Athenian cultural product of the period, so we might expect the
lyra, itself endowed with a long-standing mythological and literary pedigree,
to be an important part of theatre. Yet the instrument of the theatre was
clearly the aulos: Strings are striking primarily for their absence (P. Wilson
(2004) 277). The aulos saw more widespread use in the performance of Greek
theatre partly for practical reasons: it was louder and could therefore be
heard when accompanying a singing chorus. Just how loud a kithara could
be is debatable, but surely it could not overcome a chorus as effectively as
the aulos.14
Use and appearance of the lyra in fifth-century drama were in fact quite
rare. These appearances are not confined to one theatrical genre: tragedy,
comedy, and satyr-play all used lyrai on stage. That lyrai must have been
14 Maas and Snyder (1989) 33, 54, 65 suggest that the kithara might be louder than originally
imagined, but the evidence they supply is limited. Visual evidence is limited to a single early
relief depicting two kithara players (Orpheus and a companion on the Argo on a metope from
the treasure of the Sikyonians, c. 560bce), which show the kitharai in side view, with deep
sound boxes, but the image is extremely worn. Even if this depiction is accurate, a deeper
sound box would not produce a louder kithara, but a more resonant one with a deeper sound
(admittedly deeper sounds are more effective in accompaniment). This would explain one
literary reference to the phorminx as thundering or resonant (Pindar Nem. 9.8).
Other terms for the sound of the phorminx include cry (Pindar fr. 140a.61, where the
multiple phorminges are also described as , shrill-voiced), shouts (Pindar
Pyth. 10.39), crying or screaming (Eur. Ion 882), shout (Eur. IA 1039) or the more
neutral voice (Bacc. 14.13). These typically place the sound of lyrai (usually plural) in a
mythical or supernatural context (among the Hyperboreans, for instance, or in the presence
of Dionysus) and among an orchestral cacophony of other instruments, auloi and choruses
especially. The only other example given by Maas and Snyder, that the kitharidos is louder
than the cocks crow at Ecclesiazusae 737741, refers to the singer rather than the instrument.
482 george a. kovacs
age at the time the vase was produced, see P. Wilson (2010).
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 483
18 P. Vienna G 2315 (= Orestes 338444) and P. Leiden inv. P. 510 (= IA 15001509, 784794).
Both date to the third or possibly second century bce. These are collected by Phlman and
West (2001).
19 It is of course impossible to know how much is lost, but known titles are suggestive. One
inspired them has been a topic of much debate. Taplin provides level-headed appraisals for
drama (1993) and tragedy specifically (2007). For a more sceptical point of view see Small
(2003). Csapo (2010) 182 treats the subject thoroughly.
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 485
this instance one can imagine the aults making noises for the birds as they
interact. The other vase is a fragment of a bell krater, especially intriguing as
it is both Attic and late fifth-century (c. 415). It appears to depict an aults
accompanying tragic dancers, rather than comic (figure 4).27 Csapo (2010)
9 comments on the unprecedented realism of the scene: For the first time
the art shows us a performance, pure and simple, without even a hint at
the story behind the performance, let alone the myth behind the story. The
dancers wear realistic-looking masks (i.e., without comic exaggeration) and
are seen in different dance poses. The aults plays between the two dancers.
He is accompanied by a young male assistant, who may be holding spare
mouthpieces (his hands are upon the break in the shard). The presence of
the boy is certainly unusual; Revermann (2006a) 87 n. 64 suggests a rehearsal
context.
Another important detail in this fragment is the consistency in costume:
not only are the choreuts in matching costumes, but so too are the aults and
his assistant, all with the same circle-pattern and dark hem.28 The costume
of the aults differs only in its cut: he wears a longer flowing cloak, while
the choreuts are belted with dark hems at the shoulders. The aults wears
the phorbeia, which shows he is actually playing, and marks him as a non-
speaking figure, clearly not part of the chorus. This musician, then, is clearly a
performerthe official aults of the productionand part of the theatrical
experience of the play.
As usual, comedy is more forthcoming with practical details.29 In Aristo-
phanes Thesmophoriazusae, Euripides and his kinsman visit the poet Aga-
thon, who is wheeled out on the ekkyklema as he composes verses for a new
play. If the instrument of composition was the lyra, as P. Wilson (2005) 185
reasonably suggests, we might expect a stringed instrument as a prop, and
perhaps played by the poet to accompany his singing. Just what type of lyra
would Agathon have? After the song, the kinsman mocks Agathons appear-
ance, and juxtaposes the barbitos with a feminine , or saffron robe,
and a lyra with a , or hairnet (Thesmophoriazusae 137138). The
kinsman signals his abuse as a parody of Aeschylus Lycurgeia trilogy, which
featured Orpheus in at least one play (Bassarides, in which the Thracian
bard is torn apart by followers of Dionysus, and possibly Edonoi). The kins-
man, however, is unlikely to be describing the instrument in Agathons hands
accurately: rather he is invoking the rather more masculine variations of
the lyra family (the barbitos, as noted above, was associated with mascu-
line, sympotic drinking and revelry) to contrast with Agathons feminine
clothing.30 Near the end of his song, Agathon invokes the kithara (120
125):
.
.
Leto and the chords in time to Asian foot,
good rhythms by the nods of
Phrygian Graces.
I revere both mistress Leto and
elaborate decoration. Wrzburg, Martin von Wagner-Museum H 4781, ARV 1338. See Taplin
(2007) 30.
29 In addition to the examples here, Phrynicus and Ameipsias each wrote a Connus, a
musician associated with the lyra. The music teacher Damon appeared in Eupolis Goats.
30 West (1992) 58 takes the mention of a barbitos as possible evidence that Dionysus carried
violator of the personified Music. Proclus (Chrestomathy 320a Bekker) reports that Phrynis
mixed hexameter and free verse and added strings to the lyra; see West (1992) 6264; Storey
(2000) 178. Phrynis kithara on the Paestan vase has only six strings, though we should be
careful not to overvalue this detail as evidence for the number of strings.
34 Green (2008) 213 and Piqueux (2006) question the connection. Goulaki-Voutira (1999)
suggests a schoolboy being dragged to his lessons, but the costume is too elaborate, and a
schoolboy would be expected to carry a chelys lyra, not a kithara. On Demoi in general, see
Braun (2000); Storey (2000), (2003) 111174; Tel (2003), (2007).
35 For further discussion on Phrynis role in this play see Revermann (2006a) 318319. Storey
(19951996) 137141 tentatively suggests assigning fr. 326, in which a character asks which kind
of music, old or new, his interlocutor would like to hear.
490 george a. kovacs
,
, , ,
,
,
,
,
,
,
.
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 491
36 There were still significant differences in the structure and presentation of satyric and
the Cyclops dithyramb of Philoxenus. The chorus strophically repeat the phrase at 296.
38 The excision dates from Kocks 1898 edition, and is followed by Dover (1993) and
Sommerstein (1996a).
39 Judging onomatopoetic representations can be tricky business: cultural interpretations
of sounds surely change over time. Consider the variety of noises a pig makes, based on his
nationality: oink oink (English), groin groin (French), knor knor (Dutch), nff nff (Swedish),
boo boo (Japanese), and, of course, ko ko in Aristophanes (Ach. 780, 800803).
492 george a. kovacs
come at the cost of a joke. There are two possibilities for the questionable .
One is that it is included as a definite article preceding an onomatopoetic
noun ( ) or nouns ( ). Thus, Euripides interrupts
lines of Aeschylean lyric with The PHLAT! The THRAT! The PHLAT! The
THRAT! Dionysus misunderstands Euripides cries and combines them into
a single onomatopoetic phrase: What tophlattothrat is this? The second
possibility is that the is part of the onomatopoetic phrase. A fragment of
a clay epinetron from the early fifth century lends support to this idea. It
depicts an Amazonian trumpeter accompanying the arming of other Ama-
zons.40 Surrounding the trumpeter are the syllables .41 The most
likely interpretation is that these are unsophisticated onomatopoetic repre-
sentations of the sounds of the trumpet.42 Clearly the of a trumpet would
produce a different sound than the of a kithara, but this fragment does
imbue with an onomatopoetic value. Consider the versatility of the English
syllables da and dum which might be used to imitate almost any style of
music from Classical to modern rock.
In either case, Euripides in Frogs presents his audience with a repeated
onomatopoetic pattern, tophlattothrat, the phalttothrat, or the phlat, the
thrat. If we retain the o of the manuscripts in the recurring phrase we have
five lines balanced with two (iambic) halves each. Such repetition, both
within the phrase itself and the recurrence of the line, suggests a repetitive,
less variable action, either a picking action (with the onomatopoetic
representing the initial strike of the plectrum on the string and the /
the resultant twanging?) or a strumming motion, perhaps as two passes of
the plectrum per phrase, or four per line. For a lyra in competition with a
chorus, even in an intermezzo structure, louder strumming may be more
appropriate.
About Euripides use of the lyra, we know little. Aeschylus in Frogs
accuses him of deriving his songs from low places: ,
, , , , whore songs, drinking songs
by Miletus, Carian pipe tunes, dirges, and dances (Frogs 13011303)in other
with a solmization scale representing individual notes (as with the English sequence do-
re-mi) attested in Aristides Quintilianus of the third century ce, but this seems needlessly
complicated for an epinetron (a knee guard used while sewing).
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 493
words, from all the places one might encounter pipe music inappropriate
to tragedy. These derogatory sources are part of an attack on Euripides
(and his counterparts) as a practitioner of the New Music, which saw the
application to the lyra of playing methods developed on the aulos.43 We can
reasonably assume the appearance or accompaniment of a lyra in Euripides
for two plays: Antiope and (less certainly) Hypsipyle. Each featured a character
associated with the lyra, Amphion and Orpheus son Euneus respectively,
and fr. 188 Kannicht of Antiope includes an injunction to Amphion from
his brother Zethus to stop playing. Each of these situations suggests not a
choral performance as mocked in Frogs, but rather a solo, virtuoso singing
performance accompanied by a kitharists, in keeping with the practices of
the New Music.
My final case studies are the two plays of Sophocles known to have featured
a lyra on stage: Ichneutai and Thamyras. Neither is fully extant. For the former,
we must rely chiefly on papyrus scraps, fragmentary but closer to the original
performance and perhaps more dramaturgically functional.44 For the latter,
the evidence is primarily visual and anecdotal but grants some speculative
scope.
Sophocles satyr-play Ichneutai (date unknown) is perhaps (despite its
fragmentary state of preservation) the best-known example of a lyra being
used in a performance. That it was seen on stage is certain, though the extant
fragments directly account only for it being heard. The play is modelled on
the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Silenus and the satyr chorus agree to find
the stolen cattle of Apollo in return for their freedom. At least twice during
their search the newly invented lyra sounds out, and the chorus question the
nymph Cyllene, nurse to the infant Hermes. Cyllene describes the chelys lyra
and must have explained its construction (likely in the lacunae at 287295
and 312325). The conclusion of the play is lost, but fragments suggest the
re-appearance of Apollo, who must have received the lyra as a gift. We know
little of musical practices in satyr-play, but a virtuoso performance by Apollo
(or perhaps Hermes), accompanied by the lyra, would make a fine finish to
the play (and the days tetralogy).45
43 For the origins of the New Music in the aulos, see Csapo (2004b) 216221. See also Landels
(1999) 2930.
44 Consider, for example, P.Oxy. 4546, most likely a rehearsal script for a single actor; see
Marshall (2004).
45 Although the patterns of choral song and dance would have differed from tragedy
(see Seidensticker (2003) 108117), there is ample evidence that the professional aults also
accompanied this performance. An aults prepares to accompany a satyric actor (identified
494 george a. kovacs
by his decorated and phallos-equipped shorts) who is already dancing on a late 4th century
vase (Athens NM 13027, ARV 2 1180.2). Elsewhere we see real satyrs (i.e. naked, without actors
shorts) dancing to the music of an aults, where the satyrs are more in the mythic mode
than the performance-conscious mode (e.g. Boston MFA 03.788, ARV 2 571. 75, where the satyrs
carry pieces of furniture, and Ferrara 3031, in which satyrs raise a goddess from the underworld
by beating the ground with hammers; both vases are Attic and from the first half of the fifth
century).
46 Line 136 may also have a ; the second letter is completely lost.
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 495
is even more frightened than the chorus.47 As with the passage from Frogs
above, the lyra is not being played while the chorus sing; instead the sound
interrupts the flow of the spoken verse. Further, the plot demands a chelys
lyra. It was likely not played on stage, nor would it have been played inside the
skene as the satyrs claim: the audience would not be able to hear it clearly. A
kithara player on or near the stage, visible to all but representing an off-stage
chelys lyra, is more likely.
Sophocles had a reputation for musical skill (Athenaeus 1.20ef):
.
.
,
.
Sophocles, in addition to being good looking in his youth, was also taught
dancing and music while still a child by Lamprus. After the sea battle at Salamis
he, naked and oiled, danced to the lyra about the monument. Others say he
was dressed. He himself played the lyra when he produced Thamyris; further,
he played ball exceedingly well, when he played Nausicaa.
Despite the poets impressive ball-playing skills (also in the scholia to Homer,
Eust. Il. 381.8 and Od. 1553.63), he was commemorated on the Stoa Poikile
with kithara in hand (Vita 5):
,
.
And they say that he once took up the kithara and played in his Thamyris only,
whence he was even painted on the Painted Stoa with a kithara.
These anecdotes are meant as representations of the poets heroic stature
(Lefkowitz (1981) 77). The references to Thamyras are, however, credible.
Sophocles gave up performing in his own tragedies as his voice was too weak
(Vita 4, ). Playing the kithara in accompaniment to
the Thamyras actor would make sense: Sophocles composed the music, after
all, and perhaps his playing saved the khoregos the cost of a kitharists.
Thamyras was a Thracian kitharidos known for his hubristic challenge
to the Muses. After losing a musical contest, he was blinded (the story is
also referenced by the Muse in Rhesus 916925).48 We have no other mention
47 Another possibility might be barking for , relevant since the chorus and Silenus
are acting like and referring to dogs. But in this case I do not know what or would stand
for.
48 There is no evidence from the existing fragments that Thamyras demanded sexual
496 george a. kovacs
of this image (Pausanias does not include it in his description of the Stoa),
but the story of Thamyras and his contest with the Muses was a popular
theme for Athenian vase painters of the later fifth century.49 LIMC lists eight
vases that treat the theme in the fifth century, plus one Apulian krater of
the fourth, iconographically consistent with the earlier images.50 Only one
shows Thamyras throwing away his lyra, apparently blinded after the contest,
though this is only indicated by his closed eyes: there is no blood and the
look on his face is peaceful (figure 6).51 The lyra in this image is also slightly
odd: it has the flat bottom and curved posts of the Thracian lyra, but the
outline and curves of a chelys lyra on the sound box. Other vases show either
a chelys lyra or kithara, but the iconography is otherwise consistent enough
to suggest a common influence (Nercessian (1990) 904).
For two of these images, the influence of the original performance can
be detected. The first shows Thamyras seated before a female, presumably
his mother Argiope, while two Muses stand behind him.52 Argiope is not
named, but rather is labelled with the inscription Euaion kalos Euaion is
beautiful. This is thought to be a reference (since at least Owen [1936] 150) to
the son of Aeschylus, known to have performed as a tragic actor (two women
to the left of Thamyras are labelled choronika, victorious in the chorus).
Twice elsewhere the name of Euaion (once explicitly identified as the son
of Aeschylus) is found labelling mythical figures on Attic vases, suggesting
he played other roles.53 All three vases date to the 440s bce. If the label does
access to all nine Muses should he win the contest, as in other versions. The Middle Comedy
poet Antiphanes also wrote a Thamyras, but only one fragment, concerning the quality of
Strymonian eels, survives (fr. 105 Kassel-Austin).
49 On the popularity of Thamyras in the fifth and fourth centuries, see P. Wilson (2009b),
who also gives detailed analysis of the ten surviving fragments of Sophocles play. See also
Power (2010) 4850, 205209, 254257, 300301.
50 In addition to the vases discussed in detail below, images of the following can be found in
LIMC: Vatican 16549; Naples, Nat. Mus. 81531 (H 3143); Ruvo, Mus. Jatta J 1538; Palermo Mormino
385; (and under other headings) Ferrara Museo Nazionale 3033; New York MMA 16.52; Basel,
Antikenmuseum BS 462. Two more can be found in other sources: Athens Nat. Mus. 19636 is
in Philippaki 1988; and the final image is in a private collection, but Marcad 1982 provides a
full report.
51 Oxford Ash. Mus. G 291, ARV 2 1061.152. Pausanias also describes a statue on the Helicon
(9.30.2) and a painting at Delphi (10.30.8) depicting the blinded Thamyras. Pollux 4.141 lists a
special Thamyras mask, with one blue eye and one black eye, that may have been used on
stage for the character before and after blinding.
52 Vatican, Museo Etrusco Gregoriano 16549, ARV 2 1020.92.
53 He is found playing the role of Perseus, presumably in Sophocles Andromeda (Agrigento
AG 7; both this and the Thamyras vase are attributed to the Phiale Painter) and the role of
Actaeon, possibly in his father Aeschylus Toxotides (Boston 00.346), see Trendall and Webster
stringed instruments in fifth-century drama 497
identify Euaion in the Argiope role, a fusion has taken place in which the iden-
tity of the tragic actor has imposed itself on the mythological character. By
the same token, it is tempting to consider the identity behind the character of
Thamyras as Sophocles himself, but at some critical distance.54 Vita 5 suggests
not that Sophocles played the part of Thamyras, but merely that he played
the kithara (and only indicates a unique performance at that). The por-
trayal of Thamyras as a young man with a chelys lyra is surely not a metathe-
atrical portrait of the actor and his instrument. We would not, after all, assume
that Euaion ordinarily looked like a matronly, white-haired Muse. But this
metatheatrical fusion might affect our understanding of another vase.
(1971) 6264. Seven other vases include Euaion kalos without mythological or performative
context, and two more name him without kalos (these last two are attributed to the Lykaon
painter, same as the Actaeon vase above), see ARV 2 1579.
54 Hall (2002) 910.
498 george a. kovacs
One other image breaks with the iconography of the others, an Attic red
figure amphora (figure 7), which depicts an older bearded man playing a
kithara (the others are all beardless, as in figure 6).55 This is also the only
surviving image in which Thamyras holds the concert instrument rather
than the smaller mythical instrument. The straightforward identification of
Thamyras must therefore be questioned, and I wonder if this image is not then
a unique conflation of the myth and the tragic performance. The character
of Thamyras, seated in his mythical context, has assumed features (beard,
kithara) of the kitharists (Sophocles himself?) who played the instrument
in performance. It is possible that the potter is imposing the features of the
kitharists unconsciously, slipping out of the iconographic tradition of the
mythic scene and imposing photographic details of a performance he has
seen. We should not consider this vase to be a portrait of the kitharists:
it is only the broad features of the musician that have been imposed, not
his actual likeness. The Pronomos vase shows us that when musicians
do appear in vases, it is an idealized version, not an actual likeness that
* I am much indebted to the editors of this volume, George W.M. Harrison and Vayos Liapis,
who shared many insightful comments and suggestions with me and caught some inelegancies
in my English. I remain indebted to Richard Martin, who invited me to speak at a symposium
at Stanford University entitled Tyrants, Gods, and Wild Women: Aspects of the Bacchae
in Performance, held on 10 November 2007. I also thank Charles Chiasson and Anastasia
Bakogianni, who further challenged my thinking on Langhoffs production, when I had a
chance to present at the colloquium, Tragedy, Cinema, and Scandal: Modern Receptions
of Ancient Greek Myths, at the University of Texas at Arlington on 10 September 2009. I
have greatly profited from the ensuing discussions and am grateful to the other panelists
and the many participants who contributed comments and suggestions. All translations
from modern Greek are my own. My transliterations of Greek names adhere to the system
adopted by the Library of Congress (unless authors or institutions have indicated their
own preferences). All photographs are reproduced with the permission of Desmi, which
calls itself in English the Centre for the Ancient Greek Drama Research and Practical
Applications.
502 gonda van steen
What is Thebes all about in light of Euripides Bacchae? For the ancient
Athenians, Thebes was the mythical home of the founder Cadmus, his
daughter Agave, and his grandson, the young king Pentheus. Thebes was
the destination of the god Dionysus, also a grandson to Cadmus (via his
daughter Semele), who returned to establish his divinity and to spread his
mystery rites. Thebes was therefore a point of departure, too, for the thiasoi
of Maenads or Bacchae, cult groups of female followers of Dionysus, which
set out from the city to nearby mountains to celebrate the ecstatic Dionysiac
rituals in close contact with, and in the privacy of, unspoiled nature. Thebes
was the familiar stranger, being the theatrical counterpart or mirror of ancient
Athens, as Froma Zeitlin has argued (1990). But what is Thebes to the modern
visitor? And how does one now even begin to conjure up visual images of
Thebes, when so little of the ancient city has been preserved?
Thebes today is rarely a destination per se. The Blue Guide Greece describes
the town: there are hardly any visible remains sufficiently important to excite
the interest or awaken the enthusiasm of the visitor (Barber (1990) 406).
For tourists whose real destination is Delphi, Thebes is too close to Athens
for a first stop, especially when scenic mountain villages, such as Arachova,
await. Those headed north on the Ethnike Odos, or the National Road, stop
at beach resorts with modern facilities. Only the classicist or archaeologist
with specialized interests is likely to seek out Thebes in Thiva. Everyone else
drives on at full speed.
It was precisely that impression of the nondescript provincial town of
Thiva that director Matthias Langhoff sought to conjure up. Dreary Thebes
became the new protagonist of his 1997 version of Euripides Bacchae.1
Thiva was the stamping ground for new tragic characters, who seemed
1 The Bacchae could not possibly be the same play when set in a different locale.
Nonetheless, it is hard to explain how a cityscape might become the protagonist of a play.
However, readers who have seen Woody Allens Manhattan or the 2003 film Lost in Translation,
directed by Sofia Coppola and set in Tokyo, may see a parallel with the omnipresence of a
modern city in the picture. Places with a symbolic or metaphorical value seem to become
tantamount to characters (albeit mutae personae) also in some older English-language novels
(such as those by the Bront sisters and by Luisa May Alcott). The poetry of Constantine
Cavafy, on the other hand, is haunted by the city of Alexandria (ancient as well as modern),
which, again, is much more than an evocative backdrop. Canadian director Ned Dickens
conjured up a post-apocalyptic Thebes in a seven-play cycle called City of Wine (2009) that
was inspired by both Sophocles and Seneca and offered visceral comments on modern social
and political ills.
bloody (stage) business 503
2 For an analysis of the complex Language Question (Glossiko Zetema), which partially
constituted the ideological background to the outcry, see Beaton (1999) 296365, and Horrocks
(1997) 344348. The Language Question, or the decades-long struggle to determine a national
language, was perhaps the most poignant expression of the uncertainty about modern Greek
identity. The nineteenth-century Greek intelligentsia advanced the artificially reconstructed
504 gonda van steen
register of the Kathareuousa over the vernacular (even though there were many shades to
the Demotike, including literary and other written forms), in order to address the ideological
needs of the nation-building project, with its many stakes vested in historical continuity and
pure lineage. In the largely uncharted domain of state-subsidized revival tragedy of the late
nineteenth and early twentieth century, this question boiled down to the directorsor the
institutionschoice between delivering the text in the original ancient Greek or using a
translation in Kathareuousa, by then the official idiom of the state, the bureaucracy, and
formal education. Both the choices of ancient Greek and Kathareuousa, however, were far
from presenting viable theatrical options. The riots with which the 1903 Oresteia production
was received, or the clashes between conservative students and the police out to protect
enthusiastic spectators, have gone down in history as a narrowly national issue, as nationalist
rows symptomatic of the linguistic fanaticism that fueled the Greek Language Question.
The two main objects of contestation between progressive, demoticizing translation and
linguistic dogma, the Christian scriptures and pagan classical tragedy, were often conjoined
as victims beset by the common enemy of pedantic linguistic conservatism. This sweeping
alliance of Christian and pagan was part and parcel of the nation-building construct of the
much-heralded Helleno-Christian civilization, a construct created in the latter half of the
nineteenth century only to fall to rampant abuse during the middle decades of the twentieth
century. An academic shift to the study of broader issues of Greek national identity, of which
performance, translation, and language remain constitutive elements, has been long overdue.
See recently, however, Mackridge (2009), who has placed this complicated topic squarely
within some of its (wide-ranging) social as well as political dimensions.
3 Among the recent book-length studies of Euripides Bacchae in English are Mills (2006)
and Thumiger (2007). For a theoretical perspective on the power of adaptation, see Hutcheon
(2006).
4 This cross-fertilization between works and traditions that have captured Langhoffs
interest and that affect, first and foremost, the opsis of his stage, has been acknowledged in a
recent announcement of the directors work with the Hungarian State Theater (2010):
bloody (stage) business 505
Langhoff is radical and surprising as a stage director, while his work is perfectly rigorous.
Part of his esthetics consists in saturating the stage with signs, using various means:
photography, film screening, references to other theatrical or cinematographic works,
interactivity, very elaborated sets and costumes. (Anonymous at
http://www.fnt.ro/en/matthias-langhoff-and-rodrigo-garcia-at-ntf-2010.html).
5 Mauromoustakos (1998) positioned his negative critique of Langhoffs production
against older scandals that denigrated the prestige of the Athens and Epidaurus Festivals,
such as Karolos Kouns 1959 production of Aristophanes Birds (for which, see Van Steen (2000)
ch. 4).
6 The titles of some of the reviews are very telling, and I cite a few here with their full
as primary sources in performance reception. More than a decade has passed since Langhoffs
production. In that perspective, Hardwicks observation on how reviews shape and mediate
the subsequent discussion of a play is particularly apt: the role of reviewers can play a crucial
mediating function between theatrical intention and the cultural transformation which results
not only from witnessing the play but from reading discussions of it (with reference to Yvonne
Banning).
506 gonda van steen
Chatzesavvas, who played also the first Dionysus, comes on-stage naked but
hovering over and bellowing in the dark. He is, in fact, barely visible. When
he moves into sight to the front of the stage, he pretends to become prudishly
self-conscious of his nudity. He promptly puts on a conventional shirt and
pants, in a metatheatrical reflection on the way his nakedness was denounced
by theater-goers who attended earlier performances of Langhoffs Bacchae.
Thus the production signals a self-reflexive understanding of the historicity
of its own opsis.8
II. Opsis (on the) Offense: Crude Culture off the Ethnike Odos
8 Many Greeks vividly remember the stir caused by a 1989 production of Oedipus Rex
staged at Epidaurus by the Georgian director Robert Sturua (in collaboration with the Kareze-
Kazakos Theater Company). Anna Makrake played the messenger and, as she announced the
news of Jocastas suicide and of Oedipus blinding, she lit a cigarette on-stage. In subsequent
performances, Makrake simply pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her brow with it. I owe
this parallel to Vayos Liapis. For a brief mention of the incident, see also Mauromoustakos
(2010).
bloody (stage) business 507
10 The figures included in this chapter are taken from a DVD recording of a later perfor-
mance of the play, after it had moved indoors. Langhoff had by then toned down some of the
more provocative elements of the production, but there was still plenty that raised eyebrows.
508 gonda van steen
11 For a different view, see Ioannides (2007) 137: It was the poor Greek of Agaue [sic]
Langhoffs chorus consists of a small group of young women, who are made
to look and act like suburban housewives at first, but who take on individual
personalities later. Their music, song, and dance are modern, as if they have
been brought up on disco music and the latest Western hits. In Euripides
original, the chorus is a key player in bringing out the Eastern exoticism of
Dionysus and his throng, because the group of Bacchae, with their Asiatic
costumes and props, likely had a stronger dramatic presence than the one
actor who played Dionysus. Exoticism, however, is not what characterizes
the women of Langhoffs chorus. On the contrary, they are preoccupied
with their domestic interests. The only kind of religious fanaticism that
these desperate housewives know is the fervor with which they pursue
the drama of the soap-opera that they themselves have chosen to live. This
self-conscious play within the play is harsh and irrevocable, and Langhoffs
verdict on the women, too, is unforgiving. Opsis here expresses the directors
quasi-sociological analysis of provincial life in contemporary Greece, which
510 gonda van steen
he sees as a path of no return. The stage has filled with societal images that
some audience members, even years later, perceive to be a degrading or
exhibitionist experience not only of the classical play but also of modern
Greek ordinary life.
The seer Teiresias comes on as a limping and blind accordion player. He
looks like an old street musician who might be playing for money in Greek
town squares today. On stage, Teiresias is subjected to physical as well as
verbal abuse by the brazen Pentheus, who is quick to make his terror tactics
known. At one point, Pentheus, dressed in neo-Nazi military garb, comes
back up hauling a jerry-can full of petrol. He brags that he will go and smoke
out the Bacchae. His underlings, however, such as his servants who seize
Dionysus on the mountain, show their reverence to the god, and they have
little sympathy for their tyrannical master in the hour of his demise. Langhoff
has slanted the play toward a black-and-white character portrayal, and he
has made his choices in terms of opsis subservient to this depiction: Dionysus
is favorably portrayed throughout the play, albeit as a profoundly bizarre
character. Opposite him stands an obnoxious and arrogant, power-hungry
Pentheus.
How does Langhoff make Mount Cithaeron visible on stage? The mountain
southwest of Thebes exists on stage in the form of a huge raised billboard. It
reminds the viewer of the giant billboards that litter the Greek countryside
along the highways. Agave addresses her father Cadmus from the ramp
in front of this billboard: from high up she displays her trophy, her sons
head, which she at first fails to recognize, until Cadmus brings her back to
her senses. Thus the billboard becomes the modern and suburban version
of the theologeion, or the rooftop of the classical Greek stage building, on
which a divine character might appear as a deus ex machina to deliver final
resolutions. Langhoffs wild Agave, however, could not be further removed
from a godlike character.
When Agave cannot immediately find her father Cadmus, she gives him
a ring from a phone affixed to one of the wooden poles on stage. When
Cadmus needs to recover from the shock of seeing his grandson Pentheus
dismembered, one of the chorus women brings him a Greek coffee. Thus
Langhoffs production is filled with props and other striking visual details
that have shocked some spectators in their blatant contemporizing;12
other viewers, in turn, have found that the director showed consistency
in overhauling the classical tragedy to make it truly modern.
12 I borrow the term contemporizing from Hardwick (1999), who has observed the
And yet how many times does some poor dramatic writer not shout: No, not
like that , when he is attending rehearsals and writhing in agony, contempt,
rage and pain because the translation into material reality (which is necessarily
someone elses) does not correspond to the ideal conception and execution
that had begun with him and belongs to him alone.
(Pirandello (1993 [1908]) 28; ed. and trans. Susan Bassnett and Jennifer Lorch)
512 gonda van steen
Euripides could not have been the poor dramatic writer shouting at the
sight of Langhoffs Bacchae. The outcry was that of critics and audiences
speaking on behalf of the Greek tradition. This outcry in the name of an
ethnocentric cultural ideology deserves further analysis.
Some critics took issue with the visual exaggerations (as some of the titles
of their reviews indicate).13 Most critics and scholars, however, engaged with
the question of whether, given the more conventional reception history of
Euripides Bacchae in modern Greece, the director should have stayed within
the boundaries of that tradition.14 Some went as far as to demand that this
and any other foreign director be especially respectful of the Greek tradition,
that is, even more so than native Greek directors, actors, and artists. The
Greek audience of 1997 had been exposed to relatively few productions of
Euripides Bacchae, and none of them had been as radical as, for instance, the
countercultural Dionysus in 69 by director Richard Schechner.15 The modern
Greek reception of the Bacchae was, at first, overshadowed by revivals of
other tragedies, those of Sophocles and Aeschylus, but also by, for instance,
adaptations of Euripides Medea. It is not that the Greeks were afraid of
irrational bloodshed. If that had been the case, then Aeschylus Oresteia
and, again, Euripides Medea would have met with little favor as well. What
made the crucial difference then is that the Medea, for instance, had been
staged in several neoclassical adaptations, mainly in French versions, and
that such adaptations had paved the way for the nineteenth-century Greek
rediscovery of the tragedy. The Bacchae, which did not stand out in any
foreign adaptation, had fallen by the wayside for many decades.16 Add to that
13 Adam, M. 1997. Flirting with the Embarrassment of the Spectator (in Greek), Auge,
2 September.
Apostolakes, S. 1997. Naked Dionysus in Epidaurus, interview with Menas Chatzesavvas
(in Greek), Eleutherotypia, 18 August.
Katsounake, M. 1997. Langhoff: I do not want the audience to be bored (in Greek), He
Kathemerine, 31 August.
Rialde, M. 1997. The Cynical Insolence of Mr. Langhoff (in Greek), Auge, 10 August.
14 See, for instance, Mauromoustakos (1998). For further examples, see:
Kontrarou-Rassia, N., et al. 1997. Tirades against the Bacchae of Langhoff: Ten Artists Eval-
uate the ProductionEight Against, Two in Favor (in Greek), Eleutherotypia, 2 September.
Panas, M. 1997. The Bacchae of Euripides according to Langhoff: not the worst
production of your life! (in Greek), To Onoma, 27 August.
Varopoulou, E. 1997. Langhoff the Foreigner as a Scapegoat (in Greek), To Vema, 24 August.
. 1997. Praise of Scandals (in Greek), To Vema, 7 September.
15 This production is the Leitmotif and time marker of Hall, Macintosh and Wrigley (2004).
16 Sideres comprehensive study of 1976, the first historical survey of the reception of ancient
that many foreign adaptors had given preference to plays focusing on single
characters, such as the Medea, Electra, Iphigenia, Antigone, and Oedipus. But
the Bacchae, named for its Eastern chorus and not for its strange, effeminate
god, did not fit that bill.
When compared to other classical plays, the Bacchae received a very late
debut on the modern Greek stage, with the conservative 1950 production of
Linos Karzes, which was mounted at the Herodes Atticus Theater. From the
mid-1970s on, a steady trickle of more experimental Greek productions of
the Bacchae appeared, and that trend continues to this day. Here, a crucial
factor was the commitment shown to the play by some of the best-known
Greek directors such as Spyros Euangelatos (1975) and Karolos Koun (1977).
For both of them, innovation started with the visual aspects of the chorus,
which became a free-movingor free-whirlinggroup that embodied the
Asiatic exoticism and feminine seductiveness that so obsessed and disgusted
Pentheus. In 1995, two years before Langhoff brought his version to Epidaurus,
the Greek director Nikos Paroikos and his Aegean Exodos Theater had
highlighted the power and beauty of nature in a nonconventional production
of the Bacchae. With considerable effort, the members of the company
staged the play in a mountain shelter and on the slopes of Mt Cithaeron over
the course of an entire day. Sometimes they began the performance in the
evening and took an entire night on the mountains, to finish up in the early
morning light through mid-morning, which is a time marker that Euripides,
too, describes in his play. The companys name, Aegean Exodos (Exodos
Aigaiou), stressed the connections between sea and land, including Eastern
Mediterranean lands, and was particularly apt for an innovative approach
to the Bacchae.17 Paroikos reconceptualized the play as a rite of initiation
set in unspoiled nature. This feeling for nature, dawn, and landscape that
Euripides original conjures up is perhaps the most underexplored facet of
the ancient original in its modern staging.18
Langhoff is not a Greek, and the Greeks love-hate relationship with
foreign directors has a long and unpleasant history. This relationship is the
recurring topic of Greek newspaper articles, with titles such as Invasion
of Foreigners in Epidaurus and at the Herodes Atticus Theater: Directors
17 The meaning of Exodos Aigaiou is twofold: either coming out of the Aegean or coming
out into the Aegean (Aegean exit). I owe this observation to Vayos Liapis.
18 Scholarly tradition has long claimed that Euripides composed and staged the Bacchae
in Macedon (Aegae), once he had left Athens to seek refuge at the court of King Archelaus.
There, too, he might have developed his keen sentiment for nature in a new, mountainous
environment. See, however, Scullion (2003), who has cast serious doubt on the story of the
playwrights exile and death in Macedon.
514 gonda van steen
and Actors of Worldwide Renown Are Coming This Year [2002], Bringing
Demons to Our Proper Greek Summer Festivals.19 The ensuing friction
resurfaces in discussions about scandal productions, and deserves further
scholarly attention.20 An odd premise of exceptionalism defines this charged
relationship, to the effect that only Greeks are in close contact with the long
tradition of staging ancient drama and that they have an innate feel for
how it should be done.21 Therefore, the modern Greek outlook or apopsis
on the plays should be privileged or, at the very least, it should not be
challenged or jeopardized by foreigners who cannot possibly fathom the full
weight of classical drama staged in its sacred ancient venues. Neither can
foreigners understand just how much national pride has been vested in such
productions and in their physical settings. Any iconoclast interpretation of a
classical tragedy, in particular, is doing just that: smashing an icon or symbol
of Greek cultural capital (in Bourdieus terms).22 In this light, Langhoffs
production became dangerously self-referential: the foreign director who
tried to bring his anarchic (theater) rites to small-town Greece was like
a Dionysus who attempted to convert Thebes to his destabilizing foreign
rituals.
In the immediate aftermath of Langhoffs premiere, the theater critic
Maria Katsounake ironized the perceived foreign assault on classical drama:
We [the modern Greeks] know the ancient tragic playwrights better than
anyone else. We have lived them, we have analyzed them, we have understood
their thinking, their ideological and philosophical backgrounds. We have
questioned ourselves and we have clashed over how to interpret them and,
therefore, we have established ownership over them in the superlative degree.
In the midst of this cynical and vain world, there is for us at least one thing
worth fighting for: Euripides. Especially if the agents viewpoint (apopsis) is
one of rejection and he is not a native Greek. Then Zeus Xenios grows angry
and bursts forth. Out with the barbarians!
(Langhoff, the Annoying Foreigner (in Greek),
He Kathemerine, 27 August 1997)
A couple of years after the scandal, the theater scholars Savas Patsalidis and
Elizabeth Sakellaridou summed up the reactions of critics and audiences
19 Angelikopoulos (2002). I have translated the Greek word daimonia as demons, but it
also refers to the foreign directors genius or acumen and to their potentially subversive ideas.
20 See Van Steen (2000) 165167.
21 For more information on the case for modern Greek exceptionalism made by Koun and
many of his disciples, and on the artistic and ideological consequences, see Van Steen (2000)
161178.
22 For a comprehensive analysis of Greeces revival of ancient drama as an investment in
The modern Greek reception of Euripides Bacchae saw, after too rational a
start, an outburst of activity in recent decades that bodes well for the future
of the play as a true performance experience, that is, with full attention
paid to the complexities of opsis. From its somewhat subdued or repressed
beginnings, the pendulum of the tragedys reception swung in the opposite
direction, with irrationality commodified, advertised, and exploited on
stage through various visual means. The visual aspects of performance
proved to be a path to innovation, especially for a play as rich in colorful
detail as the Bacchae. But Greek society of the late 1990s was not quite
prepared for the brisk dips into ugly social and psychological realities that
Langhoffs production brought. With the modern, bloodied city of Thebes
as the basis for all that pertained to opsis, the foreign director opened
up an unsettling initiation rite into the social tragedy of the small-town
Greek family. Unfortunately, the reviews of Langhoffs production and, more
specifically, the outcry about its excesses side-tracked the debate on the
postmodern movement in reviving ancient drama and on its alleged crisis.
There is certainly no need for more scandal in the modern Greek theater
world, but there is every bit of a need for a continuing quest for creative stage
solutions, especially for those dimensions of opsis that make the performance
experience happen again, outdoors, and for audiences of the twenty-first
century.
FROM SCULPTURE TO VASE-PAINTING:
ARCHAEOLOGICAL MODELS FOR THE ACTOR
Fiona Macintosh
During an interview for Frances leading theatre journal Revue dArt Dra-
matique in 1888, the acclaimed tragedian of the Comdie Francaise, Jean
Mounet-Sully, invited the theatre critic into his studio to show him the tools
of his trade. Next to a sketch for his Oedipus costume, which he had designed
himself for himself, was a tragic mask, which Mounet-Sully had made and
which acted as inspiration for his own (unmasked) performances of Oedipus.
During the interview Mounet-Sully also referred to the studies he had made
in museums and libraries of sculptures and vase paintings, which informed
the movement patterns and gestes which he adopted for his performances
in classical roles.1
His female counterpart was Sarah Bernhardt, who had been the leading
lady at the Comdie Francaise until 1880, when she became actor-manager
at the Thtre de la Renaissance and later the Thtre-Sarah-Bernhardt.
Bernhardt shared both Mounet-Sullys talent and his interest in the visual
arts. During a notable Comdie Franaise tour to London in the summer
of 1879,2 Bernhardt not only overwhelmed the London audiences with her
theatrical powers, she also caused a considerable stir in the art world. Some
four hundred guests (including those well-known patrons of any Hellenic
revival event, the former Liberal Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone and
the Royal Academician Frederick Lord Leighton) turned up to the opening of
an exhibition of her sculptures and paintings at a fashionable Piccadilly art
gallery (see fig. 1). For Bernhardt, as for Mounet-Sully, her work as a sculptress
was parallel to and interdependent with her career in the theatre.3 When the
leading French theatre critic of the nineteenth century, Francisque Sarcey,
commented upon her performance as Phdre in 1893, he detected an artistic
beauty that made one quiver with admiration, the look of a fine statue.4
1 Vernay 1888.
2 The tour was documented by many, including Arnold 1879, whose review included a call
for the establishment of a British National Theatre.
3 G. Marshall 1998.
4 Cited in Stokes, Booth and Bassnett (1988) 155.
518 fiona macintosh
What is significant here is that these two outstanding French actors from
the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries were
both sculptors and were both understood to self-sculpt as they performed
on the stage. Their performances were intrinsically sculptural and had no
need (we infer) of a Pygmalion to mould themthey were themselves, the
creators/sculptors of their own performances. In this sense, they represent
the culmination and the end of a long tradition in European theatre history,
in which the theatrical ideal was classical and essentially sculptural.
It wasnt until the Wagnerian concept of the Gesamtkuntswerk was adopted
and applied beyond the operatic realm at the very end of the twentieth
century that the shortcomings of the sculptural ideal were fully overcome.
Then the ideal of the fixity of the individual statuesque performer was
replaced by a new interest in the kinetic movement of the group. The
performer is no longer the statue; in Meyerholds designation, the performer
is now a hieroglyph:
Only via the sports arena can we approach the theatrical arena.
Every movement is a hieroglyph with its own peculiar meaning. The theatre
should only employ those movements which are immediately decipherable;
everything else is superfluous.5
Significantly when the publicity appeared for the Eva Palmer-Sikelianou
production of Prometheus Bound in Delphi in 1927, the performers were pho-
tographed in poses strikingly reminiscent of the letters of the Greek alphabet.
Now the indoor, proscenium theatre space gave way to outdoor performance
spaces where the circle (as opposed to the picture frame) provided the dom-
inant focus.6 The archaeological model had to change: sculpture is no longer
the model; it is vase-painting or the architectural frieze that provides the
reference point for the modernist performer/director/choreographer.
The sculptural ideal in the modern theatre can be traced back, at least,
to Winckelmanns privileging of sculpture in ancient art in his Geschichte
der Kunst des Altertums (1764). It became common currency in the literary
5 The Actor of the Future and Biomechanics a report of Meyerholds lecture in the Little
Hall of the Moscow Conservatoire, 12 June 1922 in Teatralnaya Moskva, Moscow 1922, no. 45,
pages 910 reprinted in Braun (1969) 200. Original emphasis.
6 See Van Steen 2002 on the importance of the orchestra to Palmer.
520 fiona macintosh
sphere through A.W. Schlegels lectures in Vienna from 1807, ber dramatische
Kunst und Literatur, and was widely disseminated through the translation,
reprinting and plagiarism of Schlegels lectures throughout the nineteenth
century in Europe. If sculpture, according to Winckelmann, was the supreme
ancient art form and the condition to which all other arts aspired to a greater
or lesser extent, the most sculptural art form, according to Schlegel, was
tragedy. In practical and popular terms, as we have seen, this formulation
was readily translated into a sculptural style of tragic acting, in which the
tragedian assumed set attitudes which were copiously learned from well-
known (mostly Graeco-Roman copies) of statues on display in museums. Just
as Quintilian had advised Roman orators to model their stance upon statuary,
so now we find that late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century handbooks for
actors (such as William Cookes The Elements of Drama Criticism, 1775) and
even playwrights (notably Goethe) recommend the study of ancient statues
in order to achieve (in Cookes terms) that grace, and give that je ne sais quoi,
so much admired in the whole department of action.7 The sculptural ideal
involved a fixity of stancean attitude, a marmoreal appearance (actresses
often whitewashed their arms to achieve this effect), and a use of cotton
and/or muslin for the costumes (often dampened to enhance the folds).
This ancient classical-sculptural ideal, as it was perceived, was in reality a
Romantic construct, but it remained largely unchallenged until the middle of
the nineteenth century, when German philosophers, notably Schopenhauer
and later Nietzsche, and the operatic practice of Richard Wagner offered the-
oretical and practical assault upon the ancient privileged art form. Schlegel
had asserted the primacy of ancient sculpture over what he described as the
modern privileging of a degenerate musical ideal. Schopenhauers riposte
was to demote the visual arts and sculpture, in particular, to the bottom of
his aesthetic scale and to elevate music in turn to the top. Nietzsche moved
the debate beyond a negative antithesis finding a new synthesis in Greek
tragedy, in which the sculptural (now designated the Apolline, with its indi-
viduation, restraint and formal beauty) meets with and holds in check the
life-enhancing/death-dealing Dionysiac music, with its collective, intoxicat-
ing, rapturous and murky depths.
What is significant here is how readily the archaeological and philosophi-
cal debate was translated into the theatre. Winckelmanns statues dominated
7 Cooke (1775) 201. See Jenkins (1992) 20 for the meaning of je ne sais quoi as a beau-
idaliste catch-phrase to convey the particular beauty / grace found in, say, the Apollo
Belvedere. On the sculptural ideal generally in the nineteenth century, see G. Marshall 1998.
from sculpture to vase-painting 521
changes in fashion, which were adopted both on the street and on the stage.
The free French citizen wore a tunic reminiscent of a Greek chiton and
Greek-style sandals (slip-ons, with no heel, which were tied at the ankle with
a sash/ribbon); and the newly liberated women, for whom public breast-
feeding was to be celebrated as a natural Rousseau-esque act rather than a
mark of primitivism, wore garments to reveal one breast, like the Vnus la
coquille (Nymph with a Shell) in the Louvre, and which Napoleon brought
from Rome to Paris in 1807.10 Voltaire had been instrumental in promoting
increased historical accuracy in sets and costumes at the Comdie Franaise
in the second half of the eighteenth century;11 and the famous revolutionary
tragic actor, Talma, caused a sensation when he brought the classical fashion
from the streets into the theatre, appearing as a tribune in Voltaires Brutus in
1789 in a toga that revealed his bare arms and legs. When transparent tunics
and flesh-coloured (later, to avoid controversy, white) bodystockings were
worn in ballet from 1800, similar shock-waves were sent through Parisian
society.12 The politicised sculptural ideal of the revolutionary period was fast
accruing new titillating associations.
Emma Hamiltons Attitudes, in which she assumed likeness to certain
sculptural and painterly figures with little sartorial aid, are heavily dependent
upon these social and theatrical experiments in Franceand indeed upon
developments in ballet in general towards the end of the eighteenth century,
notably Marie Salls performance as a statue in Pygmalion at Covent Garden
in 1734.13 Hamilton had learned much from George Romneys studies of
antiquities (she had been one of his models before her marriage); and her
association with Greekness / the classical became absolute when she sat
as the model for Joshua Reynolds painting A Bacchante (1785), which her
husband, Sir William Hamilton, had commissioned. But Emma Hamilton
also learned much of the detail of her Attitudes from her husbands
collection of Greek vases. With these Attitudes, she brought, as Horace
Walpole waggishly suggested, a gallery of statues to add to Hamiltons
collection.14 She performed these theatrical Attitudes to rapturous drawing-
room audiences (which included, amongst many, an ecstatic Goethe on
his Italian travels), and had an enormous influence on other sculptural
theatrical art forms later in the century.
10 Chazin-Bennahim 2004.
11 Lough (1979) 73.
12 Chazin-Bennahim 2004.
13 On statues coming to life see Albright 2010; for an excellent account of Hamilton and
It is in the figure of the architect and set designer, Edward William Godwin,
that the archaeological impulse is registered most acutely. For Godwin, the
aim of the designer is to make the spectator witness the events onstage
as if they were present at the original scene.20 For his production of John
Todhunters play Helena in Troas in 1886 at Henglers Circus in London,
he reconstructed a Greek theatre (with its orchestra, thymele and skene)
to enable the spectator to be transported to fifth-century Athens. With
the chorus draped round columns in poses reminiscent of figures on the
Parthenon Marbles, and with many members of the audience dressed in
Greek-inspired gowns from Libertys store, the audiences may well have felt
thus transported.21
In the accounts of the revivals of Greek plays in the 1880s, there is a sense
in which the actress is being granted life and potency simply through the
male spectators gaze. In many ways, it was Bernhardts challenge to this
Galatea aesthetic22 that made her performance (and indeed her life-style)
so enthralling and unsettling to London audiences. Her predecessor at the
Comdie Franaise, Rachel, who from 18351855 had been responsible for
a revival of classical tragedy in France, had been regularly compared to a
marble sculpture with her pale skin and perilously bony body. In England she
was often deemed unnatural, too statuesque. This was in marked contrast
to the English star, Helen Faucit, another statue, at whom De Quincey
marvelled in an ecstatic review of her performance as Antigone in 1845
production of Sophocles eponymous tragedy, with choral settings by Felix
Mendelssohn: the most faultless of Grecian marbles What perfection of
Athenian sculpture, the noble figure, the lovely arms of the fluent drapery!
What an unveiling of the ideal statuesque.23 But Helen Faucit was now a
living statue and that was her appeal.
In some senses, this is a matter of the English taste differing from the
Comdie Franaise house-style; but it is also about other moral matters.
Faucits private life was exemplary. In the case of Bernhardt, by contrast, she
was not simply self-sculptor on the stage; she openly lived the life of the
New Woman before the New Woman was to make her appearance on the
of her appearance in Dublin, standing on the stage like a statue fresh from the chisel of
Phidias.
from sculpture to vase-painting 525
stage in the 1890s. Even those liberal Ibsenite critics, George Bernard Shaw
and William Archer found Bernhardts sculptural style hard to takeit is no
more than circus and the waxworks for Shaw; and for Archer, Bernhardt is
no longer a real woman, but an exquisitely-contrived automaton, the most
wonderful article de Paris ever invented, perfect in all its mechanical airs
and graces, but devoid alike of genuine feeling and artistic conscience.24 In
the age of high naturalism, the sculptural ideal came to be seen as simply
mechanistic.
III. Mounet-Sully
The sculptural ideal lived on, however, largely uncensored through the art
of Mounet-Sully right until his death in 1916. One night the director of the
Comdie Franaise claimed he could detect at least one hundred statues
in Mounet-Sullys performance in Oedipe Roi.25 Oedipus growing anxiety
in the pivotal scene with Jocasta was said to have been subtly conveyed by
Mounet-Sullys absent gaze into the distance with his arm slightly raised (no
doubt in direct imitation of some Graeco-Roman statue).26
He had been drawn to the theatre because it united all the arts: here was
an art form which would engage and satisfy all his talents as a talented
painter, sculptor, designer, pianist and singer. His work as sculptor and
costume designer constituted a serious part of his preparation for a role. He
attended a course given by the French archaeologist and Curator of Oriental
Antiquities and ancient vases at the Louvre, Lon Heuzey, who published
two books on Greek costume in 1893 and 1921 respectively.27 What made
Heuzeys classes especially notable was that each one ended with a practical
session, when the students dressed live models with costumes.28 According
to Heuzey, Greek costume was natural for the human forma widely
held view at the time in England as well, where The Healthy and Artistic
Dress Union was advocating dress reform, and especially the Greek style,
in close association with the political emancipation of women. For Heuzey,
the formlessness of Greek dress was its appeal: it depended literally on the
human form and its movements for its shape; and once the human body had
shaped it, the fabric obeyed human geste, the undulations of human
passions, as well as light and shade.29
In 1945 Jean Cocteau captures the way in which Mounet-Sully was able to
translate Heuzeys theories into practice:
this tragedian didnt dress himself, he sculpted himself, he draped himself
in such a way that the linen turned to marble and wrapped itself around his
person most solemnly and definitively.30
Cocteau goes on to remark how during a performance of Oedipe-Roi
suddenly an arm emerged from behind a column. This arm brought with
it a profile, similar to a shepherds crook, to Minervas helmet, to the horse
at an angle on the pediment of the Acropolis. This profile sat on top of an
astonishing breastplate, on a chest full of melodious roaring.31
What is striking here is Cocteaus vivid memory of an event of at least
thirty years previously (Mounet-Sullys last performance was in 1915 at the
Sorbonne). Cocteau recalls a bas-relief that only belatedly emerges as a three-
dimensional shape as the actor comes out fully from behind the column.
Cocteaus memory provides us with a clue to the durability of Mounet-Sullys
acting style: as a consummate performer, he is able to adumbrate and indeed
usher in the performance style of the next generation, where the frontal
sculptural style gives way to a profile style, which is more reminiscent of
the frieze or bas-relief.
It may well have been this profile (rather than frontal style) that enabled
Mounet-Sullys performances to translate so well into the recently inaugu-
rated open-air theatres of southern Europe. Mounet-Sully was understood to
conquer the whole space in which he performed, even in the Roman theatre
at Orange.32 He conquered these outdoor spaces both with his stage presence
and with his voice (he was from all accounts an accomplished baritone);
29 Cf. Ruskin in Cooks collection (2010) of his Oxford lectures on sculpture (274): The
folds of the Greek drapery are, for the most part, used to express bodily form and motion.
30 Cocteau (1945) 5: ce tragedien ne shabillait pas, il se sculptait, il se drapait de telle
sorte que la laine devenait du marbre et formait autour de sa personne des plis solonnels et
dfinitifs.
31 Cocteau (1945) 5: soudain, un bras sortait dune colonne, ce bras entranait un profil,
and it was said that his vocal cadences would perfectly match his sweeping
gestures (see fig. 2). His final appearance in the theatre was in Oedipe Roi
in the Courtyard of the Sorbonne on 11 July 1915. After Oedipus had left the
scene, one reviewer commented that he suddenly noticed that there were
two statues left on the set, which no one had previously noticed.33 Mounet-
Sully had so dominated the space that even the setting had receded into the
background. The sculptured actoras so very rarely had happened in the
nineteenth centuryhad exceptionally managed to transcend, rather than
be contained by, the theatrical space in which he/she performed.
It may well have been his ability both to self-sculpt and to perform in
profile that led to his ready and successful involvement with the twentieth-
centurys most popular and truly pioneering art form, cinema. It may be
surprising that the actor who was renowned for his extraordinarily powerful
voice was to have turned to silent film in the last phase of his life. But his
dependence upon gestes would have made that transition a particularly
appropriate one. As Pantelis Michelakis has shown, Mounet-Sullys silent
film of Oedipe Roi of 1912, in which he performed and which he directed, was
released not just in France but in USA (January 1913) and Austria (March
1913). What is important about the film is that it is clearly not a record of a
stage performance, but an attempt to retell the Oedipus story in a manner
appropriate to the generic parameters of the new art form.34 Mounet-Sullys
versatility at this moment of great technological and performative change
enabled him to adapt and his style to endure.
It is not fortuitous that the academic interest in ancient Greek vases coincided
with the rise of silent film. The French musicologist Maurice Emmanuel
published his ideas on ancient Greek dance, La Danse grecque antique
daprs les monuments figurs, in 1886, the same year that the first cinematic
exhibition with a projector took place in Paris.35 Emmanuel looked at ancient
images in the way he looked at modern photographs and attempts to
reconstruct classical Greek dance from vase paintings and sculptures. As
Frederick Naerebout has explained:
Speculating on the decisive moment captured by the artist, one could also
speculate on the previous and subsequent moments in time. Chronopho-
tography and early cinema did the rest. Why shouldnt the artists have cap-
tured several moments from a single movement? One only had to put those
images in sequence, in a zotrope for the movement to come back to life
[Emmanuel] came up with the idea that the Greek vase-painters were
chronophotographers avant la lettre.36
Even if Emmanuels overdependence on the modern analogue of the film
reel led him to assume mistakenly that ancient dance could be reconstructed
from ancient images, what is important here is that he is part of the new
movement which gave new prominence to ancient vases.
In 1899 Laflotte compared contemporary actors from the Comdie Fran-
aise with figures on fifth-century Athenian vases to prove their dependence
on vase-painting models (see fig. 3).37 The juxtaposition is not only made
possible because of the new fascination with the hitherto neglected Greek
art form; it also serves to demonstrate that Mounet-Sully was offering his
audiences a rhetorical performance that was, in essence, sculpturally-
informed, albeit one that regularly consisted (as Cocteau recalls) of strikingly
profile (rather that frontal) acting styles.38
In 1900 Furtwngler highlighted the importance of shape, pattern and
design in signed vases; by 1908 John Beazley had published his first article,
in which he drew attention to the importance of the hitherto disregarded
unsigned vases.39 It is no doubt also significant at this time, as Ian Jenkins
has pointed out, that with the rise of modernism, there is a decline in the
interest in classical sculpture amongst art teachers.40
In the theatre too we find a turning away from the sculptural paradigm
and a concomitant movement towards the frieze as the dominant metaphor.
When the Russian theatre director Meyerhold writes about stylized theatre
in 1907 during his experiments with alternatives to the theatrical naturalism
of his master, Stanislavski at the Moscow Art Theatre, he writes: The stylized
theatre liberates the actor from all scenery, creating a three-dimensional
scene of Oedipe Roi, where the mask-like quality of his facial expression is being highlighted.
39 On the academic discovery of the ancient vase see Smith 2010.
40 Jenkins 1992.
530 fiona macintosh
Paris and the Russian season was revelatory. Never before had audiences
seen such bright and lavish costumes; never before had dancers danced with
such energy and physicality; and Nijinsky, then the lover of Diaghilev, was
the companys embodiment of raw energy and power.
When Nijinsky performed the premire of his ballet LApres Midi dun
faune in Paris in May 1912, to Debussys score, it was danced against a backdrop
of Greek-style friezes designed by Lon Bakst. His barefoot chorus of nymphs
broke with all classical balletic convention as they danced in profile, as if they
had danced off a Greek vase, along a narrow path at the front of the stage. And
Nijinsky himself, clad only in a leotard and sandals, similarly broke absolutely
with the sculptural ideal, as he too danced in profile and shocked Paris high
society with a simulated orgasm in the final few moments of the ballet.
When The Times critic comments that the Ballet Russes London premire
in 1911 had resulted in many idols being tumbled from their pedestals, his
metaphor, as we have seen, is curiously apt.45
Some fifteen years later in Greece, at the two Delphic Festivals in 1927 and
1930, we find the Duncan-inspired choreography of Eva Palmer-Sikelianou
owing perhaps at least an equal debt to Nijinskys example. Like her pre-
decessors, from Hamilton to Mounet-Sully, Palmer drew inspiration from
serious research (in her case in the Athens Archaeological Museum) for her
choreography of the chorus of Prometheus Bound. Palmer criticised Duncan
for playing frontally to the audience instead of dancing (as the Ballets Russes
had done) in profile.46 Now in the ancient theatre at Delphi, the Romantic
sculptural ideal of the proscenium theatre has of necessity been rejected
absolutely; in its stead, it is the two-dimensional red-figure vase-paintings
that are found to be the perfect archaeological model for performance in the
circular orchestra.
In his Third Lecture, Schlegel had linked the frieze with the earlier (and we
infer more primitive) Homeric art form, with its non-teleological structure
and paratactic style, which affords only a snapshot view rather than the
whole event.47 Now this primitive art form is rediscovered at a time when
photography is in its early stages and the development of chronophotography
is leading to a new understanding of natural patterns of movement in nature.
Modernist theatre practitioners readily adopt this primitive style; and it
lies behind the innovative movement patterns of the Ballets Russes and the
productions of those who seek to reintroduce dance into the modern theatre.
In the Nietzschean equation, music has now found its place along side the
Apolline spoken word, as a dancing chorusstrikingly reminiscent of figures
on Attic red-figure vase-paintingsparticipates fully in the tragic action.
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The index is selective and does not include terms occurring in footnotes and captions.
References to ancient works by line- or book-number are indexed in the Index of Passages.
Thracian Women 37, 279290 Hippolytus 32, 70, 8687, 100, 325, 328
see also comedy, Greek Hypsipyle 493
Csapo, E. 13, 187, 282, 486, 487 Ion 200
Iphigenia in Aulis 327
Dawe, R.D. 69 Iphigenia in Tauris 3536, 200, 217
deus ex machina 36, 73, 210, 218, 229, 230, 241, 233, 466; altar in 217221, 226
510; see also mekhane 228, 232233; land- and sea-scape
didaskalos / didaskalia 32, 48, 5254, 60, 61, (imagined) in 222224; stage set in
276, 299 218222; statue of Artemis in 227
Dionysia (festivals) 10, 132, 165, 167, 168, 170, 228
176, 260, 265, 276, 277, 298, 304, 324; see Medea 333, 338, 340; modern reception
also comedy, Greek; Theatre of Dionysus; of 80, 512
tragedy, Greek Orestes 331
Dionysus 9, 40, 41, 99, 145, 184187, 196, 241, Philoctetes 202
273, 294, 302, 322, 458, 459, 465, 469, 488, Phoenissae 246, 341
491491, 502, 504, 506, 509, 510, 514, 520; Rhesus (spurious) 7; Alexander scene
see also AristophanesFrogs / number of actors 246248, 250
Duckworth, G. 1819 253; exits and entrances 239243;
Duncan, I. 521, 531, 532 stagecraft archaisms 235237;
Dutsch, D. 39 stagecraft faults 36, 246250;
Dwyer, E. 375 stagecraft virtuosity 237239, 243
246
Edmondson, J.C. 346, 347, 350, 353 Suppliants 93
ekkyklema 3, 84, 85, 312, 488 Telephus 320, 322; iconography of 11, 77,
Eliade, M. 224, 232 78
Emmanuel, M. 528529 see also Heracles; New Music; stage
Ennius 18, 315, 316, 319, 330, 332 props; Telephus; tragedy, Greek
Alcumena 320, 331
Ambracia 341 Fantham, E. 30, 454
Eumenides 315 Faucit, H. 524
Hectoris Lytra 312 Fears, J. 377
Hecuba 333, 336, 337 Ferrari, G. 171, 174
Medea Exul 333, 338, 340 Fitch, J. 31
Sabinae 341 Fletcher, J. 35
Eupolis Floralia 23, 345
Demes 262263, 489 Fraenkel, E. 17, 158, 235
Euripides 3, 5, 33, 84, 99, 100, 110, 235, 236, Franko, G.F. 38, 357
237, 292, 330, 484 Frost, K.B. 5
Alcestis 97, 275, 297, 472
Andromeda 229, 294, 323, 332; sea in Gallus, L. Anicius 343360
224225, 232 Garelli, M.-H. 446
Antiope 493 Gellius, Aulus 354
Bacchae 95, 146, 465; performance Giuliani, L. 1213
reception in modern Greece 41, 501 Godwin, E.W. 524
515 Goldberg, S. 21, 31, 345, 351, 354, 358
Bellerophon 324 Goldhill, S. 5, 6, 11, 16
Electra 110, 144, 200, 325, 326327 Green, J.R. 12, 281282
Hecabe 333, 334, 336, 337, 338
Heracles 35; iconography of 186192; Hall, E. 40
performance reception of 181198; Halleran, M.R. 5
in pantomime 192193; in Roman Halliwell, S. 46, 48, 359
tragedy 193195 Hamilton, E. 522, 523, 531, 532
582 index of subjects
131, 134, 136, 143, 161, 162, 204, 317, 361, stringed instruments in 477499
503504, 506, 508, 509, 510, 515; see also symporeusis and 162, 164168
Aristotle topographical nesting of 162163
Orange, Theatre of 117, 453, 470, 526 see also Aristophanesscript and
Orchestra (dancing space in theatre) 10, 36, rehearsal; comedy, Greek; costumes;
116, 138, 141, 142, 153, 155, 169, 218, 237, deus ex machina; didaskalos;
244245, 344, 345, 354, 372, 452, 460, 463, ekkyklema; khoregos; masks;
524, 532 mekhane; orchestra; stage props;
tragedy, Greek; vase-paintings
Pacuvius 315, 330, 332, 333 Petrides, A. 39
Antiopa 314 Pickard-Cambridge, A.W. 89, 132, 252, 259,
Armorum Iudicium 316 260, 271
Atalanta 312 Plautus 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 2426, 32, 3839,
Chryses 316 92, 191, 276, 313, 315, 320, 331, 343, 352
Iliona 316, 332; allusions to Euripides 357, 359, 424
and Ennius Hecuba 333338 Amphitruo 350
Medus 316; allusions to Euripides and Aulularia 25
Ennius Medea 338340 Casina 330
Niptra 315 Menaechmi 348
palliata fabula 22, 23, 24, 29, 330, 353, 354, Mercator 315
357 Miles Gloriosus 352
Palmer-Sikelianou, E. 519, 532 Mostellaria 312
Panathenaea 143, 165, 167, 174 Persa 356357
pantomime 20, 22, 28, 31, 35, 3940, 181, Poenulus 351
192195, 355, 411, 422, 429, 433450, 451 Pseudolus 21, 419
473 Rudens 25, 27
classicization of 436439 Stichus 356
influence and impact 454457, 467 see also comedy, Roman; theatre, Roman
468 Podlecki, A.J. 34
musical instruments and 468470 Poe, J.P. 4, 243
origins and development 457459 Pohlenz, M. 248
pantomimoi 465466 Pollini, J. 437
performance venues 460464 Pollitt, J.J. 112, 126127
themes and libretti 470472 Polybius 38, 112, 343347, 350, 351, 354, 355
tragedy and 434439, 441442, 446447, Pompey, Theatre of 23, 311, 341, 378; see also
453, 456457, 465, 466, 471472 Circus Maximus; Marcellus, Theatre of;
see also costumes; Lucian; masks; Seneca theatre, Roman
the Younger. praetexta fabula 316, 341, 349
Patsalidis, S. 514515 procession (pompe) 15, 143, 162, 164167, 170,
Pavlovskis, Z. 6 174, 176, 228, 230, 231, 305, 380, 459
Pearson, A.C. 248 Pronomos Vase 186, 188, 189, 482, 484, 489,
performance 498; see also satyr-play; vase-paintings
aulos in 40, 85, 105, 106, 107, 108, 344 props, see stage props
345, 351, 354, 467, 477, 480482, 484, proxemics: see performance
485488, 489, 493 Pylades (pantomime performer) 193, 444,
parepigraphai 153, 477 452, 457, 458, 465, 468
pre-performance ceremonies 1517
proxemics (incl. blocking) 22, 77, 163, 313, Quirinalia 343, 346, 348, 349, 350
382
script and rehearsal 292301 Rawson, E. 21
and sculptural ideal 517533 Rehm, R. 1415, 163, 202, 367
semiotics 89, 14 Reinhardt, M. 521, 531
584 index of subjects
strategos 16 role-doubling in 6
Strawson, T. 295297 stage sets 218222
Sutton, D.F. 2930 three actor rule 68, 257258
Zeus in 145, 147
Taplin, O. 34, 5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 46, 47, 48, 131, see also Aeschylus; deus ex machina;
133, 140, 142, 143, 144, 146, 147, 202, 207, didaskalos; ekkyklema; Euripides;
210, 235, 236, 282, 312, 325, 329, 482, 489 khoregos; masks; mekhane; messen-
Telephus 77, 133, 182, 185, 320, 322324; see ger; orchestra; Sophocles; stage props
also EuripidesTelephus Tragedy, Roman
Terence 20, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 30, 276, 315, 330, recitals (recitationes) 19, 29, 30, 31, 194,
331, 343, 357, 358, 409, 424, 425, 427 427, 429, 456, 472
Adelphoe 349 revivals 29
Andria 357, 425429 see also Accius; Afranius; messenger;
Carolingian manuscripts of 425 orchestra; Seneca the Younger; stage
Eunuchus 349, 420, 425 props; theatre, Roman
Heautontimorumenos 25
Thalmann, W.G. 136 Van Steen, G. 41
Theatre of Dionysus (Athens) 8, 14, 15, 16, Vase-paintings 1113, 77, 78, 9091, 94, 147,
35, 161179 186, 263264, 281282, 325, 326, 340, 478
Theatre, Roman 1731 479, 482, 484, 486487, 489, 496498, 517,
actors gear in 2627 519, 522, 525, 528, 529, 531533
cavea 341, 372, 374, 375, 377, 460 South Italian 86, 125126, 187189, 311,
gestures in 409431 329, 485486
Imperial 2831 see also Pronomos Vase
ludi scaenici 22, 329, 338, 341, 343, 344, visual intertextuality 317320
348, 349, 351, 358 Vitruvius 34, 111, 113, 114, 115, 119, 120, 361, 395,
Republican 2228, 311342; stage 397
business 2728, 312314; intertextual Voltaire 522
relations with Greek dramas 314316;
intertextual relations with Roman Wagner, R. 519, 520, 531
dramas 316; visual intertextuality in Wallace-Hadrill, A. 361, 374
329342 Webb, R. 443
see also Circus Maximus; Marcellus, Webster, T.B.L. 11, 137, 139, 140, 282
Theatre of; orchestra; Pompey, theatre Whitman, C. 301
of; stage props Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von 248
theoria (spectacle festivals) 163, 166 Wiles, D. 5, 9, 14, 237, 441
togata fabula 22, 24, 29 Wilson, P. 275, 480, 481, 482, 484, 488
Tragedy, Greek 317 Winckelmann, J.J. 519, 520
allusions to other tragedies 326328 Wiseman, P. 345
chorus 910, 36, 85, 95, 134, 136, 137, 144, Wright, M. 224
155, 158, 164, 172, 175, 178, 202, 212, Wyles, R. 35
214, 220, 221, 226, 228, 232, 235, 237, Xerxes, 136137
240, 241, 242, 244246, 248, 249, 261, Zanker, P. 391, 395, 400, 403
262, 265, 477, 481, 509, 513; size of Zeitlin, F. 155, 502
132; training and preparation of 276, Zimmermann, B. 471
297301 Zwierlein, O. 19, 29
INDEX OF PASSAGES
The Index is selective. Footnotes and captions are not indexed. For works by ancient authors
see also the Index of Subjects.
accius aristophanes
Amphitruo Acharnians
fr. 86 R3 = 50 W 312 281283 244
292489 182, 185, 196
aeschylus Clouds
Agamemnon 299313 167
14 115 Ecclesiazusae
418419 177 890892 486
519520 175, 177 Frogs
810818 34, 156157 4547 99
1128 155 911913 133
Choephori 919920 133
22211 220 12831295 482, 489491
120 159 13011303 492
886900 252 Knights
887892 259 522 479, 494
Eumenides Lysistrata
33 245 879 259
5051 137 Thesmophoriazusae
231 245 39279 185, 196
708709 149 120125 488489
711753 149 497498 329
734 149 Wasps
735 150 5659 376
744745 150 522 78
748 155 Wealth
750751 151 895 494
920 174 1170 261
Persians Fragments
808817 175 696 KA 134
Prometheus Bound
286 73 aristotle
Rhetoric
amphis 1385b1316 67
fr. 46 K.-A. 247 1403b151404a19 411
1403b2030 419
anthologia graeca 1413b512 419
9.505.17 454455 Poetics
11.189 193194 1449a18 111
16.289 465 1450b1520 63
1450b1620 46, 444
anthologia latina 1450b1920 52
100.710 453 1452b1727 3
index of passages 587
homer Medus
Odyssey fr. 229 R3 = 243 W 339
13.109 72 fr. 242 W (inc. fab. 397 R3)
339
hyginus
Fabulae philostratus
27 338339 Life of Apollonius
109 333334 6.11 133
libanius plautus
Orations Aulularia
64.53 195196 417 25
64.112 455 Menaechmi
7276 24
life of aeschylus (ed. radt) Miles Gloriosus
2 131, 132 18 25
7 135 Mostellaria
10941180 25
life of sophocles (ed. radt) 11491151 353
5 495, 497 Pseudolus
11431144 419
livy Rudens
45.43.13, 8 346, 348 691885 25
Trinummus
lucian 19 353
On Dance
64 456 pliny the elder
75 436437 Naturalis Historia
8384 355 4.17.5 378
35.2.7 385
lucretius 35.67 378
De rerum natura
4.426431 121 pliny the younger
5.10301032 412 Epistulae
7.17 30
macrobius 9.34.2 30
Saturnalia
2.7.1314 470 plutarch
2.7.1618 193, 468 Life of Aemilius Paullus
5.17.5 471, 472 33.4 347
Life of Demosthenes
nonnus of panopolis 7 419
Dionysiaca Life of Pericles
5.88 473 3.34 290
13.910 280
pacuvius 24.9 288
Iliona Moralia
fr. 197201 R3 = 205210 W 528a 382
334335 1047ab 411412
fr. 202 R3 = 211 W 335
fr. 210 R3 = 223 W 338 pollux
4.117 99
index of passages 589
sallust tacitus
Jugurtha Annals
4 378 1.77.4 452
15.39 23
scholia (ancient)
on Aeschylus terence
Prom. Bound 284 73 Andria
on Cicero 110112 427, 429
Pro Sestio 126 335 289 429
on Horace Eunuchus
Saturae 2.3.6062 335 1 425
7 358
seneca the elder 4648 424
Controversiae Heautontimorumenos
3 (Praef. 16) 457 3536 357
/ 173176, 223, 227, 228, 232 , 32, 64, 65, 68, 134135
491492
112
/ 32, 64, 68, 134
15
15