Arts, Faculty of
Classical, Near Eastern and Religious Studies, Department of
DSpace
UBCV
Dwyer, Justin Scott
Doctor of Philosophy - PhD
University of British Columbia
This dissertation examines the lasting impact of Apollodorus of Carystus in the tradition of New Comedy. Apollodorus was the most renowned Greek playwright to follow Menander, but he has been conspicuously overlooked in discussions on the fragmentary poets. Taking an integrative approach, this dissertation introduces his fragments into the wider discussion of New Comedy and considers his enduring contribution to the genre through the Latin adaptations of his work: Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio. After contextualizing Apollodorus in modern scholarship, his sources, and the Hellenistic world (Chapter 1), I address the thirty-two surviving fragments. My approach to the fragments (Chapter 2) is an exercise in conjectural criticism that informs a focused, interpretative commentary presented in a discursive format. This analysis builds towards a composite poetic identity of Apollodorus which proves that previous assumptions about Apollodorus as a slavish adherent to the style of Menander must be revisited and that traditional narratives about third-century comedy be re-examined. The following chapters examine Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio as sites of reception for Apollodorus in Rome. Chapter 3 provides a more complete understanding of how Hecyra, in conjunction with Terence’s Adelphoe, functioned at the funeral games of L. Aemilius Paullus in 160 BCE. A systematic comparative analysis of the two plays not only provides new insight into how the tandem production was meant to honor the deceased, but also shows that political and financial motivations were at work as well. Chapter 4 refocuses modern interpretations of the complex characterization of the title character of Phormio by applying a reception-studies approach to character analysis using ninth-century Carolingian miniatures as the guiding reception event. This analysis validates the modern understanding of Phormio as an amalgamation of several stock characters and introduces previously undetected elements of his character drawing. This study represents the first discursive commentary on this overlooked playwright to consider all the extant fragments. It offers an important response to the Menandrocentric model of Greek New Comedy and provides crucial insight into the afterlife of Apollodorus in Roman contexts, addressing critical gaps in the scholarship by applying new approaches to old evidence.
APOLLODORUS OF CARYSTUS AND THE TRADITION OF NEW COMEDY by Justin Scott Dwyer B.A., University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2009 M.A., University of Arizona, 2011 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Classics) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) April 2021 © Justin Scott Dwyer, 2021ii The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the dissertation entitled: Apollodorus of Carystus and the Tradition of New Comedy submitted by Justin Scott Dwyer in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Classics Examining Committee: C. W. Marshall, Classics, University of British Columbia Supervisor Gregg E. Gardner, Classics, University of British Columbia Supervisory Committee Member Niall W. Slater, Classics, Emory University Supervisory Committee Member Susanna Braund, Classics, University of British Columbia University Examiner Sylvia Berryman, Philosophy, University of British Columbia University Examiner Sander Goldberg, Classics, University of California, Los Angeles External Examiner iii Abstract This dissertation examines the lasting impact of Apollodorus of Carystus in the tradition of New Comedy. Apollodorus was the most renowned Greek playwright to follow Menander, but he has been conspicuously overlooked in discussions on the fragmentary poets. Taking an integrative approach, this dissertation introduces his fragments into the wider discussion of New Comedy and considers his enduring contribution to the genre through the Latin adaptations of his work: Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio. After contextualizing Apollodorus in modern scholarship, his sources, and the Hellenistic world (Chapter 1), I address the thirty-two surviving fragments. My approach to the fragments (Chapter 2) is an exercise in conjectural criticism that informs a focused, interpretative commentary presented in a discursive format. This analysis builds towards a composite poetic identity of Apollodorus which proves that previous assumptions about Apollodorus as a slavish adherent to the style of Menander must be revisited and that traditional narratives about third-century comedy be re-examined. The following chapters examine Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio as sites of reception for Apollodorus in Rome. Chapter 3 provides a more complete understanding of how Hecyra, in conjunction with Terence’s Adelphoe, functioned at the funeral games of L. Aemilius Paullus in 160 BCE. A systematic comparative analysis of the two plays not only provides new insight into how the tandem production was meant to honor the deceased, but also shows that political and financial motivations were at work as well. Chapter 4 refocuses modern interpretations of the complex characterization of the title character of Phormio by applying a reception-studies approach to character analysis using ninth-century Carolingian miniatures as the guiding reception event. This analysis validates the modern understanding of Phormio as an iv amalgamation of several stock characters and introduces previously undetected elements of his character drawing. This study represents the first discursive commentary on this overlooked playwright to consider all the extant fragments. It offers an important response to the Menandrocentric model of Greek New Comedy and provides crucial insight into the afterlife of Apollodorus in Roman contexts, addressing critical gaps in the scholarship by applying new approaches to old evidence. v Lay Summary This dissertation examines the lasting impact of Apollodorus of Carystus in the tradition of Greek New Comedy, a foundational dramatic genre on which Roman comedy, commedia dell’arte, and Shakespearean comedy are built. Apollodorus, working in the third-century BCE, was the most renowned playwright of Greek New Comedy after the famous Menander of Athens, but he has been conspicuously overlooked in modern scholarship. Although the complete plays of Apollodorus are now lost, some verse fragments from his comedies do survive. Taking an integrative approach, this dissertation introduces Apollodorus’ fragments into the wider discussion of Greek comedy, relying on formal, contextual, comparative, and historical analyses to better define Apollodorus’ impact. Drawing on a broad appreciation of how Greek theatre was adapted and appropriated in Rome, the influence of Apollodorus is also considered through the surviving Latin adaptations of his work: Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio. vi Preface This dissertation is original, unpublished, independent work by the author, J. S. Dwyer. vii Table of Contents Abstract ...................................................................................................................................... iii Lay Summary .............................................................................................................................. v Preface ........................................................................................................................................ vi Table of Contents ...................................................................................................................... vii List of Tables ............................................................................................................................. ix List of Figures ............................................................................................................................. x Abbreviations ............................................................................................................................. xi Acknowledgements ................................................................................................................... xv Dedication ............................................................................................................................... xvii Chapter 1: Introduction ............................................................................................................... 1 1.1 Apollodorus of Carystus ....................................................................................................... 1 1.2 Testimonia ............................................................................................................................. 3 1.3 History of Scholarship .......................................................................................................... 5 1.4 Methodology and Chapter Summaries ................................................................................ 14 1.5 Ancient Sources .................................................................................................................. 18 1.6 Career Chronology .............................................................................................................. 24 1.7 Production Context: Athens in the Third Century BCE ..................................................... 30 1.8 Production Venue: The Theatre of Dionysus ...................................................................... 38 1.9 The Dramatic Traditions of Euboea .................................................................................... 42 1.10 Language and Style ........................................................................................................... 55 1.11 The Fragments of Apollodorus Incertus ........................................................................... 57 Chapter 2: The Fragments ......................................................................................................... 60 2.1 AMPHIARAOS .................................................................................................................... 60 2.2 ANTEUERGETON .............................................................................................................. 71 2.3 APOKARTEROUNTES ....................................................................................................... 74 2.4 APOLEIPOUSA .................................................................................................................. 79 2.5 GRAMMATEIDIOPOIOS ................................................................................................... 84 2.6 DIABOLOS ....................................................................................................................... 109 2.7 HEKYRA ........................................................................................................................... 124 2.8 ENEA ................................................................................................................................. 145 2.9 EPIDIKAZOMENOS ......................................................................................................... 149 2.10 HIEREIA ......................................................................................................................... 180 2.11 PROIKIZOMENE OR HIMATIOPOLIS ......................................................................... 192 2.12 SPHATTOMENE............................................................................................................. 201 2.13 FABULA INCERTA ...................................................................................................... 209 Chapter 3: Hecyra and the Funeral Games of L. Aemilius Paullus ..................................... 214 3.1 Apollodorus in Rome ........................................................................................................ 214 3.2 Comedies to Commemorate the Dead .............................................................................. 218 3.3 A Political Performance .................................................................................................... 233 viii 3.4 A Penny-Pinching Production? ......................................................................................... 246 3.5 A Revised Historicist Reading of Hecyra and Adelphoe .................................................. 260 Chapter 4: The Reception of Phormio in the Carolingian Terence Miniatures .................. 263 4.1 The Character Drawing of Phormio .................................................................................. 263 4.2 Previous Work on Phormio’s Characterization ................................................................ 266 4.3 Methodology and Evidence .............................................................................................. 268 4.4 Miniature Analysis and Interpretation .............................................................................. 281 4.5 A New Ancient Reception of Phormio ............................................................................. 309 Chapter 5: Conclusion .............................................................................................................. 316 5.1 Apollodorus and Greek New Comedy .............................................................................. 316 5.2 Apollodorus and Roman Comedy ..................................................................................... 320 References .................................................................................................................................. 324 ix List of Tables Table 1.1 The sources of Apollodorus of Carystus. ...................................................................... 19 Table 1.2 The Apollodorus Incertus fragments and probability of authorship by Apollodorus of Carystus......................................................................................................................................... 59 Table 3.1 Potential actor and role distribution for the tandem production of Hecyra and Adelphoe by a single troupe. ....................................................................................................................... 251 Table 3.2 Potential mask distribution for the tandem production of Hecyra and Adelphoe by a single choragus. ........................................................................................................................... 253 Table 3.3 Belly-padding efficiency among all possible Terentian play pairings. ...................... 256 x List of Figures Figure 1.1 The sources of Apollodorus of Carystus. .................................................................... 20 xi Abbreviations Agora Museum of the Ancient Agora, Athens, Greece. AIO Lambert, S. Attic Inscriptions Online. https://www.atticinscriptions.com/. Alexandria Alexandria National Museum, Alexandria, Egypt. Arnott I-III Arnott, W. G. 1979-2000. Menander. Vols. I-III. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Barsby I-II Barsby, J. A. 2001. Terence. Vols I-II. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press. BM The British Museum, London, England. CAF I-III Kock, T. 1880-1888. Comicorum Atticorum Fragmenta. Vols. I-III Leipzig: Teubner. CGFP Austin, C. 1973. Comicorum Graecorum Fragmenta in Papyris Reperta. Berlin and New York: De Gruyter. De Melo I-V De Melo, W. 2011-2013. Plautus. Vols. I-V. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press. EAM National Archaeological Museum (Εθνικό Αρχαιολογικό Μουσείο), Athens, Greece. FAC I-IIIB Edmonds, J. M. 1957-1961. The Fragments of Attic Comedy. Vols. I-III. Leiden: Brill. FCG I-V Meineke, A. 1839-1857. Fragmenta Comicorum Graecorum. Vols. I-V. Berlin: Reimer. FCN Perez Asensio, J. 2012. Fragments de Comèdia Nova: Dífil, Apol·lodor de Carist, Apol·lodor de Gela. Barcelona: Bernat Metge. FGrH I-III Jacoby, F. 1923. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. Vols I-III. Berlin: Weidmann / Leiden: Brill. Gulick I-III Gulick, C. B. 1927-1941. Athenaeus. The Deipnosophists. Vols. I-VII. London: Heinemann. Henderson I-V Henderson, J. 1998-2007. Aristophanes. Vols. I-V. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press. xii IG II2 Kirchner, J. 1913-1940. Inscriptiones Graecae II and III. Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis Anno Posteriores, 2nd edn., Parts I-III. Berlin: De Gruyter. IG V.2 Hiller von Gaertringen, F. 1913. Inscriptiones Graecae V.2. Inscriptiones Arcadiae. Berlin. Reimer. IG XI.2 Dürrbach, F. 1912. Inscriptiones Graecae XI. Inscriptiones Deli. Fasc. 2. Berlin: Reimer. IG XII.9 Ziebarth, E. 1915. Inscriptiones Graecae XII.9. Inscriptiones Euboeae insulae. Berlin: Reimer. IG XIV Kaibel, G. 1890. Inscriptiones Graecae XIV. Inscriptiones Siciliae et Italiae, additis Galliae, Hispaniae, Britanniae, Germaniae inscriptionibus. Berlin: Reimer. LGPN II Osborne, M. J. and S. G. Byrne. 1994. Lexicon of Greek Personal Names. Vol. II. Oxford: Clarendon Press. LM The Louvre Museum, Paris, France. LSJ Pantelia, M. “The Online Liddell-Scott-Jones Greek-English Lexicon.” Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: A Digital Library of Greek Literature. http://stephanus.tlg.uci.edu/lsj/#eid=1. ME Archaeological Museum of Eretria, Eretria, Greece. MET The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, USA. MK Archaeological Museum of Karystos, Karystos, Greece. M.-O. Millis, B. W. and S. D. Olson. 2012. Inscriptional Records for the Dramatic Festivals in Athens: IG II2 2318-2325 and Related Texts. Leiden and Boston: Brill. OCD Hornblower, S., A. Spawforth, and E. Eidinow. 2012. The Oxford Classical Dictionary. 4th edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press. OLD Glare, P. G. W. 2016. Oxford Latin Dictionary. 2nd edn. Reprinted with corrections. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Olson I-VIII Olson, S. D. 2006-2012. Athenaeus. The Learned Banqueters. Vols. I-VIII. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. xiii PAA I-XXII Traill, J. S. 1994-2016. Persons of Ancient Athens. Vols. I-XXII. Toronto: Athenians. PCG I-VIII Kassel, R. and C. Austin. 1983-2001. Poetae Comici Graeci. Vols. I-VIII. Berlin and New York: De Gruyter. PHI PHI Latin Texts. https://latin.packhum.org/index. RE Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. SEG 21 Woodhead, A. G. 1965. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Vol. XXI. Leiden: Sijthoff. SEG 25 Woodhead, A. G. 1971. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Vol. XXV. Leiden: Sijthoff. SEG 26 Pleket, H. W. and R. S. Stroud. 1979. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Vol. XXVI. Alphen aan den Rijn and Germantown: Sijthoff and Noordhoff. SEG 59 Chaniotis, A., T. Corsten, N. Papazarkadas, and R. A. Tybout. 2013. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Vol. LIX. Leiden and Boston: Brill. SOL Whitehead, D. Suda On Line: Byzantine Lexicography. https://www.cs.uky.edu/~raphael/sol/sol-html/index.html. Storey I-III Storey, I. C. 2011. Fragments of Old Comedy. Vols. I-III. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press. Theodoridis I-III Theodoridis, Ch. 1982-2013. Photii Patriarchae Lexicon. Vols. I-III. Berlin and New York: De Gruyter. TLG Pantelia, M. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: A Digital Library of Greek Literature. http://stephanus.tlg.uci.edu.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/index.php. TrGF I Snell, B. 1986. Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Vol. I. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. TrGF V Kannicht, R. 2004. Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Vol. V. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. W. I-III Wessner, P. 1902-1908. Aeli Donati Commentum Terenti. Vols. I-III. Leipzig: Teubner. xiv W.-H. I-III Wachsmuth, C. and O. Hense. 1884-1912. Ioannis Stobaei Anthologium. Vols. I-III and Appendix. Berlin: Weidmann. Abbreviations for ancient literary sources are drawn primarily from the OCD and from the LSJ and OLD when necessary. xv Acknowledgements I would like to begin by acknowledging that the land on which most of this research was conducted is the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the xwməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam) People. I owe my deepest gratitude to my dissertation supervisor, Dr. C. W. Marshall, for introducing me to the world of dramatic fragments and for his boundless dedication, mentorship, and encouragement throughout my writing process. Dr. Marshall has challenged me to become a better scholar and empowered me to pursue the unique opportunities that allowed for the completion of this project. His support can not be overstated. I also owe an important debt to the other members of my examining committee. The contributing members to my dissertation committee, Dr. Niall Slater and Dr. Gregg Gardner, were tremendous. Dr. Slater has been wonderfully supportive and generous; I have benefited greatly from his illuminating feedback, challenging questions, and warm encouragement. Dr. Gardner provided crucial guidance for the direction and structure of my research; his advice and assistance have been invaluable. My university examiners, Dr. Susanna Braund and Dr. Sylvia Berryman gave me important new perspectives to consider. Dr. Braund offered key insight and advice, especially regarding my approach to reception analysis and Dr. Berryman posed challenging questions that helped me think about my research in new, interesting ways. Finally, I would like to thank my external examiner, Dr. Sander Goldberg whose thorough and insightful observations helped me add depth and nuance to many arguments. All errors that remain are my own. At the University of British Columbia, I would like to thank the department of Classical, Near Eastern, and Religious Studies. The department facilitated many crucial professional xvi opportunities, helped shape the interdisciplinary components of my research, and provided generous financial support throughout my graduate career with supplementary funding from the Homer Armstrong Thompson Travel Scholarship in Classical Studies, the John L. Catterall Scholarship in Classics, and the Malcolm F. McGregor Memorial Scholarship. I would also like to thank the UBC library system and ILL staff, as well as the American School of Classical Studies at Athens and Canadian Institute in Greece, where dissertation research was also conducted. I owe a special thanks to the CIG, which not only supported my research through the Neda and Franz Leipen Fellowship, but also provided refuge and assistance during the outbreak of the 2020 Covid-19 Pandemic. My deepest appreciation also to several individuals who helped me with various components of my research. Thanks to Dr. Leanne Bablitz for her unique insight into the Roman courtroom, to Dr. Anna Casas Aguilar for her help with my Catalan translations, and to Dr. Maria Chidiroglou for fielding my numerous questions on Euboea’s coroplastic tradition. My sincerest gratitude is also extended to my peers who offered insightful feedback on presentations of in-progress dissertation research at the ASCSA, CIG, SCS, and UBC. Finally, I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to the family and friends who helped me get this far. I am especially grateful to my dad, David, whose steadfast love and support have allowed me to pursue my aspirations, and to my sister Kaela and her family, who always keep me grounded. Lastly, I must express the greatest appreciation and intellectual debt to my wonderful fiancée, Emma, who has not only been a bottomless well of love, patience, and inspiration throughout my writing process, but a critical sounding board whose incisive perception has rescued many ill-considered arguments. xvii Dedication in carissimam matris meae memoriam .1 Chapter 1: Introduction 1.1 Apollodorus of Carystus Apollodorus of Carystus was a Greek comic playwright of the first half of the third century BCE.1 While he may have begun his career in Carystus (modern Karystos)—a city on the southern tip of Euboea—he eventually started competing in Athens (test. 1, 6) where he was ultimately granted citizenship (test. 7).2 He wrote forty-seven plays and was victorious on five occasions (test. 7).3 Two of these victories were at the City Dionysia (test. 6), the other three, we can assume, were earned at the Lenaia.4 1 See section 1.6. 2 On Apollodorus in Euboea, see section 1.9. 3 This is an impressive number of victories given his output. Apollodorus averaged one victory at a major Athenian festival for every 9.4 plays composed. Cf. the output : victory ratios of Menander, Anaxandrides, and Antiphanes—three major poets for whom we have firm figures in both categories. Menander (8 victories : 108 plays; Gell. 17.4.4) averaged one victory for every 13.5 plays, Anaxandrides (10 : 65; Suda α 1982), one for every 6.5 plays, and Antiphanes (13 : 260-365; Suda α 2735, Anon. De com. 3.52), at best, one for every 20 plays. Apollodorus’ career output seems to have been about average for the time. Cf. his contemporaries Philippides, who wrote forty-five plays (Suda φ 345), and Philemon II, who wrote fifty-four (Suda φ 329). This is about half the career output of the major poets of the previous generation (e.g. Philemon: 97, Menander: 108, Diphilus: 100; see Anon. De com. 3.55-62), and much less than some of the major poets from the middle of the fourth century (e.g. Alexis: 245, Antiphanes: 260-365; Suda α 1138 and 2735, Anon. De com. 3.52). 4 The victories recorded in the Suda appear to refer specifically to the combined total victories won at the Athenian City Dionysia and Lenaia. Consider the relevant evidence for Cratinus’ victories. The nine career victories attributed to Cratinus by the Suda (κ 2344) are in fact the sum total of his six Athenian City Dionysia victories and three Lenaia victories that are attested in the Athenian Victors Lists (see M.-O. IG II2 2325C.14 and E.6). The portion of the Victors Lists that would have preserved Apollodorus’ three Lenaia victories is lost (see section 1.6). 2 We have roughly sixty-three verses distributed among thirty-two fragments and twelve titles that can be firmly attributed to Apollodorus.5 In addition to these, there are another twenty-four fragments and nine titles which may belong to him as well.6 Finally, Terence provides Latin adaptations of Apollodorus’ Hekyra (“The Mother-in-Law”) and Epidikazomenos (“The Heiress Executor”) in his plays: Hecyra and Phormio.7 Complete comedies by Apollodorus continued to circulate well into the Roman period (see test. 4 and accompanying note) when he was still the primary reference point for a particular period of Athenian comedy (see test. 1).8 His comedies, or excerpts at the very least, were known to Byzantine scholars who cited Apollodorus to add authority and/or nuance to interpretations of ‘archaic’ Greek words.9 He received minimal attention after the tenth century CE though a renewed interest in fragmentary comedy in the nineteenth century has initiated a modest body of modern scholarship on the poet.10 5 The twelve known titles of Apollodorus represent just over 25% of his career output. This percentage is relatively low compared to other major comic poets of the fourth and third centuries BCE (see Arnott 1996: 14 n. 2). The figure for surviving verses is not exact, see section 1.5. 6 These I attribute to an Apollodorus Incertus (Apollod.Inc.). See section 1.11. 7 We can probably assume that there were other Roman comedies based on Apollodoran models. It seems unlikely that Aulus Gellius would have included Apollodorus in his discussion of Greek playwrights who provided source material for palliatae (test. 4) if he had only supplied the two models for Terence. 8 Athenaeus establishes the chronology for the poet Machon based on the presumably better-known chronology of Apollodorus. 9 On the various sources for Apollodorus, see section 1.5. 10 See section 1.3. 3 1.2 Testimonia11 1 Ath. 14.664a. Μάχων δ᾿ ὁ Σικυώνιος τῶν μὲν κατὰ Ἀπολλόδωρον τὸν Καρύστιον κωμωιδιοποιῶν εἷς ἐστι καὶ αὐτός· οὐκ ἐδίδαξεν δ᾿ Ἀθήνησι τὰς κωμωιδίας τὰς ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλ᾿ ἐν Ἀλεξανδρείαι.12 Machon of Sicyon is one of the comic poets from the time of Apollodorus of Carystus; however, he did not produce his comedies in Athens, but in Alexandria. 2 Anon. De com. 3.53-4 (Koster 1975: 10). τῆς δὲ νέας κωμωιδίας γεγόνασι μὲν ποιηταὶ ξδ´, ἀξιολογώτατοι δὲ τούτων Φιλήμων, Μένανδρος, Δίφιλος, Φιλιππίδης, Ποσείδιππος, Ἀπολλόδωρος. There were 64 poets of New Comedy, but the most important were Philemon, Menander, Diphilus, Philippides, Posidippus, and Apollodorus. 3 Can. com. (Kroehnert 1897: 6 no. 4 [tab. M], 12 no. 10 [tab. C]).13 κωμωιδοποιοὶ ... νέας κωμωιδίας ε´· Μένανδρος, Φιλιππίδης, Δίφιλος, Φιλήμων, Ἀπολλόδωρος.14 The five poets of New Comedy: Menander, Philippides, Diphilus, Philemon, Apollodorus. 4 Gell. 2.23.1. Comoedias lectitamus nostrorum poetarum sumptas ac versas de Graecis Menandro aut Posidippo aut Apollodoro aut Alexide et quibusdam item aliis comicis. 11 The following Greek text and app. crit. for the testimonia are drawn from the PCG (II: 485-6). The translations are my own. 12 κωμωιδιοποιῶν corr. Mus.: -ὸν A. 13 The Canones Comicorum is a list of canonical poets of Greek comedy drawn from Kroehnert’s tabulae M and C (1897): each an edited collation of two nearly identical catalogues of canonical authors of antiquity that are organized according to genre and are preserved in several Byzantine manuscripts. Matijašić (2018: 29) dates the lists—and therefore the authors’ canonization—to Late Antiquity. 14 νέας κωμωιδίας ε: νέας δὲ ε´ C. 4 We frequently read the comedies of our poets that have been taken and translated from the Greeks, whether it be Menander or Posidippus, Apollodorus or Alexis, or a select few other comedians.15 5 i. Vit. Ter. ‘Ambrosiana’ (Reifferscheid 1860: 536 vv. 20-2).16 fabulae eius extant quatuor ex Menandro translatae: Andria, Eunuchus, Adelphoe et Heautontimorumenos; duae ex Apollodoro Carystio: Hecyra et Phormio.17 Four plays are translated from Menander: Andria, Eunuchus, Adelphoe, and Heautontimorumenos; two plays from Apollodorus of Carystus: Hecyra and Phormio. ii. Donat. Ter. Hec., pref. 1.1 (W. II: 189 vv. 2-4). haec fabula Apollodori dicitur esse Graeca, nam et ipsa et Phormio ab eodem dicuntur esse translatae, cum reliquae quattuor sint Menandri comici. The Greek play is said to belong to Apollodorus, for both this and Phormio are said to have been translated from the same [playwright], and the remaining four are from the comic poet Menander. iii. Donat. (ed.), Vit. Ter. Suetonia 10 (W. I: 10 vv. 4-5). duae ab Apollodoro translatae esse dicuntur comico, Phormio et Hecyra, quattuor reliquae a Menandro. 15 The section continues: Neque, cum legimus eas, nimium sane displicent, quin lepide quoque et venuste scriptae videantur, prorsus ut melius posse fieri nihil censeas. Sed enim si conferas et componas Graeca ipsa, unde illa venerunt, ac singula considerate atque apte iunctis et alternis lectionibus committas, oppido quam iacere atque sordere incipiunt, quae Latina sunt; ita Graecarum, quas aemulari nequiverunt, facetiis atque luminibus obsolescunt (“When we read them, they obviously do not give great offense, but rather seem to have been written with such wit and grace that you would think nothing could possibly be better. But if you compare and set one against the Greek play whence it came, and carefully and closely match up individual excerpts with readings of the corresponding passages in turn, the Latin plays begin to seem exceedingly inferior and uncouth. They are therefore eclipsed by the wit and lustre of the Greek plays which they were unable to match”) (Gell. 2.23.2-3). 16 “a Donato integriore excerpta” (PCG II: 485). 17 Carystio corr. Ritschl (1845: 325): caritio vel -cio codd. 5 Two are said to have been translated from the comic poet Apollodorus: Phormio and Hecyra. The remaining four, from Menander. iv. Eugr. Ter. Haut., prol. (W. III: 153 vv. 1-2). omnes hae comoediae de Graeco translatae sunt, a Menandro quidem quattuor, duae ab Apollodoro. All these comedies have been translated from a Greek [playwright], four from Menander, two from Apollodorus. 6 IG II2 2325.7318 (Athenian Victors Lists: Comic Poets, City Dionysia). Ἀ]πολλόδωρος ΙΙ. Apollodorus: 2. 7 Suda α 3404. Ἀπολλόδωρος, Ἀθηναῖος, κωμικός. ἐποίησε δράματα μζ´, ἐνικησεν ε´. Apollodorus, Athenian, comic poet. He wrote forty-seven plays and won five times. 1.3 History of Scholarship Meineke’s comprehensive five-volume commentary (1839-1857, =FCG), written in Latin, is still fundamental for any in-depth study of the fragmentary comic poets.19 In addition to a discursive commentary on the poets (I) and notes on individual fragments (II-IV), it includes some of Grotius’ Latin translations of select fragments (III-IV) and what is still the most recent 18 =M.-O. 2325C.82. 19 On Apollodorus, see FCG I: 462-9, FCG IV: 440-9. 6 comprehensive concordance to the fragmentary poets (V).20 Kock’s streamlined edition (1880-1888, =CAF) incorporates the relevant material from Meineke and contributes new insights in a comprehensive three-volume Latin commentary.21 Edmonds’ comprehensive commentary (1957-1961, =FAC) is the first in English and the first to include English translations for all the fragments;22 the three-volume commentary (I-IIIB), however, is unreliable (as will become clear through Chapter 2) and should be consulted with caution. Kassel and Austin’s comprehensive commentaries (1983-2001, =PCG), now up to eight volumes, are skillfully edited and helpfully organized alphabetically by author name with individual volumes dedicated to the fragments of Aristophanes (III.2) and Menander (VI.2);23 these volumes provide a fresh re-examination of the textual tradition and offer updated notes on the poets and their fragments in Latin.24 The most recent commentary to consider Apollodorus, and only one to my knowledge that makes him a focal point, is that of Jordi Perez Asensio (2012, =FCN).25 This work is written in Catalan and focuses on three poets of Greek New Comedy: Diphilus, Apollodorus of Gela, and Apollodorus of Carystus. The book provides an excellent overview of the scholarly issues surrounding 20 This concordance is now out of date and difficult to use because of its internal reference system. 21 On Apollodorus, see CAF III: 280-8. 22 On Apollodorus, see FAC IIIA: 183-97. The English translations are presented in a side-by-side format with the Greek text on the facing page. The translations are somewhat loose and show a marked interest in poetic rendering. 23 Previous commentaries organized poets according to the tripartite division of Attic comedy to which they are traditionally assigned (Old, Middle, and New). 24 On Apollodorus, see PCG II: 485-501. 25 On Apollodorus, see FCN: 93-108. 7 Apollodorus and gives new translations in Catalan, but the notes do little to advance on those provided in the PCG. Previous scholarship on Apollodorus concentrates on a select few fundamental problems: 1. The distinction between the poets named Apollodorus from Carystus, Gela, and Athens. 2. The attribution of fragments vaguely credited to an unspecified Apollodorus (=Apollod.Inc.). 3. Apollodorus’ relationship with Roman comedy. The untangling of different comic poets with the name Apollodorus is one of the oldest points of difficulty. An Apollodorus from Gela and one from Carystus are well-represented in the literary record, but the Suda (test. 7) also attests to a comic poet of that name from Athens. 26 At first, scholars were content to accept the existence of three comic poets.27 Meineke (FCG I: 462), however, persuasively argued that the Apollodorus of Athens from the Suda and Apollodorus of Carystus were one and the same. This claim was based on two crucial observations: first, Apollodorus of Carystus is conspicuously absent from the Apollodorus entries of the Suda, and second, an Apollodorus of Athens is otherwise unknown. The assumption is that, like several other foreign poets before him, Apollodorus of Carystus was at some point granted Athenian citizenship.28 This theory has been well-received and is generally 26 For an Apollodorus from Carystus, e.g. test. 1, Poll. 10.161, Phot. ς 476; for an Apollodorus from Gela, e.g. Ath. 3.125a, Poll. 4.19, Suda α 3405. 27 “Quo loco commoti Mongitorius biblioth. Sic. I p. 175, Meursius Biblioth. Att. P. 1428, Fabricius Biblioth. Gr. II p. 419 et Hemsterhusius ad Polluc. X 93 tres Apollodoros fuisse sibi persuaserunt, Geloum Carystium Atheniensem” (FCG I: 462). 28 Cf. Philemon (Anon. De com. 3.55-6), Antiphanes, and Alcaeus (see Sidwell 2014: 75 n. 54). 8 accepted in subsequent scholarship.29 Kaibel (1894: RE 1.2852) then raised the possibility that the well-attested poets from Gela and Carystus were also one and the same. This argument was taken up by Schuster (1907: 13-4), but with the help of the Athenian Victors Lists, Capps (1900: 45-50) and Krause (1903: 35) had by then made a definitive, new case for two distinct Apollodori: an earlier Apollodorus of Gela who was a contemporary of Menander and a later Apollodorus of Carystus who was a contemporary of Machon.30 This distinction is widely accepted.31 There has been less definitive progress regarding the attribution of twenty-four fragments and nine titles credited to an unspecified Apollodorus.32 The early commentaries tend to treat these fragments separately;33 however, most speculate that they likely belong to Apollodorus of 29 E.g. Webster 1970: 225, Rusten 2011: 687. 30 This chronology is based on evidence from IG II2 2325, an inscription that lists victorious poets and actors from the Athenian City Dionysia and Lenaia for both the comic and tragic contests (see Millis 2014a: 440-3). This inscription includes two entries of the name Apollodorus: one as a victor at the Lenaia, another as a victor at the City Dionysia. Based on the known relative dates of the poets that appear adjacent to each Apollodorus in the inscriptions, the Lenaia Apollodorus was first victorious in that festival in the early part of the last quarter of the fourth century and the City Dionysia Apollodorus first won at that festival sometime in middle of the first quarter of the third century BCE. Most agree that the victory gap is too substantial for the two entries to belong to a single poet. For more on this inscription, section 1.6. 31 See FAC IIIA: 183, Webster 1970: 225, Rusten 2011: 687, FCN: 20-2, M.-O.: 169 no. 82 and 190 no. 62. Kaibel later acknowledged the existence of the two poets following the work on IG II2 2325 (see Wilhlem 1906: 182). 32 See FCG I: 466-9, IV: 450-8, CAF III: 288-95, FAC IIIA: 200-9, PCG II: 506-16, FCN: 113-21. 33 E.g. FCG IV: 451-8, CAF III: 288-95. 9 Carystus based on his perceived overwhelming popularity.34 Webster (1970: 225-6) accepted this argument, but reassigned Apollod.Car. 5, 29, and 31 to Apollodorus of Gela, contending that the historical references in these fragments better align with productions dating to the late fourth century.35 Kassel and Austin (PCG II: 506-16) and Perez Asensio (FCN: 113-21) also treat these fragments separately, though Perez Asensio (FCN: 35) does suggest that they most likely belong to Apollodorus of Carystus. Perez Asensio’s claim is based on the observation that most of these fragments reflect the same philosophical and moralizing themes found in Terence’s adaptations of Apollodorus’ comedies; he also raises doubts about the misattribution of fragments 5, 29, and 31, alleging that they could reasonably apply to either authors’ production contexts (FCN: 24-5). Apollodorus’ relationship with Roman comedy is at the forefront of scholarship on the poet from Carystus. Most testimonia on Hecyra and Phormio attribute their Greek models to an Apollodorus, but do not give a clarifying loconym;36 The fundamental question concerning Apollodorus and Roman comedy was therefore the attribution of Terence’s models to the correct Apollodorus. On this problem, the publication of the Ambrosian Vita Terenti provided critical 34 See FCG I: 468, Capps 1900: 48-50. The view is that the fame of the Carystian had overshadowed that of his Geloan predecessor to such an extent that any reference to an unspecified Apollodorus eventually became tantamount to a reference to the Carystian. 35 The possibility that these fragments were misattributed by Athenaeus was previously suggested by Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1894: 14 n. 2) and alluded to by Capps (1900: 49-50). Webster argued that the resentments shared by Greek states (5), the allusion to Ophelas’ marriage as a recent event (29), and the references to the historical parasite Chaerephon (29, 31) are more relevant to the production context of Apollodorus of Gela than they are to that of Apollodorus of Carystus. His argument is bolstered by the fact that fragments 5 and 29 come from play titles that are attributed to both poets (Grammateidiopoios and Hiereia). 36 See test. 5ii; Eugr. Ter. Hec., prol. (W. III: 259 vv. 1-4); didasc. Ter. Phorm.; Donat. Ter. Phorm., pref. 1.1 (W. II: 345 vv. 1-4); Donat. Ter. Phorm. 25 (W. II: 355 vv. 3-7). 10 insight.37 Most of the manuscripts for this text identify the author of Terence’s models as Apollodoro comico, but the Ambrosiana critically describes him as caricio. This variant hints at a transmission sequence that makes comico a plausible correction of caricio, which is itself a plausible corruption of Carystio.38 This corruption sequence, in addition to the old argument that Apollodorus of Carystus outshone Apollodorus of Gela to the degree that the former eventually no longer required a distinguishing loconym, has made a very strong case for Apollodorus of Carystus as the author of Terence’s models for Hecyra and Phormio. Additional arguments in favor of this view include the fact that Apollodorus of Carystus used the name Phormio in his comedies (see fr. 7 from Diabolos)—the namesake of one of Terence’s Apollodoran adaptations (see Webster 1970: 226 n. 3, FCN: 22 n. 49).39 Furthermore, since Webster perceived the influence of Menander not only in Terence’s adaptations of Apollodoran comedies, but in the Greek fragments of Apollodorus themselves, he concluded it was more likely that it was the Carystian—having been inspired by his predecessor of the previous generation—who provided the models for Terence’s comedies (1970: 225-6). Aside from rare resistance (e.g. Nencini 1891: 51, Kunst 1919: 95) there is a general agreement that Apollodorus of Carystus provided the models for Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio.40 37 See Mai 1815: 37-8. 38 See Webster 1970: 226, FCN: 22 n. 48. 39 Donatus makes it clear that Terence drew the name Phormio from his Greek model, Epidikazomenos (Ter. Phorm. 26 [W. II: 355 vv. 8-12]). The name may have had relatively narrow associations with the comedies of Apollodorus (see my discussion of fr. 7). 40 See FCG I: 462-3, IV: 444-7, CAF III: 283-7, Sabbadini 1894: 26, Kuiper 1938: preface, Webster 1970: 226, Rusten 2011: 687, FCN: 22. 11 There has also been substantial debate about the degree of Terentian originality in his adaptations of Apollodorus’ work. Almost all scholars have employed a similar methodology in addressing the question. This approach works from the assumption that there were some universal tenets of plot and structure for Greek New Comedy which are embodied by the work of Menander. Deviations from the parameters of this artificial model which appear in the Latin adaptations are then interpreted as innovation on the part of the adaptor. This approach has produced a wide range of results that suggest minimal (e.g. Webster 1970, Sewart 1974), moderate (e.g. Kuiper 1938, Büchner 1974, Lowe 1983), and substantial Terentian innovation (e.g. Lefèvre 1978, 1999, 2014) in Hecyra and Phormio. The negative impression left by these efforts to distinguish original Terentian content in Phormio and Hecyra has been taken by some as an appropriate indicator of Apollodorus’ style. In reconstructing Apollodorus’ comedy through the lens of the Latin adaptations, the picture that emerges is poet who is a loyal acolyte of Menander and a steadfast regurgitator of formulaic Greek New Comedy ideals (e.g. Kuiper 1938: 4-5, Lefèvre 1999: 60).41 These conclusions, however, have been met with some resistance (e.g. Abbott 1940, Katsouris 1976, Fantham 1982) and more recent scholarship has begun to acknowledge the selective nature of this approach.42 Other scholarship on Hecyra and Phormio sets aside these problematic questions of adaptation and instead, approaches these plays as valuable in their own right. 41 These conclusions have also permeated more general studies on Greek comedy, e.g. Hunter 1985: 4, Rusten 2011: 687. 42 As Perez Asensio recognized, Apollodorus’ own fragments are often absent from consideration in these discussions: “A hores d’ara, però, el judici literari sobre Apollodor de Carist se sustenta més en l’anàlisi de la comèdia llatina i en la problemàtica de la seva adaptació, que no pas en l’escassa part conservada de la seva obra” (FCN: 34). 12 The latest Hecyra commentary by Goldberg (2013) is a welcome addition with many thoughtful new insights on the text; Carney (1963) and Ireland (1990) continue to be useful. Much of the research on Hecyra has focused on the prologues which outline apparent reasons for the play’s supposedly failed (or, interrupted) productions. There has been debate on whether the audience left the theater (e.g. Beare 1950: 82, Büchner 1974: 15) or remained (e.g. Sandbach 1982), whether external events were the sole cause of its failure (e.g. Gilula 1981) or if the play itself contributed (e.g. Goldberg 1986: 168, 2013: 16), and whether the audience remained loyal (e.g. Parker 1996: 601) or were converted to the intruding crowd’s cause (e.g. Lada-Richards 2004: 58). Others have concentrated on the prologues’ rhetorical value (e.g. Gowers 2004: 159-61), questioning their historicity (e.g. Gruen 1992: 213-5) or making it of no consequence (e.g. Sharrock 2009: 246-9). Some studies have acknowledged the play’s uniquely sympathetic view towards women (e.g. Norwood 1923: 91, Posani 1940), including nuanced interpretations by Slater (1988) and James (1998). The balance of suspense and irony are also central to discussions on Hecyra. It is viewed by some as a virtue (e.g. Gilula 1979-1980) and others as a flaw (e.g. Goldberg 1986: 159-61). Finally, several scholars have read the play as a continuous conflict between dichotomous concepts such as: amor vs. pietas (Konstan 1983), character reputation vs. reality (McGarrity 1980-1981), and failure vs. repetition (Sharrock 2009: 233-49). Maltby (2012) is the most recent commentary on Phormio. Like Martin (1959) it provides a comprehensive introduction to the play and insightful commentary. Most Phormio scholarship concentrates on the complex personalities of its characters. The focus tends to be on the title character who has been characterized according to a variety of differing stock roles.43 43 Cf. Norwood 1923: 76, Martin 1959: 20, Arnott 1970: 55, Segal and Moulton 1978: 280, Forehand 1985: 89, Moore 2001: 254-6. 13 The most recent work is more at ease with Phormio’s ability to elude assignment (e.g. Smith 2004: 97-8, Maltby 2012: 23-4).44 The play’s central theme is also a topic of debate, perhaps because, as Forehand (1985: 90) points out, it is not as clear-cut as it is in other Terence plays. The arguments that favor the centrality of reciprocal and profitable exchange as the main theme tend to be the most convincing (e.g. Barsby 1991: 85, II: 6, Moore 2001: 257, Smith 2004: 83), but there have been several compelling alternative interpretations. Konstan (1983: 115-29) reads the play as a contest between passion and rule within social and familial frameworks while Frangoulidis (2013: 281-94) explores the pervasiveness of disease metaphor throughout the play. The centrality of law is also usually discussed, though not as the play’s primary theme.45 Finally, elements of composition figure into many discussions. The play’s simplicity is often appreciated and explored (e.g. Forehand 1985: 84, Goldberg 1986: 89). Norwood (1923) and Konstan (1983) praise the play’s cohesion though Norwood (1923: 81) finds fault with its exposition. The issue of exposition is linked to the allegedly omitted divine prologue. While some would find its omission and the resulting loss of dramatic irony as a fault (e.g. Sewart 1974: 260 on Hecyra), others have defended Terence’s decision and highlighted the superior value of suspense gained in the case of Phormio (e.g. Gilula 1991: 444).46 44 In these, Phormio is read as somewhere on a spectrum between parasite, tricky slave, and sycophant. 45 E.g. Segal and Moulton 1978, Forehand 1985: 91-2, Focardi 1990, Scafuro 1997 (on Phormio). 46 Some of the more focused studies of value include Arnott’s linguistic analysis (1970), Barsby’s convincing line assignment for 979-89 (1993), and Segal and Moulton’s historical reading of the play (1978). 14 1.4 Methodology and Chapter Summaries I assume three commonly accepted tenets born of this prior work as fact: I accept Meineke’s assertion that the Apollodorus of Athens referenced in the Suda (test. 7) is Apollodorus of Carystus. I accept the relative chronology developed by Capps and Krause for Apollodorus of Gela and Apollodorus of Carystus. Finally, I operate under the assumption that Apollodorus of Carystus composed the Greek models on which Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio were built. The first two chapters of this dissertation focus on Apollodorus and his fragments in their Greek context while the last two look at the appropriation of Apollodorus in Roman contexts.47 • Chapter 1 (the present chapter) positions Apollodorus in modern scholarship, his sources, and the Hellenistic world. It also provides a summary analysis of Apollodorus’ language and style and presents new evidence for the assignment of the fragments attributed to an unqualified Apollodorus. • Chapter 2 provides a close textual analysis of each of the securely attested fragments. This chapter includes a re-evaluation of the textual tradition for most of the plays and employs an integrative approach to interpretation that maximizes the utility of the fragments and provides new insights about Apollodorus’ comedies. • Chapter 3 examines Terence’s Hecyra as a site of reception for Apollodorus in second-century Rome. I argue that the plays of Apollodorus were brought to Rome by L. Aemilius Paullus after his victory in the Third Macedonian War. The chapter provides an improved understanding of the role that Roman comedy played at the funeral games of Paullus (160 BCE) by exploring how its production in tandem with Adelphoe challenges earlier historicist readings. 47 Since Chapters 3 and 4 address questions that are distinct from those of the first two chapters, they require different approaches. I have delayed discussion of these chapters’ respective methodologies to the introductions of the chapters themselves. The following discussion articulates my methodology concerning Apollodorus’ fragments and the Greek world in which he lived (Chapters 1 and 2). 15 • Chapter 4 considers the only other known adaptation of a play by Apollodorus: Terence’s Phormio. I refocus modern interpretations of the complex characterization of the title character, Phormio, by applying a reception-studies approach to character analysis using ninth-century Carolingian miniatures as the guiding reception event. • Chapter 5 synthesizes the research conducted throughout the dissertation. This chapter situates the comedy of Apollodorus, as reconstructed in Chapters 1 and 2, against Menander and our previous understanding of New Comedy in general. It also reviews Apollodorus’ lasting impact on Rome’s comic tradition, from the Middle Republic to the end of the Western Empire. My approach, which addresses all the extant firmly attributed fragments (1-32, Chapter 2), is an exercise in conjectural criticism that informs a focused, interpretative commentary presented in a discursive format. Discussion of each fragment necessarily begins with a comprehensive review of the manuscript tradition and the provision of an updated text—thoroughly considered and developed within the bounds of sound textual criticism.48 Interpretation is based on comparative analysis with better-preserved comedies of other playwrights.49 Because he has the closest contextual relationship with Apollodorus, I lend the 48 Because most of the surviving fragments of Apollodorus are exceedingly brief, interpretation is often based on only a handful of key words. Since these words bear an enormous analytic burden, it was essential that I work from a well-supported text. West (1973, especially 47-8) and Reynolds and Wilson (2013: 208-42) provide the basis for my approach to textual criticism. More often than not, my text follows that provided in the PCG. In the case of the fragments associated with Grammateidiopoios, Hekyra, and Epidikazomenos, I have deferred to the texts provided by the PCG without review (see discussion of plays themselves for reasoning). 49 This is an unavoidable component of a conjectural criticism approach to comic fragments (see Storey 2003: 5, Bakola 2010: 7); informed speculation on many dramatic components of fragmentary plays can only be done through close comparison with (near) complete plays (e.g. plot structure, stock scenes, associated characters, themes, demands of the performance space, etc.). This approach brings with it the danger of unduly imprinting the characteristics of other playwrights’ comedies onto those of the fragmentary poets. In an effort to mitigate this, I consider plays from multiple poets who are associated with different performance contexts, though I assign different values to their works according to their contextual proximity to Apollodorus. Most of the potentially relevant comparanda from among the fragmentary poets tend to require some conjectural analysis themselves to be of value for the present study. 16 most weight to the plays of Menander.50 His influence is tempered by consideration of the complete plays of Aristophanes and the Roman comedies of Plautus and Terence.51 I do not subscribe to the view taken in some previous scholarship that Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio can be used as reliable means of reconstructing their Apollodoran source plays;52 their value in my discussion on the fragments is of a more general nature which acknowledges a now unquantifiable Apollodoran presence. I present my analysis of the fragments in a discursive format. This arrangement is better suited for the exploration of broader issues within the comic genre and makes the material more accessible.53 Nevertheless, some elements of a traditional commentary have made their way into 50 The best-preserved plays of Menander to which I refer in this dissertation are those included in Arnott’s three-volume Loeb translation (=Arnott I-III). In working with Menander, I am especially sensitive to the problematic assumptions of previous scholarship that (i) Menander substantially shaped Apollodorus’ work and (ii) that Menander’s comedy was indicative of a highly formulaic and derivative genre. Goldberg (2002: 547-8) makes the crucial observation that the perceived influence of Menander on Apolllodorus is based solely on the facts that Apollodorus was writing in Athens after the death of Menander and that Hecyra somewhat resembles Menander’s Epitrepontes. 51 These comparanda I value somewhat less. By the third century, Greek comedy had undergone substantial changes since the production period of Aristophanes roughly one hundred years earlier. The Roman adaptations conversely date roughly one hundred years after Apollodorus’ floruit and have been imperceptibly altered from their Greek models in order to suit a different audience. 52 Many attempts have been made to reconstruct Apollodorus’ Hekyra and Epidikazomenos from Hecyra and Phormio (e.g. Kuiper 1938, Webster 1970, Büchner 1974, Sewart 1974, Lefèvre 1978, 1999, 2014, Lowe 1983). The preferred methodology in these studies is more useful in isolating Terence’s unique contribution to palliata than it is in yielding reliable reconstructions of his Greek models. Hecyra and Phormio provide only limited quantifiable evidence for Hekyra, Epidikazomenos, and our overall perception of Apollodoran comedy beyond the few direct points of contact between the surviving fragments of the models preserved by Donatus and their adaptations. 53 Cf. Storey 2003 and Bakola 2010. To further aid accessibility, I have included new translations of all extant testimonia and fragments and relegated much of the esoteric and ponderous analysis 17 this dissertation;54 in addition to the Greek text, I include also the apparatus criticus provided by the PCG as well as discussion on textual issues when necessary. I have been as exhaustive as possible in my analysis so as to maximize the fragments’ value in informing our understanding of Apollodorus’ comedy.55 Given the limited length of most fragments, this often amounts to squeezing proverbial blood from the stone, but the challenge must be taken on if we are to test the Menandrocentric model of New Comedy. The limited material also means that my informed speculation may go beyond what previous scholarship has deemed necessary.56 Although I am sensitive to the limitations of working with fragments (e.g. Nesselrath 2010, Olson 2015), I believe that such speculation is required if we hope to advance our knowledge on the development of New Comedy. I therefore pursue the dramatic scenarios and circumstances suggested by each fragment as far as the informing comparanda reasonably allow. to footnotes. For the translations, I have tried to strike a balance that preserves both the literal meaning and the comic tone. 54 For a defense of the persisting value that the traditional commentary format has for the analysis of Greek comedy fragments, see Papachrysostomou (2008: 24). Traditional commentaries like those of Hunter (1983), Arnott (1996), and Millis (2015) remain highly valuable. 55 Cf. Papachrysostomou (2008: 25), “I believe that it is the commentator’s task to press and squeeze every single fragment as meticulously as possible” and Olson (2007: 32), “our task is accordingly to make as much as we can of what has in one way or another been preserved for us.” 56 See Bakola 2010: 9-10. 18 1.5 Ancient Sources The primary sources for the firmly attributed fragments of Apollodorus include Athenaeus, Pollux, Donatus, Stobaeus, and Photius. These sources come from a broad spectrum of contexts—all of which are far removed from third-century Athens. Most may not have had firsthand knowledge of Apollodorus’ plays, but there is little reason to question the accuracy of the fragments they preserve.57 The majority of individual fragments are preserved by Donatus; he is followed by Athenaeus at a distant second and then by Pollux, Photius, and Stobaeus. This distribution is somewhat misleading since many of the “fragments” preserved by Donatus do not actually correlate to any of Apollodorus’ original text.58 Even so, it is an unusual distribution compared to that of other poets of New Comedy.59 The distribution of surviving verses among the various sources is also lopsided.60 Athenaeus provides the most by far; he is followed by 57 Cf. Bakola (2010: 10) on Cratinus: “As secondary sources often pursue their own agendas, one must be constantly aware of the possibility that the process of citation may involve a degree of distortion. However, since most of the citations are advanced to illustrate formal features or to address matters of detail rather than to advance a larger argument, we can be reasonably confident about the content of the fragments.” See also Rusten (2011: 7): “Later dates do not necessarily indicate less valuable testimonia, because some late authors seem to have access to excellent earlier sources.” 58 See Apollod.Car. 12, 14, 16, 18, 19-21, 26. These “fragments” are excerpts from Donatus’ commentary that identify specific instances of Terence’s close translation of or deviation from the Apollodoran model in his Latin adaptation, but which don’t include an illustrative excerpt from Apollodorus’ comedy to substantiate the observation. 59 Cf. Philemon: Stob. (43%), Ath. (14%), Poll. (6%), Antiatt. (6%), Phot. (5%); Menander: Stob. (31.2%), Phot. (15%), Ath. (6.6%), schol. (6.5%), Poll. (5%); and Diphilus: Ath. (38%), Stob. (20%), Antiatt. (10%), Phot. (5%), Poll. (5%). These figures are from Rusten (2011: 8) whose metrics (discounting testimonia and spurious/dubious fragments, see 2011: 7 n. 7), I have applied to my calculations for Apollodorus. 60 The verse figures I provide for Apollodorus are not exact. Many of the fragments are comprised of incomplete verses of varying lengths. To simplify calculation, I counted all verses that were at least eleven syllables in length as complete verses and anything shorter as a half-verse. This calculation only took into consideration the fragments in which original Greek text is provided by the source (in some cases, re-arranged by later editors to fit meter; see 1-11, 13, 15, 19 Donatus, Pollux, Stobaeus, and Photius. A majority of the verses preserved by Athenaeus come from a single fragment of atypical length; at 26.5 verses long, fragment 5 accounts for over two-fifths of the total number of surviving verses among all sources. As for titles, Athenaeus and Pollux provide the most; they are followed by Donatus and Photius, and then Stobaeus. Except for Donatus, whose seventeen fragments are distributed between two comedies (Hekyra and Epidikazomenos), no other single source quotes from the same comedy twice. There is only one instance of two different sources quoting from the same comedy.61 Source Date (CE) Fragments Verses Titles Genre Athenaeus 2nd cent. 5 39.5 4 Dialogue Pollux 2nd cent. 4 4.5 4 Lexicon Donatus 4th cent. 20 14 2 Commentary Stobaeus 5th cent. 1 3 [1] Extract coll. Photius 9th cent. 2 2 2 Lexicon Table 1.1 The sources of Apollodorus of Carystus. 17, 22-5, 27-32; 24 in total). These conditions make for 63 firmly attributed verses for Apollodorus. 61 Both Stobaeus (Apollod.Car. 6) and Pollux (Apollod.Car. 7) quote from Diabolos. This is why Stobaeus’ entry in the “Titles” column is bracketed. 20 Figure 1.1 The sources of Apollodorus of Carystus. Ath.16%Poll.12%Donat.63%Stob.3%Phot.6%FRAGMENTSAth.63%Poll.7%Donat.22%Stob.5%Phot.3%VERSESAth.33%Poll.33%Stob.Donat.17%Phot.17%TITLES21 Athenaeus of Naucratis provides five fragments (5, 29-32), four titles (Grammateidiopoios, Hiereia, Proikizomene or Himatiopolis, and Sphattomene), and roughly thirty-nine and a half verses of Apollodorus in his Deipnosophistae.62 This work is a fifteen-book Greek dialogue which dates to the end of the second century CE and recounts the happenings and conversations from a fictional twenty-nine person symposium hosted in Rome by a man named Larensis. Food, wine, and other fundamental elements of banqueting make up the primary subject matter as do specific topics of conversation associated with symposium contexts (e.g. art, literature, philosophy, sex, entertainment, etc.). These subjects determine the nature of the many excerpts from Greek comedy which Athenaeus includes in this work as a means of giving weight to the various observations that the (mostly) fictional interlocutors make throughout the discourse. It is generally assumed that Athenaeus was not the original excerptor of most of the fragments he quotes (e.g. Nesselrath 1990: 66-8).63 Julius Pollux of Naucratis preserves in his Onomasticon four fragments (1, 2, 7, 15), four titles (Amphiaraos, Anteuergeton, Diabolos, and Enea), and roughly four and a half verses from the comedies of Apollodorus. The Onomasticon is a ten-volume reference book of Attic vocabulary and phrases which dates to the second half of the second century CE; it is written in Greek and organized according to subject matter. The Onomasticon is full of illustrative excerpts 62 Athenaeus is the source for Eustathius who quotes portions of Apollod.Car. 5 and 30. Eustathius was a twelfth-century bishop of Thessaloniki who is best known for his commentaries of Homer. On Eustathius, see Dickey 2007: 23-4. 63 For an opposing view, e.g. Pearson 1917: lvi. Whatever the case, he is considered to be relatively reliable (e.g. Papachrysostomou 2008: 17, Arnott 1996: 340). On Athenaeus, see Braund and Wilkins 2000; Romeri 2002: 247-316; McClure 2003; Wilkins 2008; Konig 2012: 90-120; Paulas 2012; Grandjean, Hiller, and Peigney 2013; Jacob 2013; and Murray 2015. New translations include Friedrich and Nothers 1998-2001 in German, Canfora 2001 in Italian, and Olson 2006-2012 in English. See also the Digital Athenaeus project under the direction of Monica Berti. 22 from comedy which demonstrate the use, form, and meaning of various words. Because the lexicon’s vocabulary is broad in scope and pertains to many different aspects of Greek daily life and culture, the assemblages of comic fragments included within it are rather eclectic in nature. Most now agree that Pollux acquired the excerpts of Greek comedy from earlier scholarship (e.g. Olson 2007: 31, Rusten 2011: 14, Millis 2015: 18).64 Donatus preserves twenty fragments (8-14, 16-28), two titles (Hekyra and Epidikazomenos), and roughly fourteen verses of Apollodorus in his commentaries on Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio. Donatus’ Commentum Terenti is a comprehensive Latin commentary on all the comedies of Terence (Haut. portion now lost) which was originally composed near the middle of the fourth century CE to be used as a school text by his pupils.65 Occasionally, Donatus pinpoints areas where Terence has closely translated or sharply deviated from his Greek model—often, but not always, including an excerpt from the model to illustrate the point—, but he was obviously not exhaustive in this endeavor. It is not clear whether Donatus had direct knowledge of Menander and Apollodorus; many contend that his excerpts of the Greek models were drawn from earlier scholarship (e.g. Goldberg 2013: 41-2, Blanchard 2014: 254).66 64 On Pollux, see Tosi 1988: 87-113; Theodoridis 2003; Bearzot, Landucci, and Zecchini 2007; Mauduit 2013; Mathaios 2015, Cirone and Radiri 2018; and Conti Bizzarro 2018. Bethe 1900 is still the standard edition for scholarly use. 65 The commentary underwent substantial revision, supplementation, and reconstruction after the fourth century; the commentary that has come down to us should be dated at least a few centuries later. Donatus is mostly interested in explicating Terence’s comedies; he focuses on issues of rhetoric, grammar, lexical matters, textual criticism, characterization, and structure (Victor 2014). 66 On Donatus, see Jakobi 1996, Barsby 2000, Demetriou 2014a, 2014b, 2015, Maltby 2014, Victor 2014, Da Vela 2017, Goldberg 2020. See also the Hyperdonat project edited by Bureau, Nicolas, and Ingarao. Wessner 1902-1908 (=W. I-III) is still the standard edition for scholarly use. 23 Joannes Stobaeus (“John of Stobi,” in Macedonia) preserves one fragment (6), one title (Diabolos), and three verses of Apollodorus in his Anthology. The Anthology, which dates to the early fifth century, is a four-book collection of extracts drawn from earlier Greek literature and drama;67 the extracts are organized according to topics which were chosen for the edification of Stobaeus’ son, Septimius, for whom the collection was created. The scope of the topics addressed is broad (economics, logic, philosophy, politics, etc.), but ethical themes loom particularly large. This can give the false impression that the comic poets cited in the Anthology were overly interested in moralizing sentiments (e.g. Arnott 1996: 43, Millis 2001: 17, Kotlinska-Toma 2015: 10). It is possible that Stobaeus pulled some of the material directly, but earlier anthologies are the most likely source for most of Stobaeus’ excerpts of Greek comedy (Dickey 2007: 106, Olson 2007: 32, Kotlinska-Toma 2015: 10).68 Photius I of Constantinople is the source of two fragments (3, 4), two titles (Apokarterountes, Apoleipousa), and roughly two verses of Apollodorus. Photius is most famous for his Biblioteca, but the relevant work for the present discussion is his Lexicon which probably dates to the second quarter of the ninth century.69 This is a massive glossary of antiquated Greek 67 In earlier traditions, the first two books were called the Extracts or Eclogues and the last two books, the Anthology or Florilegium; all four are now collectively known as the Anthology. 68 On Stobaeus, see Campbell 1984, Piccione and Runia 2001, Sider 2001, Curnis 2008, Reydams-Schils 2011. Wachsmuth and Hense 1884-1923 (=W.-H. I-III) is still the standard edition for scholarly use. 69 Apollod.Car. 4 is also quoted in a letter Photius wrote to George, Metropolitan of Nicomedia (Ep. 156) and in his Amphilochia (86) On these, see Laourdas and Westerink 1983-1988; for discussion on Epistle 156 in particular, see Wilson 1983: 113 and Baldwin 1986. The Amphilochia is certainly later than the Lexicon (see Amphil. 21.132-6 and Wilson 1983: 90) and, assuming the Lexicon was composed before ca. 840 (e.g. Cunningham 2003: 20, Fortenbaugh 2010: 112), the letter to George must have also been later since it addresses George as Metropolitan of Nicomedia—a rank he probably did not receive until about 860 (see Tsironis 1998: 297 n. 12, Peers 2004: 50). Fr. 4 is also cited in two other later Byzantine lexica: the Etymologicum Genuinum and Suda (for a brief overview of both, see Dickey 2007: 90-92). The 24 vocabulary that was assembled to facilitate the study and interpretation of earlier Classical and Hellenistic texts. The Lexicon is organized alphabetically and is comprised of very concise definitions which clarify the meaning of the archaic word in question. Photius sometimes expands the entries to include excerpts from Greek comedy which help illustrate the meaning or usage of a word or give it more authority. The content covered in the Lexicon is vast so there is little reason to suspect that it unduly colors the impression of the comic poets it references. Most of the comic fragments Photius includes in his Lexicon were probably drawn from earlier lexica and scholarship (e.g. Olson 2007:32, Dickey 2015: 473).70 1.6 Career Chronology There are no firm dates for the life and career of Apollodorus, but testimonia (1, 6) broadly situate his period of production within the first half of the third century.71 The Athenian Victors Lists (IG II2 2325) are a collection of fragmentary inscriptions that record the name and number of career wins of competitors that were victorious at least once in Suda dates to the tenth century and seems to have drawn much of its material directly from Photius (Dickey 2007: 90). Like Photius’ Lexicon, the Et.Gen. is loosely dated to the ninth century, but when more precise chronology is conjectured, it tends to be situated in the second half of the century (e.g. Theodoridis 1980: 343, Casadio 2009: 442, Dyck 2014: 863). Fr. 4 is also reproduced in the Etymologicum Magnum, a twelfth-century lexicon descended from the Et.Gen. 70 On Photius, see Wilson 1983: 89-119, Tsantsanoglou 1984, and Treadgold 2002. See also Photius On Line. Theodoridis’ new edition 1982- is nearly complete (the first three volumes cover the entries up through φ); it is the best source for scholarly use when possible. 71 See FCG I: 462, Webster 1970: 226, Hunter 1985: 4, Rusten 2011: 687, FCN: 27. This production window also works with test. 2 which appears to present the five canonical poets of New Comedy in chronological order. 25 one of Athens’ two major dramatic contests from the fifth to the second centuries BCE.72 These lists, etched into several architrave blocks of Pentelic marble found on the south slope of the Athenian Acropolis, are organized according to prize-eligible roles (poet, actor), genres (comedy, tragedy), and festivals (City Dionysia, Lenaia).73 One of these inscriptions (M.-O. IG II2 2325C) preserves some of the prize-winning comic poets at the City Dionysia. Five names are listed at 80-5:74 [Πο]σείδιππος ⟦Π⟧ Σατυρίων Ι [Ἀ]πολλόδωρος ΙΙ [Φιλ]ήμων ⟦ΠΙ⟧ [Δαμ]όξενος Ι [Φοινικ]ίδης ΙΙ The third name on this list, situated between Satyrion and Philemon is an Apollodorus whom we know to be the comic poet from Carystus (see test. 6).75 Based on the prosopography and 72 On these inscriptions, e.g. M.-O.: 133-224 and Tracy 2015: 566-71. 73 Victors are listed in the order in which they first won the prize, with subsequent victories incorporated during infrequent updates to the inscription. 74 On this portion of the list, see Kohler 1878: 250, IG II 977ć, Koumanoudes 1878: 82, Wilhelm 1906: 117-22, 165-6, M.-O.: 156-70, Tracy 2015: 568. The line numbers reflect those assigned in M.-O. 75 On the association between the poet listed at line 83 with Apollodorus of Carystus see section 1.3. The Posidippus listed is the canonical poet of that name (see Anon. De com. 3.53-4) for whom forty-five fragments survive (see PCG VII: 561-81). Satyrion is not attested elsewhere (see PCG VII: 590). This Philemon is probably the son of Philemon of Soli/Syracuse (see PCG VII: 221-317) and is perhaps related to another comic poet of that name from the second century BCE (see PCG VII: 321). At least three fragments can be attributed to this middle Philemon (see PCG VII: 318-20). Three fragments of Damoxenus survive (see PCG V: 1-7). Phoinicides probably placed fourth in the Lenaia of 285/4 and may have been the fifth-place poet in the Lenaia of 286/5 (see M.-O.: 109 no. 3, 110 no. 12, 169 no. 85; Millis 2014b: 879, Tracy 2015: 568). Five fragments of Phoinicides survive (see PCG VII: 388-92). The Π following Posidippus and Philemon is the acrophonic numeral for πέντε. Posidippus therefore had five victories at the City Dionysia, and Philemon, six. On acrophonic numerals in inscriptions, see McLean 2002: 58-61. 26 evidence for the various hands at work, the inscription up through Philemon can be dated sometime between the 280s and 270s.76 The inscription therefore provides a loose terminus ante quem for Apollodorus’ first City Dionysia victory and a basis for isolating Apollodorus’ period of production. Consideration of related evidence gives grounds to narrow the window for Apollodorus’ first City Dionysia victory even further. According to the Suda (π 2111), Posidippus was didaskalos for the first time in the third year after Menander’s death. The details of Menander’s passing are still disputed, but the earliest accepted year for his death is 292/1 BCE.77 With inclusive reckoning, this would make 290/89 the earliest possible year for Posidippus’ first City Dionysia victory. The following year would therefore be the earliest possible for the first (and only) victory of Satyrion. Since Satyrion immediately precedes Apollodorus on the list, 289/8 represents the earliest possible terminus post quem for Apollodorus’ inaugural City Dionysia victory. If Reisch (1907: 303) is correct that the lists’ initial inscription (which includes Apollodorus) can be associated with a monument (IG II2 2853) dedicated in the archonship of Anaxicrades (279/8), then we also have a basis for a terminus ante quem of this victory.78 76 Damoxenos and Phoinicides were probably not inscribed until sometime between the 260s and 250s (M.-O.: 133-4). 77 Nervegna (2013: 12-3 n. 11) provides an overview of the evidence and debate: “IG XIV 1184; Euseb. (Hieron.) Ol. 122.1, p. 128.11 H and Euseb. (Arm.) Ol. 122.1, p. 199 K (Men. T 2 21a-b K-A) date it 292/1 BC, but our sources (IG XIV 1184, Apollodoros’ Chronika cited by Gell. NA 17.4.4; Men. T 1, 46 K-A) also specify that Menander died aged 52. De Marcellus 1996: esp. 75-6 suggests that Menander died in 292/1 BC at the age of 50, Schröder 1996: 35-42, followed by K-A, argues that Menander lived for 51 years, 52 according to Apollodoros’ inclusive counting, and died in 291/0 BC.” 78 M.-O. seem to accept Reisch’s theory (e.g. 134, 158, 179; so too Rusten 2011: 37), but acknowledge that the link is not certain. Based on the ability of Chremes (Ter. Phorm.) and Pamphilus (Ter. Hec.) to travel freely between Athens and Lemnos/Imbros respectively, Webster 27 Philemon II is the last name on this portion of the list which was inscribed by the original hand.79 The latest year that Philemon II could have won his first City Dionysia victory should then be 279/8—the same year the monument on which it was recorded was dedicated. Since Apollodorus immediately precedes Philemon II on this list, 279/8 can be considered the latest possible terminus ante quem for his first City Dionysia victory.80 Apollodorus therefore won his first City Dionysia victory between 288/7 and 280/79. Athenaeus provides an alternative and separate basis for situating Apollodorus in the first half of the third century. At 14.664a (test. 1), the interlocutor Aemilianus claims that Machon was one of the comic poets κατὰ Ἀπολλόδωρον τὸν Καρύστιον.81 Gow read κατὰ Ἀπολλόδωρον as “about the time of Apollodorus” (1965: 5) which seems to be the only plausible interpretation (see LSJ: κατά B.VII.2). There are no firm dates associated with Machon, but Gow gives him “a concluded that Apollodorus’ Epidikazomenos and Hekyra probably date shortly after 279 since casual travel to these islands would have been challenging throughout the 280s (1970: 226, 230); if Reisch is correct, we could reasonably discount Epidikazomenos or Hekyra as the plays for which Apollodorus won his first City Dionysia victory. 79 The names that follow Philemon were inscribed by a different hand in an update to the original list which occurred sometime during or shortly after the 260s-250s (see M.-O.: 134-5). 80 Apollodorus’ name does not appear in the extant portion of the Victors Lists that records the winning comic poets at the Lenaia (M.-O. IG II2 2325E), but we can assume his name and three Lenaia victories were among the seventeen lost entries in M.-O. column V (lines 69-85), if it was not the missing final entry of Column IV (line 68). Philippides, Nicostratus, and Ameinias—three of the four victors listed at the bottom of Column IV are known to have been active in the late fourth and early third centuries BCE (see M.-O.: 178 and 190 nos. 64, 65, 67). According to M.-O. (178-9), the one and only victory of the poet listed at the bottom of Column VI (one Menestheus) dates to ca. 255. Since there are fifteen poets listed in this column, the latest possible date for the initial victory of the first poet listed in Column VI (one Euthykrates) is ca. 269. 270 then represents a tentative terminus ante quem for Apollodorus’ first Lenaia victory. If the Lenaia was indeed a critical proving ground for poets hoping to earn a slot at the City Dionysia, we could assume his first production, if not victory, was at the Lenaia. 81 Two fragments of Machon’s comedy survive, see PCG V: 623-5. 28 floruit in the decade 260-250 B.C.” based on the implications of testimonia and internal references (1965: 7).82 If indeed Apollodorus’ floruit in Athens coincided closely with Machon’s in Alexandria, we could reasonably push Apollodorus’ career as late as the 250s. The limited comparanda suggest that Athens’ canonical comic poets tended to begin their careers in their late teens/early twenties and that they achieved their first victory within the first few years of competing at the professional level.83 If Apollodorus’ life and career followed a similar path, he may have been born as late as 315-310 and begun competing in Athens as early as ca. 293;84 however, the fact that Apollodorus was Carystian and probably began his career on Euboea may mean that he did not begin competing in Athens until he was a bit older.85 Comparanda also suggest that as a top-tier competitor in Athens, Apollodorus was capable of 82 The testimonia in Athenaeus make Machon not only a contemporary of Apollodorus, but also an instructor of Aristophanes of Byzantium (see 6.241f and 14.664a-b). Internal references to Gnathaena/Gnathaenium and Ptolemy II Philadelphus provide further support for Gow’s suggested timeline (see 1965: 5-11). 83 Eupolis was only seventeen when he began to compete and won his first victory sometime between then and the age of twenty (see Suda ε 3657, M.-O. IG II2 2325E.11; Storey 2003: 63-5, Rusten 2006). Menander was about twenty-one when he began competing and won his first victory between then and the age of twenty-six or twenty-seven (see Anon. De com. 3.58-60 and cf. Euseb. Chron. [Jer.] Ol. 114.4, didasc. Men. Dys., Marm. Par. FGrH 239.B.14). Antiphanes, though his canonical status is not certain, also started when he was about twenty years old, but we do not know when he won his first victory (see Suda α 2735 and Anon. De com. 3.47-8). 84 These projections are based on the possibility that Apollodorus won his first victory as early as 288/7. This projection suggests that Apollodorus’ career may have briefly overlapped with that of Menander. Reproductions of “Old Comedies” had become a regular part of the Athenian festival program by ca. 311 (Heap 2019: 14) and so even if Apollodorus never competed directly against a new comedy of Menander, he certainly spent his career indirectly competing with his ghost (both figuratively and literally—a reproduction of Menander’s Phasma took second in either 262 or 258 BCE, see SEG 26.208). 85 Cf. Philemon who came from Syracuse (e.g. Suda φ 327; or, from Soli, see Str. 14.5.8) and did not win his first victory in Athens until he was thirty-five to forty years old (e.g. Ael. fr. 11 and Marm. Par. FGrH 239.B.7). 29 composing at a rate of at least three comedies a year.86 At this pace, this might amount to a comparatively short, albeit impactful, fifteen-year career (47 plays, 3/year).87 This projection, however, should be tempered by the factors at work in third-century Athens which must have restricted the number of performance opportunities for the poets of Apollodorus’ generation.88 86 Cf. Antiphanes and Menander for whom we have evidence of both career output and length (assuming both worked until their deaths; see Anon. De com. 3.47-52 and 57-60 on both poets, combined with Suda α 2735 in the case of Antiphanes). Menander composed at a rate of about 3.7 plays per year (108 comedies, ca. 29 years) and Antiphanes, 4.7 (260 [at least], ca. 55 years). If Apollodorus similarly composed at least three comedies a year, it follows that he would have necessarily submitted multiple entries to one or both of Athens’ two major dramatic festivals and/or competed in other festivals besides Athens’ City Dionysia and Lenaia. Evidence for Apollodorus’ contemporaries shows that both scenarios were still possible. Philemon (whether I or II), for example, is known to have competed in games on Delos in 280 (see IG XI.2 107.25) and Diodorus of Sinope took both second and third in the comic contest at the Lenaia of 285/4 (see M.-O. IG II2 2319 Col. I, 8 and 10). 87 As far as we can tell, all the comic poets that earned canonical status of some sort had a career lasting at least twenty-five years. This includes Aristophanes (see Anon. De com. 3.38 and schol. [VE] Ar. Plut.[a] 173), Cratinus (see Euseb. Chron. [Jer.] Ol. 81.3 and Lucianus Macr. 25), Philemon (Marm. Par. FGrH 239.B.7 and Ael. fr. 11), and Menander (Anon. De com. 3.57-60); the extent of the careers of Diphilus and Eupolis are more difficult to delineate. Although we do not know who the ancients considered the canonical poets of Middle Comedy, the evidence for Antiphanes (Anon. De com. 3.47-52 with Suda α 2735), Anaxandrides (Marm. Par. FGrH 239.A.70 and IG XIV 1097) and Alexis (M.-O. IG II2 2318.1474 and fr. 246) show that they too had careers of at least twenty-five years. 88 It is possible that the celebration of the City Dionsyia and Lenaia had to be frequently scaled back or even canceled during Apolllodorus’ period of production (see section 1.7). Nearer the middle of the third century, the comic contests at the Lenaia and City Dionysia were officially scaled back to an every-other-year basis (presumably the comic contests at each were staggered so that Athens had at least one major comedy competition a year). On this change in the program, see M.-O.: 158, 179. Under these circumstances, it is easy to see why the average career output for Apollodorus’ contemporaries was half that of the preceding generation. Cf. Philemon (97), Menander (108), and Diphilus (100; see Anon. De com. 3.55-62) versus Philippides (45; Suda φ 345) and Philemon II (54; Suda φ 329). 30 1.7 Production Context: Athens in the Third Century BCE Athens must have been the principal site of production for Apollodorus if not a primary residence.89 During Apollodorus’ floruit, Athens was a city of extremes. On one hand, it endured relentless economic and political hardship linked to the persistent Macedonian warfare that perennially ravaged the Attic countryside. On the other hand, the city reached its zenith as a cultural capital of the Mediterranean, breaking new ground in both philosophical thought and the arts. This is the complex context in which Apollodorus’ fragments ought to be considered. Following the first ouster of Demetrius Poliorketes as the city’s Macedonian overlord in 301 BCE, a newly independent Athens fell almost immediately under what is commonly called the ‘tyranny’ of Lachares.90 Lachares was a popular Athenian demagogue who wielded 89 Consider Athenaeus’ matter-of-fact association of Apollodorus with Athenian productions (test. 1) and the gift of Athenian citizenship that is suggested by the Suda (test. 7); from this we can infer somewhat regular participation in Athenian dramatic competitions if not extended residences. Cf. the long careers of Antiphanes (ca. 55 years) and Philemon (at least 60 years)—two other foreign poets thought to have been granted Athenian citizenship (see Anon. De com. 3.47-9, 55-6). 90 Six years earlier, Demetrius and his father, Antigonus I Monopthalmus, had been welcomed into Athens as liberators after expelling Demetrius of Phaleron—Cassander’s controversial regent governor of Athens since 317. In the years that followed, Demetrius and Antigonus received numerous honors in Athens (e.g. Diod. Sic. 20.46) as they continued to defend it against Cassander, but the city eventually grew weary of the incessant sieges and warfare that accompanied the freedom provided by the Antigonids. The Athenians also began to resent Demetrius’ extended periods of residence that were marked by escalating displays of shameless decadence and increasingly intrusive meddling in city affairs. In 301, Demetrius lost a decisive battle (and Antigonus, his life) at Ipsus against a coalition of forces assembled by Lysimachus, Seleucus, and Cassander. Upon hearing of Demetrius’ defeat, the Athenian assembly seized the opportunity and voted to never again allow a king, viz. Demetrius, to enter Athens (see Plut. Demetr. 30.4). On Demetrius Poliorketes and Athens from 307 to 301, see Mossé 1973: 108-14, Habicht 1997: 67-81, Osborne 2012: 20-3, and Harding 2015: 63-5. 31 autocratic power in the city from roughly 300 to 295.91 During this period, Cassander, a political supporter of Lachares, was allowed to regain ground in Attica before his death in 297. In 295, Demetrius Poliorketes returned to Attica. He besieged the city from land and blockaded it by sea—successfully cutting off the grain import on which Athens depended. Lachares resisted the siege as long as he was able and even resorted to despoiling sanctuaries to prolong the defense. Even so, Lachares was forced to flee the city within the year as the Athenians surrendered to their former liberator, Demetrius.92 The end of this siege marked the beginning of Demetrius’ second tenure as master of Athens which lasted from 295 to 287 BCE. Athens was granted much less autonomy under renewed Antigonid hegemony.93 The forts at Mouseion Hill and Piraeus were garrisoned by Antigonid troops and the Athenian democracy—ostensibly still intact—was overseen by several oligarchic administrators that had been appointed with the approval of Demetrius.94 The opportunity to throw off the Antigonid yoke presented itself in 287 when a joint attack on Demetrius led by Lysimachus and Pyrrhus dislodged him from Macedonia and left him in a weakened position. That year, the inspired Athenians overran the Macedonian garrison 91 Some scholars alternatively suggest that Lachares did not seize power until 296/5 (see Shear 1978: 52 n. 144), but Osborne’s recent re-examination of the evidence (2012: 27-34) makes it clear that a date nearer 300 is more likely. 92 On the ‘tyranny’ of Lachares, see Habicht 1997: 81-7, Osborne 2012: 25-34, and Harding 2015: 65-6. For an account of Lachares’ many quasi-comical escapes, see Polynaeus 3.7. 93 The Antigonid dynasty refers to the ancestral line of Macedonian kings that were descended from Antigonus I Monopthalmus. This dynasty initially ruled portions of Asia Minor and then mostly Macedonia from ca. 306 until 168 BCE when L. Aemilius Paullus defeated King Perseus at the Battle of Pydna. Demetrius Poliorketes was the immediate heir of Antigonus I. 94 Antigonid troops likely occupied most of the forts in the Attic countryside as well (Habicht 1997: 88). On Demetrius and Athens from 295 to 287, see Habicht 1997: 87-95, Osborne 2012: 34-6, and Harding 2015: 66-7. 32 stationed on Mouseion Hill, but were stopped short of taking back Piraeus by the arrival of Antigonid reinforcements. The result of this half-successful uprising was a treaty facilitated by Ptolemy that gave Athens its independence but allowed Demetrius to maintain control of Piraeus and the other Attic forts.95 Athens preserved a fragile sovereignty under democratic governance from 287 to 262 BCE while resisting constant pressure from Demetrius’ son, Antigonus Gonatas, who had taken over command of the Macedonian garrisons at Piraeus and other Attic forts. This lingering Antigonid occupation protracted Athens’ ongoing difficulty in acquiring sufficient grain to feed its population, despite relief efforts of its allies—the Ptolemies and Lysimachus.96 By the mid-280s (Theocharaki 2011: 125), Athens was able to construct the so-called Diateichisma—a defensive wall that ran north-south across the summits of the Mouseion, Pnyx, and Nymphaion Hills; this wall effectively sealed off the fortified passage linking Athens to Piraeus that had formerly been provided by the Themistoclean long walls. Athens took offensive measures at this time as well and was able to regain the forts at both Eleusis and Rhamnous. In 279, Athens was able to project their renewed sense of autarky by taking part in the Greek coalition (contributing as many as 1,500 troops) that repelled the Celtic invasion at Delphi.97 In 268 BCE, Chremonides of Aethalidae introduced a bill in Athens (IG II2 686-7) that proposed a strategic alliance between Athens, Sparta, and, implicitly, Ptolemy II Philadelphus 95 On the revolt of 287, see Habicht 1997: 95-7, Osborne 2012: 36-43, and Harding 2015: 67. Following the revolt, Demetrius set off for a disastrous campaign in Asia where he became a prisoner of Seleucus and died in captivity in 283. 96 Imported grain shipments from allied foreign kings had to come through Attica’s smaller ports and be transported to the city via guarded caravans (Harding 2015: 68). 97 On Athens ca. 287-268 BCE, see Habicht 1997: 124-42, Osborne 2012: 43-9, and Harding 2015: 68-9. 33 with the aim of liberating Greece (i.e. from Antigonus Gonatas).98 This bill was passed by the Athenian Assembly and initiated the so-called Chremonidean War. This war pitted Athens and its allies against Antigonus Gonatas in a conflict that lasted from 268 to 262. Upon its outbreak, Antigonus surrounded Athens without delay and besieged the city for the duration of the war. After its allies’ offensive efforts in the Attic countryside failed to make any impact for several years on end, Athens was finally forced to capitulate to Antigonus in 262.99 As a result, Antigonid garrisons were able to reacquire the Attic forts they had lost to Athens in the previous twenty-five years—including the fortress on Mouseion Hill—and the democratic government was once again put in check with Antigonus maintaining close oversight over city administration.100 Athens’ third and final stint as Antigonid protectorate lasted from 262 until 229, operating at first under the continued authority of Antigonus Gonatas and then his son, Demetrius II Aetolicus. In 255, Antigonus slightly loosened his grip on the city by removing the Macedonian garrisons from Mouseion Hill and several other (but not all) Attic forts. It may have also been at this point that he restored some autonomy to Athens’ democratic institutions, but it was not long before Athens was once again steeped in Macedonian warfare. From ca. 251-229, 98 Gonatas’ garrisons held key fortresses at Corinth, Chalcis, and Demetrias—the so-called “fetters of Greece” (see Polyb. 18.2.4-7); occupation of all three allowed Gonatas to control the whole of mainland Greece (south of Macedonia) efficiently and effectively. 99 Sparta attempted attacks from the south but faced opposition from the Antigonid troops stationed on Acrocorinth. Ptolemy’s forces were based in several makeshift camps set up along Attica’s coast, but they were unable to make any significant impact inland. 100 On the Chremonidean War, see Habicht 1997: 142-9, Osborne 2012: 49-50, and Harding 2015: 69-70. 34 Attica was a frequent theatre of war and target of raids.101 When Demetrius II died in 229, Athens and Aratus ransomed Piraeus and the other Attic forts from Attica’s royal Macedonian governor for 150 talents. Athens again regained complete sovereignty and was able to remain neutral in subsequent Macedonian conflicts until the turn of the century.102 Athenian religious activity was clearly impacted by the contemporary political instability, warfare, and economic crises. The hegemony of Demetrius Poliorketes and lingering presence of the Antigonid ruler cult significantly disrupted long-held Athenian religious traditions.103 The Panathenaia, City Dionysia, and Lenaia continued to be celebrated, but the ongoing instability—felt more keenly in the Attic countryside—hindered the maintenance and observance of smaller, 101 The hostilities began with the revolt of Alexander of Corinth (ca. 251-244) and concurrent uprising of Aratus of Sicyon and the Achaean League (ca. 251-241); they continued in the subsequent campaigns associated with the so-called War of Demetrius (ca. 239-229). In each of these conflicts, Athens was compelled to maintain an allegiance to the Antigonids. 102 On Athens ca. 262-229, see Habicht 1997: 150-72, Osborne 2012: 50-4, and Harding 2015: 70. 103 Athens established a local cult honoring Antigonus I and Demetrius Poliorketes as “Saviors” after they liberated the city from Demetrius of Phaleron in 307. Under Demetrius’ leadership, the City Dionysia was refashioned as the City Dionysia and Demetrieia and the Athenian calendar was manipulated so that Demetrius could be initiated into the Eleusinian Mysteries in a single ceremony. In 290, Demetrius compelled Athens to host its own Pythian games in defiance of the city’s exclusion from those at Delphi. Demetrius also took up residence in the Parthenon and was added to the depiction of Olympian gods on the sacred robe associated with the celebration of the Panathenaic games. Demetrius’ wife, Phila, was also made to be worshipped locally as Aphrodite. It was not long before the enthusiasm for Demetrius and the Antigonid cult waned. The Athenians began to disassemble the cult in earnest after the city gained independence in 287, but the process was not fully completed for another several decades. 35 localized deme cults.104 As a result, many minor cults were fatally neglected and cultic activity and development in general was inhibited.105 The third century was otherwise a cultural high point in Athens’ history. With the addition of Epicurus’ Garden (ca. 307) and Zeno’s Stoa (ca. 301) complementing the famed Academy and Lyceum, Athens became the uncontested polestar of philosophical study in the Mediterranean.106 In terms of the visual arts, Athens continued to innovate. The Hellenistic interest in “psychological” portraiture (see Pollitt 1986: 59-78), for example, appears to have originated in third-century Athens and is represented by several renowned and widely copied Athenian portraits.107 As for new literary contributions, it seems the historians Philochorus and Timaeus of Tauromenium were active in Athens at the time.108 The contemporary confluence of 104 Athens was nevertheless able to institute some new commemorative festivals (e.g. Philippides’ Demeter and Kore competition of 284/3) which had become fashionable at this time (cf. the Soteiria in Delphi). 105 On Athenian religious activity in the Hellenistic period see Parker 1996: 256-81, Leiwo 1997, Mikalson 1998. 106 Some of these schools’ most famous figures belong to this period. These include Polemon and Crates of Athens and Crantor of Soli (Platonists); Theophrastus and Straton of Lampascus (Peripatetics); Zeno of Citium and Cleanthes of Assos (Stoics); and Epicurus of Samos, Metrodorus and Themista of Lampascus, Leontion, and Hermachus (Epicureans). The Cynics Hipparchia of Maroneia and Crates of Thebes, the Skeptic Arcesilaus of Pitane, and the Pyrrhonist Timon of Phlius—who also wrote tragedies— were also in Athens at various points throughout the third century. 107 Some of the most famous examples include the well-known portraits of Menander, Demosthenes, Hypereides, and Epicurus (e.g. Getty Villa 71.AA.120, EAM 327, New Carlsberg Glyptotek 1967, and MET 11.90). 108 Philochorus compiled a comprehensive seventeen-volume history of Athens; he was apparently put to death by Antigonus Gonatas ca. 260 because of his alleged support of Ptolemy. Timaeus compiled a history of Greece, Sicily, and Italy in ca. 40 books; his work was ground-breaking for incorporating Rome into a global narrative and for introducing the Olympiad dating system. 36 talent on the Athenian dramatic stage was also unparalleled. Several members of the so-called Tragic Pleiad competed in Athens at this time;109 as for comedy, this context represented the production nexus not only of the New Comedy triad of Philemon, Menander, and Diphilus, but also of Philippides, Posidippus, and of course Apollodorus of Carystus. Since these six poets constitute the most important of the sixty-four poets of New Comedy (test. 2), it is not unreasonable to claim that the first quarter of the third century ought to represent the golden age of Athenian comedy.110 I conclude this section with an extended quotation from a certain Heracleides who provides a colorful picture of third-century Athens in a first-hand account that aptly synthesizes what has already been discussed:111 109 “The enthusiasm of Alexandrian scholars for creating catalogues of people and things considered the best and the greatest gave birth to the concept of the Tragic Pleiad. The Pleiades, the name of the seven bright stars in the Taurus constellation, was how they described the seven most outstanding tragedians of the Hellenistic period. They came ‘second’ only after the three great tragedians: Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides” (Kotlinska-Toma 2015: 51). Of its attested members, Homerus and Sositheus certainly competed in Athens; Dionysiades and Aeantiades may have as well (see M.-O.: 149 no. 64 and 66 and Kotlinska-Toma 2015: 65, 107, 111-2). 110 On the cultural activity of Athens in the Hellenistic period, see Habicht 1997: 98-123. 111 Trans. Mikalson 1998: 168-9. 37 From (Eleusis) one goes to the city of the Athenians. The road is pleasant and (the land around) all is farmed and has a humane look. But the city as a whole is dry, not well-watered, and because of its antiquity the streets are badly arranged. Most of the houses are cheap but a few are serviceable. Strangers, when they first see it, would doubt whether this is the renowned city of the Athenians, but they would quickly come to believe it. Here is what is most beautiful in the world. The theater is worth noting, large and wonderful. Athena’s temple, the so-called Parthenon, is expensive, visible from afar, and worth seeing, sitting above the theater. It creates great wonderment for those who see it. The Olympieion is only half finished, but the floor plan of the building causes wonder, and, if it had been finished, it would be the best (temple in the world). There are three gymnasia, the Academy, the Lyceum, and Cynosarges, all with woods and grass. There are all kinds of festivals, and there are diversions and recreations for the mind from all kinds of philosophers, many leisure-time activities, and continuous spectacles. All the agricultural products are inestimable, some outstanding in taste but rather sparse. The ever-present diversions, well suited to the desires of foreigners, distract their attention to what is pleasing and make them forget the hunger of the city. Because of the festivals and leisure-time activities, the (widespread) hunger is not perceived by the common people, because they cause one not to think of the provision of food. But for travelers with their own supplies there is no city like Athens for pleasure. The city has also many other pleasant things, for the neighboring cities are really suburbs of the Athenians … The inhabitants are good at creating a great reputation for craftsmen because they heap fame on even ordinary ones. The city is a wonderful place to study statuary of all types. Some of the inhabitants are ‘Atticans,’ some Athenians. The Atticans are meddlesome in their talk, deceitful, swindling, and lie in wait for foreigners. But the Athenians themselves have a grandeur of spirit, are simple in their ways, and are genuine guardians of friendship. Some lawyers run around the city, shaking down temporary residents and wealthy visitors. Whenever the Athenian state catches them, it imposes harsh punishments. The pure Athenians are a harsh audience of the arts and are constant festival goers. In general, to the degree that other cities surpass their rural areas in providing pleasure and proper guidance of life, to that degree the city of the Athenians surpasses other cities. But one must especially watch out for the courtesans, or one may, without realizing it, perish—but quite pleasantly. And there is a poem of Lysippos: ‘If you have not seen Athens, you are a log. If you have seen it but not been captivated, you are an ass. If happily you leave it, you are a mule.’ 38 1.8 Production Venue: The Theatre of Dionysus The Theatre of Dionysus Eleuthereus, located on the south-eastern slope of the Athenian Acropolis, is the only performance venue we can securely link to productions of Apollodorus’ comedy.112 This theatre remained unchanged throughout Apollodorus’ career, its form reflecting what is known as the ‘Lycurgan’ phase: a renovation of the second half of the fourth century that saw the koilon and skene fully outfitted with stone for the first time in the theatre’s history and which provided the enduring framework for all subsequent renovations.113 A first-person 112 See test. 6. 113 The subsequent renovation of the theatre—the so-called Hellenistic phase—involved a substantial transformation of the skene that would suggest the primary performance space for productions of new dramas had shifted from the orchestra level to the proskenion roof. This phase has a terminus ante quem of ca. 160-150 BCE—the TAQ of the Piraeus theatre whose skene is thought to have been modelled on the Hellenistic skene of the Theatre of Dionysus (see IG II2 2334, Frickenhaus 1917: 43 and Fiechter 1936: 76-7). The current consensus is that the Hellenistic renovation dates to ca. 200 BCE or shortly thereafter (e.g. Goette 1995: 33, Isler 2002: 537), with many linking this phase to the various Attalid benefactions of the first half of the second century (e.g. the stoas of Eumenes II and Attalus II; see Pickard-Cambridge 1946: 181-2, Valavanis 2007: 129-30). Nevertheless, Winter (2006: 103) is right to point out that there is no direct archaeological basis for a terminus post quem of this phase and that a date nearer the beginning of the third century is conceivable (e.g. Winter 1983: 46, Gogos 2005: 187-9). Close consideration of the historical conditions and new circumstantial archaeological evidence makes it clear that an early third-century renovation is highly unlikely. Between 301 and 229 Athens was relentlessly beset by various medleys of besiegement/blockades, warfare, famine, political turnover, and foreign occupation; it is difficult to fathom that under these circumstances, renovation of the theatre’s skene took any sort of priority. As pointed out by Camp, “...there are virtually no new public buildings which can be dated with confidence to the third century” (2001: 167); the only major structure that can be situated in this period is the Diateichisma—a defensive wall constructed with low-cost conglomerate and spolia (see Theocharaki 2011: 125-6). This not only confirms that Athens’ priorities were indeed far removed from cosmetic/modernizing upgrades to performance venues, but also—given the Diateichisma’s building materials—that the city did not have the funding or resources to commission a skene renovation at this time. These observations make it clear that the Hellenistic renovation probably did not occur before the last quarter of the third century and the death of Demetrius II Aetolicus (229 BCE), the withdrawal of Macedonian troops from Attica, and revival of Piraeus as an Athenian trade port. The arguments favoring a date of ca. 200 BCE or shortly after remain valid and persuasive. For a concise overview of previous scholarship and different views on this Hellenistic phase, see Papastamati-von Moock 2014: 62 n. 188. 39 perspective of this phase as seen through the eyes of a third-century theatregoer provides a clear picture of Apollodorus’ Athenian production context; this point of view not only emphasizes the audience experience, but also highlights key spatial relationships of features both within and outside the theatre that contributed to the distinct performance atmosphere of post-Menandrian productions in the Theatre of Dionysus.114 A spectator entering the theatre from the eastern parodos would have been met by a new bronze statue of Menander set against the analemma to their right, followed by the statue group of Athens’ three great tragedians (Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides) before passing through a massive wooden Doric gateway. Inside the gates, they would have found a skene to their left and an orchestra and koilon to their right; directly opposite them the western parodos would have been marked by a statue of the tragedian Astydamas that had received pride of place atop the moulding of the western analemma inside the theater gates. Should this theatregoer have made their way to the center of the orchestra before taking a seat in their assigned section, they would have been able to view the theatrical space in its entirety.115 Under their feet, a round orchestra of packed earth about twenty meters in diameter, not yet the Roman semicircular orchestra visible today, was delineated in part by an open-air stone drain and a row of elaborately decorated marble prohedriai. These seats marked the bottom of a massive asymmetrical koilon of Piraeus limestone that girded the orchestra beyond 180 114 The following description uses the traditional Greek theatre terminology of scholarship, though some terms perhaps ought to be reconsidered (see Moretti and Mauduit 2015). 115 As early as the fifth century BCE, seating for performances in the Theatre of Dionysus seems to have been assigned according to civic status; tribal associations; political, religious, diplomatic, or other honorary offices held; and possibly gender if indeed women were in attendance (see Goldhill 1997: 57-66). 40 degrees and stretched north up to the base of the acropolis face.116 The seating was divided into thirteen kerkides by twelve stairways.117 Near the top, a large diazoma—fashioned from the ancient peripatos—divided most of the koilon from a block of upper-deck seating (the epitheatron) and served as another point of ingress/egress for spectators. Along the outer edges of the koilon, several of the surrounding buildings would have been within view: the sanctuary of Asclepius would have been visible beyond the wall to the northwest as well as the southwest corner of the Parthenon roof above; slightly east of the koilon’s central axis and situated just above the epitheatron was the marble frame of Thrasyllus’ choragic monument, set into the rock of the acropolis face; finally, at the southeastern corner of the koilon wall, the pyramidal roof of Perikles’ Odeion would have been within view.118 Turning around, this spectator would have been confronted with a single-storied stone skene about twenty meters wide.119 This skene was bookended on its east and west ends by projecting columnated wings (paraskenia) which framed the primary, ground-level performance area in the space between them. The front face of the skene was a bare wall and had the capacity to accommodate three functioning stage doors.120 The skene had a flat roof that could also be 116 The koilon’s irregular form was determined by the surrounding features. It was limited on its west side by a north-south path and on its east side by the Odeion of Pericles. 117 Each of the kerkides may have been assigned to a particular tribe (Goldhill 1997: 59). 118 By this time, Thrasyllus’ monument may have also housed two additional victory tripods won by Thrasyllus’ son, Thrasykles, from 271/0 BCE. 119 Winter (2006: 102-3) argues that the ‘Lycurgan’ skene was a two-storied structure; the argument is difficult to prove as his reconstruction is heavily reliant on the use of wood. This reconstruction is not favored and is difficult to reconcile with the potential presence of a bipod crane (see discussion below). 120 Dörpfeld’s reconstruction puts columns across the entire front face of the ‘Lycurgan’ skene wall (e.g. Dörpfeld and Reisch 1896: pls. II, IV, V). This reconstruction is still accepted by some (e.g. Camp 2001: 145), but it is difficult to reconcile with the size of the skene’s foundation 41 used as a performance space.121 Behind the skene, some architectural features from the sanctuary of Dionysus would have been in view, including the roof of the Doric stoa and perhaps also the acroteria and roofing of the two temples of Dionysus to the southwest. After taking their seat, this spectator would have been met with one final feature of the surrounding area before turning their focus to the performance space; to the southwest, the fort atop Mouseion Hill would have come into view as they climbed the koilon. Depending on the year, this fort either represented a symbol of Athenian security and independence or was a grim reminder that a Macedonian threat literally loomed over the city. For the third-century theatregoer, this fort and its irresolute symbolism represented a microcosm of Athens’ contemporary circumstances and provided an unconscious visual overture for Apollodorus’ third-century productions in the Theatre of Dionysus.122 blocks (see Dinsmoor 1950: 248 n. 4; it is argued that they are too small to fit both a wall and columns); a plan with a simple wall is the more prudent reconstruction given the available evidence. 121 Centered at the back of the roof, parts of a bipod crane may have also been visible (see Papastamati-von Moock 2014: 65-72). “This machine has two masts which incline slightly towards the top (the rectangular holes on the blocks infer this slight inclination of the masts) and one erects it on a sort of a wooden threshold (oudos) (the cuttings in the stones of foundation T infer the existence of a wooden floor). The masts are fastened to the base (in part on the blocks and in part in smaller cuttings that are preserved in a conglomerate block to the west of the western hole in foundation T) and their upper ends are connected with a crossbeam, to which is fastened a block and tackle and another tackle is at the stone. The ropes are tightened either by hand or by a draught animal (or by windlasses: infra) to lift the load. This must have been a more developed and specialised lifting device as it had to raise and lower the actor as well to regulate the horizontal movement of the ‘daktylos’.” (Papastamati-von Moock 2014: 69 n. 219). 122 On the Theatre of Dionysus, e.g. Dörpfeld and Reisch 1896, Pickard-Cambridge 1946, Dinsmoor 1950, Korres 1980, 1982, Winter 1983, 2006, Townsend 1986, Polacco 1990, Csapo and Slater 1995: 79-81, Moretti 1997, 1999-2000, Gogos 2008, Papastamati-von Moock 2014, 2015, 2018. The ‘Lycurgan’ theatre I have described is based primarily on the reconstruction provided by Papastamati-von Moock 2014. 42 1.9 The Dramatic Traditions of Euboea At the turn of the third century, Athens continued to be the primary polestar of Greek drama in the Mediterranean. Participation was reserved for only the most elite poets who will have surely had to have sufficiently demonstrated their talent in smaller production contexts before earning the opportunity to compete in the Athenian Dionysia and/or Lenaia. In the case of Apollodorus and other foreign poets, we should assume that their skills were honed with productions closer to their respective homelands.123 The influence of Euboea’s distinct theatrical traditions, as an alternative to Athenian drama, therefore represents a significant consideration in the interpretation of Apollodorus’ comedy.124 Since no surviving dramatic texts can be linked to a Euboean performance context, an interdisciplinary study of the relevant material record, including sculptural, epigraphic, and architectural evidence, provides the basis for reconstructing the island’s distinct theatrical traditions.125 123 Cf. Apollodorus’ competitors in Athens: Philemon of Syracuse or Soli (e.g. IG II2 2325.161 and Suda φ 327 or Str. 14.5.8), Posidippus of Cassandreia (IG II2 2325.71 and Suda π 2111), and Diodorus of Sinope (IG II2 2319.61 and Ath. 6.235e). Hughes (2012: 40), discussing Philemon and Diphilus, similarly believes these poets began their careers with “experience closer to home.” 124 Besides Apollodorus, the island of Euboea produced several other renowned figures of Greek drama. Achaeus of Eretria, a tragic poet of the fifth century, successfully competed in Athens as a contemporary of Euripides (Suda α 4683); Menedemus of Eretria considered Achaeus’ satyr dramas second only to those of Aeschylus (Diog. Laert. 2.133). Mynniskus of Chalcis, a tragic actor and contemporary of Achaeus, also found success in Athens (e.g. IG II2 2318.119, 2325.24). He was a preferred performer of Aeschylus (Vit. Aesch. 15) and is the only non-Athenian actor to achieve stardom in the fifth century (Taplin 2019: 20). Lycophron of Chalcis, a tragic poet of the third century, was active in Alexandria and is included among the seven canonical tragedians of the Hellenistic period known as the Pleiad (Suda λ 827, Tztez. Proll.Com. 1.1-5). Like Apollodorus, these other juggernauts of Greek drama made their marks on the Athenian (and in the case of Lycrophron, Alexandrian) stage. 125 The most informative epigraphic evidence includes a group of Eretrian choragic dedications and statue bases while the theatre at Eretria represents the only relevant architectural evidence 43 Apollodorus was born into a well-established theatrical tradition. Although the position in previous scholarship, which considers only the epigraphic evidence, is that the local production of drama on Euboea is not attested before ca. 290 (e.g. Csapo and Wilson 2010: 101), my analysis of local coroplastics demonstrates that it can be more securely backdated as early as the (on these, see Csapo and Wilson 2019: 658-73). I compiled the relevant coroplastic evidence in a survey that considered theatrical figurines and masks with a documented Euboean provenience or likely Euboean origin. This survey considered thirty-five objects in collections at Chalcis, Eretria (=ME), Karystos (=MK), the National Archaeological Museum of Athens (=EAM), the British Museum (=BM), and the Louvre (=LM). Data collected for the coroplastics included context type, location, and date; place of manufacture—based on clay, fabrication technique, and find context—; regional type; stylistic date; and size. Considerations pertaining specifically to theatrical production were the dramatic genre, character type, and mask type represented; details of costume and props were also noted. Most of the objects are small in scale, ranging from about four to twenty-two centimeters in height. For those with documented find spots, most were from burial or votive contexts in Carystus, Chalcis, and Eretria. These contexts were Hellenistic or Roman in date, but based on their type and height, several objects date as early as the first quarter of the fourth century. The influence of Athens and Boeotia is evident in both style and fabrication techniques. All three dramatic genres are attested to some degree, but comedy is by far the best represented. This does not necessarily reflect local preference for the comic genre since a distribution that heavily favors the representation of comedy is indicative of dramatic monuments as a whole across the Greek Mediterranean regardless of region or time period. For representations of satyr drama and tragedy, more effort is made to preserve the dramatic illusion and de-emphasize the theatricality of the images (see MTS2: 1, Green 1994: xiv). I have no doubt overlooked some evidence of Euboean tragedy and satyr drama simply because the link to theatrical production was not explicit. The most frequently occurring character types include young women, young men, slaves, and satyrs. Most of the masks align with the types described in the ancient catalogue of Julius Pollux (4.143-54) and synthetic catalogues developed by Webster (MMC3: 13-26, MNC3 I: 6-51, MTS2: 10-20.). The costumes reflect contemporary fashion and are usually comprised of a himation draped over a chiton. Most notable among the props depicted is the stage altar which appears to be used in its familiar comic function as a sanctuary for slave characters. These broad observations are important, but their value is tempered by the varying degrees of contextual information we have for the catalogued objects. For some, we have only a limited notion of their original context. For others there has been little analysis to inform likely place of manufacture. As a result, not all the objects in this survey have equal value towards informing our understanding of Euboean theatre. I have privileged the objects with well-documented contexts, and which have received ample analysis of clay and manufacture technique as a basis for their origin. Only the most relevant objects from this composite study are discussed in detail in the following pages. 44 first quarter of the fourth century. At least three terracotta figurines support this claim (MK 432, 442, 487). Consideration of one, MK 487, is sufficient for the present discussion. MK 487 was excavated from a grave in Carystus which dates to the second half of the fourth century BCE. The figurine shows a draped standing comic actor playing a female role. The actor faces forward with his head tilted slightly downward. Bent, drawn in arms pull the actor’s himation in front of his face. The legs are straight and feet, shoulder-width apart. Enough details of an elaborate hairstyle are visible to classify the actor’s mask as Webster’s Mask V.126 This would later evolve into what Pollux calls the “Second Pseudokore.”127 The figurine has a large, distended belly and shows a long chiton under a himation which is draped diagonally across the body and over the head. Clay and context suggest local fabrication, but this figurine type may have derived from an earlier Attic one.128 The differences between this potential Attic model and the Euboean figurine are slight, but impactful. The Attic type gazes upwards rather than downwards and draws only one arm to the face rather than both.129 The fact that this figurine was likely built on a pre-existing type, but given distinct modifications suggests that it can be reasonably linked to performance. A coroplast would not 126 The arrangement of the hair, having been gathered in a bunch on top of the head, is a clear indicator of this mask type. See MMC3: 23. 127 See MMC3: 23, MNC3 I: 42-4. Chidiroglou (e.g. 2006: 1061, 1065, 2014: 38, 2015: 99) associates MK 487 with Pollux’ “Second Pseudokore” type (4.152), but since this figurine likely predates Pollux’ catalogue (often dated to the early Hellenistic period, e.g. MNC3 I: 6) it is more appropriate that its mask be discussed in terms of Webster’s synthetic catalogue which documents masks dating to the periods of Old and Middle comedy (see MMC3: 14-26). 128 See MMC3: nos. AT 10a-p. This type is represented in the New York Group (MET 13.225.23) and dates to the first quarter of the fourth century. It is very common and has been found all over the Greek Mediterranean. 129 On MK 487, see Chidiroglou 2006: 1061, 1065; 2012: 623-5; 2014: 38-9; 2015: 99. 45 have bothered to make alterations to a model unless the details mattered. In the case of theatrical figurines, details added idiosyncratic recognizability linked to specific performances. The better a coroplast was able to capture an iconic moment or distinct character, the more likely it was that they could capitalize on the enthusiasm of theatregoers wishing to conspicuously express their theatrical tastes or commemorate their experience at a particular performance. We should therefore assume that this figurine’s coroplast made the alteration to be more emblematic of a particular performance.130 The figurine’s link to performance is important because its local production, paired with the fact that this particular variation is attested nowhere but Euboea (cf. ME 16180, 16181), means that it represents some of our best evidence for the representation of early local theatrical performance on Euboea. What does the figurine tell us about the drama it represents? The distended belly is an indication of padding.131 This is a costume feature that is narrowly associated with the comic genre and, at least for female characters, it widely fell out of use by around 325 BCE.132 Since the Euboean figurine is likely based on an Attic type that dates from the first quarter of the fourth century, the belly padding should indicate a local comic performance in the first three quarters of the fourth century. Comparanda suggest that this mask type is reserved for young female characters. In images of comic performance that can be linked to known characters, the mask is 130 The use of a pre-existing type as a model for an altogether different performance makes good sense. It saves substantial time and labor in a fabrication context that requires a quick turnaround and whose subjects probably work from within a familiar repertoire of gestures and poses. 131 See Green 2002: 118. 132 See Webster 1960: 275. 46 worn by hetaerae and would-be hetaerae who are eventually discovered to be marriage-eligible citizens.133 Other figurines attest to the continued development and production of Euboean drama in the last quarter of the fourth century when Apollodorus was most likely born. One, MK 975, is particularly illustrative of this context. This figurine was excavated from a Carystian grave of the second century BCE. It shows a draped, seated actor in the guise of a male comic slave. The actor sits with his head tilted slightly to the left. A raised bent right arm cradles the side of the head while a bent left arm extends across the sternum to support the right elbow. The legs are crossed with the right ankle resting on top of the left. The mask is that of Pollux’ “Leading Slave.”134 The belly padding is subtle; the costume is comprised of a chiton and himation. The actor sits on a rectangular altar that is crowned with ionic volutes. Clay and context suggest local fabrication. Because a comic slave seated on an altar was an exceedingly popular type, it is very possible that this figurine was also based on an earlier, perhaps foreign, model.135 Nevertheless, 133 The closest visual comparanda for this figurine that have some dramatic context are the surviving images from Menander’s Perikeiromene (see especially the mosaic from Daphne and fresco from Ephesos in Gutzwiller and Çelik 2012: 583 fig. 11, 585 fig. 14 and MNC3: no. 6DP 1.2). In these images, a veiled Glykera, a would-be concubine turned marriage-eligible citizen, looks down in shame as she raises a hand to her face. These images capture a scene where Glykera has been put in an impossible situation: she can not fully defend herself against accusations of infidelity without jeopardizing her brother’s fortunate lot in life (see Gutzwiller and Çelik 2012: 582-4). We might imagine the Euboean figurine capturing a similar character type and scenario. 134 See Poll. 4.149 and MNC3 I: 26-9. The mask has a menacing expression. It has a full head of hair arranged in a tight roll that frames the face. The mask has sharply contracted brows and a short, rounded, wedge-shaped beard. Cf. EAM 4794 and BM 1919.1-6.16, which appear to be copies of MK 975 (see Chatzidimitriou 2014: 17) and which Webster et al. identify with Pollux’ “Leading Slave” (see MNC3: nos. 1AT 4a-b). 135 MNC3 (I: 229-35) documents thirty-four variations of this type. 47 this particular variation seems to be localized.136 This figurine therefore also constitutes compelling evidence for the local production of drama.137 The mask and costume indicate that this figurine represents a comic production. Because the mask type is one of the most commonly occurring in visual representations of Greek theatre, it does little to inform our understanding of the figurine beyond the fact that it is a male slave.138 The mask and costume are transitional and represent a gradual evolution in aesthetics that occurred in the second half of the fourth century.139 A more precise date within the last quarter of the fourth century is suggested by the minimized belly padding and the fact that a phallus is not visible.140 With the altar, it is tempting to reconstruct a scenario in which the slave is seeking refuge from another character because of perceived slights.141 The earliest evidence for Euboean performance venues also dates to the last quarter of the fourth century. Although at least four Euboean cities are known to have had permanent performance spaces by the Hellenistic period (Carystus, Chalcis, Eretria, and Histiaia-Oreos), 136 The other two documented examples of this exact variation were found in Eretria (EAM 4794) and Boeotia (BM 1919.1-6.16). 137 On MK 975 see Chatzidimitriou 2006: 78-81; 2009: 1073-4; 2014: 16-7, 23-4. 138 Just among terracotta objects, there are at least fourteen different types that are contemporary with MK 975 and include a “Leading Slave” mask (see MNC3: nos. 1AT 3, 1AT 11, 1AT 15, 1AT 16, 1AT 17, 1AT 18, 1DT 5, 1NT 1, 1NT 2, 1NT 3, 1NT 4, 1TT 4, 1TT 7, 1TT 9). 139 See MNC3: no. 1AT 4a. On transitional figurine types and masks, see MNC3 II: 3, 13-4. 140 See Webster 1960: 275, MNC3 I: 1. 141 Cf. Men. Per. 1-23. In this fragment, the slave Daos takes refuge at an altar to escape punishment from his master. Given the stylistic date of MK 975 and Menander’s honorary statue base in Eretria (see below), it is plausible that this figurine actually captures a local production of a Menandrian comedy. 48 only the theatre at Eretria is sufficiently preserved to inform the present discussion.142 In exploring this theatre, I work from the assumption that, as in other broadly defined geopolitical regions of mainland Greece, Euboea’s theatres may have shared a distinct architectural unity that may be represented by the surviving performance venue at Eretria.143 The theatre at Eretria is situated in the northwest corner of the city, just north of a fourth-century Temple of Dionysus.144 This south-facing theatre was medium sized and could accommodate as many as 6,400 spectators. Throughout its evolution, it was variously constructed with a combination of wood, mudbrick, poros, limestone, and marble.145 The theatre at Eretria had three distinct phases. In this initial phase, dating ca. 325 BCE, it probably had a beaten-earth orchestra and koilon comprised of tiered wooden benches erected on a gentle slope. A pi-shaped skene, roughly thirty meters by ten, had a mudbrick superstructure erected on a stone foundation. Little else can be said with any certainty about this initial phase, but the provision of a skene indicates that this theatre could accommodate the basic production needs of contemporary Greek drama as we know it. 142 Epigraphic evidence confirms the existence of theatres in the other three cities (see ME 1157, 54-6 [Le Guen 2001 II: 43]). There is no architectural evidence for the theatre at Histiaia-Oreos. Chapman (1993: 81) hypothesized a possible location for the Carystus theatre, but the area has yet to be sufficiently surveyed. Storchi (2019) has recently located the theatre at Chalcis. 143 On the architectural relationship between theatres at the regional level, cf. the Attic trend of rectilinear orchestras (e.g. Athens, Euonymon, Ikaria, Rhamnous) or the Boeotian preference for seatless koila (e.g. Koroneia, Plataiai, Tanagra, Valley of the Muses; see Germani 2015: 356). 144 The theatre’s spatial relationship to the temple resembles that of the Theatre and Sanctuary of Dionysus Eleuthereus in Athens. 145 On the theatre at Eretria, see most recently Isler 2007, 2017: 278-81, and Csapo and Wilson 2019: 664-7. 49 At the dawn of the third century and beginning of Apollodorus’ career, the evidence for Euboea’s theatrical traditions becomes more substantial. The clearest evidence is an inscription that details a pan-Euboean effort to co-organize a series of local dramatic festivals (ME 1157 [IG XII.9, 207]).146 The surviving example of this official decree (of the four original) is inscribed on a marble stele found near the Temple of Apollo Daphnephorus in Eretria.147 Thanks to an internal reference to Demetrian currency, it can be precisely dated somewhere between 294 and 288 BCE.148 The decree outlines the annual hiring, compensation, itinerary, and legal rights of a single cohort of diverse performers that were collectively employed by four Euboean cities to compete in a perennial festival circuit. After plans were finalized in Chalcis in the fall, the circuit began in the early winter with the Dionysia in Carystus and then continued north with the Dionysias of Eretria, Chalcis, and Histiaia-Oreos. From there, the performers worked their way back through the same cities in reverse order for the Demetrieia, an annual festival in honor of Demetrius Poliorketes. By the late spring they would have arrived back in Carystus where they were retained to participate in the Carystian Aristonikeia, a festival dedicated to a local hero and companion of Alexander. This inscription provides substantial insight about the local dramatic tradition. First, multiple comic and tragic troupes are included among the performers to be hired. It therefore provides our most unambiguous evidence for the local production of comedy and tragedy on 146 See most recently Le Guen 2001 II: 41-56 and Slater 2010. 147 The inscription makes it clear that this decree was also to be set up in Carystus, Chalcis, and Histiaia-Oreos (54-6, Le Guen 2001 II: 43). 148 See Pickard-Cambridge 1988: 282. 50 Euboea.149 A clause on judging also confirms that the troupes’ performances in this circuit were competitive in nature.150 Finally, the fact that there does not seem to be specific provision for incorporating Euboean performers or local content perhaps demonstrates a willingness to embrace the broad range of performance types one might expect from an international, itinerant, and eclectic performance cohort. The fact that four Euboean cities were able to hire these same performers suggests that these expectations were shared at a regional level. Another inscription of the early Hellenistic period suggests a local appreciation for contemporary Athenian drama. A statue base bearing the name MENANDROS was discovered near the theatre at Eretria. According to letter forms, the inscription can be dated to the late fourth or early third century. Based on its find context and the limited evidence for the local use of this name, we can assume the statue associated with this base depicted the prolific Athenian comic poet.151 As Nervegna has observed (2013: 38), an honorary statue is surely indicative of local, in-person production.152 149 In Athens, satyr drama was linked to the production of tragic trilogies. The local production of tragedies, as attested in the Chalcis decree, may imply the local production of satyr drama. Coroplastic evidence seems to support a local appreciation for satyr drama in the Hellenistic period (e.g. EAM 383, 3987, MET 4469), and perhaps even earlier (see LM CA 92.1887, BM 1894.1204.9). 150 It seems likely that earlier dramatic performances were also competitive. This is suggested by the fact that several of the fourth-century choragic dedications at Eretria were designed to hold tripods (e.g. ME M 500, ME 1123 [IG XII.9, 273]). 151 See Nervegna 2013: 37-8, Csapo and Wilson 2019: 667. Of the ten LGPN entries for Menander on Euboea, only two date before the second century BCE (see I: 305 nos. 46 and 47 [from Dystos and Styra]). 152 On the statue base, e.g. Fittschen 1991, Nervegna 2013: 37-8, Csapo and Wilson 2019: 667, Di Napoli (forthcoming). 51 The beginning of the third century also witnessed the first major renovation to the theatre at Eretria.153 At this time, the theatre was outfitted in stone and the orchestra was sunk at a depth of just over three meters. The koilon took the form of a stilted half circle and now included thirty rows of seats divided into eleven kerkides by twelve stairways. The orchestra was given its circular shape which was defined in part by the addition of a semicircular drain on its northern edge. This phase also saw the addition of an underground tunnel which led from the center of the orchestra to the inside of the newly added proskenion. The new proskenion communicated with the back wall of the skene through a massive new vault running through its center. The diameter of the orchestra, at about eighteen and a half meters, is only slightly smaller than the ‘Lycurgan’ orchestra at Athens.154 We can therefore assume it could similarly accommodate as many as fifty performers at a time, as was required for Athenian dithyrambic competitions. It was certainly sufficient for the much smaller choruses that were associated with theatrical productions which were comprised of only twelve to twenty-four performers. With the addition of a proskenion, Eretria could also accommodate productions that required multi-level performance spaces, as is required of several surviving Athenian dramas.155 This theatre, it seems, met the basic needs for the production of most Athenian drama as we know it. 153 The third and final phase of this theatre dates somewhere to the middle of the second century BCE and is therefore outside the scope of the present discussion. This last phase was largely a repair effort, perhaps associated with damage from the Roman siege of the city during the second Macedonian War in 198. Several walls associated with the stage buildings were replaced, more marble was incorporated, and the paraskenia were redesigned. At this point, we can definitively say that thyromata were added to the front face of the skene. 154 The ‘Lycurgan’ orchestra is estimated to have been about twenty meters in diameter (e.g. Csapo and Slater 1995: 80). 155 E.g. Aesch. Ag., Soph. Aj., Eur. Or., Ar. Lys. 52 This renovated theatre, however, is somewhat distinct for the assortment of stage effects it could accommodate. A local interest in visual effects is made most explicit by the addition of a thirteen-meter long subterranean tunnel that ran under the orchestra. This tunnel provided a unique underground access point to the orchestra from an entrance inside the skene (hidden from the audience’s view). The tunnel correlates to what Pollux calls Charonean steps (4.128, 132) which, he suggests, could be used for the dramatic entrance of underworld ghosts. A different sort of stage effect is indicated by a pair of bases found just north of the outside corners of each paraskenion. These, it has been suggested (see Isler 2017: 280), were foundations for a mechane—a crane that could hoist actors or objects into mid-air that was often used for the appearance of divine figures. Based on their position, I think they may indicate a different sort of mechane. Vitruvius and Pollux write of certain mechanai that could be set up on each side of the stage to operate periaktoi (Vitr. 5.6, 8. Poll. 4.126, 130). These were large triangular prisms painted with different types of scenery on each of their faces. During performances, these landscape prisms could be rotated to indicate a change in locale. Finally, a series of grooved marble plates found in the skene suggests yet another stage effect. This series of consecutive marble plates were arranged in one of two parallel lines that seem to have run the length of the skene. These slabs were set just inside the frame of the skene’s middle door and central intercolumniation of the interior colonnade. Crucially, a shallow groove was cut into the middle of these slabs which ran the length of the arrangement. Fossum (1898), who documented the now lost plates, reasonably concluded that these were in fact tracks for an ekkyklema. This stage device was comprised of a wheeled platform that could be rolled onto the stage from within the skene as a means of conveying interior action. Although this particular 53 feature seems to be associated with the skene’s third phase, it nevertheless signals a continued interest in visual effects and spectacle.156 The other feature that makes Eretria’s renovated theatre distinct is its unusually deep stage. Most Hellenistic skenai are characterized by a long, narrow proskenion with a depth of only two to three meters.157 At Eretria, the depth among various reconstructions leading up to its final phase ranges from six to twelve meters. This depth allows for more props and perspective scenery to convey a more persuasive illusion. It also allows for a more trajectorial performance style in three dimensions as opposed to a lateral performance in relief which is necessitated by a narrow stage. Finally, it provides space for substantially more performers; at its size, the Eretrian skene could conceivably accommodate an entire dramatic chorus. The deep stage will have also required a more hyperbolic style of acting in order to effectively convey meaning. This means more exaggerated gestures and movement as well as a need to project more than usual in the delivery of lines and singing of songs. It would have similarly demanded more of stagecraft. Masks, costumes, and props would have been more vivid and pronounced in order to be effective from the deeper Eretrian stage. In terms of the sculptural evidence, it is obvious that the local appreciation for New Comedy continued and that Euboean dramatic productions kept pace with contemporary developments in stagecraft throughout the third century. This observation can be clearly demonstrated by MK 746—a terracotta theatre mask excavated from a Carystian grave dating to the end of the third century. The mask depicts a young woman from Greek comedy. The mask 156 On these plates, see Fossum 1898. 157 Cf. the Hellenistic proskenia of the theatres at Delos and Corinth which also date to ca. 300 BCE. 54 has a full, young face with a straight nose. The hair is gathered up on top of the head and arranged to leave a triangular shape visible on the forehead. Tresses on the sides cover the ears. Traces of red pigment also survive. These are the characteristics that define Pollux’ “Full-grown hetaera” mask.158 Clay and context again speak to local production.159 The fact that it is a mask (rather than a figurine) and that its pupils are not punctured means that this object can be reasonably dated to the third century.160 Comparanda demonstrate that this mask type was worn by hetaerae in New Comedy.161 Its features also show that it was designed in the so-called New Style—a development in mask design that adopted Lysippan aesthetics.162 Masks of the New Style were slimmer, more natural looking, and increasingly idiosyncratic. The faces were more squared and their prominent eyelids had a characteristic laziness to them. What does this composite analysis of archaeological evidence say about the Euboean theatrical tradition that helped shape Apollodorus’ poetry? Apollodorus was part of a local theatre tradition that included the production of comedy, tragedy, and satyr drama. This tradition was agonistic and likely embraced a broad spectrum of international performers and content. This tradition had perhaps been in existence since the beginning of the fourth century and 158 See Poll. 4.153 and MNC3 I: 45-6. 159 On MK 746, see Chidiroglou 2006: 1068, 2012: 621, 2014: 37. 160 See MNC3 I: 3, 54. The mask may well depict a character from a performance associated with the third-century travelling troupes described in the Chalcis decree. 161 Cf. Chrysis in the Mytilene Samia mosaic (Charitonidis et al. 1970: pl. 4.1). 162 On New Style masks, see MNC3 I: 14, 55. 55 continued to thrive throughout the third.163 Euboean productions may have been characterized by a flare for visual spectacle and required exaggerated acting and stagecraft to be effective. Athenian drama was clearly appreciated; Apollodorus himself may have even seen local productions of Menander when he was young. Nevertheless, Euboean drama seems to have stayed on the cutting edge; its relationship with Athens was therefore not necessarily dependent, but competitive. 1.10 Language and Style The sample size of Apollodorus’ work is admittedly small; nevertheless, some linguistic and poetic tendencies emerge which may be indicative of Apollodorus’ wider practice. The fragments show the increasing influence of koine on Athenian theatrical production. Apollodorus used articular infinitives freely (5.1, 5.2, 5.15), preferred γίνομαι over γίγνομαι (11), used newer 163 Local production clearly continued after the third century. This is suggested not only by another renovation of the theatre at Eretria, but also by the coroplastic evidence. By the later Hellenistic period, we also get more firm evidence for the appreciation of satyr drama. EAM 13626 and 3987 are satyr masks excavated from graves in Eretria and Chalcis dating to the late Hellenistic and early Roman periods respectively. Their size and style suggest they date no earlier than the second century BCE. A series of other masks on display in the National Archaeological Museum of Athens shows sustained local interest in all three dramatic genres by the beginning of the Roman empire. EAM 13622, 13623, and 13625 were excavated from a series of graves in Chalcis that date as late as the second century CE. Based on their stylization and form, the masks can be dated somewhere between the first century BCE and first century CE. EAM 13625 represents a wreathed comic slave wearing the mask of Pollux’ “Leading Slave” or “Wavy-Haired Leading Slave.” EAM 13622 is a mask of a young satyr (distinguished from a youth by its bestial ears). EAM 13623 may derive from tragedy and represent a young woman correlating to Pollux’ “Long-Haired Pale” mask. These masks are important because they show that local interest in the theatre survived the island’s tumultuous incorporation into the Roman province of Achaea following the dissolution of the Euboean League. They also show that Euboean drama continued to stay current in its stagecraft. We can see this especially in the excessively oversized trumpet mouth of the slave mask and in the increasing stylization and height of the onkos of the tragic mask. The local production of theatre, it seems, probably continued at least into the first century CE. 56 verbs formed from prepositional compounds (ἀντευεργετέω, 2; συνεπιμελέομαι, 17) and newer diminutive nouns (οἰνάριον, 30).164 In addition, as pointed out by Meineke (FCG I: 468-9), ancient grammarians (and Meineke himself) have found fault with some of Apollodorus’ vocabulary from an Atticist’s perspective (e.g. σακκοπήρα, 1; στρωματεύς, 2; ἐγκομβόομαι, 4). Nevertheless, Apollodorus’ fragments show that he continued to prefer some older Attic forms (oftentimes the same as older Euboean forms) in the face of the increasing influence of koine in the third century.165 Apollodorus, for example, continued to use a double tau (ττ) instead of a double sigma (σσ) (see γλωττόκομον, 7). Fragments also show him using an archaizing Attic accusative plural form of an ευ-stem noun (Εὐβοῆς, 5.25), the traditional Attic Ἄρη rather than Ἄρεα or Ἄρην as the accusative singular of Ἄρης (31), and the distinctly Attic νῡνί alongside the more international form, νῦν (cf. 5.4 and 17). This partial koineization evident in Apollodorus’ fragments in some ways resembles Menander’s language.166 Like Apollodorus, Menander also tended towards γίνομαι over γίγνομαι, yet continued to prefer the duplicated -ττ- over -σσ-; however, Apollodorus’ fragments do not demonstrate a linear development towards increasing koineization from the comedies of Menander a generation earlier. Apollodorus, for example, does not follow Menander’s koine-leaning inclination to limit or postpone connective particles (e.g. γάρ, see 5.9, 10, 25, 29, 30, 31). In terms of their lexical relationship, Apollodorus’ vocabulary may have been closer to that of Diphilus’ than Menander’s. Consider, for example, that neither σακκοπήρα (1) nor μαρσίππιον 164 Each of these are hallmarks of koine Greek. On articular infinitives, see Horrocks 1997: 46. On γίγνομαι v. γίνομαι, see Horrocks 1997: 35. On the increasing use of verbs formed from prepositional compounds and new diminutive nouns, see Colvin 2007: 68. 165 On the Euboean (i.e. West Ionic) dialect, e.g. Buck 1955: 143, Colvin 2007: 36. 166 On Menander’s language, e.g. Horrocks 1997: 53-6, Sommerstein 2013: 46-8. 57 (15) occur elsewhere in the extant corpus of Greek comedy; however, the transliteration of these words (which are otherwise rare in Latin) in Plautus’ Rudens (548; 547, 1313) as well as the latter again in Casina (490) suggests that Diphilus also used these highly uncommon words. In sum, Apollodorus’ language and lexicon, like Menander’s, indicate a respect for the influence of the increasingly standardized international Greek dialect, yet hold fast to some local idiosyncrasies. Nevertheless, it is clear that Apollodorus was not concerned with close imitation or development of the grammatical choices and vocabulary used by his illustrious predecessor, but had a dramatic language that was distinctly his own. Poetically, a predilection for a few particular literary devices emerges. The fragments of Apollodorus show strong representation of antithesis/juxtaposition (5.1-3, 5.6, 5.10-3, 11.2, 22, 30.3-4, 31.1-2, 32) and polyptoton/figura etymologica (5.11, 5.21-2, 10, 23, 25, 30.2-3, 31). There is also sufficient evidence to suggest that consonance (4.2, 5.4. 5.25, 25, 29.4), assonance (11.1, 22.1, 29.5, 31.2) metaphor (5.15-6, 9, 13, 22), and aphorisms (6, 8, 10, 11, 22, 27) were devices that defined Apollodorus’ poetics. The fragments also show at least two examples of alliteration (5.26, 31.1), hyperbole (24, 28), tautology (5.4-7, 15), tricola (5.5-8, 31), hendiadys (5.25-6, 30.2), and asyndeton (5.19-25, 29.4-5). 1.11 The Fragments of Apollodorus Incertus Previous scholarship tends to assign the twenty-four comic fragments that sources attribute to an Apollodorus without a distinguishing loconym to the poet from Carystus. This is based on the assumption that the Carystian outshone the Geloan in reputation to such a degree that a distinguishing modifier eventually became superfluous as well as the broad observation 58 that several fragments of the Carystian and this unspecified Apollodorus display similar moralizing themes.167 Having reconstructed a poetic identity of Apollodorus of Carystus—grounded in his linguistic, poetic, and dramatic tendencies—it is now possible to reconsider the attribution of these fragments based on a more comprehensively considered, objective foundation. The table below reflects such a re-examination of these fragments and postulates attribution to Apollodorus of Carystus as likely, potential, or inconclusive.168 This analysis demonstrates that Apollodorus of Carystus likely wrote Apollod.Inc. 1, 6, 7, 14, and 16 while there are some indications he may have penned 2, 3, 8, 9, 15, 17, 18, and 19. Apollod.Inc. 2, 5, 10-13, and 20-4 provide insufficient evidence to assign potential authorship to Apollodorus of Carystus. 167 E.g. Webster 1970: 225-6, FCN: 35. 168 Analysis is based on the texts provided in the PCG (II: 506-16). 59 Fragment Apollod.Car. Attribution Notes 1 Likely cf. esp. vv. 1-2 and Apollod.Car. 5.12, 11; antithesis/juxtaposition, polyptoton/figura etymologica, metaphor. 2 Inconclusive 3 Potential hendiadys, aphorism (?), un-delayed γάρ. 4 Potential antithesis/juxtaposition, un-delayed γάρ. 5 Inconclusive 6 Likely antithesis/juxtaposition, polyptoton/figura etymologica, articular infinitive (with ζῆν, cf. Apollod.Car. 5.1, 5.15). 7 Likely antithesis/juxtaposition, polyptoton/figura etymologica, -ττ- v. -σσ-. 8 Potential cf. Apollod.Car. 10; aphorism (?). 9 Potential cf. Apollod.Car. 5.1-2; aphorism (?), -ττ- v. -σσ-. 10 Inconclusive 11 Inconclusive aphorism. 12 Inconclusive cf. Apollod.Car. 4 and 29.2. 13 Inconclusive169 political, personal attack, sycophant character (?). 14 Likely cf. implications of Apollod.Car. 9; antithesis/ juxtaposition, polyptoton/figura etymologica, assonance, un-delayed γάρ, articular infinitive, -ττ- v. -σσ-. 15 Potential cf. Apollod.Car. 23; polyptoton/figura etymologica 16 Likely antithesis/juxtaposition, polyptoton/figura etymologica, assonance, un-delayed γάρ; cf. esp. vv. 3-4 and Apollod.Car. 5.1-2. 17 Potential antithesis/juxtaposition, polyptoton/figura etymologica 18 Potential cf. Apollod.Car. 18; polyptoton/figura etymologica, aphorism (?). 19 Potential cf. Apollod.Car. 5.17-8, 11; aphorism (?), hendiadys, un-delayed γάρ. 20 Inconclusive 21 Inconclusive 22 Inconclusive 23 Inconclusive 24 Inconclusive Table 1.2 The Apollodorus Incertus fragments and probable of authorship by Apollodorus of Carystus. 169 Despite displaying some of the elements that help distinguish the New Comedy of Apollodorus of Carystus, there are very few linguistic or poetic links and the tone is decidedly unlike that of any fragments of the poet from Carystus. 60 Chapter 2: The Fragments In this chapter, I offer a discursive commentary on all the extant fragments that are positively identified as coming from the works of Apollodorus of Carystus. There are thirty-two fragments, and I follow the numeration of Kassel and Austin (PCG), who present the fragments in alphabetical order by play title. For each fragment, I provide the Greek text, an English translation, and a full discussion of textual, interpretative, historical, and literary issues. Conclusions are drawn about each fragment individually; an integrative interpretation of Apollodorus as a playwright is offered in Chapter 5. For the most part, only a single fragment for each play survives, but there are two fragments for Diabolos (fr. 6-7), seven for Hekyra (fr. 8-14), and thirteen for Epidikazomenos (fr. 16-28). In addition, there are testimona associated with some plays; these are considered with the relevant fragments. 2.1 AMPHIARAOS 1 The evidence for Amphiaraos is limited to one fragment, comprised of three verses of iambic trimeter, each in a different state of preservation. It has been preserved by Pollux (10.161) who includes the Apollodorus excerpt to inform a discussion on saddlebags. The fragment is drawn from a dialogue in which an incensed speaker speculates that an object tossed in a saddlebag will likely make its way onto an ass. 61 Ἀμφιάραος1 ἐμβαλόντες, ὦ πονηρὲ σύ, εἰς σακκοπήραν αὐτὸν ἐπιθήσουσί που ἐφ᾽ ὑποζύγιον. Amphiaraus2 You wretch! After they toss it in the saddlebag, I bet they’ll put it on an ass!3 1-2 σύ, … αὐτὸν codd.: σὲ … ἀυτίκ’ Meineke, sed vid. ad Ar. fr. 26 2 ἐπιθήσουσί ABCL: ἐπιτιθέασίν FS (PCG II: 487). 1 The manuscripts agree on the form of the title, but Meineke (FCG IV: 440) offered a correction that was appealing enough to be adopted by some subsequent editors (CAF III: 280, FAC IIIA: 184). Meineke gives Ἀμφιάρεως as the title in his edition, a form which reflects an earlier Attic dialect. This correction, however, need no longer be given serious consideration. The Greek of the third century was defined in part by the increasing standardization of traditionally anomalous forms such as the Attic declension Meineke provides (see Palmer 1980: 180 and Horrocks 1997: 35-6). This trend can be traced to some degree in the development of New Comedy. While early writers of the genre continued to use the Attic declension (e.g. Alex. 41.3 [νεώι] and Philem. 127.2 [νεὼν]), Menander tended to resist it (e.g. Leuk. 5 [ναόν]; see also Horrocks 1997: 53). So too did Posidippus, an immediate rival of Apollodorus (e.g. 31.1, [ναοὶ]). The diverse sources for the Amphiaraos of Sophocles, Cleophon, and Philippides (another close contemporary of Apollodorus) unanimously attest to the non-Attic form. Finally, while it is possible that the title recorded in Pollux’ manuscripts reflects a corrupted form (cf. Aristophanes’ Amphiaraos at Poll. 7.181 and 10.92 where Attic, non-Attic, and other clearly corrupted forms are attested among the different manuscripts), there should be some authority in the unanimity among four manuscripts born of two different families (CL derive from ε and FS from γ according to Bethe’s stemma). Like Kassel and Austin (PCG II: 487) and Perez Asensio (FCN: 95), I work from the form provided by the manuscripts. 2 Cf. “Amphiarüs” (FAC IIIA: 185); “Amfiaraos” (FCN: 95). 3 Cf. “I suppose, you knave, they’ll put him in a donkey’s packsaddle” (FAC IIIA: 185); “Malvat!, havent-lo ficat dins un sac el posaran damunt la bèstia” (FCN: 96). 62 Textual Notes The text provided by the manuscripts raises no serious questions and offers only one variant.4 For the main verb, some manuscripts provide the future tense ἐπιθήσουσι while others give the present tense ἐπιτιθέασιν. Both are metrically and grammatically possible and neither one works against the sense of the fragment more than the other.5 I therefore defer to the judgement of previous editors in adopting the future tense form provided by the dominant manuscript tradition.6 Commentary Πονηρέ indicates that the fragment was drawn from a dialogue that included a single male addressee. Based on Menander’s use of πονηρός, the speaker is probably a male slave or old man and the addressee most likely belongs to the same stock type as the speaker.7 4 Meineke offers a correction at vv. 1-2 that would replace σύ … αὐτὸν with σὲ … ἀυτίκ’ (FCG IV: 440). This correction is mindful of metrical and grammatical considerations and not without merit (cf. Ar. Eq. 712), but the case for the text provided by the manuscripts is stronger. The correction faces a unanimous manuscript tradition that does not give cause for concern and there are ample comparanda from comedy which attest to the use of this exact vocative formula (i.e. ὦ πονηρὲ σύ, see Ar. 26, Men. Her. 6, Sik. 150). In addition, comparanda indicate that it is unlikely for the item stored in this fragment’s σακκοπήρα to have been a human character (discussed further below). I follow all later editors in rejecting the correction (see CAF III: 280, FAC IIIA: 184, PCG II: 487, and FCN: 96). 5 Note, however, that the scansion for the present tense is highly dactylic and a bit clunky. 6 See also FCG IV: 440, CAF III: 280, FAC IIIA: 184, PCG II: 487, FCN: 96. 7 Among the well-preserved comedies of Menander, there are twelve instances of πονηρός wherein a reasonably identifiable character type is describing another. Male slaves are speaking in six of these (Asp. 192, Dys. 587, Epit. 373, Her. 6, Per. 17, Pk. 377; I’ve included here Daos [Epit. 373] and Sosias [Per. 17] because these names are common slave names in New Comedy though they are not explicitly identified as such in the surviving texts); old men are speaking in four of these instances (Asp. 316, 369, Sik. 150, 156; The speakers at Sik. 150 and 156 are not explicitly identified in the text, but I follow Arnott [III: 241] that both are old men, one of which is Smikrines). Notably all examples that are spoken by slaves are also addressed to slaves (five 63 Based on Pollux’ claim that σακκοπήρα was a term used by ἰδιῶται, we could further speculate that the speaker is a rustic or simpleton (FCN: 28).8 A σακκοπήρα generally denotes a “knapsack” or “wallet” (LSJ), but the context in which it is used in Poll. 10.161, where it is set against the σάγματα μὲν οὖν ὑποζυγίων (“asses’ pack-saddles”), suggests something more akin to a saddlebag in the case of the Amphiaraos fragment.9 The word is extremely rare, but its use in two Hellenistic papyri (PEnteux.32.7, PLond.2.402v.16), its translation in Plautus’ Rudens (sacciperio, 548), and an occurrence of its root word, πήρα, in Menander (Epit. 363) provide some insight for the interpretation of this fragment.10 In each of these comparanda, the bag holds an object or objects; it therefore seems more likely that the αὐτόν of the fragment refers to a masculine object and not a man (pace FCG IV: 440, FAC IIIA: 185).11 These comparanda also give a basis for speculating on the exact nature of the object represented by αὐτόν. The Hellenistic papyri demonstrate that a σακκοπήρα could be used to store military equipment (e.g. a coat of mail and its undergarment, a soldier’s cloak, a machaira [?]). A play featuring a mercenary would not be out of place in an Athenian male, one female); it is the same in the case of the four examples of old men. The four of these twelve instances of πονηρός which are set in the vocative maintain this pattern (three slave to slave, one old man to old man; see Dys. 587, Epit. 373, Her. 6, Sik. 150). We cannot rule out the possibility that Amphiaraus himself was a participant in this dialogue as well. See Men. Asp. 140 where the goddess Tyche uses πονηρός to describe an old man (Smikrines). 8 Cf. Daos (Men. Dys.) and Truculentus (Plaut. Truc.) or Knemon (Men. Dys.) and Demea (Ter. Ad.). 9 An ancient image of a donkey’s packsaddle can be seen on a cameo from the Thorvaldsen Museum in Copenhagen in Isager and Skydsgaard 1992: 88 pl. 5.3. 10 Sacciperium occurs nowhere else in Latin literature; we should assume it represents a translation of σακκοπήρα from Diphilus’ comedy. See Sonnenschein 1914: 103. 11 Perez Asensio’s Catalan translation (FCN: 96) maintains the ambiguity of the Greek text in choosing “lo” for αὐτὸν which could equally represent a masculine person or object. 64 comedy of the third century BCE.12 In Plautus’ Rudens, a sacciperium stored Charmides’ wallet (marsuppium, 547).13 Based on the available evidence, money wallets play a larger role in Roman comedy than they do in Greek comedy.14 Finally, Menander’s Epitrepontes gives reason to suspect that αὐτόν could refer to a recognition token of some sort.15 At 218-375, Smikrines, acting as arbitrator, rules that Daos must relinquish the items found with an abandoned baby to its new caretaker, Syros. At 363, Syros makes it clear that these items—which turn out to be recognition tokens— are stored in a πήρα. Although it is not explicitly a σακκοπήρα, another close correlation with the Amphiaraos gives weight to this comparandum.16 Ten lines after Syros draws attention to the πήρα, Daos addresses him with the same vocative formula used in the Amphiaraos fragment, ὦ πό[ν]ηρ’.17 12 Cf. Menander’s Kleostratos (Asp.) Polemon (Pk.), Stratophanes (Sik.), and very nearly Moschion (Sam.). 13 This word is probably a translation of μαρσίππιον in Diphilus’ comedy; the evidence for marsuppium is limited almost exclusively to Roman comedy. 14 See my discussion on Apollod.Car. 15 for more on the μαρσίππιον/marsuppium in New Comedy. 15 A few comedies that rely on a single recognition token include Men. Mis., Sik., Ter. Eun., Haut., and Hec. (Vester 2013: 216). 16 On the relationship between sacciperium and πήρα, Marx (1959: 134) does suggest that the two were related. 17 Potential contexts based on the use of this vocative formula elsewhere in Menander are unhelpful. They include dialogues (Her. 6, Sik. 150) and a possible comic aside (Dys. 587) as well as a spectrum of tones ranging from abusive (Sik. 150) to the rather pitiable (Dys. 587, Her. 6). This flexibility of tone for πονηρός has similarly been noted by Gomme and Sandbach (1973: 387) as well as Hunter (1983: 106). Notably, all of these instances of the vocative πονηρός (including Epit. 373) occur during the first half of the play. 65 Ὑποζύγιον is also poorly attested in comedy.18 This word originally denoted beasts of burden of any type, but by the third century BCE seems to have become more narrowly associated with an ass in particular.19 The fervor expressed by the fragment’s speaker (ὦ πονηρὲ σύ) suggests that an ass and the bag represented a significant potential conflict in the comedy;20 the ass may have even appeared on stage (cf. Men. fr. 844.3).21 A staged ass, broadly speaking, indicates travel of some sort (e.g. Xanthias, Ar. Ran.). As Menander’s Aspis demonstrates, this travel could include military campaigns (see 1-96 and σκευοφόρα at 141). Given the correlation between σακκοπήρα and military implements or other items that might be considered campaign spoils (e.g. money or valuable recognition tokens), it is within reason to suspect that Amphiaraos involved a soldier returning from, or preparing to depart (see Moschion, Sam.) on campaign.22 18 There is in fact only one other example, Pherecr. 71, which does little to inform the present discussion. 19 See LSJ: ὑποζύγιον. Cf. Hdt. 9.39 and Pl. Leg. 873e v. PCair.Zen.158, PPetr.3p.56 LXX Za. 9.9. The ass is the most frequently occurring beast of burden in Menander. Ὄνος occurs eleven times, βοῦς five, and ἵππος four – there is no evidence for ἡμίονος (survey based on Katsouris’ concondance [2004]). Aside from the ass, the other animals included in this survey were chosen based on Xenophon’s taxonomy of ὑποζύγια (Oec. 18.4). 20 It is conceivable that ὺποζύγιον in this fragment is a term of abuse and refers to a person, though there is little evidence for the use of ὺποζύγιον in this way. 21 Τὸν ὄνον ὁρᾶν ἔξεστι πρῶτα τουτονί. The τουτονί suggests that the ass was on stage (Gomme and Sandbach 1973: 717). 22 In Men. Mis., the sword is both a military implement and a recognition token. 66 How does the title inform our understanding of this comedy?23 On one hand, it might give an indication of the play’s setting.24 The fact that Amphiaraus was an authentic, well-established local deity—as opposed to a deified concept such as Tyche (Men. Asp.) or Agnoia (Men. Pk.)—raises the possibility that Amphiaraos involved or even staged a known Amphiaraus sanctuary (cf. Pan and the Phyle sanctuary in Men. Dys.).25 The most famous Amphiareion in Attica, if not the Greek world, was the oracular healing sanctuary at Oropos;26 however, by the 23 Other plays that share this title can be firmly attributed to Sophocles, Cleophon, Aristophanes and Philippides. The Amphiaraos of Cleophon may be a misattribution and actually belong to Iophon (see TrGF I: 246 n. 1). An Amphiaraos is also sometimes associated with Plato and Carcinus II. In the case of Plato, it is generally accepted that the title is a corruption of his better attested Αἱ ἀφ’ ἱερῶν (see Plato Com. 14; PCG VII: 438 and Storey III: 98-9). As for Carcinus II, the title is a modern supposition (see TrGF I: 211 fr. 1c) based on an unassigned fragment that includes Amphiaraus as a character (see Arist. Poet. 17.1455a.26). Titles drawn from mythology are fairly common in New Comedy, but most comparanda are too fragmentary to be of value in this discussion. Menander had at least five comedies with mythological titles (Dardanos, Heros, Nemesis, Pseudoherakles, Trophonios), Diphilus nine (Anagyros, Danaides, Hekate, Herakles, Heros, Lemniai, Peliades, Pyrra, Theseus) and Philemon five (Heroes, Myrmidones, Neaira, Palamedes, Phoinix?). See also Dionysos (Alexand.Com.), Eileithyia (Nicom.Com.), Helene (Alexand.Com.), Hermaphroditos (Posidipp.), Kentauros (Lync., Theognet.), Mousai (Euphro), Pan (Timostr.), Pseudoajax (Apollod.Gel.), Sisyphos (Apollod.Gel.), and Theon Agora (Euphro). 24 There are twelve plays among Menander’s well-preserved corpus for which we have a reasonable idea of the setting. Nine take place within Attica (Asp., DE., Dys., Epit., Her., Kith., Sam., Sik., Phasm.; those not set within Attica include Leuk. [Leukas], Pk. [Corinth], Syn. [Sicyon]). Athens is the predominant setting among the comedies set in Attica, but Athens did not have a sanctuary dedicated to Amphiaraus—only a statue (see Paus. 1.8.3). 25 A pilgrimage, as in Menander’s Dyskolos, is one possible explanation for the inclusion of a sanctuary in New Comedy. Making a pilgrimage to conduct a sacrifice involved transporting a lot of equipment. In Dyskolos, Getas equates the weight of this equipment that he must carry to four donkey loads (402-4). The transportation of sacrifice accoutrements would certainly justify the presence of an ass in Amphiaraos. 26 On this sanctuary, see Paus. 1.34. Perez Asensio (FCN: 96 n. 4) notes Oropos in their discussion on Apollod.Car. 1; Henderson (V: 119) suggests that Oropos is probably the heroes’ intended destination in Aristophanes’ Amphiaraos. 67 beginning of the third century an Amphiareion at Rhamnous had also begun to thrive.27 Since Athens lost control of Oropos to the Boeotian League in 287 BCE, the Amphiareion at Rhamnous seems just as likely to have been the featured Amphiaraus sanctuary in Apollodorus’ comedy.28 In either case, Athens’ strong cultural connections to each of these sanctuaries, paired with its tenuous control over them throughout the third century, all but guarantees that Apollodorus’ play was necessarily political in some respects.29 Amphiaraus may have also played a role in the comedy. With Menander as a guiding model, we might reconstruct a play in which Amphiaraus delivered the prologue of a domestic comedy that was otherwise grounded in the reality of contemporary Athenian life.30 As a hero with prophetic abilities, Amphiaraus is uniquely qualified to deliver prologues that include the exposition of future events and facts unknown to all the play’s characters: the type of 27 Rhamnous was a fortified deme located just south of Oropos along the Attic coast. It had a healing cult dedicated to Aristomachos dating back to the fifth century, but by the beginning of the third century BCE, this hero seems to have been largely supplanted by Amphiaraus in this role. See Dinsmoor 1972: 24-9, Mikalson 1998: 102, Camp 2001: 301-3. 28 The loss of Oropos surely contributed to the contemporaneous surge in Amphiaraus dedications at Rhamnous. See Habicht 1997: 264. 29 Although Athens had lost Oropos in 287 BCE, it maintained its cultural connection and claims to the sanctuary throughout the Hellenistic period: as late as 122 BCE, Athenian Ephebes continued to make annual pilgrimages to the Amphiareion at Oropos to make sacrifice and renew the Athenian claims to the sanctuary (see IG II2 1006.1-43 and Mikalson 1998: 291). Control of Rhamnous was even more unstable. Demetrius Poliorketes’ troops occupied Rhamnous up to 287 BCE and perhaps even after his expulsion from Athens; however, by 268 BCE Athens had regained complete control of the deme only to lose it again in 263 BCE. Thereafter, Rhamnous was occupied by a mixed garrison of Athenians and Macedonians until complete control was returned to Athens in 229 BCE (see Habicht 1997: 86, 129-130, 144, 146, 167). 30 Cf. Menander’s Heros where the anonymous hero (a Ἥρως θεός) and title character delivers a prologue (see Arnott II: 25), but does not seem to play any significant role in the action beyond that. There are indications that some plays of other New Comedy poets with titles drawn from myth also had plots grounded in reality and featured familiar characters such as cooks and parasites (see the fragments for the Eleithyia of Nicom.Com. and Mousai of Euphro). 68 omniscience that could only be delivered by a divinity.31 But Menander’s divine prologue speakers do more than provide exposition; they also tend to instigate the circumstances which create the play’s conflict and drive its action. Often this takes the form of initiating a love sickness (see Men. Dys. 44 and Pk. 162-5) with the understanding that the resulting chain of events will ultimately lead to the remedy (i.e. the desired union). As a hero largely associated with healing, Amphiaraus is an obvious choice to administer this remedy for a love sickness that can present itself as a literal malady (cf. Men. Phasm. 1-31).32 It is also possible that Amphiaraus played a much more substantial role in the action, in which case Apollodorus’ comedy probably took the form of a tragic parody. If so, the most relevant and attractive target would have been Euripides’ Hypsipyle.33 This tragedy was built on the tradition that Amphiaraus had an accidental role in the death of Opheltes and in the 31 Cf. Men. Asp. 97-148, Dys. 1-49, Pk. 121-71, Sik. 2-24, Phasm. 40-56. 32 It may be the case that love sickness figured heavily into the comedies of Apollodorus generally. Frangoulidis (2013: 281-94) discusses its prevalence in Terence’s Phormio. 33 Comic parodies of fifth-century tragedies would have been encouraged by the frequent reproduction of old plays in the Hellenistic period. Euripides was an especially popular poet for these reproductions. In a monument dedicated to a tragic actor from Tegea (ca. 279-219; IG V.2.118), many of the victories commemorated by the monument were for roles from Euripidean tragedies: Orestes (Athens), Hercules (Delphi, Argos), and Archelaus (Argos, Dodona). Another mythological narrative involving Amphiaraus that might have worked well on the comic stage was the hero’s apparent reluctance to joining the campaign against Thebes and his self-concealment in the hopes of avoiding it. According to tradition, Amphiaraus, as a gifted seer, anticipated the campaign’s inevitable failure and his own death. He therefore hid in an effort to avoid marching on Thebes until his wife (having been bribed with a necklace) betrayed him and compelled Amphiaraus to join the expedition (see Hyg. Fab. 73). A comic rendering of this scenario is certainly within the realm of possibility. Comedies that feature a comic hero(oine) shirking responsibility or avoiding confrontation by running away, hiding, or assuming a false identity have demonstrable comic potential (cf. Antipho at Ter. Phorm. 215-9 or Jupiter in Plaut. Amphitruo). Both this narrative and the one provided by Euripides’ Hysipyle have also been suggested as potential frameworks for the Amphiaraos of Aristophanes, Sophocles, and Carcinus II. See FCG II.2: 950 (Aristophanes), Lloyd-Jones 1996: 46-7 (Sophocles), and Davidson 2003: 119-21 (Carcinus II). 69 foundation of the Nemean games. Early traditions of this myth express little more than the following: a serpent killed the infant Opheltes when the Seven Against Thebes were passing through Nemea; Amphiaraus took this as an ill omen for the expedition and the Seven participated in funeral games in the young prince’s honor. These were thereafter celebrated biennially as the Nemean games.34 These events served as the framework for Euripides’ fragmentary tragedy Hypsipyle which featured Amphiaraus in a substantial role. In what was likely an innovation, Euripides incorporated the Lemnian princess Hypsipyle into the narrative.35 According to Euripides’ version, Hypsipyle, having been separated from her twin sons by Jason, became the slave of Lykurgos and Eurydice (king and queen of Nemea) and was the nurse of their infant son, Opheltes. The action of the tragedy hinges on Hypsipyle’s role in inadvertently causing Opheltes’ death when she carelessly sets him on the ground—within reach of a serpent’s bite— in order to show Amphiaraus a local spring. The plot elements that accompany the addition of Hypsipyle in Euripides’ narrative translate well into New Comedy. Euripides’ play not only includes a recognition (likely by means of a token) and reunion of (twin) children with their parent, but also redemption from slavery (in this case, of the former queen, Hypsipyle).36 The possibility that Amphiaraos parodies Hypsipyle also works well with what the comedy’s only surviving fragment might suggest: a play involving travelling soldiers and/or recognition tokens. A parody of an aetiological myth for the foundation of Greek games would have also been highly topical in Apollodorus’ Athens. The excessive number of new games founded in this 34 See Bacchyl. 9.10-7. 35 Collard and Cropp 2008 VIII: 251-2. 36 See Collard and Cropp 2008 VIII: 253-4. 70 period may have been a point of mockery in itself, but the institution of two new contests in particular are worthy of being singled out.37 The first was Athens’ very own short-lived Pythian games. In 290 BCE, the Aetolians had seized control of Delphi and prevented the Athenians from participating in that year’s Pythian games. Therefore, in an entirely unprecedented move, Demetrius Poliorketes instituted his own Pythian games at Athens.38 The notion of holding alternate Pythian games was absurd. A parody of the event on the comic stage could have served to spur Demetrius to military action which he eventually took in the following year.39 The other new games with which this type of comic parody might have engaged were the ones put on in 284/3 BCE by the poet Philippides—one of Apollodorus’ most illustrious comic rivals. A decree of 283/2 BCE honors Philippides for his numerous public contributions, including the establishment of a one-time, personally financed competition dedicated to Demeter and Kore to commemorate the people’s freedom from Demetrius Poliorketes.40 Like the Nemean games, Philippides’ games followed closely on the heels of a prince’s death (Demetrius died in 37 In 307 BCE the Athenians set up new games to celebrate Antigonus and Demetrius Poliorketes as liberators. The Athenians were also involved in the inaugural presentation of the Ptolemaea in 282 BCE as well as the Soteria which began at least as early as 278 BCE (see Habicht 1997: 68, 127-8, 132). 38 See Plut. Demetr. 40.7-8. 39 See Plut. Demetr. 41.1-5. 40 See IG II2 657.43-5. Philippides’ games celebrated the expulsion of Demetrius Poliorketes and his Macedonian troops from Athens in 287 BCE. There was perhaps no one (dramatist or politician) more publicly hostile towards Demetrius than Philippides himself (see Philippid. 25). These games, which were ostensibly meant to commemorate Athens’ freedom, also implicitly represent the political triumph of Philippides and his role in Demetrius’ expulsion. Philippides’ opposition to Demetrius is expressed most clearly through his long-standing political support of Lysimachus who was a rival of Demetrius for the throne of Macedonia. Lysimachus’ defeat of Demetrius in Macedonia in 287 is what gave the Athenians the opportunity to revolt and regain their own freedom later that spring (see Habicht 1997: 95). 71 captivity in 283), but for some Athenians the expulsion of the Antigonids was not something to be celebrated. One of the benefits of Demetrius’ occupation was the steady importation of grain.41 After his expulsion, the acquisition of sufficient grain to support the city was consistently Athens’ foremost concern.42 For Apollodorus, the narrative of the Nemean games’ foundation from Hypsipyle could have provided a not-so-subtle critique of the celebration of games following the loss of a prince and the promise of future stability and safety. 2.2 ANTEUERGETON 2 One three-word fragment is all that remains from Anteuergeton.43 Pollux provides the excerpt in a discussion on the maintenance and storage of clothing to demonstrate the application of the word στρωματεύς (10.138). Ἀντευεργετῶν τοὺς στρωματεῖς λύοντα. He Who Responds In Kind(ness)44 …unfolding the blankets.45 ἔλυον B (PCG II: 487). 41 See Habicht 1997: 127. 42 See Habicht 1997: 135-6. 43 The line is too short to assign meter though it could fit the opening or middle metra of a verse in iambic trimeter or a middle metron in trochaic tetrameter. 44 Cf. “Kindness Returned” (FAC IIIA: 187); “El Benefactor” (FCN: 96). 45 Cf. “I [or they] undid the bedclothes’ bags” (FAC IIIA: 187); “Deslligant els cobertors” (FCN: 96). 72 Textual Notes The only discrepancy in the manuscripts concerns the form of the verbal component. Most manuscripts provide λύοντα (FS, CL), but B gives ἔλυον. The fragment is too short for sense and elements of formal composition to be of value in the discussion, but since it is unlikely that an editor proposed the participle λύοντα as a correction to ἔλυον, I defer to the lectio difficilior and dominant manuscript tradition in working from λύοντα.46 Commentary Interpretation of this fragment depends entirely on στρωματεῖς.47 A στρωματεύς originally denoted “bedding” of some sort, but koine authors used it as a synonym for στρωματόδεσμον, “bedding bag” (LSJ, Poll. 7.79).48 Pollux (10.138) seems to understand Apollod.Car. 2—as well as Antiph. 40 and Apollod.Gel. 5 which he also cites in this section—as an instance of the latter, but all three excerpts are too fragmentary to confirm internally the precise meaning of στρωματεύς. The only other attested use of this word in comedy comes to us from Alexis (120). Arnott makes two crucial observations on this fragment: (1) in the fragments of both Alexis and Apollodorus of Gela, στρωματεύς seems to be included among gear 46 Earlier editors preferred ἔλυον (FCG IV: 440, CAF III: 280, FAC IIIA: 186); Kassel and Austin and Perez Asensio give λύοντα (PCG II: 487, FCN: 96). 47 There has been little to no commentary on this fragment in previous scholarship. See FCG IV: 440, CAF III: 280, FAC IIIA: 186-7, PCG II: 487, FCN: 28, 96. 48 There are also some specialized applications of the word that need not be given serious consideration for the present discussion. In the plural, στρωματεῖς was sometimes used as the title of literary works of an eclectic nature (i.e. Miscellanies) though its use as such may be limited to later authors (e.g. Euseb. Praep. evang. 1.7, Gell. Praef. 7). A στρωματεύς was also a type of fish, but while fish certainly have a place in comedy, this interpretation is poorly attested (Athenaeus cites a Philo and his work on mining, 7.322a). In any case, neither works well with λύοντα. 73 indicative of a soldier and (2) among other comic lists of military equipment, bedding is a common occurrence, but bedding bags are not (1996: 332-5). Since half of the surviving instances of στρωματεύς in comedy occur in the context of military kits, the distinction between “bedding” and “bedding bag” may be insignificant if what it is really referring to is a soldier’s sleeping bag.49 What is important is that στρωματεῖς could be indicative of a comic soldier in Anteuergeton. Ἀντευεργετέω is a rare compound that is attested nowhere else in Greek comedy.50 The title’s masculine singular ending presumably refers to a male character in the play. Perez Asensio raises the possibility that the Anteuergeton was a stock type (FCN: 28). It is certainly possible to reconstruct a sort of Theophrastian antithesis to Menander’s Knemon (=Georgos’ Kleainetos?). Perez Asensio also points out that εὐεργέτης was an honorific title in Athens (FCN: 96 n. 5). In fact, Demetrius Poliorketes was hailed as εὐεργέτης by the Athenians (Plut. Demetr. 9.1, SEG 25.149.25) following his liberation of Athens in 307. Given Apollodorus’ period of production, it is possible that Anteuergeton involved some sort of allusion to Demetrius.51 49 Cf. a fourth-century comic figurine of an old man carrying a bedroll on his back from the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek in Munich (inv. 5389; MMC3: no. AT 39). 50 Timotheus II possibly wrote an Anteuergeton, but the attribution (e.g. Ruck 1967: 46) is highly suspect since the legible text is limited to Τιμο … εργετοῦντι (IG II2 2323, 180). Outside comedy, the verb is used almost exclusively in the context of moral philosophy (see Xen. Mem. 2.6.4.8, 2.9.8.7, 4.4.24.2 and 7; Anaximen. 34.4, Rh. Al. 1.14.5, 1.16.1). Baton wrote a Euergetai. One fragment from the play survives. It preserves a dialogue between a cook and a female assistant; the cook lists several famous chefs and claims that the smell of his own food is so good that it could raise the dead. Menander occasionally uses εὐεργετέω and its derivatives (Mis. 735, Sam. 9, Sik. 79, Mon. [FAC IIIB] 105, 147, 171), but each instance is too fragmentary to be of value for comparative study. See also Ar. Eq. 1153 and Plut. 912-3. 51 For what it is worth, another fragment (116) from the same Alexis comedy that attests to στρωματεύς includes (sarcastic?) toasts to Demetrius and Antigonus. 74 2.3 APOKARTEROUNTES 3 The evidence for Apokarterountes is comprised of a brief reference in Photius’ Lexicon (ς 476.5, Theodoridis III: 387) which reveals that Apollodorus used the verb σπουδάζω in this play.52 More precisely, the reference is meant to demonstrate that the verb can carry the sense of “θέλω.” Ἀποκαρτεροῦντες σπουδάζω. Fasters to the Finish53 I very much wish.54 Textual Notes There is no variation in the textual tradition for this reference; however, close analysis of the citation structure in the Suda’s σπουδάζω entry (ς 967) suggests that this source may not just provide the sense of σπουδάζω in Apokarterountes, but also the form in which it appeared in the play. The complete entry in Photius’ Lexicon and the Suda reads:55 52 The same reference is made in the nearly identical σπουδάζω entry in the Suda (ς 967). 53 Hunger Strikers is perhaps the most colloquial modern rendering. Cf. “The Starvation-Suicides” (FAC IIIA: 187); “Els qui es deixen morir de gana” (FCN: 96). 54 Cf. “I’m only too willing” (FAC IIIA: 187); “desitjo molt” (FCN: 96). 55 Text and trans. adapted from Porson (1822: 532) and SOL. In order to show the relationship between the σπουδάζω entries of Photius’ Lexicon and the Suda, I have provided the text from Porson’s Photius and added critical notes to show where the Suda entry differs. 75 Σπουδάζω περὶ τὸν ἄνδρα: Δημοσθένης κατὰ Μειδίου· ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ κατεπείγομαι Θεόπομπος ἐν (ἐν om. Suda) ἐπιτομῇ τῶν Ἡροδότου· ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ βούλομαι, ὁ αὐτὸς ἐν τῇ ἐπιτομῇ. ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ μὴ παιγνιωδῶς, ἀλλ᾽ ἐσπουδασμένως, Πλάτων Πολιτείας γ´· ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ λίαν θέλω, Ἀπολλόδωρος Καρύστιος Ἀποκαρτεροῦσιν· ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ σεμνολογεῖν, τὸ σπουδαιολογεῖν (-ῆσαι Suda) Ξενοφῶν Συμποσίῳ—τίνι σπεύδεις, ἀντὶ τοῦ τίνι σπουδάζεις· οὕτως καὶ Ἄλεξις. καί τινα τῶν μακρῶν πλοίων ἐξαπέστειλε, σπουδάζων τῷ στρατοπέδῳ τὰ πρὸς τὴν χρείαν. Πολύβιος (καί … Πολύβιος add. Suda). I am solicitous for the man: Demosthenes [uses the verb in] Against Meidias. Theopompus in Epitome of the [Histories] of Herodotus has it mean ‘I am anxious.’ The same [writer] in the Epitome has it mean ‘I want.’ Plato in [book] 3 of The Republic does not use it playfully, but seriously. Apollodorus of Carystus in Fasters to the Finish has it mean ‘I very much wish.’ Xenophon in his Symposium [uses the verb] spoudaiologesai to mean ‘talking solemnly.’ ‘What are you keen on?’ – for spoudazeis? Alexis too [says] this. ‘And he entrusted some of the warships [to the quaestors], being anxious to have what the camp needed conveyed to it.’ Polybius [says this]. The entry outlines the versatility of σπουδάζω by demonstrating various nuanced applications among several different ancient authors. The first five (of seven total) citations appear in a formulaic sequence that is organized according to a rigid structure. Each new excerpt begins with ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ; this is followed by a verbal expression of σπουδάζω’s intended meaning, the name of the author who uses the verb in this way, and the title of the work where the pertinent use of the verb can be found. In the fifth and final example, another element is added: a form of σπουδάζω itself. This final example, a citation from Xenophon’s Symposium is significant for two reasons. First, the particular form in which σπουδάζω is presented, σπουδαιολογῆσαι—a rare compound in the aorist active infinitive—demonstrates that σπουδαιολογῆσαι from this entry is a direct quote from Xenophon’s text (see 8.41). This is one of presumably several cases of direct quotation from this entry.56 Second, the Xenophon reference confirms that the Suda preferred to 56 The Polybius quote that gives σπουδάζων is consistent with other sources of the text (see 1.52.7). The Alexis citation (σπουδάζεις) presumably reflects a quotation, but this can not be independently confirmed. Σπουδάζω does appear in Plato’s Republic, but not in the adverbial form in which it appears in the Suda. This may be because there are multiple examples of its use there (e.g. 403b, 405a). 76 present parallel forms for σπουδάζω (when it is cited) and the word it uses to express σπουδάζω’s intended meaning (see also the citations for Alexis and Plato).57 Since economic composition must have been a priority in the compilation of any Byzantine lexicon, it would be reasonable to assume that the compilers of the Suda expected readers to apply the complete formulaic sequence that is presented in the Xenophon citation and which punctuates the series to all the citations that precede it. Because there is evidence of direct quotation and a preference for parallel constructions, it seems as though the form taken by the verbs that are used to express the intended meaning of σπουδάζω also indicates the form of σπουδάζω as it appeared in the source text. In the case of the Apokarterountes reference, we could assume that σπουδάζω appeared in the first person, singular, present, active, indicative based on the fact that this is the form in which θέλω is presented. Commentary The application of σπουδάζω varies greatly in comedy. In Menander the tone is decidedly serious (see especially fr. 607 and Dys. 148), but this observation is heavily skewed by Samia which accounts for five of the nine instances which themselves occur within a forty-six-verse stretch of dialogue.58 Its use in other comic poets is equally varied and present in a number of different scenarios.59 Given the insight provided by the Byzantine lexica discussed above, a 57 In the case of Alexis, each verb is presented in the second person, singular, present, active, indicative (σπεύδεις and σπουδάζεις). For Plato, each are presented in an adverbial form (παιγνιωδῶς and ἐσπουδασμένως). 58 Σπουδάζω in Menander: 607.4, 867.4, Dys. 148, Kith. 100, Sam. 139, 145, 152, 153, 185. The relevant dialogue in Samia probes the genuine commitment of Moschion and Nikeratos to an arranged marriage between Moschion and Plangon. 59 For σπουδάζω in other fragmentary poets, see Alex. 280, Anon. (Stob. Flor. 68.26), Antiph. 182, Demonic. 1, and Philem. 82. Among the scenarios in which σπουδάζω occurs here and in 77 cursory survey of (λίαν) θέλω might have also been informative, but this verb is even more prevalent and versatile in its comic applications.60 In short, σπουδάζω does little to inform our understanding of Apokarterountes. The title provides more fruitful opportunities for speculation.61 Fasting in ancient Greece was associated with mourning, purification, and philosophers (Sotiriu 2010: 293). Each have their place in Greek comedy, but a plot that lampoons philosophers is especially attractive for Apollodorus’ play.62 The abstemiousness of philosophers, especially the Pythagoreans and Stoics, was a recurrent basis for their ridicule in comedy.63 Ἀποκαρτερέω in particular is intimately tied to philosophers of the early Hellenistic period.64 Cleanthes of Assos, the successor to Zeno as head of the Stoic school, is described as starving himself (ἀποκαρτερῶν) to Menander, several deal with the pursuit of marriage, reaching old age, and the preparation and consumption of meals. For σπουδάζω in Aristophanes, see Ach. 685, Pax 471, 768, Plut. 557, Ran. 813, Thesm. 572, Vesp. 694. 60 There are over thirty instances in the fragmentary poets alone. 61 Comedies with a nearly identical title are also attributed to Antiphanes, Philemon, and Apollodorus of Gela (see PCG II: 330-1, 504-505, VII: 233). 62 Mourning a death (real or feigned) can be used to instigate action (e.g. Men. Asp., Ter. Phorm.) while purification is closely tied to sanctuary pilgrimages—a common premise in Greek comedy. Some sanctuaries, especially dream oracles like Trophonios, explicitly call for fasting as part of the purification process. Alexis, Cephisodorus, Cratinus, and Menander each wrote a Trophonios that may have involved pilgrimages to the hero’s shrine in Lebadeia. Another interpretation of the title is that it refers to contemporary Athenians and the state of the grain import. There were several catastrophic famines in Athens during the last half of the fourth century due to the persistent struggle for control of Athens (see Habicht 1997: 82, 86). These famines were referenced elsewhere on the comic stage (see Demetr.Com.Nov. 1). 63 E.g. Alex. 233, Antiph. 166, Aristopho 12, Philem. 88. See Konstan 2014: 288-90. 64 Other than as a comic title, ἀποκαρτερέω occurs very infrequently in Greek comedy. It appears in an unattributed comic fragment that outlines a visitor’s poor experience of Rhodes (see Dicaearch. 1.5) and is also used to describe a parasite’s inability to starve to death in Timocl. 20. 78 death at the age of 99 (Luc. Macr. 19). Hegesias of Cyrene, a Cyrenaic philosopher, wrote a book titled Apokarteron in which a man justifies starving himself to death because it was preferable to enduring the miseries of mortal life (Cic. Tusc. 1.34.84).65 Finally, Metrocles of Maroneia, a former Peripatetic turned Cynic philospher, once fell into such despair after farting that he sought to starve himself to death (ἀποκαρτερεῖν; Diog. Laert. 6.94). Each of these philosophers were contemporaries of Apollodorus with Cleanthes and Metrocles even residing in Athens at the time.66 The fact that the title is plural indicates that Apollodorus’ comedy featured at least two philosophers as main characters;67 however, we cannot rule out the possibility that the title refers to the chorus.68 65 Hegesias’ lectures on the subject were apparently so impactful that his students began dying by suicide. Ptolemy II Philadelphus eventually had to ban his lectures on the subject in Alexandria to prevent further deaths. 66 There is also a case to be made that other comedies of this title similarly engaged with contemporary philosophical thought. The single fragment of Philemon’s Apokarteron muses on the predetermination of fortune and in the two surviving fragments of Apollodorus of Gela’s Apokarteron (or, Philadelphoi), greed is hoisted as the source of all evils (3) and a list of utensils for a sumptuous banquet is provided (4). On this last fragment, I would draw attention to the fact that comedy liked to point out the hypocrisy of philosophers when it comes to sustenance—if they are provided with a meal, they will consume it greedily (Antiph. 225, Aristopho 9). 67 Cf. Men. Epit., Sik. (?), Plaut. Bacch., Capt., Men., Ter. Ad. 68 All of the plural titles of the surviving Aristophanes comedies refer to the plays’ chorus. Other Greek comedies that (probably) featured philosopher choruses include: Kolakes (Eup.), Konnos (Amips.), Nephelai (Ar.), Panoptai (Cratin.), Philosophoi (Philem.), and Sophistai (Pl.Com.). Comparanda from Clayman 2009: 124-5. 79 2.4 APOLEIPOUSA 4 One fragment, a verse and a half of iambic trimeter, survives from Apoleipousa. The earliest source is probably Photius’ Lexicon (ε 66) which cites the Apollodorus excerpt to demonstrate an application of the rare verb ἐγκομβόομαι.69 The fragment preserves a description of how its speaker has arranged their garment. Ἀπολείπουσα70 τὴν ἐπωμίδα πτύξασα διπλῆν ἄνωθεν ἐνεκομβωσάμην. 69 Photius also quotes Apollod.Car. 4 as ancient precedent for this verb in a letter to George, Metropolitan of Nicomedia, which discusses the use of ἐγκομβόομαι in Peter (Ep. 156; see Peter 1.5.5.2). Following the PCG (II: 488), the two streams of the fragment’s transmission through Photius can be discussed simply as Phot.1 and Phot.2. Phot.1 = Phot. Ep. 156 ABC with Amphil. 86 (85 Oec.) ΓΔΘΠ. Phot.2 = Phot. Lex. ε 66, Et.Gen. AB (Etym. Magn. 311.7 [Miller 1868: 97]), and Suda ε 106. N.b. the superscripts are not an indication of relative dating, but were selected with a mind towards maintaining abbreviation alignment with the PCG app. crit. 70 There are manuscript variants for the form of the title (Ἀπολειπούσηι Phot.1 C: Ἀπολιπούσηι Phot.1 ABΓΔΘΠ: Ἀπολείπουσηι Et.Gen.: Ἀπολιποῦσι Suda: om. Phot.2, Etym. magn.). The primary divide centers on tense (the other variations concern accentuation). Some manuscripts provide the present-tense participle Ἀπολείπουσα and others give it in the aorist as Ἀπολιποῦσα. Meineke, Kock, and Edmonds decisively opted for the present tense (see FCG IV: 440 [cf. FCG I: 463], CAF III: 281, FAC IIIA: 186), but the most recent commentaries cautiously acknowledge the plausibility of both (see PCG II: 488, FCN: 96). The same tense inconsistency, with both present and aorist attested, occurs in the manuscript traditions of the identically titled comedies of Crobylus (Ath. 10.42d) and Diphilus (cf. Ath. 4.132c v. Poll. 10.12); however, the sources for the identically titled comedies of Apollodorus of Gela (Ath. 3.125a) and Aminias (IG II2 2323) provide only the present tense (the source for Aminias’ title, the so-called Didascaliae, is substantially earlier than the others [third century BCE] and is an official record preserved in an inscription). Looking at the other five titles of Apollodorus that are in participle form, all are securely set in the present tense: Anteuergeton (Poll. 10.138); Apokarterountes (Phot. ς 476.5, Suda ς 967); Epidikazomenos (didasc. Ter. Phorm., Donat. Ter. Phorm. pref. 1.1 [W. II: 345 v. 3], Donat. Ter. Phorm. 24-8 [W. II: 355 vv. 3-7]); Proikizomene (Ath. 3.76a). Finally, a cursory examination of all comic titles in participle form shows that the present tense is heavily favored. Given these observations, the hesitation in recent commentaries concerning the form of the title associated with Apollod.Car. 4 seems unwarranted. The present-tense Ἀπολείπουσα should be considered the correct form. 80 Gone Girl71 Having folded it at the top, I wore a doubled epomis.72 1 ἐπωμίδα Phot.1 Π, Sud.: ἐπωμίαν Phot.1 ΑΒΓΔΘ, Phot.2, Et.: ἐπωνυμίαν Phot.1 C 2 πτύξασα Phot., Et. gen. (compend. [?] Et. magn.), Sud.: -ας Sylburg, Et. magn. (1594) p. 311, 8, prob. Meineke numeris consulens διπλῆν Phot., Sud.: -ῶς Et. (PCG II: 488). Textual Notes There are three distinct incongruities in the textual tradition for this fragment. Two are not worth serious consideration: there is little reason to challenge the prevailing preferences for ἐπωμίδα (Phot.1 Π, Suda) and διπλῆν (Phot., Suda).73 The remaining issue, πτύξασα v. πτύξας has left previous editors divided. Most manuscripts provide the feminine πτύξασα, but Sylburg’s Etymologicum Magnum gives the masculine πτύξας (1816: 282).74 Despite its weak representation in the manuscripts, metrical considerations make πτύξας a persuasive alternate text. As pointed out by Meineke, the feminine πτύξασα creates an “undesirable break in the line” (pravam versus caesuram, FCG IV: 71 Cf. “The Runaway Wife” (FAC IIIA: 187); “La Qui Se Separa” (FCN: 96). 72 Cf. “I doubled the shoulder-end and made an apron of it” (FAC IIIA: 187); “La musclera, fent-li un doble, plec per dalt, la vaig, cordar” (FCN: 97). I have left epomis untranslated since it refers to a specific ancient clothing arrangement that is difficult to translate with concision. 73 Ἐπωμίαν, the predominant form in the manuscripts, is ungrammatical; ἐπώμιος is a two-ending adjective whose feminine ending should take a masculine-looking form. Ἐπωνυμίαν, which is poorly represented in the manuscripts, likely represents a later editor’s attempt to correct ἐπωμίαν. Although it is grammatically correct, its meaning, “namesake”, is difficult to reconcile with the sense of the fragment. As for the preference for διπλῆν over διπλῶς, the adjective form is better represented both generally and specifically in association with folded clothing elsewhere (see Gomme and Sandbach 1973: 661 on Men. Sik. 280, who also refer to Hom. Il. 10.134). 74 The two are otherwise identical in form: each is a nominative, singular, aorist, active, participle. 81 441). Meineke is referring to the split anapest πτύξασα produces in the second foot of the first metron. Split anapests are rare in Greek comedy which is no doubt the reason that several editors have opted to work from the masculine form (see FCG IV: 440, CAF III: 281, FCN: 97). Split anapests, however, are not absent entirely from Greek comedy (e.g. Men. 351.3, 844.10, Pk. 178; West 1982: 90) and given the strong perseverance of the otherwise plausible feminine form, I am inclined to defer, in this case, to the lectio difficilior (in terms of meter). And so, with Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 186) and Kassel and Austin (PCG II: 488), I work from the feminine πτύξασα. The decision is significant as the participle’s gender in this case also reveals the gender of the fragment’s speaker. Commentary In this context, ἐπωμίς must be referring to the portion of a chiton that is fastened with pins or brooches over the shoulders (see LSJ).75 Fitting a chiton was a two-step process. First a rectangular piece of fabric is wrapped around the torso with the ends meeting along one side of the body. Then, two pins are fastened at intervals at the top edges of the resulting loop of fabric. These connect the front fabric to the back fabric. The arms and head fit through the three gaps formed between the pins while the bunched fabric held in place by the pins (i.e. the ἐπωμίς) rests over the shoulders which support the chiton and keep it in place. An additional, ornamental step could be added to this process. After wrapping the fabric around the body, but before placing the pins, the top edge of the fabric could be folded over 75 This is also the interpretation in previous commentaries (see FAC IIIA: 187 n. d. and FCN: 97), though Perez Asensio’s translation of ἐπωμίδα as “musclera” (“shoulder-pad”) is inadequate. Ἐπωμίς can also denote various parts of the shoulder and neck, a part of a ship, the leaves of a door (pl.), a rower’s tunic, or a high-priest’s ephod. 82 itself, having been peeled to the outside. This produces a loose flap of fabric that falls like curtains over the form-fitting base layer of the chiton; this loose flap drapes over the midsection reaching as far down as the knees. Put another way, this stylization is created by folding the garment from the top (πτύξασα … ἄνωθεν) before pins are inserted through the now four, rather than two, layers of fabric over the shoulders—i.e. through a doubly thick ἐπωμίς (τὴν ἐπωμίδα διπλῆν). It seems clear that this particular chiton arrangement is what the fragment’s speaker is describing and the implications are significant.76 It is a feminine stylization (see Brooke 1962: 21-2) that was worn by female characters on the comic stage.77 While a double-folded ἐπωμίς is admittedly not conclusive evidence of gender, it gives supporting evidence that the fragment’s speaker is female or at least female presenting.78 Beyond this, further speculation about the character’s role and status is difficult.79 76 Edmonds’ understanding of the mechanics here is difficult to follow and unsubstantiated, “the shoulder-end, i.e. of a woman’s undergarment; more lit. fastened it downwards, perh. to appear pregnant” (FAC IIIA: 187 n. d.). 77 See Harvard Art Museum/Arthur M. Sackler Museum 2007.104.4, EAM 5032 (Msthos 427), and Glyptothek old no. 117. 78 For male characters dressed as females, cf. the Kinsmen in Ar. Thesm. or Chalinus in Plaut. Cas.; see also Soprintendenza Messina 11039. This seems to be how Perez Asensio understands the fragment since he opts for the masculine participle, yet draws attention to Poll. 7.49 which associates the ἐπωμίς with women (see FCN: 97 n. 8). The ἐπωμίς itself, regardless of its particular arrangement, often has female associations in drama (e.g. Eur. Hec. 558, Chaerem. 14; it occurs nowhere else in comedy). It also has feminine associations in Pollux (7.49). Meineke (FCG IV: 441), hoping to make a case for the masculine πτύξας, points to an apparent association of the ἐπωμίς with (presumably male) comic slaves elsewhere in Pollux (4.119). The implication is that it might be applied to the garments of either gender. Meineke, however, is mistaken, having confused ἐπωμίς at 7.49 with ἐξωμίς at 4.119 which is a style of wearing a chiton in which the garment is fastened over only one shoulder (e.g. Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Olynthos inv. 31.234). 79 Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 186-7) suggests the speaker is a married woman but offers no support for this claim. In the relatively few depictions of comic women in material representations wherein a 83 Based on the title’s lexical relationship to ἀπόλειψις, previous editors have speculated that Apollodorus’ play involved marital separation (see FCG I: 461, FCN: 97 n. 7).80 Ἀπόλειψις was a legal term used in several historical cases to denote divorce proceedings initiated by the wife.81 Perez Asensio appropriately points out that the moral limitations of Greek New Comedy make it unlikely that a divorce was included as part of the action. He alternatively suggest that Apoleipousa may have featured an unofficial (and therefore reversable) marital separation, perhaps caused by an alleged affair (FCN: 97 n. 7). In the comedies of Menander, perceived infidelity is the cause of separation in Epitrepontes, Perikeiromene, and Samia;82 however, each of these separations is set in motion by the male partner.83 doubled ἐπωμίς is clearly evident (in most cases, it is covered by a himation), old and young women are represented, their status and roles are unclear. 80 Aminias, Apollodorus of Gela, Crobylus, and Diphilus also wrote comedies with the title Apoleipousa (Edmonds [FAC IIIA: 199 n. b] includes Afranius’ Repudiatus among potential comparanda, implying Apoleipousa may have been the source play for Afranius’ palliata, but the surviving fragments offer no supporting evidence). The surviving fragments of the other plays with the same title provide little insight about their content (Crobyl. 3 and 4; Apollod.Gel. 1; Aminias test. 2), with the exception of Diphilus’ Apoleipousa (17, 18, 19). The fragments of this play indicate the presence of a comic cook who has been hired to prepare a wedding feast. For what it is worth, the other comedies that involve marital separation also happen to include cooks in their cast. 81 See LSJ: ἀπόλειψις and Scafuro 1997: 306: “… a wife could divorce her husband by leaving him (apoleipein). Procedure seems to have been relatively informal. A woman who left her husband on her own initiative apparently had to give a written notice to the archon; presumably she would need the support of her natal kurios to ensure her future maintenance.” There is relatively little historical evidence for this process but see Plut. Vit. Alc.8.3. 82 Although the relevant couples in Perikeiromene and Samia are not legally married, the language of the male partners makes it clear that the couples were in a de facto marriage. 83 Different terms are used for divorce proceedings initiated by the husband: apopempein, ekballein, or ekpempein (Scafuro 1997: 306). 84 Perhaps the more appropriate comparanda are Menander’s Dyskolos and Terence’s Hecyra. These comedies are important because they include rare instances of wives as the agents affecting the separation.84 Crucially, these separations are not caused by the alleged infidelity of their partners. In Dyskolos, the cause seems to have been constant quarreling (see 17-19), and in Hecyra it was an attempt to conceal an extramarital pregnancy. These comedies also demonstrate the range of significance that an unofficial ἀπόλειψις might have for a comic plot. In Dyskolos, the separation occurs before the stage action begins and mostly serves to help with the characterization of Knemon. In Hecyra, the separation instigates the dramatic conflict and drives the action throughout the play.85 Apoleipousa may refer to a woman who has filed for divorce (or perhaps simply threatens divorce, e.g. Artemona at Plaut. Asin. 896-8), but as the comparanda make clear, the title raises a number of different possibilities. We should, in this case be cautious about its potential implications. 2.5 GRAMMATEIDIOPOIOS 5 One fragment, just over twenty-six verses of iambic trimeter, survives from Grammateidiopoios. Athenaeus includes this extended excerpt in a discussion on pleasure 84 The wives of New Comedy tend to oppose filing for divorce even when they might be justified in doing so. See Scafuro (1997: 308) who has identified four examples (Men. Epit., the Didot rhesis, Plaut. Stich., and Rhet. Her. 2.24.38). There are, however, some exceptions in Roman comedy (e.g. Plaut. Men. 781-2 and Merc. 785-6). On the wife in Dyskolos as the initiator, see 22-3. 85 The present tense title does not necessarily suggest action occurring during the staged play. See Arnott II: 374-6 on Men. Pk. 85 (ἡδονή, 7.280d-281b).86 This fragment preserves an impassioned monologue that decries the influence of an unfavorable Tyche on the affairs of mankind and pines for the pleasures of the world at peace. 86 Athenaeus’ text divides the fragment into two parts with an interjection between vv. 14 and 15. For this interjection, A gives προσελθών and CE, εἶτα ἐπάγει. Editors favor the interjection provided by A, but tend to drop the participle’s sigma, making it a form of προέρχομαι rather than προσέρχομαι (e.g. Gulick III: 281, Olson III: 294). This deletion is perhaps considered preferable because προέρχομαι can be used in the sense of “go on, proceed, in a story or argument” (see LSJ: προέρχομαι 3)—an application that is not well attested in the case of προσέρχομαι; however, the form provided by the manuscripts—προσελθών—is worth reconsidering as the correct text. The participle, translated, “Having stepped forward …,” makes sense when interpreted as a stage direction indicating that the actor stepped downstage mid-way through their monologue for dramatic impact. 86 Γραμματειδιοποιός87 ὦ πάντες ἄνθρωποι, τί τὸ ζῆν ἡδέως παρέντες ἐπιμελεῖσθε τοῦ κακῶς ποιεῖν πολεμοῦντες ἀλλήλους; πότερα πρὸς τῶν θεῶν ἐπιστατεῖ τις τοῦ βίου νυνὶ Τύχη ἄγροικος ἡμῶν, οὐδὲ παιδείαν ὅλως 5 εἰδυῖα, τί τὸ κακόν ποτ᾽ ἢ τί τἀγαθὸν ἔστ᾽ ἀγνοοῦσα παντελῶς εἰκῆ τέ πως ἡμᾶς κυλίνδους᾽ ὅντιν᾽ ἂν τύχηι τρόπον; οἶμαί γε· πῶς γὰρ μᾶλλον ἂν προείλετο Ἕλλην ἀληθῶς οὖσα λεπομένους ὁρᾶν88 10 αὐτοὺς ὑφ᾽ αὑτῶν καὶ καταπίπτοντας νεκρούς, ἐξὸν ἱλαροὺς παίζοντας ὑποπεπωκότας αὐλουμένους † ωδει † λέγ᾽ αὐτή, γλυκυτάτη, ἔλεγχ᾽ ἄγροικον οὖσαν ἡμῶν τὴν Τύχην οὐ τοῦτο τὸ ζῆν ἐστι τὸν καλούμενον 15 θεῶν ἀληθῶς βίον. ὅσωι δ᾽ ἡδίονα τὰ πράγματ᾽ ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἦν ἂν ἢ τὰ νῦν, εἰ μεταβαλόντες τὸν βίον διήγομεν· πίνειν Ἀθηναίους ἅπαντας τοὺς μέχρι ἐτῶν τριάκοντ᾽ ἐξιέναι τοὺς ἱππέας 20 ἐπὶ κῶμον εἰς Κόρινθον ἡμέρας δέκα στεφάνους ἔχοντας καὶ μύρον πρὸ ἡμέρας, τοὺς τὴν ῥάφανον πωλοῦντας ἕψειν Μεγαρέων, εἰς τὸ βαλανεῖον ἀπιέναι τοὺς συμμάχους, κεραννύναι τὸν οἶνον Εὐβοῆς. τρυφὴ 25 καὶ βίος ἀληθῶς. ἀλλ᾽ ἀπαιδεύτωι Τύχηι δουλεύομεν. 87 Ἐν Γραμματειδιοποιῶι is absent from CE. 88 Eustathius (Il. 1077, 21-3 [Van der Valk 1979: 903]) quotes v. 10, citing Athenaeus as his source, to illustrate usage of Ἕλλην; he notes that the form is “Atticizing.” 87 The Case Maker89 O all mankind, why, having forsaken a pleasant life, do you insist on acting maliciously by going to war with one another? By the gods, does some uncouth Tyche now preside over our way of life, utterly unfamiliar with culture, ever oblivious to what is wrong or what is right, rolling us about entirely at random whichever way she chances upon? I think so. For how could she, actually being Greek, deliberately choose to witness men being flayed by one another and their dead bodies dropping, when they could be cheerful, screwing around, drunk, and enjoying flute music … speak up, my dearest lady, confirm that this Tyche of ours is uncouth. This is not living what is called the lifestyle of the gods, in truth. How much more pleasant conditions in the cities would be than they are now, if we were to strive to change our way of life. All Athenians up to age 30 would be drinking, the cavalrymen would be riding out to Corinth for ten days of revelry, donning garlands and perfume before sunup, the peddlers of Megarian cabbage would be boiling them, the allies would be retreating to the bath complex, and the Euboeans would be mixing their wine. Opulence and truly a way to live. But we devote ourselves to an uncultured Tyche. 2 κακῶς CE: καλῶς A 3 ἀλλήλους AC (sc. κακῶς ποιεῖν): -οις E πότερα A: -ον C: compend. E 5 οὐδὲ Meineke: οὔτε ACE 6 τί τὸ A: ἢ τί τὸ CE ποτ᾽ ἢ τί Erfurdt Obs. p. 461: ἢ τί ποτ᾽ ἢ τί A: ἢ τΐ ποτ(ε) CE 7: τέ πως CE: τε πῶς A 9 πῶς Jacobs Addit. p. 163: τίς AC: τί E 12 ὑποπεπωκότας CE: ὑποπεπτ- A 13 post αὐλ. CE defic. CE usque ad 26 ἀπαιδ. ωδει A: ὠιδῆι Grotius Exc. p. 994 (unde κηλουμένους ὠιδῆι Meineke Anal. Ath. P. 125): ὡδί Morelius p. 73: ὡς δεῖ Lumb ap. Gulick: fort. σὺ δὴ Kaibel: ἰδεῖν A. Palmer ClR 3 (1889) 25 15 τὸν Schweigh.: τὸ A 17 ἢ Mus.: ἦν A 18 μεταβαλόντας Casaub.: μεταβάλλ- A 20 τοὺς Dindorf: τοὺς δ’ A 23 ἕψειν μεγαρέων A: ἐλθεῖν -έας Grotius: ἔρρειν -έων Herw. Coll. p. 184 25 Εὐβοῆς A: -εῖς Meineke: -ᾶς Kock vid. K.-B. i p. 449 25-26 (B.) τρυφὴ … (A.) ἀλλ᾽ Kaibel (PCG II: 489-90). 89 Cf. “The Notebook-Maker” or “The Money-Chest Maker” (FAC IIIA: 187 and n. e); “Tablet Maker” (Rusten 2011: 688); “El Fabricant de Tauletes” (FCN: 97). 88 Textual Notes As is to be expected of a fragment of this length, there are many manuscript discrepancies and corrections proposed for Apollod.Car. 5, but its length also makes it possible to assemble a reliable text grounded in the internal context. The disparities between the texts of modern editors are minimal and relatively insignificant in terms of their overall effect on interpretation.90 I have therefore deferred entirely to the text provided by the PCG.91 Commentary The fragment preserves a heartfelt speech delivered by an anonymous speaker: Vogt-Spira (1992: 57) believes it is a soldier, though the tone and content is most reminiscent of Aristophanes’ war-weary citizen-farmer heroes (e.g. Dikaiopolis, Ach., Trygaios, Pax).92 The speech opens with a reproach of mankind for prioritizing war over a more pleasant (i.e. peaceful) lifestyle (vv. 1-3).93 The speaker can only speculate that this choice must have been guided by 90 Cf. 5 οὐδὲ: οὔτε (FCG IV: 441, FAC IIIA: 186) 9 πῶς: τίς (FAC IIIA: 186) 13 ωδει: ὡδί (FCG IV: 442): σποδεῖν (CAF III: 281, FCN: 98): ᾧ δεῖ (FAC IIIA: 186) 20 τοὺς ἱππέας: τοὺς δ᾽ ἱππέας (FCG IV: 442) 24 τοὺς: τοίς (FCG IV: 442) 25 Εὐβοῆς: Εὐβοᾶς (FAC IIIA: 188). 91 Cf. FCG IV: 441-2, CAF III: 281-2, FAC IIIA: 186-8, PCG II: 489-90, FCN: 98-9. 92 Since the speaker identifies with their audience (see first-person plural perspectives at vv. 5, 27) and the audience itself is all mankind (v. 1), we can assume the speaker, too, is mortal (pace Edmonds who proposes Peace; FAC IIIA: 187). Based on the nature of the potential benefits of peace that are identified by the speaker and the gender of the speakers in Menander who use the vocative plural ἄνδρες (the closest comparandum for ἄνθρωποι, v. 1) to address the audience in long monologues (Dys. 659, 666, Epit. 887, Sam. 269, 329, 447, 683, Sik. 405), we can reasonably conclude that the speaker of Apollod.Car. 5 is male. 93 Cf. the emphasis placed on the pursuit of the “pleasant life” in Old Comedy utopia plotlines (e.g. Ar. Ach. 271, Av. 753-4). Kassel and Austin (PCG II: 489) note similar constructions to τὸ ζῆν ἡδέως παρέντες (vv.1-2) at Apollod.Inc. 1.1 and 16.2, speaking to their attribution (see section 1.11). Kock (CAF III: 282) remarks that ἀλλήλους (v. 3) is dependent on κακῶς ποιεῖν 89 some sort of Tyche (vv. 3-14). In the Classical Greek world, tyche was the concept of random chance—considered an unbiased, unpredictable, unavoidable, and (usually) unfavorable secular force of nature and fact of life. Over the course of the fourth century, this concept gave birth to a bona fide deity, Tyche, who was a more active and interested agent in human affairs, capable of bestowing (potentially) good fortune if sufficiently propitiated by individuals and the state alike.94 Both tyche and Tyche coexisted in the world of New Comedy.95 This is also the case in Apollod.Car. 5 where Tyche (vv. 4, 14, 26) is wont to allow tyche (v. 8) to take its course in some respects.96 This Tyche is characterized as ἄγροικος (vv. 5, 14) and ἀπαίδευτος (v. 26; see also vv. 5-6) which I have very deliberately translated as “uncouth” and “uncultured.”.97 The (v. 2), but contemporary comparanda show that πολεμέω can take an accusative (cf. Din. 1.36, LXX 1 Ma.5.30, Polyb. 1.15.10 (see LSJ: πολεμέω II). 94 The rise in the interest of tyche/Tyche in the Hellenistic period is usually linked to the chaos, unpredictability, and sense of helplessness in Greece during the wars of the Diadochoi and their aftermath. On (Agathe) Tyche, see Matheson 1994: 19-20, Smith 1994: 87-8, Tracy 1994: 242-3, Mikalson 1998: 37, 62-3, Stafford 2007: 82-3, Shipley 2014: 173. 95 Cf. Men. Asp. 18 (tyche) and 148 (Tyche), Plaut. Capt. 245 (fortuna) and 864 (Fortuna), Ter. Phorm. 884 (fortuna) and 41 (Fortuna). On Tyche in New Comedy, e.g. Vogt-Spira 1992, Scullion 2014: 351-2. 96 For similar wordplay with τύχη, cf. Philem. 125.3 (PCG II: 489). Derivatives of τύχη also appear in Apollod.Car. 10; it does not occur in any form in the extant fragments of Apollodorus of Gela. Six fragments of Apollodorus Incertus include τύχη or a related derivative (2, 8, 16, 17, 24). See also FCN: 98 n. 10. 97 Since the speaker limits their concern to the cities (v. 17), it is tempting to understand ἄγροικος as “rustic” in the agricultural/rural sense: the cities’ circumstances could conceivably be explained by the fact that their fates are being governed by an unqualified “Country Tyche” (on the “Rustic” Agroikos in Greek comedy, see Konstantakos 2005 and my discussion on Apollod.Car. 30); however, this interpretation does not track with the fact that ἀπαίδευτος is framed as an interchangeable descriptor with ἄγροικος in Tyche’s characterization. Ἀπαίδευτος does not have the same sense of “rustic, field-dwelling” that ἄγροικος does, but both adjectives do have the synonymous application of “boorish, rude” (see LSJ: ἀπαίδευτος, ἄγροικος). Kassel and Austin (PCG II: 489) isolated a point of contact between Tyche’s characterization as 90 goddess is also indifferent to mankind’s fortunes and ignorant of what is right and wrong (vv. 6-8).98 Finally, this Tyche, by virtue of her preference for violence and death over various symposiastic pleasures (ἐξὸν ἱλαροὺς παίζοντας ὑποπεπωκότας, αὐλουμένους † ωδει †, vv. 12-13), is not Greek (vv. 9-13).99 The speaker then addresses directly an unnamed female figure to validate their characterization of this Tyche (vv. 13-4).100 There has been much speculation on the identity of this addressee. Meineke (FCG IV: 443) proposed it was either Peace or Georgia (a deified concept of agriculture) while Edmonds suggested it was Comedy. Meineke’s ideas are attractive in light of the parallels that can be drawn between Aristophanes’ Eirene and Georgoi and this fragment (see discussion below), but ἄγροικος/ἀπαίδευτος (vv. 5, 14, 26) and a digression in Plato’s Theaetetus where Socrates contrasts men who are devoted to public life and the courts with those who are devoted to philosophy. Socrates claims that philosophers see tyrants and kings—having no leisure time and always confined within pens (i.e. walls)—as sorts of herdsmen who are particularly ἄγροικος and ἀπαίδευτος (174d-e). But there is another connection in the digression’s concluding sentiment in which it is claimed that the man devoted to public life and the courts (in contrast to the philosopher) has not acquired the ability “to recite from memory the true lifestyle of the gods and blessed men.” (ὑμνῆσαι θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν εὐδαιμόνων βίον ἀληθῆ, 175e-6a)—a concept that is echoed in Apollod.Car. 5 as a thematic focal point (θεῶν ἀληθῶς βίον, v. 16; see also v. 26). 98 Cf. Socrates’ statement about the orator in Plato’s Phaedrus: ὁ ῥητορικὸς ἀγνοῶν ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακόν (260c). 99 Relevant comparanda and previous discussion on vv. 9-13: μᾶλλον ἂν προείλετο, cf. Isoc. 5.47, 8.93, Xen. Mem. 2.1.2, 3.5.16 (PCG II: 489). Ἕλλην, cf. Philem. 58, CGFP 258.39 (FCG IV: 443, CAF III: 282, PCG II: 489). λεπομένους, cf. Plato Com. 12, Timocl. 31.3, as well as Phryn. on λέπειν (Bekker 1814: 51) and Meineke’s discussion (FCG I: 469, CAF III: 282, PCG II: 489). αὐτοὺς ὑφ᾽ αὑτῶν, cf. Soph. OT 1237 (Schuster 1907: 26). αὐλουμένους † ωδει †, cf. Philetaer. 17.1 (FCG IV: 443, CAF III: 282, PCG II: 489); see also Meineke’s discussion (FCG IV: 443) and Kock (CAF III: 281) who flags Ar. Eccl. 942, 1016 to justify σποδεῖν—a correction taken up by Perez Asensio (FCN: 98). For the implication that this Tyche is not Greek (vv. 9-10), see Kock (CAF III: 282): “nam si graeca esset Fortuna nostra, non barbara, quomodo quaeso mallet nos pereuntes videre?” On the activities at vv. 11-2, cf. Xen. Cyr. 4.5.7 (PCG II: 489). 100 On v. 14, Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 188 n. a) suggests that the audience was meant to fill in “that rules our lives” from vv. 4-5. 91 a muse (i.e. Comedy) is also oftentimes invoked in comparable speeches of earlier comedy (e.g. Ar. Ach. 665, Av. 373, Pax 775, 816, Ran. 674). Schuster (1907: 17) and Vogt-Spira (1992: 57) assume she is the speaker’s lover. Goddess and lover need not be mutually exclusive possibilities (cf. Ar. Pax where the deified concepts of Harvest and Festival play the part of the hero’s wife and the city council’s hetaera respectively); however, as a potential deity, she could just as well be a cult statue as an actor in the guise of a goddess (see Dionysus in Ar. Pax [267] as well as the statue of Peace itself in the same play [see recently, Storey 2019: 72-8]). Against this, comic comparanda for the use of γλυκυτάτη suggest she is mortal (see Ar. Eccl. 124, Lys. 79, Men. Epit. 888). To these possibilities, I would add for consideration the goddess Agathe Tyche. This goddess is a compelling possibility because the fragment may be framing its Agroikos Tyche as a sort of antithesis to her. The fact that this Agroikos Tyche is a Tyche that also has a three-syllable epithet beginning with alpha-gamma helps encourage the comparison. Agathe Tyche may have been the only relevant goddess with an associated topographical feature visible from the theatre at which an actor could direct these words. Several private dedications to Agathe Tyche (see IG II2 4610, 4644) were found in Athens’ City Asklepion which was situated just beyond the koilon of the Theatre of Dionysus to the northwest. She had clearly developed an association with this shrine at some point by the fourth century. Note also that while the location of the Athenian shrine dedicated exclusively to Agathe Tyche is not known for certain, Wallbank (1994: 238 and n. 9), working from a fourth-century inscription (IG II2 1195), has suggested that it may have been situated on Mouseion Hill (visible from the theatre’s koilon). Given the available evidence, the fragment’s addressee must continue to remain anonymous, but Agathe Tyche is an attractive new possibility. 92 Following Athenaeus’ interjection, the speaker warns that the status quo does not reflect the lifestyle of the gods (vv. 15-6);101 this is a standard which could be attained and have a significant impact on city-life, but only with a collective effort to change (vv.16-8).102 The fragment does not specify the changes that ought to be made, but does elaborate on the various benefits these changes would produce (vv. 19-25).103 First, all Athenians up to age 30 could be drinking (vv. 19-20). This is probably a reference to the age classes that had been recently, or were customarily, drafted into active military duty in Athens.104 All eligible Athenian citizens between the ages of 18 and 59 could be summoned for military service (Habicht 1997: 137-8). Oftentimes these Athenian conscriptions were restricted to particular age groups (e.g. Dem. 3.4, Diod. Sic. 18.10.2) and an age cap of 30 years is attested in some cases (See Meiggs and Lewis 23 [1969: 48-52], lines 23-5).105 If this draft class was not needed for active duty, they would be at their leisure to drink.106 101 Cf. Ter. An. 959-61/Men. 146 (CAF III: 282, PCG II: 489-90). 102 Cf. Ar. Plut. 736-8, Ran. 734-5, Eup. 392; see also Thuc. 2.16.2 (PCG II: 490). 103 Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 187 and 189) and Rusten (2011: 688-9) make the infinitives at vv. 19-25 imperatival as if these verses parodied military orders (see FAC IIIA: 188 n. b). I follow Olson (III: 295-7) in treating them as declarative. This latter interpretation frames vv. 19-25 as an elaboration of the ἡδίονα τὰ πράγματ᾽ ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν referenced in the apodosis of the counterfactual conditional at vv. 15-6 (which also supplies the ἄν that typically signals that an infinitive is expressing potential action). This interpretation makes vv. 19-25 far more cohesive with the verses that precede and follow it. 104 See PCG II: 490, FCN: 98 n. 12. 105 See also Aeschin. 2.133, though here there is a variant reading of τετταράκοντα. These references have been drawn from Rhodes 1993 on Arist. [Ath. Pol.] 53.7 via PCG II: 490. 106 Cf. Dikaiopolis (Ar. Ach. 195-200) who, upon tasting the Thirty Years Peace vintage gets the sensation that he no longer need worry about getting drafted. 93 Next the cavalry, adorned in festival attire, could ride out before dawn for ten days of revelry (instead of battle, vv. 20-2).107 In the context of Attic comedy, Corinth had a narrow association with hetaerae and sex work (e.g. Alex. 225, Anaxandr. 9, Ar. Plut. 149-52), so much so that it developed neologisms derived from Κόρινθος to refer to sex and the sex industry (e.g. Κορινθιάζομαι “to practice fornication,” Κορινθιαστής “whore-monger” [LSJ]).108 It is reasonable to assume that these verses refer to Athenian soldiers’ ability to once again enjoy the services of Corinth’s famed sex workers.109 Given the festival indicators (e.g. κῶμον, στεφάνους, μύρον), the verses may refer specifically to the cavalry’s ability to celebrate Corinth’s hetaera-centered Aphrodisia which is referenced in Athenaeus (13.574b-c) who quotes from Alexis’ Philousa (fr. 255):110 ὅτι δὲ καὶ Ἀφροδίσια ἴδια ἄγουσιν αὐτόθι αἱ ἑταῖραι, Ἄλεξις ἐν Φιλούσῃ φησίν· Ἀφροδίσι᾿ ἦγε ταῖς ἑταίραις ἡ πόλις· ἕτερα δὲ χωρίς ἐστι ταῖς ἐλευθέραις. ταῖς ἡμέραις ταύταις δὲ κωμάζειν ἔθος ἔστιν † νόμος τε τὰς ἑταίρας ἐνθάδε μεθ᾿ ἡμῶν. † 107 On vv. 20-2, cf. Antiph. 197, Ar. Plut. 1040-1, Diph. 22, Pherec. 2; see also Pl. Resp. 9.573A (FCG IV: 443, PCG II: 490). See brief comments of Meineke (FCG IV: 443), Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 188 n. c), and Perez Asensio (FCN: 98 n. 13). For the Athenian cavalry at Corinth, cf. Ar. Eq. 595-614. The Athenian cavalry was expanded from 200 to 300 members in 282/1 (SEG 21.525); it may have contributed as many as 500 cavalrymen to the coalition that repelled the Celts in 279 (Paus. 10.20.3). See further Habicht 1997: 133 and Oliver 2007: 173-4. 108 See Ar. 370, Polioch. 1. For relevant discussion, see especially Anderson 1986. Perez Asensio also acknowledges the association of Corinth with hetaerae (FCN: 98 n. 13). 109 καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖ [i.e. Κόρινθός] διὰ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν ἑταιρῶν, αἳ τῆς Ἀφροδίτης ἦσαν ἱεραί, πολὺς ἦν ὁ ἐπιδημῶν καὶ ἐνεορτάζων τῷ τόπῳ· οἱ δ᾿ ἐμπορικοὶ καὶ στρατιωτικοὶ τελέως ἐξανηλίσκοντο (“for there too, on account of the multitude of courtesans, who were sacred to Aphrodite, outsiders resorted in great numbers and kept holiday. And the merchants and soldiers who went there squandered all their money”) (Str. 12.4.36; text and trans. Jones 1928: 438-9). 110 Text and trans. Olson VI: 324-7. Ten days is a common festive length, cf. the Syracusan Thesmophoria and the Eleusinian Mysteries. 94 Alexis in Philousa asserts that the prostitutes in Corinth celebrate a private festival of Aphrodite: ‘The city was celebrating a festival of Aphrodite for the prostitutes; there’s a separate one for the free women. It’s common practice on those days to have wild parties † and a law the prostitutes here with us. †’ Next, Megarian vendors could be boiling their cabbages (v. 23). Megara was particularly well-suited to the cultivation of cabbage and Megarians seem to have had a predilection for cabbage rolls (Beck 2018: 32, Solez 2018: 89). This verse may be a reference to the fact that Megarians could resume cultivating, selling, and enjoying cabbage again, but given the symposiastic theme that links the other benefits listed, it may be the vegetable’s utility as a hangover remedy that would be the real cause for celebrating its renewed availability.111 Next, allies could enjoy the public baths (v. 24).112 The freedom to visit the baths is an ultimate indicator of peacetime privilege and an expression of the leisure, indulgence, and vulnerability that cannot be attained while on military deployment. Finally, the speaker concludes that Euboeans could be mixing wine (v. 25). The verse oddly implies that warfare had specifically hindered the Euboeans’ ability to prepare wine. Euboea presumably would have had as much trouble with this as any other city-state dealing with domestic warfare, but sense can be made of this claim in light of the Euboeans’ unique preference for retsina—wine mixed with pine resin.113 Euboea was a prominent local source of 111 Cf. Alex. 287, Amphis 37, Anaxandr. 59, Eub. 124, Nicoch. 18. See also my discussion on cabbage and Apollod.Car. 32. Meineke proposed that it encourages Megarians to enjoy for themselves the cabbage they had been selling to Athens (FCG IV: 443-4) while Edmonds interprets it as an order that they “not have their market-gardens destroyed” (FAC IIIA: 188-9 n. d). Most other recent editors seem to assume the verse has to do with the vegetable’s utility as a hangover remedy (see PCG II: 490, Rusten 2011: 688 n. 12, FCN: 99 n. 15). 112 “Lloc d’esbarjo associate en occasions a la vida dissoluta,” cf. Ar. Eq. 1399-1403, Nub. 837, 991, and Diph. Balaneion (FCN: 99 n. 16). 113 Pine resin was usually used to seal wine amphorae, but Plutarch notes that Euboeans (and Italians that lived near the Po) liked to mix it in with their wine as well (Mor. 676b-c; cf. the Athenian Dikaiopolis’ negative reaction to retsina at Ar. Ach. 189-90). Euboea was not known 95 timber for southern Greece (e.g. Theophr. Hist. pl. 5.2.1).114 Limited access to local pines (even if comically exaggerated) because of local warfare might have hindered the Euboeans’ ability to tap their otherwise plentiful resource of resin. A lifestyle change, according to the fragment’s speaker, could mean renewed access to these pines, allowing Euboeans to once again produce retsina. The speaker punctuates this list of international benefits with a summary statement of what they represent: opulence and the true way of life (vv.25-6)—the central aspiration of the speaker’s monologue (cf. vv. 1-2, 15-6). The case is made all the more effective when they then abruptly bring the audience back to their sobering reality—one that is governed by an uncultured Tyche (vv. 26-7) and therefore lacks the aforesaid pleasures. As for the title, γραμματειδιοποιός is a compound of γραμματείδιον—a diminutive of γραμματεῖον— and ποιέω.115 Ancient sources say that the Athenians used γραμματεῖον to refer to both writing tablets and money chests.116 In the case of Apollodorus of Gela’s Grammateidiopoios, Pollux implies that the γραμματείδιον of the title refers to a money chest for its wine. The preference for retsina may have developed out of necessity to make the local vintages more palpable. For ancient references to Euboean wine, see Alex. 303 and Steph. Byz. N 83 (Νῦσαι, Billerbeck 2014: 396). See also Perez Asensio (FCN: 99 n. 17): “Cal pensar que la referència a Eubea obeeix més aviat a qüestions polítiques ...” and Kock (CAF III: 283): “cum ipse poeta sit Carystius, non mirum est tam lepidum popularibus ministerium delegari.” On the alternative accusative forms of Εὐβοῆς, see Photius on Helladius (Bibl. 279, 872H; Bekker 1825: 533) and Herodian, excerpted by Choeroboscus (in Theod. 982, 20; Bekker 1821: 1195) who draws reference to βασιλῆς in Sophocles (Aj. 390) and νομῆς in Xenophon (Hell. 1.7.29) (FCG I: 469, FCG IV: 444). 114 See further Meiggs 1982: 26, 194, 204, 206, 209. 115 On γραμματείδιον, e.g. Choerob. Peri Orthographias (Cramer 1835 II: 190), Etym. Magn. (Sylburg 1816: 218-9). 116 E.g. Synagoge Lexiceon Chrysimon on ἀργυριοθήκη (Bekker 1814: 443), Harp. ἀργυριοθήκη (Harpokration On Line), Hsch. γραμματίδιον (Schmidt 1867: 359). 96 specifically;117 for Apollodorus of Carystus’ comedy, modern scholarship prefers a writing-tablet interpretation.118 Both money chests and writing tablets have their place in New Comedy;119 however, each of the three surviving instances of γραμματείδιον in Greek comedy clearly refers to a written document.120 For two of these, the γραμματείδιον is a legal document specifically.121 This is noteworthy in light of the hypothesis that the title may refer to a “litium procuratorem” (“lawsuit-litigator”; see FCG I: 460-1).122 This interpretation is tempting since we know that the law-savvy character component of Terence’s Phormio likely had its roots in his character model of Apollodorus’ Epidikazomenos.123 Nevertheless, we cannot discount the possibility that the title refers to a literal craftsman.124 117 Money chest is the only definition that Pollux offers in his discussion of γραμματεῖον at 4.19 where he includes the Geloan’s title for reference. Apollodorus of Gela’s Grammateidiopoios is referred to again at Poll. 10.93 and possibly at 7.190 where Pollux mentions a Grammateidiopoios of an Apollodorus, but does not provide a distinguishing loconym. No other comic poets have this title. The question of potential misattribution is discussed below. 118 See FAC IIIA: 187, Rusten 2011: 688, and FCN: 97. 119 Cf. Plaut. Epid. 308, Men. 691 v. Plaut. Pseud. 10, Ter. Phorm. 67, 149. 120 All three may belong to Menander (238, Inc. 7 9, Sik 141). The only recorded instance of γραμματεῖον in New Comedy belongs to Apollod.Gel. 2: a fragment of Grammateidiopoios; in this case, either writing tablet or money chest could make sense given the limited context. Elsewhere in Greek comedy, γραμματεῖον seems to refer to a writing tablet (see Ar. 163, Nub. 19, Plato Com. 218). 121 See Men. 238 and Inc. 7 9. At Men. Sik. 141, it is a personal epistle. On the association of writing tablets with legal action, see my discussion on Terence’s Phormio in Chapter 4. 122 Cf. Men. Nomothetes/Nomothetai and Diox. Diadikazomenoi. 123 Apollod.Car. 28 only makes sense if the Phormio-equivalent from Epidikazomenos was also a legal expert/sycophant type. 124 Cf. Diph. Chrysochoos, Zoigraphos. 97 Historical Context Apollod.Car. 5 is a remarkable fragment of New Comedy because of its candid and aggressive commentary on a contemporary historical conflict. The exact conflict to which it refers, however, has been a matter of debate. Many editors contend that it must be commenting on Demetrius Poliorketes’ activity in southern Greece at the end of the fourth and beginning of the third century.125 This assumption, paired with the fact that Apollodorus of Gela also wrote a Grammateidiopoios, has compelled some to even reassign the fragment to the poet from Gela (e.g. Webster 1970: 225).126 Others, however, have acknowledged that the fragment could just as easily be referring to the situation created by the Chremonidean War (ca. 268-262 BCE);127 this would squarely situate the comedy in Apollodorus of Carystus’ production period alone. These arguments are based almost exclusively on what can be gleaned from the references at vv. 19-25, but a historicist reading that considers the fragment in its entirety demonstrates that we can reasonably associate Apollod.Car. 5 with the Chremonidean War and therefore reaffirm Athenaeus’ attribution to Apollodorus of Carystus. This claim is based on the observation that the distinct rendition of Tyche—which accounts for nearly half the fragment’s 125 E.g. Capps 1900: 49-50, Schuster 1907: 18, Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1937 II: 261 n. 2, FAC IIIA: 189 n. e. 126 See also PCG II: 490—on potentially linking the fragment to the activity of Demetrius Poliorketes, “si recte, Apollodori Carystii fragmentum esse nequit.” Webster does concede that, “identity of title is so common in Greek comedy that both poets may have written plays with the same title” and since I have demonstrated that Apollodorus of Carystus may have begun producing in Athens as early as ca. 293 (see section 1.6), potential references to Demetrius Poliorketes—whose second period of Athenian oversight extended from 295 to 287—can not be considered compelling evidence to call into question the attribution of fragments assigned to Apollodorus of Carystus. 127 E.g. Bergk 1887: 232 n. 214, FCN: 24-5. 98 verses—, when similarly viewed through a historical lens, suggests that the goddess was meant to be understood as a thinly veiled allusion to Arsinoe II. Given the Panhellenic breadth of the speaker’s plea (vv. 1, 10) and the contemporary historical circumstances (broadly considered, ca. 300-250 BCE), it is difficult to read the characterization of Tyche as anything but a commentary on the continued manipulation of polis politics in southern Greece by Macedonian successor kings (and queens). There are some indications that ἄγροικος (vv. 5, 14) and ἀπαίδευτος (v. 26; see also vv. 5-6) were used to characterize Macedonians (Plut. Mor. 178.15, Theagen. 12, Greg.Cor. 7.2.1148) as well as political leaders (see Pl. Tht. 174d-e). The emphasis on this Tyche not being Greek probably reflects a perpetuation of the fourth-century anti-Macedonian propaganda which framed their Hellenic identity as dubious at best (e.g. Dem. 9.31, 19.327; see also Isoc. 5.154).128 From the Athenian perspective, a Macedonian Tyche who was perceived as the cause of a conflict can only be interpreted as a rebuke of Arsinoe II and her role in orchestrating the Chremonidean War. In 268, Chremonides of Aethalidae issued a decree (IG II2 687) proposing an alliance between Athens, Sparta and its Peloponnesian allies, and, unofficially, Ptolemy II, to preserve the “freedom of the Greeks” (18). This decree, passed by the Athenian assembly, kicked off the Chremonidean War, pitting the Greek-Ptolemaic alliance against Antigonus Gonatas. Attica was the primary battleground for this conflict and Athens itself was under siege for its duration. With 128 “Culturally, the Greeks of Philip’s day regarded Macedonia as a geographic backwater inhabited by untrustworthy barbarians who spoke an uncouth form of Greek; were governed by primitive political institutions; subscribed to customs, social values, and sexual practices that bordered on the unspeakably depraved; dressed in bear pelts; drank their wine neat; and were given to regular bouts of incest, murder, and regicide. To the degree that the Greeks thought about isolated Macedonia at all, it was from the perspective of snobbish and sophisticated contempt” (Gabriel 2010: 5-6). 99 the Spartan-led Peloponnesian forces having made little impact on land and Ptolemy’s fleet unable to compel a naval battle or penetrate inland, Athens was forced to surrender to Antigonus in 262. Chremonides’ decree, a de facto declaration of war that turned out to be disastrous for the Athenians, is hailed as remarkable because it uniquely recognizes the political authority of a woman in framing Ptolemy’s involvement in the war as if he was acting in deference to his sister-wife—Arsinoe II:129 ὅ τε βασιλεὺς Πτολεμαῖος ἀκολούθως τεῖ τῶν προγόνων καὶ τεῖ τῆς ἀδελφῆς προ[α]ιρέσει φανερός ἐστιν σπουδάζων ὑπὲρ τῆς κοινῆς τ[ῶν] Ἑλλήνων ἐλευθερίας. King Ptolemaios in accordance with the predilection both of his ancestors and of his sister is manifest in his concern for the common freedom of the Greeks. Ptolemy himself may have had reason to engage Antigonus, but Arsinoe, whether she truly cared about the “freedom of the Greeks” or was acting for more personal reasons, may well have been the war’s primary proponent.130 Whatever the case, what is important is that “the Athenians associated her with the policy that led to Ptolemaic involvement, and Ptolemy II and his admiral used the memory of Arsinoe and her cult to promote support for their cause” (Carney 2013: 129 Lines 16-8; Greek text from IG II2 687, trans. Sean Byrne, AIO 2016. See Hauben 1983: 116-7, Habicht 1992: 72, Carney 2013: 92-3. 130 Ptolemy may have become concerned that Antigonus’ growing naval power would become capable of challenging his thalassocracy. Arsinoe may have been motivated by the desire to see her son by Lyscimachus (Ptolemy) succeed Antigonus as king of Macedonia. See Hauben 1983: 116-9, Habicht 1997: 142-3, Panovski 2012: 76-7, O’Neil 2008: 66, 71. 100 124).131 Arsinoe then was not only viewed as the cause of the calamitous war, but also a symbol of the failed Ptolemaic support throughout.132 Arsinoe was fair game for Athens’ comic playwrights (Posidippus even wrote a comedy titled Arsinoe); however, it may have been prudent for comic poets wishing to be critical of Arsinoe (as a symbol of the war) to do so obliquely.133 To this end, Tyche provides an ideal analogue for the Ptolemaic queen. The ubiquitous presence of Tyche (and the concept tyche) in both New Comedy and the Athenian world with which it engaged would have provided 131 Arsinoe died only weeks before the outbreak of the war (see Gryzbek 1990: 103-12), but she continued to be a tool of pro-war Ptolemaic propaganda (see Hauben 1983: 116-9, Carney 2013: 93). Methana, a port city on the Saronic gulf, for example, was renamed Arsinoe by Ptolemy’s general at this time (Oliver 2007: 252 n. 18, Panovski 2012: 79, Carney 2013: 110). See also Posidipp. AB 36.14-5 where, “the armed image [i.e., of Arsinoe] may well refer to her support for the Ptolemaic policy of ‘Greek freedom’ that led to the Chremonidean War” (Carney 2013: 91). 132 Cf. the implied role of Aspasia in starting the Peloponnesian War in Aristophanes’ Akharneis (526-40). 133 Alex. 246 seems to include a veiled criticism of Ptolemy and Arsinoe’s sibling marriage—a marital union that was taboo in Athens (see Arnott 1996: 690). Cf. the poet Sotades of Maroneia, who was forced to flee Alexandria after penning a much less subtle rebuke of the incestuous marriage; Sotades was eventually caught by a general of Ptolemy and sunk to the bottom of the sea with lead-filled jars that had been fastened to his feet. It is possible that Arsinoe’s marriage may be what is meant by Tyche’s ignorance of right and wrong at vv. 6-7 of Apollod.Car. 5. 101 sufficient plausible deniability for politically outspoken authors in Athens;134 however, Arsinoe had also clearly begun to develop a unique association with Tyche at this time.135 Arsinoe had already achieved divine status while living several years before the outbreak of the Chremonidean War.136 Gradually her cult was assimilated with those of other prominent goddesses—the most relevant of which from the Athenian perspective was her syncretism with Agathe Tyche.137 This syncretism is indicated most clearly by a series of mass-produced, ritual-use faience oinochoe that were first manufactured in Alexandria late in Arsinoe’s life or soon after her death.138 Several of these oinochoe bear the inscription: Ἀγαθής Τύχης Ἀρσινόης 134 Political allegiances to the wrong Macedonian factions proved dangerous for several authors working in Athens. Theophrastus was forced into exile following Demetrius Poliorketes’ liberation of Athens in 307 and Menander was nearly put on trial because of their connections to Demetrius of Phaleron and Cassander. Philippides, a staunch supporter of Lysimmachus and harsh critic of Demetrius Poliorketes, was forced into exile in Thrace for several years near the end of the fourth century when Stratocles’ pro-Demetrius oligarchic faction consolidated power in Athens. The historian Philochorus was put to death by Antigonus Gonatas after the Chremonidean War for his endorsement of Ptolemy. 135 Carney observes that Arsinoe’s life was itself illustrative of the mutability of fortune (2013: 62, 66), cf. Apollod.Car. 5 vv. 7-8. 136 Both Ptolemy and Arsinoe were worshipped as theoi adelphoi by 272/1. The cult of thea philadelphus may not have been founded until shortly after her death (Carney 2013: 97, 106). 137 Agathe Tyche was the polis-Tyche of Athens. She was the beneficiary of sacrifices and had a local temple dedicated to her by the second half of the fourth century (see IG II2 1496 and 333). Agathe Tyche was invoked in state inscriptions (e.g. Agora I 6524) and had a cult statue erected outside the Prytaneion (Ael. VH 9.39), but there is also evidence for private engagement with the goddess as well (IG II2 4610, 4644, 4564, 4627). See Matheson 1994: 19-20, Smith 1994: 87-8, Tracy 1994: 242-3, Mikalson 1998: 37, 62-3, Stafford 2007: 82-3, Shipley 2014: 173. 138 Thompson 1973 is the primary study for these oinochoe. See also Fraser 1972 I: 241-2, Kershaw 1986: 90, Carney 2013: 109, Miano 2018: 170. 102 Φιλαδέλφου (“Of Agathe Tyche Arsinoe Philadelphos … ”).139 They also include figural mouldings which show a woman cradling a double cornucopia in her left arm;140 this attribute encourages further the link between Arsinoe and Tyche whose primary iconographic indicator is a single cornucopia (otherwise known as the horn of Amalthea).141 These oinochoe were exported out of Alexandria and at least three excavated from the Athenian Agora belong to a type that can be narrowly associated with Arsinoe II.142 The double cornucopia or dikera—and the Tyche amalgamation it promotes—was a unique iconographic marker of Arsinoe and was widely dispersed across all other official representations of the queen including coinage and statuary.143 Finally, Fraser (1972 I: 241-3) makes a convincing case that iconographic parallels between images of Tyche and Arsinoe on Delos as well as the likely consolidation of the Delian Philadelpheion into the island’s Temple of Agathe Tyche speak to the existence and strong 139 See BM 1873.0820.389 (Thompson 1973: 125-6 no. 1), cf. also Alexandria 16168, 16516, 16167 (Thompson 1973: 173-3 nos. 142-4). On the inscriptions, see Thompson 1973: 19-22, 51-5. 140 The most complete example is BM 1873.0820.389 (Thompson 1973: 125-6 no. 1); cf. EAM Μπ 1326, Walters Art Gallery (Baltimore) 48.315, and MET 17.194.2392 (Thompson 1973: 127-8 nos. 4-6). For the relationship between Arsinoe II and the dikera on these oinochoe, see Thompson 1973: 31-3, 83. 141 See Paus. 4.30.6-7, 7.26.3. 142 See Agora P 22906, P 18692, G 25 (Thompson 1973: 133, 139-40 nos. 27, 44-5) and Thompson’s discussion of Type 1a Queens (1973: 29-30). See also Agora P 8594 and P 6797 (Thompson 1973: 182 no. 189 and 186 no. 200). These oinochoe continued to be produced long after Arsinoe’s death and later versions appear to depict subsequent Ptolemaic queens. 143 See MET 30.115.23 and BM 1868.0320.12 (coinage), MET 20.2.21 and BM 1849.0517.2 (statuary), et al. (e.g. Getty Villa 92.AM.8.9). The dikera, as a personal symbol, was apparently given to Arsinoe by Ptolemy himself (see Ath. 11.497b-c). The statue of Arisnoe II that was erected in the Athenian Agora (Paus. 1.8.6) presumably also included a dikera, so too her cult statue at Rhamnous if indeed Steinhauer (SEG 59.146) is correct that line 16 of IG II2 247 refers to an Arsinoe shrine there. For further discussion on Arsinoe and the dikera, e.g. Kershaw 1986: 2/87-9, Carney 2013: 114-5. 103 influence of an Alexandrian Cult of Agathe Tyche which was tied to the worship of Arsinoe.144 Evidence of this influence can be seen elsewhere and may have been facilitated by Ptolemy’s Chremonidean War generals, Patroclus and Pelops.145 To a discerning audience member, it would not have been difficult to connect Apollodorus’ Tyche (vv. 4-14, 26-7) to Arsinoe and her reading as such maps well onto the rest of the fragment. The opening lines, which frame the decision to go to war as an active choice despite the possibility of a more pleasant lifestyle (vv. 1-3), make very good sense in the context of the Chremonidean War. Although Athens was still without its primary harbor and several border forts, it had clearly found some sort of equilibrium with the local Antigonid garrisons and had lived in relative peace for nearly twenty-years before they declared war on Antigonus.146 The focus on improving circumstances in the cities (vv. 16-7) can be understood to reflect the dire living conditions in Athens for the duration of the Chremonidean War that were caused by overpopulation and food shortages.147 The notion that the Athenians referenced at vv. 19-20 is an 144 Pseudo-Nicolaus (see Lib. Prog. R IV 1113-4; Foerster 1915: 529-31) describes a spectacular Tyche temple in Alexandria that may date as early as the third century BCE (see McKenzie and Reyes 2013: 45). 145 Spyridakis (1969: 43), for example, argues that the cult of Tyche Protogeneia in Itanos, Crete was a distinct local cult inextricably linked to the Ptolemaic garrison stationed there in the first years of the Chremonidean war. 146 See Habicht 1997: 131, Oliver 2007: 127. The Athenians and Antigonid mercenaries even fought alongside one another against the Celts in 279 (see Paus. 10.20.3). 147 With Attica being the primary theatre of war, Athens’ urban population probably ballooned with rural citizens seeking safety behind Athens’ functioning defensive city walls (cf. Ar. Pax 632-5; on Athens’ walls in the third century, see Theocharaki 2011: 125-6). This would have exacerbated Athens’ persistent struggle to acquire sufficient grain to feed its population. Antigonid garrisons stationed at Piraeus and other Attic border forts would have prevented the importation of grain from Ptolemy II and other allies. Antigonus was furthermore able to surround Athens at the war’s outbreak which prevented the reaping of local harvests. Starvation, in fact, was ultimately the cause for Athens’ eventual surrender: at some point during the war, Antigonus briefly lifted his siege of Athens in order to deal with Alexander’s invasion of 104 allusion to the active-duty age classes for the Chremonidean War is also not at odds with the available evidence. There is no reason to expect that this age-based draft system did not continue throughout the third century (see Oliver 2007: 177) and the epigraphic evidence does indicate that young soldiers played a key role in the city’s defense (see IG II2 665.7-13).148 The idea that the Athenian cavalry could ride out to Corinth for revelry (vv. 20-2)—assuming this refers to their ability to enjoy the city’s famed sex trade—acknowledges that Corinthian hetaerae would have been especially inaccessible during the Chremonidean War. The Corinthian Temple of Aphrodite—the apparent base of operations for the city’s sex workers—was situated within the fortification walls of the Acrocorinth base occupied by Antigonus’ soldiers.149 As for Megara, Antigonus seems to have seized control of the city-state and installed a garrison of Gallic mercenaries there by the early years of the Chremonidean War (see Polynaeus, Strat. 4.6.3, Just. Epit. 26.2).150 Because of its location, we can expect Megara was a frequent battleground as Athens’ Peloponnesian allies engaged with Antigonus’ soldiers stationed at the Macedon. This allowed the desperate Athenians to sow a local crop in his absence though Antigonus returned in time to prevent its reaping. This, according to Polyaenus, was the decisive event of the war. See Polyaenus, Strat. 4.6.20, Just. Epit. 26.2.9-11, Habicht 1997: 146, Oliver, 2007: 128, and O’Neil 2008: 82-3. Cf. accounts of Athens during the Peloponnesian War (e.g. Thuc. 2.17, Ar. Ach. 68-72). 148 On this decree, e.g. Tracy 1988: 306-7, Oliver 2007: 130. 149 See Str. 8.6.20, 12.3.36; it’s possible that the influx of Antigonid soldiers in Corinth also represented a significant financial opportunity for Athenian sex workers who may have relocated to the isthmus to take advantage of the business. Cf. Philotis of Terence’s Hecyra who left Athens for two years to take on a contract with a soldier in Corinth (85-7) in a scene likely drawn from the Apollodoran model (see Apollod.Car. 8). We can assume that Grammateidiopoios was produced before Antigonus set fire to the shrine of Poseidon Hippios—the command post of Athens’ cavalry unit near Colonus (Paus. 1.30.4). See also Habicht 1997: 146, Oliver 2007: 130, O’Neil 2008: 65. 150 See further Habicht 1997: 145-6, Gabbert 2004: 37, Oliver 2007: 129 n. 100, Panovski 2012: 91, Chrysafis 2019: 192. 105 isthmus. This obviously would have stifled Megara’s agricultural program and trade (v. 23). We can assume that the allies referenced at v. 24 are the Spartans.151 The verse could refer to the Spartans ability to return home and once again enjoy their Laconica baths;152 however, it may also refer to the Spartans ability to enjoy Athens’ baths. All of these were located near gates just outside the city walls and represented important places of intercourse between Athenians and travelers (Gill 2011: 209-10, Trümper 2013: 38).153 The possibility of Spartans reaching Athens’ city gates and enjoying a bath was not possible while Antigonid garrisons battled the Spartans near the isthmus and besieged the Athenians at their metropolis. For the Spartans to make it as far as Athens’ city gates meant that the allied Greeks and Macedonians were at peace. Finally, the reference to Euboeans being able to mix their wine (v. 25)—based on my hypothesis that this refers to retsina—probably correlates to a shipbuilding campaign of Antigonus.154 It is generally thought that Antigonus began building up his navy again following his defeat of Pyrrhus in 272 (see Will 1979: 220, Panovski 2012: 75).155 Chalcis had been an Antigonid shipyard since Demetrius Poliorketes began building up a navy for his failed Asian 151 Although Ptolemy II and his sister-wife are alluded to as allies in the war effort in Chremonides’ decree, only the Spartans are named as official allies in the treaty itself. Cf. IG II3 1 912.1-69 v. 70-96. On the emphasis placed on Sparta as Athens’ primary ally in the Chremonidean War, see Habicht 1997: 142, O’Neil 2008: 66-7. 152 On Peloponnesian bathing, see Wassenhoven 2012. 153 See also Ar. 109. 154 At Ar. Ach. 189-90, Dikaiopolis equates the first peace vintage he drinks with resin and shipbuilding. 155 It is even possible that Antigonus’ growing naval power was the reason Ptolemy II and Arsinoe II helped instigate the Chremonidean War (see Habicht 1997: 143). The concern was probably justified given Antigonus’ success in the Battle of Cos (ca. 262?). 106 campaign of 287.156 It is natural that Antigonus would have utilized the same shipyards in his own bid to build up his navy. With garrisons now in both Chalcis and Eretria, Antigonus may have maintained tight control over the island’s substantial (Aleppo?) pine resources for these purposes.157 Opportunities for Euboeans to tap for resin may have therefore been limited, though the fragment may be exaggerating the situation for comic effect. The final verses (25-7) turn attention back to the Ptolemies directly. The idea that the preceding list of benefits represented “true truphe” (vv. 25-6) may well be a commentary on the Ptolemies’ hallmark ostentation.158 The return to the idea that Athenians were, however, still enslaved to an uncultured Tyche (vv. 26-7) bookends the fragment with a final rebuke of Arsinoe and her perceived role in the instigation of the disastrous war. This interpretation suggests that Apollodorus was critical of Athens’ decision to go to war against Antigonus Gonatas ca. 268 and lays the blame on Arsinoe II in what would be a relatively rare unfavorable reception of the Ptolemies from an Athenian context, even if it is one that is understandable given Athens’ war-time plight. 156 Plut. Demetr. 43; see also Habicht 1997: 95, Gabbert 2004: 16, 19, Oliver 2007: 54. 157 On the pines used for ancient Greek shipbuilding, see Theophr. Caus. Pl. 5.7.1-3 and Johnson 1927. See also Pakkanen (2013: 61 n. 36) on the timber used in the Zea harbour shipsheds: “The main source of ship-building timber in the fifth and fourth centuries was Macedon (Gabrielsen 1994: 140): this would have added slightly to the transport costs, but using Euboea in the calculations gives the lowest value.” On Antigonid garrisons in both Chalcis and Eretria, see Gabbert 2004: 39. 158 “On Ptolemaic truphe [in addition to Heinen 1983], see also Preaux (1965); Marasco (1979/80) (on Ptolemy IV); Cozzoli (1980); Nenci (1983); Samuel (1993) 184 (who connects to this motif the vast military forces of Ptolemy II (Athen. 203c-d)); Weber (1997) 35; Thompson (2000a); Hölbl (2001) 92, 133, 188, 196; Huß (2001), 469, 675, Chamoux (2003) 245-6” (Ager 2005: 23 n. 140). See also Carney 2013: 66-7, 79-80, 83-4, 126. 107 An Ode to Old Comedy The fragment’s commentary on topical socio-political matters makes Apollod.Car. 5 highly evocative of Athenian Old Comedy. Because it can now be more securely associated with Apollodorus of Carystus and the Chremonidean War, it represents critical evidence that some poets perpetuated the Old Comedy tradition of providing frank civic commentary and advice as late as the middle of the third century.159 In the case of Apollodorus’ play, the advice is that Athenians had to change their way of life to improve their circumstances (v. 18); i.e., Athenians could no longer abide by Macedonian influence on their city’s foreign policy.160 Perez Asensio also rightly recognized an echo of the utopian plotlines of Aristophanes (active ca. 427-386 BCE) in the fragment.161 Among these, the fragment is particularly reminiscent of Eirene and probably Georgoi—comedies in which the desired utopia is simply a return to real-world life as it was without war, replete with all the freedoms and leisure activities that come with peace.162 None of the well-preserved plays of Menander have similar 159 Although Menander tended to avoid topical references and commentary, fragments of his contemporaries suggest that other poets may have been more outspoken in this respect (e.g. Philem. 132, Philippid. 25), but none as late as Apollodorus. 160 From the Athenian perspective, the promised support of Ptolemy II may have appeared superficial given his failure to make inroads into Attica or force a naval engagement with Antigonus (see Panovski 2012: 76). 161 FCN: 28, 98 n. 11. Cf. Ar. Ach., Av., Eccl., Lys., Plut.; The utopia plotline was also used by Aristophanes’ contemporaries (e.g. Archipp. Ichthyes, Crates Com. Theria, Cratin. Ploutoi, Pherec. Metalles). On the utopia theme in Greek comedy, e.g. Ruffell 2000, 2014. 162 There are several other links between Apollod.Car. 5 and Eirene beyond their broad thematic emphasis on a similar type of utopia. In both comedies, traditional Greek gods are characterized as being incapable of witnessing mankind deliberately opting to go to war when peace is an option and are replaced in their capacity as custodians of mortal affairs with a hostile deity (in the case of Eirene, War; see Pax 204-12; see further 632-48, 665-7). For both plays, the wars’ impact is considered on an international scale (see Pax 242-54) with the plea for reform going out to mankind broadly (cf. ὦ πόνηρ᾽ ἀνθρώπια, Pax 263 and ὦ πάντες ἄνθρωποι, Apollod.Car 5.1). Finally, the championed benefits of peace, broadly considered, include the ability to reap 108 monologues; it is worth considering whether political utopia plays like Eirene continued to be produced alongside the newer apolitical, oikos-focused comedies. There are also more moderate solutions to reconcile the unusual monologue in a Menandrian-style comedy. Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 187 n. f) suggested this speech might have been drawn from the prologue. Although no Menandrian prologues resemble Apollod.Car. 5, Apollodorus and others might have used their opening verses as a platform to discuss contemporary issues before delving into an otherwise prototypical New Comedy, and if so it would provide an important and indeed startling precedent for what is seen in Terence’s prologues. Another possibility is that the monologue belongs to a specially composed choral interlude, spoken perhaps by the reveller’s coryphaeus in a play that was in all other respects, Menandrian.163 harvests, travel freely, and once again enjoy revelry and festivity (see Pax 338-45 and 529-38). On Georgoi, see Henderson’s discussion on the play (V: 161) and fr. 111 especially: Εἰρήνη βαθύπλουτε καὶ ζευγάριον βοεικόν, / εἰ γὰρ ἐμοὶ παυσαμένῳ τοῦ πολέμου γένοιτο / σκάψαι τ᾿ ἀποκλάσαι <τε> καὶ λουσαμένῳ διελκύσαι / τῆς τρυγός, ἄρτον λιπαρὸν καὶ ῥάφανον φαγόντι (“Peace deep in wealth and little team of oxen, / would it were mine to have an end of the war, / and delve and dress the vines, and after a bath to take a pull / of the new wine, after a meal of fatted bread and cabbage;” text and trans. Henderson V: 166-7). 163 The iambic trimeter perhaps works against this possibility, though there does seem to be precedent for accompanied iambic trimeter in Greek drama (see Moore 2008: 9). See also Arnott (1996: 838): “Although the last known intervention of a coryphaeus in the iambic-trimeter dialogue of a complete play occurs in Aristophanes’ Plutus, we must always remember how scanty the remains of Greek comedy are after 388, and it would be unwise to deny at least the possibility of similar interventions as late as Diphilus (the author of the Greek original of the Rudens) and Menander, even though papyri of the latter so far include no instance of one.” This choral interlude would be unusual according to our current understanding of New Comedy. Although no New Comedy choral texts survive, it is usually assumed that they were, by Menander's time, apolitical. 109 Apollod.Car. 5 demonstrates that Apollodorus was not beholden to the model set by Menander and that comedy of the third century continued to be an important venue for candid public discourse. 2.6 DIABOLOS 6 Two fragments survive from Apollodorus’ Diabolos. The first, fragment 6, is preserved by Stobaeus in a discussion on profligacy (ἀκολασία, 3.6.11).164 This fragment is comprised of three complete verses in iambic trimeter that capture a portion of dialogue in which two speakers discuss the security that a bolted door can provide. Διάβολος καὶ κλείεθ᾽165 ἡ θύρα μοχλοῖς. (Β.) ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ εἷς τέκτων ὀχυρὰν οὕτως ἐποίησεν θύραν, δι᾽ἧς γαλῆ καὶ μοιχὸς οὐκ εἰσέρχεται. 164 W.-H. III: 282. 165 The manuscripts actually give καὶ κλείεται. This form does not reflect the elision of -αι with ἡ or the change from τ to θ that would have occurred as a result of the elision (π, τ and κ change to φ, θ and χ respectively when they precede elisions involving a vowel that has rough breathing; see Smyth 1984: 22-3 nos. 64 and 70). Stobaeus observes this elision process elsewhere in this fragment (ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ εἷς, v. 1; δι᾽ ἧς, v. 3) and in several of the fragments he attributes to an unspecified Apollodorus (e.g. μεθ’ ἑτέρων, 1.2; τουθ’ ἕκαστος, 8.1, μάλισθ’ ὁ, 13.6, καθ’ ἑτέρας, 13.9). None of these examples have any variation in the manuscripts. Elision is also expressed in other sources for the comedies of Apollodorus of Carystus. See especially ἐφ’ ὑποζύιον (1.3) from Pollux (10.161) and ὑφ’ αὑτῶν (5.11) from Athenaeus (7.280de). These two sources likewise do not have any manuscript variants and to them, we can reasonably add the unanimously accepted correction δεδείπνηχ’ ὡς (29.5; ms. δεδειπνηκὼς) from Athenaeus (6.243d). The question of whether or not elision should be spelled out in this case does not affect the sense of the fragment, but comparanda do suggest that Stobaeus and other sources tend to illustrate elision where it would have occurred in the delivery of the line on stage. What this unelided form may well indicate is that earlier sources for the fragments, perhaps the scripts themselves, did not express this elision (it seems more likely that over the course of transmission, editors altered text to reflect elision rather than the other way around). 110 The Vilifier166 …and the door is barred with bolts. (B.) But no carpenter ever made a door so secure that a weasel or a womanizer could not pass through it.167 1 καὶ κλείεται LMdA: καὶ κλήιεθ’ Kock: κατακλείεθ’ Bothe: κεκλείσεθ’ Naber Mnem. 8 (1880) 428 pers. dist. Blaydes Adv. II p. 242 3 εἰσέρχεται LMA: -δύσεται Meineke Stob. IV (1857) p. lvi: -ερπύσει Nauck ap. Mein. 1.1. (PCG II: 491). Textual Notes The manuscript tradition is consistent, and the forms provided give no obvious indication of corruption; the text from which I work defers entirely to the manuscripts and the judgement of many previous editors.168 Commentary The indicative verb κλείεθ᾽ shows that bolted doors are a (presumed) matter of fact in this comedy’s action. In Old Comedy bolts (μοχλοί) are used to lock doors from either the inside or 166 Cf. “The Slanderer” (FAC IIIA: 189); “Slanderer” (Rusten 2011: 689); “El Calumniador” (FCN: 99). 167 Cf. “The door’ll be bolted; but no carpenter was ever known to make so strong a door as to keep out a cat or a paramour” (FAC IIIA: 189); “And the door is locked with bars. (B) But no carpenter has built a door so strong, that a cat and a lover won’t pass through it” (Rusten 2011: 689); “I la porta és tancada als adúlters. (B.) Però cap fuster no ha construït una porta tan forta que no la travessin una mostela i un adúlter” (FCN: 99). 168 For others that defer entirely to the manuscripts see FCG IV: 444, PCG II: 491, FCN: 99. Kock (CAF III: 283) makes κλείεται ionic, perhaps in an effort to reflect Apollodorus’ Euboean origins; however, ει began to replace ηι in Western Ionic (i.e. Euboean) by as early as 400 BC (see Buck 1955: 143 no. 186.4). The compound suggested by Bothe (1885: 659) and the future perfect tense provided by Naber (1880: 428) are possible, but not compelling enough to displace the form as it is presented in the manuscripts. Meineke (elsewhere) and Nauck each preferred a different verb altogether, set in the future tense, for the fragment’s final verb (see 1857: lvi). Here too, the suggestions are possible, but are not compelling enough to displace the text provided by the manuscripts. 111 the outside.169 In New Comedy, doors are always bolted from the inside.170 This fragment appears to uphold this trend; in what seems to be a counterpoint to the implication that a bolted door is unbreachable, the second interlocutor offers two exceptions: the γαλῆ and μοιχός—both of which are outside intruders that strive for indoor entry and can apparently gain it, despite any bolts. This counterpoint may be highly relevant to the character at whom it is directed.171 In this case, we can assume that the relevant exception is the μοιχός.172 In New Comedy, μοιχός and the Latin moechus are applied to potential, alleged, and guilty perpetrators of illicit sexual relations with married women as well as men whose sexual encounters involved freeborn virgins.173 Among these instances, some apply to men who are guilty of the crime but whose situations are ultimately resolved, while other men are labelled as such because of perceived, feigned, or 169 Cf. Ar. Lys. 246, 264, 310, 487, Thesm. 414-5 versus Vesp.113, 154, 200. Μοχλοί were also used to pry doors open (Ar. Lys. 424, 428, 431, 432). 170 There are no instances of μοχλός in surviving Greek New Comedy. This observation is based on a survey of pessulus in Roman Comedy. See Plaut. Aul. 104, Cist. 649, Curc. 147, 153, 157 and Ter. Eun. 603, Haut. 278. Pessulus at Plaut. Truc. 351 gives no indication of the bolt’s location, but the context points to indoor bolts. 171 At the risk of placing too great an onus on ἀλλ᾽, one would wonder why the conjunction would be included at all if the subsequent counterpoint was not directly relevant to the preceding circumstances with which it engages. 172 For plots of intrigue, cf. Men. Epit., Pk., Sam. Perez Asensio assumes Diabolos involved an adulterer attempting to enter a house (FCN: 28) but provides no support for the claim. 173 Although it is commonly translated “adulterer,” the charge of μοιχεία extended to others beyond those who seduced married women. It applied more broadly to “a man (whether married or not) who has sexual relations with a free female dependent of another man” (Barsby 1999: 262). Comic characters condemned as μοιχοί/moechi for affairs with “married women” include Moschion (Men. Pk. 357, 370, 390, 986), Jupiter (Plaut. Amph. 135), Mnesilochus (Plaut. Bacch. 918), Pyrgopolynices (Plaut. Mil. 775, 924, 1131, 1390, 1398, 1436), Diniarchus, (Plaut. Truc. 609-10), and Charinus (Ter. An. 316). Perpetrators involving free virgins include Moschion (Men. Sam. 717) and Chaerea (Ter. Eun. 957, 960, 992). 112 hypothetical acts of μοιχεία.174 In terms of the character types involved, those who are most likely to be labelled a μοιχός/moechus are young men and those most likely to make the charge are slaves.175 Given that, in the fragment, the interlocutor’s response comes in the form of a witty aphorism, it seems probable that the respondent is a slave who is replying, perhaps, to a young man in his charge.176 These circumstances indicate that Diabolos may have engaged with the locked-out lover or dramatic paraclausithryon motif.177 The most complete surviving examples of locked-out 174 Those clearly guilty of μοιχεία include Moschion (Men. Sam.), Jupiter (Plaut. Amph.), and Chaerea (Ter. Eun.); those belonging to the other category include Moschion (Men. Pk.), Mnesilochus (Plaut. Bacch.), Pyrgopolynices (Plaut. Mil.), Diniarchus (Plaut. Truc.), and Charinus (Ter. An.). In a few cases, μοιχός and moechus contribute to one-off jokes which, in the tradition of Old Comedy, either frame wives as uncontrollably promiscuous (e.g. Men. 508.8) or ponder the extreme penalties a man might incur if convicted of μοιχεία (e.g. Plaut. Poen. 862). For precedence of the former in Old Comedy see Ar. Eccl. 225, 522, Lys. 107, 212-3, Thesm. 343, 345, 390-7, 501. For the latter, see Ar. Ach. 849 (probably), Nub. 1097, Plut. 168. 175 Of the eight characters from New Comedy that are labelled μοιχός/moechus, six are young men (Moschion, Men. Pk.; Moschion, Men. Sam.; Mnesilochus, Plaut. Bacch.; Diniarchus, Plaut. Truc.; Charinus, Ter. An.; *Chaerea, Ter. Eun.). One god (Jupiter, Plaut. Amph.) and one braggart soldier (Pyrgopolynices, Plaut. Mil.) are also identified as a moechus. Of the twenty instances that a character mentions a μοιχός/moechus, nine are spoken by male slaves (Sosias, Men. Pk. [3x]; Palaestrio, Plaut. Mil. [2x]; Syncerastus, Plaut. Poen.; Byrria, Ter. An.; Parmeno, Ter. Eun. [2x]), four by soldiers (Polemon, Men. Sam.; Pyrgopolynices, Plaut. Mil. [of himself and those of his type, 2x]; Stratophanes, Plaut. Truc.), two by old men (Nikeratus, Men. Sam.; Nicobulus, Plaut. Bacch.) and one by a god (Mercurius, Plaut. Amph.), boy (Plaut. Mil.), cook (Cario, Plaut. Mil.), sex worker (Acroteleutium, Plaut. Mil.), and slave girl (Pythias, Ter. Eun.). 176 Cf. Syros (?) to Pheidias at Men. Phasm. 17-8 (with Cobet supp.) and Geta to Antipho at Ter. Phorm. 203. See also Donat. Ter. Phorm. 41 (W. II: 360 v. 13): garrulos servos et sententiosos amat comoedia (“Comedy loves talkative and sententious slaves …”) and Schironi 2014: 454-5, Demetriou 2014a: 786-7, Maltby 2014: 216, 218. 177 On the paraclausithyron, see Canter 1920, Copley 1956, Yardley 1978, Thomas 1979: 195-200, James 2003: 136-41, and Cairns 2020. This term, which literally means “whining near a door” is a poetic trope that refers to a lover’s woeful song of lament performed at the door of a mistress who has refused him entry. It is usually associated with epigram, idyll, lyric, and elegy. For theatrical iterations, Copley (1956: 7-14) expanded the definition to incorporate an entire stock scene which can include the lover’s arrival at the door, the initial realization he’s been locked out, and, following his song, his ultimate admittance or final rejection. Cairns (2020) has 113 lover scenes from New Comedy include Men. Inc. 8 1-39, Mis. 1-100, and Plaut. Curc. 1-215.178 Each of these scenes situate a young man before a closed door, who is lamenting the door’s role in separating him from his lover inside.179 In each scene, the young man is joined by a slave in his service.180 Finally, in each example, the slave playfully ridicules the young man because of his unbridled desire.181 In the case of Curculio, some of Palinurus’ jokes even situate Phaedromus as a potential μοιχός and are presented in part through aphorisms.182 These are all recently made a persuasive argument that these peripheral elements of the song and the song itself should collectively be termed a komos. The use of komos in this sense, however, presents a problem in the context of discussing New Comedy since it is already frequently used to refer to the genre’s reveller choruses. 178 Ar. Lys. 845-979 and Eccl. 934-1048 could be considered protoparaclausithyra of the dramatic type. Men. Dys. 57-68, Theo. 16-23, Plaut. Merc. 405-11, and Per. 569-73 allude to the motif. Ter. Eun. 771-816 might be interpreted as a twist on the trope. 179 See Men. Inc. 8 5-11, Thrasonides at Men. Mis. 1-14, and Phaedromus at Plaut. Curc. 15-6, 20-2. The door’s bolts (pessuli) are addressed directly in Curculio, see 147-57. 180 Geta in Mis., Palinurus in Curc. Although the fragmentary text from Inc. 8 does not make the identity of the second interlocutor explicit, it almost certainly seems to have been a slave: “At sunrise a young man stands outside the locked door of the girl he loves. On stage with him is in all probability just one other character, whose remarks—at times sardonically dismissive, coarse but not entirely unsympathetic—make it likely that he is an elderly slave who had been the young man’s tutor, rather than a free young companion” (Arnott III: 558). 181 Inc. 8 5, 20-4, 38-9; Mis. 15-8, 90-3; Curc. 8-9, 16-9, 90, 94, 169, 181-2. In his discussion on Curculio, Copley (1956: 10) suggest this feature “preserves the ethos of the street ballad” (i.e., the crudeness of the komos) from which the paraclausithyron motif first developed. N.b., the reason Apollod.Car. 6 survives is because it informs Stobaeus’ subsection on ἀκολασία (“profligacy”). 182 See dialogue at 23-38 with accompanying aphorisms at 30 and 35-6. Palinurus offers further guidance through aphorisms on other topics throughout the remainder of the scene (see 49, 53-6, 143-70, 197). The notion of a μοιχός specifically as the agent in a paraclausithyron goes back to Old Comedy, see Eup. 148: τὰ Στησιχόρου τε καὶ Ἀλκμᾶνος Σιμωνίδου τε / ἀρχαῖον ἀείδειν· ὁ δὲ Γνήσιππος ἔστ᾿ ἀκούειν. / κεῖνος νυκτερίν᾿ ηὗρε μοιχοῖς ἀείσματ᾿ ἐκκαλεῖσθαι / γυναῖκας ἔχοντας ἰαμβύκην τε καὶ τρίγωνον. (“It is old-fashioned to sing the songs of Stesichorus and Alcman, and Simonides, but Gnesippus is the one to hear. He invented the nighttime songs for 114 potential points of contact with the fragment in question (based in part on the working assumptions discussed above). If indeed this fragment was drawn from a locked-out lover scene, we could assume it belonged to an initial scene, set in the very early morning, with the young man possibly still inebriated. The setting will have been urban and the plot built on a strategy to reunite the separated lovers.183 To this end, it is possible that the preserved aphorism did not just provide hope, but a solution as well. The aphorism encourages the conflation of the μοιχός with a γαλῆ. I believe this serves in part to reinforce the negative characterization of a μοιχός (both the weasel and the μοιχός are corruptive home intruders);184 however, it may also provide the basis for a remedying scheme. Weasels were tunnellers and it is through their burrows that they would have gained entry into a house (despite a bolted door). Given the encouraged association, it is possible adulterers to call out their women, while holding a sambyke and a spindle harp”) (text and trans. Storey II: 131). 183 Cf. Men. Inc. 8 1-39, Mis. 1-100 and Plaut. Curc. 1-215; see Copley 1956: 7-14 and Newlands 2012: 996. 184 The tone of this aphorism should be taken as playful, but cutting nevertheless. Aside from jokes hurled by slaves (e.g. Plaut. Poen. 862, Ter. An. 316), the charge of μοιχεία in New Comedy was cause for serious concern for most characters. This negative connotation is reinforced in the fragment, I believe, by the juxtaposition of μοιχός and γαλῆ. Although weasels were somewhat tolerated because of their capacity to hunt rodents, they were nevertheless problematic inside a Greek household. As burrowers, they posed a serious problem to any building with earth-packed floors or mudbrick/wattle and daub superstructures. As indiscriminate eaters with some species being omnivorous, they were just as likely to feed on poultry and other valuable food stores in the house (see Ar. Pax 1151, Thesm. 559, Vesp. 363). Finally, weasels are ferocious, they are difficult to tame and cannot be counted on to be friendly (see Mackinnon 2014: 168-9, Engels 2018: 66-70). The question of tone requires some attention because some previous translators have opted to translate γαλῆ as “cat” (see FAC IIIA: 189 and Rusten 2011: 689). To most modern readers, cats are a positive presence in the home, both as functional companions and rodent hunters; weasels, on the other hand, have maintained the negative connotations from antiquity and have come to denote people that are devious and/or dangerous. Weasel is therefore not only the best literal translation for γαλῆ, but it also better conveys the fragment’s original tone. 115 that a slave here is suggesting that the young man tunnel his way in. This is not without precedent in New Comedy. In Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus, a clever slave creates a secret tunnel through a wall shared by two houses so that a young man can secretly meet his lover with his rival unawares (see 138-43).185 A Note on Danae This fragment has an apparent lexical relationship with Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai.186 At Thesm. 383-432, Mica delivers a diatribe against Euripides which outlines the various injustices his tragedies have done to Athenian women. Among a series of references to Euripidean tragedies, Mica bemoans her husband’s use of μοχλοί to safeguard against μοιχοί, complaining:187 εἶτα διὰ τοῦτον ταῖς γυναικωνίτισιν σφραγῖδας ἐπιβάλλουσιν ἤδη καὶ μοχλοὺς τηροῦντες ἡμᾶς, καὶ προσέτι Μολοττικοὺς τρέφουσι μορμολυκεῖα τοῖς μοιχοῖς κύνας. Then, because of this man [Euripides], they install locks and bolts on the women’s doors to guard them, and not only that, they raise Molossic hounds to spook lovers. 185 See also Plaut. Truc. 303-4 where it is revealed that a young man has been gaining access to a sex worker’s house through a particularly delipidated portion of their shared garden wall. In Menander’s Phasma, (40-56), a hole is cut in a wall shared by two homes to facilitate a mother and daughter meeting in secret. If indeed Diabolos involved a lovers’ tunnel, we could assume its production similarly required at least two functioning stage doors. 186 The correlation has been flagged by others, but not pursued (see PCG II: 491 and FCN: 99 n. 19). 187 414-7; text and trans. Henderson III: 508-9. 116 While the exact tragedy to which this complaint refers is not made explicit in Aristophanes’ comedy, Austin and Olson (2004: 183) suggest that it may allude to Euripides’ Danae—a tragedy that dramatized Zeus’ rape of the Argive princess Danae in what is conceivably the mythological archetype of the paraclausithryon motif. This mythological episode factors into several instances of μοιχεία in comedy. In Menander’s Samia, Demeas attempts to divert suspicion away from his son and explain Plangon’s pregnancy by suggesting that the child belonged to a deity, referring to tragic renditions of the Danae myth as precedent (588-98). In Terence’s Eunuchus, Chaerea points to the Danae myth, represented on a wall in Pamphila’s chambers, to justify his own assault on the young girl (580-91). But a fragment of Sannyrion’s Danae—what seems to have been a parody of a tragic telling— is particularly intriguing in light of Apollod.Car. 6. In Sannyrion 8 (see recently Farmer 2017: 31-2, 86-7, 200-1), Zeus contemplates gaining entry into Danae’s chamber by changing himself into a weasel:188 τί οὖν γενόμενος εἰς ὀπὴν ἐνδύσομαι; ζητητέον· φέρ᾿ εἰ γενοίμην < > γαλῆ· ἀλλ᾿ Ἡγέλοχος <εὐθύς> με μηνύσειεν <ἂν> ὁ τραγικὸς ἀνακράγοι τ᾿ ἂν εἰσιδὼν μέγα ‘ἐκ κυμάτων γὰρ αὖθις αὖ γαλῆν ὁρῶ.’ What should I turn myself into and sneak in through the chimney? Let me think. Suppose I became a weasel? But Hegelochus the tragic actor would <immediately> give me away. When he saw me, he’d shout in a loud voice, ‘For now after the storm I see it’s weasel again.’ The γαλῆ in this case might have only served to set up the joke at the expense of Hegelochus and his memorable mispronunciation of Eur. Or. 279 (on this incident, see Daitz 1983), but it is also 188 Text and trans. Storey III: 222-3 with slight adjustment (ferret ! weasel). 117 possible that Apollodorus’ fragment is in some way engaging with an earlier comic tradition of Danae parody preserved in Sannyrion’s Danae and Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai. 7 The other fragment from Diabolos is just over a verse in length and can be arranged in iambic trimeter. The source is Pollux (10.154) who quotes Apollodorus to demonstrate an alternative form of γλωττοκομεῖον which he calls an aulos case (ἡ θήκη τῶν αὐλῶν, 10.153).189 The fragment is drawn from a dialogue that includes a character named Phormio and involves a (judgemental?) observation regarding a γλωττόκομον. μέγα, ὦ Φορμίων, γλωττόκομον οὐκ ὀφθαλμιῶ. O Phormio, I do not look jealously at a titanic tongue tin.190 2 ὀφθαλμιῶ Canter ms. I p. 427: -μῶ codd. (PCG II: 491). Textual Notes The manuscripts agree on the text, but their given form of the fragment’s final word—ὀφθαλμῶ—has been universally rejected by previous editors in favor of the correction: ὀφθαλμιῶ.191 Ὀφθαλμῶ is a possible form of the noun ὀφθαλμός, but one which would be very 189 He may have specifically meant a case for storing aulos reeds, see LSJ: γλωσσοκομεῖον. 190 Cf. “What a size the case is, Phormion! I’ve not got bad eyes” (FAC IIIA: 189); “‘For a great case, Phormio, I’ve no jealous eye’ (Desrousseaux)” (FAC IIIA: 189 n. g); “Gran portallengüetes, Formió. No tinc inflamats els ulls” (FCN: 99). 191 See FCG I: 463, FCG IV: 444, CAF: 283, FAC IIIA: 188, PCG II: 491, FCN: 99. A different correction was proposed by Lobeck (1820: 99): μέγ’ ὁ Φορμίων. This would make the fragment a single, complete verse. It has not been seriously considered by subsequent editors. 118 much out of place in an Athenian comedy of the third century BCE.192 It is also conceivable that ὀφθαλμῶ represents a corruption of ὀφθαλμός;193 however, close consideration of the source makes it difficult to work from some form of the noun. Its inclusion would contribute nothing and perhaps even detract from Pollux’ aim of demonstrating the usage of γλωττόκομον. While the proposed correction of ὀφθαλμιῶ does not necessarily add anything to this end either, it does, at least complete the thought which seems to motivate Pollux’ inclusion of verbs elsewhere in the excerpts he quotes.194 I therefore accept the correction ὀφθαλμιῶ as the genuine text. Commentary A character named Phormio is addressed directly; he is therefore possibly on stage with the speaker.195 As Donatus makes clear (on Ter. Phorm. 26; W. II: 355 vv. 8-12), Phormio was also the name of a character in Apollodorus’ Epidikazomenos.196 It has been suggested that this 192 Whether as a dual or one of various forms from the Aeolic or Doric dialect, vel sim., it is very difficult to situate any interpretation of ὀφθαλμῶ as a form of ὀφθαλμός into the fragment. 193 E.g. ὀφθαλμῶ could conceivably be the product of an omitted final iota that would give a proper dative singular form. Cf. the form of the title associated with this fragment that is attested in mss. CL: ἐν … Διαβάλω (= ἐν … Διαβόλωι, mss. FS). 194 Cf. Pollux’ citations of Apollod.Car. 1 and 2 or Timocl. 2 (τὸ γλωττοκομεῖον βαλανεύεται) which he cites immediately before Apollod.Car. 7. Note also that Pollux is not concerned about providing complete verses in his extracts. The inclusion of ὀφθαλμ(ι)ῶ should therefore not be explained on these grounds. 195 It is nevertheless possible that Phormio himself is the speaker; see my discussion of Apollod.Car. 8. 196 Webster uses this fact as supporting evidence that the Greek models for Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio were composed by the poet from Carystus (1970: 226 n. 3). There is a stronger argument to be made than what Webster provides. After a handful of references to various Phormios in Old Comedy, the name never appears again in the extant evidence for Greek comedy until Apollodorus of Carystus and it does not appear again thereafter. The Phormios referenced in Old Comedy include the famous Athenian general of the Peloponnesian War, a deaf man, an adulterer?, the fabled Phormio of Croton, and an Athenian archon following Solon 119 character, in both plays, was perhaps inspired by a historical parasite of Seleukus whose name was Phormio (see Ath. 6.244f);197 however, this Phormio is nowhere else attested aside from the single reference in Athenaeus. This, paired with the reality that Phormio was a relatively popular name in Athens, means the potential allusion to Seleukus’ parasite in this character must remain highly speculative.198 No other New Comedy poet seems to have used the name Phormio for any of their characters. This narrow association of the name Phormio with Apollodorus’ comedies, taken in conjunction with the fact that the unusual versatility of Terence’s Phormio was drawn in part from his archetype in Epidikazomenos (see my discussion of Epidikazomenos in this chapter and the end of Chapter 4), might suggest that Apollodorus had created a new, recurring character on the comic stage that was unique to his comedies and could be distinguished by his name. It is (see Ar. 88, 397, Cratin. 238, Eup. 44, 138, 268, 269, 274, Stratt. 6; see also schol. Ar. Pax 348e). The latest of these might have come from Aristophanes or Strattis, but see also Adesp. 957 in which a speaker claims a Phormio fell short on his promise to dedicate three silver tripods, dedicating instead a single one made of lead. There is also a pottery fragment that may depict the Phormio character from Eupolis’ Taxiarchoi (e.g. Csapo 2010: 28-9, Storey 2003: 248 and 260). 197 E.g. Webster 1970: 226 n. 3, FCN: 22 n.49 and 30 n. 65. Contemporary Athenians were clearly aware of Seleukos and his exploits as he is referenced not infrequently in comedy of the late fourth and early third century BCE (e.g. Alex. 207, Antiph. 185, Demetr.Com.Nov. 1, Philem. 49; see also Plaut. Mil. 75, 948-51 which may be drawn from the Greek model, but certainly assumes familiarity to a Roman audience ca. 75 years after Seleukus’ death). Further discussion can be found in Webster (1970: 107-8). The reception of Seleukus in Athens during Apollodorus’ production period seems to have been positive; he may, for example, have been nominated as an honorary citizen of Athens (Grainger 1997: 57). Surely his prompt return of the island of Lemnos to Athenian control following his defeat of Lysimachus in 281 BCE contributed to this goodwill (see Habicht 1997: 30). 198 On the popularity of the name Phormio in Athens, see LGPN II: 465 nos. 1-33 and PAA XVIII: 127-34 nos. 962785-963140. 120 possible that the Phormio of Diabolos closely resembled Terence’s otherwise unique character and played an equally versatile role.199 A γλωττόκομον, presented here in the form used by ἀμαθεῖς (Bekker 1814: 32 no. 28), is a “case” that is so named because its initial function may have been the storage of aulos reeds (e.g. Poll. 2.108, 10.154). Pollux makes it clear that this word takes on a different meaning in later writers and developed a more general application akin to an ἀγγεῖον: a storage vessel or receptacle.200 Storage vessels are a common prop in New Comedy. Oftentimes they are nonconsequential background props that represent provisions for weddings, sacrifice, and travel; occasionally they play a key role in the action (e.g. Men. Pk., Plaut. Rud.). However, there are indications that Pollux intended a more metaphorical interpretation in this case. Ἀγγεῖον can be used figuratively to refer to the womb or vagina (e.g. ps.-Callisth. 1.9.3 [p. 9.10 Kroll]; Adams 1990: 88). It seems, in fact, that γλωττόκομον and γλωττοκομεῖον were also used to refer to female genitalia on the comic stage (e.g. Eub. 140; Henderson 1975: 52, 186 no. 390).201 The likelihood that this metaphorical interpretation was Pollux’ intended meaning in redefining γλωττοκομ(εῖ)ον in terms of ἀγγεῖον should be confirmed by the fact that the first excerpt Pollux provides to illustrate this evolved usage, Timocl. 2, almost certainly represents sexual 199 I.e. he might have simultaneously shown characteristics of a parasite, clever slave, Greek sycophant, and more (see Chapter 4). 200 A γλωσσόκομον/γλωσσόκομος can have specific connotations depending on the context in which it is used, e.g. money-box, water-organ compartment, cage, coffin/sarcophagus, box-splint etc. See Suda γ 301, Bekker 1814: 32 no. 28 and LSJ: γλωσσόκομον and γλωσσόκομος. 201 On the sense of Eub. 140, see Etym. Magn. on γλωττοκομεῖον (Gaisford: 235 vv. 46-7), Hsch. γ 696 and schol. Ar. Pax 883-5 as well as Eq. 1284-9 and Vesp. 1280-3. Aside from the fragments of Timocles and Eubulus, the only other occurrence of γλωττόκομον or γλωττοκομεῖον in comedy is Lysipp. 5. Perez Asensio draws attention to the metaphorical meaning of γλωττόκομον, but does not explore its likelihood or implications (FCN: 99 n. 21). 121 innuendo.202 This is important because Apollodorus’ fragment is juxtaposed with that of Timocles’ as an unqualified additional example of this new usage. It therefore seems that Apollodorus’ comedy indulged in sexual humor to some degree that is otherwise suppressed in the comedy of Menander.203 We cannot know for certain the exact nature of this reference, but can assume that Apollodorus’ choice to use this loaded word when a plethora of other unassuming words for “vessel” would do, means that double-entendre was intended.204 Ὀφθαλμιῶ carries two distinct meanings: “to suffer from ophthalmia” or “to look on with envy” (see LSJ: ὀφθαλμιάω). A case can be made for the former since all four instances of the verb elsewhere in comedy clearly take the meaning of “suffering from ophthalmia” (see Antiph. 246, Ar. 132, Ran. 192, Timocl. 6).205 I have opted for the latter in my own translation because it makes better sense if we assume Pollux included the verb to make the excerpt a complete 202 Timocl. 2: καὶ τὸ γλωττόκομον βαλανεύεται. In comedy, Βαλανεύω can be taken to mean “penetrate sexually”(cf. Ar. Eccl. 361 and Lys. 337; Henderson 1975: 199 no. 41). Given its interaction with γλωττόκομον and their sensible pairing as an innuendo (in addition to the difficulty of making any practical sense of a literal reading “bathing a case”), Timocles’ fragment almost certainly represents a crude sexual joke. 203 If indeed μέγα is modifying γλωττόκομον, there are a number of possible readings. cf. Ar. Lys. 408-13; in Latin, CIL IV.10004, Mart. 1.90.8, Priap. 12.14 (from Adams 1990: 79). Explicit sexual humor in the well-preserved plays of Menander may in fact be limited to a single line in Perikeiromene (485) and a few verses in Dyskolos (462, 858, 892; but, see also Krauss and Miner [2009] on 522-45). 204 Cf. the evocative discussion surrounding Ampelisca’s Venus pot in Plautus’ Rudens (428-9, 438, 458-62). 205 This is also the preferred interpretation of previous translators. See FAC IIIA: 189 (but consider Desrousseaux [FAC IIIA: 189 n. g]) and FCN: 99. 122 thought.206 This, however, is by no means a strong endorsement. At any rate, discussion of ὀφθαλμιῶ also contributes to narrowing the identity of the fragment’s speaker. Xanthias of Aristophanes’ Batrakhoi is the only other comic character we can associate with this verb. This, paired with the fact that this speaker uses the crude form γλωττόκομον and that it may form part of a sexual double-entendre, if not a more overt and explicit joke at the expense of a character’s body, suggests the speaker may be a rustic slave. Title Διάβολος, meaning “slanderer” or “backbiter” is a two-ending adjective that frequently appears as a substantive (LSJ). There is some variation in the form provided in the Pollux manuscripts, but the alternatives to Διάβολος—the only form that is attested in Stobaeus—need not be given serious consideration.207 Nicostratus also wrote a comedy of this name, but the single surviving fragment tells us very little about the play itself.208 There are otherwise only two surviving instances of the adjective διάβολος in all of extant Greek comedy. The first, set in the superlative degree, fittingly modifies Paphlagon of Aristophanes’ Hippeis (διαβολώτατόν, 45). The other comes from a brief fragment of Menander (887): οὐκ ἔστιν οὔτε διάβολος γράῦς ἔνδον 206 Ὀφθαλμιάω, in the sense of “looking jealously at …” can take an accusative object (e.g. Polyb. 31.21.1, from LSJ: ὀφθαλμιάω). 207 See Stob. 3.6.11 (W.-H.: 282): Διάβολος M (om. LA) and Pollux 10.154: Διαβόλωι FS: Διαβάλω CL: Διαβάλλων B. Διάβολος is the given form of Nicostratus’ title. Modern editors are unanimous in working from Διάβολος in the case of Apollodorus’ comedy (FCG I: 463, FCG IV: 444, FAC IIIA: 188, PCG II; 490, FCN: 99). 208 Nicostr.Com. 9 is a brief dialogue discussing various types of drinking vessels. 123 (“nor is there a backbiting old woman inside”).209 In Roman comedy, Diabolus occurs as the name of a character in Plautus’ Asinaria. The fact that Paphlagon—a prototype of the comic caricatures of Athens’ shameless lawsuit mongers known as sycophants—, is called διαβολώτατόν is intriguing in light of the fact that Apollodorus’ Diabolos had a character named Phormio. If indeed the Phormio of Diabolos resembled his sycophantesque namesake in Terence’s Phormio (as well as the latter’s prototype in Epidikazomenos—see my discussion of Apollod.Car. 16-28 and Chapter 4), we could assume that the title Diabolos refers to Phormio and that the plot may have involved legal maneuvering. Menander’s fragment presents a different possibility. As a two-ending adjective, διάβολος could refer to a male or female character; in the case of Menander’s fragment it refers to an old woman. In Asinaria, Diabolus is the name of an adulescens; he is the rival of another adulescens, Argyrippus, for the attention of the young meretrix Philaenium. The name, it is thought (e.g. Dietze 1901: 79 n. 1 ), was chosen because this young rival, through an agent, outed an unfaithful husband to his wife.210 This connection to Asinaria is intriguing because this play also included a variation of a stock paraclausithyron scene (127-52, cf. Apollod.Car. 6) and sexual double-entendres (e.g. 904, cf. Apollod.Car. 7). 209 Διαβολή is also rare. Paphlagon is feared for his slanders (Ar. Eq. 7, 491) and in a fragment of Phrynicus (61), Hermes is warned not to break anything lest he give cause for slander on to which eager informers can latch. Evidence for διαβολή is otherwise limited to a handful of Menander fragments (90, 630, 762, 763, 764, and Kith. 10.). Most of these are sententious in nature, warning about the power and danger presented by διαβολή; they do little to inform our understanding of Apollodorus’ play. 210 Dietze furthermore argued that Demophilus, the author of Plautus’ model for Asinaria, was influenced by Apollodorus. Noting that Apollodorus’ Diabolos also had a character named Phormio, he points out that in Terence’s Phormio, the title character, another hanger-on working on behalf of an adulescens, similarly outs an unfaithful senex to an uxor dotata. (see Dietze 1901: 7 n. 1). 124 Διάβολος is not an attested Greek name in Attica and we can be fairly certain that the title of Apollodorus’ play is a descriptor rather than a name. Given the legal implications of the word διάβολος and the fact that Diabolos featured a Phormio, it is most likely that the title refers to a sycophant character type, perhaps resembling the Apollodoran Phormio of Epidikazomenos (a comedy whose title similarly reflects a legal process). 2.7 HEKYRA Three testimonia and seven fragments survive from Hekyra.211 Each fragment has been preserved by Donatus in his commentary on Terence’s plays. Because of the exceedingly problematic textual tradition of this commentary (e.g. Victor 2014) and because these fragments can be set against their translation/adaptation in Terence’s play, I have deferred in the case of Hekyra and Epidikazomenos to the texts of Kassel and Austin (PCG) and limited discussion of textual cues in favor of structural and thematic ones. My approach to Hekyra differs from previous reconstructions in that it works from the fragments and what they, independently, suggest about the play before considering Terence’s adaptation (rather than the other way around).212 Some fragments, however, can only be discussed in the context of the adaptation. While I do not attempt a full-scale reconstruction of Hekyra, this conjectural criticism approach to the fragments does provide critical insight to be 211 It is usually assumed that the title refers to Pamphilos’ mother; this is certainly the case if Terence’s Myrinna in fact did not appear in Hekyra (see Lefèvre reconstruction). On the title, “cf. Philem.; Atta Socrus” (FAC IIIA: 189 n. h). 212 I nevertheless introduce the fragments through their corresponding passage in the Latin adaptation because several fragments can only be understood in the context of their Latin counterpart and Donatus’ discussion of it. 125 considered in any future reconstructions that lean on Terence’s Hecyra and basic assumptions about Greek New Comedy. In addition to considering what these fragments suggest about Hekyra against Terence’s adaptation, I also consider how they work with Eckard Lefèvre’s Hekyra reconstruction (1999: 60, 148-59); this is the most recent and extensive Hekyra reconstruction to date and relies heavily on Menander’s Epitrepontes to supplement perceived instances of Terentian intervention.213 According to Lefèvre, only the houses of Pamphilus’ family and Philumena’s family were present on stage (Bacchis’ house is also staged in Hecyra). In his reconstruction, the play opens with Bacchis (rather than Philotis—a role invented by Terence) in a one-sided dialogue with Syra (who is nearly silent in Apollodorus’ play) before the entrance of Parmeno. This dialogue between Bacchis and Parmeno generates much of the necessary exposition; the rest comes from a delayed divine prologue that follows (not present in Hec.).214 As in Hecyra, there is an early scene in which Laches voices his disappointment with his wife for her supposed role in Philumena’s departure, though he is apparently markedly less abusive here and elsewhere than he is in Hecyra. The scenes that follow are decidedly different from those in Hecyra since many involve Phidippus and Myrinna—two characters that do not appear on stage according to this reconstruction. When it comes time to confront Bacchis about her alleged role in destroying Pamphilus’ marriage, it is Parmeno, rather than Laches (Hec.), who engages the hetaera, being 213 In the following summary, for the sake of clarity, I use character names from Terence’s Hecyra to refer to their (potential) counterparts in Hekyra, but most character names are not actually attested in the fragments. 214 A divine (and therefore omniscient) prologue speaker will usually give the audience information to which the comedy’s characters are not privy. This injects the play with irony which comes at the expense of suspense. 126 much more helpful, attentive, and concerned about his young master than he is in Hecyra. As in Hecyra, this leads to Bacchis’ off-stage conversation with Myrinna and Philumena, but unlike Hecyra the recognition via ring does not seem to have been completed in this off-stage interaction. In Hekyra, Bacchis is not yet aware of just how Pamphilus came to acquire the ring. It is not until Bacchis confronts Pamphilus in a staged dialogue that she learns he took the ring from a girl he had raped nine months prior. Unlike Hecyra’s last act, there is, in Apollodorus’ play, a more pronounced expression of guilt by Pamphilus, the vindication of all female characters involved, and perhaps some slight ridicule of Laches at the hands of Parmeno by the end of the comedy. Testimonia i. Donat. Ter. Hec., pref. 1.1 (W. II: 189 vv. 2-4) [=Apollodorus testimonium 5.ii.].215 haec fabula Apollodori dicitur esse Graeca, nam et ipsa et Phormio ab eodem dicuntur esse translatae, cum reliquae quattuor sint Menandri comici.216 The Greek play is said to belong to Apollodorus, for both this and Phormio are said to have been translated from the same [playwright], and the remaining four are from the comic poet Menander. ii. Eugr. Ter. Hec., prol. (W. III: 259 vv. 1-4). Non omnes comoediae Terenti a Menandro videntur esse translatae, nam haec quae Hecyra est alterum Graecum habet auctorem. quis ille sit habetur incertum: alii217 Apollodorum volunt. Not all the comedies of Terence appear to have been translated from Menander, for this one which is Hecyra has a different Greek author. It is considered uncertain who he is: some prefer him to be Apollodorus. 215 “accredit cod. K apud Zwierlein, Der Terezkomm. [1970] p. 66” (PCG II: 491). 216 “2 haec Reifferscheid: haec cum CVK fabula om. V apollodori V: -odoro C: -idori K dicitur esse CV: esse dicitur K 3 translatae CV: -a K Menandri om. C” (PCG II: 491). 217 “multi F. Schoell, alii <*** alii> Wessner” (PCG II: 491). 127 iii. didasc. (A) Ter. Hec. GRAЄCA MЄNANDRU.218 The Greek play by Menander. Ἑκυρά The Mother-in-Law219 8 Fragment 8 is just over one verse of iambic trimeter in which the speaker, addressing a character named Syra, observes that few hetaerae have consistent clients. Donatus links the fragment to Hec. 58-9:220 per pol quam paucos reperias meretricibus fidelis evenire amatores, Syra. Heaven knows, you can find precious few lovers who turn out faithful to their mistresses, Syra. In Terence’s comedy, these are the first true verses of the play’s dramatic action.221 They are spoken by the meretrix Philotis who, together with the anus Syra, function as prosopa protatika that provide critical exposition through their opening dialogue. This includes the fact that the comedy’s adulescens amator, Pamphilus, has now embraced married life and stopped seeing his long-time favoured hetaera, Bacchis. 218 “error codicis Bembini e Donato manifestus, cf. test. i et fr. 8 – 12” (PCG II: 492). See Pighi’s didascalia (1615: 392): TOTA GRAECA APOLLODORU. 219 Cf. “The Mother-in-Law” (FAC IIIA: 189); “Mother-in-Law” (Rusten 2011: 689); “La Sogra” (FCN: 100). 220 Text and trans. Barsby II: 152-3. 221 1-57 are prologue. 128 Donatus comments on the opening verse that, “some do not read paucos, but paucis; Apollodorus for instance is as follows”:222 ὀλίγαις ἐραστὴς γέγον᾽ ἑταίραισιν, Σύρα, βέβαιος.223 Few sex workers ever have a reliable lover, Syra.224 1 ὀλίγαις: αλπΙC Cuiac.: ολπλις G2 ἐραστής: ωρ- G2: HPASTH Cuiac. γέγον᾽ ἑταίραισιν: τεγονησ7εραις G2: ΓΙΙΟΝΗΝCΤΗΡΑΙC Cuiac.: γέγον’ ἑταίραις, ὦ Meineke (vid. Sandbach ad Men. Dysc. 823) Σύρα: CIPA Cuiac.: συμα G2 2 βέβαιος: γγιbΑΙΩC Cuiac.: βειβλος G2 (PCG II: 492). We can assume that this broad observation—that hetaerae cannot count on reliable return-customers—had relevance for particular characters and their circumstances in Apollodorus’ comedy.225 The ἐραστής likely refers to an adulescens amator, perhaps like Terence’s Pamphilus;226 the comedy thus also likely featured a hetaera, perhaps akin to Terence’s Bacchis, and may have been free or enslaved (cf. Chrysis [Men. Sam.] v. Habrotonon [Men. Epit.]). The speaker’s observation may betray that Apollodorus’ adulescens amator separated himself from a 222 Quidam non ‘paucos’ sed ‘paucis’ legunt; sic enim Apollodorus … (W. II: 203 v. 21 - 204 v. 2). 223 “graeca verba in cod. Cuiac. et G2 emendavit Bentley ad loc.” (PCG II: 492); ἑταίραισιν: ἑταίραις, ὦ (FCG IV: 444) 224 Cf. “Precious few women, Syra, you will find, get faithful lovers if they’re of my kind” (FAC IIIA: 191); “To few courtesans, Syra, has a lover been steadfast” (Rusten 2011: 689); “Poques heteres tenen, Sira, un amant segur” (FCN: 100). 225 The concern for hetaerae maintaining their clientele appears elsewhere in New Comedy (e.g. Plaut. Truc. 239, 867, Ter. Eun. 449-50). 226 Cf. Polemon, a young soldier, of Menander’s Perikeiromene who is called an ἐραστής by the prologue speaker (Misconception, 128) and a slave (Daos, 343). 129 hetaera like Pamphilus did with Bacchis in Hecyra, but comparanda force us to consider the possibility that the statement refers to an exception.227 In terms of the character(s) participating in the scene represented by fragment 8, Syra—who is addressed directly—, was probably a slave;228 recent reconstructions make her a (near) silent character in Apollodorus’ play.229 Because the fragment portrays hetaerae in a sympathetic light, we can assume that the speaker is a hetaera herself or someone invested in a hetaera’s success. Lowe (1983: 445) assumes that the speaker was the equivalent of Terence’s Philotis, while Lefèvre (1999: 61-2, 149, 158-9) makes the speaker in Apollodorus the equivalent to Terence’s Bacchis. Each is plausible and neither can be proven with the available evidence, but one new possibility must be introduced. It has yet to be considered that Syra herself is the speaker and that she is delivering these verses in a monologue.230 It is not uncommon for comic characters, both male and female, to address themselves by name on stage, especially as part of a monologue and in moments of 227 See Ter. An. 460 where the ancilla Mysis makes a very similar statement and which, like Hec. 57-8, also opens a new scene: fidelem haud ferme mulieri invenias virum (“You can scarcely find one single man who’s loyal to a woman;” text and trans. Barsby I: 100-1). This statement leads into a discussion of a young man, who also happens to be named Pamphilus, and his relationship with Glycerium. In the case of Andria, however, Pamphilus is the exception to the rule in that he actually is faithful; the Pamphilus of Hecyra proves the rule. 228 Cf. the characters of this name from Men. Mis. 555 (see Arnott II: 295), Plaut. Merc., and Truc. The name is not well attested in Attica (there are only four entries in the LGPN [II: 411] and PAA [XVI: 27 nos. 853400-853420]). In comic contexts, it may have been used to evoke certain stereotypes about Syrians: “The Syrians are good at feasting, they tend to go to the baths rather than exercise, and they overeat. They are servile, effeminate, and perverted. They may be clever, a dubious quality, but like the Phoenicians, they are unreliable. Above all, they are born for slavery, which is the classic example of a protoracist claim” (Isaac 2004: 350). 229 Sewart 1974: 250-1, Lowe 1983: 437, Lefèvre 1999: 60. 230 Donatus usually identifies the scenes that Terence has changed from a monologue into a dialogue; however, it must be remembered that he may not have been exhaustive in this practice and that his commentary, as we have it, is incomplete. 130 heightened drama.231 This Syra may have been similar to the character with her namesake in Plautus Truculentus—a slave in the service of a hetaera who would have intimate knowledge of her mistress’ affairs and a stake in her success. This need not have had a significant effect on exposition if in fact this fragment was drawn from an opening scene. Samia provides strong precedent for effective exposition through monologue by a mortal character (see 1-57); however, a scenario like that of Terence’s Phormio is also appealing since Apollodorus provided the model for this play. In Phormio, some requisite exposition is delivered through monologue by a mortal character (Davos) in the first fifty verses; the rest is provided through dialogue after he is joined on stage by another character (Geta). It is conceivable that Apollodorus’ Hekyra began in a similar way, with Syra and an equivalent of Terence’s Parmeno functioning much like Davos and Geta of Phormio. If so, Syra was certainly not a near-silent character and Bacchis, like in Hecyra, may indeed not have first appeared until much later in the play. 9 Fragment 9 is a near-complete verse of iambic trimeter in which the speaker accuses their interlocutor of thinking them a stone. Donatus sets the fragment against Hec. 214:232 tu inquam, mulier, quae me omnino lapidem, non hominem putas. Yes you, woman! You seem to think I’m solid stone, not flesh and blood. This verse comes from a scene in which the senex Laches berates his wife, Sostrata; Laches is angry because he assumes Sostrata has alienated their daughter-in-law, Philumena, and was 231 E.g. Adesp. 1063 (PSI 1176) v. 3, Men. DE. 23, Plaut. Cist. 693, Ter. Phorm. 179. 232 Text and trans. Barsby II: 166-7. 131 ultimately the cause of her having moved back into her parents’ house while their son and Philumena’s husband, Pamphilus, was away on Imbros. Laches’ accusation that Sostrata thought of him as stone (i.e. unaware of the world around him) is meant to express his suspicion that she acted under the assumption that Laches, living in the country, would not find out about Philumena’s departure. Donatus provides the equivalent verse from Hekyra:233 σύ με παντάπασιν ἥγησαι λίθον.234 You must think I’m an utter stone.235 init. <γύναι> Saekel p. 82 ἥγησαι λίθον Cobet Nov. lect. P. 123): ЄΗCΑΥΛΙΘΟΝ cod. Cuiac. (PCG II: 492). One character accuses another of thinking of them as a stone. This metaphor was used to describe someone thought to be dull or stupid (Kassel 1983: 1).236 In comedy, slaves are the most likely character to insult someone as a stone, but overall the comparanda from New Comedy attest to usage among a variety of character types and show that it could be applied to an equally diverse body of characters.237 This scene, represented by fragment 9, may well have involved characters similar to Terence’s Laches and Sostrata in circumstances like those of Hec. 198-214 (described above). In terms of the tone of this scene in Apollodorus’ play, Lefèvre (1999: 150-1) 233 sic Apollodorus … (W. II: 229 vv. 24-5). 234 ἥγησαι: ἡγεῖ (FCG IV:445). 235 Cf. “You think I’m nothing but a stone” (FAC IIIA: 191); “You believe that I am absolutely a stone” (Rusten 2011: 689); “Tu em prens ben bé per un tros de roca” (FCN: 100). “cum perecti usu cf. Eur. Phoen. 550” (PCG II: 492). 236 See also Otto 1890: 185-6. 237 See Men. Asp. 353, Plaut. Curc. 197, Merc. 632, Mil. 235-6, 1024, Most. 1073, Poen. 291, Ter. Eun. 1085, Haut. 831, 917. 132 contends that the Laches-equivalent was not so aggressively abusive towards his wife and that the marital abuse in Terence’s play was inspired by the traditions of local Italian theatre; however, as Arnott has already pointed out there is plenty of evidence for the verbal abuse of wives in Greek comedy.238 The aggression of Hec. 214 may well have been drawn from a parallel scene in Apollodorus’ Hekyra as there are hints elsewhere that Apollodorus may have included attacks against wives in his comedy (see my discussion of Apollod.Car. 32). 10 Fragment 10 is two complete verses of iambic trimeter from Hekyra that form a sententia on how misfortune is viewed by the unfortunate. Donatus quotes the aphorism in his discussion of Hec. 286-7:239 nam nos omnes quibus est alicunde aliquis obiectus labos, omne quod est interea tempus prius quam id rescitumst lucrost. For all of us who have some trouble coming our way from somewhere, the time intervening before we discover it is all gain. This excerpt is drawn from the scene in which Pamphilus first appears on stage, having just arrived in Athens from Imbros. Upon his entrance it is immediately clear that his slave, Parmeno, has already informed him of the estrangement between his mother and wife offstage. In his opening lines, Pamphilus bewails the difficult situation to which he has come home in a pseudo-tragic lamentation which is punctuated by the aphorism at 286-7. 238 Arnott (2000: 40) references Ar. Nub. 41ff., Alex. 150, and Men. 296, 297, and 298, but the evidence is much more pronounced. To these, we could add the following (many of which are predicated on the power some wives wield as wealthy dowresses): Alex. 264, Anaxandr. 53, Antiph. 270, Eub. 115, Men. 64, 219, 236, 374, 508, 804. 239 Text and trans. Barsby II: 174-5. 133 On these verses, Donatus notes that “the entire [adage] is from Apollodorus, who says”:240 οἱ γὰρ ἀτυχοῦντες τὸν χρόνον κερδαίνομεν, ὅσον ἄν ποτ᾽ ἀγνοῶμεν ἠτυχηκότες.241 For we luckless men benefit from whatever time we do not realize we’re luckless.242 1 ΟΙ ΓΑΡ Cuiac.: οῐ γὰρ K: ἀ γὰρ V2 ἀτυχ- KV2, ACIC- Cuiac. χρόνον K: ΧΡΩCN Cuiac.: om. V2 1-2 κερδαίνομεν / ὅσον ἄν ποτ’ ἀγνοῶμεν SIFC 2 (1894) 130 (duce Cobeto Nov. lect. p. 123): κερδε̣αινόμενος ὂν ἀναποζε ἀγνοωμ῍ K: κερδαινομέ𝜈&ος ὸν ἀν απο τε αγνοωμź V2: ΟΥΔιЄΝ Cuiac. 2 ἠτυχηκότες Cobet: ΚΙΤΙΚΗΚΟΤΗC Cuiac.: κιγιχηκοτες V2: κιγυχηκοζες K (PCG II: 493). Sententiae on the concept of tyche/fortuna are very common in New Comedy.243 Some that share this particular view of misfortune can be found in the works of Euripides and Menander.244 Since aphorisms like this are by nature self-sustaining, this fragment betrays little about the context in which it occurred. This, paired with the fact that sententiae are abundant and occur in a multitude of contexts in New Comedy (Dinter 2016), make it difficult to situate this fragment in Hekyra. 240 totum Apollodori est, qui sic ait…(W. II: 244 vv. 1-3). 241 “graeca verba in cod. Cuiac., K et V2” (PCG II: 493). ὅσον ἄν ποτ᾽ ἀγνοῶμεν: ὁπόσον ἄν ἀγνοῶ (CAF III: 284). “‘Latinum poetam … argutam Graeci comici brevitatem referre non potuisse’ stauit Cobet, cf. Jachmann RE V A 1 p. 614, 16-29” (PCG II: 493). 242 Cf. “To us unlucky men the time before we know we are’s all gain” (FAC IIIA: 191); “For we who are unfortunate derive gain from whatever time we don’t yet know of our misfortune” (Rusten 2011: 689); “Els desafortunats tenim de profit el temps en què ignorem el nostre infortune” (FCN: 100). 243 E.g. Men. 286.1, 859, Plaut. Capt. 304, Trin. 363, Ter. Phorm. 203. 244 Eur. 205.2-3: τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι γὰρ ἡδονὴν ἔχει τινὰ / νοσοῦντα, κέρδος δ’ ἐν κακοῖς ἀγνωσία (“ for not knowing that one is in trouble has a certain pleasure, and ignorance amid misery is a gain;” text and trans. Collard and Cropp 2008 VII: 196-7); Men. Asp. 248-9: τὸ τῆς τύχης / ἄδηλον· εὐφραίνεσθ᾿ ὃν ἔξεστιν χρόνον (“What fortune brings is all uncertain. Take your pleasure while you can;” text and trans. Arnott I: 42-3). 134 Following Lefèvre (1999: 151), these verses could well be attributed to Apollodorus’ Pamphilos in circumstances resembling those of Hec. 281-7. 11 Fragment 11 is nearly two complete verses of iambic trimeter that preserve a maxim on how one’s lot in life directly correlates to their sense of self-importance. Donatus preserves the fragment in his commentary on Hec. 380:245 omnibus nobis ut res dant sese, ita magni atque humiles sumus. We are all proud or humble according to our circumstances. This verse is drawn from an extended monologue of Pamphilus who has just witnessed his wife giving birth to a child seemingly not his own. Pamphilus recounts the events inside his in-laws’ house, including the pitiful supplication of his mother-in-law, Myrrina, as she explained that the child was the result of a rape several months before the marriage of Pamphilus and Philumena. Pamphilus mentions the maxim immediately after recounting that Myrinna had fallen to her knees and was weeping as she gave the explanation. Donatus gives Apollodorus as the source of the aphorism:246 οὕτως ἕκαστος διὰ τὰ πράγματα < u – >247 <καὶ> σεμνὸς ἡμῶν καὶ ταπεινὸς γίνεται.248 245 Text and trans. Barsby II: 184-5. 246 Apollodorus: οὕτως ἕκαστος διὰ τὰ πράγματα σεμνὸς ἦεν καὶ ταπεινὸς (W. II: 258 vv. 25-6). 247 This metrical reconstruction assumes the final alpha of πράγματα is long by position; if it was not, the fifth foot would either be an anapest or tribrach. 248 “graeca verba in cod. Cuiac. et K” (PCG II: 493). ἕκαστος διὰ τὰ: ἕκαστός ἐστι διὰ τὰ (FCG IV: 445): ἕκαστός ἐστι παρὰ τὰ (CAF III: 284): ἕκαστός <ἐστι> κατὰ τὰ (FAC IIIA: 190) <καὶ> σεμνὸς ἡμῶν καὶ ταπεινὸς γίνεται: ἢ σεμνὸς ἢ ταπεινός (FCG IV: 445, CAF III: 284, FAC IIIA: 190). 135 Each of us, according to our circumstances, becomes either haughty or humble.249 1 οὕτως Cuiac.: ὀύτος K fin. <ἂν τύχηι> e. g. Wil. Kl. Schr. IV p. 460 2 <καὶ> σεμνὸς ἡμῶν καὶ Wil. σεµ́νος ἠμῶν καὶ K: σέμνος ἦεν καὶ Cuiac. ταπεινός Cuiac.: τάπινος K γίνεται Wessner BphW 26 (1906) 767: sinete (cruce supra i posita) K: sine te Cuiac. (PCG II: 493). This fragment is an aphorism that acknowledges how life’s circumstances can make a dramatic impact on one one’s self-perception, with the power to transform pride to humility and vice versa.250 Like Apollod.Car. 10, this fragment, as a sententia, is difficult to contextualize in Hekyra. There is nothing to suggest it couldn’t have been spoken by Pamphilos reflecting on a recent conversation with an Apollodoran Myrinna under circumstances like those at Hec. 361-401; however, this maxim would have made the most sense in Apollodorus’ comedy if it was made clear that the Apollodoran Myrinna was at one point particularly proud in regards to Pamphilos.251 In Terence’s play, Myrinna’s previous pride is explained when it is recalled that she had been critical of Pamphilus’ continued time away from home, spent with a hetaera.252 This is discussed in a dialogue between Myrinna and her husband, Phidippus—two characters whom Lefèvre argues were not staged in Apollodorus’ Hekyra (1999: 60). If indeed fragment 11 249 Cf. “We’re proud or humble as circumstance dictates” (FAC IIIA: 191); “So each of us through circumstance is either proud or humble” (Rusten 2011: 690); “Així cadascú de nosaltres segons les circumstàncies […] <ara> esdevé orgullós, ara humil” (FCN: 101). 250 For an extended contemplation of this sentiment, cf. Odysseus’ speech at Hom. Od. 18.125-50 (reference from PCG II: 493). Cf. also Eur. 688 which similarly sets σεμνὸς against ταπεινὸς: τὸ σχῆμα σεμνὸς κοὐ ταπεινὸς οὐδ᾿ ἄγαν / εὔογκος ὡς ἂν δοῦλος (“proud in his bearing, and not meek nor too bulky as a slave would be;” text and trans. Collard and Cropp 2008 VIII: 178-9). 251 In Hecyra, it is clear that the maxim is mentioned in reference to Myrinna; in Apollod.Car. 11, the substantive adjectives are all masculine, but we can reasonably supply ἄνθρωπος and assume the aphorism is meant to apply to mankind more broadly. 252 See Hec. 536-9. Goldberg (2013: 143) already identified this as the passage that made clear the full relevance of the maxim at Hec. 380. 136 was drawn from circumstances similar to those of Hec. 316-401, either Myrinna did in fact appear on stage in Hekyra or her previous pride regarding Pamphilos must have been established in some other way. 12 Fragment 12 is not an excerpt from Hekyra, but rather a point of distinction between Apollodrous’ play and Terence’s adaptation in their physical description of a hypothetical (at least in the case of Hecyra) character. Donatus highlights Terence’s point of departure in his notes on Hec. 440:253 magnus, rubicundus, crispus, crassus, caesius. … tall, ruddy, curly-haired, fat, grey-eyed. In this scene, Pamphilus orchestrates a fool’s errand for his slave, Parmeno, to prevent him from getting within earshot of Philumena’s cries of labor.254 Pamphilus assigns Parmeno the task of tracking down a supposed Mykonian friend of his named Callidemides at the Acropolis in order to cancel a meeting they had scheduled for that day. Pamphilus provides a physical description of this imaginary figure to help Parmeno recognize him. This description included the fact that he is curly-haired. On this verse, Donatus writes: “they say that Terence mistakenly said ‘curly-haired’ (crispus) about the Mykonian, since Apollodorus said ‘bald-headed’ (calvus).”255 253 Text and trans. Barsby II: 192-3. 254 Parmeno is the only other character who would have been aware that Philumena’s child could supposedly not have been sired by Pamphilus. 255 Imperite Terentium de Myconio crispum dixisse aiunt, cum Apollodorus calvum dixerit … (W. II: 267 vv. 13-5). 137 [calvus].256 [“bald-headed”].257 According to Donatus, there was a Mykonian mentioned in Hekyra and he was bald.258 Because of the precision of Donatus’ comment, we can reasonably assume that the rest of Terence’s description of this Mykonian friend otherwise followed that given by Apollodorus. Where similar character descriptions occur elsewhere in New Comedy, they usually refer to a real character that appears on stage at some point.259 Among comparanda, Apollodorus’ description of the Mykonian most closely resembles Plautus’ description of Labrax, the leno of Rudens who, among the very individualized lenones of Roman comedy (see Marshall 2006: 140-6) most closely aligns in his physical description with the pimps of the Greek tradition as we 256 Μυκόνιος φαλακρός (CAF III: 284). 257 “Calb” (FCN: 101). 258 Mykonians were stereotypically bald. See Lucil. 1211 M, Plin. HN 11.130-1, Str. 10.5.9. Donatus contends that Terence made the change deliberately (see W. II: 267 vv. 17-9). For an audience armed with the knowledge that Mykonians were stereotypically bald-headed, this change certainly caps the humor of Apollodorus’ description (if it was used under similar circumstances in Hekyra); however, if Terence did not think his audience would understand why a Greek woman would get her hair cut as a sign of mourning (see Apollod.Car. 18), it is difficult to imagine that Terence expected his audience to appreciate the irony of a curly-haired Mykonian. 259 See Plaut. Asin. 400-1, Capt. 644-5, Pseud. 1218-20, Rud. 316-8, but cf. Ter. Haut. 1061-2. 138 know them.260 It is certainly possible that Apollodorus’ comedy, which featured a hetaera (see Apollod.Car. 8), also featured, or at least mentioned a pimp.261 The fragment poses a significant problem for Lefèvre’s reconstruction of Hekyra. According to Lefèvre, this scene is largely Terentian and served to bolster the characterization of Parmeno as piger (1999: 50-1); in order to account for this fragment, Lefèvre casts doubt on the attribution to Apollodorus. Lefèvre invents a scenario which makes the attribution to Apollodorus a correction of a previous marginal note that commented on the fact that in the 260 At Rud. 316-8, the slave Tracchalio asks: ecquem recaluom ad silanum senem, statutum, uentriosum, tortis, superciliis, contracta fronte …(“Have you seen any old man with a bald forehead, like Silenus, good-sized, with a big belly, with twisted eyebrows and a scowling forehead …;” text and trans. De Melo IV: 434-5). As noted by Marshall (2006: 143), Labrax’ mask bears a striking resemblance to Pollux’ Pornoboskos mask (4.145). Mykonian stereotypes align well with comic characterizations of pimps: “In time ‘Mykonian’ became synonymous with avaricious and miserly, while the ‘Mykonian neighbour’ was the troublesome neighbour and, according to the comic poets, Pericles went to symposia ‘like a Mykonian’, that is uninvited.” (Tsakos 1998: 103). In giving the character hair, Terence’s Mykonian more closely resembles Plautus’ Pseudolus (see Pseud. 1218-20) than it does Labrax (on the shared characteristics of Labrax and Maccus-inspired clever slaves like Pseudolus [Pseud.] and Leonida [Plaut. Asin.], see Marshall 2006: 143). This may provide a solution to the problem I have identified with the assumption that Terence is capping Apollodorus’ humor in giving his Mykonian hair. The problem again is that if Terence did not expect his audience to comprehend things like the Greek heiress/inheritance laws (Epidikazomenos) or mourning practices (Apollod.Car. 18), it would seem unlikely that they would be familiar with a stereotype that the inhabitants of a rather inconsequential Greek island were distinct for the prevalence of male pattern baldness. In recognizing that Terence’s Mykonian resembles a clever slave, another motivation for the change presents itself. Perhaps the impossibility of the task rests not in the challenge of Parmeno finding a Mykonian with hair, but in finding himself. Since Parmeno is himself a slave, it is conceivable that his appearance resembled that of slaves like Pseudolus and Leonida. If Pamphilus is in fact describing Parmeno, the audience would register the resemblance and recognize the task as a fool’s errand and to humorous effect since Parmeno himself has not realized it. The task would also be a metatheatrical acknowledgment of Terence’s play with stock characters in this comedy as Parmeno goes in search of the clever slave he is not (for the suppression of Parmeno as a clever slave, see 409-14, 799-800, 810, 872-88 and my discussion in Chapter 3). For what it is worth, the depiction of Parmeno in the miniatures of vat.lat. 3868 resemble the description of Pseudolus (note especially the red hair at fol. 70v). 261 Habrotonon of Menander’s Epitrepontes, with whom Hecyra’s Bacchis is often compared, was also under the control of a pimp (see Epit. 136-7). 139 Greek tradition (broadly) Mykonians were bald (⁓Graece calvus).262 There is little basis for Lefèvre’s hypothesis; however, he is not necessarily mistaken that the original scene in Hekyra differed from Hec. 409-33.263 13 Fragment 13 is roughly one and a third verses of iambic trimeter (according to Kassel and Austin’s reconstruction) in which the speaker associates themself and at least one other person with a mythos known as ‘The Old Man and Old Woman.’ Donatus quotes the Hekyra fragment in his discussion of Hec. 620-1:264 … postremo nos iam fabulae sumus, Pamphile, ‘senex atque anus.’ … In the end we’re just the old couple in the story, Pamphilus. These verses are drawn from a scene in which Laches and Sostrata tell Pamphilus of their intention to have Sostrata move to the country. This, they hope, will help ease familial tensions and restore the marriage of Pamphilus and Philumena. The precise meaning of the reference Laches makes at 620-1 is now lost, but it was clearly meant to help reassure Pamphilus that the removal of parents tends to benefit newly married couples. 262 Lefèvre also points to the metrical difficulty of the description (1999: 83). 263 If, for example, a pimp did factor into Hekyra’s plot, it is conceivable Pamphilos sought to strike a deal with him for the time/freedom of a hetaera (i.e Terence’s Bacchis), perhaps even with a meeting at the Acropolis (Lefèvre sees the Acropolis as a Terentian innovation meant to bolster Parmeno’s characterization as lazy because it is remote and an usual place for a meeting [1999: 50], but cf. Plaut. Rud. where Plesidippus (adul.) and Labrax (leno) set a meeting at the countryside sanctuary of Venus where they were intended to finalize a transaction for hetaerae). 264 Text and trans. Barsby II: 212-3. Donatus (W. II: 304 vv. 2-3) notes that in Terence’s play, senex atque anus (621) was pronounced as if it was the title of a story. 140 On these verses, Donatus (K) gives the original text from Apollodorus:265 <τὸ πέρας δὲ> μῦθός ἐσμεν ἤδη, Πάμφιλε, γραῦς <καὶ> γέρων. In brief, Pamphilus, we are forthwith the fable: ‘The Crone and the Codger.’266 1 τὸ πέρας δὲ scripsimus (cf. Men. Epitr. 357 [533]), duce Demianćzukio, qui τὸ δὲ π. coll. Apollod. Fr. 13,13: postremo Ter. ὁ μῦθος Warren p. 44 ἐσμεν Warren: ἐσμαι cod. ἤδη Warren (sed post Πάμ. Transp.): δὴ cod. 2 γραχογιρον cod.: corr. Warren (γραῦς γέρων), καὶ interposuit et versus digessit Wil. Kl. Schr. IV p. 460 (PCG II: 494). This fragment confirms that Apollodorus’ Hekyra featured a character named Pamphilus. This was a very common name in Attica.267 Characters named Pamphilus appeared in the plays of other Greek New Comedy poets;268 it is also the name of an adulescens amator in Terence’s Andria. Apollodorus’ Pamphilos may well have been a young man resembling the Pamphilus of Terence’s Hecyra and the fragment may have been spoken in circumstances similar to those presented in Terence’s adaptation. Lefèvre (1999: 94) goes further and suggests that the fragment indicates the presence of Pamphilos’ father (Terence’s Laches) in this portion of Apollodorus’ play, but these verses could have just as easily come from Pamphilos’ mother (Terence’s 265 See Warren 1906a, 1906b: 40-2, Wessner 1906: 765-8, Zwierlein 1970: 92. “παρ (inductum) πὰν ἀρσομοδο ρο (παρ’ Ἀπολλοδώρωι Warren ClPh 1, 1906, 45, παρ’ -ου coll. Donat. ad. Andr. 891 de Menandro vel πᾶν -ου coll. Donat. ad Hec. 286 totum Apollodori est Wessner BphW 26, 1906, 768) …” (PCG II: 494). 266 Cf. “We’ve come to be a story, Pamphilus,—‘One day an old couple’” (FAC IIIA: 191); “In short, we’re now a story, Pamphilus: ‘an old woman and an old man …’” (Rusten 2011: 690); “<Però a la fi> ja som motiu de xafarderia, Pàmfil, una vella un vell” (FCN: 101). “For colloquial to peras ‘in a nutshell’, cf. Men. Dys. 117, Epit. 287 …” (Goldberg 2013: 171). 267 See LGPN II: 357-8 nos. 1-150; PAA XIV: 24-40 nos. 762040-763200. 268 E.g. Philem. 135, Philippid. 27, Men. 744, 1001.1, 1001.11, and CGFP 294(e). See also Callim. Epigr. 50. References from PCG II: 494. 141 Sostrata) without her husband present if not from different characters under different circumstances. An understanding of the mythos to which the speaker refers—whether it was a known narrative or perhaps just a proverb—would certainly provide further insight about this fragment.269 Given Terence’s close translation of Apollodorus’ text, we can probably assume that ‘The Old Man and the Old Woman’ was also delivered in Hekyra as if it was a recognizable title.270 While we do not know anything about this particular fable, there are indications it was quite old and had been parodied in comedy as early as Aristophanes.271 14 Fragment 14 is not an excerpt from Hekyra, but refers to another Terentian departure from the Apollodoran model that Donatus notes in his commentary on Hec. 825:272 quid exanimatu’s, obsecro? aut unde anulum istum nactu’s? Why are you in such a state, for goodness’ sake? And where did you get that ring? 269 Cf. Sikon’s reference to the fable of the gardener and the dog when asked about retrieving Knemon from the well in Menander’s Dyskolos (633-4). “Sikon’s proverb is taken from the old fable (a version of which is preserved in the Aesopic collection, no 122 Hausrath) about the gardener and the dog. When the gardener went down a well to rescue his dog, the dog bit him because he thought his master had come to drown him” (Arnott I: 288 n. 1). 270 See Donat. Ter. Hec. 621 (W. II: 304 vv. 2-3): pronuntia ‘senex atque anus’ quasi initium fabulae. 271 On Ar. Vesp. 1182, scholiasts note that the “mouse and the cat” (ἦν μῦς καὶ γαλῆ) is meant to represent the beginning/title of a story (μῦθος) like “The Old Man and Woman” (ἦν γέρων καὶ γραῦς). See Koster 1978: 187. 272 Text and trans. Barsby II: 232-3. 142 This verse is drawn from a monologue of Bacchis who recounts an interaction between herself, Philumena, and Myrinna that had just occurred offstage in the home of Myrinna and Phidippus. Bacchis recalls that while attempting to reassure the women that Pamphilus was no longer a client of hers, Myrinna recognized a ring worn by Bacchis as one formerly belonging to Philumena. Bacchis goes on to say that she then told the women the ring had been given to her nine months prior by Pamphilus who had confessed to her that he had stolen it from a woman he had just raped. This interaction therefore revealed that Pamphilus was the father of Philumena’s child and that reconciliation was possible. Hec. 825 is some of the direct speech Bacchis recalls in her monologue from her conversation with Pamphilus nine months prior, immediately after he had raped Philumena. On this verse, Donatus claims that “Terence opted for brevity, for in the Greek play, this was performed, not recalled.”273 The ambiguity of this comment has engendered a number of possible interpretations from previous scholars.274 Most agree it probably does not indicate that the conversation Bacchis recalls from nine months prior at Hec. 824-9 was staged in real time in Apollodorus’ play.275 Rather, it seems more likely that the comment suggests some or all of the offstage moments of recognition recalled by Bacchis in her monologue in Hecyra occurred on stage through dialogue in the Apollodoran model. But what components of the recognition were staged and who participated in them? Combinations of Terence’s Bacchis, Myrinna, Pamphilus, 273 brevitati consulit Terentius, nam in Graeca haec aguntur, non narrantur (W. II: 337 vv. 19-20). 274 See Lefèvre 1999: 54-6 for a brief summary of previous interpretations. 275 It is rare for New Comedy timelines to extend longer than a single day. Those that do, extend only one additional day (see Ter. Haut., possibly Men. Epit.); a nine-month timeline would therefore be very usual. 143 and Parmeno could have all contributed to full or partially staged recognitions of the ring and its later provenance. Given the fact that Donatus makes this comment early on in Bacchis’ recollection of her conversation with Pamphilus from nine months prior, there is a reasonable case to be made that Myrinna’s recognition of the ring occurred off stage as it did in Terence, but that in Apollodorus’ play, Bacchis did not yet know how Pamphilus had acquired the ring he had given her; following her conversation with Myrinna, Bacchis then perhaps asked Pamphilus about the ring’s origin in a subsequent dialogue that would have completed the recognition.276 Unfortunately, all these interpretations assume the presence of several characters and circumstances in Apollodorus’ play that cannot be independently verified by the extant fragments. Whatever the case, it seems that Terence subsumed an Apollodoran dialogue into a monologue. Lefèvre’s Hekyra Reconsidered Lefèvre’s Hekyra reconstruction masterfully supplements known and perceived instances of Terentian innovation in Hecyra with relevant characters, circumstances, and tones from Menander’s Epitrepontes, providing a neat, straightforward Menander-like comedy. Although there are some basic similarities between Hecyra and Epitrepontes, the notion that the latter can be used wholesale to reconstruct Hekyra is problematic and assumes an Apollodoran dependence on Menander that borders on the unabashedly plagiaristic.277 276 E.g. Lowe 1983: 338-41, Lefèvre 1999: 60. 277 This is not to say that Apollodorus may not have built on Menander and other preceding comic playwrights. In fact, an excerpt from Porphyry (see Euseb. Praep. evang. 10.3.13 [465d]), suggests that Menander himself plagiarized content and indeed an entire play of Antiphanes. Nevertheless, the slavish reproduction of Menandrian comedy is not borne out by Apollodorus’ fragments. 144 The reconstruction suffers somewhat from insufficient consideration of the Hekyra fragments. While Lefèvre’s suggestion that the play opened with Bacchis in a one-sided conversation with a nearly silent Syra is conceivable, he does not give due consideration to the possibility that the play opened with a Syra monologue. Syra after all, is the only character fragment 8 confirms as participating in this scene. Under these circumstances, Syra, perhaps a well-informed ancilla of Bacchis, would have actually had a substantial speaking role and important expository function. Fragment 11 poses a potential problem for Lefèvre’s significant claim that Myrinna and Phidippus did not appear on stage. As I have noted, this fragment shows that Myrinna’s former haughtiness towards Pamphilus must have similarly been made explicit in Apollodorus’ play. In Hecyra this occurs in a staged dialogue between Myrinna and Phidippus (at 536 from 517-76). Finally, fragment 12 presents a problem for Lefèvre’s stance that Apollodorus’ Parmeno was not the lazy and useless character we see in Terence’s adaptation, but genuinely concerned and helpful when it came to Pamphilus. Because this fragment proves the existence of a scene in Hekyra that resembles in some form Hec. 415-43—Parmeno’s fool’s errand—we can not rule out the possibility that Terence’s Parmeno closely resembled his Apollodoran model. I have also suggested that this fragment could indicate the presence of a previously unaccounted for character in Hekyra: a pimp. In giving closer consideration to the Hekyra fragments, we can see not only the various ways it differed from Hecyra, but also from Epitrepontes, showing that Lefèvre’s reconstruction and Apollodorus’ assumed dependence on Menander must be reconsidered. 145 2.8 ENEA 15 A single half-verse survives from Enea. The fragment is preserved by Pollux who quotes from Apollodorus to illustrate the use of the term μαρσίππιον in a discussion on bags (10.152). Ἐνεά278 μαρσίππιόν τι μικρόν. The Wordless Woman279 a wee little wallet.280 278 The manuscripts are divided on the form of the title: some give Ἐνεά (FSL) and others, Ἐννέα (BC). Meineke’s refusal to consider the plausibility of Ἐνεά, paired with his assumption that Ἐννέα must have been a corruption, prompted his proposed corrections of Ἐνναία (“The Woman from Enna”) and Νεμέα, with the latter representing the name of a hetaera rather than the famous Zeus sanctuary in the Corinthiad (FCG I: 463-4; these suggestions were perpetuated by Kock who also suspected corruption [CAF III: 284], but like Meineke [FCG IV: 445], ultimately published Ἐννέα with the text. Meineke [FCG I: 464] also rejected Casaubon’s correction of Ἱέρεια, but along with Hemsterhuis, Casaubon was more amendable to the possibility of Ἐνεά [see Tstantsanoglou 1984: 82]). The corrections are plausible and the former was even accepted by Edmonds (see FAC IIIA: 191; cf. the Lakaina of Apollodorus Incertus and the Nemea of Theopompus); however, subsequent revelations made by Kyriakos Tsantsanoglou (1984: 81-2) in his work on Photius have made it apparent that these corrections need no longer be seriously considered. Tsantsanoglou found that Antiphanes seems to have written an Ἐνεά (see Phot. Lex. ε 887). This precedence demonstrates that such a title is in fact in the realm of possibility and that the forms provided in the manuscripts need not be drastically corrected. All that remains then, is to decide whether the title ought to have a single or double nu, an issue on which the manuscripts are split. Although ἐνεός can on occasion be found with a duplicated nu in manuscripts (e.g. Act.Ap. 9.7, from LSJ: ἐνεός), the single-nu form is substantially more common in antiquity, including the duration of Apollodorus’ career. This, paired with the fact that dittography is the more likely copying error at work, has lead me to follow the most recent editors (PCG II: 494, FCN: 102) in working from the single nu: Ἐνεά. 279 Edmonds works from Ἐνναία (one of Meineke’s proposed title corrections) and provides “The Woman from Enna” (FAC IIIA: 191) and “The Goddess of Enna” (FAC IIIA: 191 n. d). The latter interpretation would refer to Demeter who had a prominent cult following in Enna. Perez Asensio works from Ἐνεά and gives “La Muda” (FCN: 23). 280 Cf. “a little pouch” (FAC IIIA:191) and “Un petit saquet” (FCN: 102). 146 μαρσίππιον codd.: -ίπιον ed. pr. μάρσιππος X 64, cf. var. lect. 138 et VII 79. vid. Mayser-Schmoll p. 31,7 et 190,32 (PCG II: 494). Textual Notes There is one incongruity in the textual tradition: the form of μαρσίππιον. The manuscripts are unanimous in their presentation of μαρσίππιον with a duplicated pi, but the first printed edition provides only a single pi. Subsequent editors have since been split on the issue.281 Although dittography is perhaps the more likely copying error (see West 1973: 24), comparanda from the third century BCE shows that the double pi form was common during Apollodorus’ career.282 It is therefore difficult to challenge the undivided manuscript tradition to which I defer in using the double-pi μαρσίππιον, though the choice ultimately has no bearing on interpretation. Commentary Interpretation of this fragment is entirely dependent on μαρσίππιον. This term, a diminutive of μάρσιππος, denotes a small bag or pouch (LSJ). Neither the diminutive nor its root word occur anywhere else in extant Greek comedy.283 Although the lack of direct evidence does present a challenge to interpretation, a survey of the relevant circumstantial evidence—the usage of βαλλάντιον in Aristophanes and marsuppium in Roman comedy—provides an idea of how 281 Cf. μαρσίππιον (FAC IIIA: 190, PCG II: 494) and μαρσίπιον (FCG IV: 445, CAF III: 284, FCN: 102). 282 See LSJ: μάρσιππος with third-century comparanda of the diminutive μαρσίππιον including PCair.Zen. 59010.27, PPetr.3, LI (p. 145), and LXX Pr.1.14. Μάρσιππος (n.b., not the diminutive form in question) appears several times in Pollux. At 7.79 and 10.138 the manuscripts variously attest to both single and double pi forms and at 10.64 they unanimously attest to the double pi form. 283 This includes Aristophanes, Menander, and all the fragmentary poets. 147 μαρσίππιον might have functioned in Enea.284 Cumulatively, this circumstantial evidence indicates that a μαρσίππιον in comic contexts will almost certainly be in reference to a money wallet.285 A survey of the greater contexts in which marsuppium occurs in Plautus also gives ground for further speculation.286 Crucially, with the exception of Rudens, each of the Plautine comedies that mention a marsuppium also appear to have included one as a prop on stage.287 In 284 Aelius Moeris makes Βαλλάντιον the Attic equivalent of μαρσίππιον (see Bekker 1833: 192.28 and Phot. Lex. β 37). Its application in Aristophanes (Av. 157, 1107, Eq. 707, 1197, Lys. 1054)—the quintessential representative of the Attic dialect—should therefore inform how its koine counterpart functioned in comedies of the Hellenistic period. As for marsuppium, we can reasonably assume that its usage in Roman comedy reflects translation of μαρσίππιον from the Greek model since, aside from the fifteen occurrences in Plautus (Cas. 490, Epid. 185, 511, Men. 254, 265, 384, 386, 701, 1036, 1043, Per. 125, Poen. 782, 784, Rud. 547, 1313), there is almost no other usage elsewhere in extant Latin literature according to a survey of the texts catalogued in the PHI database. It is a title variant of an Atellana of Pomponius Bononiensis and occurs once in Pliny (Dub.Serm. 134.1) and thrice in Varro (Log. 2.2, Sat. Men. 39.1, and Rust. 3.17.2.7* [*marsippium]). Given the complete lack of evidence for μαρσίππιον elsewhere in Greek comedy, we should strongly consider Apollodorus as a potential model for the comedies of Plautus that include the term marsuppium, but have not yet been connected to a Greek model. Clearly Diphilus used μαρσίππιον since the models for Casina and Rudens have been attributed to him, but none of the other Plautus plays that use marsuppium are associated with Greek models. This includes Epidicus which Webster previously posited to be based on a comedy of Apollodorus (1970: 242-52). 285 Three of the five instances of Βαλλάντιον in Aristophanes’ complete plays make the money wallet function explicit (Av. 1107, Eq. 1197, Lys. 1054), though money wallet is likely the intended meaning in all five examples. The function of marsuppium as a money wallet in Plautus is clear from the context in every instance. 286 Because they are brief and tangential to the action, the references to βαλλάντια in Aristophanes do little else to inform our understanding of Enea. 287 In Rudens, the marsuppia of Charmides and Labrax are stored in the lost trunk (see 547 and 1313) and there is no reason they need to have appeared as props, even when the trunk is opened for the scrutiny of the recognition tokens. It is not an absolute certainty that a marsuppium appears as a prop in the case of Persa, but the scene in which Saturio outlines the various accoutrements of a proper parasitus would lack substantial comic impact if he was not outfitted on stage laden with these various objects (see 123-6 from 53-167). 148 some cases, the prop marsuppium plays a substantial role in the comedy’s plot and humor.288 In most cases it is a prop to be exchanged: something lost or wasted by senes and lenones to the benefit of adulescentes and their servi.289 These patterns are worth considering in the case of Enea. The title also leaves room for conjecture.290 The title indicates a female character. Perez Asensio imagines this character provided the basis for the comedy’s plot (FCN: 27), but she may well have been much more than a prompt for the comedy’s conflict. In Perikeiromene and Samia (the only two well-preserved comedies of Menander with titles based on female roles) and Terence’s Hecyra (based on Apollodorus’ Hekyra) the characters to whom the titles allude (Glykera, Chrysis, and Sostrata/Myrinna respectively), are actively engaged in their comedy’s action and dialogue throughout. 288 In the case of Poenulus, for example, a marsuppium is a critical prop in the deception of the pimp Lyco (see 578-786). In Menaechmi, it contributes to an ongoing comic gag as Menaechmus (II) and Messenio repeatedly exchange it for safekeeping for fear of one another’s proclivity towards the various vices offered in Epidamnus (see 254-72, 382-6, and related at 701-3) until there is a near final exchange between Messenio and Meneachmus (I) who intends to keep it for himself (1036-45). 289 See especially Cas., Epid., and Poen. to varying degrees. 290 The English Renaissance playwright Ben Jonson composed a comedy titled The Silent Woman or Epicene which is clearly rooted in the tradition of New Comedy (see especially Plaut. Cas.). The predominant source for the plot of The Silent Woman seems to have been two dialogues of Libanius (a Greek rhetorician of the fourth century CE). It is clear from his writings that Libanius had access to scripts of Menander and Aristophanes which he appropriated for his rhetorical teachings. It is therefore conceivable he was also familiar with the corpus of Apollodorus and that Libanius had adapted elements of Apollodorus’ Enea for the dialogues which provided the basis for Jonson’s comedy. 149 The connotation of the title provides further guidance. Ἐνεός means “speechless” or “mute.”291 Aside from Antiphanes’ title, the adjective occurs nowhere else in Greek comedy and there are no extant titles with a comparable theme.292 Nevertheless it is not difficult to situate a woman that is refusing, unable, or pretending to be unable to talk into a plot of New Comedy.293 In this genre, a silent woman could indicate a plot involving rape (cf. Epit., Sam.; see James 2013: 30-1, 34-5), but silent women play significant roles in other comedies that do not rely on rape as a plot device.294 Whatever the case, these comparanda for silent women do reveal two common elements to consider with respect to Enea. First, a woman’s silence in comedy does tend to contribute to the play’s conflict (see FCN: 27 above) and second, a silent woman on the comic stage is likely to be indicative of a young citizen woman.295 2.9 EPIDIKAZOMENOS Three testimonia and thirteen fragments survive from Epidikazomenos. All fragments have been preserved by Donatus in his commentary on Phormio. Following my approach to 291 Photius (Lex. ε 887) is explicit that the adjective does not mean “foolish” (ἠλί̆θιος), but “voiceless” (ἄφωνος). He cites Antiphanes’ Enea as support. 292 This observation presumably played a part in Meineke’s rejection of the title as it is presented in manuscripts, but if “The Woman with Shorn Hair” (Perikeiromene [Men.]) is acceptable, “The Wordless Woman” ought not raise doubts as a potential title of a Greek comedy. 293 “Women in general speak much less than men in Menander. Bain 1984: 31 gives the following line ratios: 60 : 900 (Dys.); 141 : 650 (Epitr.); 57 : 400 (Perik.); 31 : 720 (Sam.)” (Traill 2008: 134 n. 10). 294 Traill (2008: 133-4), for example, discusses the significant silences of Glykera (Pk.) and Krateia (Mis.). 295 The silence of the young citizen women in New Comedy might, in certain cases, have been a deliberate attempt to demonstrate their virtue as a good Athenian citizen woman. See Traill 2008: 155 and McClure 1999: 19-24 for discussion. 150 Hekyra, I give limited consideration to the textual tradition in the case of the Epidikazomenos fragments and defer to the PCG texts. In terms of interpretation, I prioritize the fragments themselves and what they, in isolation, suggest about the immediate context as much as possible, though consideration of the Latin adaptation can sometimes not be avoided; speculation is similarly restricted based on the assumption that Phormio must still reflect its Apollodoran framework to some degree. Finally, I consider how this new analysis of the fragments works with the corresponding context of Phormio and the most recent and extensive reconstruction of Epidikazomenos (i.e. Lefèvre 2014). Lefèvre’s 2014 reconstruction of Epidikazomenos (643-50) refines the one provided in his 1978 monograph. It is based on several Menander-influenced assumptions about Epidikazomenos’ pre-action circumstances which differ from those in Phormio;296 these assumptions make a substantial impact on the nature of the action, tone, and outcome of Apollodorus’ play that sharply distinguish it from Terence’s adaptation. The most impactful of these assumptions is that Nausistrata did not factor into Apollodorus’ play and that Antipho and Phanium had not yet been married when the play’s action began. According to Lefèvre, Apollodorus’ Chremes, using the name Stilpo, had similarly impregnated a girl on Lemnos many years ago, but did not necessarily make return trips or even know of Phanium’s existence (i.e., his daughter). This information was probably provided for the audience at the beginning of the play by a divine prologue whose presence would have diminished the expository role of Geta. At some point Phanium had come to Athens with her mother and an ancilla to find “Stilpo” who, like in Phormio, was abroad at the play’s start. 296 For the sake of clarity, I refer to alleged characters in Epidikazomenos by their counterpart’s names in Terence though they are not all necessarily attested in Epidikazomenos. 151 Shortly after, Antipho and Phanium fall in love and actually realize (unlike in Phormio) that they are related early in the courtship (e.g. through a signet ring, vel sim.). Antipho and Phormio then formulate a plan in which Phormio, acting as Phanium’s advocate, will threaten to bring legal action before the archon if Antipho—framed as the only reasonable candidate for marriage in these circumstances—does not marry Phanium as an epikleros under his authority (in Phormio, the epikleros hearing actually occurs and the two are already married by the start of the play).297 Demipho, who was not abroad at any point in the proposed action (contrary to his situation in Phormio), agrees to pay Phormio thirty minae to have Phormio marry Phanium himself in order to avoid legal action (in Phormio, Demipho’s payment is meant to go towards the marriage’s dissolution). Phormio, as in Terence’s adaptation, gives the money to Phaedria so that he can acquire the music girl, Pamphila. Once Chremes returns, not only is Phanium recognized as his daughter, but, unlike in Phormio, Pamphila is also recognized as Demipho’s daughter as well. The idea that there was not a pre-action epikleros hearing and legally compelled marriage in Epidikazomenos means that a scene similar to Demipho’s legal conference at Phorm. 441-64 did not exist in Apollodorus’ play and that Phormio need not have been a sycophant. The absence of Nausistrata means that Phormio could not have outed Chremes as a bigamist in the final scene. This not only removes a critical characterization cue of Phormio as a parasite (having not manoeuvred a dinner invitation at Phorm. 1052-3), but also means that Chremes is not ridiculed in the end. Apollodorus’ Phormio, Lefèvre claims, was therefore neither a sycophant 297 An epikleros was a woman who, having no brothers, became the sole heiress of her family’s estate upon her father’s (and mother’s) death, at which time she fell under the authority of her closest living relative. According to Athenian law, “if the nearest of kin does not marry her or give her in marriage, the archon shall compel him either to marry her himself or give her in marriage” (Dem. 43.54; trans. Murray 1939: 97). 152 nor parasite, but simply a good friend of the youths while Chremes actually gets a happy ending, perhaps even marrying Phanium’s mother if she was alive. Testimonia i. didasc. Ter. Phorm. GRAЄCA APOLLODORU ЄPIDICAZOMЄNOS. The Greek play: Epidikazomenos by Apollodorus. ii. Donat. Ter. Phorm., pref. 1.1 (W. II: 345 vv. 1-10). Hanc comoediam manifestum est prius ab Apollodoro sub alio nomine, hoc est Ἐπιδικαζομένου,298 Graece scriptam esse quam Latine a Terentio Phormionem. quamobrem nulla dubitatio est hanc solam esse, cui nomen poeta mutaverit, et errare eos, qui in hac Phormionem parasitum putant a formula litis, quam intenderit, nominatum, cum Graeca lingua fiscus sparteus et stramen nauticum si dicatur: a cuius rei vel capacitate vel vilitate etiam ab Apollodoro parasitus Phomionis nomine nuncupatur.299 This comedy was clearly written under another name—which is Epidikazomenos—by Apollodorus in the Greek before it was composed as Phormio by Terence in Latin. There is no doubt that this is the only comedy for which the poet changed the name, and those who think that Phormio, the parasite in this play, was named from the formula litis, which he undertook, are mistaken, since in Greek a broom basket and a sailor’s straw-bedding is called this [φορμός]. It is either because of the object’s holding capacity or its worthlessness that the parasite is called by the name of Phormio by Apollodorus. iii. Ter. Phorm. 24-8. … apporto novam / Epidicazomenon quam vocant comoediam / Graeci, Latini Phormionem nominant / quia primas partis qui aget is erit Phormio / parasitus. I present a new comedy which the Greeks call Epidikazomenos and the Latins designate Phormio because the one who performs the leading role will be the parasite Phormio. 298 “epidicazomenon RK, -dicazomenes O, -dicamozone C, corr. Reifferscheid” (PCG II: 495). 299 “cf. p. 335,10 ad. v. 26, et Schol. Bemb. ad eundem versum, p. 76sq. Mountf. de Apollodoro auctore vid. etiam in Hec. praef. 1,1 (supra p. 491, Ἑκ. test. i” (PCG II: 495). 153 Donat. Ter. Phorm. 25 (W. II: 355 vv. 3-7). manifeste hic errat Terentius; nam haec fabula quam transtulit Epidicazomene dicta est a puella, de qua iudicium est, cum sit <alia> fabula300 Epidicazomenos eiusdem Apollodori. debuit ergo dicere Epidicazomenen. Terence is obviously wrong in this case; for the play which he translated was called Epidikazomene after the girl about whom there was a legal dispute, although there is another play called Epidikazomenos by this same Apollodorus. It should therefore say Epidikazomenen. Ἐπιδικαζόμενος The Heiress Executor301 16 Fragment 16 is a point of distinction between Phormio and Epidikazomenos that Donatus isolates with respect to Phorm. 46-9 (Daos speaks):302 … porro autem Geta ferietur alio munere ubi era pepererit; porro autem alio ubi erit puero natalis dies; ubi initiabunt. ….On top of that Geta will be stung for another present when his mistress gives birth, and then for another when the child’s birthday comes round, and when it’s initiated. These verses are drawn from Phormio’s opening scene in which the slave Daos meets with his friend and fellow-slave Geta in order to pay back a loaned sum of money; dramatically, the 300 “suppl. ex Schol. Bemb. p. 76 Mountf.” (PCG II: 495). 301 Cf. “The Claimant” (FAC IIIA: 193); “Claimant” (Rusten 2011: 690); “El Demandant” (FCN: 102). 302 Text and trans. Barsby II: 16-7. 154 meeting serves expository purposes. The scene begins with Daos alone on the stage awaiting Geta’s arrival. As he waits, he speaks a brief fifteen-verse monologue in which he speculates that Geta must be calling in the loan because he needs to buy a wedding present for his young master, Antipho. Daos goes on to bewail the fact that Geta will again be expected to provide gifts for various other milestones in the new couple’s marriage, including their future child’s “initiation” (49). On ubi initiabunt, Donatus writes that “Terence follows Apollodorus by whom it was scripted that, according to the custom of the Athenians, boys, of a certain age, were initiated into the mysteries of the Samothracians.”303 There is little independent evidence for large-scale Athenian initiation at Samothrace;304 however, this is not to suggest Apollodorus’ fragment did not reflect a contemporary reality. Samothrace was an important sanctuary for Macedonian royalty.305 During Apollodorus’ production period, the sanctuary received particular attention and patronage from Arsinoe II and her husbands, Lysimachus and Ptolemy II—Athens’ most staunch allies against the Antigonids in the first half of the third century. It would not be surprising if, during this period, Arsinoe II and her husbands promoted Athenian participation in the Samothracian mysteries, whether through pilgrimage to the island or an imported, local version of the cult.306 303 sed Terentius Apollodorum sequitur, apud quem legitur initiis Samothracum a certo tempore pueros imbui more Atheniensium (W. II: 363.7-10). “Apollod. om. CO” (PCG II: 496). 304 See Cole 1984: “There are no surviving initiate lists from before the second century B.C …” (24) and “ … even though Athenian writers mention the Samothracian mysteries and the Samothracian gods, there are no initiates from Athens recorded at Samothrace before the second century A.D” (58). 305 See Cole 1984: 20-5. 306 For the exportation of the Samothracian mysteries, see Cole 1984: 57-86. 155 The Samothracian mysteries do not play a major role in any extant Greek comedy. Where they are mentioned, they are solitary references that form parts of jokes and have no bearing on the action, similar to the reference to initiation in Phormio.307 This might speak to the likelihood that the reference in Epidikazomenos occurred in a context similar to Phorm. 46-9. If so, it presupposes that the marriage of Antipho and Phanium had already occurred or was at least imminent (due perhaps to a recent archon ruling) since the nature of this brief monologue arose from Geta’s apparent obligation to purchase the young couple a wedding gift. The fragment therefore poses a significant obstacle for Lefèvre’s reconstruction (1978: 23-4, 2014: 649-50) that depends on the assumption that there was neither an epikleros suit nor a wedding before or during the play’s primary action.308 In short, the fragment is potential evidence of the money-lending scene which Lefèvre (2014: 646) considers largely Terentian. 17 Fragment 17 is nearly one complete verse of iambic trimeter in which the speaker expresses having had joint charge of something/someone. Donatus preserves the fragment in his discussion of Phorm. 87:309 nos otiosi operam dabamus Phaedriae. We hadn’t much to do, so we kept an eye on Phaedria. 307 E.g. Ar. Pax 276-9, Alex. 183, Men. Inc. 1 vv. 15-6. 308 A wedding in the fifth act is possible in Lefèvre’s reconstruction, but this has little bearing on the present discussion. 309 Text and trans. Barsby II: 20-1. 156 This verse is also drawn from the opening dialogue between Daos and Geta in which the latter describes his current oversight of the adulescentes, Antipho and Phaedria, on behalf of their absent fathers, the senes Demipho and Chremes. At verse 87, Geta recounts how he and Antipho had been supervising Phaedria’s daily flirtation routine with a local cithara girl named Pamphila as she made her way to and from her music lessons.310 Donatus provides the original Greek of this verse from Apollodorus:311 ἡμεῖς δὲ – x – συνεπεμελούμεθα.312 and we ourselves … undertook joint supervision.313 ἡμεῖς Fritzsche p. 5: ημησεις V, ΓΑΛΚΙC Cuiac. <σύσχολοι> Dziatzko RhM 31 (1876) 371; nomen adulescentis excidisse censet Saekel p. 74, ‘velut Φαιδρίου, vel quia Terentium ut alibi permutasse nomina verisimile est, Κλεινίου, Χαιρέου, Φειδίου, Παμφίλου’ συνεπεμελούμεθα Meineke ed. min.: CΥΝЄΜΑΛΜЄΘΑ Cuiac.: σηνεμλημετα V ἡμεῖς δὲ <σχολὴν / ἄγοντες> ἐπεμ. Headlam JPh 23 (1895) 284 (PCG II: 496). Συνεπιμελέομαι occurs nowhere else in Greek comedy; it is therefore difficult to speculate on the potential context of this fragment within Epidikazomenos absent consideration of the scene in Phormio with which Donatus associates it.314 It may well have come from a similar scene and if so, again challenges Lefèvre’s reconstruction to the degree that this account of recent events by 310 Pamphila was a cithara player in training who commuted for her lessons (see Phorm. 80-6). 311 Apollodorus … (W. II: 373 vv. 12-3). 312 cf. <ὄντι γὰρ> ἀναλκεῖ συνεμαχόμεθα <Φαιδρίᾳ / ἀλκὴ δ᾽> ἐναργὴς δὴ συνεπεμελούμεθα (FAC IIIA: 192). Saekel (1914: 74) suggests the missing portion of the text was a name and notes that Φαιδρίου is possible, but so too are Κλεινίου, Χαιρέου, Φειδίου, and Παμφίλου. 313 “We gave the unwarlike our support at need and our joint energy was aid indeed” (FAC IIIA: 193, see Edmonds’ text in the note above); “I nosaltres - ū - preocupàvem” (FCN: 103). 314 There are a handful of instances of ἐπιμελέομαι in Menander. See Dys. 213, 618, 759 (possibly), Georg. 62, Her. 26. See also Mon. 551 from FCG IV: 355. 157 Geta (71-136) represents the type of information we would normally associate with a divine prologue that Lefèvre posits. The fact that the fragment’s verb, like its counterpart in Phormio, is set in the first person plural (as opposed to a third-person point of view), perhaps speaks to the likelihood that it is the Geta-equivalent in Epidikazomenos speaking and that he had more of an expository role than what Lefèvre allows (see 2014: 646), perhaps alongside a divine prologue.315 18 Fragment 18 is another distinction marked by Donatus between Phormio and the Apollodoran model that he notes in his commentary regarding Phorm. 91-2:316 interea dum sedemus illi, intervenit adulescens quidam lacrumans. One day, while we were sitting there, a young man came up in tears. These verses are drawn from the continuation of Geta’s recollection to Daos of the events associated with his supervision of the young men. Geta recalls that one day while he and the youths had been dawdling at a barbershop, they were approached by a young man who described a beautiful young woman (i.e. Phanium) that he had just seen at a nearby funeral. On these verses, Donatus writes, “Apollodorus made the barber himself the messenger, who says that he recently cut the girl’s hair for mourning purposes; Terence obviously changed 315 It is, nevertheless, not impossible that the fragment was drawn from a divine prologue that featured two divinities, cf. Plaut. Trin. 316 Text and trans. Barsby II: 20-1. 158 this lest he confuse the Roman audience with foreign customs.”317 Donatus is referring to the fact that Greek women in mourning cut their hair short (e.g. Shapiro 1991: 650, Blume 2013: 2) while Roman women wore it loose (e.g. Bartman 2001: 4, 6, Hope 2009: 95). The barbershop in comedy is a place where men can loiter (e.g. Plaut. Amph. 1013, Epid. 198) and gossip can be exchanged (e.g. Ar. Plut. 337-9, Men. Sam. 510, Plaut. Asin. 343). The scenario Donatus describes for Epidikazomenos is therefore very plausible and may have otherwise closely resembled Geta’s expository account at Phorm. 71-136. What is particularly important about Donatus’ note is the fact that he mentions he had cut the girl’s hair for mourning purposes (ob luctum). This would seem to speak to the likelihood that the character equivalent of Phanium’s mother had also died in Epidikazomenos. This is compelling evidence to set aside the possibility raised by Lefèvre (2014: 643, 647) that she was alive for the entirety of Apollodorus’ play and perhaps married Chremes at the comedy’s conclusion. 19 Fragment 19 represents a point of continuity between Terence’s adaptation and Epidikazomenos which Donatus identifies in his notes on Phorm. 281-2:318 … functus adulescentulist officium liberalis. … He behaved like the well bred young man he is. 317 Apollodorus tonsorem ipsum nuntium facit, qui dicat se nuper puellae comam ob luctum abstulisse, quod scilicet mutasse Terentium, ne externis moribus spectatorem Romanum offenderet (W. II: 374 vv. 9-13.). Scilicet: “sic CO, scio V, spat. vac. in R, scito Kock, scias R. Jacobi” (PCG II: 496). 318 Text and trans. Barsby II: 42-3. 159 These verses come from the scene in which Demipho, having just returned from Cilicia, is intercepted by Geta and Phaedria who attempt to defer blame from themselves and Antipho for the latter’s recent, legally compelled marriage. During this interaction, Demipho expresses frustration that Antipho did not speak on his own behalf at the epikleros hearing. Phaedria responds to this by reframing Antipho’s silence in the proceedings as an admirable display of his pudor. Donatus explains that, “in the manner of an orator, he did not just make a defence of the charge that had been made, but went so far as to spin it into praise; this is what rhetoricians call peristasis. This is from Apollodorus.”319 Donatus’ comment is vague and it is always possible he is referring to Apollodorus’ use of the technique in a different context;320 however, we can not ignore the fact that the note is associated with verses in Phormio that discuss the completed epikleros hearing. The fragment therefore poses another potential problem for Lefèvre’s reconstruction in which no lawsuit had occurred (1978: 23-4, 2014: 649).321 319 oratorie crimen quod obiectum est non purgavit modo, sed etiam ad laudem convertit, quod rhetores περίστασιν dicunt. Et hoc de Apollodoro (W. II: 419 vv. 16-9). 320 Cf. the situation at Plaut. Stich. 141-2: in response to her father’s request that she divorce her husband, Pamphila frames her unwillingness to do so as actually following her father’s commands in that she is remaining loyal to the man to whom her father first gave her. 321 Lefèvre essentially disregards Donatus’ note, “Wenn Demipho gegen alle Wahrscheinlichkeit ,weiß’, daß Antipho vor Gericht geschwiegen habe (279-281), so geht das natürlich auf Terenz zurück, der eine wirkliche Gerichtsverhandlung voraussetzte. Donats Bemerkung zu 281 et hoc de Apollodoro läßt keine Deutung mehr zu” (Lefèvre 1978: 63 n. 22). 160 20 Fragment 20 represents a portion of text from Phormio that is decidedly not drawn from Epidikazomenos as Donatus makes clear in his commentary on Phorm. 339-42:322 ten asymbolum venire unctum atque lautum e balineis, otiosum ab animo, quom ille et cura et sumptu absumitur! dum tibi fit quod placeat, ille ringitur. tu rideas, prior bibas, prior decumbas; cena dubia apponitur. You come oiled and washed from the baths, without contributing a thing and without a care in the world, while he’s consumed with worry and expense. Everything’s done to satisfy your desires, while he can only gnash his teeth. You laugh, you take the first drink and the first place at table, and then this problematical meal is laid before you. In this scene, Geta, having retrieved the parasitus Phormio, briefs him on Demipho’s plans to dissolve Antipho’s marriage; Phormio then pledges to take steps to prevent this in an imminent confrontation with Demipho. Geta responds with gratitude on behalf of Antipho, but Phormio insists that it is he who ought to be thankful since benefactors like Antipho bear a tremendous burden to the benefit of parasites like himself, as illustrated by vv. 339-42. On these verses, Donatus writes that, “these are not from Apollodorus, but from …”.323 From here the text becomes corrupt and the name of the source is lost;324 where it becomes legible again, we find the source’s original Latin text, arranged in iambic senarii, on which 322 Text and trans. Barsby II: 48-9. 323 haec non ab Apollodoro, sed de … (W. II: 432 vv.17-8). non: “nec non RCO, nedum VDL, corr. Stephanus” (PCG II: 497). sed de: “sed de cen ante spat. vac. V (Caecilii nomen latere susp. Leo Gesch. röm. Lit. p. 2062, Centaurum fabulae indicem coll. Lyncei comoedia Arnott G & R. 17, 1970, 372): redeas R: ṝdeas C: sed de sexto salis DL, unde sed e sexto satyrarum Ennii Stephanus (Enn. Sat. 14-19 Vahl.; vid. Reeve ClPh 74, 1979, 316)” (PCG II: 497). 324 Caecilius, Lynceus of Samos (adapted for a palliata), and Ennius have been suggested as potential sources; see note above (PCG II: 497) for references. Whatever the source, it seems that these verses were perhaps meant to be recognized as an adaptation of another known work (see Geta’s response at Phorm. 343). 161 Phormio’s response is based.325 The importance of this observation is two-fold. First, it is evidence that Terence’s adaptations of Apollodorus include uncited contaminatio (cf. Ter. Eun. 19-33); it is therefore a critical example of why discussion of Epidikazomenos (and Hekyra) must be grounded in the fragments first and the adaptations second. Next, the absence of these verses from the Apollodoran model means that they could not have contributed to the characterization of Phormio’s counterpart in Epidikazomenos as a traditional parasitus. This is not to say Apollodorus’ character was not a parasite (see Phorm. test. ii), but this fragment certainly helps Lefèvre’s case that parasite characterization cues in this scene and indeed the entire play were Terentian additions (see 1978: 49-50, 2014: 645-6). 21 Fragment 21 represents another point of contact Donatus identifies between Phormio and Epidikazomenos, in this case, regarding Phorm. 482:326 quantum metus est mihi videre huc salvom nunc patruom, Geta! How I’m dreading my uncle’s safe return, Geta! 325 See W. II: 432 v. 19 - 433 v. 2. For a recent rendition of the source text, see Goldberg and Manuwald (2018: 278-9 [Enn. Sat. fr. 9]): quippe sine cura laetus lautus cum advenis, / infestis malis, expedito bracchio, / alacer celsus lupino expectans impetus / quam mox bona alterius abligurrias, / quid censes domino esse animi? pro divum fidem, / ill’ tristist dum cibum servat, tu ridens voras. (“So when you come along carefree, cheerful, scrubbed, / jaws at the ready, arm poised for action, / eager, confident, waiting like a wolf to pounce / as soon as you can gobble up the goodies of another, / what do you suppose your host is thinking? Good God! / He’s glum while minding the provisions you, laughing, devour”). 326 Text and trans. Barsby II: 64-5. 162 This verse comes from a dialogue in which Geta relates to Antipho that his father is waiting for Chremes’ arrival to seek advice on his next course of action towards dissolving Antipho’s marriage. Verse 482 is Antipho’s response to this news. On this verse, Donatus comments: In accordance with Apollodorus, he does not desire his uncle to return safely, and points out that his [uncle’s] safety does not work in junction with his own [Antipho’s] interest.327 The ambiguous wording makes the relationship between Terence’s verse and the corresponding portion from Epidikazomenos unclear.328 It is generally the case that safe returns are genuinely desired and met with joy;329 however, Antipho’s Apollodoran counterpart would not be alone in contemplating the personal benefit of a family member’s death abroad (cf. the comments of Philolaches and Tranio about Theopropides at Plaut. Most. 233-4, 442-3). Whatever the relationship, Donatus’ note, in mentioning an absent uncle, gives the first indication in the fragments of an Apollodoran Chremes-counterpart abroad, potentially under circumstances similar to those in Phormio. Lefèvre (1978: 66-7) gives Donatus’ comment little consideration and makes the verse and indeed the entire scene a Terentian addition, though this is disproved by the content of Donatus’ comment. 327 non optat salvum patruum venire secundum Apollodorum, et ostendit non congruere salutem eius cum commodo suo (W. II: 459 vv. 12-4). secundum: “sed ROK”, et “sed Westerhof” (PCG II: 497). 328 Cf. Fritzsche (1862: 6): “apud Apollodorum Antipho optaret, ut patruus salvus rediret” and Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 193): “Following Apollodorus, he does not desire his uncle’s safe return, and points out that it would be against his own interest.” See also Maltby (2012: 169): “According to Apollodorus he does not wish his uncle to come home safely and he shows that his uncle’s safe return is not compatible with his own convenience. Or perhaps he does not say that the arrival of his uncle is bad and inconvenient but simply full of fear for him?” 329 E.g. Plaut. Amph. 187, Bacch. 185, 456, 536, Epid. 128, Most. 1128, Poen. 685-6, Trin. 156, 618, Ter. Haut. 407. 163 22 Fragment 22 is a Greek proverb Donatus quotes in his discussion of Phorm. 506-7:330 … immo, id quod aiunt, auribus teneo lupum. nam neque quo pacto a me amittam neque uti retineam scio. On the contrary, I’m holding the proverbial wolf by the ears. I don’t know how to let go or how to hold on to her. These verses come from a scene in which Antipho and Geta interrupt a dispute between Phaedria and Dorio (the leno that owns Pamphila). In this scene, Phaedria expresses envy of Antipho’s situation because he has the woman he loves at home (contrary to Phaedria’s predicament). Antipho responds to this with the sententia at 506-7 to illustrate the tragedy of his own situation: although he is hopelessly in love with Phanium, Antipho knows that his father desires to dissolve the marriage. He has a wolf by the ears in wrestling with how he will navigate the inevitable conflict between his amorous desire and his filial obligations. On these verses Donatus comments: Graecum proverbium: ‘τῶν ὤτων ἔχω τὸν λύκον· οὔτε γὰρ ἔχειν οὔτ’ ἀφεῖναι δύναμαι’ (“A Greek proverb: ‘I have a wolf by the ears; I am neither able to hold on nor let go’”).331 Fritzsche (1862: 7) rendered this text into two verses of iambic trimeter:332 καὶ τὸν λύκον γε, φασί, τῶν ὤτων ἔχω, ὃν οὔτε κατέχειν δυνατὸν οὔτ’ ἀφιέναι. 330 Text and trans. Barsby II: 68-9. 331 See W. II: 461 vv. 5-6. 332 “coll. Aristaen. Epist. II 3 extr. (vid. etiam Leutsch ad Macar. VIII 44), alia temptaverunt Kock RhM 43 (1888) 35, Nencini p. 115, Headlam ClR 13 (1899) 7, Herw. Coll p. 184” (PCG II: 497). Cf also the reconstructions in CAF III: 286 and FAC IIIA: 194. 164 And yet I have, as they say, a wolf by the ears, which I can neither hold fast nor let go.333 This proverb refers to an impossible predicament where all available options are less than ideal.334 Although Donatus does not explicitly name Apollodorus there is a reasonable case to be made that Epidikazomenos was the source for Phorm. 506-7. Apollodorus does seem to have been fond of proverbial quips (e.g. Apollod.Car. 6, 8, 10, 11), but it is another unsourced proverb by Donatus that shifts the current discussion. On Phorm. 661 (quid si animam debet?), Donatus points out that Terence has rejected a Greek proverb (Graecum proverbium sprevit, W. II: 466 vv. 23-4). As with Phorm. 506, he does not explicitly attribute the proverb to Apollodorus, but presumably Donatus would not know that Terence had rejected it unless he was aware of the proverb’s presence in the Greek model.335 The note on Phorm. 661 (=Apollod.Car. 27) therefore indicates that derivation from Apollodorus may be implicit when Donatus is discussing Terence’s adaptations of Greek proverbs. With this in mind, it is reasonable to assume that Phorm. 506-7 was drawn from Epidikzomenos. Apollod.Car. 22 therefore represents the earliest extant attestation of this proverb. 333 Cf. “I’ve got the wolf by the ears, as people say; I can’t hold on and yet I can’t give way” (FAC IIIA: 195); “tinc un llop per les orelles: no puc ni retenir-lo ni deixar-lo anar” (FCN: 104). 334 Phormio preserves the earliest example of this proverb in Latin. It is well attested in later Greek and Latin sources; see Polyb. 30.20.8, Plut. Mor. Prae. ger. reip. (802d), Suet. Tib. 25.1, Jer. Contra Ioannes Hierosolymitanum 6, Querol. (Klinkhamer 1829: 187 v. 95), Aristaenet. II.3, Macar. VIII.44. See also Otto 1890: 199 no. 9. Lupine proverbs, in general, are common in Greek comedy. The predominant proverb is the λύκος χανὼν (“gaping wolf”). It is often used of someone who is at risk of missing a meal, but applies to any situation where one is left wanting. See Ar. 350, Eub. 14, Men. Asp. 372-3, Euphro 1 and possibly Men. Epit. 1006. The ‘winged wolf,’ like the proverb in question, also applies to an impossible scenario (see Crates Com. 32, Men. 148). Finally, Menander provides, Ὁ συκοφάντης ἐστὶ τοῖς πέλας λύκος (see FCG IV: 352 no. 440). 335 Recent editors agree that Donatus’ note on Phorm. 661 must refer to a proverb in Epidikazomenos (e.g. PCG II: 498, Maltby 2012: 180). 165 As has been discussed with other fragments, it is difficult to try to contextualize sententiae in comic contexts. When we consider the possibility that this fragment was drawn from circumstances in Epidikazomenos that were similar to those at Phorm. 503-7, it must be admitted that it makes significantly more sense in a context in which Antipho is already married. If, following Lefèvre (e.g. 2014: 649), he was not yet married, his situation would be such that he may have been pressed by a rock but was not hemmed in by a hard place. Unsurprisingly, Lefèvre (1978: 67 n. 45) hesitates to attribute the proverb to the Apollodoran model. 23 Fragment 23 is a partial verse, potentially meant to be arranged in trochaic tetrameter, in which someone is described as being a good friend. Donatus includes the fragment in his commentary on Phorm 562:336 solus est homo amico amicus. He’s a friend to his friends, if anybody is. These verses come from a dialogue in which Geta agrees to procure thirty minae for Phaedria so that he can purchase Pamphila before she is sold to a rival lover. Geta stipulates that he will need the help of Phormio whose support Phaedria promptly guarantees, calling to mind the strength of their friendship at v. 562. In his commentary on this verse, Donatus provides the corresponding Greek from Apollodorus:337 μόνος ἐπίσταται φιλεῖν τοὺς φίλους338 (“He alone knows how to be a friend to 336 Text and trans. Barsby II: 76-7. 337 Apollodorus … (W. II: 463 vv. 1-2). 338 “ἐπίσταται ed. pr.: ενιστατε V, ἐνϊστατέ R nisi tetr. troch. fuerunt (φιλεῖν/τοὺς) cum Guyeto In Ter. Comm. (1657) p. 362 scribendum μόνος φιλεῖν <γὰρ> τοὺς φ. ἐπίστ.” (PCG II: 166 friends”).339 The turn of phrase—φιλεῖν φίλον—is well attested before Apollodorus;340 it does not occur anywhere else in Greek comedy, but similar constructions in Roman Comedy (e.g. Plaut. Epid. 425, Trin. 94, 1110; perhaps also Pseud. 390 [Calidorus of Charinus]) importantly suggest that this expression is usually spoken in reference to characters of the same stock type. If Epidikazemonos had roles comparable to that of Phormio, the character equivalent of Phormio would be the only real candidate for someone that could be identified as a singular male “friend” to multiple friends (presumably the Apollodoran “Antipho” and “Phaedria”). This suggests that the Apollodoran “Phormio” was an adulescens. This certainly works well with Lefèvre’s reconstruction (1978: 48-55, 2014: 646) that makes the Apollodoran “Phormio” a “parasite” à la Dyskolos’ Chaireas; that is, a good friend of the young men (presumably of comparable status) who does not actually display any characteristics of a traditional comic parasite. Lefèvre’s reconstruction still requires an unusual amount of dynamism from the Apollodoran “Phormio” so this fragment should not be taken as conclusive evidence that the character did not display any qualities of a traditional parasite. 497). There is some variation in this reconstruction in the texts of modern editors. μόνος ἐπίσταται: μόνος <γὰρ> ἐπίσταται (FAC IIIA: 194) τοὺς: om. (FCG IV: 447, FAC IIIA: 194). 339 “He stands alone for knowing how to befriend a friend” (FAC IIIA: 195); “He alone knows how to love his friends.” (Rusten 2011: 690); “és l’únic que sap ser amic dels amics” (FCN: 104). 340 See Hes. Op. 353, Archil. 23.14, Eur. Hel. 1426. 167 24 Fragment 24 is a partial verse from Epidikazomenos that frames old age as an illness. The fragment is preserved by Donatus in his comments on Phorm. 575:341 senectus ipsast morbus. Old age is an illness in itself. In this scene, Chremes (who has just arrived from Lemnos) and Demipho discuss their present difficulties as they return from the harbor together. Chremes relates that his return to Athens was delayed because of an illness; when Demipho asks about the nature of the sickness, Chremes simply attributes it to his old age (575). Donatus provides the original Greek text of this verse from Apollodorus:342 <νόσος> τὸ γῆράς ἐστιν αὐτό.343 Old age is a sickness in itself.344 νόσος add. Saekel p. 76, sed maluit νόσος / τὸ (‘quia verba senectus ipsast morbus totidem syllabae errant, quot Apollodori τὸ γῆράς ἐστιν αὐτό, locus verbi νόσος fiebat vacuus; ibi Terentius posuit rogas?’ γῆρας ed. pr.: γέρας VR αὐτὸ <νόσημα> anapaesto dirupto ed. pr. (PCG II: 498). This proverbialized pessimistic view of old age is present elsewhere in drama;345 sickness in comedy can be a powerful driver of action (e.g. Men. Asp., Plaut. Men.) and aid in 341 Text and trans. Barsby II: 78-9. 342 Apollodorous τὸ γῆράς ἐστιν αὐτὸ (W. II: 463 vv. 4-5). 343 cf. τὸ γῆράς ἐστιν αὐτὸ νόσημα (FAC IIIA: 194). 344 “Old age itself’s an illness” (FAC IIIA: 194); “Old age itself is [a disease]” (Rusten 2011: 690); “<Una malaltia> és la vellesa per si mateixa” (FCN: 105). 345 Cf. Eur. 645b (φεῦ φεῦ, τὸ γῆρας ὡς ἔχει πολλὰς νόσους). In comedy, cf. Men. 867, Plaut. Bacch. 1138-9, Men. 756-60. For later examples in other genres in Latin, see Otto 1890: 316 senectus no. 1. 168 characterization (e.g. Cappadox, Plaut. Curc.). The fragment could reasonably be attributed to an Apollodoran “Chremes” having just arrived from abroad as in Phorm. 567-90. In Terence’s play, however, this scene includes references to Chremes’ wife and implies repeat visits to Lemnos—elements that did not occur according to Lefèvre’s reconstruction (see 2014: 644). Nevertheless, illness due to age is certainly a plausible explanation for the delayed participation of an Apollodoran “Chremes” that would put off the recognition of Phanium and extend the drama of the seemingly problematic union between Antipho and Phanium.346 The fragment may also be an indication that the sickness theme that has been thoroughly traced throughout Phormio (e.g. Frangoulidis 2013) may have been inspired by and similarly prevalent in Epidikazomenos. 25 Fragment 25 is a single verse, possibly of iambic trimeter, in which a male speaker poetically confesses that he has no material possessions. Donatus provides the fragment as the guiding text for Phorm. 587:347 nam ego meorum solus sum meus. I’m the only one of my possessions I can call my own. This verse is drawn from the same dialogue between Demipho and Chremes with which Apollod.Car. 24 is associated. The two men at this point discuss the possibility of having Chremes’ daughter marry someone outside the family. From Chremes’ perspective this is less than ideal: if Chremes should have a falling-out with this hypothetical son-in-law, there would be 346 Chremes’ appearance is also delayed due to an old age illness in Lefèvre’s reconstruction (2014: 647). 347 Text and trans. Barsby II: 78-9. 169 a greater chance that Chremes’ well-dowered wife (Nausistrata) would find out about his extramarital affair and divorce him—leaving Chremes with nothing. Donatus gives the Greek text from Apollodorus on which this verse was based:348 ἐγὼ γάρ εἰμι τῶν <ἐμῶν> ἐμὸς <μόνος>.349 For of my things, I am all that is mine.350 ξο γαρ ενμεν το μεμος et V: corr. Guyetus In Ter. Comm. (1657) p. 364 (ἐγὼ μόνος γάρ εἰμι τῶν ἐμῶν ἐμός Grotius Exc. p. 807 (PCG II: 498). In this fragment, a male character professes their complete lack of assets.351 It is conceivable that the verse was spoken by an Apollodoran “Chremes” under circumstances comparable to those of Phorm. 567-90. Compare, for example, Libanus’ characterization of Demaenetus—the henpecked husband of an uxor dotata in Plautus’ Asinaria (92-5):352 nudo detrahere uestimenta me iubes. defrudem te ego? age sis tu, sine pennis uola. ten ego defrudem, quoi ipsi nihil est in manu nisi quid tu porro uxorem defrudaueris? You’re ordering me to remove the clothes from someone who’s naked. I should cheat you? Come on, will you, and fly without wings. Am I to cheat you? You yourself have nothing in your pocket unless there’s something you in turn have cheated your wife out of. 348 <μόνος> ἐγὼ γάρ εἰμι τῶν <ἐμῶν> Apollodorus (W. II: 463 vv. 14-5). 349 Cf. ἐγὼ μόνος γάρ εἰμι τῶν ἐμῶν ἐμὸς (FAC IIIA: 194). 350 “For I’m the only thing I can call my own” (FAC IIIA: 195); “For I alone of all my things am mine” (Rusten 2011: 690); “Doncs jo sóc <l’únic> que és meu <de les meves coses>” (FCN: 105). 351 Cf. Eur. 1005 (TrGF V), Pers. 5.88 (FCG IV: 447, PCG II: 498). 352 Text and trans. De Melo I: 152-3. 170 Because of the context in Phormio with which Donatus associates this fragment, there is a case to be made that it presents reasonable evidence that a Nausistrata counterpart—as an uxor dotata—was present also in Epidikazomenos. Lefèvre (1978: 47, 57 n. 97) minimizes the potential impact of this note in his reconstruction. If an alternative speaker and context are to be considered, the most attractive candidate would be the Apollodoran “Phormio” with the important caveat that his characterization as a parasite was present in Epidikazomenos. Cf. how the parasites Gnatho (Ter. Eun. 243) and Gelasimus (Plaut Stich. 256-8) characterize their own living situations:353 omnia habeo neque quicquam habeo; nil quomst, nil defit tamen. I have everything and I have nothing; no possessions but nothing lacking. nega esse quod dem nec mihi nec mutuom neque aliud quicquam nisi hoc quod habeo pallium; linguam quoque etiam uendidi datariam. Say to her that I don’t have anything to give on loan or anything else except for this cloak that I have. I’ve even sold my tongue that had to do with giving. Apollod.Car. 25 certainly resembles these verses that characterize other traditional parasites. This alternative interpretation of the fragment is equally problematic for Lefèvre (1978: 48-55, 2014: 646) who attributes Phormio’s parasite characterization cues entirely to Terence. The fragment therefore suggests that Lefèvre’s reconstruction must be incorrect in at least one of two assumptions: that Apollodorus’ Phormio was not a parasite and/or Nausistrata was not featured as an uxor dotata. 353 Text and trans. Barsby I: 338-9, De Melo V: 42-3. 171 26 Fragment 26 represents a distinction between Epidikazomenos and Phormio that Donatus identifies with respect to Phorm. 646-7:354 … parvi retulit non suscepisse. inventast quae dotem petat. It hasn’t done him much good not to have raised a daughter of his own, if he’s presented with another girl who needs a dowry. These verses come from a scene in which Geta recounts to Demipho and Chremes an alleged conversation he has just had with Phormio regarding a compromise that would negate the need for further legal action concerning Antipho’s marriage. Geta tells the old men that Phormio would be open to allowing for the dissolution of the marriage if he were paid a sufficient sum of money. Geta recounts that after Phormio had suggested the exorbitant amount of a talent, he responded with the clever verses at 646-7—speaking on behalf of Demipho. Donatus claims that the Apollodoran version of these verses was spoken by the old man himself and provides a Latin rendition of how Apollodorus phrased them in Epidikazomenos:355 [quid interest me non suscepisse filiam, si modo dos dabitur alienae?]356 What is the benefit of me having not raised a daughter, if in fact a dowry will be given for another’s?357 354 Text and trans. Barsby II: 84-5. 355 in Graeca fabula senex hoc dicit: … (W. II: 466 vv. 7-9). 356 quid: “quod OV, quia RCK” (PCG II: 498). Cf. τί ὄφελος ἦν μοι μὴ ᾽νελέσθαι θυγατέρα / μηδεμίαν, εἰ προὶξ ἀλλοτρίᾳ δοθήσεται (“Graece E”; FAC IIIA: 194). 357 “To have got myself no daughter’s been no gain if I’m to endow another’s child, that’s plain” (FAC IIIA: 195); “¿Quin profit trec de no haver tingut una filla, si ara proporcionaré dot a la filla d’un alter?” (FCN: 105). 172 Donatus’ note indicates that Terence essentially transferred this witty comment from the Apollodoran “Demipho” to the slave Geta. Because fathers were expected to provide a substantial dowry to support their daughters’ marriage, daughters were sometimes seen as a financial burden by parents. This point of view is expressed elsewhere in New Comedy (e.g. Plaut. Aul. 190-2, Ter. Haut. 835-51). According to Lefèvre’s reconstruction (2014: 643-4), Apollodorus’ “Pamphila” may have been recognized as the daughter of Demipho’s Apollodoran counterpart—a relationship which, thanks to a divine prologue, the audience may have already been aware of. Either way, this circumstance would add a layer of irony to Apollod.Car. 26 since the Apollodoran “Demipho” may have ended up paying a sum of money that ultimately facilitated “Pamphila’s” marriage to “Phaedria” (e.g. Lefèvre 2014: 643-4, 647). 27 Fragment 27 is a Greek proverb that Donatus quotes in his discussion of Phorm. 661:358 quid si animam debet? What if he owes his soul? This verse is drawn from the same dialogue with which Apollod.Car. 26 is associated. Here Geta continues to relate to Demipho and Chremes the buyout proposal allegedly made by Phormio which would release Antipho from his current marriage to Phanium. Geta explains that Phormio, needing to pay off some debts, ultimately demanded a payment that at least equalled the size of the dowry he was set to receive from his present fiancée in order for him to leave her and marry 358 Text and trans. Barsby II: 86-7 and n. 47. I have opted to use Barsby’s more literal translation from his notes, cf. his colloquial rendition: “What if he’s up to his ears in debt?” 173 Phanium instead. To this, Demipho raises the concern about the potential extent of Phormio’s current debt at 661. On this verse, Donatus writes that Terence, “rejected the Greek proverb: ‘And if he owed his hands?’” (Graecum proverbium sprevit εἰ δὲ ὤφειλε τὰς χεῖρας).359 The proverb dismissed by Terence, which can be easily rendered to fit metre (see preceding note), is not explicitly attributed to Apollodorus by Donatus, but its origin in Epidikazomenos can be assumed because Terence’s active rejection (sprevit) presumes its previous presence (i.e. in the source play).360 In Phormio, the context in which Terence’s adaptation of the proverb occurs indicates it refers to someone that is deeply in debt.361 The Greek proverb, for which I have found no comparanda, may have had a similar meaning. To owe one’s hands could reasonably be understood as owing manual labor and it is possible the phrase was an idiom for consignment to debt bondage.362 This refers to a debtor’s temporary commitment to servitude in the service of a creditor as a means of paying off a debt. This practice continued to be practiced in Athens by the time Apollodorus began producing there.363 It would have been logical for Terence to have changed a proverb 359 W. II: 466 vv. 23-4. “sequitur in cod. Cuiac. ЄΙΑCΟΦΗΤΑЄΓΥCΚΥΡΑC, in V ετλεο φηλεν τὰς χήρας, unde εἰ δὲ ὤφειλεν τὰς χεῖρας Rabbow Jb. cl. Phil. 155 (1897) 308); versui conveniret ū – u εἰ δ’ ὤφειλε τὰς χεῖρας u –, sed displicet imperfectum et quid manus sibi velint parum perspicitur (τι δε ει την ψυχην οφειλει nullo metro et contra Donati verb ed. pr.” (PCG II: 498). 360 Kassel and Austin (PCG II: 498) and Maltby (2012: 180) also agree that the source for Terence’s edited proverb was Apollodorus. 361 See also Otto 1980: 25 no. 109. 362 Cf. the phrase δανείζειν ἐπὶ τοῖς σώμασι; see Harris 2002: 419-20 for discussion. 363 See Harris’ discussion of examples in Menander’s Heros and Terence’s Heauton Timorumenos (2002: 420-2). 174 referring to debt slavery since the practice had been abolished in Rome since the late fourth century.364 If this interpretation is correct and occurred under circumstances in Epidikazomenos similar to those at Phorm. 606-81, the Demipho counterpart may not just have been expressing fear of the size of the debts he’d be covering—which are implicitly large in instances of debt bondage—but also of the possibility that he would be taking on himself the labor owed for the Phormio-equivalent’s debt-bondage commitment. There are certainly other things about this scene that Terence has changed;365 however, broadly speaking, my interpretation does not necessarily work against Lefèvre’s reconstruction in which Demipho is still forced to pay off Phormio (see 2014: 623-4, 648). 28 Fragment 28 is a single word—μυρίας—which Donatus quotes from Epidikazomenos in his discussion of Phorm. 668:366 sescentas proinde scribito iam mihi dicas. He can bring six hundred lawsuits against me if he likes. This verse is drawn from the same scene from which Apollod.Car. 26 and 27 are drawn. At this point, Geta has begun to list a series of incidental expenses that Phormio allegedly demanded be 364 The practice was abolished by the lex Poetilia (Harris 2002: 422). Donatus indicates elsewhere that Terence excised Greek customs from Epidikazomenos that were potentially confusing to a Roman audience (see Donat. Ter. Phorm. 91-2 [=Apollod.Car. 18]). 365 The scene in Terence, for example, has four speaking actors. 366 Text and trans. Barsby II: 86-7 and n. 49. I have provided the literal translation from Barsby’s note rather than the one given in the main text (“He can bring hundreds of lawsuits against me if he likes”). 175 accounted for in the sum total he is requesting from Demipho. These expenses eventually reach a point for Demipho where it no longer seems worthwhile to pay Phormio off; this he makes clear by the sarcastic remark at 668.367 On this verse, Donatus writes, “from this we’re able to distinguish a trend in each language, for Apollodorus said μυρίας for ‘many.’ Μύριας was commonly used in the writings of the Greeks in the way that we use sexcenta to say ‘many.’”368 Μυρίας, literally meaning “10,000,” was, as Donatus points out, a convenient term to express a countless number. A single word is obviously a precarious foundation on which to speculate about its potential context within Epidikazomenos, but even Lefèvre (1978: 11 n. 20) acknowledges that v. 668 in full may have been drawn from Apollodorus. This would suggest that the Apollodoran Demipho may have similarly acknowledged the possibility of subsequent lawsuits from the Phormio-equivalent in Epidikazomenos. Lefèvre, I believe, strongly underplays the significance of this fragment towards the Apollodoran Phormio’s characterization. Someone who could conceivably issue “countless lawsuits” indicates a role which includes, at least in part, a sycophant quality about them. Even if Epidikazomenos did not hinge on any completed legal action (only the threat of it, e.g. Lefèvre 2014: 644-5, 649-50), this ought not automatically diminish the likelihood that the Apollodoran Phormio showed glimpses of a shameless lawsuit monger. No one would doubt that 367 “Demipho thinks that the fine he will receive if charged with throwing the girl out (see 626-7) will be less than the extortionate dowry Phormio is trying to wring out of him” (Maltby 2012: 181). 368 perspicere hinc licet consuetudinem utriusque sermonis, nam Apollodorus μυρίας dixit pro multis. Et ut apud Graecos μύρια, ita apud nos ‘sexcenta’ dicere pro multis usitatum est (W. II: 467 vv. 11-5). μυρίας: “sic Stephanus, σσ V, σῡ RCK, om. O, ἑκατον δίκας Bently” (PCG II: 499). μύρια: “sic Stephanus, σ OV, σῡ RCK, ἑκατόν Bentley” (PCG II: 499). It is assumed that μυρίας would have modified δίκας (see FCG IV: 447, CAF III: 286). See also Headlam’s (1899: 7) reconstruction in iambic trimeter: <πρὸς ταῦτα> μυρίας <με γραψάσθω> δίκας. 176 the characters at Ar. Ach. 818-29, 914-6, and Plut. 944-50 who threaten lawsuits, but do not actually take legal action that affects the play, were not in fact sycophants. The possibility that the Apollodoran Phormio could have issued countless lawsuits should be considered positive evidence for his characterization as a sycophant in Epidikazomenos. As the third reference to Apollodorus’ comedy in Donatus’ commentary within a stretch of twenty-two verses of Phormio, it is clear that this scene is grounded in one from Epidikazomenos. Although each of these references (=Apollod.Car. 26, 27, 28) identifies a point of Terentian deviation from rather than continuity with the model, it is important to acknowledge each of these changes are superficial. And so while there were undoubtedly other changes in this scene to which Donatus does not refer (e.g. an addition of a fourth speaker), it is conceivable that the scene on which Phorm. 606-81 was based closely resembled its adaptation. Title The verb ἐπιδικάζω refers to the process of establishing one’s claim on property through litigation in the law courts. It is often used specifically in the context of one’s marriage rights to an heiress: this seems to be the case with Apollodorus’ Epidikazomenos which would refer to the Apollodoran “Phormio.” Donatus disputes the form of the Apollodoran title that Terence claims as his model. In his comments on Phorm. 25 (see Phorm. test. iii.), the commentator alleges that while Apollodorus did write an Epidikazomenos, the model which Terence used for Phormio was actually a different play by Apollodorus titled Epidikazomene—referring to the comedy’s 177 Phanium-counterpart.369 This stance has been accepted by some (e.g. Bentley, see FCG I: 464-6 for discussion), but most have rejected it.370 Dorn (1906: 30) raised the attractive possibility that neither Terence nor Donatus were in the wrong, but that the title varied and that each author was working from the title as it appeared in their respective copies of Apollodorus’ play; with his explanation accounting for both title forms, Dorn therefore rejected Donatus’ explanation that Apollodorus wrote two plays with near similar titles (eundem poetam simillimos titulos diversis fabulis inscripsisse verisimile esse mihi non videatur). It is possible that Apollodorus wrote two comedies with similar or even repeated titles (cf. Antiph. Auletes and Auletris and Men. Adelphoe α and β), but the notion that Epidikazomene was an alternative title for the Apollodoran play that served as the model for Phormio is not without merit. Passive-voiced participle titles that refer to female characters are attested elsewhere in Greek New Comedy (e.g. Men. Perikeiromene). Apollodorus furthermore did tend to prefer titles that highlighted female characters (seven of the twelve are feminine) and two of these also show that his plays had alternate titles (Proikizomene and Himatiopolis). Both Epidikazomenos and Epidikazomene are conceivable titles for Apollodorus’ play.371 It is difficult to argue against the authority of Terence himself, the didascalia, and the unanimous judgement 369 This title would therefore be understood in the passive rather than middle voice. The C branch of the manuscript tradition for the other portion of Donatus’ commentary that mentions the title of Terence’s Apollodoran model (Ter. Phorm., pref. 1.1 [W. II: 345 vv. 1-10], =Phorm. test. ii) presents the title as Epidicamozone. 370 E.g. FCG I: 464-6, IV: 446, CAF III: 285, FAC IIIA: 192, PCG II: 495, FCN: 102. 371 Cf. the plausibility of both Sikyonios and Sikyonioi (Men.). 178 of modern editors and so I defer to Terence in my presentation of the title, but think it’s possible that Donatus’ observation may be grounded in some truth.372 Whatever its form, Terence, uniquely among his palliatae (see Phorm. test. ii), gave his adaptation of the Apollodoran comedy that would become Phormio a title that was not directly translated from the model. It is commonly thought (e.g. FCN: 30) that Terence made this change because the Greek legal process highlighted by Apollodorus’ title would not have held meaning for a Roman audience. This is certainly a reasonable explanation since, according to Donatus, Terence made changes elsewhere within the comedy to account for other potentially confusing aspects of Greek culture (e.g. Apollod.Car. 18).373 Lefèvre (2014: 649) proposes a supplementary reason that Terence changed the title. According to Lefèvre, present-tense titles set an expectation of events that will occur (or threaten to occur) during a play’s action. Terence was therefore compelled to change the title in part because in his adaptation, the wedding (and the epikleros suit that compelled it) had already occurred before the play’s action began. There are certainly present-tense titles that refer to events which occur decidedly within a play’s action (e.g. Men. Epitrepontes); for others, Lefèvre (2014: 649 n. 33) does concede the title refers to action that may have begun before the play’s action picks up, but stipulates that the action in these cases always continues into the action of the play itself (e.g. Men. Misoumenos, Men./Ter. Heauton Timoroumenos). 372 Anaxippus, Diphilus, and Philemon also wrote comedies titled with a participle form of ἐπιδικάζω; each has a masculine ending for which there are no alternative genders attested in the manuscript tradition. For other relevant title comparanda, see also Pomponius’ Heres Petitor and Valerius’ Phormio (FAC IIIA: 192). 373 This may have similarly motivated the Terentian changes linked to Apollod.Car. 16, 27, and 28. 179 Lefèvre includes Menander’s Perikeiromene among the latter group, but does not give due consideration to the compelling arguments that the cutting of the girl’s hair referenced in the present-tense title occurred and was completed before the play’s action began (e.g. Arnott 1988: 13-4, II: 381). He also does not consider the possibility that the title could refer to the follow-up lawsuits Phormio threatens in the adaptation to reaffirm the earlier, completed epikleros judgement (suggested too in the Apollodoran original by Apollod.Car. 28?). These considerations make it clear that the present-tense title does not necessarily contribute to Lefèvre’s stance that the epikleros suit and marriage did not occur before or during the play’s primary action. Lefèvre’s Epidikazomenos Revisited The fragments of Epidikazomenos do not wholly support Lefèvre’s reconstruction of Apollodorus’ comedy. Fragments 16 and 22 speak to the likelihood of a pre-play marriage between Apollodorus’ “Antipho” and “Phanium.” Fragment 19 represents reasonable evidence that this had been facilitated by a pre-play epikleros hearing and, as I have shown, the present-tense title does not in fact work against this. Fragment 25 provides positive evidence of Nausistrata as a living uxor dotata in the Apollodoran model, but if not, then evidence of the Apollodoran Phormio as a traditional parasite which may be supported also by Phorm. test. ii. We do know, however, that not all of Phormio’s parasite characterization was drawn from Epidikazomenos (see Apollod.Car. 20), and that Apollodorus’ “Phormio” may have been a rather nuanced parasite (see Apollod.Car. 23). There are also indications that the sycophant-qualities of Terence’ Phormio did indeed have their roots in his Apollodoran model (see Apollod.Car. 28). Finally, fragments 16 and 17 speak to the sustained expository importance of a prosopon 180 protatikon in Epidikazomenos, despite a potential divine prologue, while Apollod.Car. 18 confirms that the mother of Apollodorus’ “Phanium” was in fact also dead (and therefore unable to marry Chremes at the play’s end). Although Lefèvre’s reconstruction is neat by Menandrian standards, it gives insufficient consideration to the implications of Apollodorus’ fragments. These fragments show that many of the un-Menandrian elements of Phormio may not have been introduced by Terence, but were in fact drawn from their Apollodoran original. 2.10 HIEREIA 29 One fragment—five verses of iambic trimeter—survives from Hiereia. Its source is Athenaeus who quotes from Apollodorus to establish the characterization of one Chaerephon as a sponger in a small section dedicated to famous parasites (6.243d). In the fragment, this Chaerephon has crashed the wedding of Ophelas through a clever deception and helped himself to the feast. Ἱέρεια καὶ νῦν γε φασὶ Χαιρεφῶντ’ ἐν τοῖς γάμοις ὡς τὸν Ὀφέλαν ἄκλητον εἰσδεδυκέναι. σπυρίδα λαβὼν γὰρ καὶ στέφανον, ὡς ἦν σκότος, φάσκων παρὰ τῆς νύμφης ὁ τὰς ὄρνεις φέρων ἥκειν, δεδείπνηχ’, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἰσπεσών. 181 The Priestess374 Even now they speak of how Chaerephon wormed his way into Ophelas’ wedding uninvited. For he seized a basket and garland, when it was dark, and saying he came from the bride bringing the hens, he rushed in, it seems, and dined.375 1 καινόν A: καὶ νῦν Casaub. 4 νύμφης ὁ τὰς Mus.: νῦν φησοτας A ὄρνεις A: ὄρνις Meineke Anal. Ath. p. 106 cf. var. lect. Soph. OR 966, Eur. Hipp. 1059, Ar. Av. 717. 1250. 1610 et vid. Men. fr. 105. 156 Koe. 5 δεδείπνηχ’ ὡς Casaub.: -ηκὼς A (PCG II: 499). Textual Notes The manuscript evidence is limited to Athenaeus A which presents some obvious corruption in the case of this fragment. The text from which I work incorporates the unanimously accepted corrections of Musurus on verse 4 (νύμφης ὁ τὰς for νῦν φησοτας) and Casaubon on verse 5 (δεδείπνηχ’ ὡς for δεδείπνηκὼς);376 however, I also accept Casaubon’s verse 1 correction 374 Cf. “The Priestess” (FAC IIIA: 195); “Priestess” (Rusten 2011: 691); “La Sacerdotessa” (FCN: 106). 375 Cf. “I’m told he’s gate-crashed like a new Chaerephon at Ophelas’s, when that wedding’s on; took flowers and a bag, and just as darkness thickens gets in by saying the bride has sent the chickens; if so, he’s had his dinner” (FAC IIIA: 195, 197); “They say that, during the wedding, like a new Chaerephon, he came uninvited to Ophelas. For he took a basket and a wreath, since it was dark, and claiming that he came bringing the roosters from the bride, he fell to it, it seems, and feasted” (Rusten 2011: 691); and “Diuen que un nou Querefont al banquet de noces de casa d’Ofelas s’ha presentat sense invitació, amb un cistell i una garlanda, quan era fosc, tot dient que era el qui portava de casa de la núvia les aus de l’auguri, i, llançant-s’hi dins, sembla que ha sopat” (FCN: 106). 376 Νῦν φησοτας is nonsensical and δεδείπνηχ’ ὡς makes better sense in allowing for the ὡς ἔοικεν construction—a common parenthetical qualifying formula in Greek. The formal elements of these corrections are not at odds with what we might expect from Apollodorus’ text and the fusion and letter confusion errors these corrections imply are very common (discussed further below). 182 that replaces καινόν with καὶ νῦν.377 This marks a departure from all previous editions and has a significant impact on the interpretation of the fragment. In proposing καὶ νῦν in place of καινόν, Casaubon indicts καινόν as a scribal error. This corruption could be easily explained as the result of two prominent copying errors. One is a fusion error in which the two words καὶ νῦν were mistaken for one. This is a common copying mistake born of the lack of word division in earlier manuscripts. The other is a letter confusion error in which the upsilon was mistakenly interpreted as an omicron.378 This would have been an easy error to make, resulting perhaps from a heavy-handed upsilon stroke that gave the impression of a fully enclosed character.379 A likely scenario is that καινόν was the end result of both scribal error and attempted correction. It is conceivable that earlier manuscripts had been transmitting just one of the two errors I have proposed and that a subsequent scribe identified it as a mistake; this scribe, working from either καὶνῦν or και νόν, then committed the other “error” in an attempt to reconcile the Greek, landing on the more plausible καινόν. The potential for these scribal error scenarios becomes more plausible when we recognize that the same errors occur elsewhere in the Apollodorus fragment as it is preserved in Athenaeus A. Φησοτας and δεδείπνηκὼς are obvious fusion errors, while νῦν φησοτας presents another 377 It is difficult to give serious consideration to Peppink’s suggestion (1936: 39) that the first line of the fragment must have been preceded by καὶ νῦν τρόπον. 378 Mistakes born of a lack of word division and confusion between similarly formed letters are among the most common causes of manuscript errors linked to handwriting (see Reynolds and Wilson 2013: 223-4). 379 The ease with which this mistake could be made is especially clear in the case of Byzantine miniscule script—the script in which Athenaeus A and very possibly its model, were composed. 183 clear indication of letter confusion.380 Καί νῦν also works more logically in terms of the formal components of Apollodorus’ composition. Καί νῦν γέ φημι was a well-established and fairly common phrase in Greek;381 additionally, the precise arrangement καὶ νῦν γε is used elsewhere in Greek drama as a convenient metron formula for iambic trimeter (e.g. Men. Dys. 69, Soph. Aj. 1376).382 Aside from my adoption of καὶ νῦν in verse 1, the text from which I work otherwise reflects that used by all previous editors.383 Commentary This correction does not work against the sense of the text, but interpretation must necessarily begin with my position that the Chaerephon and Ophelas referenced in the fragment are meant to be understood as the two famous figures of those names from the late fourth century.384 Chaerephon was a notorious Athenian banquet crasher of the fourth century. He seems to have been a historical person who composed a treatise on dinner parties and whose 380 In this case, a mu following the upsilon has probably been mistaken for a nu somewhere along the line of transmission. 381 E.g. Eur. Alc. 373, El. 1055, Pl., Prt. 350b., Xen. Cyr. 1.6.8, 7.3.4. 382 This precise arrangement is also used in other meters (e.g. Ar. Vesp. 442) and in prose as well (e.g. Pl. Alc. 131e.11, Xen. Hell. 3.5.10.9). 383 See FCG IV: 447, CAF III: 287, FAC IIIA: 194, 196, PCG II: 499, FCN: 106. Meineke later suggested ὄρνις for ὄρνεις in verse 4 (1858: 431); both are metrically possible and were well-established forms for the accusative plural before the third century BCE (cf. Soph. OT. 966 v. Ar. Av. 717). According to the Athenaeus manuscripts, Menander used ὄρνεις (115.1), ὄρνις (132.3, 132.4), and ὄρνιθας (115.2) as accusative plural forms. There is no strong indication that one form became preferable over the other in the Hellenistic period. Although it is of little consequence, I see no good reason to dismiss the manuscript’s ὄρνεις in favor of Meineke’s ὄρνις. 384 Others that assume one or both of the names refer to the famous historical figures include Edmonds (FAC IIIA: 194-5 n. b.), Webster (1970: 225), and Arnott (1996: 610). 184 sponging skills allowed him to travel in elite social circles.385 His reputation as a prolific sponger eventually became so pervasive that he came to represent a paradigmatic parasite and convenient touchstone of parasitism in comic production and literature of the fourth and third centuries.386 It would be difficult to argue that the Chaerephon of this fragment is not the famous parasite of that name. The wedding feast context (cf. Lync. 27 [Dalby 2000], Machon 10-6 [Gow 1965]), the meal earned through his own ingenuity (cf. Alex. 259, Men. 225), and designation as ἄκλητος—which had clearly become a sort of epithet for Chaerephon (cf. Alex. 213, Lync. 24, 27 [Dalby 2000]; see also Apollod.Car. 31)—make an extraordinarily strong case. Ophel(l)as, a Macedonian from Pella, was a commander in the campaigns of Alexander the Great and then a general for Ptolemy I in the second half of the fourth century; he governed Cyrene on behalf of Ptolemy with relative autocracy from 322 until 309 BCE when he was betrayed and killed by Agathocles of Syracuse during their joint campaign against Carthage in Libya.387 The Ophelas of Apollodorus’ fragment should be understood as the famous Macedonian general and Cyrenean governor. Ophelas is a Macedonian name that rarely appears in the prosopographical records for Athens.388 The fragment’s marriage context is also an important 385 Anecdotes have him interacting with Gnathaina, Diphilus, Xenocles, Stratocles, et al. 386 On Chaerephon, e.g. Alex. 213, 259, Antiph. 197, Apollod.Car. 31, Callim. 434, Lync. 24, 27 (Dalby 2000), Macho 10-24 (Gow 1965), Matro 1 (Olson and Sens 1999), Men. 55, 215, 225, 265, Nicostr.Com. 26, Tim.Com. 1, Timocl. 9. Each of these fragments and more are preserved by Athenaeus (4.134e, 4.136e, 4.164f, 4.165, 6.243a-4a, 6.245a-b, 6.245f, 13.584e; 15.685e-f). 387 On Ophelas, see Arr. Ind. 18.3, Ta Met’ Alexandron 1.17-8, Diod. Sic. 18.21, 20.40-2, Just. Epit. 22.7, Plut. Demetr. 14, Polyaenus, Strat. 5.3, Suda δ 431, ο 994. 388 There is in fact evidence of only three distinct people of that name residing in Attica before the second century BCE. One, listed on a property confiscation inscription, lived in the latter half of the fourth century (see LGPN II: 355 and PAA XIII: 547 no. 750970) and another, an Ophelas Amphipolites honored in a decree at Rhamnous, lived in the middle of the third century (see 185 factor. At some point before his Libyan campaign, Ophelas married an Athenian woman named Euthydice who was a daughter of Miltiades Lakiades of the Philiad family and a descendent of the famous Miltiades of Marathon. This marriage amounted to a royal wedding—a major event worth remembering in itself—, but the union also had a disastrous aftermath which made a significant and lasting impact on the Athenian populace.389 Mention of an Ophelas in an Athenian marriage context should not be taken as a coincidence. Other editors who have also entertained the possibility that the names in this fragment refer to the famous fourth-century figures have suggested that these references might be too dated for a comedy performed during the production period of Apollodorus of Carystus.390 This view, paired with the fact that Apollodorus of Gela also wrote a comedy titled Hiereia, has LGPN II: 355 and PAA XIII: 548 no. 751015). The third appears to have been a descendent of a son of the Ophelas in question and his wife Euthydice whose name was Miltiades. This Miltiades was born to the newlyweds in 308 BCE and must have returned to Athens with his mother after his father’s failed African campaign (see Kircher 1901 I: 360-1 no. 5547, PAA XIII: 548 no. 750995, Habicht 2000: 120, Ferguson 1911: 111 n. 1). 389 This marriage, in addition to the apparent habitual favors Ophelas did for Athens, played a significant role in Ophelas’ ability to raise a substantial cohort of Athenian mercenary soldiers and non-combatant, would-be colonists for his African campaign (see Diod. Sic. 20.40-1). This campaign was nearly as disastrous for these Athenian mercenaries and colonists (numbering over 20,000 in total according to Diodorus Siculus) as it was for Ophelas. The initial march was marred by a lack of food and water; Theophrastus tells us they were forced to subsist on the lotus fruit alone (Hist. Pl. 4.3.2). In addition, they suffered from frequent fatal attacks from fanged animals and particularly the snakes that inhabited north Africa. Finally, many others were then killed during Agathocles’ coup (see Diod. Sic. 20.42). Because of her husband’s death in this coup, Euthydice was free to marry Demetrius Poliorketes who eventually became a blight on the Athenians as well. By the time Hiereia was produced, the marriage of Ophelas and Euthydice may well have been mythologized as a cautionary anecdote about Macedonian alliance. 390 E.g. CAF III: 287, Webster 1970: 225. 186 indicated to some that Athenaeus possibly misattributed a fragment of Apollodorus of Gela to Apollodorus of Carystus.391 I do not share the same compulsion to reassign the fragment. As acknowledged by Webster, “identity of title is so common in Greek comedy that both poets may have written plays with the same title” (1970: 225) and the claim that these references are too dated to belong to a fragment of Apollodorus of Carystus is ill-founded. Similar references to (likely) long-dead historical figures can also be seen, for example, in the fragments of Athenion (Palaephatus, 1), Posidippus (Phryne, 13), and Menander (Anacharsis, 835).392 Furthermore, the names and reputations of Ophelas and Chaerephon would not have been lost to history so quickly. The memory of Ophelas’ celebrity wedding and the fallout of his political partnership with Athens would have resonated at the local level for generations. As for Chaerephon, his enduring utility as a benchmark of parasitism in comedy, parody, and collections of witticisms, if not his own literary pursuits, helped propel his name and its associations well beyond his own lifetime in the public mind.393 The apparent need to reconcile a reference to figures of the late fourth century in a third-century comedy of Apollodorus has surely been a contributing factor in previous editors’ preference to work from καινόν rather than καὶ νῦν. By deferring to the manuscript’s καινόν, 391 Although a new argument in support of this view has not been made since Webster (1970: 225), the theory continues to be acknowledged as being worth serious consideration (e.g. PCG II: 499, FCN: 24-5, 106 n. 42). 392 From earlier periods, e.g. Antiph. Timon (Timon) and Eup. Demes (Aristeides, Miltiades, Solon, Perikles). 393 Since Chaerephon is lampooned as a parasite in comedy as early as Antiphanes (see 197), he may not have lived much longer past the turn of the fourth century (see FCG I: 466, CAF III: 287). His enduring legacy beyond this is illustrated by the fact that he is referenced in Machon, whom Gow dates to the middle of the third century (1965: 7). 187 editors have been able to reconstruct a reading that describes a “new Chaerephon”—someone who can be accurately described in terms of the famous parasite, but does not raise the chronological issues associated with being the historical Chaerephon;394 however, since I have shown that a reference to the historical Chaerephon (and Ophelas for that matter) is not in fact problematic and that the previously dismissed καὶ νῦν is the preferable reading, I necessarily propose an entirely new interpretation.395 I raise the possibility that the fragment preserves—in its entirety—a plausible anecdote recounting how the historical parasite Chaerephon managed to crash a banquet associated with the wedding of Ophelas and Euthydice.396 Obviously the pretext Chaerephon presents in the 394 E.g. FAC IIIA: 195, Rusten 2011: 691, FCN: 106. A preferable interpretation of καινόν, for those that work from it, is as an adverbial accusative (e.g. “in an unusual way,” Olson III: 111; see also Schweighäuser (1802: 436), “καινὸν, adverbiliter, pro καινῶς, novo more”). On the adverbial accusative of manner, see Smyth 1984: 361 no. 1608. 395 My translation of καὶ νῦν as “even now” (cf. Henderson V: 29 on Ar. test. 25a [schol. Vesp. 1284e], Rood 2016: 108 on Thuc. 1.5.2, Morrison 2020: 97 on Hdt. 1.50.3) acknowledges that the event recounted was not recent, but also that it was so infamous that the story was still in circulation. In working from καὶ νῦν rather than καινόν, the proclitic ὡς (v. 2) can no longer be interpreted as functioning within a simile/comparative construction (see Smyth 1984: 559-60 no. 2481-7). Its function in the fragment, based on my text, might be one of two possibilities. The first is that ὡς is an improper preposition working with the accusative τὸν Ὀφέλαν (see Smyth 1984: 388 no. 1702 and 671 no. 3003; LSJ: ὡς, C. III). As a preposition, ὡς prefers to take an object that is a person, but in the case of this fragment a place is probably the intended meaning (cf. Soph. Trach. 366) with Ophelas functioning as a type of metonymy used in Greek poetry wherein the item being contained is used to refer to the item that contains it (cf. Hom. Il. 1.222, Od. 13.407; see Arata 2005: 60, Erbse 1969 I: 71 n. 222d). Εἰσδύνω can and does operate with prepositional phrases (e.g. Xen. An. 4.5.14, Dem. 11.4, Polyb. 13.5.5). The other potential function of ὡς is as an indicator of indirect speech. Indirect speech is generally expressed either by ὅτι/ὡς and a finite verb or through an accusative and infinitive/participle construction; however, “indirect discourse may be introduced by ὅτι (ὡς) and then pass into the infinitive as if the introductory verb had required the infinitive” (Smyth 1984: 593 no. 2628; cf. Lys. 7.19). Although it would be an atypical mixed construction, it is feasible that ὡς has a function in the indirect statement formula. 396 Ophelas’ wedding must have occurred before his death in 309 BCE; most of the references to Chaerephon can be reasonably situated between about 325 and 310 BCE (Arnott 1996: 610). 188 fragment, in conjunction with his accoutrements, must have been in accord with the wedding banquet context; however, there has yet to be an adequate explanation of Chaerephon’s ruse. In order to better understand it, we must consider how Chaerephon’s ploy might have mapped on to the formal elements of Athenian wedding ceremonies.397 The details of the anecdote may well be implying that Chaerephon conned his way into the banquet by undertaking the outrageous ploy of representing himself as the bride’s pais amphithales. This was a ceremonial role in the Athenian wedding ceremony played by children whose parents were both still alive.398 The night before the initial banquet, the boy playing this role slept in the same room as the bride-to-be.399 The next evening this boy appeared at the wedding banquet wearing a crown of thistle and acorns and bearing a basket full of bread which he distributed among the guests.400 Like a pais amphithales, Chaerephon presented himself at the wedding banquet, allegedly coming from the bride-to-be while wearing a garland and carrying a basket.401 Notably Chaerephon claims he is bringing “hens” rather than bread, but there is reason to believe that these “hens” may in fact be a reference to the bread distributed by the pais amphithales. In his analysis of the fragment (FCG IV: 448), Meineke draws attention to Athenaeus’ discussion of 397 Because Ophelas had been gifted Athenian citizenship (see Osborne 1983: 82-3, Habicht 2000: 120), we can assume the wedding took the basic form of most Athenian weddings as we understand them. On Athenian weddings, see Oakley and Sinos 1993, Ferrari 2003, Cox 2010. 398 See Zen. 3.98. This child, a product of a healthy marriage, was meant to represent the desired outcome of the imminent wedding. 399 A female pais amphithales likewise spent the night with the groom. See Poll. 3.39-40 and Oakley and Sinos 1993: 37. 400 See Zen. 3.39, Sourvinou-Inwood 2012, Redfield 1982: 193, Golden 2015: 26. 401 For the use of a σπυρίς as a breadbasket, see PTeb. l.c. 189 kreion (14.645d), a bread baked on coals and served with honey which is brought to the groom, on behalf of the bride, to be shared by others.402 Hesychius (K 4061) equates kreia with zoidia which has come to be understood as “cakes in the shape of animals” (LSJ: kreion). Given the other points of contact, it seems very plausible that Chaerephon’s “hens” are meant to be understood as the bridal cakes distributed by the pais amphithales.403 The comic value of an anecdote that situates Chaerephon as a shameless impersonator of a child whose ceremonial role included spending the night with a bride-to-be all for the sake of partaking in a wedding banquet is clear.404 But what was its greater function within Hiereia? A representative survey of how anecdotes are put to use in the well-preserved plays of Menander, Plautus, and Terence provides some insight.405 Sometimes these anecdotes play an obvious dramatic function in helping to establish setting, characterization, or dramatic circumstances. They also serve rhetorical purposes to help characters justify actions or points of view and at other times their function can only be explained as serving comic ends. More often than not, 402 N.b. Athenaeus associates this with an Argive (Ἀργεῖοι) tradition, though his meaning may well be the pan-Hellenic sense used by Homer. 403 Birds, chickens in particular (which is probably what is suggested by ὄρνεις), had an association with Aphrodite. It would therefore not be surprising if they played a role in Athenian wedding celebrations. Menander’s Didumai, which may have included a wedding (see 114), also involves the bringing/sending of orneis (115); Orneis also make an appearance in his Epikleros (132)—another play that very plausibly involved a wedding. 404 From another point of view, the notion of parasitic gluttony at Ophelas’ wedding might have had biting undertones. Ophelas’ African campaign was marred by starvation (see Theophr. Hist. Pl. 4.3.2) and his new father-in-law had formerly commanded a fleet whose sole purpose was to protect grain shipments during Athens’ food-shortage crisis in the last quarter of the fourth century BCE. See IG II2 1629.145-271 and Habicht 1997: 27. 405 See Men. Dys. 153-9, Epit. 325-33, Leu. 10-6, Sam. 589-99, 600-8, Plaut. Bac. 925-1075, Men. 199-201, 714-8, Merc. 469-70, Most. 775-7, Per. 1-6, Poen. 443-4, Pseud. 198-201, 868-72, Stich. 1-6, Ter. Eun. 584-91, 1026-7. 190 these anecdotes achieve multiple aims at once. Most are spoken by slaves, old men, and youths, though their usage is attested by other character types, both male and female.406 Finally, anecdotes almost always apply in some way or another to their speaker’s own situation or that of another prominent character. In the case of Hiereia, the anecdote itself adds humor (even if we can no longer fully appreciate it), but the specificity of the story suggests it is relevant to the play’s dramatic circumstances. Impersonation and disguise are used elsewhere in New Comedy to help otherwise unwelcome guests pass through private doors (cf. Jupiter, Plaut. Amph., Chaerea, Ter. Eun.) and there is even precedence for their utility in crashing weddings specifically.407 We should also be mindful of the fact that, in Apollodorus’ Athens, such drastic subterfuge may not have been so outlandish. During his governorship of Athens, Demetrius of Phaleron introduced new legislation that placed a cap on the number of guests that could partake in wedding banquets.408 With this law in place, which allowed a maximum of only thirty guests, it would have been much more difficult for parasites like Chaerephon to successfully infiltrate wedding banquets, at least under the pretence that they were an invited guest. More elaborate ruses, such as assuming the identity of an essential wedding-ceremony participant, may have been necessary. If Demetrius of 406 E.g. female temple attendant (Men. Leu.), pimp (Ballio, Plaut. Pseud.), cook (Plaut. Pseud.), citizen woman (Panegyrus, Plaut. Stich.), and soldier (Thraso, Ter. Eun.). The heavy distribution of anecdotes to slaves, old men, and youths reflects the line distribution pattern among specific character types more broadly. 407 In Plautus’ Casina, Chalinus impersonates Casina in order to insert himself into the most intimate portion of a “wedding” ceremony (see 814-54). 408 See FGrH. 328 F 65 and Ath. 6.245a-c. The latter includes a previously referenced anecdote about Chaerephon (Lync. 27 [Dalby 2000]) sneaking into a wedding banquet during a time when this guest-cap legislation was enforced. 191 Phaleron’s sanctions, or at least the memory of them, persevered into the third century, it would be easy to see how these scenarios might have translated to the comic stage. The title, Hiereia, adds another dimension to consider. Plays of this title were also composed by Aeschylus (using a plural), Apollodorus of Gela, and Menander though the surviving evidence from these comedies does little to inform the present discussion.409 The only surviving New Comedy to feature a priestess is Plautus’ Rudens (see 259-89). In this play, Ptolemocratia is a priestess of Venus (283a-5a). She is a poor (282) old woman (406, 671) of good character (406-11); the exceptional power (474-9) and protection (646) afforded to her by her religious title is acknowledged in the play, but not put to any dramatic use.410 Generally speaking, priestesshoods served female deities and were reserved for citizens. Oftentimes they were hereditary positions associated with particular aristocratic families, but some posts were filled by other means.411 Depending on the cult, priestesses might be young or old, virgins or 409 In the case of Menander’s comedy, a fragmentary plot summary (P.Oxyrhynchus 1235 [O.i]) allows for a basic reconstruction of the play. Before the action began a woman was raped and bore a child as a result. This child was then put under the care of her female neighbor who had a son and daughter of her own. The woman who had been raped later became a healing priestess (of Cybele?), married, and was then widowed, but not before having a daughter with her husband. When the action picks up, the rapist seems to have connected his lost son to the priestess (the rapist unaware she was his victim). The rapist used his slave to gain access to the priestess by pretending to be ill and to learn more information. There ensued some misunderstandings before an eventual recognition and the promise of a triple marriage between the priestess and her rapist, their son and the neighbor’s daughter and the priestess’ daughter by her former husband and the son of the neighbor. See Gomme and Sandbach 1973: 694-5, Arnott III: 619-25. 410 The role could in fact have been easily extricated with little effect on the plot. We might assume Ptolemocratia played a more significant role in Plautus’ Diphilean model. 411 “Other methods included the selection by lot, election, appointment, and even purchase” (Kosmopoulou 2001: 293). 192 married, and hold limited or lifetime terms.412 The titular figure of Apollodorus’ comedy almost certainly appeared on stage as a character and her occupation as a priestess probably factored into the play’s action in some capacity (see discussion on Himatiopolis, Apollod.Car. 30);413 however, aside from the strong probability that this character served a female deity and had citizen status, there is little else we can say about her. As to a potential connection to a wedding context, a priestess would not be out of place.414 2.11 PROIKIZOMENE OR HIMATIOPOLIS 30 One fragment—three and a half verses of iambic trimeter—survive from Proikizomene or Himatiopolis. Athenaeus cites the fragment as evidence of “Oxaleian Figs” (ὀξάλειοι συκαί) in a broader discussion of various fig species (3.76a).415 In the fragment, a viticulturalist bemoans the 412 On Greek priestesses, e.g. Turner 1983, Kosmopoulou 2001: 292-8, 303-4, Connolly 2007, Dillon 2016. 413 For the dramatist, a priestess was a particularly versatile occupation for the stage because it provided one of the few acceptable circumstances in which a citizen woman could appear in public, interact with others, and exercise authority with some independence. 414 The priestess of Athena Polias, for example, presided over the marital Proteleia and visited Athenian brides after the marriage was consummated (Connelly 2007: 200). 415 Athenaeus also makes it clear that he was not the original excerptor. He identifies a certain Heracleon of Ephesus and Nicander of Thyateira as his source of information on these figs and Apollodorus’ fragment. There is very little evidence for these two Greek grammarians. Heracleon is known to have written an Attic lexicon while two titles of Nicander survive (Peri ton demon, Exegetika Attikes Dialektou; see FGrH: 343, Müller 1851: 462-3). It is thought that both authors might date to the Hellenistic period. The evidence is perhaps stronger in the case of Heracleon since his lexicon had been abridged by Claudius Didymus (first-century CE, see Mehl et al. 2006: Heracleon [3]). Firmer contexts for these authors would help inform our understanding of the immediate afterlife of Apollodorus’ comedies in the Hellenistic period. Fragment 30 also appears in Eustathius (Od. 1910.23), though he identifies Athenaeus as his source. 193 poor quality of the wine produced on their land as they characterize its bitter taste with the help of a clever, self-deprecating zeugma involving a certain species of fig. Προικιζομένη ἢ Ἱματιόπωλις x – u – x πλὴν τὸ <γ’> οἰνάριον πάνυ ἦν ὀξὺ καὶ πονηρόν, ὥστ’ ἠισχυνόμην. τὰ λοιπὰ μὲν γὰρ ὀξαλείους χωρία συκᾶς φέρει, τοὐμὸν δὲ καὶ τὰς ἀμπέλους. The Dowered Damsel or The Himation Huckstress416 …but the wine was so exceedingly tart and tired that it shamed me. For while the other acreages grow Sour-figged trees, mine also grows sour-sprigged vines.417 1 πλὴν A om. CE, Eust. τό γ’ Dindorf: τὸ ACE, Eust. 3 ὀξαλείους Dindorf (praeeunte Grotio, Exc. p. 994): τοξαλίους ACE χωρία A: om. CE 4 συκ. — ἀμπ. A: συκ. καὶ τὰ ἑξῆς CE συκᾶς CE: συκας ἃς A (PCG II: 500). Textual Notes This fragment has a dissonant textual tradition, but a composite text that accepts the requisite corrections proposed by Dindorf (who follows Grotius at v. 3) and privileges the more complete A family ms. over CE—with the exception of συκας{ἃς} (v. 4)—represents the only viable reconstruction.418 416 Cf. “The Girl who got her Dowry or The Cloak-Woman” (FAC IIIA: 197); “La dotata ,<o> La Venedora de Roba” (FCN: 106). 417 “Tart and tired” are modern wine descriptors that correlate most closely to the Greek. Cf. “One thing, though, the wine was sour and bad, disgracefully so; other farms have the vinegar-figtree, mine goes one step further with the vinegar-vine” (FAC IIIA: 197); “Tanmateix el vinet era molt agre i dolent, fins al punt d'avergonyir-me. És que la resta dels territoris produeix figues agres, però el meu fins i tot les vinyes” (FCN: 107). 418 There is unanimous agreement on this reconstruction in previous editions (see FCG IV: 448, CAF III: 287, FAC IIIA: 196, PCG II: 500, FCN: 107). For Dindorf’s correction of Grotius’ ὀξαλίους to ὀξαλείους, cf. Hsch: ὀξάλεια and Phot. Lex: ὀξάλειοι. There is also little reason to contest the addition of ἢ between the titles by Dalechamps/Schweighäuser. Alternate titles are 194 Commentary The fragment tells us the speaker is a farmer, or more precisely an orchardist and viticulturalist.419 In early Attic comedy, farmers were frequently the heroes of the plays.420 Over the course of the fourth century the comic farmer, broadly considered as an agroikos, may have developed into a recognizable recurring character type. This type, distinguished by a willing ignorance of urbane behavior and culture and an overly strict, simplified parlance, had significant comic value when set against city characters and settings (Konstantakos 2005: 2-4, 25).421 But as Konstantakos has rightly pointed out, comic agroikoi actually encompass a highly diverse set of characters that are situated in a variety of contexts and can elicit a spectrum of responses from the audience. I quote Konstantakos (2005: 23) at length here to demonstrate how this breadth manifests through a variety of agroikoi, many of which are explicitly farmers: common enough to not indulge Peppink’s drastic correction—τῆς ἱμ. τάδε λεγούσης (1936: 21)—which makes the clothes-seller the fragment’s speaker as opposed to an alternate title. Here too, previous editors are in agreement (FCG IV: 448, CAF III: 287, FAC IIIA: 196, PCG II: 500, FCN: 106). 419 Trygaios of Aristophanes’ Eirene (190) and Kleainetos of Menander’s Georgos (46-8) are also viticulturalists; the chorus (leader) of Eirene cultivates both grape vines and fig trees (556-9). See also the Ampelourgos of Alexis and Amphis. 420 See Aristophanes’ Dikaiopolis (Ach.), Strepsiades, (Nub.), Trygaios (Pax), and Chremylos (Plut.). 421 Consider Knemon (Men. Dys.) and Demea (Ter. Ad.). 195 The ἄγροικος is rather a convenient name for a broader category of comic figures, which may include characters of different age and status: old men (Knemon in Men. Dysc., Kleainetos in Men. Georg., Demea in Ter. Ad.), young men (Georgias in Men. Dysc., Georg. and Her., Strabax in Plaut. Truc.) and even slaves (Truculentus in Plaut. Truc., Grumio in Plaut. Most., Daos in Men. Dysc.). When he is a free man, the ἄγροικος may be of any financial standing (Gorgias in Men. Georg. is very poor and makes a living as a hired worker of Kleainetos; Gorgias in Men. Dysc. possesses a small farm but is poor; Knemon in Dysc. and Kleainetos in Georg. are rather well off; Demea in Ter. Ad. is quite prosperous). The Greek word ἄγροικος often carries derogatory connotations, signifying a ‘boor’, a rude and coarse person. But this is not invariably a characteristic of all ἄγροικοι of Greek comedy: many of them display indeed traits of boorishness and crudeness (Knemon in Men. Dysc., Strabax and Truculentus in Plaut. Truc., Grumio in Plaut. Most.); but the word ‘boor’ would be hardly appropriate for characters like e.g. Gorgias in Men. Dysc. and Georg (1-2) … The rustic may remain in the country (as in Men. Dysc.) or come to the city (as in Ter. Ad., Plaut. Most. and Truc.); he may come into contact with people of the city as well as with those of the country (7) … New Comedy at least did not portray the ἄγροικος solely as a ludicrous buffoon, meant to amuse the audience with his ignorance and uncouthness. Some ἄγροικοι of New Comedy, especially in Menander, appear also endowed with notable virtues, which show their character in a favourable light and would evoke the sympathy of the audience. Because the speaker of Apollod.Car. 30 appears to be the owner of the farm (τοὐμὸν <χωρίον>, v. 4), we can reasonably exclude the possibility that they are a slave, but all other scenarios raised by Konstantakos remain viable for this fragment.422 Athenaeus (and possibly his sources) interpreted ὀξάλειος συκῆ as a distinct species of fig tree;423 however, a sour fig is a bit of an anomaly and there is no strong evidence from the ancient world for the cultivation of trees that produced figs with a sour (ὀξύς) taste. The modifier 422 It is also crucial to acknowledge that the designation of a comic character as a farmer does not represent a sufficient condition that they are also an agroikos as we understand it. There are several characters in Roman comedy, for example, who are technically farmers in that they own land in the country and may even live there, but who do not show obvious characteristics of an agroikos (e.g. Agorastocles [Plaut. Poen.], Lysidamus [Plaut. Cas.], Theopropides [Plaut. Most.], Laches [Ter. Hec.], and Menedemus [Ter. Haut.]). 423 See also Hsch: ὀξάλεια (εἶδος σύκων, “a species of figs”) and Phot. Lex: ὀξάλειοι (συκαῖ τινες, “certain figs”). Ὀξάλειος is an extremely rare word; Hesychius and Photius may in fact be the only other potential independent witnesses to the adjective, though it’s possible that Apollodorus or his excerptors were their source as well. For a brief overview of figs in the ancient Mediterranean, see the entry for figs in Dalby 2003: 143-4. 196 ὀξάλειος in fact suggests a fig that tastes contrary to the expectations of the fruit.424 Nevertheless, the humor of the fragment hangs on the assumption that ὀξάλειοι συκαί be both prolific and desirable on farms. With this understanding, I suggest that later grammarians and lexicographers are mistaken in their interpretation that the poorly attested ὀξάλειοι συκαί from Apollod.Car. 30 is a distinct species of cultivated fig. I propose instead that it represents a colloquial term for either the wild fig (ἐρίνεος, φήληξ) or one of several better-attested species that were valued for the quality of vinegar they could produce.425 The wild fig produces an inedible fruit that was perhaps sour and stale in taste compared to most cultivated, edible figs since it never matures and ripens; however, it is impossible to properly fertilize a cultivated fig tree without the help of the wild fig.426 These wild fig trees, despite their unpalatable fruit, were therefore an essential component of every cultivated fig 424 Figs are considered a low-acidic food because their pH values tend to be higher than 4.6. It is their sweetness that characterizes figs and makes them appealing. 425 According to Xenophon (Cyr. 6.2.31), ὄψα ὀξέα not only whetted one’ s appetite, but provided more lasting sustenance. 426 Cultivated figs are pollinated with the help of fig wasps. Female fig wasps lay their eggs inside the fruit of the fig. When the female wasp is ready to lay her eggs, she enters the fruit through a passage so narrow that she loses her wings and antenna. This effectively traps her inside the fruit for the remainder of her life. Ideally, the wasp will have chosen a wild fig whose interior is conducive to holding her eggs. These eggs will eventually hatch into larvae. The male larvae spend their lives tunneling throughout the fruit, while the winged females escape through these tunnels, eventually finding their own fruit in which they can lay their eggs. Inevitably, some of these female fig wasps will burrow into a cultivated fig. The interiors of these fruits are not conducive to laying eggs so the female fig wasp is not able to reproduce; she can therefore not escape and dies in the fruit of the cultivated fig tree. In the process, however, she will have transferred the pollen from the wild fig where she was born, therefore pollinating the cultivated fig. This process was already relatively well understood by the ancient Greeks (e.g. Hdt. 1.193, Arist. Hist. an. 557b25-31, Theophr. Hist. pl. 2.8.1-4, Plin. HN 15.79-82). See further Lamb 2020. 197 orchard in the ancient Mediterranean. A reading of ὀξάλειος συκῆ as a slang term for the wild fig would seem to account for the contradictions it raises in itself and Apollodorus’ fragment. Alternatively, we should consider the possibility that ὀξάλειος refers to types of figs that were known to make good vinegar (i.e. sour wine). Columella recommends that figs which have not matured by the season’s harvest can be used to make vinegar (Rust. 12.17.1). According to Dioscorides, Cyprus was well-known for its production of fig vinegar which he claims was brewed with Phoenician or Chelidonian figs (MM 5.32).427 Pliny makes no mention of regional production, but isolates Alexandrian and Cyprian figs as the species that produced the best quality vinegar (HN 14.19.102-103).428 Whatever the case, a reading of ὀξάλειος συκῆ as an idiomatic term for one of these species known for the quality of vinegar they could produce presents another equally preferable new interpretation. Given the regional pattern that emerges from the evidence for fig vinegar production, this reading could also suggest the possibility of a character from or dramatic setting somewhere in the coastal levant. While sour-figged trees were apparently desirable, sour wine certainly was not.429 The most likely culprit of any viticulturalist’s sour wine is poor storage.430 But, in the case of this 427 The latter is a well-attested variety known to have thrived in fourth-century Athens among other contexts (Dalby 2003: 143). 428 It seems unlikely that the species referenced in Pliny are the same as those provided by Dioscorides. Pliny describes the Cypriot figs as a species found on Crete and he has a separate discussion dedicated to Chelidonian figs. Pliny’s Alexandrian figs are probably the same as the Egyptian figs he describes in Book 13 (14.56-7), though he does note that an Idaean species is known locally as an Alexandrian fig (15.19.68). 429 E.g. Alex. 145.12-3: καὶ τὸν μὲν ὀξὺν οἶνον ἐκπυτίζομεν / ἐπι ταῖς ἀβυρτάκαισι δ᾽ ἐκβακχεύομεν (“While we spit out sour wine, we go into a frenzy for sour veggie sauce”). See also Dalby 2003: 343 on vinegar. Fig orchards and vineyards may have been a common pairing for Greek farmers (see Ar. Pax 556-9, 1159-66). 430 Continued exposure to oxygen following the primary fermentation process breeds bacteria that converts alcohol to acetic acid and produces wine that is sour in taste (ὀξίνης οἶνος); if left 198 fragment it is tempting to link the sour wine to a historical agricultural disaster that had been interpreted as divine retribution for Athens’ excessive adulation of Demetrius Poliorketes. Among a list of other acts of divine vengeance linked to this adulation, Plutarch recounts the cancellation of a particular Dionysia procession because of an out-of-season frost that had cauterized the grape vines (Demetr. 12.5-6). Following a late spring frost, budding grape vines can still yield a crop through secondary shoots, but this sets back the ripening timetable. If the harvest is not able to be adjusted accordingly, these grapes will not have had a chance to lose their acidity and would therefore produce an overly sour wine.431 It is reasonable to consider linking the sour wine of Apollod.Car. 30 to this agricultural disaster and its association with the excessive adulation of Demetrius—a catastrophe and association that Philippides (25) had also satirized in his own comedy.432 Προικίζω, “to give a dowry to” (LSJ), was not a common term in antiquity.433 There is no evidence that Proikizomene was a title used by other comic poets, though similarly themed titles are not unusual.434 Dowries factor into nearly every well-preserved play of New Comedy that unchecked it eventually turns the wine to vinegar (see Dalby 2003: 343 and 352 on vinegar and wine-making). 431 See also Theophr. Hist. pl. 4.14.6 and 13. 432 The connection is admittedly tenuous, but intriguing in light of the comedy’s alternate title (“The Himation Huckstress”) and a different catastrophe linked to the adulation of Demetrius: for one year’s Panathenaia celebration, images of Demetrius and Antigonus were included among depictions of gods on the sacred peplos—this peplos was torn apart by the wind as the procession moved through the Ceramicus (Plut. Demetr. 12.3). 433 According to TLG Statistics, προικίζω occurs only nine times among its catalogued works dating from the eighth to the third century BCE. 434 E.g. Menander, Diphilus, and Diodorus each wrote an Epikleros. See also the Dotata of Pomponius and Novius (Atellanae). 199 involves a potential marriage; however, the nature of this involvement varies greatly.435 The dowry can be a focal point of dramatic conflict (e.g. Men. Asp., Epit.) or a cursory inclusion as a requisite component of a legal marriage formula (e.g. Men. Mis. 976, Pk. 1015). The size of dowries can range from almost nothing (e.g. Men. Sam. 727-8, Anon. 1064) to nearly 100,000 drachmas (Men. 296 [Plok.]).436 Its size in turn, can engender lopsided power dynamics in comic marriages that have significant dramatic value. Well-dowered wives, and the marital influence they wield, helped produce the highly successful domineering wife character type known as the uxor dotata in Roman comedy contexts (e.g. Crobyle [Men. Plok.], Artemona [Plaut. Asin.]); however, wives with little or no dowry reverse these dynamics (see Plaut. Aul. 475-95) and the inability of a kyrios to provide a suitable dowry can contribute to the dramatic tension (e.g. Plaut. Trin. 688-93).437 A dowered girl suggests that the title character is a citizen who is eligible for legal marriage, but beyond this, any of the dowry scenarios discussed remain possibilities for this comedy.438 435 On dowries in New Comedy, e.g. Fantham 1975, Casson 1976: 54-9, Golden 1990: 174-80, Braund 2005: 48-50, Cox 2012: 283-6. 436 On the size of dowries in New Comedy, see especially Golden 1990: 174-180 and Cox 2012: 284-5. 437 On the impact of dowry size on comic marriages, see especially Konstan 1983: 41-3 and Braund 2005: 48-50. 438 There has been some disagreement among previous editors as to the status of the dowry with respect to the title character. Grotius assumed that the girl was already endowed (dotata, from FCG I: 466), while Schweighäuser thought the dowry must have been pending (dotanda, from FCG I: 466, PCG II: 500). We might compare the situations of a typical uxor dotata such as Nausistrata (Ter. Phorm.) or Cleustrata (Plaut. Cas.) with that of Kleostratus’ sister in Menander’s Aspis. The title’s tense is of no help since present-tense titles can refer to events that have already been completed before the play’s action begins (e.g. Men. Pk.). The question must therefore remain open. 200 Ἱματιόπωλις is a very rare word which in this context, almost certainly denotes a female “clothes-dealer” (see LSJ: ἱμᾰτιοπώλης).439 This interpretation in turn suggests that the titular figure was a character in Apollodorus’ comedy.440 Female retail workers are very rare on the comic stage;441 from a historical perspective, these women could have been slaves, freedwomen, foreigners, metics, and even citizen women.442 As to the role the occupation played in the comedy, it need not have been a focal point, but we can assume that it played some part in the play’s action.443 439 For its usage as such, see IG II.3: 293 no. 3650 (cf. Herzfeld et al. 1931: 191 no. 619). Pollux (7.78) claims that ἱματιόπωλις was also the name of Athens’ garment district, but the case for this interpretation of Apollodorus’ title is weak. Titles of Greek New Comedy are much more likely to refer to people than settings and while there is ample comparanda for titles that refer specifically to women in professional capacities (e.g. Aleiptria [Diph.], Auletrides [Phoenicid.], Auletris [Men., Diod.Com.], Hiereia [Men.], Titthe [Men.]) there is very little for those denoting locales (see Laciadae [Philippid.], possibly also Anagyrus [Diph.]). Looking at the other eleven titles of Apollodorus, all refer to people. Of these, five are based on female figures (Apoleipousa, Enea, Hekyra, Hiereia, Sphattomene) and two, on professions (Grammateidiopoios, Hiereia). And so, following previous editors (e.g. FAC IIIA: 197, FCN: 106), we can with full confidence assume that Apollodorus’ title refers to a female clothes-dealer. Aside from the two references already mentioned, I have found no other instances of ἱματιόπωλις beyond its inclusion in the ἱμάτιον entry of Herodian’s Peri Orthographias (see Lentz 1867: 525). 440 Looking at the more complete plays of New Comedy, whenever a title is derived from an occupation, there is always at least one character that appears in the play to whom the titular occupation refers (e.g. Kleainetos, [Men. Georg.], Phanias [Men. Kith.], Charinus/Demipho [Plaut. Merc.], and Pyrgopolynices [Plaut. Mil.]). 441 Women who work in retail are occasionally referenced in Old Comedy (e.g. the σπερμαγοραιολεκιθολαχανοπώλιδες [457] and σκοροδοπανδοκευτριαρτοπώλιδες [458] in Ar. Lys.); however, they rarely appear in New Comedy which is otherwise dominated by nurses, hetaerae, and music girls with a few exceptions (e.g. midwives such as Lesbia [Men. Per., Ter. An.] and the priestess Ptolemocratia [Plaut. Rud.]). 442 For concise overviews on the working women in Athens, see Cohen 2016, Kosmopoulou 2001: 283-5. 443 A character’s occupation may, for example, serve as a springboard for a reunion/recognition (e.g. Men. Hiereia), provide a reasonable explanation for the introduction of a new character/point of conflict (e.g. Plaut. Merc.), or act as an aid to characterization (e.g. Plaut. Mil.). Something about the circumstances associated with a clothing merchant must have 201 An intriguing question raised by this comedy is whether its two titles refer to the same character. Alternate titles can refer to the same character (e.g. Men. Misoumenos or Thrasonides), but also to decidedly different characters (e.g. Eub. Dionysos or Semele, Sophil. Leda or Tyndareus). There is no way to tell in the case of Apollodorus’ comedy, but if indeed the title characters were one and the same it would suggest something more precise about their identity. If the female character is a marriage-eligible citizen as the first title implies, Himatiopolis would then suggest that she comes from a poorer family since, for citizen women, working outside the home may have brought with it a social stigma best avoided unless financial necessity compelled it.444 2.12 SPHATTOMENE 31 One fragment, two and a half verses of iambic trimeter, survive from Sphattomene. The source is Athenaeus who quotes the fragment immediately after Apollod.Car. 29 in his discussion on Chaerephon and historical parasites (6.243e). The excerpt preserves a joke at the expense of Chaerephon that hinges on his reputation as a banquet crasher.445 provided dramatic value for Apollodorus. Two of the most common female occupations of New Comedy, the wet nurse and hetaera, serve to illustrate this point. Wet nurses, specifically old wet nurses, are convenient because they can plausibly have had a long and close relationship with family members; they will have been trusted and privy to sensitive information known by only a select number of characters that could cause and/or reconcile comic conflicts. As paid sex workers, hetaerae can be the impetus for a client’s scheme to acquire money for payment and, if a hetaera has multiple clients, they can also incite a comic conflict between clients who compete for her attention; however, as trusted confidants, they, like wet nurses, are also sometimes privy to sensitive information, and can help resolve conflicts as well. 444 See Kosmopoulou 2001: 284. 445 On Chaerephon, see my discussion on Apollod.Car. 29. 202 Σφαττομένη καλῶ δ’ Ἄρη Νίκην τ’ ἐπ’ ἐξόδοις ἐμαῖς, καλῶ δὲ Χαιρεφῶντα· κἂν γὰρ μὴ καλῶ, ἄκλητος ἥξει. The Slit-Throat Woman446 I summon both Ares and Nike for my deployment, and I summon Chaerephon; for even if I don’t summon him, he’ll appear unsummoned.447 1 καλῶ CE: -ῶς A Ἄρη Dindorf: ἄρην ACE (PCG II: 500). Textual Notes There is one variant in the manuscript tradition for this fragment: in v. 1, CE provide καλῶ as the fragment’s opening word, but A gives καλῶς. Dindorf proposed the sole modern emendatio: Ἄρη for the manuscripts’ ἄρην (v. 1). The text from which I and all other modern editors work accepts καλῶ as the correct manuscript form and adopts Dindorf’s emendation of Ἄρη.448 446 Cf. “The Girl who was Sacrificed” (FAC IIIA: 197); “Pummeled Woman” (Rusten 2011: 691); “La Degollada” (FCN: 107). 447 Cf. “Be with my footsteps, War and Victory—, and Chaerephon; he’ll come anyhow, you see” (FAC IIIA: 197); “I summon Ares and Victory on my campaign, I summon Chaerephon; for even if I don’t summon him, he’ll come uninvited” (Rusten 2011: 691); “Invoco Ares I Nice en les meves campanyes, I invoco Querefont: perque tot I que no l’invoqui, arribara sense ser invocate” (FCN: 107). 448 Cf. FCG IV: 449, CAF III: 288, FAC IIIA: 196, PCG II: 500, FCN: 107. Consideration of sense weighs heavily in favor of καλῶ and while καλῶς is possible, it is rather difficult to defend. An examination of Athenaeus A (=Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, Gr. Z. 447 [=820]) shows that, in the manuscript, the initial sigma of εἰσπεσών from Apollod.Car. 29.4 and the final sigma of ἐμαῖς from the fragment in question fall directly above and below the sigma of καλῶς. It seems possible that the copyist mistakenly drew a superfluous sigma from an adjacent line in the process of transcription. Another possibility is that the sigma was a deliberate addition, reflecting an attempt at correction due perhaps to the discomfort some editors have with excessive word repetition (καλῶ appears twice more in the following line; on this phenomenon, see Laughton 1950). Regarding Dindorf’s correction, the punchline of the parody joke preserved 203 Commentary As Kleinknecht observed, the fragment parodies the invocatio component of a prayer (cf. Hymn. Orph. 11.1 and 22.1 [Athanassakis 1977: 19 and 33]) and plays on the double meanings of καλέω—“to invoke (deities)” v. “to invite (guests)”—and ἥκω which can mean “to come” in a literal sense, but is also a technical term for a divine epiphany (1937: 129-30).449 This parody also plays on the practice of addressing three deities in the invocatio.450 This three-deity invocation formula provides a readymade framework for a classic tricolon-style joke. This type of joke is built in an AAB form: the first two components are parallel in some way and establish an expectation; this expectation is then subverted by the third and final component to humorous affect (an aprosdoketon).451 In this case, Ares and Nike establish the expectation of a third deity; the incongruity of the shameless parasite Chaerephon as the third component makes vv. 2-3 an effective punchline.452 in this fragment depends on Ἄρη(ν) being understood literally as the name of the Greek god of war (metonymic interpretations or a reading as if it were a form of ἄρος, ἀρά, or ἀρή are difficult to defend). Ἄρην does appear in some manuscripts as a form of the accusative singular for Ares, but most of these belong to authors dating to the end of the Hellenistic period and later (earlier instances are problematic in one of several ways). Ἄρη is the Attic accusative singular form of the name Ares that is closest to the word provided by the manuscripts (the alternative would be Ἄρεα, see LSJ: Ἄρης). Comparanda indicate that the form proposed by Dindorf is the one most likely to have been used in early Hellenistic Athens (cf. Chrysipp.Stoic. 1076.13, Din. In Dem. 87, Timocl. 12.7). The superfluous nu in the manuscripts might be explained as a later attempt to regularize the accusative form in the same way that other masculine s-stem names had been (e.g. Διογένην for Διογένη, from Palmer 1980: 179). Alternatively, the nu may be an instance of dittography, having been accidently duplicated by the copyist in the transcription of Νίκην. 449 On the invocatio as one of the three primary components of Greek prayers, see Ausfeld 1903. 450 On the invocation of three deities in Greek prayers, see Usener 1903. On tricola in general in Greek prayer language see Pulleyn 1997: 1456. 451 On this type of joke, e.g. Partington 2006: 42 and Rozin et al. 2006. 452 N.b., Chaerephon is facetiously framed as a divinity in Menander (see Sam. 600-4). 204 Previous editors assume, or at least imply, that the fragment’s speaker is a soldier.453 This is a fair assumption since, among stock characters, the deities that the speaker invokes—Ares and Nike—are most relevant to a soldier character. In fact, of the ten instances of Mars/Mavors in Roman comedy, six are spoken by or about a soldier character (see Plaut. Bacch. 847, Mil. 11, 1384, 1414, Poen. 645, Truc. 515).454 In addition, the term ἔξοδος is often used to refer to military expeditions and although it occurs nowhere else in New Comedy, its usage in this sense can be seen in Aristophanes (Nub. 579, Pax 1181).455 This soldier is making arrangements for a sacrifice and accompanying banquet (hence the inevitable appearance of Chaerephon). The use of ἔξοδος in this context frames the event as a sort of pre-departure military deployment sacrifice (FCG IV: 449, PCG II: 501; cf. Xen. An. 6.5.2), though several editors have reasonably concluded that the speaker is in truth referring to a wedding feast (see CAF III: 288, FCN: 107 n. 47).456 In Greek comedy, soldiers become engaged to be married and associated banquets are prepared in the plays’ final scenes (e.g. Men. Mis. 974-86, esp. 980 and Arnott II: 351; Pk. 990- 453 see FCG IV: 449, CAF III: 288, FAC IIIA: 197, PCG II: 501, FCN: 29 and 107 n. 47. 454 There is only one certain (and another potential) reference to Ἄρης in Menander, neither of which are helpful (167, Dys. 149). The instances of Mars/Mavors in Plautus that do not concern soldiers are disparate in terms of their speakers and the contexts in which they occur (see Amph. 43, Asin. 15, Bacch. 894, Truc. 656). The relevant example from Poenulus is spoken about Collybiscus, a slave, though it occurs in a scene where he is playing the part of a soldier. Neither Mars nor Mavors occur anywhere in Terence’s comedies. The use of Νίκη in comedy is discussed further below. Neither it nor the use of Victoria in Roman comedy (see Plaut. Amph. 42, Merc. 867, Poen. 1192a, Pseud. 1170, Truc. 275) are useful for the present discussion. 455 The Aristophanes references were noted in PCG II: 501. 456 The soldier may only be able to communicate in military terms or is purposefully inflating the gravity of the event. 205 1026, esp. 991-1000; Sam. 616-737, esp. 673-4).457 This provides a basis for situating this fragment in the final act of Apollodorus’ play, but I would go even further and suggest that it possibly comes from the play’s final lines. This fragment includes several recurring components of the final verses of many Greek and Roman comedies. Dinner invitations frequently punctuate comedies (e.g. Ar. Eccl. 1135-83, Plaut. Rud. 1418-24, Ter. Phorm. 1053-4). In the original Greek contexts, these invitations lubricate the transition from performance back to reality in the final lines and represent subliminal or overt invitations for festival participants to join the troupe in their hoped-for victory feast following their successful performance (see Roselli 2014: 243). Furthermore, while Nike is certainly relevant to the life of a soldier, she also plays a very limited and distinct metatheatrical role in comedy as the recipient of victory prayers in the final lines of theatrical performances. In the comedies of Menander, in fact, this is the only context in which she appears (e.g. Dys. 969, Mis. 996, Sik. 423, and a variant at Sam. 737 – see also 903.21).458 Like Nike, exodos also had a distinct meaning in the theatrical sphere in addition to its military connotations and can refer to a drama’s concluding scene (see Arist. Poet. 12 and Janko 1984: 237-9). Taken as a whole, a feast invitation fused with an invocation of Nike for the exodos makes it difficult to ignore the possibility that this fragment represents a metatheatrical call for celebration and victory prayer in the final verses of Sphattomene.459 457 Moschion of Samia is only playing the part of a soldier in the final act. 458 See also Posidipp. 6.13. The only other occurrence of Νίκη in Middle or New Comedy is Aristopho 11. There is also evidence that, at least for the Romans, Mars might have been relevant to the theatrical sphere. He is invoked by the prologue speaker of Plautus’ Asinaria as part of the comedy’s captatio benevolentiae (15). 459 This metatheatrical interpretation need not be mutually exclusive from a purely theatrical one. Since the last portion of the fragment’s final verse is incomplete, these cannot have been the very final words of the play, though it is possible to supplement the remainder of the fragment’s final verse to this end: e.g. ἄκλητος ἥξει δὴ ἐπικροτήσατε (“he’ll appear unsummoned, but applaud nonetheless!”). For ἐπικροτήσατε in the final foot of a verse in the concluding lines of a Greek 206 The fragment, paired with consideration of the title, also raises the possibility that Sphattomene may have parodied Euripides’ Phoinissai. Like Apollodorus’ fragment, Phoinissai includes a soldier that calls on deities using a καλῶ δέ construction: in the parlay mediated by Jocasta, Polynices invokes the gods as witnesses to seal a threat (μάρτυρας δὲ τῶνδε δαίμονας καλῶ, 491).460 In addition, ἐπ’ ἐξόδοις ἐμαῖς is the exact prepositional phrase later used by Eteocles (the other soldier) in his final conversation with Cleon, before departing to defend the gates of Thebes (τὴν δόσιν δ᾿ ἐχέγγυον / τὴν πρόσθε ποιῶ νῦν ἐπ᾿ ἐξόδοις ἐμαῖς, 759-60).461 The incorporation of Ares also draws a distinct connection to Phoinissai. Ares is almost never mentioned in New Comedy (see Men. 167 and Dys. 149 [possibly]), but he is unusually prominent in Phoinissai.462 Phoinissai (1764) is also one of only four Euripidean tragedies to include mention of Nike (see also Ion 457, 1529, IT 1497, Or. 1691) where it appears in the tragedy’s final lines in a plea for victory (1764-6).463 New Comedy, cf. Men. Dys. 967, Mis. 994, Sik. 421. The kappa-rho plosive-liquid combination allows the iota of ἐπικροτήσατε to be either long or short so a two-syllable word in which each is long (e.g. δῆμοι?) is also possible with this reconstruction. 460 Polynices threatens that if Eteocles does not agree to honor the original terms of their shared rule, he will sack Thebes. 461 Eteocles here reassures Cleon that the agreed-upon marriage between Antigone and Haemon should proceed whatever fate may befall him in the defense of Thebes. 462 According to the TLG and with fragments excluded, Ἄρης, in all its forms, occurs fourteen times in Phoinissai. This is over twice as many occurrences as the Euripidean tragedy with the second most instances (IA, 6) and roughly seven times the average for the other Euripidean tragedies that mention him (Alc., Andr., Bacch., El., Hec., Heracl., HF, IT, Or., Rhes., Supp., Tro.; ~2.2). 463 The impact of such close intertextuality would have only been effective if this potential parody was produced closely on the heals of a recent Phoinissai reproduction. Although direct evidence for its later reperformance is limited, there is a convincing body of circumstantial evidence that speaks to its continued reproduction in antiquity: “Suspected lines in the text of Phoenician Women, which are often regarded as actors’ interpolations, imply stage revivals of the play in antiquity … The rich pictorial record from the late third century (…) may also be said 207 Apollodorus’ title also works with the notion that the play parodied Phoinissai. Σφάζω, to “slay, slaughter, properly by cutting the throat …,” is often used in the context of killing victims for sacrifice, though it can also refer to the act of killing more broadly (LSJ).464 The verb is very rare in comedy;465 however, it has a significant presence in tragedy where among a few other specific contexts, it has a particular association with female suicide by the sword.466 Because Sphattomene refers to a female character, it is very possible that Apollodorus’ comedy engaged with a pseudo-tragic suicide theme.467 It is important to acknowledge that no suicides actually occur during the action of a surviving Greek comedy and there is no reason to expect it would be any different in the case of Apollodorus’ play. The theme of suicide nevertheless plays a surprisingly prominent and variable role in New Comedy as Katsouris (1976: 35-6) observes: to refer to revivals of the play in subsequent times. The popularity of the play in antiquity is evident in the numerous papyri, which surpass in number every other tragic text and attest to its large dissemination, in the comic parodies as well as in the numerous quotations in other works …” (Papadopoulou 2008: 104-5). Papadopoulou also discusses the various surviving visual representations of Phoinissai and notes that Accius’ Phoenissae clearly shows familiarity with Euripides’ tragedy (2008: 108-110). For evidence of the popularity and reproduction of Euripidean tragedy in the third century more generally, see Dittenberger 1920: no. 1080 and Philippid. Phileuripides. 464 Both Diphilus and Eumedes wrote a Sphattomenos. One fragment (1, PCG V: 277) survives from Eumedes’ comedy, though it does little to inform our understanding of the play. 465 See Cratin. 341, Men. 608, 1001.1 (Spuria), Pk. 998, Sam. 608 (and possibly 610, Edmonds corr.), and Theopomp. 49. 466 On the use of σφάζω and its derivatives in the context of womens’ death in Greek tragedy, see Loraux 1987: 13-4. For a survey of the suicide motif in ancient drama, see Katsouris 1976: 33-6. Perez Asensio suggests the title character could be a hetaera or slave (FCN: 107 n. 46). 467 The notion that Sphattomene engaged with a suicide motif was initially proposed by Hirzel (1967: 26-7 n. 3). Other New Comedy titles that indicate suicide as a theme include Apollod.Car. Apokarterountes, Apollod.Gel. and Philem. Apokarteron, Diph. Helleborizomenoi, Men. Koneiazomenai. 208 In New Comedy the suicide motif is very significant, closely connected with character and situation, it is more serious than in Aristophanes and in some cases it is extended to the whole play. The reasons which make someone think to commit suicide, though he never carries it out, are many: ill fame and derision (Gelasimus), fear of humiliation (Ampelisca and Palaestra), unbearable living conditions (Staphyla), a failure of an intrigue (Davus), but almost always suicide is connected with a lover, who contemplates suicide because he is disappointed with his love affairs (Polemon in the Perikeiromene, Thrasonides in the Misoumenos, Calidorus in the Pseudolus, Alcesimarchus in the Cistellaria, Pamphilus and Charinus in the Andria, Phaedria in the Eunuchus, Antipho and Phaedria in the Phormio, Charinus in the Mercator, Argyrippus in Asinaria, Stratippocles in the Epidicus), with a young girl in love (Planesium in the Curculio) or a young girl in great sorrow (Glycerium in the Andria) or with an old man in love (Lysidamus in the Casina). In some cases this motif is very loosely tied with the plot … But usually it is closely connected with the plot and character and is extended to the major part of the action … The young lovers are meant to be serious in their threats … The exaggeration in their pathos, which is further stressed by the suicide motif, undoubtedly is an element which makes the audience smile, for they know that everything will be fine in the end. The tragic influence can be seen in several cases …468 Whatever the scenario, the inclusion of suicide as a theme in a comic production clearly and inextricably links that comedy to the tragic tradition in some capacity. Since Sphattomene evokes specifically tragic female suicides by sword, Euripides Phoinissai again comes to the forefront of consideration: in what seems to have been a Euripidean innovation to the myth, Jocasta commits suicide in Phoinissai by cutting her own throat after learning of the death of her sons (1455-9). Because Euripides’ Phoinissai was an exceedingly popular play throughout antiquity (see Papadopoulou 2008: 104-5), there need not have been a particular reason Apollodorus might have chosen to parody it beyond its recognizability. Nevertheless, a parody of Phoinissai—which dramatizes a siege of Thebes—would have been particularly relevant to Apollodorus’ 468 Katsouris limited their discussion of suicide in New Comedy to Roman palliatae. See also Dutsch 2012. In Old Comedy, the suicide motif is not a critical element of the plot; it is often used in isolated instances to express comic overreaction to the dramatic circumstances for humorous effect (e.g. Ar. Eq. 80-4, Nub. 776-82, Vesp. 323-33; Katsouris 1976: 22-3). Titles of Middle Comedy suggest that the suicide motif may have persevered throughout the fourth century (e.g. Antiph. Malthake, Progonoi, Stratiotes / Tychon [from Katsouris 1976: 24], Crobyl. Apagchomenos, and Alex. Mandragorizomene [see Arnott 1996: 419-21]). 209 production period in which Athens endured two major Macedonian sieges (Demetrius Poliorketes, 295 BCE; Antigonus Gonatas 268-262 BCE). It is also worth pointing out that a scholion on Ar. Ran. 53a (see Holwerda 1999: 12 1a) claims that Phoinissai was part of a tragic trilogy which also included Hypsipyle—another Euripidean tragedy which I have suggested Apollodorus parodied with his Amphiaraos (see discussion on Apollod.Car. 1). It is conceivable that Apollodorus produced mirrored parodies of a recent reproduction of a complete Euripidean trilogy (on the various issues surrounding this trilogy, see Lamari 2017: 259-60).469 2.13 FABULA INCERTA 32 There is one fragment which has been attributed to Apollodorus of Carystus, but not associated with a specific title. This fragment is nearly two verses in length and is arranged in iambic trimeter. Its source is Athenaeus who, in a discussion on wine, digresses on the utility of cabbage as a hangover remedy and quotes from an unspecified comedy of Apollodorus to demonstrate that ῥάφανος used to be a synonym for κράμβη (1.34d). In the fragment, the speaker makes the fact that Athenians call cabbage ῥάφανος while foreigners call it κράμβη a pedantic detail as far as women are concerned. Fabula Incerta † εἰ δ’ ὅτι † καλοῦμεν ῥάφανον, ὑμεῖς δ’ οἱ ξένοι κράμβην, γυναιξὶ διαφέρειν † οἴονται †. 469 These would have been most effective as parodies if they were performed in the year following the Euripides reproductions and at the same festivals, but they ultimately would have still gained purchase several years after the fact (Aristophanes’ Akharneis and Thesmophoriazousai, each of which parody a scene from Euripides’ Telephus [see Ach. 204-625, Thesm. 466-764] were produced thirteen and twenty-seven years after Telephus was produced [438 BCE]. 210 Unknown Play Whether they think it makes a difference to women that we call it rhapanos, but you foreigners call it krambe.470 1 εἰ δ’ ὅτι: εἰ δ’ ὅ τι Morel RhM 77 (1928) 169 sq.: οἶδ᾽ ὅτι Mus. ‘non εἰ corruptum, sed ὅτι’ Kaibel ὑμεῖς Dalec.: ἡμεῖς CE 2 οἴονται E: om. C: οἴει τι cod. B: οἴει δέ τι; Kock (δὲ τί iam Mus.): οἴει σύ γε; Kaibel: οἰτέον; Desrousseaux (PCG II: 501). Textual Notes The first metron of verse 1 and final metron of verse 2 are generally considered corrupt and there have been a number of plausible corrections proposed for these portions of the fragment.471 None, however, is sufficiently compelling to displace the viable reconstructions that can be compiled from the texts presented in the manuscripts. Since the decision appears to have minimal bearing on interpretation, I have opted for a text grounded in the manuscripts with the notable exception of Dalechamps’ universally accepted emendatio of ὑμεῖς for the manuscripts’ ἡμεῖς (v. 1).472 My text follows Kassel and Austin and Perez Asensio in working from the manuscripts’ εἰ δ’ ὅτι for the first metron and οἴονται in the final one.473 470 Cf. “D’ you think it makes any difference to the fair what word you use for cabbage over there?” (FAC IIIA: 197); “† Si el fet que † l’anomenem col aloma, i vosaltres, els forasters, col bajana, † creuen † que importa a les dones” (FCN: 108). 471 With the exception of the PCG and FCG, no two modern commentaries work from the exact same text. Cf. FCG IV: 449, CAF III: 288, FAC IIIA: 196, PCG II: 501, FCN: 108. 472 Dalechamps’ emendatio accounts for what is clearly meant to be an adversative relationship between the indirect statement’s two clauses. This is lost if the subject of both clauses is in the first person perspective. 473 The manuscripts unanimously attest to εἰ δ’ ὅτι at the beginning; similar indirect statement constructions can be found elsewhere (e.g. τῇδέ γε μέντοι διαφέρειν μοι δοκῶ τῶν πλείστων ὅτι …, Xen. Cyr. 8.2.21). For the end of the fragment, Athenaeus E gives οἴονται, while B—a fifteenth-century descendent of a copy of A—provides οἴει τι. Either could be made to work. I have deferred to the older E and the judgement of the fragment’s most recent editors in adopting οἴονται (PCG II: 501, FCN: 108). 211 Commentary Cabbage was an important and versatile vegetable in the ancient world;474 however, it rarely appears in New Comedy.475 Ῥάφανος, we know, was the Attic word for κράμβη.476 Since the speaker identifies with the group that calls cabbage ῥάφανος, we can reasonably assume they are an Athenian. Κράμβη can be found in literature by authors from all across the Greek Mediterranean, so ξένοι may be referring to any and all non-Athenians, but Menander’s use of ξένος raises a more focused possibility.477 Although there are instances where Menander’s 474 On the sowing, preparation, nutritional value, medicinal uses, and varieties of cabbages in Ancient Greece and Rome, see Anthimus OC 50, Ath. 9.369e, Cato, Agr. 157-8, Dsc. 2.120-1, Gal. AF 2.44 (Helmreich 1923 V.4.2: 311-3), Hippoc. Acut. 54.42-3, Orib. CM 4.4.1 (quoting Mnesitheus), Pall. OA 3.24.5-7, Plin. HN 19.136-43, Theophr. Caus. pl. 2.5.3, Hist. pl. 7.4.4. References from Dalby 2003: 67. 475 The only instances of κράμβη in Attic comedy include Eup. 84.2, Polyzel. 10, and Telecl. 29. All are too brief to be of value for the present discussion. Ῥάφανος is mentioned in Apollod.Car. 5, where the speaker bids vendors to begin boiling their Megarian cabbages to prepare for a celebration. There are otherwise fourteen other instances of ῥάφανος in the surviving comic corpus, only one of which belongs to a poet of New Comedy (Diphilus). See Alc.Com. 24, Alex. 15, 287, Amphis 37, Anaxandr. 59, Antiph. 181, Ar. 111, Call.Com. 26, Crates Com. 19, Diph. 14, Ephipp. 3, Eub. 124, Nicoch. 18, Pherecr. 155. There is one instance each of brassica and caulis—two Latin words for cabbage—in extant Roman comedy. Brassica is included among a list of vegetables and herbs that cheap cooks use in their dishes, according to the cook in Pseudolus (Plaut. Pseud. 815). Caulis appears as part of an inadvertent neologism spoken by Truculentus when he tries to describe himself as a cavillator (“captious man”), but says instead caullator (“cabbage man”) (Plaut. Truc. 683). 476 See Gal. AF 2.44.5 (Helmreich 1923 V.4.2: 313), Hsch. 143-4 (Schmidt 1965: 423), Ammon. Diff. 424-5 (Nickau 1966: 109-10), schol. Ar. Plut. 544c (Holwerda 1999: 97) and LSJ: ῥάφανος. For further discussion on the relationship between ῥάφανος and κράμβη, see Arist. Hist. an. 5.19.551a.15-6, Phot. Lex. 49 (Theodoridis III: 315). Phryn. 111 (Fischer 1974: 71), and Poll. 1.247, 6.54. References from PCG II: 501. 477 Demeas of Misoumenos is called ξένος more than any other Menandrian character (see 424, 427, 431, 576, 671, 674, 687, 726). Although the comedy makes it clear that he has recently arrived from Cyprus, it also seems very possible that he is in fact a citizen of the city in which the comedy is set (Athens?). More to the point, the sense of ξένος throughout this play seems to be as the “guest” of Kleinias rather than “foreigner” and so this example has little bearing on the 212 intended meaning of ξένος is clearly “foreigner” (e.g. 351, Sik. 97, 282), he also used the adjective to identify soldiers, regardless of their citizenship status. This is particularly evident in Perikeiromene at both 280 and 530, but most blatantly at 361 where Polemon, a Corinthian native is called ξένος while in Corinth.478 It is possible that the ξένοι of Apollodorus’ fragment are in fact (potentially foreign) soldiers, who in their travels on distant campaigns, are more likely to use a more internationally recognizable lexicon. Because Athenaeus includes this fragment among five other comic fragments that refer to cabbage in its capacity as a hangover remedy (see Alex. 287, Amphis 37, Anaxandr. 59, Eub. 124, Nicoch. 18), it is reasonable to assume that this is also the context in which it is mentioned in the case of Apollod.Car. 32. Since the speaker draws a connection between cabbage and women specifically, it may even be the case that this play engaged with the Attic tradition of portraying women as binge drinkers on the comic stage.479 By the third century, this stereotype was generally limited to older women (Sommerstein 2013: 195). There is, however, a different connection between cabbage and women to which this fragment may be referring. Athenaeus (9.370c) claims that, in Athens, women who had recently given birth were provided with cabbage as prescribed nourishment to help with recovery.480 It is interpretation of Apollodorus’ fragment in which “guest” is difficult to reconcile as a potential interpretation. 478 Several other soldiers in Menander are called ξένος (e.g. Bias, Kol. E 235; Stratophanes, Sik. 97; and Kleostratus’ ill-fated bunkmate, Asp. 102). 479 This tradition began in Old Comedy (e.g. Ar. Thesm. 730-61, Pherecr. 152, Plato Com. 188, Theompomp.Com. 42); it was perpetuated by poets of Middle Comedy (e.g. Alex. 56, 172, Antiph. 25, 58, 163, Aristopho 13, Axionic. 5, Xenarch. 5) and can be seen to some degree in Menander (e.g. 412, Per. fr. 4). The stereotype can also be found in palliatae (e.g. Plaut. Cist. 18, Curc. 96-109, Truc. 903-4, Ter. An. 228-32). 480 Athenaeus quotes Ephipp. 3 to substantiate the claim. 213 not unusual that a young woman give birth during a comedy’s action.481 In a couple of instances, prescribed foods and tonics are supplied to aid in the recovery process.482 This possibility is somewhat compelling in this instance because we know that the childbirth which took place in Terence’s Hecyra probably also took place in the Apollodoran model.483 If this reading is correct, the women to which the fragment refers are younger. Whatever the case, the sense seems to be that the proper name for cabbage is a trivial concern for women (or wives specifically) to whom cabbage has critical medicinal value one way or another.484 481 E.g. Men. Androgynos (possibly, see Whitehorne 2000: 317), Georg. 87-116 (probably, see Arnott I: 121-5), Plok. 298 with Gell. 2.23.14-20, Plaut. Amph. 1070, Aul. 729-729a, Ter. Ad. 486-8, An. 481-8, Hec. 516-27. 482 See Men. 40, Ter. An. 483-5, and Plaut. Truc. 480. In the case of Truculentus, Phronesium is only pretending to have recently given birth. To help sell the lie, she commands that verbena and sweetmeats be brought in. 483 Apollod.Car. 12 demonstrates that in Hekyra, Pamphilus may have similarly sent Parmeno on a fool’s errand lest he get within earshot of Philumena’s labor cries. 484 Of the 137 instances of γυνή in Menander, 73 refer specifically to wives and 63 to women more generally (data drawn from Katsouris 2004: 99-101). 214 Chapter 3: Hecyra and the Funeral Games of L. Aemilius Paullus 3.1 Apollodorus in Rome This chapter marks a shift in concentration to how Apollodorus’ comedy was known and experienced in the centuries after his death. By the second century BCE, scripts of Apollodorus’ plays had made it to Rome where they were adapted as fabulae palliatae for a Roman audience. Two of these adaptations survive: Terence’s Phormio and Hecyra. Phormio, adapted from Epidikazomenos, was produced at the Ludi Romani of 161 BCE and is distinct for its incomparable parasite after whom the play is named. Hecyra, which retains the title of the Apollodoran original (Hekyra), is most famous for its troubled performance history. After failed productions at the Ludi Megalenses in 165 and the ludi funebres of L. Aemilius Paullus in 160, it was finally performed to completion at the Ludi Romani later in 160 BCE. Hecyra and Phormio illustrate that the third-century Greek comedies of Apollodorus presented something of value to Terence and Roman audiences over a century later. These adaptations in turn were appreciated in other new ways following their performance debuts in the second century BCE. By Late Antiquity, for example, Hecyra and Phormio had become prized for their educational value and were by then largely consumed as read, classroom texts. Clearly, the Apollodoran framework for Hecyra and Phormio possessed a timeless and versatile quality that allowed these adaptations success in a variety of Roman contexts. The following two chapters explore two of these contexts and how Apollodorus was transformed and received to fit them both. I begin with Hecyra and its intended production at the funeral games of L. Aemilius Paullus. 215 In 160 BCE, Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus organized funeral games in the Roman Forum for their birth father and esteemed Roman general Lucius Aemilius Paullus Macedonicus.1 Among the spectacles performed at this event was a production of Terence’s Adelphoe. This makes Paullus’ funeral games the only ludi funebres with which we can associate a surviving palliata.2 Given these games’ primary aim of commemorating the life of Paullus, there have been a number of compelling readings of Adelphoe that examine how the comedy might have served this end. These readings are historicizing, in that they assign significant meaning to Adelphoe’s original performance context. They are also incomplete. Adelphoe was never meant to be viewed in isolation, but rather as one of two palliatae performed in tandem. Terence’s Hecyra was also selected for production, but its function in the pairing has been ignored almost completely. This is a significant omission which the following analysis seeks to reconcile. This chapter provides an improved understanding of the role that palliatae played at Paullus’ funeral games by incorporating Hecyra into the discussion and exploring how its intended production, in tandem with Adelphoe, challenges past historicist readings. My research provides three new insights about this unique production context. First, I challenge the traditional stance that these palliatae commemorated Paullus through character analogues or central themes and argue instead that they evoked his conquest of Macedon. I argue that the Greek models of Hecyra and Adelphoe were sourced from Macedon’s royal library. Next, my research suggests 1 Scipio Aemilianus’ full name is Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus Minor; Fabius Maximus is Quintus Fabius Maximus Aemilianus. Paullus will be the shorthand for Lucius Aemilius Paullus Macedonicus in this chapter. 2 Ludi scaenici are attested in earlier funeral games. See Livy’s account of the ludi funebres of T. Quinctius Flamininus in 174 BCE (41.28.11). 216 two additional motivations beyond the commemoration of Paullus. I argue that the tandem production of these comedies reinforced the political strategy of the games’ ambitious organizers. A comparative analysis of Hecyra’s and Adelphoe’s formal elements provides convincing evidence that Scipio Aemilianus was employing a broad-appeal strategy to serve his attested populist approach to political advancement. Thirdly, I contend that the selection of these particular comedies suggests that Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus dedicated a comparatively limited budget to the ludi scaenici component of the funeral games. A survey of the potential production expenses linked to the troupe and choragus demonstrates that Hecyra and Adelphoe represent one of the most cost-efficient tandem productions that can be formed from the plays of Terence’s corpus. These new revelations wholly disrupt the traditional narrative surrounding this performance context and provide a more complete understanding of the complex factors that contributed to the selection of Hecyra and Adelphoe for production at Paullus’ funeral games. Beyond this, the analysis provides crucial considerations for how dramatic performances may have functioned in ludi funebres more generally as well as in other private production contexts. Previous historicist readings of the dramatic productions at the ludi funebres of L. Aemilius Paullus concentrate almost exclusively on Adelphoe. The traditional argument suggests that Adelphoe was chosen because of the character analogues it encouraged and its thematic relevance. In terms of character analogues, Micio, it is usually claimed, could be viewed as a celebration of Paullus’ redeemable qualities; Demea, the antithesis of Micio, is often likened to Marcus Porcius Cato because of his championing of an austere, country lifestyle. As for themes, Adelphoe’s interest in the validity of differing parental approaches to education and the complex family dynamics surrounding adoption are said to be closely connected to the life of Paullus (e.g. 217 Lana 1947, Mackendrick 1954, Trencsenyi-Waldapfel 1957, Maróti 1960, Grimal 1982, Lehmann 2003). Leigh (2004) provides a more nuanced argument. In an attempt to reconcile the fact that Micio, Paullus’ apparent character analogue, is bested and Demea vindicated by the play’s end, Leigh suggests that Paullus (and Cato) were perhaps meant to be evoked in both Micio and Demea and that while these plays certainly honored Paullus, they might also serve to playfully lampoon him. Trencsenyi-Waldapfel (1957) is the only historicist reading of Adelphoe of which I am aware that also considers the relevance of Hecyra in this context. He ultimately concedes that Hecyra does not offer an appropriate character analogue for Paullus like Adelphoe does and suggests instead that each play shares the same sort of humanitas for which Paullus was known (see 144-5). The primary flaw with these readings is that they do not engage with Hecyra. A study of Hecyra absent active consideration of Adelphoe, however, would be equally insufficient. My approach therefore incorporates Hecyra into these discussions, and ultimately considers how the intended production of both Hecyra and Adelphoe as a deliberate pair informs our understanding of their role at Paullus’ funeral games. Working from this premise, a comparative analysis of the two plays provides the foundation on which this chapter is built.3 The following sections prioritize different points of comparison. In Comedies to Commemorate the Dead (3.2), the points of comparison include each play’s potential character analogues for Paullus and their primary themes. These are the same factors that are given priority in previous historicist readings of Adelphoe. Underlying A Political Performance (3.3) is comparative analysis of each plays’ formal elements—broadly defined by their music, language, dramatic techniques, and comic 3 Given the utility of similar analyses on Hecya by James (1998) and Penwill (2004), the pairing of Hecyra with Adelphoe was recently suggested by Goldberg (2013: 23) as a potentially productive comparative study, based, in this case, on the plays’ shared performance context. 218 tropes—in terms of their political utility for Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus. Finally, A Penny-Pinching Production? (3.4) compares the demands each play makes on both troupe and choragus. 3.2 Comedies to Commemorate the Dead The commemoration of the deceased was the primary goal of ludi funebres, and it is reasonable to assume that this objective influenced the selection of the palliatae to be performed there.4 As noted above, previous scholarship reads Adelphoe through this lens and suggests that the comedy commemorated Paullus through character analogues (Micio, perhaps also Demea) and thematic relevance (education, adoption, humanitas). This section tests this hypothesis by similarly isolating the potential character analogues for Paullus in Hecyra and examining whether it too had themes which could be narrowly associated with the honored deceased. It is insufficient to present a commemorative explanation that accounts for only one of the two plays presented. Ultimately, a comparative analysis of these factors between the two plays shows that Hecyra does not provide an appropriate character analogue or theme that might have honored Paullus. If the purpose of the plays was in some ways commemorative, another explanation is required. I propose instead that the comedies honored Paullus by celebrating his conquest of Macedon. 4 Evidence from Suetonius (Vita Ter. 2) indicates that Terence himself, rather than his producer Turpio, sold his comedies directly to ludi sponsors. Ter. Eun. 20-2 demonstrates that sponsors could arrange for preview performances of palliatae for appraisal purposes. Cicero (Off. 2.57-8) shows that magistrates, even in the Early Republic, understood the political value of public spectacles. Given Scipio Aemilianus’ political ambition and the unique opportunity provided by these funeral games (see discussion below), it is likely that Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus dealt directly with Terence and personally scrutinized Hecyra and Adelphoe in some capacity before approving them for production at Paullus’ funeral. 219 Even a cursory comparative analysis of potential character analogues and themes demonstrates that these could not have been the common elements shared by Hecyra and Adelphoe that led to their selection and contributed to the goal of commemorating Paullus. While I find no fault with the previous arguments that Adelphoe’s Micio and/or Demea could be seen to embody some of the commendable character traits of Paullus, there are no suitable counterparts among the characters in Hecyra. In fact, none of its male characters have any redeemable qualities about them whatsoever.5 The most likely candidates, the senes Laches and Phidippus, are perhaps the most unappealing old men in Terence’s corpus. Unlike Micio and Demea, Terence does not grant Laches or Phidippus any opportunities to gain the audience’s good will or sympathy. Their sustained ignorance throughout the play makes them the primary heels, but what marks Laches and Phidippus as particularly unenviable is that they are deliberately kept in that state at the end of the play. Equilibrium is only superficially restored and the senes are destined to be a point of jest in perpetuum. Portrayal in a negative light is not in itself sufficient cause to discount potential character analogues for Paullus—especially for a funeral tradition which embraced some mockery of the deceased (see Sumi 2002); however, the negative depiction of Laches and Phidippus lacks the playfulness of the derision tied to Micio and Demea, and is, I think, too severe to reasonably consider Laches or Phidippus potential character 5 Pamphilus, as an adulescens, is a less likely character analogue for Paullus, who was almost 70 years old when he died. Age differences aside, a comparison to Pamphilus would be unfavorable not only because of the character’s cowardice and rape of a young girl, but also because he expresses no remorse and takes no responsibility for his actions by the play’s end (contrast Charisios, Men. Epit.). Only this play’s female characters are worthy of emulation, though expecting a Roman audience to draw associations between Paullus and women (or slaves, for that matter) seems unlikely. 220 analogues for Paullus.6 Furthermore, and perhaps more to the point, neither Laches nor Phidippus display sufficient biographical parallels to justify the likening of either to Paullus.7 Hecyra also poses a problem for the notion that thematic relevance played a substantial role in the way that the selected palliatae were meant to commemorate Paullus. Hecyra arguably lacks a strong message of any sort. If anything, the comedy encourages a uniquely sympathetic view towards women (e.g. Norwood 1923: 91, Posani 1940, Slater 1988, James 1998, Penwill 2004), though others have explored the possibility that Hecyra’s main theme was the exploration of conflict between opposing concepts such as amor vs. pietas (Konstan 1983), character reputation vs. reality (McGarrity 1980-81), and failure vs. repetition (Sharrock 2009: 233-49). None of these has any obvious relevance to Paullus. Like its potential character analogues, Hecyra may have actually undermined the themes of Adelphoe that were particularly suitable to commemorating Paullus.8 Trencsenyi-Waldapfel claims that Paullus’ characteristic humanitas 6 Consider, for example, Laches’ excessive scolding of Sostrata at 198-242 and Phidippus at 623-6 who “seems unnecessarily harsh to his daughter” (Duckworth 1952: 244). See also Christenson (2015: 227), “there is very little to recommend the male cast of characters, especially the patriarchs Laches and Phidippus” and Goldberg (2013: 22), “the fathers Laches and Phidippus are less appealing figures, Phidippus too weak and Laches too much the bully.” 7 Of the two senes, Laches can perhaps be more closely aligned to Paullus. In Hecyra, Laches is inexplicably antagonistic towards his wife and separates himself from his family because of monetary concerns (see Slater 1988: 253 n.13). Plutarch (Aem. 5) recalls that Paullus had divorced his first wife (mother of Scipio Aemilianus, to whom Scipio remained loyal, see Polyb. 31.26) for no known reason. Furthermore, the act of giving Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus up for adoption (Plut. Aem. 5) was almost certainly due to the financial concerns (see Dixon 1992: 122) which had plagued L. Aemilius Paullus throughout his life (see Plut. Aem. 39). Despite this connection, a comparison to Laches certainly would not have been flattering for Paullus. 8 Hecyra, for example, undermines the authority of the paterfamilias (Slater 1988), which is not only a driving force of Adelphoe’s action, but one of the themes that would have had an intimate connection to Paullus (see Leigh’s discussion on the Roman correlation between fatherhood and generalship [2004: 158-91]). 221 can be seen as a common theme in Hecyra and Adelphoe. I would suggest that humanitas is a defining feature of Terence’s style that can be seen to some degree in all his comedies, and Hecyra provides arguably the worst representation of humanitas of all Terence’s plays.9 I therefore dismiss character analogues and themes as the potential means by which these comedies were intended to commemorate Paullus and explore alternative commemorative qualities that these plays may have offered. I propose that these particular comedies honored Paullus by recalling his crowning military achievement: the conquest of Macedon in the Third Macedonian War. Paullus’ victory at Pydna in 168 BCE had a substantial and lasting impact on the Roman Republic. It brought a decisive end to over four decades of recurring conflicts with the Antigonid dynasty and made Rome the undisputed master of all of Greece.10 The spolia seized from this campaign also resulted in an unparalleled influx of wealth in Rome and prompted what was likely the single greatest import of Greek culture in Rome’s history. In his triumph, Paullus displayed 2,250 talents of silver and 231 talents of gold coinage (Plut. Aem. 32-3). The amount of seized money Paullus deposited into the public treasury was in fact so substantial that the Roman populace did not need to pay any extra taxes again for another 125 years (Plut. Aem. 38). Adding to this economic boom was the importation of a staggering 150,000 slaves (Liv. 45.34, Plut. Aem. 29) in what has been called the “the greatest slave-hunting operation in the history of Rome” (Ziolkowski 1986: 69). It is no surprise that several sumptuary laws were put into place in the 9 “Terence had a broader sympathy for mankind, a deeper sensitivity to persons, a commitment to paideia, a belief in the capacities of human nature and individual reason as against the bonds of social convention; in short, humanitas” (Gruen 1992: 219). 10 See Green 1990: 430-1, Habicht 1997: 219, Gruen 2004: 254. The comparative impact of the Achaean War (150-148 BCE) that followed, sometimes called the Fourth Macedonian War, was less noteworthy. 222 years following Pydna (e.g. the Lex Fannia, 161 BCE; Lex Dida, 143 BCE).11 As for the influx of Greek culture, Paullus seized so much Greek art that a full day’s festivities and 250 chariots were barely sufficient to display all of the statues, paintings, and colossal figures he had prepared for the first day of his triumph (Plut. Aem. 32). Among these was Pheidias’ famous Olympian Zeus, which Paullus rededicated in the Temple of Fortuna in Rome (Polyb. 30.10.6, Plin. HN 34.54). This was all the direct result of Paullus’ victory, an achievement that earned him the agnomen Macedonicus and the rare honor of a funeral in the Forum.12 It was his defining moment in the eyes of the Roman Republic, and the celebration of this particular conquest would have been the most appropriate means of honoring him at his public funeral. How do Hecyra and Adelphoe figure into the commemoration of Paullus’ Macedonian conquest? I propose that the Greek models for these palliatae were first brought to Rome in copies seized from Macedon’s royal library.13 As I will demonstrate, this collection almost certainly included dramatic scripts that were new (to Rome), and in a theatre tradition that prized novelty, their discovery would have provided Terence an opportunity to showcase something immediate, exciting, and most importantly tied to Paullus. The contents of this library, I argue, represented a versatile symbol of Paullus’ conquest which recognized not only his personal 11 For another source on the types and extent of the spolia Paullus brought back to Rome, see Liv. 45.33 and 39. 12 In the Middle Republic, only former Roman magistrates could qualify for a funeral in the Forum (see Flower 2004: 333). 13 The Adelphoi on which Plautus’ Stichus is based is different from the one used for Terence’s Adelphoe (Martin 1976: 19 n. 4). There is therefore no evidence that the Greek models for Terence’s Adelphoe and Hecyra were in circulation before the arrival of Macedon’s royal library in Rome. The fact that Terence incorporated into his Adelphoe a scene from Diphilus’ Synapotheskontes which was known to Plautus (see Ad. 6-11) ought not diminish the likelihood or significance of the primary source material for Adelphoe coming from Macedon’s royal library. 223 contribution to the victory, but also his redeemable qualities as a general on that campaign. Its incorporation into Paullus’ funeral games in any capacity would have been an incredibly powerful reminder of his achievement at Pydna. The production of comedies sourced from this library would have certainly served this end; however, the fact that these comedies were not only adapted but, as I will show, appropriated for Roman spectacle would have amplified exponentially the conqueror motif in a way that was characteristic of Paullus himself.14 The evidence for the royal library of Macedon is limited to two brief textual references. The first comes from Plutarch’s Life of Aemilius Paullus (28). In a section that outlines Paullus’ distribution of booty following his defeat of the Macedonian king Perseus, Plutarch notes:15 οὐδενὸς δ᾿ ἧττον αὐτοῦ τὴν ἐλευθεριότητα καὶ τὴν μεγαλοψυχίαν ἐπῄνουν οἱ ἄνθρωποι, πολὺ μὲν ἀργύριον, πολὺ δὲ χρυσίον ἐκ τῶν βασιλικῶν ἠθροισμένον οὐδ᾿ ἰδεῖν ἐθελήσαντος, ἀλλὰ τοῖς ταμίαις εἰς τὸ δημόσιον παραδόντος. μόνα τὰ βιβλία τοῦ βασιλέως φιλογραμματοῦσι τοῖς υἱέσιν ἐπέτρεψεν ἐξελέσθαι. But more than anything else men praised his freedom of spirit and his greatness of soul; for he would not consent even to look upon the quantities of silver and the quantities of gold that were gathered together from the royal treasuries, but handed them over to the quaestors for the public chest. It was only the books of the king that he allowed his sons, who were devoted to learning, to choose out for themselves. The other source is Isidore of Seville. In a chapter on books in his Etymologiae, Isidore claims, Romae primus librorum copiam advexit Aemilius Paulus, Perse Macedonum rege devicto (“Following his conquest of Perseus, king of Macedon, Aemilius Paullus was the first to bring an abundance of books to Rome”) (Etym. 6.5.1). Since neither source gives any indication of the 14 There are several ways that the games’ organizers may have emphasized the connection between Macedon’s royal library and Terence’s Hecyra and Adelphoe. If Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus did not make it explicit in their eulogy, it may have also been reinforced by the games’ heralds (praecones) who would have announced the coming of the games and the plays themselves (see further Marshall 2006: 30-1), the official programs (edicta munerum), pamphlets (libelli munerari), and through commissioned graffiti. 15 Text and trans. Perrin 1918: 430-3. 224 library’s history leading up to its acquisition by Paullus nor its contents, I am forced to speculate on each of these crucial points. Based on peripheral context and backed with the support of previous scholarship (e.g. Irwin 1964: 71, Casson 2001: 65-6), I believe that the library seized by Paullus was an inherited collection that the Antigonid court had maintained in Pella since the third century BCE.16 During the reign of Antigonus Gonatas (277-239 BCE), the royal court at Pella boasted a large and impressive group of imported intellectuals. This learned circle included philosophers (Persaeus, Philonides of Thebes, Bion of Borysthenes, Menedemus of Eretria), poets (Aratus of Soloi, Antagoras of Rhodes, Alexander of Aetolia, Timon of Phlius) and historians (Hieronymus of Cardia). Like the rival Macedonian-ruled intellectual centers of Alexandria, Pergamum, and Antioch, Pella must have maintained a substantial collection of books to entice and support such a large and distinguished body of scholars and poets. Since Pella remained the Macedonian capital for all the Antigonid successors that followed Antigonus Gonatas (Demetrius II, Antigonus III Doson, Philip V), Perseus would have eventually inherited and maintained his great grandfather’s library until it was seized by Paullus in 168 BCE. 16 This is arguably a conservative claim in that it assumes the Antigonids did not acquire any book collections from their predecessors, the Argead dynasty. After Archaelaus established Pella as the new capital of Macedonia at the turn of the fifth century, the city began to attract many intellectuals. Euripides, Agathon, Timotheus, and Choerilus all spent time there under the patronage of Archelaus. Aristotle, whose work demonstrably depended on ready access to a rich book collection, spent several years in Pella and nearby Mieza in the middle of the fourth century as a tutor to the young Alexander. Aristotle’s position that philosophers ought to consider a broad array of opinions (NE I.8, 1098b27–29, see Natali 2013: 98), his apparent ready access to a broad selection of dramatic verse, and substantial book collection assembled at the Lyceum all attest to his dependence on libraries. Access to a rich library may have been a factor in enticing Aristotle to come to Pella, where a broad collection would support him in composing the several treatises he is thought to have written while in residence there (On Colonies, On Monarchy). 225 Further, it is a near certainty that a portion of this collection was comprised of dramatic texts. Theatrical production played a key role in the Macedonian court. As early as the fifth century, the kings of Macedon used dramatic performance to help reinforce political authority and to facilitate further conquest.17 Theatres were strategically built in Macedonia’s formal capital at Aigai, at its most important Zeus Sanctuary in Dion, and in new cities founded by Macedonian royalty (e.g. Philippi, Demetrias). The attested political value of dramatic performance in Macedonian contexts makes it very likely that dramatic texts were regularly sought for inclusion as part of Macedon’s royal library. These scripts would have been especially crucial for the Antigonids as they fought to establish their dynasty’s control in Macedonia at the end of the fourth century. The second detail that suggests dramatic texts were included in Macedon’s royal library is the nature of the scholarly circle associated with Antigonus Gonatas. At least two of the poets in residence at Antigonus’ court were dramatists.18 Timon of Phlius, though typically known for his Silloi, also wrote thirty comedies and sixty tragedies (Diog. Laert. 9.110, see TrGF I 112 and PCG VII: 782) and Alexander of Aetolia was a famous tragedian who is included among the canonical seven known as the Pleiad (Suda α 1127, see TrGF I 101). Alexander was also known to have worked at the library in Alexandria, where he was commissioned to help edit the dramatic texts in that collection.19 It is possible that Alexander worked in a similar capacity at 17 E.g. Csapo 2014: 192, Le Guen 2014, Moloney 2014. 18 It is also possible that the stoic philosopher Persaeus composed tragedy. Diogenes Laertius (7.36) preserves a list of ten works by Persaeus. Most of the titles suggest typical philosophical treatises, but one: Thyestes. Perhaps, like Seneca’s tragedy of that name, Persaeus used the tragic story to explore stoic ideas. 19 See Tzetz. Prolegomena de comoedia Aristophanis, Proemium I, 1-7, Proemium II, 1-4. 226 Pella, editing the collection’s dramatic texts. Considering these details, and the priority given to dramatic genres in the library at Alexandria (and probably other libraries as well), we can assume that Macedon’s royal library at Pella boasted a healthy collection of dramatic texts in the third century BCE.20 Among the dramatic texts in Macedon’s royal library, those belonging to Menander and Apollodorus are especially likely to have been included. Two circumstances support this claim. First, these two poets were particularly successful Athenian dramatists who were popular in their own time. The Macedonian court had always had a strong interest in the popular dramatic poets that competed in Athens. At the end of the fifth century both Euripides and Agathon had produced tragedies for the Macedonian court, but there is also evidence for the importation of famous Athenian comic poets. As pointed out by Nervegna (2013: 36), Antiphanes recited one of his plays to Alexander the Great and Anaxandrides was involved with games put on by Philip II (Dion, 348 BCE?).21 20 For an indication of the importance that drama had for the Macedonian-ruled intellectual centers of the Mediterranean, consider Ptolemy III Euergetes’ willingness to forfeit a fifteen-talent deposit so that he might keep the original official dramatic texts of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides for inclusion at the library at Alexandria (see Galen Hipp. Epid. III (K 17A, 607-8). In the Attalid capital at Pergamon, the construction of a permanent theatre (ca. 225-200, Sear 2006: 347) and artistic representations of drama (e.g. MNC3: nos. 1DT 10, 1DT 11, 2DM 1, 2DT 17, 2DV 6, 2DV 7, 2DV 9, and 2AV 18f [the last, an Attic type]) align closely with the foundation of the city’s library (mid-third century, see Vitr. De Arch. 7 pref. 4). The surviving evidence from the Seleucid capital at Antioch is sparser, but a Hellenistic theatre has been posited (though not confirmed, see Förster 1897: 106 and Downey 1961: 72) and some artistic representations of drama (e.g. MNC3: no. 2AV 11, an Attic type) likewise coincide with the establishment of the new capital city’s library (ca. mid-third century, see Suda ε 3801). 21 See Ath. 13.555a and Suda α 1982. Note also that Attic-type dramatic figurines have been found in both Pella and Thessaloniki (e.g. #15 in the “World of Men” display at the Archaeological Museum of Pella [=MMC3: no. AT 74] and MMC3: no. AT 5d). 227 The other reason to assume that the texts of Menander and Apollodorus were acquired for Macedon’s royal library is the third-century occupation of Athens by Antigonid garrisons. After liberating Athens from Demetrius of Phaleron in 307 BCE, the Antigonids (Demetrius Poliorketes, Antigonus Gonatas, Demetrius II) were more or less in control of Attica, if not Athens itself, for the next 78 years. During this period, Antigonid garrisons occupied the fort at Piraeus from 295 to 229 and the fort at Museion Hill, directly adjacent to the Theatre of Dionysus, from 295 to 287 and again from 262 to 255 (Habicht 1997: 67-97, 124-72). This stretch of Antigonid control happened to coincide with the production periods of both Menander and Apollodorus. Macedonian generals as early as Philip II are known to have used dramatic production as a means of entertaining troops (see Csapo 2014: 192) and it seems to me highly unlikely that the occupying Antigonid garrisons did not comprise part of the audience at Athenian theatrical productions from the late fourth to mid third century BCE. The fact that Antigonid soldiers, if not Demetrius Poliorketes and Antigonus Gonatas themselves, could have witnessed the premier productions of new comedies by Menander and Apollodorus means there was an obvious opportunity for the appreciation and subsequent acquisition of these particular poets’ dramatic texts for inclusion in the library that Perseus would eventually inherit in 179 BCE.22 After Aemilius Paullus seized the library from Perseus in 168 BCE it went to Rome, where it would have undoubtedly been the richest and most centralized source for dramatic texts 22 The inclusion of Menander’s and Apollodorus’ dramatic texts in Macedon’s royal library could also have been political. Menander, if only through his friendship with Cassander’s regent Demetrius of Phaleron, could certainly be viewed as a Macedonian sympathizer (see Major 1997); but Apollodorus could also arguably be seen as pro-Antigonid based on my interpretation of Apollod.Car. 5. 228 in the city, as Isidore of Seville described.23 This collection perhaps provided a welcome alterative to the piecemeal acquisition of scripts (e.g. from Greek theatrical troops in Southern Italy?) for the poets and producers of palliatae in Rome.24 Here, it is important to acknowledge that Paullus’ funeral was not the first attempt to stage Terence’s Heycra.25 The play had previously been adapted for production at the Ludi Megalenses in 165 BCE, but was not performed to completion.26 This need not detract from the likelihood that Hecyra’s Greek model was sourced from Macedon’s royal library. Although the library was in the ownership of Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus, it was “probably made freely available by them to other 23 The tradition of Terence’s death by drowning put forward by Quintus Cosconius (see Suet. Vita Ter. 5), which suggests that he had travelled to Greece to find and adapt more plays of Menander, might suggest otherwise. This tradition, however, is highly suspect. In some manuscripts of this story, it is claimed that Terence had adapted all 108 comedies of Menander on this trip. This of course seems unlikely not only because of the sheer volume, but also because he had already adapted four of these (=Andria, Heauton Timorumenos, Eunuchus, and Adelphoe). The dramatic manner of death itself—drowning in a shipwreck on the return journey—also calls this tradition into question and may betray an attempt to align Terence with famous comic predecessors of the Greek tradition such as Eupolis and Menander who allegedly suffered similar fates (see Cic. Att. 6.1.8 and schol. Ov. Ib. 591). Fontaine (2014: 552) mentions Pella’s royal library as a potential source for the transmission of Greek comedy, but does not explore it further. 24 For the production of Greek New Comedy in Southern Italy, see Soprintendenza Messina 11039, which may depict a production of Diphilus’ Kleroumenoi (see Nervegna 2013: 60). 25 The fact that Scipio and Fabius were comfortable selecting Hecyra for production at Paullus’ funeral games (as well as the aediles in selecting it for the Ludi Romani later in the year) demonstrates that these organizers, whose reputations and careers depended heavily on the successful production of games, did not view Hecyra itself as contributing to its previous failures. The idea that Hecyra contributed to its own alleged failures is still a matter of debate (cf. Gilula 1981 and Goldberg 2013: 16) as is the historical accuracy of the prologues which recount them (e.g. Gruen 1992: 213-5). 26 The fact that Hecyra’s model was sourced from Macedon’s royal library need not have been important or emphasized for its initial production attempt in 165 (though it may have been). The organizers of Paullus’ funeral games will have had to have made the connection abundantly explicit in some way (e.g. through heralds, official programs, pamphlets, and commissioned graffiti), perhaps artificially inflating the connection and significance to serve their purposes. 229 readers, as the great libraries of Lucullus and others were in the next century” (Astin et al. 2003: 464). It was perhaps especially available to those who served Paullus on campaign. Sextus Julius Caesar, one of the aediles who sponsored the attempted production in 165 BCE (didasc.), served as a military tribune under Paullus during his campaigns in Liguria in 181 BCE (Liv. 40.27). It would therefore not be surprising if Sextus had later approached Paullus and his sons for political support through access to the resources available in Macedon’s royal library. For what it is worth, Gnaeus Octavius, the admiral serving under Paullus to whom Perseus eventually surrendered, was the presiding consul in 165 BCE when the first performance of Heycra was attempted.27 Certainly for the collection’s curators, Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus (see Plut. Aem. 28 above), Macedon’s royal library would have also been the most readily available source of Greek comedies—and a free one at that. The presence of new texts could have offered a range of possibilities from which to choose for adaptation. This alone is sufficient reason to assume that Macedon’s royal library would have provided the Greek source plays for any palliatae commissioned to be performed at games organized by Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus; additionally, in the case of Paullus’ funeral games, the adaptation of plays from Macedon’s royal library would have also contributed to the games’ primary function: commemorating Paullus. Working from these assumptions, we can now consider how the incorporation of Macedon’s royal library, featuring “new” comedies of Apollodorus and Menander, would have 27 We might also consider the possibility that Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus gave Terence, among Rome’s dramatists, freer access to this collection than most (“Broader access to theater scripts seems to have been limited until the 2nd half of the 2nd century BC” [Manuwald 2011: 120]). If so, perhaps this is what is meant by the charges that Terence was assisted in his writing by homines nobilies (Ter. Ad. 25; see Quint. Inst. 10.1.99 for the explicit connection to Scipio). 230 helped reinforce Paullus’ legacy as Macedon’s conqueror at his funeral. As we have seen, Plutarch’s account of the library provides some valuable insight: μόνα τὰ βιβλία τοῦ βασιλέως φιλογραμματοῦσι τοῖς υἱέσιν ἐπέτρεψεν ἐξελέσθαι (“It was only the king’s library that he allowed his book-loving sons to take for themselves,” Aem. 28). In its capacity as a spolium, there was no trophy more appropriate for commemorating Paullus’ unique contribution to the conquest than this library. Countless spolia from this campaign littered the city of Rome (see Polyb. 31.25.7), but the library was distinct among them as the only personal trophy Paullus took for himself and his family. Incorporation of the library would arguably underline Paullus’ individual role in the victory as the spolium most associated with him on a personal level. Additionally, the library was a monument to Paullus’ “generosity” (ἐλευθεριότης) and “magnanimity” (μεγαλοψυχία)—the traits that most endeared Paullus to his men during the third Macedonian war (see Plut. Aem. 28).28 In Plutarch’s account of the post-battle division of spoils, the library is framed as a modest prize for Paullus given the vast wealth that was available (silver and gold from the royal treasury) and the magnitude of his victory. Further augmenting the value of this library as a testament to Paullus’ character is the fact Paullus did not acquire it for himself but for the edification of his sons who also fought with him at Pydna (and happened to be planning his funeral games). The incorporation of the library would have therefore commemorated Paullus’ commendable character traits as a victorious general as well as recognized his individual contribution to the conquest. The added step of adapting plays from this collection would have further reinforced the motif of conquest. Like the exhibition of spolia in a Roman triumph, palliatae took foreign material from their original context and prepared them to be consumed as a Roman spectacle. 28 ἐλευθεριότης has particular relevance in Adelphoe (see Gratwick 1999: 21). 231 Assuming the Greek models for Hecyra and Adelphoe were sourced from Macedon’s royal library, their submission, as it were, to Roman will, via adaptation and display in Rome, would have represented in microcosm Paullus’ conquest of Macedon and called to mind the grand triumph that followed.29 Obviously the adaptation of Greek comedies for the Roman stage was not unique to Paullus’ funeral games.30 What would distinguish any palliatae that were adapted from Greek models sourced from Macedon’s royal library is the manner in which these models were acquired. Whereas in most cases the manner of acquisition of Greek source plays for adaptation purposes may not have been known or relevant, the dramatic texts from Paullus’ collection were unequivocally acquired by force and without the approval of its former owner.31 With this understanding, the revision of Greek models sourced from Macedon’s former royal library could therefore be considered not just an act of adaptation, but appropriation. The appropriation of Perseus’ former possessions for the express purpose of commemorating Paullus’ conquest of Macedon was not without precedent. Here, one only need look to Paullus’ victory monument at Delphi (see Polyb. 30.102, Liv. 45.27.7, Plut. Aem. 28).32 29 “Paullus’ funeral allowed spectators to revisit scenes from his two triumphs, which recalled his three areas of foreign conquest, and to share his interest in Greek culture in performance” (Flower 2004: 335). Goldberg (2013: 18) also acknowledges the essence of a triumph at Paullus’ funeral. 30 This is why we should not consider the fact that the plays were adapted from Greek originals as a sort of celebration of Paullus’ philhellenism, as is suggested by Leigh (2004: 159). 31 Before the arrival of Macedon’s royal library, we might imagine that many Greek models were acquired as part of a process of the broad diffusion of theatrical scripts linked to the increasing professionalization of travelling guilds of performers throughout the Mediterranean like the Artists of Dionysus. 32 Although it will not be discussed here, another useful comparandum is Paullus’ seizure of Perseus’ royal hunting grounds and huntsman which, like Perseus’ library, Paullus gave to Scipio to further his education (see Polyb. 31.29). 232 This monument, a work in progress by 168 BCE, was comprised of a massive square pillar of marble that was intended to hold a golden statue of Perseus. After the decisive battle, Paullus assumed control over its construction, which he repurposed as a monument to his victory over Perseus. The pillar would ultimately end up supporting an equestrian statue of Paullus. The monument’s base, in addition to a frieze depicting the battle, included a telling inscription: L. Aimilius L. f imperator de rege Perse Macedonibusque cepet (“Imperator Lucius Aemilius, son of Lucius, captured this from King Perseus and the Macedonians”). Gruen (1992: 246) provides a summary of the nuanced message this monument would have projected: When Paullus reached Delphi he saw a column or columns erected to hold the sculptured image of Perseus. The Roman might have ordered them destroyed or even left incomplete in order to symbolize the Macedonian defeat. Instead, he took a further and significant step, ordering that his own statue be carved and stationed on top of the column meant for Perseus. The symbolic import would, of course, be unmistakable. And lest anyone miss it, Paullus, philhellene though he was, had the monument inscribed with the notice of its capture – in Latin. Paullus’ conspicuous admiration for the Hellenic achievement went hand in hand with the message of Roman appropriation. The adaptation of Greek plays from Perseus’ former library for Paullus’ funeral games would have echoed this message, as the monument and the library each represented spolia with a close personal connection to Perseus. Like the monument, the composition of palliatae based on Greek comedies from Perseus’ collection would have projected a message of philhellenism underscored by Roman control (reinforced also by the use of Latin). Finally, as was the case with the Delphi monument, a former symbol of Perseus would have been recycled for the express purpose of commemorating his defeat at the hands of Paullus. The production of these adaptations at Paullus’ funeral games would have been an entirely appropriate and effective method by which Paullus’ sons might have duly honored their father. Consideration of Hecyra refutes the long-held claim that the palliatae produced at Paullus’ funeral were chosen because of the character analogues they encouraged and the 233 relevance of their themes. If the Greek models of Hecyra and Adelphoe were sourced from Macedon’s royal library, it emerges that these palliatae commemorated Paullus by evoking his conquest of Macedon. As a rich, easily accessible, and free repository of source material, this library is the obvious source for any Greek theatrical models acquired for adaptation purposes by the library’s curators, Scipio Amilianus and Fabius Maximus. Assuming then that the models for Hecyra and Adelphoe were sourced from this library, the production of these palliatae—as symbols of the library itself—would have honored Paullus by commemorating his conquest of Macedon in two ways. First, they recognized Paullus’ unique contribution to the victory at Pydna, and second, they celebrated his commendable character traits as a general on that campaign. The fact that they were appropriated for a Roman spectacle that honored Paullus would have further enriched the funeral’s overarching ethos of conquest. 3.3 A Political Performance We should assume that there were deciding factors behind the selection of palliatae performed at funeral games beyond commemoration of the dead.33 In the case of Paullus’ funeral, the potential political incentive behind the tandem production of Hecyra and Adelphoe represents an obvious ulterior motive worth consideration. Despite the objections of Gruen (1992: 183-222), the idea that successful theatrical productions could translate into political support for their organizers has persisted (see Csapo and Slater 1995: 209, Parker 1996: 606-7, Potter 1999: 320) and remains a predominant view in recent scholarship (see Evans 2014: 59, 33 Previous historicist readings of Adelphoe at Paullus’ funeral games limit their scope to how the comedy commemorated Paullus. 234 Franko 2014: 411, and, on Hecyra in particular, Knorr 2013: 298).34 The following section examines this motivating factor in the case of the palliatae staged at Paullus’ funeral games.35 Given Scipio Aemilianus’ documented political ambition, populist tactics, and unique appreciation for the value of ludi in the political arena, the following section builds a comparative analysis of each play’s use of music, language, dramatic techniques, and comic tropes. This analysis demonstrates that Hecyra and Adelphoe are uniquely polarized, a characteristic which distinguishes them among all possible pairings of Terence’s comedies. The broad demographic to whom these plays would appeal was, I argue, an intended effect of their pairing, and supports Scipio’s populist approach to political advancement.36 Scipio Aemilianus was distinct among Roman politicians of the Middle Republic in adopting a populist approach to political advancement.37 While he used it with great success, the 34 See also Cic. Off. 2.57-8. 35 None of the commentaries explore the link in any significant way, though Martin (1976: 6) acknowledges that “since the ludi were occasions for conspicuous display by those who gave them, they too had an interest in seeing that only such plays were chosen as would make a good impression on the audience at large.” Leigh (2004: 159) does propose that the conscious decision to stage Adelphoe may have projected a certain filial piety on the part of Scipio since one of the comedy’s major themes–the validity of differing parental educational approaches–may be taken as an allusion to Paullus’ unusually hands-on involvement in Scipio’s own education. We could assume that this projection of filial piety would have served the political agenda of Scipio by helping to forge a positive public image. Leigh’s analysis, however, is incomplete because it does not consider how Hecyra’s themes might have similarly demonstrated filial piety or contributed to Scipio’s political optics in any other capacity. 36 Although the games were co-organized by both Scipio and his older brother, Fabius Maximus, the following analysis limits its scope to Scipio. There is very little evidence for the political career of Fabius Maximus and it would be difficult to draw any substantial connections between the games and his later career. 37 “Scipio Aemilianus … exploited popular appeal more intensively, more unscrupulously, and with greater success than any other leader since the Senate had established its overwhelming ascendancy during the Second Punic War; and in this way he compensated – in certain fields – for his comparative neglect of more traditional methods” (Astin 1967: 29). Plutarch finds it worthwhile to mention the tactic in Scipio’s censorship race against Appius in 142 BCE (see 235 tactic may have been necessitated by his unwillingness to pursue the traditional path of political advancement in Rome, i.e. litigation in the Roman court system (see Polyb. 31.23.11-2). He was consequently compelled from a young age to find other ways to build his reputation in order to supplement his inexperience in the law courts.38 To this end, his teacher, Polybius, encouraged Scipio to appeal directly to the people by virtue signalling to help him build a positive public image (see Polyb. 31.23-9).39 Any opportunity to showcase his Roman virtues and garner popular favor for political means was particularly critical for Scipio, but none more so than the chance to organize Paullus’ ludi funebres. Like all aspiring young politicians, Scipio would have observed the political capital reaped by the individual politicians who organized the various state-sponsored games. We should add to this the fact that Scipio was raised by a man known to have equated success in ludi organization with success in marshalling troops on the battlefield (see Liv. 45.32.11, Plut. Aem. 38.3; Apophth. Scip Min. 9). One wonders how much influence Scipio Aemilianus had on his famously populist nephew, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus. 38 On Scipio Aemilianus’ ambition, “we may expect to find Scipio’s career marked by intense ambition – ambition to prove himself worthy of his distinguished ancestry, a worthy grandson of Africanus; ambition for honour and glory, for military success and consequent fame, ambition to be a great and popular hero, to be the outstanding man in the state. The expectation is fulfilled. Cicero mentions ambition as a feature of his character; another writer, Dio, who otherwise presents eulogistic accounts of Scipio’s qualities, reports that his ambition was greater than was in keeping with his general excellence; and some alleged that Scipio’s treatment of Numantia was inspired by a belief that great disasters are the foundation of far-famed glory. Moreover, there is much about Scipio which takes on added significance in relationship to this background. It is interesting, for example, that he was so attached to Xenophon’s Cyropaedeia. Here is a work which not only portrays a man who delighted in battle, not only emphasizes the profits to be gained from personal abstemiousness, from unfailingly keeping one’s word, from liberality, and especially from Scipio’s favourite sport, hunting, but which glorifies a man’s ambition for power, fame, and military renown” (Astin 1967: 21). 39 Scipio Aemilianus may have also learned the value of popular appeal from his adopted father: “… P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus could not have received or retained his African command if the Senate had not been aware of his great popularity with the masses” (Feig Vishnia 1996: 111). 236 Aem. 28.9). Scipio surely shared his father’s mindset that the successful production of games might project his aptitude as a potential general and statesman. Unfortunately for the young Scipio, most of the opportunities to organize massive public spectacles were reserved for the aediles, an office with a minimum age requirement of 37 years. However, public funerals represented a rare exception: any games associated with funeral rites were the responsibility of the deceased’s family, regardless of political rank. As a co-organizer of Paullus’ funeral games, Scipio was able to supersede the cursus honorum, put on a massive public spectacle, and reap its potential social and political capital at the young age of twenty-five—twelve years before he was even eligible to run for aedile.40 As an ambitious aspiring statesman who was limited to populist tactics and raised to appreciate the political value of ludi, there is no question that Scipio considered the political optics in every facet of planning Paullus’ funeral games. How would Hecyra and Adelphoe have contributed to Scipio’s populist approach to political advancement? This pairing reflects a calculated attempt to reach the broadest audience possible with exclusive content. With these plays, spectators had a unique opportunity to view two unseen adaptations of two different canonical authors of Greek comedy. Adelphoe represented traditional Roman comedy (e.g. Traill 2013: 318) and Hecyra, its inversion (e.g. Zoccola 2007: 278, Knorr 2013: 314-5, Papaioannou 2014: 164-75). This polarized pairing suggests that Scipio was pursuing a broad-appeal strategy in his selection of the palliatae to be performed at Paullus’ funeral games. A comprehensive comparative analysis of each play’s formal elements, including their use of music, language, dramatic techniques, and comic tropes, gives more conclusive evidence for a broad-appeal political strategy behind the pairing of Hecyra and Adelphoe at Paullus’ funeral. 40 See further, Flower 2004: 335. 237 Hecyra is Terence’s most musical play, with over 55% of its lines composed in accompanied verse (Moore 2007: 93, 2015: 84).41 Adelphoe, by contrast, can be considered a decidedly spoken play.42 It has only 42% of its verse dedicated to accompanied meter, barely overtaking Phormio (41%) for the play with the lowest percentage of accompanied verse among Terence’s corpus. Hecyra also dedicates a greater portion of its verses to iambic septenarii (14%) and trochaic septenarii (28%) than any other comedy of Terence.43 Adelphoe conversely has the lowest portion of verse among Terence’s plays dedicated to either iambic septenarii (1%) or trochaic septenarii (21%). Finally, Hecyra’s musical verses were accompanied by “equal pipes” (tibiae pares, didasc. Hec.) and Adelphoe’s by the ill-understood “Sarranian pipes” (tibiae sirranae, didasc. Ad.).44 Had Hecyra been performed to conclusion at Paullus’ funeral games, the sharp contrast between the highly musical Hecyra and the markedly spoken Adelphoe, each accompanied by a differently pitched tibia, would have been audibly striking. Terence used distinct language patterns to encourage the association of particular characters with specific stock types (e.g. Arnott 1970). Archaisms and long-winded expressions, for example, tend to be associated with old men throughout Terence’s corpus (Maltby 1979), but 41 For the distribution of accompanied verse in Terence, cf. An. - 48%, Haut. - 46%, Eun. - 46%, Phorm. - 41%, Ad. - 42% (Moore 2007: 93 n. 2). 42 It should be noted that Adelphoe is one of only two plays in Terence’s corpus to include a brief polymetric canticum (see Ad. 610-7 and An. 481-4, 625-38). This would have had the effect of giving Adelphoe’s music, limited though it was, more impact. 43 Iambic septenarii and trochaic septentarii are two of Terence’s most common musical meters. For iambic septenarii in Terence, see An. - 4%, Haut. - 5%, Eun. - 9%, Phorm. - 5%, and Ad. - 1%. For trochaic septenarii cf. An. - 23%, Haut. - 27%, Eun. - 22%, Phorm. - 24%, and Ad. - 21%. These calculations are based on data from The Meters of Roman Comedy database (Moore). 44 For full discussion of these two types of tibiae, see Moore 2012: 56-63. 238 no play is more consistent in limiting these idiosyncratic linguistic tendencies to old men than Adelphoe—a play that “constitutes a final stage in the evolution of the playwright’s techniques of linguistic characterisation” (Karakasis 2005: 81, 100).45 Hecyra’s old men, Laches and Phidippus, also use archaisms and wordy expressions (see Maltby 1979); however, these are also the defining characteristics of the play’s young female bona meretrix, Bacchis (see Karakasis 2005: 119). Hecyra, therefore, actively breaks down the linguistic characterisation paradigm that had otherwise been reserved for old men as epitomized in Adelphoe. The tandem production of these plays would have created a marked dissonance for the audience in terms of linguistic characterization cues. Hecyra has the lowest frequency of imagery among Terence’s plays by far (see Fantham 1972: 72, Maltby 2007: 148). Fantham (1972: 72, 74 n. 4) identifies only fifteen instances of figurative language in Hecyra—roughly one image for every fifty lines of both accompanied verse and senarii.46 Adelphoe, by contrast, has more than forty-five figurative passages, with roughly one image every fifteen lines of accompanied verse and every thirty lines of senarii (see Fantham 1972: 72, 74 n. 4). As for the distribution among stock characters, Hecyra, unique 45 Maltby (1979: 146) notes that Demea is given double the archaisms and long-winded expressions that Micio has. Citing Fantham (1972: 62), he implies that this may have helped reinforce Demea as the more rustic of the two brothers, but I would also add that giving Demea twice as many old-character speech patterns would have helped reinforce the fact that, of the two senes, Demea is the elder. 46 Cf. An. and Haut., each of which have about thirty figurative uses. An. averages one every twenty-five lines for long-verse and every forty-five lines of senarii while Haut. averages one every thirty lines of long-verse and every forty for senarii. Eun. and Phorm., like Ad., have more than forty-five figurative uses, though Eun. averages one image every twenty-five lines of either long-verse or senarii and Phorm., one every twenty-one lines of long-verse and every twenty-five lines of senarii. Although Fantham does acknowledge that Hecyra’s length may contribute to its relatively low number of figurative uses, it is also important to recognize that Adelphoe is Terence’s third shortest play (see Fantham 1972: 74 n. 4). See also Maltby 2007. 239 among Terence’s plays, has a female character account for the highest frequency of figurative language (the anus Syra, at a rate of one image every four lines), and an adulescens account for the most occurrences (Pamphilus, tied in this case with Laches at five).47 Adelphoe is more representative of the predominant trends in Terence, with the servus Geta accounting for the highest frequency (one every eight lines) and the senex Demea accounting for the most uses (twenty-one). Finally, with the notable exception of Syra, Hecyra’s figurative language tends towards more traditional Greek imagery while Adelphoe allows for the incorporation of more Roman imagery (see Maltby 2007: 160-1). As with linguistic characterization, Adelphoe and Hecyra are polarized in terms of their application of figurative language. Regarding each play’s dramatic techniques, the divergent tones of conflict and resulting denouement are well-recognized: Adelphoe places its dramatic emphasis throughout the play on misunderstanding which leads up to a surprise ending; Hecyra, by contrast, prioritizes suspense and drives towards an ironic ending (see Gilula 1979-80, 2001: 229, Goldberg 1986: 159-61). But their divergence in terms of dramatic technique applies to other elements as well. Consider, for example, the plays’ opening sequences, pacing, and the framing of stock characters. Goldberg (2013: 24) has already noted the sharp contrast in the exposition of Hecyra and Adelphoe, but consider each play’s opening sequence more broadly. Adelphoe, unique among Terence’s corpus, opens with an extended monologue following the extra-dramatic prologue as a solemn Micio soliloquizes for fifty-four lines to begin the play.48 Hecyra, by contrast, begins 47 For all other plays, the character with the highest frequency of figurative language is either a servus (An., Haut., Ad.) or parasitus (Eun., Phorm.). The other characters with the most uses of figurative language in their given play are either a senex (An., Ad.), parasitus (Eun., Phorm.), or servus (Haut.). These observations are based on the data provided by Maltby (2007: 161-5). 48 Phormio also technically opens with a monologue, but Davos only speaks fifteen lines before he is joined on stage by Geta for what should be considered a prosopon protatikon. 240 with a semi-informative dialogue between Philotis and Syra (each a prosopon protatikon).49 The contrast between the two plays’ openings would be further amplified if Hecyra’s speakers entered the stage leading a magnificent musical parade of dancing servants, as Knorr (2013: 299-300) suggests. In terms of pacing, Hecyra is a particularly static play.50 Hecyra, in fact, has the fewest scenes of any of Terence’s comedies at 18 and the highest average number of lines per scene at 48.9.51 Adelphoe, by contrast, is characterised as a fast-paced comedy.52 It is in fact tied with Andria for the Terentian comedy with the most scenes at 27 and nearly matches Andria for the fewest number of lines per scene at 36.9. For each play’s handling of stock characters, consider a few different points of comparison. First, when it comes to multiple characters of the same stock type, Hecyra adopts a mirroring method to homogenize them. Mirrored characters share qualities and support similar causes (e.g. Damen 1989: 321-6)—the affect of such pairings serves to accentuate their shared, defining characteristics. Here we can look to the mirroring of Laches and Phidippus or Sostrata and Myrinna. The remarkable restraint and tolerance of Myrinna and aggressive misogyny of Phidippus at 516-76 closely mirrors the earlier characterization of Sostrata and Laches 49 These are characters introduced solely for the purpose of facilitating a dialogue that imparts the necessary background information on the audience. 50 See Kuiper 1938: 3, Mattingly 1959: 167, Forehand 1985: 95, Goldberg 1986: 165, Ireland 1990: 8-9; pace Knorr 2007: 169, 2013: 295. 51 For number of scenes, cf. An. - 27 scenes, 12 staged characters; Haut. 22, 11; Eun. 26, 14; Phorm. 26, 13; and Ad. 27, 12. As Adelphoe demonstrates, a smaller cast does not necessarily correlate to fewer scenes. For the average number of lines per scene, cf. An. - 36.3, Haut. - 48.5, Eun. - 42.1, Phorm. - 40.6, and Ad. - 36.9. 52 See Brown 2007: 176-7, Traill 2013: 316. 241 respectively at 197-242.53 Adelphoe, on the other hand, employs a foil method to polarize characters of the same stock type. This method pairs up characters with opposing traits and who may be working towards conflicting goals with the effect of underscoring each other’s perceived virtues and faults (e.g. Duckworth 1952: 269). Here we can look to Micio v. Demea and Aeschinus v. Ctesipho. Both Micio (34-80) and Demea (855-81) acknowledge the sharp contrast in characterization between one another: Micio is a lackadaisical, urbane, spendthrift and Demea, a hardworking, rustic, miser. Aeschinus and Ctesipho are similarly contrasted by Demea at 88-97, though his impression of his sons’ characters is in fact contrary to the actual situation.54 The allotment of lines to stock characters is similarly distinctive. For example, the percentage of lines given to the adulescens amans in Hecyra is the highest among Terence’s corpus at 24%, while Adelphoe is the lowest at 9%.55 With 50% of its speaking roles belonging to female characters, Hecyra has a greater percentage of female : male speaking characters than any other play of Terence and is rivaled in this distribution only by Plautus’ Cistellaria among the surviving corpus of Roman comedy (see Knorr 2013: 316).56 Adelphoe, on the other hand, has only 18% of its roles allotted to female characters—a low outlier among Terence’s corpus along with Phormio (15%). Clearly, as their comparative opening sequences, pacing, and handling of stock characters demonstrate, Hecyra and Adelphoe are also at odds in terms of their dramatic techniques. 53 See also McGarrity 1980-81: 150 and Christenson 2015: 228, 232. 54 See further Norwood 1932: 169-76, Duckworth 1952: 241, 248. 55 This figure accounts for the fact that Hecyra, unique among Terence’s corpus has only one adulescens amor while all of Terence’s other plays have two. Cf. An. - 16%, Haut. - 11%, Eun. - 17%, Phorm. - 11%. 56 Cf. An. - 25%, Haut. - 45%, Eun. - 29%, Phorm. - 15%, and Ad. - 18%. 242 There are many comic tropes common to palliata, and a brief selection indicates the larger tendencies between the plays in question. Two of the most familiar character types are the servus callidus and the servus currens. Adelphoe boasts a traditional clever slave in Syrus (see 517-91, 763-6) and a quintessential representation of the servus currens in the play’s bonus servus, Geta (see 299-329).57 Hecyra, however, presents an obvious subversion of these character tropes in Parmeno, whose potential as a servus callidus is consistently suppressed throughout the play (see 409-14, 799-800, 810, 872-88) and who is constantly sent running off-stage rather than on (e.g. 359-60, 430-50, 799-815).58 Again, it is Hecyra that subverts audience expectations (based on a familiarity with the typical character), and this subversion is made clearer by the play’s pairing with Adelphoe. In terms of the sensory humor they encourage, Adelphoe is particularly rich in this respect with several colorful instances of physical comedy.59 Hecyra, on the other hand, is markedly lacking in the visual humor one might expect in New Comedy.60 As Goldberg (2013: 185) observes, “this [Hecyra] is not as visually stunning a play as Eunuchus … or Adelphoe, with the distinctive town and country looks of Micio and Demea.” What’s more, Terence seems 57 Karakasis (2013) finds Syrus to be particularly Plautine in his capacity as a servus callidus. Goldberg (1986: 17) identifies Geta as the most colorful of Terence’s running slaves. 58 See Carney 1963: 121, Gilula 1979-80: 148, Goldberg 1986: 15-6, Ireland 1990: 132, Knorr 2007: 170, 2013: 34. Many of Hecyra’s characters seem to have an unusual degree of self-awareness when it comes to the comic tropes associated with their stock types; their actions betray a deliberate attempt to subvert these expectations (see McGarrity 1980-81). 59 Vincent (2013: 74-5), for example, has recently shown how Adelphoe used visual incongruity for humorous effect, but nothing illustrates Adelphoe’s strength in sensory humor better than the raucous slapstick of Aeschinus’ staged physical assault (through Parmeno) of the leno Sannio (see 155-95). 60 The fact that most of the play’s major events occur off stage (see Goldberg 1986: 165-6) severely limits opportunities for visual humor. 243 to have actively enriched the sensory humor in Adelphoe and supressed it in Hecyra. We know, for example, that Terence added what is probably the most striking scene of sensory humor in Adelphoe, the beating of Sannio (155-208), from Diphilus’ Synapotheskontes (see Ad. 6-11). Looking at Hecyra, Terence’s suppression of a staged ring recognition (see my discussion of Apollod.Car. 14) means the loss of a scene with immense potential for visual humor. An extreme scenario would involve Pamphilus’ bedridden wife (wheeled out on an ekkyklēma?), his former mistress, and his mother-in-law discussing his sexual history together on stage. The comedies did not simply happen to be distinct from one another with respect to sensory humor, but were actively made so by their adaptor. The consideration of other comic tropes continues this story. Consider three comic plot devices that are common in Roman palliatae: the deception dynamic between fathers and sons, off-stage screams, and the ring as a recognition token. In Roman comedy, a son’s deception of his father is frequently the catalyst for a play’s action and one that provides ample opportunity for comic hijinks. This is certainly the case in Adelphoe.61 In Hecyra, however, the deception dynamic is inverted. On one hand, Hecyra has the father attempting to deceive the son.62 On the other hand, the trope is inverted in that the fathers never end up learning the truth about the baby and Pamphilus’ rape of Philumena (864-71). Off-stage screams in New Comedy are always those 61 Aeschinus hides the fact that he has impregnated the citizen girl next door and Ctesipho has been having a secret relationship with a music girl whom Aeschinus very publicly seized from a pimp on his behalf. By attempting to keep these facts from their fathers, the sons instigate the play’s conflict which sets up a series of comic misunderstandings before the play’s eventual resolution where the fathers learn the full truth of the matter. 62 Laches is clearly concerned about having to explain Philumena’s absence to Pamphilus on his return (259-62) and he attempts to deceive his son to account for it (466-8) in what has already been recognized as an inversion of the traditional comic plot device (see Gilula 1979-80: 149, Knorr 2013: 310). 244 of a woman in labor and are recognized as such by the characters on stage (e.g. Plaut. Aul. 691-2, Ter. An. 473; Knorr 2013: 305).63 Adelphoe perpetuates the comic trope in the traditional fashion.64 Hecyra, however, subverts the trope in a clearly deliberate manner by giving a surplus of screams that nevertheless fall on clueless ears (see Knorr 2007: 170, 2013: 304-7).65 Finally, signet rings in New Comedy are a common way of triggering an anagnorisis, including the recognition of rapist and rape victim. In what may have been the convention (see Ireland 1990: 8, Knorr 2013: 311), the rape victim seizes a ring from her rapist during the assault. This ring eventually reveals the identity of her rapist and father of her child (as in Men. Epit.). This, I argue, was the case for Adelphoe based on a preferred textual tradition.66 In Hecyra, the ring 63 This trope was used to help add a sense of urgency to a play’s action and was well established by Terence’s period of production. 64 After Pamphila lets out a single off-stage scream (486-7), Hegio, Geta, and Demea all recognize that Pamphila must have gone into labor (488-99). 65 Instead of a single scream, there seems to have been at least three outbursts (314, 316, 317). These were heard by Parmeno (314, 316), Pamphilus (317), and Sostrata (336-9), yet despite their frequency, none of the characters recognize them as screams of labor (see 320-1, 323, 336-9), as the comic trope dictates they should, over the course of a painfully long thirty-eight lines (314-52). 66 The manuscripts provide both anulus quem miserat (A) and anulus quem amiserat (Σ) at Adelphoe 347. Several editors opt for miserat here, suggesting that Aeschinus willingly gave this ring as a pledge for marriage (e.g. Barsby II: 292, Martin 1976: 158); however, I am inclined to agree with Gratwick (1999: 189) that amiserat reflects the correct tradition. A ring lost, presumably during the rape, is more in line with Adelphoe’s tendency to perpetuate traditional comic mechanisms and makes more sense in the context of Sostrata’s dialogue who equates the ring to testis (“evidence”). The fidem at Ad. 473 probably does not refer to the ring, but rather a spoken pledge after the fact. Dare fidem is a construction that means “to give one’s word” (see OLD: do 11) and is used as such elsewhere in Roman comedy (cf. Plaut. Cist. 326—SERV: fidem da. ACL: do, non facturum esse me). Amiserat might be a lectio facilior, but errors of omission are among the most common of copying errors in the process of manuscript production and could easily account for miserat in A. In the case of Adelphoe, the rapist and rape victim already know each other’s identity when the play’s action begins; nevertheless, Terence incorporated a lost ring of Aeschinus which Gratwick isolates as a sort of “thematic shorthand” for the common comic mechanism (1999: 28). With the mention of a lost ring, the audience can assume the familiar backstory of the recognition: Aeschinus must have lost the ring during his 245 recognition trope is inverted.67 In Hecyra, the rapist seizes a ring belonging to the rape victim (816-41) and it is the victim’s identity that is revealed in the denouement rather than that of the rapist (Gilula 2007: 212, cf. Men. Epit.). Through all these examples, it is seen that Adelphoe presents the traditional comic tropes of New Comedy while Hecyra expresses an avant garde inversion of the expectations associated with these tropes. As this comparative analysis shows, Hecyra and Adelphoe are exceedingly divergent across multiple points of comparison. Each comedy directly challenges the expectations set by the other in their use of music, language, dramatic techniques, and comic tropes. These differences, often complementary in nature, would have been all the more obvious by the performance of Hecyra and Adelphoe in relatively quick succession as was the plan for Paullus’ funeral games. These findings confirm that the intent of the tandem production of Hecyra and Adelphoe was, in part, to ensure viewer appreciation one way or another in the games’ theatrical productions. Assuming Scipio considered the political advantage of Paullus’ funeral games, the uniquely adversarial relationship between Hecyra and Adelphoe was no coincidence. Rather, through the lens of Scipio’s chosen path to political advancement, I suggest Scipio paired Hecyra and Adelphoe as part of a broad-appeal strategy. This “populist” angle—characterized by the presentation of different, or simply ambiguous messages to potential voters with the hope of appealing to a broader electorate and winning more votes—brought no small amount of success assault of Pamphila. After a series of comic misunderstandings, Aeschinus was revealed to be Pamphila’s rapist and father of her child in what could have been the prequel to Adelphoe. When Adelphoe’s action begins, however, Aeschinus needs only to inform his father. It is his hesitation in doing so that partly drives the play’s action. 67 See Gilula 1979-80: 145, 2007: 211-2, Knorr 2013: 311. 246 to other politicians in ancient Rome (e.g. Caesar, see Gruen 2009: 24) and is still a demonstrably effective method employed by modern politicians (see Somer-Topcu 2015). By pairing Hecyra with Adelphoe, Scipio hedged his bets. The production of two contrasting and complementary plays would have increased the chances of appealing to the particular tastes of more voters who were presumably more inclined to appreciate one comedy over the other.68 The display of such starkly contrasting comedies would have also provided a preview of the range and quality of spectacles that would accompany political support. Even if potential voters preferred one comedy over the other, it would be understood that all tastes would be addressed and that novel forms of entertainment could always be expected. Finally, this tandem production minimized risk of negative outcomes (as would have been the case at Paullus’ funeral had Adelphoe not also been booked, see Marshall 2006: 84). Political potential was surely a significant consideration in Scipio’s deliberate pairing of the exceedingly different Hecyra and Adelphoe. 3.4 A Penny-Pinching Production? Cost is another significant variable that might have come in to play in the selection of the palliatae to be performed at Paullus’ funeral games. The Romans had a marked interest in the expenses linked to ludi (e.g. Cic. Mil. 95, Off. 2.57-8, QFr. 3.8.6, Petron. Sat. 45, Plut. Caes. 5.9, Dio Cass. 37.8) and cost is always an essential consideration in the study of Roman spectacle.69 68 There is a historical account of one Publius Sempronius Sophus (consul, 268 BCE) divorcing his wife because she had attended funeral games (see Plut. Quest. Rom. 267c). The implication is that women were not yet welcome at ludi funebres. This means that early funeral games, compared to the highly diverse audiences of most ludi scaenici contexts (e.g. Marshall 2006: 76, Richlin 2017), may have had an usually high proportion of potential voters among them. 69 See Albers 2000, Köhne 2000: 15-6, Hornero 2007, Edmonson 2016. 247 The economic angle of the drama performed at Paullus’ funeral games has never received serious consideration in previous scholarship, despite the fact that we do have some sense of the organizers’ budget.70 The following discussion fills this gap by exploring the expenses linked to the production of Hecyra and Adelphoe and how their selection for tandem production might reflect a financial awareness by Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus. This section analyzes the production expenses of each comedy linked specifically to the grex and choragus. This expense evaluation demonstrates that while each comedy had low production costs as individual productions, their pairing as a tandem production was perhaps the most cost-efficient duo among every conceivable pairing of Terence’s plays. This suggests that in addition to political strategy and the obligation to honor Paullus, the budget of the games’ organizers may have played a role in the decision to book Hecyra and Adelphoe for production. Why this should be is not clear. While there are reasons (discussed below) one might think that savings were a factor, we cannot know what went through the individual’s minds at the time. All we can do is document the economies that seem to have been practiced with the joint theatrical production, and speculate why this should be. Perhaps this pairing reflects in some respects a degree of influence of the troupe itself, which suddenly found its payment doubled and would be motivated to maximize returns. Perhaps the organizers wanted to concentrate finances on the gladiatorial component and had set a limited, fixed budget for the palliatae. Whatever the case, what we see is an interest in staging efficiency that is hard to match in any other case. 70 The commentaries on the relevant palliatae touch only briefly on the financial matters associated with the funeral, including the fees Terence might have drawn (Carney 1963: 9), the known expense of the gladiators (Goldberg 2013: 17), and the fact that these games were privately financed (Gratwick 1999: 4). 248 One reading of the evidence suggests the cost of the dramatic productions may have been a significant consideration for the organizers, though ultimately this must remain speculative. Neither Scipio Aemilianus nor Fabius Maximus were exceedingly wealthy (in relative terms, among the elite), and Paullus’ estate was not sufficient to cover the total expenses of his funeral. (see Polyb. 28.2-7, but also Diod. 31.27.6, Plut. Aem. 39.10).71 These ludi may have represented a real expense to Scipio and Fabius that they had to reconcile with the conflicting opportunities to build a positive public image for themselves and to present spectacles that would honor their father’s memory. Though the overall costs for a theatrical presentation at the funeral games are small in comparison with the other associated funeral costs, it remains possible that the cost efficiencies described below were instigated by those who hired Terence’s performance troupe and not by the troupe itself. The Greek models for Hecyra and Adelphoe would have cost Scipio and Fabius nothing if indeed they had come from Macedon’s royal library. Hecyra, a ready-made palliata that had 71 The excerpt from Polybius provides two key pieces of information. First, Scipio was more financially secure than his brother Fabius. This, I think, demonstrates Fabius’ relative poverty more than it does Scipio’s wealth. Despite his fame, Scipio Aemilianus’ adoptive father, Scipio Africanus, seems to have only been moderately wealthy in his own lifetime (Polyb. 18.35.9). The fact that sixty talents, an apparently meagre sum (μόλις ἑπτὰ καὶ τριάκοντα μυριάδων, Plut. Aem. 39.10), was sufficient to make the fortune of the ill-off Fabius (καταδεέστερον) equal to that of Scipio’s further reinforces the brothers’ combined (if admittedly relative) poverty. Scipio and Fabius were furthermore forced to sell family property in addition to Paullus’ liquid assets in order to pay back Paullus’ wife’s twenty-five talent dowry (see Polyb. 18.35.6, 31.22.3-4, Val. Max. 4.4.9). The implication in Polybius is that this was a last resort as Scipio and Fabius were unable to cover the difference themselves. The second key piece of information is that Scipio contributed half the cost of the gladiators out of pocket (ἐκ τῆς ἰδίας οὐσίας, Polyb. 31.28.5). We do not know whether Paullus set aside a fund for the express purpose of bankrolling his funeral, but we can assume that if he had, it could not have been a very substantial sum (e.g. Polyb. 18.35.5, Plut. Aem. 4.5). It is also unclear whether the brothers put any of their inheritance towards the funeral. The gladiators alone would have cut the sixty-talent inheritance in half, though any money dedicated to covering funeral costs had already been spent on other (almost certainly less expensive) elements of Paullus’ funeral games. 249 failed in its initial performance, would have also presumably come at a cheaper price than a newly commissioned adaptation.72 In order to demonstrate whether cost played a significant role in the selection of Hecyra and Adelphoe, however, the economic demands of their tandem production presents the most telling evidence. We don’t have a detailed inventory of the expenses linked to running a grex (acting troupe) in Republican Rome, but the maintenance of its core actors and musicians probably represented the primary expense. Assuming that more personnel cost more money, no two individual plays of Terence could be produced more frugally than Hecyra and Adelphoe. Their seamless compatibility for tandem production also makes them the most economically efficient play-pairing of any two surviving Terentian comedies in terms of troupe demands. While the other plays of Terence require six to eight actors, Adelphoe and Hecyra can be performed with a skeleton crew of only four actors each (Marshall 2006: 121-2, 125). A cast this small is extremely rare in Roman comedy and can be used to perform only two other surviving plays in the genre.73 72 It is also important to point out that time inevitably also factored into the decision to incorporate Hecyra. Contrary to most occasions for ludi scaenici, funerals could be planned only so far in advance and a Greek comedy that had already been adapted for the Roman stage would have presented an attractive option on short notice. Nevertheless, given Scipio Aemilianus’ political savvy, it would be surprising if he had not already begun planning what he could for his father’s funeral knowing that he would be in charge of it (the sons which Paullus did not give up for adoption both died in 167 BCE) and given his advanced warning of Paullus’ imminent death (Paullus had been sick for some time before his death with a crescendo of delirium and derangement in his final days that presaged his impending death, see Plut. Aem. 39.1-5). It is certainly reasonable to assume that Scipio and Fabius had already selected the palliatae they wished to be performed at Paullus’ funeral well in advance of his death. At any rate, the Romans were not overly concerned about timely funerals when it came to public figures (in 65 BCE, Caesar held ludi funebres for his father who had died twenty years earlier, see Plin. HN 33.53, Plut. Caes. 5). 73 Plautus’ Cistellaria and Epidicus. See Marshall 2006: 109. 250 The fact that Hecyra and Adelphoe were produced by the troupe of Ambivius Turpio, which produced all of Terence’s plays, would have redoubled the cast efficiency.74 Having a single troupe produce both comedies means that the twenty-one speaking roles distributed between Hecyra and Adelphoe could have been performed with a total of only four actors, one of whom may have been Turpio himself.75 Turpio minimized cost by using the same musician for both plays, Flaccus a slave of one Claudius (didasc. Ad., Hec.), who himself may have been a cast member.76 The table below reflects a possible distribution of roles that helps illustrate the extreme economy of this particular tandem production in terms of troupe demands.77 74 The prologue of Hecyra’s third performance makes it clear that it was Turpio’s troupe who attempted to perform Hecyra at the funeral games of L. Aemilius Paullus where it also produced Adelphoe (didasc. Ad.). 75 One wonders about the potential roles that Turpio may have chosen for himself. For Adelphoe, Gratwick (1999: 53) suggests that Turpio would have played the role of Demea. According to Marshall’s doubling scheme (2006: 121), he would have therefore also taken the part of the pimp Sannio. These characters are certainly the stars of the play and I see no good reason to dispute this role assignment. For Hecyra, Carney (1963: 21) suggests that Turpio would have taken the parts of Parmeno and Phidippus; however, Goldberg (2013: 94) has alternatively suggested that Turpio would have played Laches and therefore also Sosia and many extras according to Carney’s division of roles (1963: 24). Heauton Timorumenos 35-47 makes it clear that Turpio was certainly experienced in playing each of these particular stock types. For my part, I am inclined here to agree with Goldberg. Having the same actor play both Demea and Laches would have further reinforced each character’s identity as the more rustic and severe of each play’s two senes which was already being established on a linguistic level (see Karakasis 2005: 40). I would also argue that Turpio would have used the same senex mask in both plays (see discussion below). 76 “Every troupe required a tibicen (‘piper’) for example: for Stichus, 200 BC, the tibicen was Marcipor, the slave of Oppius … it is more likely that Oppius was part of the troupe, as a performer as well as the owner of the tibicen. This too would make economic sense since a talented tibicen was always required” (Marshall 2006: 86). 77 The role division for Hecyra is based on Carney (1963: 24) and for Adelphoe, Marshall (2006: 121). It does not account for non-speaking performers. 251 Actor 1 (Turpio?) Actor 2 Actor 3 Actor 4 Adelphoe Demea (senex) Sannio (leno) Aeschinus (adul.) Hegio (senex) Canthara? (anus) Syrus (servus) Pamphila (voice) Sostrata? (matr.) Micio (senex) Geta (servus) Ctesipho (adul.) Dromo? (puer) Hecyra Laches (senex) Sosia (servus) (several extras) Pamphilus (adul.) Philotis (mere.) Syra (anus) Myrrina (matr.) Sostrata (matr.) Bacchis (mere.) Phidippus (senex) Parmeno (servus) Table 3.1 Potential actor and role distribution for the tandem production of Hecyra and Adelphoe by a single troupe. For Adelphoe, a combination of actors 1 and 2, 1 and 3, or 2 and 3 could have played the roles of Sostrata and Canthara. Actors 2 or 4 could have played Dromo if the role was even taken on by one of the four primary actors.78 The extreme economy possible through this arrangement make Hecyra and Adelphoe an exceedingly cost-efficient tandem production in terms of costs associated with the grex. The choragus, contracted independently from the troupe, managed theatrical property and provided the requisite masks, costumes, and staging for any given ludi scaenici.79 These essential elements of Roman stagecraft surely represented a significant expense among the costs tied to 78 The roles appearing in bold indicate where a given actor could have worn the same mask when he portrays the stock type in both comedies. See more below. 79 On the choragus, see Marshall 2006: 27-8, Franko 2013: 416. While the provision of masks, costumes, and other props can be reasonably linked to the choragus, the staging less so. It is ultimately of little consequence for the present argument whether the staging was provided by the choragus, troupe, or ludi organizers. 252 the production of palliatae.80 If we assume that the price of masks, costumes, and staging depended on quantity and degree of specialization, Hecyra and Adelphoe again present cost-conscious options, especially when performed together. Hecyra and Adelphoe each require only ten masks for performance, the fewest of any of Terence’s comedies.81 If we assume that masks would have been re-used where possible, the combined production of Hecyra and Adelphoe would have required a total of thirteen masks for the twenty characters that required them.82 As the table below shows, seven of these thirteen masks could have been used in both plays (eight, if Adelphoe’s Bacchis wore a mask). 80 “When it is remembered that in Elizabethan theatre, the costs of costumes and their maintenance was the major expense for a permanent company, the presence of such a professional could greatly enhance the possibility for spectacle for an itinerant troupe” (Marshall 2006: 27). 81 Cf. An. - 12, Haut. - 11, Eun. - 14, and Phorm. - 13. Here, I do not include ‘Bacchis’ or Dromo of Adelphoe among those that required masks. ‘Bacchis’, a character without any lines, may well have been played by a female extra, though I am partial to believing that in this particular performance context, the character might have donned the same mask worn by Hecyra’s Bacchis. This would have provided visual reinforcement of identity for those who intended to watch both productions. As for Dromo, he has only one line (776) and probably did not appear on stage to say it. Furthermore, if indeed he plays the part of a puer, visual representations suggest that these characters may have been unmasked (see Naples Archaeological Museum, inv. 9985). 82 Of the various possible play-pairings from Terence’s corpus, only the hypothetical tandem production of Hecyra and Heauton Timorumenos would have conceivably required fewer masks at twelve. 253 MASK Hecyra Adelphoe senex 1 (Actor 1) Laches Demea senex 2 (Actor 4) Phidippus Micio senex 3 Hegio matrona 1 (Actor 3) Sostrata Sostrata matrona 2 Myrrina servus 1 (Actor 4) Parmeno Geta servus 2 Sosia Syrus meretrix 1 (Actor 3?) Bacchis *‘Bacchis’? meretrix 2 Philotis adulescens 1 (Actor 2) Pamphilus Aeschinus adulescens 2 Ctesipho anus Syra Canthara leno Sannio Table 3.2 Potential mask distribution for the tandem production of Hecyra and Adelphoe by a single choragus. 254 Outside the potential shared masks, Hecyra would have required an additional matrona and meretrix mask and Adelphoe, another senex, adulescens, and leno mask. Among the seven shared masks, five, according to the above role distribution, could have been worn by the same actor (or, six of the eight if Actor 3 played the silent role of a masked ‘Bacchis’ in Adelphoe).83 The two plays would have also been cost effective in their limited use of specialized masks. Both comedies require almost exclusively only the most common mask types. Like all other Terentian comedies, Hecyra and Adelphoe required masks that identify characters as servi, adulescentes, senes, and old women (e.g. matronae, nutrices, anūs). Like Hecyra, Eunuchus and Heauton Timorumenos also require meretrix masks. Other, less frequently occurring characters in Terence were likely to have had distinct, custom masks to help distinguish their role. These characters may have included the leno (Phorm., Ad.), libertus (An.), miles (Eun.), and parasitus (Eun. Phorm.).84 It seems then that the only character between Hecyra and Adelphoe that may have required a special and presumably costlier mask was Sannio, the leno of Adelphoe. The rest of Terence’s plays, with the possible exception of Heauton Timorumenos, require at least one of the more specialized masks mentioned. The cost-efficiency in these plays’ tandem production also extends to costume demands of the choragus. A comprehensive and precise catalogue of costuming in Terence is a near impossible task.85 Therefore, with the understanding that it may reflect the overall costume 83 This supports the notion that masks may have been individualized, fitted to a particular actor. 84 See Poll. 4.145, 4.149, 4.147, and 4.148 respectively for the unique features of these mask types. For extended discussion on the uniqueness of pimp masks in Roman comedy, see Marshall (2006: 140-6). 85 Frequently in Roman comedy, there are scenes wherein the text makes it clear that there is a number of silent ancillary characters on stage (e.g. pueri, ancillae); however, we have no way of knowing exactly how many of these characters are present, their gender, or if they don any 255 demands of Terence’s corpus, I will concentrate on one of the more quantifiable costuming features of Roman comedy: belly padding. While this costuming feature seems to have largely fallen out of use for all other stock characters as early as the fourth century, textual and visual evidence suggests that the senex, servus, and leno continued to wear additional belly padding as part of their standard costume for Roman comedy of the second century BCE (Marshall 2006: 64, 66).86 Given this narrow association of belly padding with a select few stock characters, and the relative ease with which these characters’ stage presence can be traced in the text, a survey of belly-padding requirements is one of the more reliable case studies that might speak to costume efficiency in Terence. My survey of belly-padding usage in Terence works on two assumptions. First, every senex, servus, and leno with a speaking role wore belly padding as part of their costume (and only these stock characters). Second, each production used the fewest possible units of belly padding that it could, meaning that these units were shared by the actors and exchanged as part of their backstage costume changes. My survey considers belly-padding efficiency for every possible pairing of Terence’s six plays and documents both (a) the total number of characters that required belly padding between the two given comedies and (b) the minimum number of belly padding units that could be used to stage each pairing of plays (based on the maximum number of belly-padded characters that appear together on stage at the same time between the two given plays). From this I calculated each hypothetical tandem production’s “belly-padding efficiency” by dividing their minimum number of requisite belly-padding units (i.e. ‘expense’) supplementary costume features beyond a tunica and palla or pallium. Because of this, we can not speculate with any precision on the comprehensive costume demands of Roman comedy. 86 See ventriosus at Plaut. Merc. 623, Pseud. 1218, and Rud. 317 (Marshall 2006: 64), and the depiction of these character types in figurines, mosaics, and frescoes. 256 by the total number of characters that required belly padding as part of their costume between the two plays (i.e. ‘revenue’). Tandem Production Characters that require belly padding Minimum requisite units of belly padding Belly-Padding Efficiency Hec. / Eun. 7 2 29% Hec. / Ad. 10 3 30% Ad. / Haut. 10 3 30% Ad. / An. 13 4 31% Ad. / Eun. 9 3 33% Phorm. / An. 15 5 33% Hec. / An. 11 4 36% Ad. / Phorm. 14 5 36% An. / Haut. 11 4 36% Hec. / Haut. 8 3 38% An. / Eun. 10 4 40% Hec. / Phorm. 12 5 42% Phorm. / Haut. 12 5 42% Haut. / Eun. 7 3 43% Phorm. / Eun. 11 5 45% Table 3.3 Belly-padding efficiency among all possible Terentian play pairings. The results show that of the fifteen possible play pairings the production of Hecyra and Adelphoe would have been remarkably efficient.87 Hecyra and Adelphoe have a total of ten characters that needed belly padding to complete their costumes (Hec. - Laches, Parmeno, Phidippus, Sosia; Ad. - Demea, Geta, Hegio, Micio, Sannio, Syrus), but because of their particular distribution through each of the plays, the choragus could have properly outfitted these ten characters with only three units of belly padding.88 87 The belly-padding efficiency of Hecyra and Adelphoe is matched by the hypothetical pairing of Adelphoe and Heauton Timorumenos and beat only by the hypothetical pairing of Hecyra and Eunuchus. 88 Here, I do not include Adelphoe’s Dromo among those who required belly padding based on the assumption that this character was not a comic servus, but rather a puer. This was an ancillary role that did not merit belly padding (see Naples Archaeological Museum, inv. 9985). 257 Belly padding represents only one of the many different costuming elements required for the production of Roman comedy, but a cursory survey of other character-specific costuming features shows that Hecyra and Adelphoe would have required few other speciality costume items. If, for example, the senex usually carried a walking stick (e.g. Poll. 4.119 and BM 1849,0620.13), this particular tandem production would have required only two walking sticks for the five characters that needed them (Hec. - Laches, Phidippus; Ad. - Demea, Hegio, Micio). In fact, the only other character that might have had additional props to complete their costume was Sannio, who, as a leno, may have also carried a sort of crop (see Poll. 4.120).89 Terence’s plays typically require very few stage properties not tied to costume. Nevertheless, Adelphoe and Hecyra, as well as Andria, are the least dependant on additional props. The only props that seem to have been used in these plays are background items carried by slaves—luggage in the case of Hecyra (see 359 and 429) and feast provisions for the other two (see Ad. 376-81, 420; An. 28). The rest of Terence’s plays have props that figure more prominently into the action. Heuaton Timorumenos has hoes (88-9), ‘belongings’ (381, 745), and a bag of money (831); Phormio has a bag of money used twice (36-8, 714), and Eunuchus would have required some substantial props and costume support to stage the multiple specialized characters and impersonations between the soldier, parasite, and distinct eunuch costume. Finally, the potential for economic efficiency from the choragus can be seen in the provision of performance space for this particular tandem production. We should assume that the choragus provided a single stage that could accommodate the productions of both Hecyra and Adelphoe (and possibly other entertainments, see Plaut. Men. 72-6 and Marshall 2006: 28, 43). 89 Neither play features a parasitus who may have carried a strigil and or oil flask (Poll. 4.120) or a miles who might have carried a sword to complement their chlamys and petasus or causea (see Marshall 2006: 57). 258 For this particular pairing, a simple three-door skene would have sufficed. Hecyra requires three doors representing the houses of Laches, Bacchis, and Phidippus; Adelphoe only needs two for the houses of Micio and Sostrata. The fact that both comedies can be produced with a three-door skene is not surprising, but Hecyra and Adelphoe remain our only attested tandem production for which any idea of staging survives. If we assume that they shared the same performance space, we have previously unrecognized evidence for the versatility required of the Roman three-door skene. The skene for Paullus’ funeral games would have had three doors to account for Hecyra. Adelphoe’s two functioning doors needed to appear consecutive since Micio and Sostrata apparently shared a garden wall (see 907-10).90 In order to prevent a visual incongruity with the script, the skene’s central door would have necessarily been utilized as one of the houses in Adelphoe. This scenario, however, raises the risk of an imbalanced use of stage space with all of the action organically occurring on only one side of the performance area (i.e. between the central door and side with the other functioning stage door). This scenario—which does not allow for center-stage to be the organic primary performance space—could be avoided. I suggest that for the production of Adelphoe at Paullus’ funeral games, the side doors were used to represent the requisite houses and that the middle door between them must have been disguised. This stage dressing need not have been anything substantial, in fact simple curtains over the door may have been sufficient. Compare, for example, Naples Archaeology Museum inv. 6687—a first-century CE relief that depicts a scene from New Comedy and shows very clearly an elaborate backdrop that has been partially concealed by drapery for the production depicted. This scenario maintains the illusion that Micio and Sostrata share a wall and ensures that center- 90 Cf. Plaut. Mil. 259 stage is the primary performance position while making balanced use of the entire performance area.91 Although the historical sources do not make it clear why, Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus did not wish to spend carelessly on the ludi scaenici component of their father’s funeral games as an analysis of the production costs linked to Hecyra and Adelphoe shows. The plays’ Greek models could have come at no cost for Scipio and Fabius, and we can assume that Hecyra, as an ‘off-the-rack’ palliata, would have come at a discounted price for the brothers if indeed they were obliged to “buy it back” (as it were) in the first place. The economic efficiency of this tandem production is reinforced by an analysis of the resource demands each play makes of the grex and choragus. The fact that the comedies were produced by a single troupe and required only four actors each, as well as the potential for mask re-use, minimal props, and basic staging requirements makes their tandem production exceedingly cost-effective and suggests that that cost was for some reason a variable in play in the selection of the palliatae to be performed at Paullus’ funeral games. 91 The particular arrangement of the houses on stage is not made clear from the text in either Hecyra or Adelphoe. For Hecyra, I am inclined to agree with Carney’s suggestion (1963: 36) that Phidippus’ house was stage right, Bacchis’ house was in the center (suggested also by Goldberg 2013: 96; Penwill 2004: 147 n. 52 suggests Laches’ house was central but the evidence, 719ff., is not convincing), and Laches’ house was stage left (suggested also by Knorr 2013: 147 n. 52). As for Adelphoe, I subscribe to Martin’s suggestion (1976: 104) that, “the staging is perhaps easier if Micio’s house is to the spectators’ right.” This arrangement would have made for some excellent visual parallels for the audience at Paullus’ funeral games. With these arrangements, the virgo lives in the house on stage right while the adulescens lives in the house on stage left in each of the comedies. Furthermore each play provides visual reinforcement of an impediment that must be removed in order to complete the union between the young lovers. In the case of Adelphoe, it is the literal wall between the houses (see Ad. 907-10) and for Hecyra it is Bacchis and her emergence from the door that divides the two families which help resolve the conflict and restore the happy marriage between Pamphilus and Philoumena. 260 3.5 A Revised Historicist Reading of Hecyra and Adelphoe This chapter has sought to provide a more complete understanding of how select palliatae were meant to function at the ludi funebres of L. Aemilius Paullus in 160 BCE.92 This research has improved on previous scholarship by giving due consideration to Hecyra and analyzing it as one half of a unit, along with Adelphoe, to illustrate their intended collective effect as a tandem production. This study, grounded in a systematic comparative analysis of Hecyra and Adelphoe, brings to light three new insights. First, I have presented a direct challenge to the traditional argument that these palliatae were selected because they commemorated Paullus through character analogues or thematic relevance. I have suggested instead that they honored Paullus by reinforcing his legacy as Macedon’s conqueror. This claim is based on the innovative theory that the Greek models of Hecyra and Adelphoe were sourced from Macedon’s royal library—a very personal and powerful symbol of Paullus’ conquest that was in the care of the sons who organized his funeral games. Second, I have suggested that the polarizing effect of the tandem production was an intentional and calculated outcome meant to serve the political aspirations of the games’ organizers. The production of such exceedingly different comedies would have reinforced a prudent broad-appeal strategy to reinforce Scipio Aemilianus’ documented populist approach to political advancement. Finally, I have demonstrated that this tandem production suggests that cost was a consideration for the games’ organizers. This may reflect a degree of troupe influence, the comparative respect for the palliata component of ludi that also featured gladiator bouts, or a real concern over cost for Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus. This analysis, by virtue of its improved scope, objectivity, and precision, ought to 92 Even if the focus of the celebrations was on gladiators (e.g. Polyb. 31.28.5-7), the evidence allows us to examine the dramatic events with particular clarity, and identify specific agendas operating at this level. 261 displace the current scholarly narrative of how palliatae functioned at the funeral games of L. Aemilius Paullus and should figure heavily into any discussion on private production contexts in Rome. It is rather fitting that the comedies of Apollodorus and Menander—originally produced in an Athenian context shaped by incessant Macedonian occupation and warfare—were co-opted to celebrate a family whose legacy was built on their conquest of Macedon. But this particular coupling of comic poets provided much more than an ironic twist for the organizers of Paullus’ funeral games. The decision to pair Apollodorus with Menander in fact reinforced generational continuity and the promise of future greatness in the eyes of the Roman spectators.93 In Menander, we can see the figure of L. Aemilius Paullus—a benchmark of achievement whose popularity, success, and legacy were well recognized during his lifetime and at his death.94 Relative to Menander, Apollodorus would represent Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus— 93 On the atmosphere of generational continuity at public Roman funerals, see Flower 2004: 335. 94 Menander was certainly seen as a benchmark of comic theatre among the Athenians both in his own time and in the centuries after. The poet received a statue with pride of place in the eastern parodos of the Theatre of Dionysus next to the tragic triad of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides and his comedies were frequently selected for production in the “Old Comedy” competition of Athens’ dramatic festivals from the generation following his death up through Terence’s floruit (e.g. his Phasma was produced in Athens once between 259-254 and again in 168-167 BCE; see Agora I.2972 and IG II2 2323 col. iii, 206-7). It is unclear whether the Romans had yet understood Menander in the same way in Plautus’ time, but we can, I think, assume that by the second attempted production of Hecya in 160, the Athenian playwright had been similarly elevated in the eyes of the Romans. Sixteen of the forty-two palliatae composed by Caecilius Status, whose comedies were produced between the careers of Plautus and Terence, seem to have been based on Menandrian models (Maltby 2014: 6 n.23). The only known models for the palliatae of Luscius Lanuvinus, a contemporary of Terence, were Menandrian (Phasma, Thesaurus; see Ter. Eun. 9-13) and Terence himself contributed to Menander’s Roman ascendency through his previous Menandrian adaptations: Andria (which includes contaminatio from Menander’s Perinthia), Heauton Timorumenos, and Eunuchus (which includes contaminatio from Menander’s Kolax). This is also roughly the time when we start to see the earliest large-scale visual representations of Menandrian comedy in Italy (e.g. Dioscurides’ Theophoroumene and Synaristosai mosaics). 262 emerging stars of the following generation who could carry on his legacy and potentially surpass it. The Hekyra of Apollodorus, in these early stages of its afterlife, clearly played an important role in shaping the development of Roman theatre, funeral games, and political posturing in the second century BCE. As an adapted comedy, it continued to elicit strong opinions among critics (e.g., Volc. Poet. 4) and serve as an icon of innovation in the face of criticism for later Roman poets (e.g. Horace, see Müller 2013: 368) in the centuries that followed. Its quality, built on an Apollodoran framework, helped it survive the fall of the western Roman empire and reach new audiences throughout Europe thereafter.95 95 In a letter to friends, the Gallic Bishop Sidonius Apollinaris (ca. 430-489 CE) recounts an occasion in which he and his son enjoyed the sales of Hecyra as they read it together in his study (see Sid. Apoll. Epist. 4.12.1–2 and Cain 2013: 384). 263 Chapter 4: The Reception of Phormio in the Carolingian Terence Miniatures 4.1 The Character Drawing of Phormio Like Hekyra and perhaps also as part of Macedon’s royal library, Apollodorus’ Epidikazomenos (“The Heiress Executor”) made its way to Rome after its third-century première in Athens. There, it served as the model for Terence’s Phormio, which was performed at the Ludi Romani of 161 BCE. Little can be said about Epidikazomenos thereafter except that it must have continued to circulate in Rome well after it was adapted for the Roman stage. In exploring the enduring contribution of Epidikazomenos to the tradition of New Comedy, we should again look to its Roman adaptation and consider the fact that it provided the framework for a character so distinctive that Terence (unique among his comedies) decided to rename his adaptation after him: Phormio. Character drawing, the process of assigning distinctive traits to a fictional character and their overall representation in a dramatic work, is how Terence made his mark on Roman comedy and in this respect the title character of Phormio is his crowning achievement.1 No other Terentian comedy places so much narrative responsibility on a single role or offers such a richly drawn complex character.2 The character drawing of Phormio itself may have even been the 1 For character drawing in general, see Harrison 1998: 51, Baldick 2001: 37, Jannidis 2013: 3.5, as a hallmark of Terence’s style, Varro Sat. Men. 399, Conte 1994: 96, Moore 2010: 5. 2The versatility afforded Phormio via Terence’s character drawing makes it possible for a single character to bring to fruition many of Phormio’s best features. Phormio creates the comedy’s primary obstacle and plot, maintains the excellent pacing, provides most of the comic value, and facilitates what is probably the most elegant, lucid, and satisfying comic resolution among surviving palliatae. E. M. Forster (1927) developed the idea that characters could be either flat (simple) or round (complex) based on their capacity for development or change. Flat characters are simple, predictable, and static. They facilitate the existence of a genre’s stock characters. Round characters like Phormio, by contrast, are dynamic, unpredictable, and “capable of 264 organizing principle of the play.3 Phormio’s importance to the comedy and genre as a whole has not gone unnoticed in the scholarship. On the contrary, any focused study of this palliata seems compelled to address Phormio’s remarkable depth and the critical role he plays in the comedy’s success. These modern studies, however, also demonstrate a clear anxiety about Terence’s experimentation with Phormio; this has manifested in a broad spectrum of interpretations.4 The cumulative result is a convoluted picture of Phormio’s characterization that complicates more than it clarifies our understanding of a narrative element that is so critical in the case of this comedy. Studies in the character drawing of ancient drama will always be hamstrung by the limited evidence;5 however, new approaches to traditionally overlooked evidence may be of great value. This chapter refocuses modern interpretations of Phormio’s characterization by surprising in a convincing way” (Forster 1987: 81; see also Novakovich 1995: 51, Culpeper 2000: 298, Baldick 2001: 37, Margolin 2008: 73). 3 This would certainly account for Phormio’s relative narrative simplicity (e.g. Forehand 1985: 84, Goldberg 1986: 89) and cohesiveness in plot (e.g. Norwood 1923, Konstan 1983) as well as the unusual absence of any clear, central theme (e.g. Forehand 1985: 90). Characterization is traditionally viewed as playing a secondary role in narrative creation, its particular form serving a function which supports elements of structure, genre, etc. (e.g. Frye 1953). See also Bortolussi and Dixon 2002: 133. 4 The crux of the debate is the degree to which Phormio represents his given stock type: parasitus. While some defend this designation, others have argued that Phormio is better defined by other stock types or question whether such a label is even appropriate. See below for a fuller discussion. 5 For dramatic genres, characterization was not just reinforced by the lines delivered on stage (surviving for us as written texts), but also through visual cues. Substantial character drawing can be suggested by nuances in mask and costume design in addition to the nature of the gestures, movement, and body language of the actors on stage (see also Hardwick’s discussion on the non-verbal kinetic signs of ancient drama [2003: 56-7]). Certainly this visual element would help focus our muddled understanding of the complex characterization in Phormio. Unfortunately, the visual characterization cues associated with its production in 161 BCE, as for all surviving Roman comedies, are lost to us. 265 applying a reception-studies approach to character analysis using the Carolingian Terence miniatures as the guiding reception event.6 Applying the framework of reception analysis to these miniatures, my approach reconstructs the visual characterization cues associated with the manuscript’s pictorial renderings of Phormio by a combination of the connotations suggested by comparanda (both internal and external) and the theatrical iconography represented in the manuscript. This offers a basic impression of how the artist understood Phormio and/or how they wanted Phormio to be perceived by viewers. It provides an independent interpretation of Phormio’s character against which we can set previous readings. This chapter provides several new insights about Phormio’s characterization. First, the miniatures validate the confusion in the scholarship and independently verify that Phormio was understood as unusually complex among Terence’s characters. This complexity is reinforced most prominently by the fact that Phormio’s depiction is not consistent throughout the manuscript. There are in fact three distinct versions of Phormio that occur in the seven miniatures in which he appears. Among these three versions, Phormio’s characterization is suggested by his alignment with several different stock types. Of those that have already been identified in previous scholarship, parasitus and servus callidus are confirmed by the miniatures, but none more so than the reading of Phormio as a traditional comic sycophant. This study, however, also reveals a new side to Phormio’s character that has not previously been considered. In the following analysis, I will demonstrate that in addition to the comic sycophant, the predominant stock character with which we should associate Phormio is the comic leno. 6 These miniatures are productive evidence for such a study because they have not only been formed in a different medium, but one that is still ancient. See below for a fuller discussion. 266 4.2 Previous Work on Phormio’s Characterization Before demonstrating how the miniatures reflect these various dimensions to Phormio’s character, a closer look at the spectrum of interpretations of Phormio’s characterization demonstrates why this analysis is necessary. Ancient tradition suggests that we see Phormio as a stock parasite;7 however, this designation has never sat well in previous scholarship. Phormio is, at the very least, consistently tagged as a particularly unique or unusual parasite.8 This label is built on a few key observations. First, Terence’s characterization of Phormio as parasitus, it is claimed, seems to have been a rather perfunctory effort with only a few token indications of the stock type throughout the play (e.g. 327-45, 1052-3).9 Second, it has been argued that Phormio is unusually good-natured for a parasite (e.g. Sloman 1961: 23-4), altruistic even (e.g. Moore 2001: 258-60). Finally, it is pointed out that Phormio, who is neither overly preoccupied with food (cf. Ergasilus, Plaut. Capt. and Gelasimus, Plaut. Stich.) nor compelled to flatter to gain favor (cf. Artotrogus, Plaut. Mil. and Gnatho, Ter. Eun.), stands in stark contrast to his fellow comic parasites in these regards.10 Scholars are even hesitant to draw connections between Phormio and Curculio (Plaut. Curc.), who is clearly his closest comic comparandum, because the latter is still 7 Phormio is called parasitus by Terence (Phorm. 27-8, 122), C. Sulpicius Apollinaris (Phormio Periocha), and Donatus (e.g. W. II: 385 vv. 4-10, 426 vv. 10-20, 480 vv. 16-8). We also see glimpses of the traits we expect of this stock type in Phormio at certain points in the play (see especially 327-45). 8 See Norwood 1932: 133, Duckworth 1952: 267, Martin 1959: 20-1, Sloman 1961: 23-4, Arnott 1970: 35, Segal and Moulton 1978: 285, Barsby II: 4-5, Moore 2001: 254, Maltby 2012: 24. 9 See Lofberg 1920: 69-70, Duckworth 1952: 267, Forehand 1985: 89-90, Maltby 2012: 24. Damon (1997: 89-98) finds more circumstantial evidence from the text to support Phormio’s characterization as a parasite. 10 See Norwood 1923: 76, Duckworth 1952: 267, Martin 1959: 20-21, Arnott 1970: 35, Segal and Moulton 1978: 280, Barsby II: 4-5, Maltby 2012: 24. 267 decidedly an edax parasitus (Martin 1959: 20-1) and a “petty thief and resourceful conman” (Segal and Moulton 1978: 285) in comparison to the supposedly transcendent Phormio.11 The clear dissonance between expectation and reality regarding Phormio’s designation as parasitus has given scholars license to assign him to other stock types that align more closely with Phormio’s unique character. The most popular and enduring alternative designation is the traditional comic sycophant.12 Here, Lofberg 1920 is the seminal work (see also Lofberg 1929: 184), but Phormio’s sycophant tendencies were noted in earlier studies and were recognized even in antiquity.13 Others have advocated strongly that Phormio be viewed as a servus callidus, at least in part.14 Finally, Dupont (1986: 59-71) suggests we see Phormio as an adulescens while Arnott (1970: 56) also intimates an association with a comic coquus. Despite the persuasive arguments for these alternative characterizations, not all have been willing to question Phormio’s given designation as parasitus. Damon (1997: 89-98) presents a thorough and convincing case that despite his complexity, Phormio is still fundamentally a parasitus in the traditional sense and several others have seen no reason to question his characterization as such.15 11 See also Norwood (1923: 77): “To compare the parasites of Plautus with this polished creature is like comparing a game of hunt-the-slipper with a game of chess.” 12 See Norwood 1923: 76, Martin 1959: 12, 20-1, Segal and Moulton 1978: 280, Gilula 1991: 437, Maltby 2012: 24, Papaioannou 2014: 158. 13 See Leo 1895: 112, Dziatzko 1898: 70 n. 1. Donatus calls Phormio a sycophant on five occasions (see W. II: 385 vv. 15-7, 419 vv. 4-6, 427 vv. 14-9, 435 vv. 8-11, 437 vv. 4-10; references from Damon 1997: 98 n. 50). 14 See Godsey 1928: 65, Forehand 1985: 89-90, Arnott 1970: 34, Goldberg 1986: 76, Maltby 2012: 24. 15 See Konstan 1983: 116, 129, Moore 2001: 254, Smith 2004: 97. 268 Phormio’s complexity has also compelled scholars to look outside the standard set of stock characters to help better characterize him. Some explain his many layers by seeing in Phormio an analogue for various historical figures. These include Terence as poet (Frangoulidis 1995, 1997: 77-132, 2013: 285), Ambivius Turpio as director (Smith 2004: 97) and, indirectly, Scipio Aemilianus as patron (Segal and Moulton 1978: 288). Some default to more vague characterizations in order to acknowledge his complexity. Blackmailer, architectus doli, and trickster are popular designations.16 He has also been called an “adventurer” (Sargeaunt 1914: xvi, 63), “scoundrel” (Norwood 1932: 156), and “skillful rake …sophist, or even a shyster” (Forehand 1985: 89-90). He is both “no hero” (Forehand 1985: 90) and “the hero of his Latin comedy” (Segal and Moulton 1978: 285). Clearly, the scholarly understanding of Phormio has become increasingly diluted by a plethora of distinct interpretations separated from one another by the finest of minutia. 4.3 Methodology and Evidence A glaring omission in these approaches to the character drawing in Phormio is the comedy’s reception history. Reception theory concentrates on the various processes involved in the transmission of an ancient text with careful attention paid to the many environmental factors at work; studies in reception stress the value of the reader as an active interpreter and creator of meaning and explore the dialogic relationship this view engenders with the source text.17 16 See Norwood 1923: 76, Arnott 1970: 32; Martin 1959: 21, Papaioannou 2014: 158; and Arnott 1970: 32, Gilula 1991: 440, Barsby 1993: 329, II: 15, 23, respectively. 17 See Hardwick 2003: 1, Martindale 2007: 298, Hardwick and Stray 2008: 1, Martindale and Hardwick 2012. The legitimacy of reception studies within the field of Classics need no longer be defended. Building on the work of Jauss (1982), Iser (1978), and Gadamer (1975), the seminal contributions of Martindale (1993) and Hardwick (2003) remain relevant and essential works for any study in classical reception. The development and expanding potential of reception 269 Martindale’s theses (1993: 7-8) that, “[1] numerous unexplored insights into ancient literature are locked up in imitations, translations, and so forth …and that [2] our current interpretations of ancient texts, whether or not we are aware of it, are, in complex ways, constructed by the chain of receptions through which their continued readability has been affected” remain convincing.18 Working from this position, a focused study of a reception event of Terentian comedy could provide tremendous value in informing our understanding of the complex character drawing of Phormio. Among the various receptions of Terence that might contribute to such a study, one emerges as the event with the greatest potential impact: the Carolingian Terence miniatures.19 The Gamma branch of the Calliopian textual tradition of Terence (known as Σ) is based on four manuscripts produced in Carolingian Francia between the ninth and tenth centuries. These four manuscripts, known to editors as C, Y, P, and F, were clearly copied directly from the same ancient model, designated U by Wright (2006: 1). Although U is now lost, the Carolingian copies collectively provide ample evidence for its original context, content, organization, and form. The studies in Classics is demonstrated in part by the many compelling contributions in edited volumes and new journals dedicated solely to classical reception (e.g. Martindale and Thomas 2006, Kallendorf 2007, Hardwick and Stray 2008, Richardson 2018; Classical Receptions Journal, Reception: texts, readers, audiences, history, New Voices in Classical Reception Studies, Practitioners’ Voices in Classical Reception Studies). 18 See Hardwick 2003: 4, Braund 2017: 50. 19 For these Terentian miniatures as a reception event, see Dutsch 2016: 453 n. 1 and Elsner 1998: 112-3 for illuminated manuscripts as reception events more generally. Carolingian refers to the historical context in which these miniatures were reproduced and survive. The Carolingian empire was a dynasty of Frankish rulers that governed Francia from the eighth to the tenth centuries CE to various extents. At its peak, under the rule of Charlemagne at the beginning of the ninth century, the Carolingians controlled all modern France and large portions of Spain, Germany, and Italy. 270 current consensus is that U was a codex produced in Rome at the turn of the fourth century CE.20 The manuscript included all six of Terence’s plays, arranged: Andria, Eunuchus, Heauton Timorumenos, Adelphoe, Hecyra, Phormio. Each play was prefaced by its associated Didascalia and Argumentum and bookended by colophons that named the book’s original publisher, Calliopius.21 The script may have been written in Rustic capitals and the text arranged in scriptura continua; the codex itself would have required about 220 folios (sized, perhaps at about 25 by 21.5 cm) that were organized in bifolia quires (Wright 2006: 206-8). The most compelling feature of this ancient codex was its exquisite 154 miniatures, of which all but four are preserved in the Carolingian copies. In the context of manuscripts, miniatures are self-contained illustrations that occur independent of any secondary decorative elements (See “Glossaries: Miniature”).22 In the case of U, the miniatures fell into three distinct categories: author portrait, Aedicula, and scene summary. The first of the miniatures to appear in the codex was a medallion portrait of Terence. This round portrait of a bearded, toga-wearing Terence was set in a square frame that was supported on each end by actors dressed as comic 20 See Demetriou 2014a: 791, Nervegna 2014: 730, Radden Keefe 2015: 64, Dunbabin 2016: 76. Dodwell’s argument (2000: 4-21) which situated the model in third-century CE North Africa (based on the use of ground lines and the hairstyle in Terence’s portrait) has largely been rejected (see Wright 2002: 230-4, Lateiner 2004: 462). Wright (2006: 209-11) has recently reinforced the traditional stance (e.g. Byvanck 1938) for a context of Rome ca. 400 through comparative analysis with the Vatican Vergil and Quedlinburg Itala (in conjunction with mosaics in the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore and the ivory Diptych of Rufius Probianus [Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Ms. theol. lat. fol. 323]). 21 E.g. Calliopius recensui / Terenti Afri explicit Hecyra felicter / incipit Phormio … (C, 76v). Nothing is known about Calliopius. 22 See “Miniature” entry from the British Library’s, Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts’ “Glossaries” (adapted from Brown 1994) and de Hamel 2001: 16-7: “The word in classical Latin for vermilion was minium, and from this evolves our word ‘miniature’, meaning a picture in a manuscript. The word ‘miniature’ used in this context has nothing to do with size, but originally referred to the use of red ink.” 271 slaves. There were six Aedicula illustrations, one for each of Terence’s plays. Each Aedicula received its own dedicated page and was set between the Didascalia and Argumentum of the play with which it was associated. These Aediculae depicted the comic masks of the speaking roles that appeared in the play that followed. The masks were displayed on elaborate shelving set between two ornate Corinthian columns that supported a stylized triangular or semi-circular pediment. In most cases, starting from the top and reading left to right, the masks are displayed in the order in which each character first speaks. The remaining 147 miniatures were scene summaries. These were situated within the text of Terence’s plays, appearing at the start of each new scene.23 These miniatures depicted all the speaking characters who appeared in the following scene and provided a general summary of the scene’s action. The value of the Carolingian Terence miniatures as the primary event on which to build a reception analysis is two-fold. First, the miniatures offer a reception in which the source material has been translated into a different medium. Previous work in classical reception has argued that derivative alternative media (Martindale 2007: 303) and visual representations in particular (Braund 2017: 24) have real value in informing our understanding of the ancient texts on which they are based. This has been demonstrated in practice with several case studies wherein traditional views are reinforced and/or formative new interpretations are exposed that do not readily present themselves through a close reading of the text alone.24 Second, the miniatures are a reception event from within antiquity. As noted by Hardwick, “reception within antiquity is an 23 The scenes in the manuscript follow the traditional textual divisions that separate scenes according to changes in the speaking actors that appear on stage. 24 See Martindale’s discussions on how the paintings of Titian (1993: 60-4) and Velazquez (2007: 303-8) engender new or overlooked readings of Ovid, or Henderson on Feuerbach’s painting and Plato (2006). 272 important mediating factor between classical and modern cultures” (2003: 4; see also 12-31).25 Here too, previous case studies attest to the value of exploring intra-antiquity reception.26 Among visual representations, the Carolingian miniatures crucially represent the only reception event that can be linked to a Roman origin. They are therefore the only available visual evidence for an intra-antiquity reception analysis of Terence. This also means that they are more closely linked to their source, both chronologically and culturally, than any other visual reception event of Terence and just as importantly the most distant in these respects from modern analyses. There are several other important reception events of Terence that are either communicated in a visual medium (e.g. Dürer’s woodblock drawings [ca. 1492] or the nineteenth-century engravings of English Terence productions) or survive from within antiquity (e.g. Donatus’ commentaries or the various character analogues in Late Antique correspondences).27 But, given their two-fold value as evidence that is both visual and ancient, the Carolingian Terence miniatures represent a critical cultural moment for the reception of Terence and the best starting point for this reception study. 25 See also Braund 2017: 51-2: “There are times when we would benefit from having more respect for those intervening texts. For example, the ways that, in the fourth and fifth centuries CE, Servius, the grammarian and schoolteacher, interprets Virgil’s Aeneid in his commentary and Augustine, the orator and, later, Christian convert, interprets Apuleius’ novel Metamorphoses have their own value. Their comments may strike us as jejune and unsophisticated. But those comments emanate from a culture that was far closer than ours is to the culture that produced the texts.” 26 See Martindale’s discussion on Lucan-reading-Virgil (1993: 48-53) and Hardwick’s discussion on the literary symbolism of the bow across ancient cultures (2003: 13). 27 On the latter, e.g. Phormio in Jer. Ep. 50.4 and Auson. Ep. 26.7-12. References are from Cain (2013: 388) who provides an excellent overview of the reception of Terence in Late Antique literature more broadly at 387-94. 273 As a study in reception, my methodology is grounded in Martindale’s theoretical principles (1993) and Hardwick’s (2003) practical considerations, but this modern analysis will necessarily fall short in fully reconstructing an ancient interpretation. As in any careful reception study, this analysis tries to limit the influence of modern biases, assumptions, and other contextual factors while privileging a reading that, as much as possible, views the miniatures through the context in and for which they were produced (i.e. Rome at the turn of the fourth century CE); however, in this process, fragments of the original impact these miniatures would have had on the intended audience are surely lost in translation. Nevertheless, it reasonable to assume that any basic observations that can be made in modern analysis, would have also occurred to the better-informed ancient reader. While my approach is guided by the theoretical principles above, following Bakogianni (2016: 103), my methodological framework is also somewhat tailor-made to reflect the unique nature of the evidence. My primary evidence for the miniatures is Vaticanus latinus 3868, known simply as C. This manuscript was produced in Aachen around 825 and consists of 92 vellum folios, organized in quaternia gatherings that are roughly 343 by 293 mm.28 Most of the text is written in a diluted black ink, though certain elements are in minium. With the exception of the character names that accompany the illustrations on folios 77v-80r, the text was copied entirely by a single scribe named Hrodgarius (see 92r). As for the illustrations, there were three distinct copyists.29 The first, for whom we have a name, Adelricus (see 3r), copied the illustrations for 28 The following description of C summarizes the more detailed accounts provided by Wright (2006: 1, 183-7) and Radde Keefe (2015: 64). 29 See Wright 2006: 184-6 for the idiosyncrasies of each artist’s style. 274 folios 1-8.30 The other two artists are unnamed. One was responsible for folios 9-40 and 81-91, the other, for folios 41-80. Folios 9-40 include the latter half of Andria (404-981), the surviving portions of Eunuchus (Didascalia and 46-1094; missing: Aedicula, Argumentum, 1-45), and the beginning of Heauton Timorumenos up through 409. Folios 41-80 include the remainder of Heauton Timorumenos (410-1067), all of Adelphoe and Hecyra, and the beginning of Phormio up to 314. Folios 81-91 include the remainder of Phormio (315-1055). There are also abundant interlinear and marginal annotations and commentaries throughout the manuscript that can be attributed to editors and scholiasts from the ninth to the twelfth centuries. Nothing concrete is known about this manuscript’s subsequent early history except that by 1475, it was part of the Vatican Library collection. Among the Carolingian reproductions, C is widely considered the most reliable copy of its Late Antique model.31 C is also considered complete in its capacity as a copy, preserving nearly all of Terence’s text and 150 miniatures.32 Finally, C is the only direct witness of U to preserve color miniatures with consistency which adds another significant component to consider for analysis.33 Given its potential as a copy and without any real reason to suspect Carolingian 30 This includes the title page for the codex, the Terence portrait, and the beginning of Andria up through 403. 31 See Weitzmann 1977: 10, 13, MNC3: no. 6XP 1, Dodwell 2000: 4, Wright 2006: 1, 209, Nervegna 2014: 727, Radden Keefe 2015: 64, Dunbabin 2016: 76. J, P, and F have some combination of overly exaggerated, inconsistent, and/or modernized details to varying degrees (Nervegna 2014: 728). 32 It is believed that the missing portions of Andria (vv. 804-53 and 2 accompanying scene-summary miniatures) and Eunuchus (Aedicula miniature, Argumentum, and vv. 1-30 with the accompanying scene-summary miniature) were already lost from the Late Antique model by the time it was copied. 33 The other direct witnesses, with the exception of portions of F, are copied as ink drawings. 275 innovation (let alone a way to isolate it), the following analysis consciously places great trust in C and treats it as a faithful facsimile of its Late Antique model with a mind towards exploring its maximum potential as a reception event.34 This trust in C applies namely to the basic features of character design including mask, costume, and gesture and, to a lesser extent, color. This means that while C is the primary evidence for the present study, the reception point for analysis is the original artist who designed the miniatures for U in Rome at the turn of the fourth century CE. As such, I work from several fundamental assumptions about U. First, the miniatures were the artist’s inventions.35 These inventions were based on the artist’s reading of the cast list and accompanying text from each scene in the textual exemplar for U.36 Like the Bembine Terence (Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, vat.lat.3226), cast lists divided the scenes in U’s textual exemplar. These not only included the names of the characters that appeared in the following scene, but also their stock type as it was understood.37 This is how the artist was able 34 See also de Hamel 2001: 61, “A medieval painter would not necessarily strive to be original. On the contrary, he might be judged by his craftsmanship and his dexterity in reproducing or even plagiarizing the work of others. Innovation was mistrusted.” 35 See Jachmann 1924: 10-44, Jones and Morey 1931: 203-4, Csapo and Slater 1995: 77-8, Wright 2006: 1, 212-4, Dunbabin 2016: 77. Wright (2006: 212-3) also notes that there is no evidence of Terentian production since the imperial period or pre-existing iconography of Terentian productions before U. 36 See Varwig 1990, Green 1994: 163, Csapo and Slater 1995: 77-8, Wright 2006: 1, 212-3, Nervegna 2014: 729, Dunbabin 2016: 76. 37 E.g. PHORMIO / PARASITUS, GETA / SERVUS at 60r in vat.lat.3226 appears before the beginning of a new scene (vv. 315-47), indented with the stock designations written in a bright red to distinguish it from the main text (written in brown ink). The same occurs at the beginning of this scene in C (81r), but with both name and stock designation in a distinct red ink. The character names and their stock designation appear to have been added after the illustrations were completed if they were included at all (many miniatures do not include the stock type designations). They were added haphazardly and did not take into account the fact that the artist sometimes deviated from their usual formula of portraying the characters in speaking order. The stock types that are labelled in C include: adulescens, advocatus, ancilla, anus, eunuchus, leno, lorarius, meretrix, miles, mulier, nutrix, parasitus, prologus, senex, and servus. In addition, there 276 to assemble the initial Aedicula with the masks in order of appearance, but, crucially for our purposes, also what informed the artist’s base impression of the characters as particular stock types before they began illustrating the scene summaries.38 The artist was reading the scenes in full before creating its associated scene-summary miniature.39 Having read these cast lists and the associated scenes, the artist then followed a basic composition formula as an outline for their illustrated scene summary. This formula was governed by two principles which were followed with relative consistency. First, reading from left to right, all the characters that appear in the scene are depicted in the order that they speak. Second, the action depicted usually comes from the beginning of the scene.40 Finally, the details of each miniature were largely informed by the artist’s keen awareness and understanding of theatrical production and iconography.41 The artist was clearly knowledgeable on the distinct mask and costume conventions associated with are two hybrids: the nurse of Heauton Timorumenos is labelled nutrix-anus at 43r and Syra of Hecyra is anus-lena at 66r. Finally, the figure representing Pamphila of Eunuchus at 21v is labelled puella, but the script is clearly not original and appears to have been added by a later commentator. 38 Unlike the scene-summary miniatures which are more clearly grounded in the text, the artist’s basis for the Aedicula masks is less clear. Conceivably, the masks could have been based on as little as the stock character assignments given in the scene headings of the textual exemplar; from here, further design details may have been drawn from the artist’s general understanding of that stock type’s portrayal (on stage or in other visual representations) as well as from any other pre-existing knowledge about specific characters. 39 E.g. the miniatures on folios 64r and 90r include action that occurs in the later half of the scene depicted (see Wright 2006: 213-4). 40 See Wright 2006: 213, Nervegna 2014: 728-9. The artist occasionally deviates from these composition principles. Consider, for example, the miniature at 24v which summarizes the action from Eun. 454-506. Here the characters are not depicted in the order in which they first speak and the action summarized comes from the middle and end of the scene rather than the beginning. See Wright 2006: 214 for a fuller discussion on the irregularities of this example. 41 See Bieber 1961: 297 n. 26, Csapo and Slater 1995: 78, Dodwell 2000: 22, Demetriou 2014a: 793, Dunbabin 2016: 77. 277 particular stock characters in the performance tradition and familiar with comic tropes from the stage.42 The second broad assumption from which I work is that these images are not meant to reflect realistic stage performances, but rather serve as an abstract summary of each scene’s action which is communicated through theatrical iconography.43 Although this claim is made less explicit in previous scholarship, its implicit veracity can be illustrated by a number of observations. The most obvious evidence is the logical fallacies that occur. Wright (2006: 213-4), for example, identifies a number of miniatures which seem to depict multiple separate moments from a scene as occurring simultaneously and some miniatures which even include the duplication of a character.44 Adding to this are the several instances of unlikely or unnatural staging scenarios. Take, for example, the appearance of Archylis on stage at 6v (An. 228-35) or the unnatural arrangement of the characters at 81v (Phorm. 348-440).45 Finally, the case for these 42 Take, for example, the artist’s depiction of Geta from Phorm. 844-93 at 89r (inf.): Geta wears the mask and costume of a comic slave and the exaggerated gathering of his pallium on his left shoulder shows that he is engaging in the servus currens trope that is indicated in the text (844-5). 43 Pace, e.g., Dodwell 2000: 86-100, Dutsch 2007. 44 Consider, for example, the miniature at 64r which summarizes the action from Ad. 958-97. In the miniature, Syrus and Demea (left) suggest action from the beginning of the scene while Aeschinus and Micio (right), action from the latter half of the scene. See also 24v (Eun. 454-506) discussed above. As for character duplication, Parmeno from Hecyra is depicted twice within the same miniature at 70v (415-50; as the figures shown on the far left and far right) as is Pamphilus of the same comedy at 76r (841-80; as the first and third figures from the left). 45 At An. 228, Mysis begins a new scene by addressing an Archylis who does not respond (nor does she respond when she is addressed again at 481-5, where she is not depicted in the corresponding miniature at 11r). Context makes it clear that Mysis here is talking back into the stage door from which she has just emerged to Archylis inside. This is a familiar dramatic technique that provides a plausible way to deliver some quick exposition (cf. Geta at Phorm. 51). In this case, the audience can clearly deduce that Archylis is a slave inside Glycerium’s house without needing to actually see her and good economic staging practices would suggest that Archylis probably did not appear on stage. The artist of U, however, depicted Archylis in the 278 miniatures as abstract summaries versus snapshots from the stage are suggested by the abbreviated form in which many elements of performance and stagecraft are depicted. Here, we can look to the slave ‘scarf’ as a short-form for the way slaves wore their pallia (see Csapo and Slater 1995: 78), the stick-form stage doorways (Wright 2006: 217), the ‘towel’ draped over the doorframe to represent a curtain (Wright 2006: 221), and the complete absence of a scenae frons (Aldrete 1999: 57).46 The artist was aware of traditional and contemporary Roman theatrical performance and iconographical conventions, but provided only enough visual cues to communicate the requisite elements of stagecraft with little concern for their realistic representation. Finally, I work from the assumption that the illustrator of U worked linearly through the plays from beginning to end. There has been little speculation on this point in previous scholarship, but it needs to be addressed because it affects how the artist came to understand the character development in Phormio. When it comes to illuminating ancient manuscripts, it is conceivable that, for the sake of efficiency, separate gatherings of leaves could be distributed among several artists who could work simultaneously on different parts of the codex (see de Hamel 2001: 40). This scenario seems highly unlikely to me in the case of U. Given the unusual doorway, masked and in costume. As for the character arrangement at Phorm. 348-440, the text makes it clear that Demipho and his three advocates would have entered the stage together (see 348-50) to meet Geta and Phormio and it is natural that they would remain so, further emphasizing the opposing camps (i.e. Demipho, Cratinus, Hegio, Crito, and Geta [feigning so] v. Phormio); however, the artist’s composition formula, which privileges speaking order, has clearly taken priority in this case with their scene summary at 81v. Here, Demipho is shown at the far left while his “friends” with whom he entered are shown at the far right, inexplicably separated from one another by Geta and Phormio. See further Csapo and Slater 1995: 77, Aldrete 1999: 57, and Wright 2006: 213. 46 In addition, none of the Phormio miniatures show three stage doors simultaneously. Most often no stage door is shown at all, but sometimes one is included (87r, 89r, 91r) and in one miniature two doors are shown (88r). 279 frequency with which these miniatures appear, the high degree of subtlety required in their composition, and the clear need to maintain logical connections between one another, it seems a near certainty the artist composed their miniatures by working on each play from beginning to end.47 The basis for my interpretation of the miniatures is a formal analysis of each visual representation of Phormio in the manuscript. This survey documents the formal elements of three visual attributes in which characterization might be expressed: mask, costume, and gesture.48 Next, I set the results of this analysis against both internal and external comparanda to help guide my interpretation. The internal comparanda include the visual renderings of other characters from within C that share comparable masks, costumes, and gestures. External comparanda include a variety of other visual and textual media that are valuable because they either inform the interpretation of particular miniatures or can be situated in Rome at the turn of the fourth century and therefore underwrite the artistic Zeitgeist in which the artist was working.49 I then 47 Consider, for example, the demands of illustrating U verses those of illustrating the Roman Vergil (Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, vat.lat.3867). The Roman Vergil included all of Vergil’s recognized works (Eclogues, Georgics, and Aeneid) which have twice as many verses as Terence’s corpus (12,913 v. 6,083); however, the Roman Vergil averages one miniature every 307 lines, with one miniature assigned to each book of the Eclogues, and two for each book of the Georgics and Aeneid. Division of gatherings in this case would be feasible with each artist working within a relatively self-contained narrative and, given the distance between them, inconsistencies are less likely to throw off the reader. The Terence manuscript, however, averaged one miniature every 41 lines, not counting the Terence portrait or the Aediculae miniatures. Here, there is clearly a greater onus on the artist to pay careful attention to subtle developments in the narrative and maintain logical connections between the miniatures. 48 The format and descriptive language used here is largely based on that used in MNC3. For the masks, I also suggest the corresponding Pollux type and for gestures, the Dodwell type if reasonable associations can be made. 49 Among the relevant manuscripts, emphasis is placed on the Vatican Vergil (Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, vat.lat.3225) and Quedlinburg Itala (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, cod.theol.lat.fol.485) since they are also thought to have been produced in Rome at the turn of the fourth century (see Weitzmann 1977: 13, 15, 20). I also consult the Roman Vergil 280 incorporate the implications of this comparative analysis with those suggested by the theatrical iconography represented in each miniature. Although the ancient sources are given priority here, the analysis is also informed by the relevant work of Webster (1960, but especially MMC/MNC and their subsequent editions), Green (1985, 1994, 2010), and Csapo (1993, 2014). This composite analysis of comparanda and theatrical iconography provides a refined and comprehensive basis for the characterization cues suggested by the miniatures and one which is independent of the text. I next explore how the artist might have reached their understanding of Phormio’s characterization based on the blocks of text and in some cases the external evidence that may have informed each miniature. In order to do this, I conducted a textual characterization survey that traced every clear instance of both direct and indirect characterization of Phormio throughout the play.50 I then organized these instances into the blocks of textual characterization that would have informed each miniature. Since it seems the original artist was reading the scenes in full (and therefore eventually read the entire play), these blocks of textual characterization are not limited to that which occurs in the scenes in which Phormio appears, but extend also to the textual characterization that occurs in intervening scenes wherein Phormio would not have appeared on stage, but received textual characterization nonetheless.51 Some of (Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, vat.lat.3867). This is usually dated to the late fifth century. Its provenance is less certain (see Weitzmann 1977: 13), but Wright (2001:5) has suggested Rome also as its place of production. 50 Direct characterization is the explicit assignment of traits to a character. Indirect characterization occurs when a reader has inferred traits from a combination of a character’s behavior, speech, and physical appearance, the reader’s understanding of genre tradition, and their own knowledge of the world (Baldick 2001: 37, Margolin 2008: 76-7, Jannidis 2013: 2). 51 The logic behind my division of textual characterization blocks can perhaps better be illustrated by an example. Phormio’s first appearance in the miniatures occurs at 81r in a scene summary that encapsulates the action of 315-47; however, the artist’s impression of Phormio was 281 the characterization cues presented in the miniatures are not reflected in the text, but are suggested elsewhere as part of the performance tradition of which we have only fragments of knowledge from ancient sources. I draw attention to this where it occurs and speculate on the likelihood that the artist had supplemental knowledge of the production and/or representation of Phormio outside his work on the miniatures and his reading of the textual exemplar. 4.4 Miniature Analysis and Interpretation Phormio appears in seven of the twenty-six miniatures dedicated to Phormio in C; one of these seven is the representation of his mask in the play’s Aedicula miniature (77r) and the remaining six are full-figural renderings that appear in scene summaries (81r, 81v, 89r [sup./inf.], 90r, and 91r) which correspond to line breaks at vv. 315, 348, 829, 841, 894, and 990. Among these, three distinct interpretations of Phormio emerge which I will hereafter refer to as Phormios α, β, and γ. The first interpretation, Phormio α, is represented by a mask in the Aedicula (77r). The second interpretation, Phormio β, occurs in Phormio’s first appearance in a scene summary at 81r. The third and final interpretation, Phormio γ, manifests in Phormio’s subsequent depiction in the miniatures at 81v. Phormio γ is maintained thereafter for the remainder of the manuscript (89r [sup./inf.] 90r, and 91r).52 Before exploring how each of these three distinct versions of Phormio correlates to receptions of his characterization, it is important to establish that the inconsistencies in not limited to the characterization that occurred in this scene. Rather, it was informed also by the characterization of Phormio that occurred leading up to this scene (e.g. vv. 13, 27-8, 122, 124-35, 307). 52 The analysis of Phormio’s third and final form, Phormio γ, concentrates on his first appearance as such at 81v, but I also touch on his depiction at 89r (inf.) because of the implications of the accompanying prop in this miniature. 282 Phormio’s depiction should not be attributed to the Carolingian copyists. The Carolingian artists might have arguably created inconsistency by a combination of their division of labor among several artists and/or careless copying. In terms of the former, the only division of copying-artists that is problematic for the current study is the one that occurs between folios 80 and 81 since one artist will have created Phormio’s Aedicula mask at 77r (i.e. Phormio α) and another will have illustrated all his appearances in the scene summaries: 81r, 81v, 89r [sup./inf.], 90r, and 91r (i.e. Phormios β and γ). As I will demonstrate, Phormio’s Aedicula mask is markedly different from his masks as they are shown in the scene summaries. Wright (2006: 148), however, argues that this inconsistency was probably present in U. Comparison with P, although a somewhat problematic witness to U, seems to confirm this.53 Nevertheless, going forward it is necessary to be mindful of the fact that Phormio α was copied by a different Carolingian artist than all other images of Phormio in the miniatures. This copyist distribution, however, also means that the same copyist produced the markedly different masks of Phormios β (81r) and γ (81vff.).54 Although they will be discussed in more detail below, a basic distinction between the masks of Phormios β and γ is that the former has a full head of hair, but in the latter, and in all that follow, the mask is mostly bald. Because the same copyist illustrated these miniatures, the discrepancy in this case can not be attributed to a change in artist. Just as importantly, however, this mask development is mirrored exactly in F (Ambrosiana H.75 inf.), which is another independent 53 Other primary witnesses to U are not available for this particular miniature. 54 I.e. the first of the unnamed copyists to appear in the manuscript, responsible for folios 9-40 and 81-91. 283 witness of U.55 This correlation is too precise to be a coincidence and should confirm that the depiction of Phormio in several different versions can be attributed to the artist of U and not to the Carolingian copyist.56 If these changes are not to be attributed to the Carolingian copyist, we must consider the deliberate implications they suggest from the perspective of the original artist.57 It is important to keep in mind that these miniatures were not meant to reflect realistic stage practice (see above); rather, realism was sacrificed for the sake of communicating more information which, again, was done through theatrical iconography. Therefore, in thinking about Phormio and his three different looks (α, β, and γ), we are clearly not meant to think that the actor playing the role of Phormio made multiple wardrobe changes during an actual production. Instead, these superficial changes are meant to reflect something more cerebral about Phormio and his character development. There are several reasons that Phormio’s shifting appearance would not have been out of place in a Late Antique Roman context. On one hand, Phormio’s apparent ability to play 55 Cf. in F Phormio’s full-haired mask at 107r (=C, 81r) and his mostly bald mask at 108r (=C, 81v); as in C, Phormio continues to be shown as bald for the rest of what survives of F (see 120v). 56 For what it is worth, F and the other primary witnesses to U (J and P) also show loose consistency with one another in terms of gesture and costume, though in terms of costume many of the details preserved in C are not included in the case of the other witnesses due in part to the fact that, with the exception of portions of F, these other witnesses do not include color. 57 We must assume that the original artist was deliberate in their representation of the characters. The manuscript was formatted for the express purpose of including miniatures, which would have been the focal point of the codex and were what distinguished it among all others. The link between characterization and a character’s appearance can be further illustrated by a survey of the play’s decidedly static characters: Antipho and Demipho. These two are predictable, consistent, flat characters (important in accentuating the roundness of characters like Phormio); this is emphasized by the artist by their keeping Antipho’s and Demipho’s appearance consistent throughout the manuscript (Antipho: 79r, 79v, 83r, 83v, 84r, 85v, 86r, 88v, 89r [sup./inf.]; Demipho: 80r, 81v, 82v, 84v, 85v, 86v, 87v, 88r, 90, 91r). 284 multiple characters might have encouraged association with pantomime actors, whose performances were massively popular in the Roman empire in the fourth and fifth centuries CE. These actors were distinct because they played many different characters in a single performance which were distinguished in part with the help of many different masks. On the other hand, Late Antique art and architecture of this period was in part defined by the incorporation of spoliated art and had no qualms about the re-cutting of portrait heads (e.g. the head of Constantine from the Arch of Constantine, recut from Trajan). Phormio’s mask changes might be viewed as a progression of recut heads, further refining his character as it develops in the text. Phormio’s developing image in the miniatures should be considered a deliberate and conscious act on the part of the artist with real meaning behind it. The first visual representation of Phormio, Phormio α, comes from the Aedicula at 77r where his mask is displayed on the middle shelf, second from the viewer’s left (and so sixth in appearance in the play).58 The Phormio Aedicula is light brown in color and consists of three shelves set between two ornate three-drum Corinthian columns. These columns support a semi-circular, scallop-shell patterned pediment which is bookended by a small vase acroterion on each end. At its base, left-centered and angled slightly upward, a lit torch is also inexplicably present. The shelves display the masks of the comedy’s thirteen speaking roles.59 The top and bottom shelves each hold four masks and the middle shelf, five. The top shelf includes the masks of 58 See https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Vat.lat.3868/0169. The Aedicula, again, showcases the masks of all the characters who will appear in the comedy and serves essentially as a visual rendition of a cast list. All subsequent descriptions of a miniature’s layout will be from the viewer’s perspective unless specified otherwise. 59 Viewing the Aedicula top-down, left to right, these masks appear in the order in which each character first speaks. 285 Davos, Geta, Antipho, and Phaedria; the middle shelf, those of Demipho, Phormio, Hegio, Cratinus, and Crito; and the bottom shelf, those of Dorio, Chremes, Sophrona, and Nausistrata. Phormio’s mask is the only visual attribute from which elements of his characterization can be drawn in this illustration. The mask has a long, narrow face with a dark brown complexion. It is lean and somewhat wrinkled and carries a neutral expression. The mask has a full head of long, brown, straight hair running uniformly across the forehead in an onkos/roll. It is combed back with loose tresses falling at the sides. There are two furrows running across the forehead and one brow is raised is a slight arch. The mask has large round eyes, a long, narrow nose and a circular, open mouth. The beard, brown in color, is short and round and appears smooth in texture. The mask most closely resembles the visual evidence for Pollux’ “Leading Slave” (22) or “Wavy-Haired Leading Slave” (27).60 In terms of characterization, Phormio α is exceedingly vague. In form (i.e. facial features, beard, hair), the mask is indistinguishable from that of Gnatho, the parasite of Eunuchus and only other representative of this stock type in Terence.61 However, this mask type also provides the likeness for most of the servus and senex characters throughout the manuscript.62 With no 60 See Poll. 4.149-50, MNC3 I: 26-9, 32-4. 61 See especially Gnatho’s first appearance at 21v, but also 23v (n.b. poorly preserved), 24v, 29v (mislabelled, see Sanga—third figure from the right), 33v (sup./inf.), and 34r. Gnatho would have been the only other character labelled parasitus in the scene headings of the textual exemplar and is the only other character called parasitus in Terence’s corpus (see Eun. 228, 264, 347). 62 Cf. the masks of Davus (top shelf, far left) and Demipho (middle shelf, far left) in the Phormio Aedicula. See also Wright 2006: 219. Beard length and hair color do not provide further guidance in terms of distinguishing a senex from a servus in the manuscript’s Aediculae. Looking first at beard length, all servi masks on display in the Aediculae have short beards. A long beard does seem to be a sufficient condition in assigning a mask to a senex character type (see Chremes, Simo, and Crito, An., 3r; Menedemus, Haut., 35r; Hegio, Ad., 50v; Phidippus, Hec., 65r; Chremes, Phorm., 77r), but it is not a necessary one since four senes are shown with 286 accompanying cast list to associate character name and stock type with specific masks, the best a reader could do in assigning meaning to Phormio α is to narrow it down to one of three stock characters: servus, senex, or parasitus. Furthermore, since Phormio α has no idiosyncrasies to signal otherwise, the unsuspecting reader is not primed to anticipate anything other than a conventional stock type—if not another Gnathian (i.e. traditional) comic parasite, then perhaps a conventional servus callidus or senex iratus (cf. the masks of Syrus and Chremes [Haut.] at 42r).63 Whether or not it was deliberate, Phormio’s unremarkable Aedicula mask seems to translate very well into a visual medium the same misdirection that is promoted about Phormio in the adjacent Argumentum and prologue (27-8). Each of these include the laughably understated characterization of Phormio as simply parasitus. Phormio α then, like the text of the comedy, plays on the audience’s awareness of stock types (and their visual representations) and encourages familiar expectations only to later exceed them—the feature of Phormio that distinguishes him among most of Terence’s characters.64 short beards (Chremes, Haut., 35r; Micio, Ad., 50v; Laches, Hec., 65r; Demipho, Phorm. 77r; n.b., Demea [Ad., 50v] has not been considered since poor preservation of this feature in the manuscript has made it impossible to decipher length). As for hair color, most servi have some shade of brown hair (Byrria, Davus, and Dromo, An. 3r; Syrus, Haut., 35r; Parmeno, Syrus, and Dromo, Ad., 50v; Parmeno and Sosia, Hec., 65r; Davus and Geta, Phorm., 77r), but two have a shade of gray hair (Dromo, Haut., 35r; Geta, Ad., 50v). For the senes, half are shown with gray hair (Crito, An., 3r; Chremes and Menedemus, Haut., 35r; Micio, Demea, and Hegio, Ad., 50v) and the other half with brown hair (Simo and Chremes, An., 3r; Laches and Phidippus, Hec., 65r; Demipho and Chremes, Phorm., 77r). 63 Gnatho is a traditional comic parasite in the sense that he is inclined to engage in excessive flattery in order to gain favor from potential patrons. 64 This correlation makes one question whether the artist had a pre-existing understanding of Phormio and his character development in the play. If the artist knew nothing about Phormio beyond his stock designation as parasitus (gleaned perhaps from scene headings), it is no wonder that they created his mask in the image of Gnatho. If, however, the artist was familiar with 287 The only real distinction between the masks of Gnatho and Phormio α is complexion. The fact that Phormio’s mask has a dark brown complexion leads us to consider the evidence for his presentation in the performance tradition. In Pro Caecina, Cicero claims that, “the banker, Sextus Clodius, whose family name is Phormio, is no less black or bold than the Terentian Phormio” (Argentarius Sex. Clodius cui cognomen est Phormio, nec minus niger nec minus confidens quam ille Terentianus est Phormio, 27).65 Since the play itself does not explicitly identify Phormio as black (though it does call him “bold” [confidens, 123]), it seems that Cicero must be referring to a well-known stage (re)production of Phormio in which the title character wore a black mask (see Marshall 2006: 149).66 Whether this detail about Phormio’s mask was perpetuated into Late Antiquity in subsequent reperformances or through Cicero’s text (Cicero was widely circulated and known in Late Antiquity, see MacCormack 2013), it is possible that the artist here is demonstrating some familiarity with a performance tradition of Phormio in which the title character wore a black mask. If the artist was familiar with details such as these, we could assume they may have also had a basic pre-existing notion of his character as it is presented in the text. If so, we must interpret Phormio α as a deliberate attempt to underplay his uniqueness in a way that reinforces the text’s play with character expectations.67 Phormio’s unusual complexity, then their coyly understated depiction in the Aedicula must be taken as a deliberate attempt to mislead. 65 See also Quint. Inst. 6.3.56. 66 For recent discussion on the evidence and impact of black masks on the Roman stage, see Richlin 2019. 67 Consider the representation of more conventional stock characters whose appearance in the Aediculae and throughout the scene summaries is more consistent. See, for example, the representations of Syrus as a servus callidus (50v, 53v, 54r, 54v, 56r, 58r, 61r, 61v, 62v, 63r, 64r) and Sannio as a leno avarus (50v, 53r, 53v, 54v) from Adelphoe. 288 The second visual representation of Phormio, Phormio β, comes at 81r.68 This is a scene summary capturing the action from Phorm. 315 to 347 where Phormio makes his first appearance on stage. In this scene, Geta informs Phormio of Antipho’s fear that his recently returned father (Demipho) will dissolve his new marriage to Phanium. Phormio happily pledges to help Antipho and exudes confidence in his ability to do so. The miniature depicts Phormio (left) and Geta (right) standing on an uneven groundline; they face one another engaging in an active dialogue. The depiction of Phormio here will have been informed by verses 1-347. It is possible to assess Phormio’s visual characterization through mask, costume, and gesture. Like Phormio α, the mask of Phormio β has a long, narrow face and a short round beard; this, however, is the extent of their shared attributes. The mask of Phormio β has a smoother complexion which is now pink in color. It has a full head of hair, but it is much shorter, receding at the temples and, like the beard, now grey in color. This forehead is relaxed, and the brows, level. The eyes are now narrowed, and the nose, shorter. The closest analogue from Pollux’ list is now the “Flatterer” (17).69 Phormio β wears actor’s tights, a tunic, himation, and sandals. The tan himation is draped diagonally across the body over the left shoulder/arm and extends down to the right ankle. Underneath, and also extending to the ankles, is a long, loose-sleeved gray tunic decorated with two narrow brown clavi.70 Close-fitting grey tights with sleeves reaching the wrists are worn underneath and are visible on the right forearm in this miniature. As for his gesture, Phormio β stands upright. His body faces frontally, but his head and both feet are turned 68 See https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Vat.lat.3868/0177. 69 See Poll. 4.148, MNC3 I: 22-3. 70 Clavi were vertical bands, often purple in color, added to the tunic as a mark of wealth and status. 289 left towards Geta. Both arms are bent; the left arm extends somewhat forward and the right arm is drawn slightly back. In Phormio β, we get the first glimpse of his complex characterization communicated through the miniatures in his scene-summary debut. A cursory glance at the mask—the reader’s only other point of reference for Phormio thus far—signals this complexity. The mask of Phormio β is decidedly different from that of Phormio α. The presentation of an entirely new mask forces a dialogue with Phormio α and ultimately brings to fruition the miniatures’ mirroring of character misdirection put forth by the text—Phormio will not be the conventional character we were led to expect. But the mask of Phormio β is not a passive indicator of complexity; rather, its appearance suggests specific connotations. The presentation of a new mask creates for the reader a characterization vacuum for Phormio, compelling them to seek out new meaning to attach to the new mask. As the eye is drawn to the character opposite Phormio, this new meaning is found. Phormio β’s mask appears almost a mirror image of the mask worn by Geta to his left.71 The reader is therefore encouraged to recalibrate their notion of Phormio based on the given characterization of Geta thus far. In his early representation in the miniatures, comparanda suggests that Geta be seen as a servus callidus.72 In the text, Geta is complex in his own right. Although he is initially portrayed as a rather pitiful (57) and powerless (73-9) character, the text increasingly begins to suggest that he may in fact be the comedy’s servus callidus (e.g. 179-82, 71 The only perceptible difference is that Geta’s hair appears slightly longer. 72 We can look to the similarities in the representation of Geta and Adelphoe’s Syrus who is perhaps Terence’s most clear-cut incarnation of a traditional servus callidus. Cf. Geta at 79v (Phorm. 179-230) with Syrus at 64r and Geta at 80r (Phorm. 231-314) with Syrus at 53v. 290 185-90, 227-314).73 Phormio β’s otherwise uncontextualized new mask therefore finds immediate meaning through the resemblance it shares with the mask of Geta in this miniature. Phormio β’s gesture also reinforces the characterization as a servus callidus. There are only two close parallels to this gesture found elsewhere in the manuscript. One is struck by the eunuchus Dorus at 27v (from Eun. 668-726; mislabelled as Phaedria in the miniature [see Wright 2006: 50]) and the other by the adulescens Chremes at 28v (Eun. 727-38). Of the two, the latter is perhaps the more appropriate comparandum since, like the miniature in question, it also depicts a two-person dialogue between a citizen (left) and slave (right). As the text makes clear, Chremes is visibly drunk in this scene from Eunuchus (727-32).74 A visual cue that suggests Phormio is drunk, like a servus callidus celebrating victory (cf. Syrus, Ad. 763-75), would have been appropriate in this case as Phormio might have been celebrating the success of his initial 73 We get hints of this characterization through Geta’s recognition that he will need to improvise and come up with a new plan (consilium; 179-82) and through his unwavering loyalty to his young master (185-90); the characterization of Geta as a servus callidus is then reified as he and Phaedria prepare to intercept Demipho at 219-30. Here, Geta formulates a strategy that will do in leu of something even more clever (callidiore, 228) and communicates it through military imagery—a trope commonly associated with the tricky slave (see Barsby II: 36 n. 27). After Demipho arrives, Geta, like a typical Plautine servus callidus, establishes a rapport with the audience through a series of comic asides (231-85; see Moore 1998: 33-44) which include a claim of mental superiority over his master (o Phaedria, incredibile quantum erum ante eo sapientia, 247), before playing his own part in the deception of Demipho at 286-314. See also Goldberg 1986: 79. 74 The portrayal of Dorus as a drunkard is not supported by the text, but it may have been the intended reading nonetheless given the political climate in which the manuscript was produced. The most (in)famous eunuch in the Roman empire at the turn of the fourth century was Eutropius, an influential member of the imperial court of Arcadius who was ruling the Eastern Roman empire from Constantinople. Eutropius, a former slave, had a meteoric rise in Arcadius’ court; this culminated with his election as consul in 399, making him the first eunuch to ever hold this office. Eutropius, however, was despised by rivals in the west and it is difficult to imagine that Terence’s Dorus, a eunuch slave trying to pass as a citizen, would not have evoked Eutropius for a western Roman reader at the turn of the fourth century. Claudian, the court poet for Stilicho and Honorius in the west, is particularly critical of Eutropius for, among other things, his drinking (see In Eutropium 1.269-71, 2.85). 291 scheme to secure the union of Antipho and Phanium through the manipulation of Athenian marriage law. The potential correlation between Phormio β’s gesture here and drunkenness may also indicate further evidence of an artist well-informed about Phormio and its performance history. The following passage is taken from Donatus (W. II: 426 vv. 14-22) and recounts an interaction between Ambivius Turpio and Terence at a rehearsal of Phormio prior to its production at the Ludi Romani in 161 BCE:75 adhuc narratur fabula de Terentio et Ambiuio ebrio, qui acturus hanc fabulam oscitans et temulentus atque aurem minimo inscalpens digitulo hos Terentii pronuntiauit uersus. quibus auditis exclamauit poeta se talem eum scriber cogitasse parasitum, et ex indignatione, qua eum saturum potumque deprehenderat, delinitus statim. Haec labra lingens ut ebrius et ructans ut potus et satur pronuntiauit actor bonus. There is still a story told about Terence and a drunken Ambivius Turpio who, rehearsing the title-role, delivered these lines of Terence [Phorm. 315ff.] while intoxicated, yawning, and scratching his ear with his little finger. After he heard them, the poet cried out that he himself pictured the parasite in that exact way while he was writing the character and the initial anger of having recognized that Turpio was completely drunk immediately subsided. The brilliant actor therefore delivered his lines, licking his lips as if inebriated and belching as if wholly drunk. In this anecdote, Turpio is said to have played the part of Phormio (as if?) drunk; this take on the title character was apparently met with the resounding approval by Terence and presumably adopted for the debut performance.76 Like Phormio’s black mask, there is no indication in the 75 In addition to contributing to our understanding of Phormio’s characterization, the following anecdote represents important evidence for discussions on script control and rehearsal participation shared by directors, poets, and magistrates/sponsors. 76 The circumstances described by Donatus at this rehearsal would have helped Turpio sell the portrayal of drunkenness in ways that could not have been done in performance. The fact that Turpio was literally drunk facilitated belching and having been unmasked, Phormio could be seen licking his lips. The latter would have been impossible for the actual performance where Turpio was presumably also sober; gesture and movement would have therefore born the brunt of the burden in conveying drunkenness. 292 text that Phormio should appear drunk at this point.77 If it was the artist’s intention to depict him in this way, they must have been working from an external source, whether this portrayal was perpetuated in reperformances or through literary sources such as the commentaries of Donatus. The authenticity of the anecdote is irrelevant. What is important for our purposes is the fact that it was in circulation in the context within which the artist was working.78 Phormio β’s gesture here, in addition to contributing to his characterization as a servus callidus, is another potential indication that the artist had knowledge of Phormio beyond the text itself. This refined visual characterization of Phormio as a servus callidus through the mask and gesture of Phormio β is encouraged by the text. By this point, Phormio has already demonstrated his aptitude as an architectus doli (124-34) and in the scene preserved by the miniature in question, he expresses his willingness to take on this role again (317-20); like Geta, he communicates his capacity to scheme in military terms as a servus callidus would (321, see Maltby 2012: 156-7). The mask and gesture, however, represent only two of three visual attributes that contribute to Phormio’s visual characterization in this miniature. Phormio β’s costume in fact clashes with their message. The elaborate tunic and tan himation worn by Phormio β are, throughout the manuscript, reserved for one of two stock types: the senex and parasitus.79 Phormio β’s costume then draws an important distinction between himself and Geta whose simple tunic and comically undersized 77 This claim considers the textual characterization of Phormio leading up to his entrance here (Phorm. 1-314) as well as the entirety of this scene to which Donatus’ comment refers (315-47). 78 Donatus was working in Rome in the fourth century, he and the manuscript artist were therefore contemporaries. 79 See Chremes and Simo (An., 11v), Chremes and Menedemus (Haut., 36v), Micio and Demea (Ad., 61v), Phidippus and Laches (Hec., 68r), Demipho and Chremes (Phorm., 84v), and Gnatho (Eun., 21v). 293 himation reinforce his characterization as a servus.80 Of the two stock types actively evoked by Phormio β’s costume, parasitus should emerge as the dominant reading. In addition to two instances of direct characterization as parasitus by this point (27-8 and 122; see also Maltby 2012: 140), the scene captured by this miniature includes Phormio’s extended explanation of his parsasite philosophy (325-45).81 It seems then, that while the artist strongly intimates a reading of Phormio as a servus callidus, they were careful to distinguish Phormio β through costume. The choice suggests the artist wanted to respect his given stock designation as a parasitus. The third visual representation of Phormio, Phormio γ, first occurs at 81v where he is depicted in a scene summary that captures the action from Phorm. 348 to 440.82 In this scene, Demipho, supported by three amici (313) and ostensibly Geta, confronts Phormio and presents a challenge to the alleged family ties that compelled Antipho’s court-mandated marriage to Phanium. The miniature depicts the six figures who are present in the scene engaging in a complex interaction. Reading the image left to right, these figures include Demipho, Geta, Phormio, Hegio, Cratinus, and Crito. On the left, Demipho and Geta are shown interacting with Phormio; this grouping represents the primary action of the scene and includes all the characters that speak in it. On the right, Cratinus stands as the focal point among Demea’s silent amici. He is the central figure among them and the only one who attempts to engage with the primary agon 80 Cf. Davus (An., 8v), Parmeno (Eun., 33r), Syrus (Haut., 42v), Geta (Ad., 63r), Parmeno (Hec., 75v), and Davus (Phorm. 78r). 81 See also Martin 1959: 116, Maltby 2012: 157. In addition, at 318 Phormio puts the situation in terms of a food metaphor which, as noted by Donatus, is particularly appropriate for a comic parasite (see W. II: 427 vv. 9-10; see also Martin 1959: 115, Barsby II: 46 n. 32, Maltby 2012: 156). In this scene, Phormio also sets himself against Demipho whom he repeatedly refers to as a senex (316, 321, 323). It is very rare for one Terentian senex to refer to another senex as a senex. The exceptions are Chremes (Haut. 410-9, 535, 545, 759) and Demipho (Ad. 761). 82 See https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Vat.lat.3868/0178. 294 to their left. Hegio (left) and Crito (right) both look in deference to Cratinus whose pronounced age, relative to his comrades, further reinforces him as the authority figure among them. Since this is the very next scene following Phormio’s last depiction in the miniatures, additional textual characterization that may have informed the artist’s impression of Phormio is limited to the new character drawing that occurs in this scene (i.e. 348-440). Here, again, it is possible to explore facets of Phormio’s characterization through mask, costume, and gesture. Like Phormio β’s mask in the preceding scene, Phormio γ’s mask has a pink complexion, relaxed forehead, a short, straight nose, and a short, round beard. The two masks otherwise have little else in common. Phormio γ’s mask has a much fuller, rounded face. It is now nearly completely bald with only some short, lank, dark gray hair along the sides of his head.83 The baldness, in turn, gives this mask an outward appearance of age that was not suggested by the previous masks. The brows are still level, but have a more obvious arch to them and the eyes, hearkening back to Phormio α’s mask, are again enlarged and rounded. The mask arguably represents Pollux’ “Brothel-keeper” (8), “Parasite” (18) or “Maison” (25).84 Phormio γ’s costume is the same as the previous depiction, distinguished most importantly by the tan himation draped over a tunic with two vertical clavi. In this miniature, Phormio stands upright; he faces frontally, but his head and feet are angled towards Demipho and Geta to the left. His left arm, concealed beneath his himation, is relaxed and slightly crooked at his side; his right arm is 83 In subsequent iterations of this mask type, there are a few long tresses of hair framing the face; see 89r (sup./inf.) and 90r. 84 See MNC3 I: 14-5, 23-4, and 30-2. 295 fully extended towards Geta and Demipho and raised just above shoulder level. Phormio’s right palm is open; his index finger is bent to touch the thumb and all other fingers extend outward.85 Yet again, a new mask compels the reader to reconsider their understanding of Phormio, and again the initial basis for this new characterization comes from within the miniature. Cratinus, one of the three “friends” summoned by Demipho (second figure from the right), wears a mask that is nearly identical to the one worn by Phormio γ; however, the encouraged association with Cratinus is made undeniably overt by the fact that Cratinus not only wears an identical costume, but also strikes a nearly matching pose. Phormio γ is, for all intents and purposes, a facsimile of Cratinus. We should therefore look, first and foremost, to what is communicated by Cratinus’ depiction to inform our understanding of the artist’s refined reception of Phormio expressed as Phormio γ. The visual characterization of Cratinus is informed by two key details of his depiction: his mask-costume combination and a prop writing tablet. With the exception of Phormio γ, this particular mask-costume pairing, i.e. a bald mask and a tan himation over an ornate tunic, is unique to Cratinus. The fact that no other figures depicted in the miniatures for any play share this guise suggests that the artist saw in Cratinus a character type that does not appear elsewhere in Terence’s corpus. With the exception of the coquus, Terence’s comedies include all of the most common character types one might have expected in New Comedy (adulescens, ancilla, anus, leno, lorarius, matrona, meretrix, miles, nutrix, parasitus, puer, senex, servus, virgo).86 These character types can be identified throughout the miniatures by their relatively consistent 85 Dodwell would classify this gesture as “Agreement/Approval” (2000: 61-5). In P, however, the forefinger is shown unbent; this gesture indicates Dodwell’s “Forcefulness” (40-4). 86 This claim is based on a comparison with the frequency of particular character types present in Plautus—the only other poet of palliatae for which we have any substantial evidence. 296 depictions that distinguish their stock type across the plays. Cratinus’ appearance therefore encourages the viewer to consider a more specialized character type.87 Cratinus’ mask-costume combination carries with it no obvious intrinsic indication of the specialized character type he represented in the eyes of the artist;88 this is where the prop writing tablet, and only real distinction from Phormio γ, helps complete the picture of Cratinus’ characterization. In his left hand, Cratinus is shown holding an open writing tablet.89 Here, it is crucial to point out that the text gives no indication that Cratinus is holding any documents, nor do documents play any role in the plot at any point (this observation also extends to Crito and Hegio). The presence of the writing tablet then can only be explained as serving, exclusively, character-drawing purposes.90 The use of props for no other purpose beyond characterization was well established, both in theatrical production and its representation in material culture, by the time this manuscript was produced and this manuscript perpetuates the practice.91 The use of 87 Terence’s comedies include a few other specialized characters including a libertus (An.), obstetrix (An.) and eunuchus (Eun.). These three character types, in addition to the most common character types outlined above, constitute all the character types that are represented in Terence’s comedies. 88 It is also important to point out that Cratinus, along with Crito and Hegio, do not receive any lines until after this scene. Participation in the dialogue might have helped guide the reader’s interpretation of the characterization suggested by their appearance. 89 Its identification as such is made most clear, among the other witnesses to U, by F (108r). Demipho’s other friends, Crito and Hegio appear to hold scrolls though it is difficult to say for certain in the case of Hegio (see Wright 2006: 158). 90 It should also be noted that no other characters in the miniatures are shown holding documents. This provides further support for my claim that Cratinus’ guise signals the presence of a specialized character type. 91 Consider, for example, the use of the walking stick to reinforce the character type of the senex. By the time Ekklesiazousai was produced (ca. 392 BCE), this association must have been already well established since it was considered a critical prop for the women’s disguise in their attempt to pass for their comic husbands (see 276-8). See also the casual inclusion of walking sticks for Smikrines (Epit. 248) as well as Demeas and Nikeratos (Sam. 577) which are also included in 297 props in this way, however, is only effective if the character association is obvious. In the case of uncontextualized prop documents with no part to play in the action, I contend that the association is with sycophants, or what Lofberg called “sycophants of the old school” (1920: 72): shameless lawsuit mongers whose legal expertise made them a menacing threat to society.92 This character type is a comic exaggeration of the habitual prosecutors of fifth-century Athens whose comprehensive knowledge of Athenian law and impressive skill in legal manoeuvring made them powerful witnesses, informers, and attorneys against opponents; their skill (and shamelessness) was such that they became a near impregnable obstacle in legal matters to the point that wealthy men found it more worthwhile to pay them off than face them in open court (Lofberg 1920: 61). The character type required little distortion for comic effect on the stage. The most pronounced example is Paphlagon of Aristophanes’ Hippeis, the not-so-thinly-veiled caricature of the notorious Athenian sycophant Cleon.93 Other extended applications of this character type in Aristophanes can be found in Akharneis (818-28, 908-58), Ornithes (1410-69), and Ploutos (850-932).94 This character type persevered in a limited capacity in New Comedy and was deemed relevant for adaptation in palliatae. The example most true to its type their representation in the mosaics of the House of Menander in Mytilene. Within C itself, see the depiction of Demea at 60v (sup.) who is shown leaning on a walking stick. This miniature is a scene summary of Ad. 713-8 which gives no indication that Demea carries a walking stick, nor is one suggested or needed elsewhere in the play. See also Poll. 4.120 for various props whose sole function is to reinforce characterization (of the pornoboskos, parasitos, and agroikos). 92 Christ 1998 provides updated discussion on the Athenian sycophant. 93 See Eq. 62-70, 255-65, 299-302, 324-7, 436-7, 773-6, 977-85 (Christ 1992: 339 n. 13); e.g. ἄθρει καὶ τοῦ ποδὸς παρίει· ὡς οὗτος ἤδη καικίας ἢ συκοφαντίας πνεῖ. (“Keep your eyes peeled and loosen the sails. He’s either ready to puff a Nor’easter or a sycophant’s hot air”) (Eq. 436-7, Greek text from Henderson I: 284). 94 See Pellegrino 2017. 298 are the advocati (e.g. 506, 526) of Agorastocles in Plautus’ Poenulus. In this comedy, Agorastocles seeks to acquire a slave girl from a pimp through legal action and enlists the help of advocati who in this case, play the roll of professional witnesses (testis, 447, 726-7). These advocati use legal language (e.g. 536, see De Melo IV: 73 n. 33) and boast about their capacity to take down rich men with regularity (515-7), but their stock designation as “sycophants of the old school” is made explicit by Milphio’s description of them:95 non potuisti adducere homines magis ad hanc rem idoneos. nam istorum nullus nefastust: comitiales sunt meri; ibi habitant, ibi eos conspicias quam praetorem saepius. hodie iuris coctiores non sunt qui litis creant quam hi sunt qui, si non est quicum litigent, litis emunt. You couldn’t have brought men more suitable for this business: none of them is a public-holiday man, they’re pure court-room men; that’s where they live, that’s where you can spot them more frequently than the judge. Today there are no men more cooked in law who create lawsuits than these people, who buy lawsuits if there’s no one to have a lawsuit with. Clearly, this stock character was familiar to the poets of palliatae and may have been what Ambivius Turpio is referring to when he distinguishes the impudens sycophanta from the edax parasitus as two of several distinct stock roles he can play (Ter. Haut. 38);96 however, at least in Roman comedy, the term sycophanta had become more broadly applied to a trickster of any kind, not just the litigious sort (see especially the sycophanta of Plautus’ Trinummus).97 As this 95 583-7, text and trans. De Melo IV: 78-9 with slight adjustments. 96 In the prologue to Terence’s Heauton Timorumenos, Turpio makes a plea for an attentive audience so that he might enjoy the opportunity to perform in a more subdued comedy (statariam agere, 36) and have some reprieve from constantly taking on some of the more taxing roles which, in addition to the parasitus edax and sycophanta impudens, includes the servus currens, senex iratus, and leno avarus (35-40). 97 Other striking examples include Simia of Pseudolus (arg. II.14) and Jupiter of Amphitruo (506). Further discussion and other examples are found in Lofberg 1920: 66-7. 299 discussion has made clear, the original character type persisted alongside later simplified conflations. Therefore, to avoid confusion moving forward, I will refer to the “old school” sycophant type as a quadruplator to distinguish them from other comic characters who are identified as sycophanta but who do not represent the character type in question. The term quadruplator refers to “the accuser in a public criminal procedure in Rome, especially for one who brought action out of a desire for profit” (Wessner 2006). The word seems to have derived specifically from the fact that if this accuser won the conviction, they received a quarter of the damages owed to the plaintiff. Quadruplator, or rather quadrupulator (Plaut. Per. 70), is also the term used by the parasitus Saturio to distinguish what are clearly “sycophants of the old school” from his own kind (i.e. traditional comic parasites, see Per. 53-80).98 As a word grounded in comedy and which conveys the bad faith associated with sycophants in comic contexts, quadruplator is a useful designation for comic “sycophants of the old school.”99 The evidence to suggest that prop documents may have helped identify a character as a quadruplator is admittedly limited. In terms of textual evidence, this is perhaps to be expected. The benefit of props that inform characterization is that they can speak for themselves without having to waste dialogue justifying their presence.100 Nevertheless, prop documents play an 98 This passage also represents further evidence for the persistence of the original sycophant type in Roman comedy since it only makes sense if the audience is aware of the character. 99 Advocatus is ostensibly the obvious choice, but it is occasionally used in passing reference to comic senes who were obligated to serve as legal representatives for family and friends, but do so keeping on the straight and narrow and not on a full-time basis or in a professional capacity (e.g. Ter. Eun. 340, Ad. 646 and 677). I have therefore refrained from using this term to avoid any potential confusion. Other appropriate terms that could convey the character type in Roman terms include delator and index. 100 Cf. senes and walking sticks. 300 important supporting role in the characterization of two of the most law-focused surviving comedies: Aristophanes’ Hippeis and Sphekes. In Hippeis, the prop documents manifest as “oracles” (χρησμοί) from which the sycophant Paphlagon derives much of his power (e.g. 109-43, 997-1110).101 In Sphekes, Bdelocleon fetches “writing tablets” (σανίς) and “written indictments” (γραφή) for a farcical trial in which he plays the role of defense attorney for a dog (Laches; see 849-51).102 As for visual evidence, there are no visual representations of ancient comedy with which we can associate a known quadruplator character type, but the iconography need not have been limited to the stage. In other depictions of the Roman legal process in action, the participating litigants are usually shown holding documents in one hand and gesticulating towards the judge with the other.103 These images seem to reflect the Roman courtroom with some accuracy.104 There is also a basic association between writing tablets and the law itself in both Greece and Rome.105 I suggest there is a reasonable basis for the claim that documents could signal to viewers that a figure is a legal expert, or in a comic context, a quadruplator. 101 Cf. Cic., De or. 1.200: Est enim sine dubio domus iuris consulti totius oraculum civitatis. (“the house of a lawyer is without a doubt the oracle of the entire state.”) (Latin text from Sutton and Rackham 1948: 140). 102 See also the wicked book (κακὸν τὸ βιβλίον, 1036) of the law seller (ψηφισματοπώλης, 1037) in Ar. Av. 103 See, for example, the Sarcophagus of C. Valerius Petronianus (Archaeological Museum of Milan), a relief from Lacus Iuturnae (Antiqarium Fornese, Rome), and a fresco from the Caseggiato dell'Ercole in Ostia in Gabelmann 1984: nos. 93, 71, and 20. The Probianus Diptych (no. 100), which Wright (2006) uses to help contextualize C, may also show lawyers in action holding documents, but a legal context is less clear in this case. For what it is worth, one of the ‘litigants’ looks suspiciously like Phormio γ. 104 Quintilian suggests that it would not have been unusual for orators to be seen holding libelli (Inst. 11.3.142). 105 See, for example, Aesch. 281a from the so-called “Dike Play” wherein Dike claims to indict wicked men by inscribing their transgressions in a tablet of Zeus (21-2) or Eur. 506 which 301 Although the text that would have informed the artist’s impression of Cratinus’ characterization is extremely limited, it is not difficult to see how they came to see Cratinus as a quadruplator.106 The artist’s basis for their characterization of Cratinus was in fact limited to two lines.107 At 312-3, Demipho voices his intention to seek out support from friends in his bid to challenge the legal basis on which Antipho was compelled to marry Phanium: … inde ibo ad forum atque aliquos mihi / amicos advocabo ad hanc rem qui adsient.108 This brief announcement strongly suggests that Demipho’s “friends” are in fact legal experts or rather, comic quadruplatores. The Forum (312), where the Twelve Tables mandate courts be held (1.7), was essentially synonymous with legal activity for the Romans (see Bablitz 2007: 13-50).109 This correlation extended to comedy (e.g. Plaut. Cas.563-8, Ter. Eun. 763, and Plaut. Poen. 584 where the quadruplatores are called “committed comitium confederates”, comitiales sunt meri). acknowledges the same notion. In Rome, the twelve tables were inscribed in tablets (Dion. Hal. 2.27, Dio Cass. 42.32). 106 The legal expertise of Demipho’s amici is obviously confirmed in the following scene, but we must respect the possibility that the artist may have worked linearly and with no prior knowledge of the play. It is also possible that ADVOCATI was given as a stock character label in the artist’s textual exemplar, though it is less certain in this case since they do not have a speaking role in the scene in question. For what it is worth, they are included in the scene heading of the Bembine Terence where they are labelled advocati (61r). 107 At the opening of the scene in question, however, Demipho also frames his predicament as an iniuria (349) to Cratinus et al. This word is, at its root a legal term (in + ius) and we can assume that Demipho here is framing the wrong done to him as a legal one for the benefit of his accompanying quadruplatores. 108 Text from Barsby II: 44 and 46. Cf. Ter. Eun. 762-4: malo ego nos prospicere quam hunc ulcisci accepta iniuria. / tu abi atque obsera ostium intus, dum ego hinc transcurro ad forum. / volo ego adesse hic advocatos nobis in turba hac. Thais thinks very little of these potential advocates, nil opus est istis, Chreme (765; text from Barsby I: 400 and 402). 109 See also Ov., Ars am. 1.79-83 which suggests that love can be found in the Forum, as it often is by the lawyers there. 302 Advocabo (313) is also suggestive as it can be taken in a focused legal sense “to employ as counsel, have plead one’s cause” (OLD).110 It certainly encourages association with the participial form advocatus (Martin 1959: 114) which has a much more narrowly focused legal application. Finally, adsient (313) and later adeste (350) are also suggestive. Like advocare, adesse can be interpreted with the legal leaning, “to give support by presence in court, appear as an advocate” (OLD). Given the context of the Forum, we are, I think, encouraged to apply the legal sense to each of the verbs. For these reasons the artist interpreted Cratinus and his associates as quadruplatores. The visual representation of Phormio in the miniature in question (Phormio γ) is, again, meant to draw its meaning from Cratinus.111 Given the above analysis of Cratinus’ characterization, we can be confident that Phormio’s new depiction in this scene is, first and foremost, meant to convey a refined characterization as a quadruplator. The fact that he does not hold a tablet or scroll does not diminish this likelihood.112 The artist’s aggressive transformation 110 Cf. Quint. Inst. 12.1.43: nonne ei communis utilitas oratorem advocabit? (text from Russell 2001: 218). 111 We might also consider the possibility that, here too, the artist’s portrayal of Phormio as a quadruplator might be based on external influences. Donatus, for example, calls Phormio a sycophant on five occasions (see W. II: 385 vv. 15-7, 419 vv. 4-6, 427 vv. 14-9, 435 vv. 8-11, 437 vv. 4-10 [from Damon 1997: 98 n. 50]). This case is much less clear, however, since although the text does not explicitly call Phormio a sycophant at any point, the characterization could reasonably have been formulated from the text alone. 112 Quintilian warns against holding libelli (Inst. 11.3.142); the fact that he felt the need to address it suggests it may have been common for lawyers to litigate while holding documents. Quintilian’s reasoning for avoiding such practice is that it hinders the ability to gesture, but also because it suggests a lack of preparation, or more specifically a lack of confidence in one’s memory. This is of course ironic given the fact that Phormio comically forgets Stilpo’s name in the middle of the dialogue with Demipho (356 and 378-90; for what it is worth, this scene is reminiscent of Plaut. Trin. 904-923 where the sycophanta is also caught in a lie based on name and identity). 303 of Phormio’s appearance almost certainly represents an attempt to mirror the new emphases in his textual characterization. Quadruplator certainly encompasses what is suggested by the text. The most blatant evidence is the extravagant insult lobbed at Phormio by Geta at 374: extortor bonorum, contortor legum (“fleecer of the flush, corrupter of canon”).113 This clearly and concisely characterizes him as a quadruplator.114 The designation suggests the blackmail of noble men and/or exaction of their goods through the unethical abuse of the laws. Following this, Phormio’s threat to file a substantial lawsuit (dicam tibi impingam grandem, 439) marks another defining characteristic of the quadruplator as well.115 In addition, Phormio shows his depth of knowledge of the Athenian legal system by taking comfort in the city’s double jeopardy policy (403-6).116 Finally, Phormio employs a proverb that has its roots in the legal system (419, see Martin 1959: 125).117 The limited yet focused distribution of the mask used for Phormio γ throughout the miniatures in C suggests another facet to Phormio’s characterization which has not before been examined in previous scholarship: the leno.118 Aside from a few inconsistent outliers that occur 113 Extortor and contortor seem to be neologisms; this is rather appropriate for a character who is increasingly defying definition. See also Maltby 2012: 162. 114 It has been read as such by others as well (e.g. Lofberg 1920: 69), though Lilja sees bonorum extortor as an indicator of a simple thief (1965: 59). 115 Cf. the threats of litigation and lawsuits among the Aristophanic sycophants (e.g. Ach. 818-28, 908-58, Av. 1410-69, Pl. 850-932) and the compulsion to seek out lawsuits by the advocati at Plaut. Poen. 586-7. 116 There were no retrials allowed under Greek law; it was possible under Roman law but only in very special cases and with little hope of a reversal of the initial ruling (Barsby II: 56 n. 36; see also Martin 1959: 124, Maltby 2012: 163). 117 Latin text from this paragraph is drawn from Barsby II: 50 and 60. 118 As noted above, the mask arguably represents the Late Antique evolution of Pollux’ “Brothel-keeper” mask, but Pollux’ list also presents other exciting associations including his “Parasite” 304 near the beginning of the manuscript, the artist reserves this bald mask type for Terence’s lenones: Dorio (Phorm.) and Sannio (Ad.).119 Dorio’s only depiction in the miniatures comes at 83v where he is shown reneging on a deal struck with Phaedria for the sale of Pamphila (Phorm. 485-533). Looking at Dorio’s portrayal, it is nearly impossible to avoid comparison with Phormio γ. Dorio’s identical mask obviously draws a connection to Phormio γ, but his gesture and clothing also echo those of Phormio γ at 81v.120 Given the fact that this Phormio miniature is also crucially the artist’s last depiction of Phormio leading up to Dorio’s scene, we must assume the artist was making a deliberate attempt to associate Phormio γ with a leno character type.121 and “Maison.” The former obviously works well with Phormio’s given stock designation. The latter, having been categorized as a slave mask would be an appropriate choice in accounting for Phormio’s servus callidus tendencies; however, Athenaeus (14.659a) and Festus (134M) note that this mask type was also used for cooks. If so, Phormio’s mask could also arguably represent independent evidence to validate Arnott’s (1970) linguistic analysis of Phormio’s characterization which linked Phormio to Dyskolos’ Sicon. We must at any rate, defer to the internal patterns presented by the artist in question and assume that, if the artist was working from the same understanding of mask types and their character associations as they are presented in Pollux, that the type represented by Phormio’s mask is meant to be the “Brothel-keeper.” 119 The outliers include one of the frame-bearers of Terence’s portrait (2r), the Aedicula representations of Andria’s Davus and Dromo (3r) as well as an unidentified slave (4v) and Davus again at 6r. The only other clearly bald mask that does not belong to a leno (or Phormio/Cratinus) is one of the representations of Eunuchus’ Parmeno (22v). 120 Dorio’s feet have a slightly different orientation and, unlike Phormio, Dorio does not bend the index finger of his extended right hand to touch the thumb. In terms of clothing, Dorio does not wear a himation, but a paenula. This is essentially a poncho and was associated with the lower classes and soldiers in the Republican period, but by the fourth century CE, had actually became the everyday dress of Roman senators (see the Codex Theodosianus xiv.10.1). Although the garment itself is different, its tan color, otherwise worn by senes, parasiti, and Cratinus, reinforces a connection to Phormio’s latest appearance. 121 It is very unlikely that the artist intended the reverse. Dorio is a static character whose behavior reflects what one would expect from the comic leno as the characters themselves recognize (e.g. quam uterquest similis sui! [501], heia! ne parum leno sies [508]; text from Barsby II: 68 and 70). 305 Sannio makes four appearances in the miniatures associated with Adelphoe and wears the same mask type as Phormio γ in each of these iterations (50v [Aedicula], 53r, 53v, 54v). Among these miniatures, it is worth mentioning that in Sannio’s first scene-summary appearance, the servus Parmeno tugs on Sannio’s paenula making it come undone. The effect not only makes it look like Sannio is wearing the same himation as Phormio, but the action also exposes his left shoulder which reveals that, like Phormio, Sannio also wears the distinct tunic with two vertical clavi. Sannio therefore looks, for all intents and purposes, exactly like Phormio γ, matching in both mask and costume at 53r. Because of the limited and precise distribution of this particular mask, we must assume the artist was making a deliberate connection between Phormio γ and Terence’s lenones.122 But what could have driven this association? In some ways, Phormio is a procurer for young men and at one point in the scene in question, Phormio frames Demipho’s five-minae dowry offer as if it were for payment for the services of a meretrix under his authority (Phorm. 410-4); however, the association for the artist may have been more clinical. A notable new descriptor of Phormio in this scene is inpurissimus (372), an insult levelled at Phormio by Geta and the exact same word used earlier to describe the leno Dorio at v. 83. Previous scholars have already noted that inpurus and its various derivative forms are often attached to the leno type in comedy.123 But, while other forms of inpurus can occasionally be found applied to other character types, the superlative is reserved solely for the leno character in Terence (in addition to Dorio at Phorm. 83, see Sannio 122 The distribution of the bald mask type among lenones is mostly confirmed by the other witnesses, e.g. O, 100v and 164v and F, 55v, 57r, and 111v. 123 See Martin 1959: 93, Lilja 1965: 23, 60-1, Martin 1976: 148, Maltby 2012: 138, 162; cf. Dordalus (Plaut. Pers. 408), Ballio (Plaut. Ps. 366), Labrax (Plaut. Rud. 543), and Sannio (Ter. Ad. 281). 306 at Ad. 281).124 The limited, focused use of the inpurus superlative in the text and the masks in the miniatures both correlate with lenones. We should also consider the possibility that this likening to the leno may not have been a reflection of just Phormio, but perhaps quadruplator types more generally. Cratinus also dons this mask type. The likening of a quadruplator to a leno could reasonably be understood as a commentary on the artist’s valuation of the quadruplator as someone whose shamelessness rivals that of a leno, but the correlation between the two may have been grounded in precise textual characterization. Up to this point, the only leno to appear in the plays and to be depicted by the artist was Sannio.125 In his scenes, Sannio displays an unusual degree of legal prowess. He seems to have experience in legal arbitrations with well-to-do citizens (161-6), issues a passive threat of a lawsuit (249), and even takes a different spin on the same legal proverb used by Phormio (nunc si hoc omitto ac tum agam ubi illinc rediero, nil est, 232-3).126 Sannio, then, reflects some of the very characteristics that distinguish a comic quadruplator. While the two character types remain distinct in costume, the use of parallel masks must be considered a deliberate choice meant to encourage the conflation of the quadruplator and Terentian leno, two seemingly disparate stock characters. Following 81v, the artist makes no substantial changes to Phormio’s appearance (beyond gesture) in the four remaining miniatures in which he appears (89r [sup./inf.], 90r, 91r). That is, 124 In Terence, the application of non-superlative forms of inpurus are limited to one other named character: Aeschinus of Adelphoe (183, 360). Its application there is somewhat ironic since it is the leno Sannio who uses it to describe Aeschinus (Martin 1976: 131-2). See further Donatus on Ter. Phorm. 405 (W. II: 452 vv. 11-6) for another connection between Aeschinus and lenones (Maltby 2012: 164). 125 Dorio does not appear until 83v, three miniatures after the one in question. 126 Latin text from Barsby II: 276. 307 Phormio γ is maintained for the rest of the comedy. This suggests that the artist found in this appearance an appropriate balance that reflected, in their interpretation, Phormio’s characterization throughout the remainder of the play and one which notably prioritized the facets of his character that resemble the comic quadruplator and leno. The text continues to paint Phormio as a quadruplator (e.g. 939-89, 1029; see also Martin 1959: 172, Maltby 2012: 203) and leno (e.g. 669, 962, 986; see also Maltby 2012: 181).127 It also maintains the character drawing of Phormio as a servus callidus (591-4, 829-32, 837-9, 884-93, 1036-9) and parasitus (903, 988, 1053).128 Before exploring the comprehensive impression of Phormio’s depiction in the miniatures and how it informs our modern understanding of Phormio’s characterization, one of the later miniatures depicting Phormio merits discussion since in many ways it synthesizes Phormio’s complexity. At 89r (inf.) is a miniature summarizing the action from Phorm. 841-93. In this scene, Geta reveals to Antipho and Phormio that Phanium has been recognized as Chremes’ daughter and so Antipho’s marriage will be allowed to stand. This not only brings relief to Antipho, but also gives Phormio a chance contemplate how he will justify to Chremes that he cannot return his money: Chremes had given Phormio money earlier to facilitate the dissolution of Antipho and Phanium’s marriage, but Phormio spent it acquiring the music girl for Phaedria. In the miniature, Phormio is shown at the far right engaging with Geta and Antipho to the left and striking a pose similar to the one shown at 81v (i.e. the previously discussed miniature used 127 Phormio’s characterization as fugitivus (931) may have also reinforced a reading of Phormio as a leno since the only other application of this adjective to a free man in comedy is to Ballio, the leno of Plautus’ Pseudolus (see Barsby 1999: 213). 128 See also Martin 1959: 173, Damon 1997: 264, Maltby 2012: 200, 207. 308 to describe Phormio γ). There is, however, a notable difference in this depiction of Phormio γ. In his outstretched right hand, Phormio holds a short, narrow, curved gray object. Wright suggests that this object is a bit of cloth meant to represent an empty money bag (2006: 173). In this case, its presence is presumably meant to reinforce the fact that Phormio has already spent the money given to him by Chremes; however, an empty money bag is not a critical part of the play’s action, nor is its presence on stage suggested by the text. I therefore suggest that this object, like Cratinus’ writing tablet, is another instance of the artist incorporating a non-essential prop to help guide characterization (as opposed to plot development). But what characterization does this prop reinforce? One reasonable interpretation of this object that has not yet been considered is a strigil; if so, it would seem that the artist is demonstrating mindfulness near the end of the play that, despite his complexity, Phormio is still fundamentally a parasite.129 Pollux (4.120) notes that the parasite can be seen on stage with an aryballos and/or strigil as a mark of their character type.130 This prop association seems to have carried over into Roman comedy.131 However, if the prop is in fact a piece of cloth, the artist may in fact have been trying to further bolster Phormio’s characterization as a quadruplator. Pliny apparently recommended that the orator keep a handkerchief on hand with which he could wipe his brow (see Quint. Inst. 11.3.148). Alternatively, we could take a broader view of the symbolism here within the Late Antique 129 It is also possible that U gave Gnatho a strigil as well. See, for example, the representation of Gnatho from Eun. 771-816 in P (56v). Whereas in C, Gnatho is shown as giving the common speech gesture of having the index and middle finger extended outward (29v), in P he is shown holding what Wright (2006: 52) has inexplicably called a “loop of cloth.” A judgement of this object’s identification based on its shape, however, strongly suggests that Gnatho here was perhaps originally wielding a strigil. 130 The use of a prop strigil in actual stagecraft is reinforced by the material record (see MNC3: no. 2RB 1, a bronze figurine of a comic actor holding a strigil from Tuscania, 250-150 BCE). 131 See Saturio’s essential accessories which include a strigil at Plaut. Per. 123-4. 309 Roman context. This image of Phormio raising a bit of cloth clutched in his hand recalls a common image in Imperial portraiture of officials wielding a mappa. This image was initially associated with the emperors’ role in circus games where they began races by the dropping of a mappa.132 Over time, however, the image of an official holding a mappa came to convey authority and power more broadly.133 Either interpretation works well with Phormio here. On one hand, the notion of Phormio raising a mappa to kick off a contest is fitting since his next scene is the physical altercation between himself, Chremes, and Demipho. On the other hand, as a more general symbol of power and authority, the image of Phormio wielding the mappa is appropriate since throughout the play, he has maintained complete control of the action and outcomes. While it is difficult for us to discern this prop as any one thing, the artist will have intended a singular interpretation (even if we can not say which). Whatever the ancient reader saw, it was certainly meaningful in terms of the complex and carefully drawn figure of Phormio. 4.5 A New Ancient Reception of Phormio This chapter set out to refocus Phormio’s characterization in modern interpretations by probing the value that a focused reception studies approach could have in informing character analysis. As a case study, the Carolingian Terence miniatures presented the most potential as a 132 Cf. Vatican Museum, inv. 1500 (Museo Chiaramonti, section XIX, no.22), a third-century CE relief depicting a circus scene, where, in the top left corner, the officiating magistrate looks down to the chariots below, wielding on high a mappa. 133 Consider the consular diptychs of Late Antiquity—two-panelled relief sculptures meant to commemorate a magistrate’s election to the consulate. These diptychs often show the newly elected magistrates wielding a mappa without any clear allusion to ludi circenses (e.g. the diptychs of Constantius III (?) [Halberstadt cathedral], Rufus Gennadius Probus Orestes [Victoria and Albert Museum 139-1866], and Magnus [Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Département des Monnaies, Médailles et Antiques, 3267]). 310 reception event not only by virtue of their translation of their source into a different medium, but also because of their chronological and cultural proximity to their source. These miniatures, I have argued, preserve the artist’s reception of Terence’s characters and communicate specific connotations of character drawing through masks, costumes, and gestures. I have re-associated the meaning behind these visual attributes by a combination of internal and external comparanda as well as the symbolism tied to the theatrical iconography represented. In terms of Phormio’s representation in the miniatures, three distinct versions emerge which I have designated Phormios α, β, and γ.134 The three visual representations, I have argued, represent three distinct receptions of his developing character which is reinforced primarily through the application of different masks. The first, Phormio α, communicated solely through a mask at 77r, is the least telling when it comes to specific characterization cues and at best suggests Phormio will be a senex, servus, or parasitus. This actually mirrors the effect of Terence’s text which itself mutes expectations of Phormio’s character to begin the play in a way that amplifies how he exceeds expectations in his first appearance on stage. Phormio’s second distinct character development, Phormio β, which appears at 81r, brings to fruition the misdirection initiated by Phormio α, but also encourages a character reading that most closely aligns with a servus callidus, while still anchoring Phormio in his stock designation as parasitus through his costume. Finally, Phormio’s third distinct character interpretation, Phormio γ, which 134 It should not be surprising that Phormio’s appearance, a reflection of his characterization, is not consistent in the miniatures since Terence repeatedly emphasizes Phormio’s chameleonic capacities: haud scio hercle, ut homost, an mutet animum (774) and nunc gestus mihi voltusque est capiundus novos (890; text from Barsby II: 100 and 116). Furthermore, the use of neologisms to describe Phormio (extortor and contortor, 374) also correlates to changes in Phormio’s appearance in the miniatures (see 81v). 311 appears at 81v, 89r sup./inf., 90r, and 91r, marks a sharp shift in Phormio’s characterization which can be most closely aligned with a comic quadruplator and leno. How does this analysis inform the current scholarly understanding of Phormio’s characterization? Broadly, the miniatures validate the confusion in the scholarship by virtue of their own multiple readings of Phormio. His overall complexity is confirmed, but some precise scholarly interpretations are not reinforced. Neither the original artist (U) nor the copyists put much value on Phormio’s direct characterization as an adulescens (378).135 The fact that all three of Phormio’s masks in the illustrations are bearded with the most frequently occurring one being bald and that he wears clothing that is worn exclusively by older characters throughout the rest of the manuscript shows little support for Dupont’s stance (1986: 59-71) that we see Phormio as an adulescens. There is also little support in the miniatures to suggest that Phormio be seen as a comic coquus, as is intimated by Arnott’s observation (1970: 56) that linguistically Phormio closely resembles Dyskolos’ Sicon.136 As for historical figures, there is little evidence that the artist saw Phormio as a character analogue, but here it is important to be mindful that the artist was working nearly 600 years after their existence and may not have had any real reason to have been familiar with their appearance.137 135 His direct characterization as an adulescens by Demea might be interpreted as an “icy show of exaggerated politeness” (see Maltby 2012: 163). 136 Admittedly, none of Terence’s comedies feature a comic cook for comparison (but see perhaps Sosia of Andria [fol. 4v] and Goldberg 2019: 32-3 for discussion). For whatever it is worth, Phormio’s bald mask does resemble surviving examples of Pollux’ “Maison” mask which Athenaeus (14.659a) and Festus (134M) claim was a mask worn by cooks. See Poll. 4.150 and MNC3 I: 30-2. 137 For Terence, see Frangoulidis 1995, 1997: 77-132, 2013: 285; Ambivius Turpio, Smith 2004: 97; Scipio Aemilianus, Segal and Moulton 1978: 288. In the case of Phormio as an analogue for Terence, we do have an internal comparandum for comparison with the author portrait of Terence at 2r. The closest resemblance that can be discerned with this portrait is Phormio β, but even here the resemblance is extremely tenuous. As for Scipio Aemilianus, most of the surviving 312 Some focused scholarly interpretations, however, have been validated by this reception analysis and one new side to Phormio’s character has been revealed. Those who have defended Phormio’s given designation as a parasitus (e.g. Damon 1997: 89-98) and those who have suggested that Phormio be viewed as a servus callidus (e.g. Forehand 1985: 89-90) are validated, but none more so than the scholars who, among stock types, characterize Phormio primarily as a “sycophant of the old school” (Lofberg 1920) or what I have called the quadruplator. This reception analysis also enriches the scholarly interpretation of Phormio by uncovering an unconsidered side to Phormio’s personality: the leno. This characterization suggested by the miniatures does find support in the text and ought to make us reconsider the perceived relationship between quadruplatores and lenones on the comic stage going forward. In pursuing the goal of informing our understanding of Phormio’s characterization, this chapter has inadvertently also provided insight about other questions surrounding these miniatures. We should, for example, strongly consider the possibility that the artist had a depth of knowledge of Terence’s comedies beyond the textual exemplar from which they were working based on the potential incorporation of known production details that are not explicitly included in the text itself. This analysis also provides a framework for further analysis. Within Phormio the obvious follow-up characterization case studies would be Chremes and Nausistrata;138 however, this approach can also be used to inform questions about Phormio representations do show Terence’s patron as bald like Phormio γ, but this is the extent to which an argument could be made that the artist considered Phormio an analogue for Scipio. Finally, we have no notion of Ambivius Turpio’s appearance and therefore no basis for speculating whether any iterations of Phormio are meant to reflect Turpio’s appearance. 138 Although they are typically overshadowed by Phormio, Chremes and Nausistrata are also unusually complex for their stock types. Some see in Chremes the spineless, “hen-pecked husband,”—a timeworn and familiar character-type for Terence’s audience (see Martin 1959: 16-7, Sloman 1961: 24, Maltby 2012: 23). Others, however, have isolated a degree of depth to Chremes’ character that distinguishes him from other comic senes. For Norwood (1932: 133), 313 outside of characterization.139 Obviously this approach is not confined to Phormio, but can be applied in new and exciting ways to enhance our understanding of Terence’s work more broadly and the genre of palliata on a comprehensive level. Chremes represents one of only six Terentian characters that embody “a common type raised to a higher power, homo sapiens with a genuine name and address, a nose of his own and a voice that we do not confuse with his neighbor’s.” Chremes also eludes clear classification in Duckworth’s senex sub-categories (he includes Chremes in his discussion of “the senex as lover,” but is careful to acknowledge that in fact “he is not a senex amator” [1952: 245-6]). Arnott (1970: 45-6) contends that Chremes has a decidedly unique personality based on a combination of his fears (of both wife and scandal), his self-pity, and his stupidity. Both Forehand (1985: 80) and Barsby (II: 5) note a unique tension in the treatment of Chremes that vacillates at times between antipathy and sympathy. Finally, Moore (2001: 262) makes a compelling case that we should not view Chremes as a senex at all, but rather as the play’s true parasite: “Who, then is the real parasite in this play? Not the stock parasite, who performs substantial services in return for his dinners, and who goes beyond the expected services in helping his patrons; but the character who appears at play’s beginning to be the pinnacle of society. The elder brother, husband, father, and paternal uncle, on whom it first appears that everyone can rely, is in fact living off of his wife’s income, providing no service in return, and pilfering in secret as well” (262). With the exception of Norwood (1923: 79), most scholarship agrees that Nausistrata is another rather richly drawn figure among Terence’s characters (e.g. Forehand 1985: 90, Barsby II: 5). Here, attention is drawn to the fact that Nausistrata displays an unusual depth of character while simultaneously fulfilling the expectations of the static, shrewish uxor dotata. Sloman (1961: 24), for example, notes that Nausistrata, despite expectations, was “liberal enough in advancing a large sum to Demipho, nor does she grudge it to Phaedria when she learns the truth.” Konstan (1983: 129) calls her “broad-minded” and Goldberg (1986: 88), “very practical, even in adversity.” Martin (1959: 17) and Barsby (II: 5) both isolate instances that encourage a sympathetic reception of this particular matrona—a rare occurrence in Roman comedy. Finally, Barrios-Lech (2016: 161-2) argues that Nausistrata’s concern for her family and generosity distinguish her from other representatives of the stock type. All agree, nonetheless, that Nausistrata fulfills the role of the uxor dotata (Martin 1959: 17, Sloman 1961: 24, Maltby 2012: 23, Frangoulidis 2013: 293). 139 Barsby (1993: 332-3), for example, argues that a lorarius was on stage at 979-89; however, in the corresponding scene in manuscript C (90r) there is no lorarius depicted. This should perhaps not be considered problematic since the artist tends to only depict roles which have speaking parts in that scene; however, looking at 81v from Phorm. 348-440, Demipho’s “friends” are depicted in a scene where they do not speak. They are, however, addressed. Since Barsby argues that some of the commands at 979-89 are addressed to the lorarius, he should, by the artist’s principles, have been depicted on 90r. For what it is worth, the artist does depict lorarii elsewhere in the manuscript (e.g. C, 29v from Eunuchus). 314 Phormio, as he is presented in Terence’s comedy, clearly had a significant and lasting impact.140 His characterization is a driving factor behind the comedy’s success, which is marked by at least two reperformances in the Late Republic and a meaningful influence on subsequent comedy from within antiquity and beyond.141 But it is important to acknowledge that Phormio was not a unique creation of Terence. Rather, Terence built this character based on a framework provided by Apollodorus in his Epidikazomenos. While the surviving fragments from this comedy tell us frustratingly little about the original Phormio, they do suggest hints of his complexity that are maintained by Terence and some of which were picked up by the illustrator of U. The intent of Apollodorus in using the name Phormio, according to Donatus, suggests that he represented a traditional comic parasite;142 however, the fact that Terence’s framing of Phormio as a “friend” (amicus; 324, 562, 1049) seems to have its origins in Apollodorus’ character (see Apollod.Car. 23) might also suggest a parasite more akin to Chaireas of Menander’s Dyskolos.143 Then again, Apollod.Car. 28 confirms that Demipho’s blasé reaction to the threat of “six hundred lawsuits” (sescentas …dicas, 668) was seemingly translated from Epidikazomenos (as μυρίας)—this reaction only makes sense if Epidikazomenos also included 140 He was, for example, a useful character analogue for the satirical purposes of Cicero (Caecin. 27, Phil. 2.15), Ausonius (Ep. 26.7-12), and Jerome (Ep. 50.4). 141 For the reperformances in the Late Republic, see Tansey 2001 and Marshall 2006: 149. For the lasting impact of Phormio on comedy, cf. Phorm. 506-7 and 841 in Querolus or Phormio more broadly and Molier’s Les Fourberies de Scapin. 142 See Phorm. test. ii; Donat. Ter. Phorm. pref. 1.1 (W. II: 345 vv. 1-10). 143 This is the stance taken by Lefèvre (2014: 646). Gnatho of Eunuchus is certainly never called amicus by others in Eunuchus. 315 Phormio’s lawsuit threat at Phormio 439 and his overall characterization as a “sycophant of the old school.” Although the fragments do not betray the full depth of Phormio’s characterization in Epidikazomenos, they do confirm that some of his complexity existed before Terence’s intervention. We must therefore acknowledge that our reception of Phormio and that of the Late Antique manuscript artist is not just a reception of the character drawing of Terence, but also Apollodorus.316 Chapter 5: Conclusion 5.1 Apollodorus and Greek New Comedy Comprehensive analysis of the fragments of Apollodorus of Carystus forces us to reconsider both Apollodorus’ supposed reliance on Menander and the assumption that Greek New Comedy worked within and continuously moved towards an increasingly strict set of universal tenets. Our long-standing assumptions about Greek New Comedy, based almost exclusively on what can be gleaned from the well-preserved plays of Menander, have remained relatively unchallenged in scholarship. A familiar outline of these assumptions can be seen in the recent New Comedy entry of the Encyclopedia of Greek Comedy:1 New Comedy was differentiated from its predecessors, and especially from Old Comedy, by its having little or no connection with the politics of its time and/or through specific artistic and structural features, such as the reduction and eventual elimination of the role of the chorus, the absence of fundamental elements such as the parabasis and the agon, the importance of the love theme in comic plots, the presence of well‐defined stock characters (soldiers; cooks; parasites; hetairai; slaves; various types of young men and old men; etc.), standard situations (such as those based on the plot devices of rape and recognition), the progressive disappearance not only of satire on individuals but also of parody (whether of myth, epic, tragedy, or philosophy), and the elimination of obscenity and of dialectal variation in language. The fragments of Apollodorus present several challenges to models such as this. First, there is ample evidence that Apollodorus’ comedies were political.2 Fragment 5 provides the most direct evidence for Apollodorus’ political engagement. This fragment names 1 Bruzzese 2019: 603. 2 On the assumption that New Comedy was largely apolitical, e.g. Olson 2007: 23, Nesselrath 2010, Brown 2012, Bruzzese 2019: 603. 317 several neighboring geo-political regions (Corinth, Megara, Euboea) in the context of what is framed as an unnecessary war. Whether or not this fragment refers to the Chremonidean War, as I argue, it is without a doubt politically engaged and outspoken in a way that is generally assumed to have been excised from comic theatre by the last quarter of the fourth century. Fragment 29 recalls the marriage of the Macedonian general Ophelas and the Athenian Euthydice —a political union that proved disastrous for the Athenians. While the play from which fragment 31 was drawn, having been performed within a period of production that saw at least two major sieges of Athens, would have also been highly political if indeed it parodied Euripides’ Phoinissai as I contend it did. Titles such as Amphiaraos and Anteuergeton were also certainly political, if only obliquely: the former because of the contested control of Athens’ two Amphiaraus sanctuaries in the third century and the latter because it recalls the honorary title (Euergetes) that Athens too-hastily bestowed on Antigonus I and Demetrius Poliorketes. Fragment 30 may make a similar allusion to a different instance of Athens’ excessive and premature adulation of the Antigonids (referring to a divinely incurred agricultural disaster). Finally, some fragments are political in that they make the most sense in a strictly Athenian context. This includes fragment 16, a reference to the initiation of Athenian boys into the Samothracian mysteries and fragment 32 in which the Athenian speaker plainly sets the Athenian lexicon against that of foreigners (ξένοι). Another area in which Apollodorus seems to challenge our assumptions about New Comedy and the poet’s reliance on Menander is in personal attacks and comic caricatures of 318 historical figures.3 Both fragments 29 and 31 lampoon the historical Athenian parasite Chaerephon as an archetypal comic parasite. In addition, I contend that the non-Greek, uncouth Tyche referred to at length in fragment 5 represents a thinly veiled caricature of Arsinoe II. While references like this are not absent entirely from Menander, it is generally assumed that they became considerably more scarce in comparison with other Greek poets of New Comedy. The fact that at least three instances of onomasti komoidein can be isolated within roughly the sixty-three verses suggests that this was not necessarily the case, at least for Apollodorus.4 Despite assumptions to the contrary, the fragments of Apollodorus also demonstrate that parody played an important role in his comedy.5 I have identified three Apollodoran comedies that likely parodied Euripidean tragedies to some degree. Amphiaraos (1) may well have been engaging with Euripides’ Hypsipyle, Diabolos (6, 7) with Euripides’ Danae, and Sphattomene (31) with Phoinissai. This further suggests that these Euripidean plays remained in the performance repertoire into the third century.6 Fragment 31 parodies Greek religion in its corruption of prayer language while Apokarterountes, as I have argued, probably parodied the lifestyle tenets of contemporary philosophers (namely, extreme fasting). There are also hints that Apollodorus included obscenity and/or sexually explicit humor in his comedy (see fr. 7), that he used some character types that we tend to associate more so with Middle Comedy than New Comedy (e.g. the sycophant, Diabolos and fr. 28; the agroikos, 3 On the lack of personal attacks, komoidoumenoi, and comic caricatures of individuals in New Comedy, e.g. Webster 1970: 114, Hughes 2012: 216, Bruzzese 2019: 603, 605. 4 Onomasti komoidein (ὀνομαστί κωμωιδεῖν): “direct satirical reference to contemporary individuals” (Sommerstein 2019: 450). 5 On the lack of parody in New Comedy, e.g. Bruzzese 2019: 603, 605. 6 Cf. IG V.2.118. 319 fr. 30), and that he employed more linguistic and dialect variation than is generally assumed for post-Menandrian New Comedy.7 This is not to say that the fragments do not in some ways reinforce some of the Menander-informed assumptions about New Comedy. Titles such as Apoleipousa and Proikizomene, fragment 6 (as a paraclausithryon) and cumulatively the fragments associated with Hekyra (8-14) and Epidikazomenos (16-28) indicate that obstructed love was a primary theme of some of Apollodorus’ comedies.8 The fragments also suggest that Apollodorus did work from a core group of codified stock characters to which nuance could be added. There are indications of young male lovers (6, 8, and 13), loyal slaves (6, 8), hetaerae (8), old men (13, 26) and women (13), a boastful soldier (31), and marriage-eligible citizen women (Enea, Proikizomene).9 There are also indications that Apollodorus drew on some of the plot devises used in Menander and which we tend to associate with New Comedy in general. There is evidence that the acquisition of money (15) and/or recognition tokens (1, 14), the pursuit of a dowry (Proikizomene), and subterfuge (6, 29) were used to drive dramatic action.10 Iambic trimeter is perhaps the only metre represented in the fragments, which aligns Apollodorus with Menander’s lack of metrical 7 Cf. e.g. Apollodorus’ use of both newer/non-Attic words like σακκοπήρα (1) and ἐγκομβόομαι (4) and older Attic forms with words like γλωττόκομον (7) and Εὐβοῆς (5.25). The fragments also show both low (e.g. 1, 15) and high (5, 31) registers. 8 On impeded love as a primary theme of New Comedy, e.g. Rusten 2011: 34-5, Brown 2012, Scafuro 2014: 202, Bruzzese 2019: 603, 606. 9 On New Comedy working from a set group of stock characters, e.g. Günther Nesselrath 2010, Rusten 2011: 37, Brown 2012, Scafuro 2014: 201, Bruzzese 2019: 603. 10 On the use of a familiar set of recurring plot devices in New Comedy, e.g. Rusten, 2011: 34-6, Brown 2012, Bruzzese 2019: 603, 606. 320 variety.11 Finally, the mutability of fortune (e.g. 5, 10) seems to have been a recurring theme in Apollodorus’ comedy.12 The ample evidence for political commentary, personal attacks, and comic parody as well as the hints of crude humor, atypical character types, and linguistic variety indicate that previous assumptions about Apollodorus as a slavish adherent to the style of Menander must be revisited. The fragments indicate that the comedy of Apollodorus does not strictly fit the mould of Greek New Comedy that previous scholarship has created; that, contrary to traditional assumptions (e.g. Webster 1970: 225-6, 336-7, Hunter 1985: 4, Rusten 2011: 687), Apollodorus was not beholden to Menander for his success, but had created comedies that could be claimed as his own; and that Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio can not be considered to be broadly indicative of their Greek models, but rather as Terentian comedies built on an indefinable Apollodoran framework. 5.2 Apollodorus and Roman Comedy Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio demonstrate that an Apollodoran framework provided something innovative and exciting for Roman audiences of the Middle Republic. Terence selected Epidikazomenos as the model for what would become Phormio: a play to be produced at the Ludi Romani of 161—the most important of Rome’s Ludi Scaenici—on the heels of the wildly successful production of his Eunuchus earlier in the year. The following year, Scipio Aemilianus and Fabius Maximus selected the Apollodorus-inspired Hecyra as a companion production with Terence’s Adelphoe for the funeral games of their father, L. Aemilius Paullus. 11 Iambic trimeter: 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 17, 22, 29, 30, 31, 32. The reconstruction from which I work for fragment 23 is arranged in trochaic tetratmeter. On the lack of metrical variety in New Comedy, e.g. Hunter 1985: 9-10, Brown 2012, Scafuro 2014: 201, Bruzzese 2019: 605. 12 On the fickleness of fortune as a through line of New Comedy, e.g. Hunter 1985: 11. 321 It is on this latter production that I have focused in considering Apollodorus’ impact on New Comedy in the Republic. By incorporating Hecyra into the discussion of this production context, I have provided an improved understanding of the commemorative role that comedy played at Paullus’ funeral. Unlike Adelphoe, Hecyra does not offer suitable character analogues or themes for Paullus’s life. An analogous historicising reading of Hecyra is therefore untenable. Since it is insufficient to present a commemorative quality that accounts for only one of the two plays, another explanation is required. I have proposed instead that in their capacity as representative spolia, these comedies celebrated Paullus’ legacy as Macedon’s conqueror. This claim is based on my supposition that the Greek models of Hecyra and Adelphoe were sourced from Macedon’s royal library. This, I have argued, was a very personal and powerful symbol of Paullus’ achievement. Although this claim must ultimately remain speculative, it nevertheless presents a compelling and indeed preferable alternative to the current scholarly narrative. I also propose two additional motivations for this pairing of comedies. A comparative analysis of the plays’ formal elements suggests that this particular tandem production would have broad appeal for the Roman audience, possibly indicating a populist strategy for Scipio’s political advancement. Second, a survey of the production expenses associated with Hecyra and Adelphoe demonstrates that it was an exceedingly cost-efficient double feature. This, I contend, highlights some financial limitations placed on the production of palliatae at the funeral. A budget-driven tandem production of palliatae set against a thirty-talent gladiator display might be illustrative of popular entertainment preferences in the Middle Republic. By incorporating Hecyra into the discussion and analyzing it as one half of a unit along with Adelphoe, I have provided a more complete picture of how Roman comedy functioned at the funeral games of Aemilius Paullus. These findings, grounded in an appreciation for the Apollodoran framework of Hecyra, provide 322 crucial new considerations for how dramatic performances functioned at funeral games more generally, and what questions might be considered to enrich our understanding of other private production contexts. Hecyra and Phormio were not just appealing to the Romans of Terence’s own time. These adaptations of Apollodoran comedies presented something enduring, and indeed timeless for ancient audiences up through Late Antiquity. Even as late as the fifth century CE, Hecyra was prized for its “wit” (sales, Sid. Apoll. Epist. 4.12.1–2), while the title character of Phormio remained an alluring point of debate for Roman comedy enthusiasts (e.g. Phorm. test. ii). It is on the latter topic, which I have focused for the reception of Apollodorus in later Roman contexts. In tackling the long-standing issue surrounding Phormio’s complex characterization, I have suggested that a reception analysis of the ninth-century Carolingian Terence miniatures provides an independent and authoritative new basis for understanding how ancients understood Phormio as a character. Working almost exclusively from Vaticanus latinus 3868 (C)—considered the most representative of its Late Antique model— my analysis built on three basic assumptions about these miniatures: (1) the miniatures were the original creations of the artist and were based on the cast list and accompanying text for each scene, (2) the artist was well-versed in theatrical iconography and adept at communicating meaning through it, and (3) the images are not meant to be understood as realistic representations of staged productions, but as abstract summaries of each scene’s action. Having isolated various characterization cues based primarily on internal comparanda and the theatrical iconography represented, a clearer picture of Phormio’s complex character emerges from the miniatures. The inconsistent representation of Phormio in the miniatures validates the spectrum of scholarly interpretations of Phormio and confirms he was seen as unusually complex even in antiquity. Among the 323 miniatures in which he appears, I isolated three distinct representations of Phormio (α, β, γ) which align him to various degrees with particular stock types. Consideration of mask, costume, and gesture confirm that the artist saw in Phormio the character of the servus callidus, parasitus, and especially the traditional comic sycophant, or what I have called in the context of Roman comedy, the quadruplator. In addition, I have isolated a new character component of Phormio that until now remained unexplored: the comic leno. As I have demonstrated in my analysis of the Epidikazomenos fragments, the complexity of Phormio’s character which is picked up by the miniature artist, must have been drawn in part from his Apollodoran counterpart. In considering the lasting impact of Phormio as a character on the tradition of comic theatre (e.g. Mandrogerus, Querol.; Scapin, Les Fourberies de Scapin), credit must be given not just to Terence, but to Apollodorus as well. Hecyra and Phormio provide critical insight into the afterlife of Apollodorus in Roman reception contexts. My analyses of these adaptations not only shift our understanding of the development of the fabula palliata and illuminate new aspects of Republican verse drama, but also show a richer and more detailed picture of Apollodorus and his role in the evolution of comic theatre.324 References Abbott, K. M. 1940. [Review of Two Comedies by Apollodorus of Carystus: Terence’s Hecyra and Phormio by W. E. J. Kuiper]. The Classical Weekly 34: 53-5. 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Thesis/Dissertation
eng
Classics
Vancouver : University of British Columbia Library
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International
Graduate
Apollodorus of Carystus and the tradition of New Comedy
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