Diggle, James. 2023. “ΕΥΡΙΠΙΔΑΡΙCΤΟΦΑΝΙΖΩΝ: An Unnoticed Euripidean Motif in Aristophanes.” In “Γέρα: Studies in honor of Professor Menelaos Christopoulos,” ed. Athina Papachrysostomou, Andreas P. Antonopoulos, Alexandros-Fotios Mitsis, Fay Papadimitriou, and Panagiota Taktikou, special issue, Classics@ 25. https://nrs.harvard.edu/URN-3:HLNC.ESSAY:103900187.
Enter the chorus of women, rushing to the rescue of their endangered colleagues:
ΧΟΡΟΣ ΓΥΝΑΙΚΩΝ
λιγνὺν δοκῶ μοι καθορᾶν καὶ καπνόν, ὦ γυναῖκεϲ,
320 ὥϲπερ πυρὸϲ καομένου· ϲπευϲτέον ἐϲτὶ θᾶττον.
πέτου πέτου, Νικοδίκη, [ϲτρ.
πρὶν ἐμπεπρῆϲθαι Καλύκην
τε καὶ Κρίτυλλαν περιφυϲήτω
ὑπό τ᾽ ἀνέμων ἀργαλέων
325 ὑπό τε γερόντων ὀλέθρων.
ἀλλὰ φοβοῦμαι τόδε· μῶν ὑϲτερόπουϲ βοηθῶ;
νῦν δὴ γὰρ ἐμπληϲαμένη τὴν ὑδρίαν κνεφαία
μόλιϲ ἀπὸ κρήνηϲ ὑπ᾽ ὄχλου καὶ θορύβου καὶ πατάγου
χυτρείου,
330 δούλαιϲιν ὠϲτιζομένη
ϲτιγματίαιϲ θ᾽, ἁρπαλέωϲ
<τεῦχοϲ ὕπερθεν κεφαλῆϲ> [1]
ἀραμένη ταῖϲιν ἐμαῖϲ
δημότιϲιν καομέναιϲ
φέρουϲ᾽ ὕδωρ βοηθῶ.
335 ἤκουϲα γὰρ τυφογέρον- [ἀντ.
ταϲ ἄνδραϲ ἔρρειν …
I think I see a sooty glow and smoke, ladies,
as from a burning fire. We must hurry all the faster!
Fly, fly, Nikodike, before Kalyke
and Kritylla are combusted,
fanned from all sides by terrible winds
and deadly old men.
But I fear one thing: is it with belated step that I come to the rescue?
For only now, after scarcely managing to fill my pitcher
from the fountain in the dark
because of the crowd and hubbub and clatter of pots,
jostled by slave-girls
and slaves with tattoos, [2] eagerly hoisting
<the vessel onto my head>
I come bringing water
to the rescue of my fellow townswomen,
who are being set on fire.
For I have heard that some crazy old
blokes are on their damn way … [3]
How different is the entry of these women from that of the old men. The old men entered to the steady but laboured tread of iambic tetrameters catalectic: 254 χώρει, Δράκηϲ, ἡγοῦ βάδην, εἰ καὶ τὸν ὦμον ἀλγεῖϲ (– – ⏑ – | – – ⏑ – | – – ⏑ – | ⏑ – –). [4] The women rush in to the more tripping rhythm of iambo-choriambics: 319 λιγνὺν δοκῶ μοι καθορᾶν καὶ καπνόν, ὦ γυναῖκεϲ (– – ⏑ – | – ⏑ ⏑ – | – ⏑ ⏑ – | ⏑ – –). And there is a change in the linguistic register. Not the penny-plain language of the prosy dotards but the vocabulary of poetry: 319 λιγνύϲ (Aeschylus and Sophocles), [5] 324 ὑπό τ᾽ ἀνέμων ἀργαλέων [6] (echoing Homer Iliad 13.795 οἱ δ᾽ ἴϲαν ἀργαλέων ἀνέμων ἀτάλαντοι ἀέλληι), 326 ὑϲτερόπουϲ “with belated step” (like the Euripidean ὀπιϲθόπουϲ and ὑϲτέρωι ποδί, “with laggard step,” and the Aeschylean ὑϲτερόποινοϲ, “with belated vengeance”), [7] 327 κνεφαῖοϲ (Hipponax and tragedy), [8] 329 πάταγοϲ (epic, lyric and tragedy), [9] 332 ἁρπαλέωϲ (epic, elegy and lyric), [10] and later at 344 χρυϲολόφα (Anacreon and Bacchylides). [11]
I begin with Hippolytus 121–130:
ΧΟΡΟϹ
Ὠκεανοῦ τιϲ ὕδωρ ϲτάζουϲα πέτρα λέγεται,
βαπτὰν κάλπιϲι πα-
γὰν ῥυτὰν προιεῖϲα κρημνῶν.
125 τόθι μοί τιϲ ἦν φίλα
πορφύρεα φάρεα
ποταμίαι δρόϲωι
τέγγουϲα, θερμᾶϲ δ᾽ ἐπὶ νῶτα πέτραϲ
εὐαλίου κατέβαλλ᾽· ὅθεν μοι
130 πρώτα φάτιϲ ἦλθε δεϲποίναϲ …
There is a cliff which is said to drip water from the Ocean,
pouring forth from the rock-face
a running stream to dip pitchers in.
It was there that a friend of mine,
washing crimson robes
in the river water,
was laying them out on the surface of a rock
that was warm in the sunlight. From there
it was that news first came to me of my mistress …
Here again is a spring. The women of Aristophanes use the spring to fill their pitchers. The friend of the women in Euripides uses it to do her laundry. Another mundane activity, but expressed in the language of high poetry. This sets the time and scene for the arrival of momentous news. “From there it was (that is, from the woman laundering her linen at the spring) that news first came to me of my mistress.” News arrives in both passages. In Lysistrata the news is the cause of the mundane activity described: the women fill their pitchers because of the news they have heard. In Hippolytus the mundane activity is a prelude to the arrival of news.
There is a similar scenario in the Helen 179–184:
ΧΟΡΟϹ
κυανοειδὲϲ ἀμφ᾽ ὕδωρ
180 ἔτυχον ἕλικά τ᾽ ἀνὰ χλόαν
φοίνικαϲ ἁλίωι
†πέπλουϲ χρυϲέαιϲιν αὐγαῖϲ
θάλπουϲ᾽†
ἀμφὶ δόνακοϲ ἔρνεϲιν·
ἔνθεν οἰκτρὸν ὅμαδον ἔκλυον …
Beside the azure water
and the twining greenery I happened
to be drying my crimson garments
on stalks of reed in the sun’s
golden rays. [14]
From there it was that I heard a pitiful sound …
Again a mundane activity, described in highly-coloured language, sets the time and scene for something heard by the chorus. In Hippolytus the verb describing that activity is the imperfect κατέβαλλε. In Helen it is the periphrastic ἔτυχον . . . θάλπουϲα, “I happened to be drying,” which is equivalent to an imperfect. In both passages an aorist verb (ἦλθε, ἔκλυον) marks a new, sudden, decisive event.
A third passage, from the Hecuba (923–932; cf. Appendix). Differently from the preceding passages, this is sung by the chorus not as it enters but in its final choral ode. The captive Trojan women recall the night when Troy fell. There was singing and dancing and feasting in the city, because the Greek fleet had departed. Now it is deep into the night. The singer describes her husband, lying in bed, his spear hung upon a peg on the wall. Then she describes herself:
ἐγὼ δὲ πλόκαμον ἀναδέτοιϲ
μίτραιϲιν ἐρρυθμιζόμαν
925 χρυϲέων ἐνόπτρων λεύϲ-
ϲουϲ᾽ ἀτέρμοναϲ εἰϲ αὐγὰϲ
ἐπιδέμνιοϲ, ὡϲ πέϲοιμ᾽ ἐϲ εὐνάν.
ἀνὰ δὲ κέλαδοϲ ἔμολε πόλιν·
κέλευμα δ᾽ ἦν κατ᾽ ἄϲτυ Τροίαϲ τόδ᾽· Ὦ
930a παῖδεϲ Ἑλλάνων, πότε δὴ πότε τὰν
Ἰλιάδα ϲκοπιὰν
πέρϲαντεϲ ἥξετ᾽ οἴκουϲ;
I was arranging my hair
in a headband, gazing into the fathomless brightness of my golden mirror,
sitting on the bed, so that I might tumble into it. [15]
A noise went through the city,
and this battle order was heard throughout the town of Troy:
“Sons of the Greeks, the time has come for you
to sack Troy’s pinnacle
and return to your homes.”
A mundane activity again: a woman doing her hair, gazing into a mirror, before she goes to bed. And this activity, introduced again by an imperfect verb, ἐρρυθμιζόμαν, because it is still ongoing, is brought to a stop, as it was in Helen, by a sudden cry, expressed by an aorist verb (ἀνὰ … ἔμολε). [16]
Into this pattern fits a passage from the Troades (542–557), which captures the same moment. The Wooden Horse has been wheeled into Troy:
ἐπὶ δὲ πόνωι καὶ χαρᾶι (ἀντ.)
νύχιον ἐπεὶ κνέφαϲ παρῆν,
Λίβυϲ τε λωτὸϲ ἐκτύπει
545 Φρύγιά τε μέλεα, παρθένοι δ᾽
ἄειρον ἅμα κρότον ποδῶν
βοάν τ᾽ ἔμελπον εὔφρον᾽, ἐν
δόμοιϲ δὲ παμφαὲϲ ϲέλαϲ
πυρὸϲ μέλαιναν αἴγλαν
550 <ἐπιδ>έδωκεν ὕπνωι.
ἐγὼ δὲ τὰν ὀρεϲτέραν [ἐπωιδ.
τότ᾽ ἀμφὶ μέλαθρα παρθένον
Διὸϲ κόραν ἐμελπόμαν
555 χοροῖϲι· φοινία δ᾽ ἀνὰ
πτόλιν βοὰ κατέϲχε Περ-
γάμων ἕδραϲ …
And after our toil and joy,
when the darkness of night came on,
the Lydian pipe and Phrygian melodies
began to ring out, and girls
were raising and tapping their feet
as they sang a cheerful song,
while in the houses the gleaming torchlight
has shed its black radiance over sleep. [17]
And I at that time was singing and dancing
in honour of the mountain maiden, daughter of Zeus,
beside her temple [18] —when a bloody cry
throughout the city took hold
of the seat of Pergamum …
Here we have innocent merriment rather than mundane domestic activity. But the pattern is the same. Imperfect verbs (ἐκτύπει, ἄειρον, ἔμελπον, ἐμελπόμαν) again set the time and scene, and a sudden cry, again expressed by an aorist (κατέϲχε), brings all to a close. [19]
Finally one more passage of Aristophanes. In the Frogs Aeschylus concocts a parody of Euripidean lyrics. Here is one section of it, in which an old woman sings of the loss of her pet cockerel (1346–1355):
ἐγὼ δ᾽ ἁ τάλαινα
προϲέχουϲ᾽ ἔτυχον ἐμαυτῆϲ
ἔργοιϲι, λίνου μεϲτὸν ἄτρακτον
εἱειειλίϲϲουϲα χεροῖν,
κλωϲτῆρα ποιοῦϲ᾽, ὅπωϲ
1350 κνεφαῖοϲ εἰϲ ἀγορὰν
φέρουϲ᾽ ἀποδοίμαν·
ὁ δ᾽ ἀνέπτατ᾽ ἀνέπτατ᾽ ἐϲ αἰθέρα
κουφοτάταιϲ πτερύγων ἀκμαῖϲ·
ἐμοὶ δ᾽ ἄχε᾽ ἄχεα κατέλιπε,
δάκρυα δάκρυά τ᾽ ἀπ᾽ ὀμμάτων
1355 ἔβαλον ἔβαλον ἁ τλάμων.
Poor me,
I happened to be busy
with my work, wi-i-i-inding a spindle
full of flax with my hands,
making a skein,
to take it in the dark
to the market to sell it.
And up he flew, yes up he flew, up to heaven
on the ever-so-light tips of his wings,
leaving me grief, yes grief,
and I shed, yes I shed, tears, yes tears
from my eyes, poor me.
The same pattern again. A mundane domestic activity, [20] still ongoing, expressed by the equivalent of an imperfect verb—the periphrasis προϲέχουϲ᾽ ἔτυχον is like ἔτυχον … θάλπουϲα in Helen. It is cut short by a sudden event, expressed in the aorist. And anadiplosis, a notable feature of Euripidean lyric style, is laid on thick. [21] Aristophanes has recognised a typical Euripidean motif, and he has decorated that motif with a typical feature of Euripidean style.
Appendix: Hecuba 923–926
μίτραιϲιν ἐρρυθμιζόμαν
925 χρυϲέων ἐνόπτρων λεύϲϲουϲ᾽ ἀτέρμοναϲ εἰϲ αὐγὰϲ
ἐπιδέμνιοϲ, ὡϲ πέϲοιμ᾽ ἐϲ εὐνάν.
The passage is conventionally punctuated (as I myself punctuated it in 1984) with a comma at the end of 925. This leaves ἐπιδέμνιοϲ ὡϲ πέϲοιμ᾽ ἐϲ εὐνάν to mean “so as to fall onto the bed (ἐπιδέμνιοϲ) into bed (ἐϲ εὐνάν),” a pleonasm which commentators struggle to justify. Collard 1991:107 translates “onto the bed, upon its coverings,” making a distinction (as Hermann had done) [23] between δέμνιον “(the structure of the) bed” and εὐνάν “bedding.” [24] Others make distinctions no less fine and no more compelling (“on the cushions of my couch” (Tierney 1946:111), “on the cushions of our bed” (Davie 1998:72), “on my bed’s coverlet” (Morwood 2000:26), or find merit in the pleonasm (“for emphasis, conveying the narrator’s sense of pleasurable anticipation” (Gregory 1999:157)). Hermann compared Bacchae 1111–1112 χαμαιπετὴϲ (χαμαιριφὴϲ Murray e Chr. Pat. 1430) | πίπτει πρὸϲ οὖδαϲ. But “groundward-falling (or groundward-flung) to the earth” is less remarkable that “onto the bed into bed.” And in Andromache 104 ἄγαγετ᾽ εὐναίαν εἰϲ θαλάμουϲ Ἑλέναν (“took to be bedded into the bridal chamber”), compared “for the redundancy” by Battezzato 2018:199, there is no redundancy, since θάλαμοι is not synonymous with εὐνή. Others evade the pleonasm by ignoring it: “to fall into bed” (Kovacs 1995:483), “um dann aufs Bett niederzusinken” (Matthiessen 2010:207). [25]