Nieddu A Poet at Work: The Parody of Helen in the Thesmophoriazusae Gian Franco Nieddu §kl°gein … §k t«n gegramm°nvn Arist. Top. 105b N E DOUBLE CURIOSITÉ anime la critique moderne: elle veut savoir comment se font les textes, et elle veutUsavoir comment ils se défont,” noted J. Starobinski1 in initiating a debate on text genetics some years ago. A similar twofold curiosity is to be found—we might even say right from their very beginnings—in studies on ancient literary tradition: the desire to find out how the texts in our possession were produced, and how they were reused—in other words, to verify the ancient writer’s working methods, the procedures involved in the composition of a literary work, the conditions (even the material ones) for “making” poetry. Four passages in Greek literature dating from before the fourth century B.C. explicitly portray the poet at work. Three of them are to be found in Aristophanes.2 In Av. 904a–957 the poet brought on stage is an anonymous character, a person from the 1 J. Starobinski, “Approches de la génétique des textes: Introduction pour un débat,” in L. Hay, ed., La naissance du texte (Paris 1989) 208. 2 See J. Herington, Poetry into Drama. Early Tragedy and the Greek Poetic Tradition (Berkeley) 1985 46–47, who however seems to recognise only the cases described in Acharnians and Thesmophoriazusae. There is far more evidence relating to the later Greek and especially the Roman eras with in- formation on the process involved in the composition of a literary work, from the preliminary collection of materials to the final definitive writing, ready for publication. This is now the subject of an interesting and well-documented study by T. Dorandi, Le stylet et la tablette. Dans le secret des auteurs antiques (Paris 2000); some supplementary notes on Dorandi’s work are in V. Bers, CR 21 (2001) 409–410. Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 44 (2004) 331–360 © 2004 GRBS 332 A POET AT WORK city of men hastening to offer his services to the new world. He declares that he has had a great number of hymns honouring the new city ready for quite some time, but he performs as an ex- temporaneous improvisor, and no connection emerges between his activity and writing or written texts. In Ach. 395–413 is a representation of Euripides himself com- posing a tragedy. We see him dressed in ragged clothes, on the top floor of his house (although “his mind is elsewhere gathering small verses”),3 comically lying on his bed with his feet “dangling in the air” (énabãdhn).4 In the room we can see, along with the various fittings, the “rags” (=ãkia)—perhaps hanging on the wall or heaped on the lid of a chest or on the floor—worn on stage by the various heroes, which presumably served to represent symbolically the texts of the tragedies as they were gradually made reference to.5 Even here there is no 3 398–400a, ı noËw m¢n ¶jv jull°gvn §pÊllia | oÈk ¶ndon, aÈtÚw dÉ ¶ndon énabãdhn poe› | tragƒd¤an. Beyond the more immediately evident parody of a paradoxical Euripidean-Sophistic way of thinking (396, oÈk ¶ndon ¶ndon §st¤n: cf. P. Rau, Paratragodia. Untersuchungen einer komischen Form des Aristopha- nes [Munich 1967] 29–30; F. Muecke, “Playing with the Play. Theatrical Self- consciousness in Aristophanes,” Antichthon 11 [1977] 52–67, at 62), we can- not wholly exclude the possibility that the servant’s expression contains an implicit reference to the preliminary work of collection and preparation of the “materials” needed for the composition of a work. Recall that in Ran. 940–943 “Euripides” will attribute to himself the boast of having supplied tragedy, “swollen as it was with bombast and overweight vocabulary … with chatter-juice strained off from books” (transl. A. H. Sommerstein). Cf. Ran. 1409, where the theme of the “bookish” nature of Euripidean art is again maliciously put forth. However here the accusation of banality, insubstantiality, and stiffness levelled elsewhere (Pax 827–831, Av. 1372–1390) against the etherial poetry of the new dithyramb writers, who flit about in the air intent on gather- ing preludes, seems completely out of context. 4 410–411, énabãdhn poe›w, | §jÚn katabãdhn; As to the double meaning— “on the top floor” (399) and “with his feet dangling in the air” (410)—in which énabãdhn recurs at a distance of only a few lines, cf. G. Mastromarco, “Due casi di aprosdoketon scenico in Aristofane (Acarnesi 393–413, Vespe 526– 538),” Vichiana 12 (1983) 249–254, who also takes into consideration the other semantic ambivalences present in the passage (oÈk ¶ndon ¶ndon §st¤n and §pÊllia). 5 This is C. W. Macleod’s hypothesis, “Euripides’ Rags,” ZPE 15 (1974) 221–222, and “Rags Again,” ZPE 39 (1980) 6, which would appear to explain the deictic ıd¤ (418) and oÍtos¤ (427) for Oineus and Bellerophon, and the metaphoric use of spãrgana (“swaddling clothes,” 431) and the exclamation GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 333 direct reference to writing materials or to the activity of writing, although it is not unrealistic to imagine that the poie›n of Euripides—“il primo drammaturgo che intravediamo nel suo studio piuttosto che sulla scena come autore o cantore”6—was perhaps scenically represented by a stylus and tablet placed next to the poet. In Thesm. 101–129 we find Agathon shown performing a lyric interlude,7 evidently part of a tragedy (52, drãmatow érxãw), in a sort of private rehearsal8 where he interprets both the solo and the female chorus parts. In the words of the servant (49– 57a), preparing for his master’s exhibition with a propitiatory rite,9 the activity of poihtÆw is likened to the work of a craftsman. Just like a shipwright, a builder, a carpenter—from whose world a relentless series of metaphors are gradually taken10—he first of all takes steps “to lay the foundations, the basis of his drama” (52, druÒxouw tiy°nai drãmatow érxãw); then he models, moulds, adapts, polishes up, finishes off, and ——— uttered by Dicaeopolis upon receiving Telephus’ rags and cap (447, eÔ g': oÂon ≥dh =hmat¤vn §mp¤mplamai ). 6 G. Avezzù, “Il teatro tragico,” in I. Lana and E. V. Maltese, edd., Storia della civiltà letteraria greca e latina I (Torino 1998) 236–295, at 265: a col- location which more or less directly refers to the image of a bookish Euripides. 7 Cf. 67 (melopoe›n êrxetai ) and 99 (melƒde›n aÔ paraskeuãzetai ), where first the servant and then Euripides announce his entry on stage, asking for silence (39, 99). The use of diaminÊresyai , with which the Relative at 100 de- scribes the poet’s performance, seems to suggest that Agathon exits “humming” to himself or “warbling”: the root recurs at Eccl. 880 and Vesp. 219. 8 Cf. C. Prato, Le donne alle Tesmoforie (Milan 2001) 169 (“l’inno non sembra un testo definitivo pronto per la rappresentazione, ma una ‘prova’ teatrale, di tipo privato”); Herington, Poetry 47 (“we seem to be witnessing a quite early stage in the composition both of words and melody, before they have reached the point when they can be ‘taught’ to the chorus and actor”). 9 Cf. 36–38, §j°rxetai … | proyusÒmenow … t∞w poiÆsevw, “a servant of his is coming out … to make an offering … for his master’s poetry” (transl. Som- merstein), that is, to favour the poetic success of the master. The prefix pro- of proyÊv “combines the notions of ‘before’ and ‘on behalf of’” (Muecke, “Portrait” 43 n.18). 10 Cf. schol. 52, 53, 54. See J. Taillardat, Les images d’Aristophane 2 (Paris 1965) 442–443; Rau, Paratragodia 102; W. Horn, Gebet und Gebetsparodie in den Komödien des Aristophanes (Nürnberg 1970) 97–98; J. F. Gannon, Thesmo- phoriazusae restitutae: An Essay in Annotation and Interpretation (diss. Yale 1982) 39–45; and especially Muecke, “Portrait” 44–46. 334 A POET AT WORK connects the various materials: “he bends and curves new lines, he polishes them up on a lathe and glues them together, he forges sentences and coins words, casts moulds and rounds off.”11 Thus we find a series of operations which are meta- phorically mentioned, in a way that is far more explicit and articulated than in the passage in Acharnians : although specifically designed to outline the comic image of Agathon, they correspond at least in part to several moments or phases of the composing procedure and working method of an ancient author. Once again, however, the scene does not contain any specific reference to writing, which is perhaps a sign—if we do not want to ascribe it to deliberate comic distortion of the facts—that the attention of Aristophanes was rather more directed at ridiculing the poet in his quality of inspired poet/ craftsman poet/effeminate poet12—aspects which for their 11 Lines 53–57a, kãmptei d¢ n°aw èc›daw §p«n, | tå d¢ torneÊei, tå d¢ kol- lomele›, | ka‹ gnvmotupe› kéntonomãzei ka‹ khroxute› ka‹ goggÊllei ka‹ xoaneÊei: “he is bending new verbal timbers into shape, now gluing songs together, now fashioning them on the lathe, and coining ideas and creating metaphors and melting wax and rounding out and casting in a mould” (transl. Sommerstein). This series of crafts images shows a conception of poetic composi- tion as a process which involves fabrication, elaboration, adaptation, and linking of “materials,” and which is far from the idea of a creative work that flows mysteriously and obscurely from the mind of the genius. In particular note the metaphor of kollçn present in kollomele›n (54: an unusual compound form, cf. Prato, Le donne 156), which evokes a similar kind of operation de- scribed by Plato in Phaedrus (278DE) as being typical of the procedure used by the writer of his time as compared to the dialectical philosopher (see n.75 infra). 12 Cf. Muecke, Portrait 41. According to Herington, Poetry 47, “the probable conclusion … is that the late-fifth-century tragedian did not take to his pen or stylus until late in the composition or even until after the process was finished … we may guess that at least the lyric poetry of archaic Greece, and perhaps its poetry in all kinds, was composed by a similar process, with the act of the writing down occurring toward the end or at the end rather than toward the beginning.” Now, it is true that “per molti secoli dopo l’introduzione dell’ alfabeto i Greci non identificarono poesia e scrittura e che l’idea di poesia non evocò l’immagine di una tavoletta di cera, di un rotolo di papiro o della lettura solitaria” (M. Vetta, RivFil 112 [1984] 341–342), but beginning in the first decades of the fifth century the association of poetry and writing (scrolls, tablets)—which manages to involve “Sappho,” the Muses, even Mnemosyne herself—becomes a specific and recurring subject in vase paintings: H. R. Immerwahr, “Book Rolls on Attic Vases,” in C. Henderson, ed., Classical Mediaeval and Renaissance Studies in Honour of B. L. Ullman (Rome 1964) 17–37, and Attic Script. A Survey (Oxford 1990) 99 n.6; F. A. G. Beck, Album of GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 335 specifically linguistic-stylistic and rhythmical-musical expres- sion obviously could find an adequate parodic realization only through an oral performance.13 In contrast, a direct reference to a moment in the writing of a comedy seems to be present in Cratinus’ Wineflask (first place in the competition of 423). Here, as has been plausibly supposed, the comic poet himself, the main character of the play, is repre- sented in the act of writing, with Comedy, in the guise of his wife, at his side lavish with suggestions: “Don’t talk nonsense! Put it into one episode! Cleisthenes, playing dice, will make them laugh,” and again “Rub out Hyperbolus and write in the market of oil-lamps.”14 Even if these are the only passages where the act of com- posing (and with it the attitudes and personal ideas of the protagonists) is the direct object of the literary performance, reading between the lines of another comic parodic text can be shown to provide more information on the actual mechanisms present in the process of “making” poetry. Significant and suggestive implications are to be found in the famous passage of ——— Greek Education. The Greeks at School and at Play (Sydney 1975), esp. II 49; V 12; X 8–12, 22–24, 27, 29, 30–32, 34, 68; cf. J. R. Green, “Oral Tragedies? A Question from St. Petersburg,” QUCC N.S. 51 (1995) 77–86, on the “intriguing” scene of the Attic hydria of the Pan Painter, from the second decade of the fifth century (LIMC III no. 846, pl. 401). There is also a considerable reflection of this motif in the literary world, where for the first time the image of writing defined as mousomÆtor' §rgãnhn appears with Aeschylus (PV 460–461). 13 In the opinion of M. Cr. Torchio, “Nell’ ‘officina’ del poeta tragico: Ar. Thesm. 101–129,” Quad. Dip. Fil. Rostagni 17 (2001) 127–135, at 131, the scene of Agathon takes us back “a un’oralità legata al contesto comunicativo tea- trale”—rather than to an orality of composition (Herington, Poetry): in this scene the poet will try out “l’effetto che doveva ottenere l’esecuzione pubblica del suo canto, esercitando una sorta di ‘controllo acustico’ sul testo dram- matico.” 14 Frr.208 (lhre›w ¶xvn: grãf' aÈtÚn | §n §peisod¤ƒ. gelo›ow ¶stai Kleisy°nhw kubeÊvn ) and 209 K.-A. ( ÑUp°rbolon d' éposb°saw §n to›w lÊxnoisi grãcon ). See Kassel-Austin, PCG IV 229–230, on problems of interpretation and suggestions for emendations, particularly regarding fr.208. In his re- construction of the scene, which is not unlike that already proposed by Fritzsche, Meineke, and Zielinski, M. Heath, “Aristophanes and his Rivals,” G&R 37 (1990) 143–158, at 151, comments significantly “the conception is stunning: the comedian is being advised by Comedy on writing a comedy in a comedy. Of all lost comedies, this is the one I would most like to read.” 336 A POET AT WORK the Thesmophoriazusae (855–919) that parodies the Euripidean Helen. Concerning the pastiche of Agathon’s song in the Thesmo- phoriazusae, Wilamowitz’s peremptory claim that Aristophanes must have had the tragedian’s works in front of him (“er hatte natürlich Lieder Agathons vor sich”)15 can be seen as anachro- nistic and excessively “bookish” and quite properly set aside.16 But the situation in the parody of Helen is completely different. Here the full and independent preservation of the original text puts us in the happy position—a unique one17—of being able to appreciate in all its complexities the technique used by the comic poet and at the same time offers us the opportunity to reflect on the author’s working method (the composition procedure, the material conditions, the operational choices) when constructing a text starting from someone else’s text.18 In the Thesmophoriazusae the parody of the tragedy, performed successfully one year earlier at the Dionysia of 412,19 is intro- duced as a mhxanÆ of “Euripides,” who appears in the guise of 15 U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Griechische Verskunst (Darmstadt 1921) 341. 16 We have to take into account the possibility that the comic writer was trying here, as elsewhere, to freely reproduce the language, style, and music typical of the dramatist, without making reference to a particular composition: thus for example in Frogs 1331–1363. Cf. Prato, Le donne 168–169. 17 In fact there are no other examples of such extended parodies of tragic scenes where the “hypotext” has been preserved. 18 The passage has been the subject of a number of in-depth and stimulating studies, which have underlined certain characteristics and problems. See in particular Rau, Paratragodia 53–65; R. Kannicht, Euripides Helena (Heidelberg 1969) I 79–82; M. G. Bonanno, L’allusione necessaria (Rome 1990) 241–276 (“Metateatro in parodia [Sulle ‘Tesmoforiazuse’ di Aristofane]”); F. Bubel, Euripides, Andromeda (Stuttgart 1991) 159–169 ("Appendix zur parodischen Technik des Aristophanes”); R. Klimek-Winter, Andromedatragödien: Sophokles Euripides Livius Andronicus Ennius Accius (Stuttgart 1993) 120–125; Prato, Le donne 297–304. 19 tØn kainØn ÑEl°nhn mimÆsomai (850) is in fact exclaimed by the Relative while announcing the new expedient after the failure of the previous ploy. On the not simply temporal but especially qualitative values of kainÆ see Kan- nicht, Helena I 21–22; F. I. Zeitlin, “Travesties of Gender and Genre in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousae,” in H. P. Foley, ed., Reflections of Women in Antiquity (New York 1981) 169–217, at 186; Bubel, Andromeda 160 n.5. GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 337 Menelaus to bring the Relative (in the role of Helen) to safety, after the latter has been arrested by the women for infiltrating their feast in women’s clothing. Aristophanes’ “re-writing” of the tragic model totals 44 lines, some reproduced exactly, others partly modified or summarised, and quite deliberately alter- nated with impertinent interruptions by Critylla, the old woman who keeps watch over the Relative (her interventions make up about 20 lines). He draws from five parts: the prologue, the scenes where Teucer and Menelaus make their entrances, the dialogue between Menelaus and the old gatekeeper, the meeting and reciprocal recognition between Helen and her legitimate spouse. Through an appropriate selection of the material from these scenes, Aristophanes represents “his own” Helen, which contains the principal elements of the Euripidean plot: Menelaus’ arrival in the land of Egypt, the meeting between the married couple who are still unaware of each other’s identity, the impending wedding between Helen and Proteus’ son, the moment of recognition. But the expected happy ending does not arrive for the two protagonists of the comic scene: the action is brusquely interrupted by the guard’s intervention and their plan to escape comes to nothing. It should emphasised first that the comic re-composition is produced from the original materials, which are freely cut and cleverly juxtaposed, and integrated only now and then with verses created ad hoc for the comic scene. Thus Aristophanes, rather differently from what he does on other occasions, does not limit himself to recalling a few episodes or the plot of the tragedy punctuated now and then with precise textual refer- ences; on the contrary, he works in complete dependence on the model, resorting to it with extreme precision, not only in the evocation of the dramatic action but also by repeating, when- ever possible, the exact words pronounced by the characters. If we set aside the interruptions of the astounded guard, the lines of the two protagonists in the comic adventure which attempt to recreate the tragic situation can be thus classified: 338 A POET AT WORK (1) 15 lines reproduced exactly from the Euripidean tragedy with irrelevant variations (due in some cases to events in the tradition of one of the two literary texts), for a total of 34%; (2) 3 lines slightly modified for parodic purposes, 7%; (3) 25 lines constructed in a Euripidean “manner,” where lexicon and stylistic elements from his other tragedies are variously combined and used as connecting or passing reference elements especially for summarising, 57%.20 What clearly emerges from all this is above all the considerable presence of the lines taken up literally, in other words the care with which Aristophanes transfers “fragments” of the tragic text into his text, displaying a textual fidelity which indicates an attitude of attention and, as it were, respect towards the original. 1. The prologue KH. “Ne¤lou m¢n a·de kallipãryenoi =oa¤, 855 ˘w ént‹ d¤aw cakãdow AfigÊptou p°don leuk∞w” not¤zei melanosurma›on le≈n. The first three lines of the tragedy are reproduced in a perfectly identical form up until the beginning of the third (leuk∞w) and end with a burlesque variation parå prosdok¤an , following a not uncommon procedure, which alters the syntactic relation- ships between the verbal elements21 and imposes a brusque turn in the sense of the phrase, without however relinquishing the characteristic feature of the double accusative present in the original.22 The following succession of lines are also taken from 20 To these percentages we need to add 2%, deriving from the insertion of a Sophoclean quotation (line 870). 21 leuk∞w (an element of “cerniera tra citazione e variazione”: G. Paduano, La festa delle donne [Milan 1983] 165 n.115), which in the original is the epithet of snow from which the Nile is born, rather surprisingly takes on the role of an attribute of Egypt in a play on words on the colour contrast between black/ white with the following melanosurma›on , jokingly introduced to ridicule the purgative customs of the Egyptians (cf. E. W. Handley and J. Rea, The Telephus of Euripides [BICS Suppl. 5 (1957)] 23; Rau, Paratragodia 58). 22 In fact this continued with take¤shw xiÒnow Ígra¤nei gÊaw : W. H. van de Sande Bakhuyzen, De parodia in comoediis Aristophanis (Utrecht 1877) 123– GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 339 the Euripidean prologue, which first continued (4–15) with a genealogical section dedicated to Proteus, ignored by Aristoph- anes as being irrelevant to the economy of his scene: Thesm. 859–860 (= Hel. 16–17), 862a (= Hel. 22), 864–865a (= Hel. 52–53), 866 (= Hel. 49), 868a (= Hel. 56). KH. “§mo‹ d¢ g∞ m¢n patr‹w oÈk én≈numow, Spãrth, patØr d¢ Tundãrevw.” GU. so¤ g', Œleyre, 860 patØr §ke›nÒw §sti; Frun≈ndaw m¢n oÔn. KH. “ÑEl°nh dÉ §klÆyhn.” GU. aÔyiw aÔ g¤gnei gunÆ, pr‹n t∞w •t°raw doËnai gunaik¤sevw d¤khn; KH. “cuxa‹ d¢ polla‹ di' ¶m' §p‹ Skamandr¤oiw =oa›sin ¶yanon.” GU.B vÖ felew d¢ ka‹ sÊ ge. 865 KH. “kég∆ m¢n §nyãd' e‡m': ı d' êyliow pÒsiw” oÍmÚw Men°laow oÈd°pv pros°rxetai. “t¤ oÔn ¶ti z«;” GU.B t«n korãkvn ponhr¤&. These lines conform almost completely to the parodied original. Aristophanes has substantially respected the sequence of lines in the model in his selection of the key elements which make a sort of reduced epitome. The exception is line 49 (= Thesm. 866), kég∆ m¢n §nyãd' e‡m': ı d' êyliow pÒsiw, which he post- pones to the end of the brief monologue, to underline the eager- ness with which the Relative/Helen awaits the arrival of “her Menelaus,” who is to free “her” from “her” unfortunate position as a prisoner. The comic text is extemporaneously turned towards an expression of expectation (867, oÍmÚw Men°laow oÈd°pv pros°rxetai ), which the tragic heroine would not have ——— 124, comments, “est omnino insolita dictio … nihil tamen in Euripide mutandum esse docet Aristophanes, qui non modo p°don legit sed consulto difficultatem auxit verbo gÊaw substituendo l°vn .” Cf. also B. B. Rogers, The Thesmo- phoriazusae of Aristophanes (London 1904) 91; Rau, Paratragodia 58 n.99. 340 A POET AT WORK been able to say since she could not have been waiting for her bridegroom at this particular point in the story.23 In the reproduction of the lines from the prologue, apart from the initial éprosdÒkhton , there are only two points of de- parture from the model and these are in fact quite limited: (a) Thesm. 859, where in place of the emphatic plural ≤m›n (Hel. 16) we find the singular §mo¤, “una diminutio dello stile aulico,” with- out any comic pointe, and not relevant enough to warrant the hypothesis of quotation from memory,24 but rather introduced (if we do not wish to consider it a copyist’s error) “forse per consentire l’ironica ripresa del successivo soi.”25 (b) Thesm. 868, where in place of d∞t(a) (Hel. 56, even though Euripides gives his heroine this tragic interrogative in an identical form again in 293), we find oÔn, an alteration which is apparently not in- tentional—unless we in fact see in it an indication of an error in the tradition of Helen as suggested by Handley/Rea and Kan- nicht.26 Bubel’s assertion,27 “man hat also damit zu rechnen, daß Aristophanes keinen allzu großen Wert auf wortgetreue Wieder- 23 The completion of the phrase in Helen (50–51) is: strãteum' éyro¤saw tåw §måw énarpagåw | yhrò poreuye‹w ÉIl¤ou purg≈mata. As Paduano points out (La festa 167 n.120), “il verso euripideo aveva un referente temporale pre- cedente alla guerra di Troia … qui viene spostato alla contemporaneità im- mediata e piegato alla successiva impetuosa richiesta dell’arrivo di Menelao.” Cf. Rau, Paratragodia 58, “von ihrer unglücklichen Trennung vom Gatten spricht ‘Helena’ zunächst im Zitat, kürzt dann aber mit der bloßen Feststellung seiner Abwesenheit ab, und zwar in der komischen Handlung voraussetzend, was sie als Helena eigentlich nicht weiß: oÈd°pv pros°rxetai. ” 24 As suggested by A. C. Schlesinger, “Identification of Parodies in Aristoph- anes,” AJP 57 (1937) 294–305, at 295 n.3 (“a slip of Aristophanes’ memory”) and Paduano, La festa 165 n.116 (“una diminutio dello stile aulico, ma dovuta senz’altro alla citazione a memoria”). 25 Prato, Le donne 298. 26 Handley/Rea, Telephus 23; Kannicht, Helena I 82 (“da der Kontext des Originals ersichtlich oÔn , nicht d∞ta erfordert, der Kontext der Parodie dagegen eher d∞ta als oÔn erwarten ließe, ist damit zu rechnen, daß die Parodie die genuine Lesart bewahrt hat”; also II 33–34). In fact Kannicht and also J. Diggle, Euripidis fabulae III (Oxford 1994) ad loc., accept oÔn. Bubel, Andromeda 163 n.12, has reservations, as he sees the risk of “Überinterpretation” in Kan- nicht’s type of argument. 27 Andromeda 162. GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 341 gabe legt, sondern den tragischen Text mit einer gewissen Sou- veränität handhabt,” appears, at least regarding this section, to be clearly proved wrong. On the contrary what immediately stands out is the complete exactitude of the quotations, an exactness we can see as somewhat unnecessary, given the difficulty for a theatrical audience to conduct an accurate com- parison for the correctness of the quotations. However even in the procedures for the construction of the scene, Aristophanes seems to work starting from a text which he can handle with a certain ease: he chooses key-verses, singles out pieces he wants to introduce in new comic situations, and makes a suitable syn- thesis or as Paduano puts it “un rifacimento comico abrégé,”28 centred on the re-use of several essential themes (the exotic setting in Egypt, the identification of Helen, the admission of the “fault” for which she carries the burden, the expectation of the liberator). We can follow Aristophanes’ procedure step by step, and in some cases identify the reasoning that was the basis of his selection: §mo‹ d¢ g∞ m¢n patr‹w oÈk én≈numow, | Spãrth, patØr d¢ Tundãrevw (859–860) and the short phrase ÑEl°nh d' §klÆyhn (862a), taken from the mythological excursus on the divine origins of Helen (Hel. 16–17, 22), allow the rapid identification of the role that the Relative is gradually assuming; cuxa‹ d¢ polla‹ dfi' ¶m' §p‹ Skamandr¤oiw | =oa›sin ¶yanon (864–865 = Hel. 52–53)29 and the desperate exclamation t¤ oÔn ¶ti z«; (868a = 56), in their strong pathos, make an irresistible invitation for the deflating comments of the female guard.30 The break in the “linear sequence of the quotations,”31 which had been respected until now, introduces at this point the wait for 28 Paduano, La festa 167 n.121. 29 The quotation is chosen as a synthesis of the whole story dedicated to the narration of the misadventures linked to Helen’s “name” (Hel. 22b–55). 30 Lines 865b (vÖ felew d¢ ka‹ sÊ ge ), 869b (t«n korãkvn ponhr¤& ). 31 Paduano, La festa 167 n.120; cf. Bubel, Andromeda 163. The inversion, clearly suited for the economy of the new context, means that the liberation is postponed (Thesm. 866 = Hel. 49) to after the expression of guilt (Thesm. 864–865 = Hel. 52–53). 342 A POET AT WORK the liberator, thus pointing to the connection with the figure of Euripides/Menelaus who is about to make his appearance. 2. The arrival of Menelaus In this second part Aristophanes summarizes a sequence of three episodes which in the original span more than 500 lines and whose discursiveness clearly shows Euripides’ clever desire to prolong the wait by delaying the meeting between the protagonists: the dialogues between Teucer and Helen (a subtle preparation for the recognition scene), between Menelaus and an ill-tempered old gatekeeper, and finally the crucial one be- tween Menelaus and Helen. The comic poet reduces these three scenes to their functional unity, making a bold abridgement32 which to an extent forces upon him greater liberty towards the original text; but even though he reduces the speaking characters from four to two, he does not refrain from inserting exact quotations into the new scene, alternated with linking verses in which the Euripidean manner is evoked and at times exag- gerated through words and phrases which he favoured or by simply using ostentatatiously paratragic language.33 When our Menelaus enters on stage, instead of using the analogous somewhat colourless lines reflecting his character,3 4 he uses the far more emphatic and high-sounding words of Teucer, t¤w t«nd' §rumn«n dvmãtvn ¶xei krãtow; (Thesm. 871 = 32 Many scholars have pointed out this operation, though in rather generic terms. Cf. Paduano, La festa 167 n.123 (“i due versi successivi [872–873] costi- tuiscono una transizione, sempre in stile tragico, che comprime l’azione del modello; in risposta infatti Mnesiloco/Elena fornisce le informazioni che nella tragedia vengono date a Menelao dalla scortesissima vecchia portinaia”); Bubel, Andromeda 165 (“bietet sich die Gelegenheit, die euripideischen Szenen Helena/Teukros und Menelaos/graËw zu verknüpfen, ohne daß eine ‘Nahtstelle’ sichtbar wird”). 33 An example is the invocation of Zeus in the words of the Relative/Helen (870: mØ ceËson, Œ ZeË, t∞w §pioÊshw §lp¤dow ), which announces the entrance of the saviour and inserts a hemistich from Sophocles’ Peleus (schol. ad loc., fr.493 Radt) into the web of quotations from Helen. 34 Hel. 459, t¤w d' ¥de x≈ra; toË d¢ bas¤leioi dÒmoi; GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 343 Hel. 68). The continuation of his question35 is on the contrary woven with lexical elements that remind us of the story that the Achaean hero will tell of his labours, both in the monologue with which he introduces himself on stage (in particular Hel. 408– 410) and also during the dialogue with the old gatekeeper (449).36 In fact, the answer to the rather solemn question “Who is the lord of this mighty palace?” is a partial alteration of the one the ill-tempered Old Woman gives to Menelaus in Helen: Prvt°vw tãd' §st‹ m°layra (Thesm. 874a ≈ Hel. 460). This line has perhaps been deliberately altered in both syntax and lexi- con (the Euripidean tradition has PrvteÁw tãd' ofike› d≈mat') to favour the pun between the two names Proteus/Proteas,37 while the alteration of d≈mata into m°layra , metrically necessary in Aristophanes’ adaptation to avoid a “split” anapaest in antilabe, finishes with an exaggeration of the Euripidean phrase in an even more tragic manner.38 35 Lines 872–873, ˜stiw j°nouw d°jaito pont¤ƒ sãlƒ | kãmnontaw §n xei- m«ni ka‹ nauag¤aiw; 36 Precise stylistic details in Rau, Paratragodia 59 (ad 872–873); cf. Kannicht, Helena I 80 (“871–73 = Hel. 68 + Resümé von 386–434”). But other scholars, e.g. Nauck, do not exclude the possibility that the lines make up a quotation from an unpreserved tragedy (fr. adesp. 64). 37 In Kannicht’s opinion (Helena I 82, II 136, ad 460), “ist deutlich … daß Aristophanes den originalen Wortlaut in eine Formulierung mit possessivem Genitiv verwandeln mußte, um das kalauernde Wortspiel Prvt°vw : Prvt°aw phonetisch zu ermöglichen.” Doubts and reservations are expressed by Bubel, Andromeda 166 and 167 n.21. According to a conjecture already proposed by Kirchhoff, H. Grégoire, Euripide, Hélène (Paris 1950) 68 (but also cf. Rogers, Thesmophoriazusae XXVII n.1), suggests in his critical apparatus the possibility that Aristophanes nearly preserves the genuine Euripidean reading, only substituting m°layra for d≈mat' (“nam quod anus dicit, secundum lectionem codicum Euripidis, non est uerum”). Diggle adopts this solution in his edition of the tragedy (Prvt°vw tãd' §st‹ d≈mat' ). We must also take into consideration that the “Euripidean” formulation with ofike› , which presupposes that Proteus is still alive, would have been (if Aristophanes had known it!) the most convenient expression providing the comedy in Critylla’s remark: t°ynhke Prvt°aw ¶th d°ka. However, according to Rau (Paratragodia 59) “'Helena’ gibt frei nach den Worten der Alten Auskunft.” See also Paduano, La festa 167 n.124 (“citazione ad sensum”), and Prato, Le donne 298. 38 Bubel, Andromeda 166 n.20, seems to favour a different conclusion and numbers our case among the “‘Verbesserungen’ tragischer Ausdrucksweisen durch den Komödiendichter” (169). According to Rau, Paratragodia 69, “m ° - layra ist so gut tragisch wie d≈mata”; still, it is undoubtedly of less frequent 344 A POET AT WORK In the continuation of the dialogue between the characters on stage (877–901), the literal or slightly altered quotations al- ternate and mingle with a freer rapid series of tragically-styled questions and answers which reproduce several essential pas- sages of the stichomythia between Menelaus and the old Woman in Helen. An undeniable reminder of Hel. 459 (t¤w d' ¥de x≈ra;) is present in Thesm. 877 (po¤an d¢ x≈ran efisek°lsamen skãfei;), re-elaborated in a decidedly more elevated manner,39 while a strict adherence to the original text is in Thesm. 878 (Œ dÊsthnow, o pepl≈kamen), which is almost identical with Hel. 461 (Œ dÊsthnow, o p°pleuk' êra)—thus it is not to be excluded that in the Euripidean text we should restore the form p°plvk' êra on the basis of our passage.40 A more elaborate stylistic re-writing is seen in the following line 881 (aÈtÚw d¢ PrvteÁw ¶ndon ¶st' µ 'j≈piow;), which again contains a question modelled on Hel. 467 (pÒteron §ktÚw µ 'n dÒmoiw;),41 but has been formed by substituting ¶ndon for (§)n dÒmoiw and (§)j≈piow (a rather precious Euripidean neo-formation)42 for the more common §ktÒw.43 Line 886 (tÒd' §st‹n aÈtoË s∞ma) almost exactly repeats the initial hemistich from Hel. 466 (tÒd' §st‹n ——— use (H. Perdicoyianni, “Le vocabulaire de l’habitation chez Euripide ,” LEC 64 [1996] 21–50, at 21–26 and 39–43). 39 To Bubel, Andromeda 166, this appears “in tragischem Stil ohne bekannte Vorlage.” 40 Kannicht, Helena II 136–137 (ad 461–463): “da Aristophanes in nicht- parodischem Zusammenhang die attische Form verwendet … kann also mit der Möglichkeit gerechnet werden, daß er die ionische Form hier mit der Absicht verwendet hat, den pathetischen Ton des Ausrufs mit Hilfe eines euripideischen Stilmittels … zu überbieten. Andererseits läßt sich natürlich die Möglichkeit nicht ausschließen, daß im Euripidestext p°pleuk' aus p°plvk' êra enstellt ist” (see also I 81 and II 135, ad 455, as well as Bakhuyzen, De parodia 124–125; p°plvk' is in fact the form adopted by Grégoire, Hélène 69). 41 The question, which in the original was about Theoclymenus, is now about Proteus himself and is evidently meant to prepare the ground for the final ingenious ploy, where a reluctant Critylla is integrated into the parodic game (cf. 885, 890–891, 895–897a). 42 Cf. Alc. 546, Med. 624, Supp. 1038. 43 Cf. Rau, Paratragodia 60; Prato, Le donne 300. Here we also have, as in the use of the unusual Ionic form pepl≈kamen, a demonstration of that tendency towards a stylistic hypercharacterisation of the Euripidean lexicon. GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 345 aÈtoË mn∞ma), with s∞ma for mn∞ma. Aristophanes’ wish to prepare for the new, indignant intervention by the female guard (887–888) probably lies behind this substitution, introducing into the text a commonplace word, generally already felt as equivalent to tãfow (cf. Hel. 63–64), strengthening the effect of the blasphemous assimilation of an altar to a tomb.44 The hemistich that completes 886 (§f' ⁄ kayÆmeya) allows a recovery of the theme of seeking asylum at Proteus’ tomb from the initial situation of Helen, present in the model from the very first scene (63–65)45 and now evoked in a strictly tragic style with a few strokes of the pen (889–891): EU. t¤ da‹ sÁ yãsseiw tãsde tumbÆreiw ßdraw fãrei kaluptÒw, Œ j°nh; KH. biãzomai 890 gãmoisi Prvt°vw paid‹ summe›jai l°xow. Another central theme of the tragedy, the heroine’s claim of faithfulness, is again taken from the prologue.46 Here it is incon- gruously made to spite the poor Critylla, who tries to prevent the intrigue between the two and gets caught up against her will in the theatrical game, in the role of Theonoe, Proteus’ daughter and Theoclymenus’ sister:47 EU. j°nh, t¤w ≤ graËw ≤ kakorroyoËsã se; KH. aÏth YeonÒh Prvt°vw. GU. må t∆ ye≈, 44 Cf. Kannicht, Helena I 82 and especially II 137 (ad 466); Bubel, Andromeda 167; Prato, Le donne 300. Rau, Paratragodia 60, is of a different opinion: “die erste Vershälfte ist zitiert, nur daß Ar., vielleicht aus dem Gedächtnis zitierend, s∞ma statt mn∞ma schreibt.” Note that in Hel. 797–801 Euripides had also mentioned the anomaly of the tomb which serves as an altar, as a guarantee of inviolability. 45 (EL.) tÚn pãlai dÉ §g∆ pÒsin | tim«sa Prvt°vw mn∞ma prosp¤tnv tÒde | flk°tiw, ·nÉ éndr‹ témå dias≈s˙ l°xh. 46 Hel. 63–65, cf. 53–55, also 795, 927–931. 47 In Euripides, the prophetess Theonoe enters at 865 and has an air of benevolent complicity towards Helen and Menelaus: the role change to which Aristophanes has subjected the character is obvious. 346 A POET AT WORK efi mØ Kr¤tullã g ÉAntiy°ou GarghttÒyen. sÁ d' e‰ panoËrgow. KH. ıpÒsa toi boÊlei l°ge. oÈ går gamoËmai s“ kasignÆtƒ pot¢ 900 prodoËsa Men°levn §mÚn §n Tro¤& pÒsin. As can be seen, we are dealing with a construction which has been skillfully planned and worked out and which makes use of all the materials suitable for the new situation, recovering them from their original context and, as here, giving them a new collocation. 3. The recognition The longest and most continuous quotation is part of the recognition scene (Thesm. 902–916a). The prefatory lines (902–905) are constructed with a combination of tragic elements that correspond for the most part with Helen itself: EU. gÊnai, t¤ e‰paw; str°con éntauge›w kÒraw. KH. afisxÊnoma¤ se tåw gnãyouw Íbrism°nh. EU. tout‹ t¤ §stin; éfas¤a t¤w to¤ m' ¶xei Œ yeo¤, t¤n' ˆcin efisor«; t¤w e‰, gÊnai; 905 The “highly poetical expression” str°con éntauge›w kÒraw ,4 8 which may or may not have been taken from the Euripidean repertoire, probably accompanied the gesture with which Euripides/Menelaus tried to get his prim “Helen” to turn her face towards him. This provided the Relative with the op- portunity of giving a reluctant answer, which departs from the scene within the scene49 and recalls the painful shaving that had 48 Prato, Le donne 302; cf. Rau, Paratragodia 61 (“die Wendung … könnte Tragödienexzerpt sein”). 49 On the “’regressioni’ dalla ‘seconda’ finzione (la paratragedia) alla ‘prima’ (la commedia),” typical of the Relative in his role as Helen and then as Andromeda, and more generally on the notion of metatheatre which operates in Aristophanic comedy, see in particular Bonanno, L’allusione 241–262 (with bibliography). GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 347 been part of the disguise scene (215–235).50 But from 906 to 912 Aristophanes limits himself to repro- ducing in a literal and continuous form a highly charged passage from the tragic stichomythia, where the married couple realise that they are both “very much like” Helen and Menelaus (Hel. 558 and 561–566):51 KH. “sÁ dÉ e‰ t¤w; aÍtÚw går s¢ kêmÉ ¶xei lÒgow.” EU. “ÑEllhn‹w e‰ tiw µ Épixvr¤a gunÆ; ” KH. “ÑEllhn¤w. éllå ka‹ tÚ sÚn y°lv maye›n. ” EU. “ÑElÆn˙ sÉ ımo¤an dØ mãlistÉ e‰don, gÊnai.” KH. “§g∆ d¢ Menelムs', ” ˜sa gÉ §k t«n émf¤vn. 910 EU. “¶gnvw êr' Ùry«w êndra dustux°staton.” KH. “à xrÒniow §ly∆n s∞w dãmartow” §sxãraw. The only disparity is in the final part of 910,52 a comic break 50 For 904 cf. Hel. 548–549, …w d°maw de¤jasa sÚn | ¶kplhjin ≤m›n éfas¤an te prost¤yhw. However, following a procedure already noted, line 905 “contaminates” the parallel and almost identical expressions of surprise by Teucer and Menelaus when faced with the woman: Œ yeo¤, tin' e‰don ˆcin; (Hel. 72, Teucer's entrance) and t¤w e‰; t¤n' ˆcin sÆn, gÊnai, prosd°rkomai; (Hel. 557, stichomythia between Helen and Menelaus). Cf. Handley/Rea, Telephus 24 (“line 905 is a conflation of Helen 72 and 557”). According to Rau, Para- tragodia 62, it is an example of “freie Zitation: Ar. hätte gut Hel. 557 wörtlich übernehmen können, er hat aber auch ähnliche Wendungen aus in der Situation entsprechenden Stellen im Kopf, die er dann bewußt oder unbewußt kon- taminiert.” But also cf. Bubel, Andromeda 168 n.26. 51 The pair of lines 559–560 omitted here were uttered a parte and interrupted the dialogue, revealing to the audience the different levels of recognition reached by the two main characters in the process of reciprocal recognition: these lines are not pertinent to the new situation and are thus passed over by Aristophanes who takes up the dialogue again with line 561 (cf. Kannicht, Helena II 158). On the other hand it is on the basis of the Aristophanic text (907) that 561 of Helen, dropped in the Euripidean manuscript tradition, has been restored, remedying textual damage evidently due to the identical incipit ÑEllhn¤w with the following line (A. M. Dale, Euripides. Helen [Oxford 1967] 102; Kannicht, Helena I 82). Dale’s observation on 558 is equally significant: “the unusual inversion [kêm' ¶xei lÒgow ] is protected by Ar. Thesm. 906, which also gives aÍtÚw for aÈtÒw [from the L P codices].” 52 A clear “surprise” ending, preserved in the form ˜sa g' §k t«n fifÊvn, which would recall the ancient malice towards Euripides’ mother (fifÊvn: vegetables). Cf. Kannicht, Helena I 81–82, II 159 (ad 565–567). émf¤vn (rags) is a modern conjecture, proposed by Grégoire (Hélène 73) and V. Coulon-Tauber, “Beiträge zur Interpretation des Aristophanes,” Philologus 95 (1942) 31–54 at 348 A POET AT WORK which is probably linked to the substitution of the original gãr with êr(a) in 911, “adattato alla risposta del falso Mene- lao.”53 More doubtful is the situation in 912 where, in place of the demure §w x°raw of the tragic model, several scholars regard perfectly plausible the reading §sxãraw of the Ravennates— hearth, but also gunaike›on mÒrion—arrived at by a simple metaplasm which is not unusual in Aristophanes and which is not unworthy of the Relative. In any case this modification is clearly intentional, and with this and the clever attempt at liberation, the scene moves towards its unsuccessful conclusion, having reached a climax at the moment of the embrace. The almost pure reproduction of the affectionate outburst of the Relative/Helen is followed by a series of repeated and pathetic imperatives in frenzied dochmiacs (913–916a),54 with which the Relative/Helen urges Euripides/Menelaus to take him away as soon as possible (even to remind us, in mocking contrast, of the very prolonged, almost interminable duet of the Euripidean tragedy):55 lab° me, lab° me, pÒsi, per¤bale d¢ x°raw. f°re s¢ kÊsv. êpag° m' êpag' êpag' êpag° me 914/5 lab∆n taxÁ pãnu. Armed with a torch, the good Critylla decides to put an end to the suspicious afiguptiãzein of the two accomplices;56 and Eurip- ides, after trying once again to improvise a few “unscripted” phrases,57 is obliged to flee. ——— 45–48, preferable to an allusion to Euripides’ alleged lineage, which would be out of place here. 53 Prato, Le donne 303. 54 Cf. P. Pucci, Aristofane ed Euripide: ricerche metriche e stilistiche (Rome 1961) 346; Rau, Paratragodia 62. 55 Hel. 625–697. In particular Aristophanes seems to make use of lines 627– 629, 634–635, and 694–695. 56 Thesm. 921–922, oÈk §tÚw pãlai | ºguptiãzet'. éll' ˜de m¢n d≈sei d¤khn. 57 Thesm. 918–919, sÁ tØn §mØn guna›ka kvlÊeiw §m°, | tØn Tundãreion pa›d', §p‹ Spãrthn êgein; GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 349 What clearly emerges from the framework that we have de- scribed is that Aristophanes does not limit himself to quoting verses in a more or less literal manner, but in parallel carries out a series of operations which redesign the model text: (1) he excises whatever he deems irrelevant and unnecessary58 or per- haps even too complex;59 (2) he summarises a lengthy account in a line;60 (3) he inverts the sequence of the quotations;61 (4) he compresses distinct scenes and juxtaposes lines that in the original belong to different contexts.62 With indisputable efficacy the result of his work is bent to comic use and selectively altered to fit the parodic game. It is not easy to evaluate the implications of this complex series of operations, behind which we can glimpse quite concretely an accurate and clever work of planning,63 which involved the preliminary collection and selection of the poetic materials. In the case of the substitution of single words, without any comic pointe (§mo¤ for ≤m›n, oÔn for d∞ta , s∞ma for mn∞ma), there is a widespread tendency to consider these mod- 58 For example, the section on Proteus (4–15) or the mythological excursus on Helen’s divine origins (17–21). 59 All the problems regarding the double identity are also left out of the parody, together with the opposition between reality and appearance, the theme of the false image or Eidolonmotiv (Rau, Paratragodia 65 and more gen- erally 56–57, and “Das Tragödienspiel in den Thesmophoriazusen,” in H.-J. Newiger, ed., Aristophanes und die alte Komödie [Darmstadt 1975] 339–356, at 350–351). 60 So 52–53, “extracted” as a summary of the entire narration of the mis- adventures linked to Helen’s name (Hel. 21–55). 61 So 864–865, which come earlier than in the model (52–53) and serve to summarize an entire mythological development; likewise 866, postponed (cf. Hel. 49) and put in a different temporal dimension, which is no longer mythical but rather opportunely correlated to the reality of the situation on stage. 62 So the dialogue between the Relative/Helen and Euripides/Menelaus which combines and mingles the two scenes Helen-Teucer and Menelaus-Old Woman with the insertion of the themes of seeking asylum and Helen’s claim of faithfulness. 63 “Man hat also mit erheblichen Freiheiten in der Verwendung des Originals zu rechnen, darf aber andererseits einen bestimmten Plan des Komikers voraussetzen” (Rau, Paratragodia 65; also see Kannicht, Helena I 79). 350 A POET AT WORK ifications as quotation from memory.64 The same can be said of the apparent transformation of PrvteÁw tãd' ofike› d≈mat' (Hel. 460) into Prvt°vw tãd' §st‹ m°layra (Thesm. 874a) or the “contamination” in Thesm. 905 (= Hel. 72+557)—taken either as “free” quotations (Rau) or as ad sensum quotations (Paduano, Prato).65 Yet it seems impossible that such a complex operation could be carried out without the support of a written text—“on the threads of one’s thoughts,” based exclusively on the oral skill of the poet, whom we must imagine recalling to memory entire sequences in relation to scenes which are certainly not short. Even if we need not think that Aristophanes had to look up every single word or quotation in Helen,66 the availability and consultation of the work in a written form appear to be the necessary conditions for such a shrewdly exercised ars ex- cerpendi.67 Moreover, it is the selfsame comedy-writer who gives evidence of the possibility (if not the practice) of copying passages from dramatic texts for personal use, when in Frogs he condemns anyone who troubled to copy a rhesis from the tragedian Morsimus to lie in the perpetual mud of the damned in the hereafter.68 64 This is explicitly stated by Schlesinger and Paduano (see n.24), Rau (see n.44). 65 See nn.37 and 50. 66 Aristophanes may have read or had the chosen text read to him, taking care to isolate and copy down the pertinent passages, as happens in e.g. Xen. Mem. 1.6.14 (see n.74). 67 C. F. Russo, Aristofane autore di teatro2 (Florence 1984), follows this line when he asserts (318) that “naturalmente molti specialisti, per ragioni di lavoro, si procuravano versioni scritte delle opere del teatro … Aristofane, per esempio, si sarà procurato subito un esemplare dell’Elena e dell’Andromeda per parodiarle puntualmente nelle Tesmoforianti dell’anno dopo.” Cf. N. J. Lowe, “Aristophanes’ Books,” Annals of Scholarship 10 (1993) 63–83, at 72, and P. Demont and A. Lebeau, Introduction au théâtre grec antique (Paris 1996) 44. 68 Ran. 151 µ Mors¤mou tiw =∞sin §jegrãcato. This must have been the most likely method chosen for learning passages by heart, which were to be recited “in society,” or rather to the symposium, one of the venues that was also em- ployed for the “reuse” of dramatic texts (cf. R. Reitzenstein, Epigramm und Sko- lion [Giessen 1893] 34–39, and G. Avezzù, “Il teatro tragico,” in I. Lana ed E. V. Maltese, edd., Storia della civiltà letteraria greca e latina I [Torino 1998] 236–295, 285–286). GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 351 The case of the parody in Thesmophoriazusae appears in many respects emblematic. Here it is not a matter of taking out tragic lines or parts of them, particularly “memorable” for their con- tent or collocation, nor of quoting long, continuous sequences (this in fact could have easily been done mnemonically), and then simply jamming them into the texture of the comedy as often happens elsewhere. The far more complex and refined operation of undoing and re-making another theatrical piece certainly required a fair amount of reflection on the passage under consideration.69 The methods themselves, as well as the abundance of the quotations, point towards an operation starting from a written text. This would have been carefully “skimmed” in order to single out and extract the serviceable elements for the parodic reuse.70 Further and not negligible confirmation of this is that within the certainly fluid situation of a Greek dramatic text from the end of the fifth century—open to contributions, alterations, and the intrusion of stage prac- tice—Aristophanes felt obliged to adhere to his model almost literally, apart from obvious comic and parodical constraints. He does this to the point of certainly preserving, as we have seen, a Euripidean verse dropped in the course of tradition, and perhaps even some quite precious authentic readings.71 Thus one can say that he in fact behaves according to ways and methods belonging to a civilisation with a written tradition. It is 69 As Russo (Aristofane 297–298) very well observes, though in rather general terms, “le Tesmoforianti, in pratica, decompongono e ricompongono parodicamente forme espressive e sceniche del teatro euripideo. Ma, natural- mente, solo la decomposizione e la ricomposizione della superstite Elena può essere bene apprezzata; e il trattamento così sottile e maliziosamente puntuale che quella tragedia subì, implica che Aristofane se ne procurò subito un mano- scritto.” 70 According to Lowe, “Books” 73, the quotations are “diagnostic signs of book-quotation.” The cento with which Frogs 1266–1274 and 1285–1295 are constructed, is not so significant and probative evidence, and neither is the collage of Wasps 750–756 which echoes isolated themes and expressions from Alcestis (863, 866–867) and Hippolytus (215–216, 219, 230). 71 See notes 26, 37, 40. For the evidentiary value in general of the parody in the constitution of the text of Helen, cf. Kannicht, Helena I 81 n.4. 352 A POET AT WORK clear that the text has reached a relative stability—even if not completely fixed or “closed”—and that above all, this stability is recognised and substantially respected:72 nothing could be further from a mechanism of oral re-utilisation. Xenophon also bears witness that the practice of legere et excerpere (§kl°gein), so amply documented in the writing activity of authors of the Greco-Roman age,73 was in use in a period close to that of Aristophanes, when he describes an unattested “book-loving” Socrates, who liked to meet with his friends and pupils to scan the writings of the great men of the past and copy down those passages most worthy of interest.74 On the 72 This is after all what the poet Philoxenus demanded of his public in the same period. In a rather colourful account by Diogenes Laertius (4.36), he brusquely intervenes against the deformations to which his compositions were sometimes submitted: “having once come across some brickmakers who were singing his verses so badly, he started to tread on their bricks saying ‘I’ll ruin your things just as you have ruined mine.’” This little story in some way offers the best evidence for the passage from an oral mentality to a written one, demanding respect for the text, which is to be reproduced unaltered. In the mediaeval age it will become a real topos (cf. G. Sanga, “Modi di produzione e forme di tradizione: dall’oralità feudale alla scrittura capitalistica,” in G. Cerina et al. , edd., Oralità e scrittura nel sistema letterario [Rome 1982] 31–48). As is well known, certain worries about the safeguarding of the authenticity of one’s own verses already emerged with Theognis in elegiac poetry. On this see W. Rösler, Dichter und Gruppe . Eine Untersuchung zu den Bedingungen und zur historischen Funktion früher griechischer Lyrik (Munich 1980) 79–88; G. Cerri, “Il significato di sphreghìs in Teognide e la salvaguardia dell’autenticità testuale nel mondo antico,” in Lirica greca e latina, Atti del convegno polacco- italiano, Poznan 1990 (Rome 1992) 25–43; P. Giannini, “Il proemio, il sigillo e il libro di Teognide,” in R. Pretagostini, ed., Tradizione e innovazione nella cultura greca … Scritti in onore di B. Gentili I (Rome 1993) 377–391, at 382–384. Herodotus (7.6.3) bears witness to a similar attitude, which was particularly strict in defending the textual authenticity of a politically important tradition, when he relates that Onomacritus, who was responsible for the preparation (diay°thw) of the collection of Musaeus oracles, was exiled by Hipparchus, with whom he had always been on very good terms, simply because he had been caught by Lasus of Hermione “interpolating” (§mpoie›n) these oracles. The notion of respect for the text which is the main theme of the episode is also un- derlined by A. Schnapp-Gourbeillon, “Homère, Hipparque et la bonne parole,” Annales (ESC) 43 (1988) 805–821, at 816–817. 73 An adequate illustration can be found in Dorandi, Le stylet 27–50. We can recall Aulus Gellius’ testimony (praef. 2–3) and that of Pliny the Younger (Ep. 3.5.10) on his uncle. 74 Xen. Mem. 1.6.14, ka‹ toÁw yhsauroÁw t«n pãlai sof«n éndr«n, oÓw §ke›noi kat°lipon §n bibl¤oiw grãcantew, énel¤ttvn koinª sÁn to›w f¤loiw di°rxomai, ka‹ ên ti ır«men égayÚn §klegÒmeya. Cf. also 1.2.56 and Pl. Leg. GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 353 other hand, in the final scene of Phaedrus Plato’s description of the writer of his time—poet, speech-writer, lawmaker—is almost as surprising. The activity is described as a process in which the writer is busy “going through his ‘papers’ over and over again at length, cutting and pasting the different parts together.”75 This testimony is not unique. In Menexenus (236B), Socrates tells of having listened to Aspasia, “a rhetoric teacher of no little importance,” deliver an entire commemorative speech, which she composed “partly by improvising and partly by putting together (sugkoll«sa) a number of passages which she had elaborated beforehand.”76 ——— 811A, ofl d¢ §k pãntvn kefãlaia §kl°jantew ka¤ tinaw ˜law =Æseiw efiw taÈtÚn sunãgontew , and Arist. Top. 105b12–13. See B. M. W. Knox, “Books and Readers in the Greek World,” in P. E. Easterling and B. M. W. Knox, edd., The Cambridge History of Classical Literature I (Cambridge 1985) 1–16, at 11, 13, 14–15 n.3, and especially B. Gentili, Lo spettacolo nel mondo antico (Roma/Bari 1977) 6–8. The work of selection (§kl°gein ) could in reality include that of “noting down” passages of particular interest, together with a subsequent transcription, as is explicitly affirmed by authors of later periods (Pliny the Younger etc., cf. Dorandi, Le stylet 27–50). 75 Pl. Phdr. 278DE, oÈkoËn aÔ tÚn mØ ¶xonta timi≈tera œn sun°yhken µ ¶gracen ênv kãtv str°fvn §n xrÒnƒ, prÚw êllhla koll«n te ka‹ éfair«n, §n d¤k˙ pou poihtØn µ lÒgvn suggraf°a µ nomogrãfon prosere›w. With a clearly negative connotation Plato compares the writer, who spends all his time re-elaborating his compositions and writings which are his most precious possession, with that of the “philosopher,” who while aware of the funda- mental inadequacy of every form of writing, continues to follow the dialectical method, which is deemed more suitable for the search and communication of truth: E. Heitsch, “ênv kãtv bei Platon,” RhM 134 (1991) 276–287, at 284–286, offers a careful discussion; also cf. G. F. Nieddu, La scrittura ‘madre delle Muse’: agli esordi di un nuovo modello di comunicazione culturale (Amsterdam 2004) 121; G. Reale, Platone. Fedro (Milan 1998) 271. 76 ¶peita tå m¢n §k toË paraxr∞mã moi diπei, oÂa d°oi l°gein, tå d¢ prÒteron §skemm°nh, ˜te moi doke› sunet¤yei tÚn §pitãfion lÒgon ˘n Perikl∞w e‰pen, perile¤mmat' êtta §j §ke¤nou sugkoll«sa : “and thereupon she rehearsed to me the speech in the form it should take, extemporizing in part, while other parts of it she had previously prepared, as I imagine, at the time when she was composing the funeral oration which Pericles delivered; and from this she patched together sundry fragments” (transl. R. G. Bury). Cf. N. Loraux, L’invention d’Athènes. Histoire de l’oraison funèbre dans la “cité classique” 2 (Paris 1993) 333. As we have seen, Agathon’s servant also uses the image of “pasting together,” to describe his master’s composition technique. It also recurs in the parabasis of Wasps (1037–1041) in a judicial context, where Ari- stophanes claims before the audience that he had never been afraid to attack “i brividi e le febbri,” i.e. the sycophants, “che … chini sui letti riempiono fogli su fogli (sunekÒllvn) di giuramenti, di citazioni, di testimonianze” (transl. 354 A POET AT WORK We also know from Clement of Alexandria, citing evidence for his claim about the Greeks’ tendency to plagiarism, that the sophist Hippias boasted of one of his speeches being a novel product composed (sunye¤w) by choosing and combining pas- sages from Orpheus, Musaeus, Hesiod, Homer, and other Greek and Barbarian poets and prose-writers.77 A thorough task of selection (§klejãmenow) reportedly was also carried out by Hipparchus in preparing the sententious maxims which he had inscribed on the hermai along the roadsides of Attica, after first himself editing their writing up in verse.78 ——— Mastromarco). Cf. also Nub. 446 ceud«n sugkollhtÆw (“a sticker-together of lies”). 77 86 B 6 D.-K. (FGrHist 6 F 4), toÊtvn ‡svw e‡rhtai tå m¢n ÉOrfe›, tå d¢ Mousa¤ƒ katå braxÁ êllƒ éllaxoË, tå d¢ ÑHsiÒdƒ tå d¢ ÑOmÆrƒ, tå d¢ to›w êlloiw t«n poiht«n, tå d¢ §n suggrafa›w tå m¢n ÜEllhsi tå d¢ barbãroiw: §g∆ d¢ §k pãntvn toÊtvn tå m°gista ka‹ ımÒfula sunye‹w toËton kainÚn ka‹ polueid∞ tÚn lÒgon poiÆsomai. Gomperz’s proposal to supply in the final phrase tå m°gista (§klejãmenow) ka‹ (tå mãlista) ımÒfula is perhaps unnecessary but not without interest. The criteria of importance and affinity which guided Hippias in his work of selecting and combination are no different from those we find expressed later; e.g., Plutarch and Cicero often used the technique of collecting “extracts” (see Dorandi, Le stylet 27ff). From a different point of view, Heraclitus had rather polemically branded Pythagoras’ sof¤h as a mere operation of §kl°gein , and immediately afterwards he gave it a negative connotation by calling it polumay¤h and kakotexn¤h (22B129 D.-K., PuyagÒrhw Mnhsãrxou flstor¤hn ≥skhsen ényr≈pvn mãlista pãntvn ka‹ §klejãmenow taÊtaw tåw suggrafåw §poiÆsato •autoË sof¤hn, polumay¤hn, kakotexn¤hn). On the difficulties and doubts on authenticity raised by the fragment, see D.-K. ad loc. (I p.181). Recent historiography has been rather more inclined towards lending full credence to the received text. For detailed discussion see W. Burkert, Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism (Cambridge [Mass.] 1972) 130–131, 161, 209–210; J. Lallot, “Une invective philosophique (Héraclite, Fragments 129 et 35 D.-K.),” REA 73 (1971) 15–23; Ch. H. Kahn, “Philosophy and the Written Word: Some Thoughts on Heraclitus and the Early Greek Uses of Prose,” in K. Robb, ed., Language and Thought in Early Greek Philosophy (La Salle 1983) 110–124, at 111–114; J. Mansfeld, “Fiddling the Books (Heraclitus B 129),” in Studies in the Historiography of Greek Philosophy (Assen/ Maastricht 1990) 443–448; Ch. Riedweg, “‘Pythagoras hinterliess keine einzige Schrift’: ein Irrtum? Anmerkungen zu einer alten Streitfrage,” MusHelv 54 (1997) 65–92, at 78–87; M. Gemelli-Marciano, “Le contexte culturel des Présocratiques: adversaires et destinataires,” in A. Laks et Cl. Louguet, edd., Qu’est-ce que la Philosophie Présocratique? (Lille 2002) 83–114, at 97–103. 78 [Pl.] Hipparch. 228D, §pibouleÊvn aÔ toÁw §n to›w égro›w paideËsai ¶sthsen aÈto›w ÑErmçw katå tåw ıdoÁw §n m°sƒ toË êsteow ka‹ t«n dÆmvn •kãstvn, kêpeita t∞w sof¤aw t∞w aÍtoË, ¥n tÉ ¶mayen ka‹ ∂n aÈtÚw §jeËren, GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 355 Moreover, a number of “Hippocratic” writings are thought to date to around the time when Aristophanes was active; these works were the result of an intensive preliminary activity of collation of empirical data and of the successive elaboration and written fixing.79 In particular we know of a (collective) work from Cnidus’ “school,” the so-called Cnidian Sentences , which underwent revision and was then made public in the re- vised form.80 ——— §klejãmenow ì ≤ge›to sof≈tata e‰nai, taËta aÈtÚw §nte¤naw efiw §lege›on aÍtoË poiÆmata ka‹ §pide¤gmata t∞w sof¤aw §p°gracen. 79 Many studies have clearly highlighted how this may constitute a rather more relevant methodological and epistemological novelty, characterising a new trend in medicine which was so consciously theorised and practised by the writer-doctors of the time. See J. Pigeaud, “Le style d’Hippocrate ou l’écriture fondatrice de la médecine,” in M. Detienne, ed., Les savoirs de l’écriture (Lille 1988) 305–329, at 305–306; Ph. J. van der Eijk, “Towards a Rhetoric of Ancient Scientific Discourse,” in E. J. Bakker, ed., Grammar as Interpretation. Greek Literature in its Linguistic Contexts (Leiden 1997) 77–129, at 97–99; R. Wittern, “Gattungen im Corpus Hippocraticum,” in W. Kullmann et al., Gat- tungen wissenschaftlicher Literatur in der Antike (Tübingen 1998) 17–36, at 29–31; J. Althoff, “Die aphoristisch stilisierten Schriften des Corpus Hippocra- ticum,” in Gattungen 38–41. See also Nieddu, La scrittura 125–128. A specific though rather meagre “insider” testimony of this working method in successive phases is at Hippoc. Epid. 6.7, where the much-discussed expression tå §k toË smikroË pinakid¤ou , which opens the paragraph, seems to indicate the source from which all the immediately following material is taken: cf. D. Manetti and A. Roselli, Epidemie. Libro sesto (Florence 1982) 166–169. Historiographers’ working methods and the process which led to the formation of monumental works like those of Herodotus and Thucydides are also involved in this prob- lem. Jacoby’s hypothesis is of particular relevance, since he imagines the final “editing” of the Herodotean work as essentially an operation of cutting and pasting, an “Arbeit mit der Schere” (F. Jacoby, “Herodotos,” RE Suppl. 2 [1913] 205–520, at 361), in other words a sort of collage of the various lectures (“Vor- träge”) he gave over a period of time; but cf. R. Lattimore, “The Composition of the History of Herodotus,” CP 53 (1958) 9–21; W. Rösler, “Alte und neue Mündlichkeit. Über kulturellen Wandel im antiken Griechenland und heute,” Der altsprachliche Unterricht 28.4 (1985) 4–26, at 23–26, and “Die ‘Selbst- historisierung’ des Autors. Zur Stellung Herodots zwischen Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit,” Philologus 135 (1991) 215–220, at 217. As regards Thu- cydides, Prentice’s pioneering criticism (W. K. Prentice, “How Thucydides Wrote His History,” CP 25 [1930] 117–127) provides a significant contribu- tion, discussed by Dorandi, Le stylet 5–25. 80 Hippoc. Acut. 1.1–3. 1 Joly (II 224–228 L.), ofl suggrãcantew tåw Knid¤aw kaleom°naw gn≈maw … ofl m°ntoi Ïsteron §pidiaskeuãsantew—a twofold operation of editing and correction which in its distinct phases can be dated to the initial and middle decades of the century. See J. Jouanna, Hippocrate. Pour une archéologie de l’école de Cnide (Paris 1974) 16 n.4, 24 nn.2–3, 132, 512, as 356 A POET AT WORK Again, Plato makes reference to a long and articulated process of elaboration in the opening scene of Theaetetus (143AC), a dialogue conceived as an account in a “mimetic” or direct form (i.e., without the intervention of a narrating voice) of the conversations that Socrates had with the young Theaetetus shortly before his death. We are told that Euclid gradually transcribed them as accurately as possible, working at his ease (katå sxolÆn ) at home on the notes (ÍpomnÆmata) he had taken. These were then corrected and integrated with any new details that gradually came to his mind and about which, from time to time, he would take care to ask Socrates himself for confirmation.81 The cuts, the displacements, the connections, the editing of which these texts more or less explicitly attest, offer an idea of how far writing had become part of the ancient author’s “laboratory,” and they cast his activity into a new cultural dimension. If, as we have tried to demonstrate, the operation carried out by Aristophanes presupposes the availability and the careful consultation of the text of Helen, this does not prejudice the enjoyment of the public as a whole, nor does it imply, as has been emphasised on more than one occasion, equal access by the whole community to a written culture. Here, as in other cases, it would have been sufficient for many—the “naïve,” the people who followed the theatrical event on a ——— well as G. F. Nieddu, “Il ginnasio e la scuola: scrittura e mimesi del parlato,” in G. Cambiano et al., edd., Lo spazio letterario della Grecia antica I (Rome 1992) 555–585, at 557 n.4; Wittern, Gattungen 24. The existence of “preparatory texts,” referred to by the ancient exegetic tradition (Galen), and the phenom- enon of rewriting and re-elaboration within the corpus are addressed more generally by A. Roselli, “Sui generi degli scritti della collezione ippocratica,” Lalies 21 (2001) 63–78, at 70–73. 81 (EU.) éll' §gracãmhn m¢n tÒt' eÈyÁw o‡kad' §ly∆n ÍpomnÆmata, Ïsteron d¢ katå sxolØn énamimn˙skÒmenow ¶grafon, ka‹ ısãkiw ÉAyÆnaze éfiko¤mhn, §panhr≈tvn tÚn Svkrãth ˘ mØ §memnÆmhn, ka‹ deËro §ly∆n §phnvryoÊmhn: Àste moi sxedÒn ti pçw ı lÒgow g°graptai : “but I made notes at the time as soon as I reached home, then afterwards at my leisure, as I recalled things, I wrote them down, and whenever I went to Athens I used to ask Socrates about what I could not remember, and then I came here and made corrections; so that I have pretty much the whole talk written down” (transl. H. N. Fowler). GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 357 superficial level looking only for the spectacular82—to enjoy the gratifying feelings of recognition and appreciation of the most apparent elements of the paratragic development of the piece, of the stage movements, of the theatrical gestures, of the stylistic deviations.83 But in some way we have to presuppose a level of comprehension which was not totally adequate, which would have been incapable of giving the correct value to the often subtle and refined mechanisms used by the comic poet in the construction of his text.84 The “literary” product, fruit of 82 That is to say, as W. Ludwig, in Ménandre (Entretiens Hardt 16 [1970]) 28, writes “mit Auge und Ohr.” 83 Especially for the more popular and familiar authors and genres, the audi- ence’s memory and “literary” competence played a decisive part in perceiving the presence of parodies, textual allusions, and stylistic references even if they were not always completely decoded. G. Mastromarco, Commedie di Aristofane I (Turin 1983) 35–42; “Pubblico e memoria letteraria nell’Atene del quinto secolo,” Quad. AICC Foggia 4 (1984) 65–86; “Trame allusive e memoria del pubblico (Acarn. 300-301 ~ Caval. 314),” in Filologia e forme letterarie. Studi offerti a Fr. Della Corte I (Urbino 1987) 239–243; Introduzione a Aristofane (Rome/Bari 1994) 141–159; “Pubblico e memoria teatrale nell’Atene di Aristo- fane,” in P. Thiercy et M. Menu, edd., Aristophane: la langue, la scène, la cité (Bari 1997) 529–548, provides a major reference point for the characteristics, the contents, the limits, and the working mechanisms of this fundamental element of the relationship between poet and public in fifth-century Athens. Also cf. Bonanno, L’allusione 267–270, and C. Franco, “La competenza del destinatario nella parodia tragica aristofanea,” in E. Corsini, ed., La polis e il suo teatro 2 (Padua 1988) 213–232, which give particular attention to the context of the performance in which the communicative function of the tragic parody is realised. 84 The kind of competence required here is clearly something more than the “sensitive ear” evoked by R. Harriott, “Aristophanes’ Audience and the Plays of Euripides,” BICS 9 (1962) 1–8, at 2, since it involves not simply identifying the nature and maybe the origin of a passage or a stylistic feature but the actual appreciation of the ingeniousness of the performed device, in other words the ways the model has been revived. Mastromarco (“Pubblico … letteraria,” esp. 75; “Trame” 241–243; Introduzione 147–159) has given many compelling exam- ples of the need to assume the presence of an audience within the audience, who could at the very least have been made up of other comic poets and their entourages. In his opinion, the more subtle references and allusions “saranno state colte da una cerchia molto esigua del pubblico; e, probabilmente, saranno state meglio apprezzate dopo lo spettacolo, in una discussione tra spettatori colti che avranno rivisitato ‘filologicamente’ il testo appena rappresentato” (“Pubblico … letteraria” 74). Cf. P. Walcot, “Aristophanic and Other Audi- ences,” G&R N.S. 18 (1971) 35–50, at 45: “the latest productions would certainly have been discussed, and one place for such discussions would be the symposium. Perhaps the diners could rely on more than just personal recol- lection.” In not so very different terms we should imagine the relationship be- 358 A POET AT WORK skilfully written elaboration, would have had to confront a public (the majority of the listeners, the émaye›w or skaio¤) who would not always have been able to capture the signals sent to them by the author or to fully appreciate the comic play beyond quips, puns, or lines of immediate enjoyment.85 Several painful and notorious rejections gave Aristophanes the chance to verify the strong disparity that had come to be created between himself, the author who was participant and user of a written culture, and the receiver who was largely excluded from it.86 In Wasps 1043–1054 regret over the spec- tators’ incapacity to properly and readily appreciate the novelty of his inventions and the superior quality of his lines (toËto m¢n oÔn §sy' Ím›n afisxrÚn to›w mØ gnoËsin paraxr∞ma , ——— tween the tragic poet and the public. At the end of his meticulous study of the very significant phenomenon of Aeschylean neoformations and their revival in the works of Sophocles and Euripides, V. Citti, Eschilo e la lexis tragica (Am- sterdam 1994) 159–166, observes that for these kinds of phenomena we must presume that the communication came about “in un dialogo libresco, condotto in modo che per noi evoca quello della poetica alessandrina. Anzitutto tra poeta e poeta, e quindi per cerchi di competenza assai ristretti, in cui condizione prima e necessaria era il controllo testuale dell’opera del poeta antico, così puntuale da non poter essere fatta se non su testi scritti” (165–166). A stimulating theory on the complex nature of the “dramatic semiosis” operating in the Attic texts of the fifth century is St. Jedrkiewicz, “Teatro attico e comunicazione di massa: ipotesi di ricerca,” QUCC N.S. 42 (1992) 7–24. 85 Aristophanes himself is the first to bear witness to the different levels of competence that existed in his audience when, for example, in his final appeal to the judges in Eccl. 1154–1156, he addresses “da una parte agli spettatori ‘dotti’ (perché, nell’esprimere il loro voto, tengano conto delle parti ‘dotte’ della commedia) e, dall’altra, ai meno colti, a ‘coloro che ridono volentieri’ (perché tengano a mente le sue facezie)” (Mastromarco, “Pubblico … teatrale” 65). Likewise M. Vetta, Aristofane, Le donne all’assemblea2 (Milan 1994) 274, observes: “tra i sofo¤ vanno messi coloro che, per gusto e formazione, oltre alle battute farsesche, valutavano lo eÏrhma … e la diãnoia … di una commedia; essi erano in grado di cogliere tutte le allusioni letterarie.” 86 In the parabasis of the second Clouds (518–562), in the depths of dis- appointment for the resented defeat, he also manages to include in his rebuke the sofo¤ , the “cultured people,” for whom he had gone to so much trouble (525– 526). The diversity referred to here is not just the difference that is quite normally found between the author and his often quite extensive and far less educated audience, but rather has roots and a raison d’être of a structural order, originating in the different conditions of those who were able, when necessary, to use written texts freely and competently compared with those who had limited or almost no access to them. GIAN FRANCO NIEDDU 359 1048) are associated with the wish that in the future they will know how to render greater honour to those poets who try to think up and say something new. When in Frogs, flattering the public in an obviously interested way87 and using the Chorus as his mouthpiece, he urges the two competing protagonists to boldly tackle even the most subtle and refined subjects, he evokes cultural conditions which have already changed and in which the “gap” has been closed or is no longer such an im- portant handicap: efi d¢ toËto katafobe›syon, mÆ tiw émay¤a prosª to›w yevm°noisin, …w tå leptå mØ gn«nai legÒntoin, mhd¢n Ùrrvde›te toËy': …w oÈk°yÉ oÏtv taËt' ¶xei. §strateum°noi gãr efisi, bibl¤on t' ¶xvn ßkastow manyãnei tå dejiã: afl fÊseiw t' êllvw krãtistai, nËn d¢ ka‹ parhkÒnhntai. mhd¢n oÔn de¤shton, éllå pãnt' §p°jiton, yeat«n g' oÏnex', …w ˆntvn sof«n.8 8 Whatever the precise value we attribute to the enigmatic bibl¤- on ,89 it is nonetheless highly significant that the new instrument of communication appears as the protagonist of a twofold 87 The words with which Socrates (Pl. Ap. 26D) replies to Meletus when denying the charges brought against him are inspired by a similar attitude and are an attempt to envelope the members of the jury in a subtle net of flattery: “Do you think you are accusing Anaxagoras, my dear Meletus, and do you so despise these gentlemen and think they are so unversed in letters (épe¤rouw grammãtvn ) as not to know, that the books of Anaxagoras the Clazomenian are full of such utterances?” (transl. Fowler). 88 Ran. 1109–1118: “If what you’re frightened of is that there may be some slow-wittedness in the audience, so that they may not understand the subtle things you say, don’t be apprehensive, because things aren’t like that any more. They’re old campaigners, and every one of them has a book and understands intellectual ideas; and being already well endowed by nature, they have now been honed to the utmost acuteness. So have no fear, but explore everything, so far as the audience are concerned; they’re smart!” (transl. Sommerstein). 89 A review of the various interpretative possibilities is to be found in K. Dover, Aristophanes Frogs (Oxford 1993) 34 n.68. 360 A POET AT WORK cultural and semantic turning point (“Things aren’t like that any more!”),90 founded on a new conception of sof¤a: a sof¤a no longer just oral but also written, “bookish and literary.”91 June, 2004 Dip. di Filologia Classica Facoltà di Lettere Università di Cagliari (I) Piazza d’Armi 09123 Cagliari, Italy nieddu@unica.it 90 It is difficult to give a detailed account of the varied opinions about this. See J. D. Denniston, “Technical Terms in Aristophanes,” C Q 21 (1927) 113–121, at 118; W. B. Sedgwick, “The Frogs and the Audience,” ClMed 9 (1947) 1–9; E. Fraenkel, Beobachtungen zu Aristophanes (Rome 1962) 179 n.1; R. Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship (Oxford 1968) 28 n.6; E. Schmalzriedt, Peri physeos. Zur Frühgeschichte der Buchtitel (Munich 1970) 57–58 n.21; L. Woodbury, “Aristophanes’ Frogs and Athenian Literacy: Ran. 52–53, 1114,” TAPA 106 (1976) 349–357; Knox, “Books” 9; G. Cortassa, “Il poeta, la tra- dizione e il pubblico. Per una poetica di Aristofane,” in E. Corsini, La polis e il suo teatro (Padua 1986) 185–204, at 199–201; Avezzù, “Il teatro” 286. But the general belief is that, over and above the comic hyperbole (“things aren’t like that any more; … everyone has his own book”), the irony and the opportunistic flattery—voiced by the poet about the audience’s comprehension skills before passing on to rather more subtle and refined forms of humour— must have had a concrete reflection in a situation where, as much evidence suggests, “the dissemination of books was increasing rapidly” (Dover, Frogs 35), and at least in certain circles the bibl¤on was establishing itself as the symbolic object of a new cultural fashion characterised by refinement and ingenious perspicacity. 91 On this semantic turning point (from the oral sophia to the bookish and literary sophia) which occurred in a key word from Greek culture and brought it ever more frequently to a close association with the bibl¤on , the new instru- ment of knowledge and cultural communication, see Th. Cole, “Le metamorfosi della saggezza: sophia fra oralità e scrittura,” in Pretagostini, Tradizione 753–763.