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Votume XIV 

April 1919 Onn oe we 


A Quarterly Fournal devoted. to research 
in the Languages, Literatures, History, 
and Life of Classical Antiquity « + 


~ ll. "The Cambridge University Press, London and Edinburgh; ‘The Marazen-Kabushiki-Kaishe, 
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PAUL SHOREY, Managing Editor 


FRANK FROST ABBOTT, Princeton University WILLIAM PETERSON, McGill University 

WILLIAM ARTHUR HEIDEL, Wesleyan University SAMUEL BALL PLATNER, Western ReserveUniversity 
GEORGE LINCOLN HENDRICKSON, Yale University JOHN C, ROLFE, University of Pennsylvania 
FRANCIS W, KELSEY, University of Michigan. CHARLES FORSTER SMITH, University of Wisconsin 
WALLACE M. LINDBAY, University. of St. Andrews ANDREW FLEMING WEST, Princeton Dniversity 
HANNS OERTEL, Yale University BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER, University of California 


Scheria—Coreyra. II. sheet Oty f : ; By A. Shewan 97 
The Antecedents of Hellenistic Comedy. VI. .. . .. By Henry W. Prescott 108 
Some Tests of the Relative Antiquity of Homeric Books . . By John A. Scott 136 
The Method of Arrian in the Anabasis TROP i, Blea .' By R. B, Steele 
The Development of the Irrigation System of Egypt . By W. L. Westermann 
On 8¢ ye in Retort . ; : ; , ; ; i ‘ . By Paul Shorey 
Notes and Discussions .  . . . ; My 

Arthur Sranuey Pease: A Historical Allusion Expleine 
Palatina xv. 23.—Kerra Preston: Ovid Metamorphoses i.-192 

Book Reviews». x ‘ . . 

FLICKINGER: The Greek Theater and Its Drama (Allen),—THomas: 
4788 du vatican (Shorey), 

ed—W. D. WoopHEAD: | Anthologia 

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Classical Philology 

Votume XIV April IQIQ 



As already stated, Mure was of the opinion that the poet was 
describing a people whom he knew. In Appendix E to the first 
volume of his Hist. Gk. Lit. he goes farther and suggests that the 
Phaeacians were a colony of Poivixes, who were settled in Corcyra 
and who became “the butt of Homer’s playful satire.” Both Bainxes 
and ®oimxes are devoted to navigation and characterized by an 
epithet denoting magnificence or ostentation; both are vavoixdvrot 
and dyavot. The ®oivxes are, “in the true spirit of Homeric 
humour’’—and we know how fond Homer is of paronomasia in a 
variety of forms—disguised as Painxes.! If the lively ways of the 
Homeric Phaeacians are the opposite of the “gravity, or even gloom” 
of the Phoenicians it is suggested that, in the case of a Phoenician 
community that happened to be of a frivolous disposition, the con- 
trast between such habits and the usual characteristics of the race 
might even add zest to the satire. 

I venture to think, after prolonged examination of the literature 
of Scheria, that Mure’s view is substantially correct and that in fact 
it only needs to be brought up to date. As we now know much more 

1 Schliemann, Tiryns, p. 24, note, mentions that Mahaffy thought Scheria might 

be a colony of Phocaeans who were thus taken off, but I cannot find Mahaffy’s refer- 
ence to the point. 

(CLAssicaL ParLoLoey XIV, April, 1919} 97 


about the early Mediterranean than was known in 1850, let us accept 
the guidance of the archaeologists and see if their discoveries assist 
the solution of our present problem. The study of the environment 
in or of which an old poet has written being admittedly a good guide 
to the proper understanding of his poetry, let us consider what has 
lately been revealed to us as to conditions in Greece and its sur- 
roundings in the age that is reflected in the Homeric epics. 

First we have a long period of Minoan civilization in Crete with 
its headquarters at Knossos. Then comes a transfer of power to the 
mainland of Greece and the Mycenaean age begins. This con- 
tinues during and ends with the period ca. 1350-1100 B.c., at or 
toward the close of which Knossos is destroyed. Homer—and in 
using the name I am following the archaeologists and disregarding 
the inops turba of the dissectors of the poems—flourished somewhat 
later. Our chief authority, Sir Arthur Evans, tells us in J.H.S., 
XXXII, 277 ff., one of the most valuable papers on the succession of 
the Minoan and Mycenaean ages and the age of Homer, that Homer 
is “at most sub-Mycenaean.” His floruit is on the borders of the 
geometrical period, and he describes the ‘‘chalco-sideric” age, anterior 
to his own, in which, though bronze was still in general use, iron was 
beginning to be turned to account. Already in the Second Late 
Minoan period there had been (Scripta Minoa, p. 56) “Minoan pre- 
dominance, not to use a stronger expression, extending north of the 
gulf of Corinth,” which in the chalco-sideric age had become “ My- 
cenaean domination on the mainland of Greece,” with its chief center, 
or at least one chief center, of power in the Peloponnesus. This is 
the political condition presupposed by the Homeric poems. Dr. 
Leaf and Professor Bury (Quarterly Review [July, 1916], p. 14) would 
“sweep away the Catalogue.” To that one must object most 
strenuously. With or without it, however, we have in Homer, to 
use Professor Bury’s words, “‘a consistent political map for 1200 B.c.”’ 

In the period preceding the Mycenaean, the Minoan empire, with 
its center at Knossos, had been extended far both east and west of 
the Mediterranean. For its influence in the West see Scrip. Min. 
(pp. 61 and 95f.), Peet in B.S.A. (XIII, 405 ff.), and Myres in 
Proceedings of the Classical Association ((1911], pp. 50 ff.) and in 
The Year’s Work ({1906], p. 27), referring to J.H.S. (XXIV, 125). 


We read that there were settlements in Sicily, Italy, Sardinia, and 
Spain, and that there is abundant evidence of intercourse, in the 
late Minoan age, between the Aegean and Italy,’ and between the 
Aegean and the head of the Adriatic, as shown by the remains of a 
Mycenaean colony at Torcello near Venice. For the early obsidian 
trade see the Hellenic Society’s Phylakopi, volume, 233. It need not 
surprise us if we hear of a Minoan settlement in Corcyra. I have 
already argued that the island could not have been overlooked. It 
would be “useful for the coasting voyage to Sicily.” See Burrows 
(p. 13, and p. 208, n. 6) on the possibility of “genuine Minoan tradi- 
tions in the island.” Corcyra would in fact be the Minoan traders’ 
next landing-place after leaving Ithaka, which was the final port of 
call in Greece, on the voyage to the west, like Sicily and Sardinia 
farther on (Peet, ut supra, p. 420). Cf. Thompson on Leukas in 
Liverpool Annals (IV, 133). A Minoan settlement would be inevi- 
table in an island so attractive and so incomparably situated as 

“The Homeric poems,” we read in Scrip. Min. (p. 61), “them- 
selves afford a convincing proof that the traditions of the earlier 
Minoan and Mycenaean culture lived on in that of the Viking race 
of Greece,” and Professor Burrows (p. 209) tells us that the story of 
the poems presupposes the civilization of Late Minoan III, a period 
in which, as we have seen, intercourse with the West was active. It 
is the sea lore of that age that is preserved in the Odyssey (Myres, 
Geogr. Aspect, p. 52, and Ramsay, CR, XVIII, 167). But we have 
in the epic only a tradition; there is no direct account of the Minoan 
empire, its connections, or its commerce. But we do have a descrip- 
tion of its representatives and their proceedings in the Mediterranean. 
Homer’s ®oivixes are not Phoenicians; they are the Minoans. The 
distinction in Homer between ®oivixes and Zddvi0c has not always 
been recognized, but it was seen by Gladstone (Juv. Mundt, p. 143, 
and Synchronism, p. 162, and cf. his remark quoted in Scrip. Min., 
p. 94, note), by Hayman (App. D.), and by Seymour (Life in the 
Homeric Age, p. 52, note), who gives the Homeric references and the 
Homeric character, not a very high one, of these trafficking oivixes 
or “red men.” They have in these days come into their own as the 

1It goes back even to the fourth millennium B.c. (Evans in B.S.A., VIII, 123). 

100 A. SHEWAN 

Minoans of the archaeologists see Scrip. Min. (pp. 56, 80); Fick 
(Hattid., p. 4), referring to his Ortsn. (pp. 123 ff.), Burrows (p. 142), 
Frost (J.H.S., XX XIII, 196, note), Aly (loc. cit.), Wace on Poulsen, 
Year’s Work ((1913], p. 50), and on the subject generally, Hall (B.S.A., 
VIII on “ Keftiu and the Peoples of the Sea”). There is truth in the 
dictum of Assmann (Das Floss der Odyssee, p. 19), ohne die Phoiniker 
hatten wir vielen von der Odyssee nicht, wahrscheinlich tiberhaupt keine 
Odyssee, if for Phoinikes we now read Minoans. 

Are there then any indications of a settlement of Poivxes, or 
Minoans, in Corcyra? Here I am glad to be able to accept, from 
what I may term the Cretan theory of Phaeacia adopted by Drerup 
and others, all the internal marks of Minoanism which they detect in 
Scheria, but I use them as showing, not that Scheria is Atlantis or a 
dim memory of Crete in the days of its Minoan glory, but that there 
was a settlement in Corcyra described to us by Homer under the 
name of Scheria. The points in question are stated by Drerup and 
Burrows, and by Krause (Die Irrfahrien des Odysseus, Hermes, L, 
96 ff.). The Phaeacians, like the Minoans, were fond of music, song, 
and the dance (see J.H.S., XXXII, 278; B.S.A., IX, 110; Scrip. 
Min., pp. 191 f., and ef. Gladstone, Nineteenth Century [1889], p. 292). 
The high position and freedom of women is another trait common to 
the two peoples. When we look at a reproduction of the fresco at 
Tiryns representing two ladies—but does not someone contend they 
are men ?—standing in a car at a boar hunt, we think of Nausikaa! 
driving her team to the river, 7 5¢ ua’ hvbdxevev . . . . vow 8 éwéBadrev 
iudoOAnv. Koch (Zur Stellung der Frau bei Hom., p. 9) says Areté 
is pre-Mycenaean, and Holsten (Griech. Sittlichkeit in myken. Zeit, 
p. 19 and note) notes Mycenaean features in the picture of Phaeacia. 
The association of Rhadamanthys with its people, mysterious as it 
must remain, will certainly be to some a Minoan bond. So far 
Ino, Odysseus’ Savior from the waste of waters. Her name is pre- 
Hellenic and “leads to Crete” (Farnell in J.H.S., XXXVI, 43). 
Again, pork in the Phaeacian dietary is, as Gladstone observed, 
another eastern mark, and swine were largely kept in Crete (Scrip. 

1 Was the comparison of the maiden to Artemis suggested to the poet by a local 

cult of the Ilérma OnpGv? Figurines of the huntress goddess, apparently of an archaic 
character, have been found in Corcyra (B.S.A., XIV, 64). 


Min., p. 133). For manners and costume see Bérard (I, 574 ff.); for 
the palace, with its @piyxds kv4voo—a substance “indications” of 
which were found in the palace at Knossos, see B.S.A. (VI, 10), 
Burrows (pp. 206, 209); and for the comfortable life, see Drerup, 
Omero, pp. 265f. As regards place-names I have compared those in 
Fick’s Cretan lists in Hattid. (pp. 8 ff.) with those for Corcyra given 
by Bursian and others and have found that the names which are 
similar in both correspond generally to those mentioned by Paulatos, 
TIATPIS (p. 56 and note), and which he says are not Greek but 

Certainly there are points of community. But then there are, 
as the upholders of the Cretan theory themselves admit, some very 
decided differences. Professor Burrows (p. 208, note) remarks on a 
difficulty as to boxing, which does not, however, appeal to me, as I 
explain elsewhere. And there is no reference to that peculiarly 
Minoan sport, the taurokathapsia or bull-baiting in the arena. Such 
reminiscences of the heyday of the Minoan empire could hardly have 
been omitted. And then the bow; ot yap Paijxeoor pérer Bids ovde 
gapérpn, ¢ 270, in Nausikaa’s mouth, be it observed, and not the 
bavardage of her father. What of the “old Cretan tradition as famous 
bowmen” (Scrip. Min., pp. 44 and 79; ef. B.S.A., X, 59 ff., and 
Assmann in Philolog., LX VII, 167)? And again, while the Minoan 
towns were open and unprotected save by “wooden walls,’”’ Scheria 
was carefully fortified against attack. Now it would surely be 
strange that there should be these marked contrasts if Homer were 
giving us a picture of Minoan Crete from memories of the famous 
days of the island realm, and stranger still if he was, as Sir Arthur 
Evans and others tell us, using Minoan tales or epics in which, one 
may be sure, the national characteristics would all be preserved, 
prominent, and unadulterated. But it is not strange if we regard 
the poet as describing a settlement of Minoans separated, perhaps 
long separated, from the parent stock and developing a local char- 
acter of their own in a new island home. Different conditions pro- 
duce different ways and manners. The Mycenaeans, for example, 
in the Peloponnesus, unlike their Minoan forbears at home, secured 
their capitals by massive walls. In Scheria, if of Minoan origin, we 
expect to find just such links with Cretan tradition as Macalister 

102 A. SHEWAN 

(op. cit., pp. 90 ff. and 114 f.) finds among another race of Minoan 
emigrants, the Philistines in Palestine. See the quotation from 
Winckler on page 94. Immigrants adopt the civilization and culture 
of the lands they seize. It was in this way, possibly, that the 
Scherians came to adopt the Achaean gods, just as those of Minoan 
Crete in the course of centuries took on Hellenic names and attributes. 

Mycenaean remains have not, as has often been remarked, been 
found in Corcyra, but the island has not been thoroughly explored. 
Dérpfeld was conducting excavations just before the war. He is a 
man imbued, I might almost say above all others (see his ‘Con- 
fession of Homeric Faith,’’ Wochenschr. fiir Phil. [1912], pp. 1081 ff.) 
with the reality and accuracy of the geography and topography and 
most other things in the poems, and he was convinced that he had 
found the site of Alkinoos’ stronghold on the small peninsula of 
Kephali in the northwest of Corfu. See Athen. Mitt. (XXXIX, 
175 f.), J.H.S. (X XXIII, 367 f.), the Westminster Gazette of February 
9, 1914, and the CW ((1915], pp. 60f.). He found there a pre- 
historic settlement with a small quantity of Mycenaean sherds, 
but that is the only Mycenaean sign. Bérard has found nothing 
on his site, but he is not an excavator. There were signs of only 
modern settlement, no ancient ruins, but it is a steep and rocky 
eminence that he has fixed on, and ancient remains may have dis- 
appeared from it entirely, as, I believe, in other similar cases. It 
may be added here that Bérard identifies Hypereia, the old home of 
the emigrants to Scheria, with Cumae, and Cumae is (Scrip. Min., 
p. 95) the point on the Tyrrhene coast up to which Mycenaean 
remains have been found. The date of its foundation, even as a 
Greek settlement, was carried by tradition as far back as 1050 B.c. 
On this see Bérard (II, 118). Minoan discoveries since he wrote 
might induce him now to put the Phaeacian occupation of that place 
beyond the date mentioned. But his remark a propos of the reason 
for the migration of the Phaeacians is interesting—l’ histoire postérieure 
de Kume va nous montrer vingt exemples de pareilles hostilités. 

One discovery does point to Minoan occupations. In a paper 
already referred to (J.H.S., XXXII) Sir Arthur Evans describes 
(p. 286) the pedimental sculptures of “an early temple” excavated 
by Dérpfeld at Palaeopolis in Corfu and finds that the essential 


features are those of the Mycenaean tympanum. On either side of 
the central divinity are “the animal guardians, in this case appar- 
ently pards, heraldically posed,” in short “the traditional Minoan 
group.” Now I do not think that it has occurred to anyone to 
suggest that the xives of gold and silver which (n 88 ff.) adorned the 
entrance to Alkinoos’ palace, have any such significance. But if 
Professor Perrin is right in supposing in his note (ad. loc.) that the 
animals may have been sphinxes or griffins, which were sometimes 
“attached to the column like watchdogs by a thong or chain” (Evans, 
in J.H.S., XXI, 159)! we surely have again the essentials of the tradi- 
tional Minoan grouping. It is not expressly stated by Homer that 
the xives were in a pediment, but the mention of the brepPipiov or 
lintel in the line immediately preceding may perhaps be taken as 
indicating that such was the poet’s meaning. See on this subject 
Dussaud, Civilisns. Préhelléniques* (p. 459), where once again we 
should perhaps read Minoans for Phoenicians. xiwy, it should be 
added, was used of a great variety of supernatural creations, including 
the Sphinx herself (Roscher, s.v. “‘Kyon”’). Even Homer does not 
confine the word to dogs; in u 96 it is a sea monster of some minor 
kind. And lastly, as tending to confirm the Minoan connection, I 
refer to the tale in Roscher (s.v. ‘Pandareos”’) of the similar xbwy 
xpvaods ‘Hdarorérevxros and even éuyvxos that guarded the shrine of 
Zeus in Crete. In B.S.A. (VIII, 138, note) the animal is called “the 
dog of Minos.’ 

For the golden statues of youths évéunrwr éri Bway (n 100), 
which held lighted torches inside the palace, I can find no parallel 
from Minoan Crete. Pwyoi or pedestals for lamps have been found, 
but not, so far as I know, surmounted by Aauradnddpo. The nearest 
approach to these seems to be the Petsofa figurines, with a saucer 
lamp on the head, mentioned in B.S.A., IX, 372. 

And then there are the various references in antiquity to the occu- 
pation of Corcyra by Colchians. Dodwell, in his Tour through 
Greece (I, 36), reports a tradition that as early as 1349 B.c., that is, in 

1Cf. B.S.A., VI, 40 for a doorway with “ griffins facing it on either side.”’ 

2It may be worth noting that in another Cretan settlement, Gezer of the Philis- 
tines, ‘‘architectural features of the Cretan type’? have been found (Scrip. Min., 
p. 78). 

104 A. SHEWAN 

the Mycenaean period, there was an immigration of Colchians, but 
he does not give his authority, and I can obtain no confirmation. 
Another, in Apollonius Rhodicus, is to the effect that Alkinoos 
allowed the Colchians who pursued the Argonauts to settle in 
Corcyra, where they stayed till the time of the Bacchiadae of Corinth, 
when the Corinthians, according to Strabo (vi. 269), turned them out. 
Cf. Wilamowitz (H.U., pp. 170 ff.) and Nitzsch (Anmkgn., II, 74). 
The most likely settlers in prehistoric times would be the Minoans, 
and if we cannot assume that the Minoans have been converted into 
Colchians through the story of the Argonauts, they at least appear 
to have been of the same kin. Rawlinson (on Herodotus, I, 2) sug- 
gested an ethnical relation between the Colchians and the Phoeni- 
cians, or, as he might now say, the Minoans. Herodotus regarded 
the Colchians as Egyptians, a remnant of the army of Sesostris, but 
his identifying marks might apply to Mmoans. The latter were 
connected with the Anatolian stock (Scrip. Min., p. 61, and J.H.S., 
XXXII, 279). Trade connection between Crete, Egypt, and 
Armenia, which bordered on Colchis, is proved by the archaeology 
of the spiral form of ornamentation. Mackenzie (Myths of Crete, 
pp. 28f., also p. 325) says that the Minoans penetrated the Dar- 
danelles and tapped the trade which came from the East to the shores 
of the Black Sea. Colchis may have been a settlement of theirs. 
Those who are now coming to believe that the rape of Helen was not 
wholly mythical may perhaps go farther and believe that the carrying 
off of Medea from Colchis was a reprisal for the abduction of Io by 
Poivixes, or Minoans, and that Corcyra became involved in this feud 
between East and West. On the “debtor and creditor account” of 
such abductions drawn up in later story, see Grote, History ({ed. 
1888], I, 224, note), referring to the opening of Herodotus’ history. 
And finally there is the portrait figured by Sir Arthur Evans in a paper 
in the J.H.S., the reference to which I have lost, which is perhaps “the 
actual likeness of a Minoan dynast,” and is pronounced to be curi- 
ously Armenoid in its general traits. Now the Colchians are said 
to have been of Armenoid race, and in Minoans and Egyptians, 
according to Mackenzie (pp. 150 and 197), there was an Armenoid 
strain. But with this meager contribution I must leave the matter, 
if it be worth pursuing, to wiser heads than mine in the hope that 


further research will tend to identify these Colchians, in their old 
home on the Euxine and in Corcyra, with the Minoans. 

The Liburnians also had an ancient connection with Corcyra 
which is perhaps worth noting. Bursian (op. cit., II, 359, note) 
quoted by Fick (Hattid., p. 30) tells us that they were the oldest 
inhabitants of Corcyra. They also (Smith’s Dict. Geog., s.v.) 
occupied the northern part of Illyricum, having migrated there 
from Italy, and Niebuhr considered them “Pelasgians.” Cf. Helbig 
in Hermes (XI, 257 ff.), who repeats the story that Idomeneus, 
driven from Crete after the Trojan War, came to Illyricum and went 
on thence with the Illyrians to Italy. Much the same was told of 
Diomede. Meriones was said to have settled in Sicily. Bursian 
(I, 17f.) gives the tradition about the arrival of Helenus with a 
Trojan band in Epirus. Cf. Bethe, Rhein. Mus., LXV, 210, nach 
Sizilien wie nach Korkyra Splitter des Keftiuvolkes von Kreta aus 
verschlagen sind, and for an interpretation of the meaning of move- 
ments of this kind see Casson, “‘The Dispersal Legend,” in CR, 
XXVII, 156a. They may reflect actual migrations from Crete to 
Italy and a return movement thence to the neighborhood of Corcyra, 
just of the nature of the one which Bérard and others see in the 
Odyssean transfer of the Phaeacians from Hypereia to Scheria 
(cf. Burrows, p. 208, n. 6). Fick and Kretschmer have noted many 
linguistic indications of the early connection between the two shores 
of the Adriatic. ‘Iorévn, a mountain in Corcyra, and Histonium 
of the Frentani are only one of many such (Fick, Ortsn., p. 142, and 
Hattid., p. 31, quoting Helbig, wé supra). 

But whether future investigations of the relation of the Colchians 
and Liburnians to Corcyra and the mainland near it helps our present 
view or not really matters little, for we have one fact which is as 
nearly decisive as anything can be in regard to so remote a matter. 
There was a Minoa in Corcyra (see Burrows, p. 13 and the reference 
there). That is taken as a certain sign of Minoan occupation, and 
it makes it more than mere hypothesis that it is a Minoan settlement 
which Homer, with, if we please, added touches of fancy (Eustathius’ 
mAdouara mMava) and certainly with humor playing over the whole, 
has described for us in an imperishable lay. Bergk (Hist. Gk. Lit., 
p. 787) saw in it Dichtung und Wahrheit verschmolz. The poet 

106 A. SHEWAN 

followed the Volksglaube in its mingling of fiction with truth. Cor- 
cyra, on the borderland between Greece and the West, was a likely 
locality to tempt to such treatment, ‘mixed treatment,’’ as Glad- 
stone calls it (Juv. Mund., pp. 476f.). The regions beyond were in a 
sense the haunts of mystery, and the jurisdiction of the god Poseidon,! 
from whom pre-Achaean families or peoples like the Phaeacians and 
the Cyclopes traced their descent, and the theme of the life and ways 
there must, as the Odyssey shows, have been an attractive one to the 
Achaeans of the Greek mainland. 

It is likely enough, when one considers how it has struck some 
authorities, that Homer is describing the people and the locality 
- from personal observation, and certainly it is quite possible that the 
poet himself had visited Corcyra. That he was a traveler no one 
can doubt who reads his works, notes how much of the earth he has 
seen with his own eyes, and recalls his remarkable simile in O 80 ff.: 
as 8 br’ dy adit voos dvépos, bs 7’ éri wodAHY yatay éAXnrAvOas dpecl 
mevkadiunor vonon, “év0’ einv, 7 &vOa,” wevowwnnot re wod\dAG. And if, 
as tradition asserts and as seems certain on his own description of 
the island, he actually visited Ithaka, it is as likely as not that he 
went on to Corecyra. There was, in the view of W. H. Jones in CR 
(XXIV, 208), no prejudice against the foreigner to stay Homer from 
such an excursion. Gandar, in his interesting study, Homére et la 
Gréce contemporaine, is quite ready to believe that he made the trip. 

On the island he finds a Minoan community and the materials 
for his beautiful Nausikaan idyl and his character sketch of the 
people and their king. Their vanity and the mild vaporing and 
postprandial weakness of their ruler amuse him, and he immortalizes 
them by incorporating them in the story of Odysseus. There may 
even have been—who knows ?—another motive. We have only to 
read the Phaeacian books and the Apologot to appreciate the im- 
portance attached to the function of our. Other peoples and 
personages practice it as occasion requires, but the Phaeacians are 
moumnes par excellence, rourol drnuoves dravtwv. They help all on 
their way; it is their standing occupation (cf. @ 31 ff. and Bérard, 
I, 559 ff.). They are intermediaries between the Achaean world and 

1A Minoan god in origin, according to Miss Harrison. See the Annual Report 
of the Hellenic Society for 1913-14, p. 5. 


the wild west. Bérard compares the Neleids in the south. The 
men of Corcyra had probably something like a monopoly of the 
traffic across the Otranto channel, often, as Bérard tells us, a perilous 
bit of navigation. They no doubt waxed fat on the business, as 
Mycenae and Troy did, and Homer, as firm a believer in the doctrine 
of the @6d6vos GeGv as Herodotus was later, sees in this material for the 
further embellishment of his picture, pebdeor ceuvdv ereori 71. The 
Phaeacians are obviously committing, as Bérard says, deux sacriléges. 
The speed of their ships is unearthly and provocative, and they are 
outraging the god—if Miss Harrison is right, their own Minoan 
god—who presided over that waste of sea by robbing it of its terrors 
and cheating him of his legitimate victims. And so we owe to the 
poet’s imagination thus kindled the incidents of the prophecy of 
Nausithoos, the petrifaction of the ship, and the origin of the moun- 
tain that cut off Scheria from the interior. 

My readers need not remind me that this is speculation and that 
nothing of the sort is proved or susceptible of proof. I know it, 
but I can without a blush go farther. It is even possible that the 
poet is giving poetical embodiment and color to an experience of his 
own. If at Scheria he suffered from a hitch in the arrangements 
he desired for further exploration or for getting back to Achaean 
lands, there would be a motive for the employment of his gentle 
satire. At any rate I find it as easy to believe as that he was con- 
verting wild sprites of the ocean, or Valkyries, or ferrymen of the 
dead, or denizens of the infernal regions into simple, jovial, hard- 
working seamen. Rather, Phaeacia is real and the poet is in earnest 
about the island community. If Professor Bury, as many will allow, 
has reason when he says (op. cit., p. 17) that “ Mr. Leaf is assuredly 
right in asserting the reality of Agamemnon and Menelaus,”’ why 
should we hesitate about Alkinoos? It is now many years since 
Sir William Ramsay observed that the learned world was coming 
round to Gladstone’s faith in the reality of the life in the Homeric 
poems, and every year since has seen the truth of the observation 
more and more confirmed. And Gladstone agreed with Mure as 
to Phaeacia. I close with the hope that I have shown some reason 
for believing that they were right and that Alkinoos and his folk are 
ovx évap GAN’ trap écOdov. 



By Henry W. Prescorr 

Even if, as I have suggested,' the indebtedness of comedy to 
Euripides in the material of plot is not so large in amount or so 
significant in kind as modern critics have represented, it still remains 
quite possible that in form comedy is dependent upon Euripidean 
tragedy. Into a mold provided by a different type of literature 
comedy may have poured a new content. Indeed it is undoubtedly 
the striking contrast between the looser epirrhematic and episodic 
structure of Aristophanic comedy and the organic coherence of 
Hellenistic comedy, as seen in the Roman copies, that has led modern 
scholars to reject the ancient theory in the prolegomena and to stress 
heavily the broad resemblance, in point of unity, between later 
comedy and Euripides. Nor do the variations in the structure of 
Aristophanic comedy effected by the postponement of the agon to the 
second half of the play, and by the diminished réle of the chorus in 
the Ecclesiazusae and the Plutus, very appreciably lessen the gap in 
this respect between Aristophanic and Hellenistic comedy. 

Taking organic structure in the broadest sense, before we imme- 
diately accept the Euripidean theory, must we not ask ourselves, in 
view of the fact that there is no full and specific relation between the 
plots of Euripides and those of the later comedy of manners, whether 
the comic plot of the later period, without any immediate inter- 
vention of earlier or contemporary tragedy, does not bring into the 
comic drama at once a degree of coherent structure that the mere 
themes of Aristophanic comedy made impossible in the scurrilous 
plays of the fifth century ? These comic plots of the fourth and later 
centuries are not homogeneous; the twenty-six Roman plays reveal 
a variety of plots, and the Greek titles and fragments increase this 
variety. The comedy of manners, with which alone we are at present 
concerned, may have been a renascence of one kind of Sicilian-Attic 
comedy, or it may have issued immediately from the private life 

1CP, XIII (1918), 113 ff. 
[CLAssIcAL PHILoLoey XIV, April, 1919] 108 


of the fourth century. Its precise origin does not matter for our 
present purpose. Of its various plots a common one, which we may 
use for illustration, is the story of a young lover prevented from 
indulging his love for a courtezan by obstacles, usually of a pecuniary 
sort; the lover himself, or a slave, or parasite obtains the required 
financial help, usually through some swindling intrigue, and, often 
further assisted by the discovery of the courtezan’s free birth, attains 
hisend.!' That such a plot is the issue of any slow literary evolution 
is difficult for me to believe. The broad outline of this story offers 
in itself a beginning, middle, and end, with obstacles and means of 
solution that are easily varied and multiplied. 

It is quite superfluous for tragedy to superimpose upon this type 
of plot a general coherence and logical organization which it already 
possesses. It is, on the other hand, quite true that mythological 
comedy,? which had prevailed in the period immediately preceding 
the vogue of the comedy of manners, had in many instances acquired 
an organic structure by being a travesty of well-organized tragedy; 
and one cannot easily say how conscious of the advantages of an 
organic form comic poets may have become through constant 
witnessing of tragic dramas as well as by intermittent perversions of 
tragic plots. My point is merely that the material of the comic plots 
is almost entirely independent of tragedy, and that the unity, in a 
broad sense, is possibly furnished, without any long period of artistic 
development; by the simple realistic tale of human experiences. 

1 The theme is a variant of the eternal commonplace which Post (Harv. Stud. Class. 
Phil., XXIV [1913], 112) reduces to a formula. The broad similarity to the plots of 
later Greek romances is obvious. The romances themselves, however, are often called 
dramata by their authors; this implication of dramatic influence upon the romances 
makes it difficult to assert that early prose fiction, no longer extant, contributed to the 
material of comedy. But the possibility is always open; for interesting reflections cf. 
Mahaffy, Greek Life and Thought, 118 ff.; Bousset, Ztschr. fiir die neutestamentl. Wiss., 
V (1904), 18 ff.; Mendell, CP, XII (1917), 161 ff.; and specially Thiele, Hermes, 
XLVIII (1913), 536, n. 1, 539, n. 1. 

2 The salient facts regarding mythological comedy seem to me to be that (1) oral 
tale and epic must have brought some unity into mythological comedy before tragedy 
exerted any influence; (2) that the influence of tragedy was exerted probably as early 
as the time of Epicharmus; (3) that mythological comedy was probably infinitely 
varied, (a) as illustrated by the Plutus, which suggests the loose unity provided by the 
application of a legend with allegorical implications to contemporary life, (b) by the 
Dionusalexandros, in which fantastic perversion of myth could hardly have promoted 
unity at all, (c) by the Amphitruo, which shows the high degree of unity attainable 
through the fusion of a tragic plot with a comedy of errors. 

110 Henry W. Prescorr 

Politics, literature, and philosophy did not supply Aristophanes with 
themes that were inherently dramatic and easily organized into 
effective dramatic chapters, but typical experiences of real life, such 
as the recurrent plots of New comedy reveal, hardly need the impress 
of tragedy before they can assume at least a considerable degree of 
organic unity. 

However abstract and a priori this reasoning is (as it must be in 
the dearth of positive evidence), it is interesting to observe that 
before the middle of the fourth century the general coherence of the 
comedy of manners is recognized by a comic poet, Antiphanes; the 
invention of the presuppositions, of the facts of the plot, of the exposi- 
tion, and of the catastrophe, in comedy as well as in tragedy, he seems 
to view in a detached and conscious fashion and to describe them in 
terms that to some extent suggest an almost academic attitude toward 
dramatic structure and an apparatus of technical labels. He is 
referring to the advantages of tragedy in dealing with stories familiar 
to the audience, supplied with characters whose names and expe- 
riences are already known, and in having the mechane available for 
emergency; in contrast therewith he puts the comic poets who have 
to invent everything—new names, presuppositions, plot, catastrophe, 
exposition. It should be clearly understood that the fragment refers 
to the invention of the facts of exposition, catastrophe, presupposi- 
tions, and main action; the form of the comic plot, apparently, is 
assumed to be approximately that of the tragic plot, and the labels 
are applicable to both types.! 

Modern criticism, however, does not limit itself to a statement 
that the coherence, in a very broad sense, of later comedy is largely 

hutv 5¢ radr’ obx écrw, &d\Ad wavra Set 
edpetv, dvduara Kawa, < 
>xarera 7a Supxnuéva 
mporepov, Ta viv Wapdvra, TiHv KaTacTpoPny, 
thy eloBodjv. av & te robrwv wapadlap 
Xpéuns tis  Peldwy ris, exovpirrerac’ 
Ime? 5¢ radr’ teore cal Tebxpy roreiv. 
{Athen. 222 A, frag. 191, Kock] 
The contrast between Chremes and Pheidon, on the one hand, and Peleus and 
Teucer, on the other, seems to make certain an allusion to a comedy of manners, not 
to mythological travesty. The complications, the epitasis of Donatus on Terence, 
are covered, if at all, only in ra viv rapévra. It is quite possible that Antiphanes is 
referring mainly to exposition and solution. Ancient literary criticism of comedy, 


effected under the influence of the organic structure of Greek tragedy. 
It undertakes to establish a more specific structural relation between 
the two types.!. The Latin plays reveal in the text conditions that 
point to the possibility of a “vacant stage” at intervals in the 
production of a given play; taking some but not all of these possibly 
“vacant stages’’ to be indications of real and essential pauses in the 
action, modern critics posit a division of the Latin plays into chapters 
of action which in Roman comedy is supposed to be an obscured 
reproduction of more clearly marked act division in the Greek 
originals; this act division in the Greek originals is itself supposed 
to be the result of a development in which tragedy plays a dominant 
part. For later Greek comedy seems on occasion, if not always, to 
have separated chapters of action from one another by an inorganic 
intermezzo chorus, or interlude scenes, or flute music—all of which 
might easily be substitutes for a relatively organic inter-act chorus 
such as, in Greek tragedy, regularly divides, or connects, the six or 
seven smaller chapters of action which constitute the play. The 
“vacant stages,” therefore, of the Latin plays become a final issue 
in the development from a choral drama in which the chorus is 
organic, through later Greek comedy in which inorganic features, 
largely musical and often choral, marked the end of acts, to a dramatic 
form in which “vacant stages” providing essential pauses in the 

as it issues in Euanthius and Donatus, deserves more attention than it has received; 
the theory of structure in these Latin comments on Terence may be patchwork in its 
present form, but it has remote and honorable antecedents. On katastrophe and 
eisbole cf. Leo, Pl. Forsch.?, 233, and nn. 1, 2; on katastrophe I might add the mime 
(vs. 16) edited by Koerte, Archiv. fiir Papyrusforsch., VI (1913), 1 ff., with which cf. 
katastole in another mime (Oxyrhynch. Pap., III, No. 413, vs. 95) and in the scholium 
on Aristoph. Peace 1204. 

1If any complete analysis of the internal structure of the Latin plays had been 
made, I should naturally discuss it at this point. In default of such a study and for 
convenience in my own exposition I take up the theory of act division; for, though 
this problem is a matter of external and mechanical structure from one standpoint, 
Leo and other critics assert that the choral songs of tragedy set off logical units, and 
that the act division in Roman comedy often coincides with the logical chapters of the 
plot, as, e.g., Act I, Exposition; II-III, Complication; IV—V, Solution. This asser- 
tion, so far as Greek tragedy is concerned, is vigorously contested by Holzapfel, 
Kennt die griech. Tragédie eine Akteinteilung? (Giessen, 1914), who convinces himself 
that choral stasima are not at all regularly the boundaries of logical chapters, although 
tragedy does provide “bestimmte Richtlinien fiir das Entstehen von fiinf Akten”’ 
(p. 96). I have accepted, however, Leo’s assumptions in the argument above without 
raising the question whether or not the so-called acts in tragedy or comedy are logical 
units; it seems proper to meet Leo on his own ground. 

112 Henry W. Prescott 

action supplant the interludes that in the earlier forms kept the 
scenic background constantly occupied.! 

For brevity, I may state somewhat categorically the generally 
accepted facts, so far as I can discover them in the tangle of modern 
discussion: (1) Sophoclean and Euripidean tragedies fall into six or 
seven chapters of action set off by choral songs. (2) The Eccle- 
siazusae and Plutus of Aristophanes are susceptible of division into 
six or seven chapters; Aristophanes is supposed by some scholars 
to have written for these later plays choral interludes, many of which 
have not survived. (8) Hellenistic theory, perhaps derived from 
contemporary practice, divided tragedy into five acts; the practice 
is perhaps reflected in Senecan tragedy. (4) There is no evidence 
that Hellenistic comedy operated regularly with a theory of five 
acts, though the Epitrepontes of Menander seems, in its present 
fragmentary condition, to have indications of at least four acts set 
off by the label chorou, and the komos-chorus is here and elsewhere in 
New comedy a distinguishing mark of division into mere. (5) It is 
evident that Varro and others, probably under the influence of 
Hellenistic theory and method, attempted with difficulty to divide 
the plays of Terence into five acts, and sixteenth-century editors of 
Plautus somewhat violently followed a similar procedure in their 
texts of the poet. That either Plautus or Terence consciously 
organized his plays into any definite number of acts is made unlikely 
by the known facts of Varronian act division and by the present 
condition of the texts, but either or both may, distinctly or obscurely, 
reflect act division in their Greek originals. (6) In Leo’s attempt to 
discriminate mere in the Roman plays, using “vacant stages” and 
other criteria, the number of such acts varies from a minimum of 
three to a maximum of seven: about one-third of the total number 
of plays have five acts, the four-act and six-act plays are almost as 
numerous as the five-act plays, and divisions into three and seven 
acts are represented each by several plays.” 

1In Leo’s view plots of intrigue force the dbrganic chorus out of the comedy of 
manners (Der Monolog, 39, 41), and ultimately the inorganic chorus is replaced by 
flute music or by spoken interlude (Pl. Forsch.?, 227, n. 3). 

2 For the facts in this paragraph and further details cf. Leo, Pl. Forsch.2, 226 ff.; 
Der Monolog, 49 ff.; Legrand, Daos, 464 ff. On the fragment of the Epitrepontes, 
which adds a new chorou to the play, cf. Oxyrhynch. Pap., X (1914), 88 ff. For a brief 
summary and critique cf. Conrad, The Technique of Continuous Action in Roman 
Comedy (1915), 1 ff., ably reviewed by Flickinger, Class. Weekly, X (1916-17), 147 ff. 


This array of facts, it seems to me, is far from satisfactory as a 
support for the view that Hellenistic comedy owes its structural 
organization to tragedy. The relation between tragedy and the two 
later plays of Aristophanes may or may not be significant, but how or 
why in the Hellenistic period a five-act theory or practice developed 
in tragedy is unknown, and that a five-act division, or any other 
uniform act division, prevailed in Hellenistic comedy is not sub- 
stantiated by the evidence. In tragedy the chorus is the germ of the 
dramatic form, and as such is an inalienable organic element, which, 
with an occasional exception such as Agathon’s embolima, only 
slowly acquires a detachable inorganic character. In comedy the 
chorus, though relatively organic in the first part of an Aristophanic 
play, becomes generally inorganic in the second part, in which often 
topical songs set off episodic dialogue; and the somewhat dubious 
early history of the type provides for a chorus only as an alien element. 
In brief, for the broad characteristics of the Menandrian komos as an 
inorganic element (also, of course, as composed of drunken revelers 
primarily) every preparation is made in earlier comedy; tragedy, on 
the other hand, offers inherent obstacles to such a development. It 
is true, however, that early comedy, as we now know it, does not 
furnish a structure in which logically connected chapters of dialogue 
are consistently set off by choral songs; this structure, now vaguely 
indicated in the Epitrepontes, finds a better background in fifth- 
century tragedy than in any known form of earlier comedy. We 
might easily admit the influence of tragedy in this matter if we were 
not troubled by the thought that in non-scurrilous comedy of the 
fifth century the chorus, if it continued to be employed, might have 
affected the structure of the plays and established a form which we 
may describe as resembling the present text of the Plutus, but with 
choral interludes replacing the label chorou in the present text of that 
play. This form need not have been so directly due to the influence 
of tragedy, but may have arisen as a compromise between non-choral 
Sicilian comedy and choral scurrilous comedy. In any case it is well 
to remember that, however a chorus may find its way into the drama 
at the start, once there it is very quickly made to perform desirable 
economic functions; the economic necessity of working with a limited 
number of actors and the artistic regard for a plausible representa- 
tion, however rough, of the lapse of time are neatly satisfied by the 

114 Henry W. Prescotr 

choral interlude; and in a non-choral drama the same objects are 
obtained by interlude music, by stationary scenes, or by substantial 
pauses. One would suppose, however, if the chorus or any kind of 
interlude is so important for economic purposes, that such interludes 
would for a considerable period in the development of drama appear 
whenever the dramatist needed to cover time for off-stage action, or 
for change of réles, or both, and that therefore the logical unity of a 
chapter of action between two interludes would not be a primary 
consideration. It is of course likely that a new phase of action will 
begin after an interlude, and in course of time a conscious regard for 
symmetry may lead to the demarcation of logical units by interludes; 
and ultimately such logical chapters may be fixed in number. There 
is no evidence that they did become so fixed in later Gréek or Roman 
comedy, but only that a varying number of chapters is set off by 
various sorts of interludes. , 

In the Latin plays, if one is not blinded by the Euripidean theory 
the visible facts are, first and primarily, that the structure in general 
points to a concern in the Roman theater for continuous action rather 
than for action interrupted by substantial pauses, least of all by any 
regularly recurring number of pauses in individual plays;! secondly, 
that there are in some plays conditions which, obscurely or distinctly, 
suggest a division into mere in the Greek originals. 

May I illustrate from the Persa my own attitude toward “vacant 
stages” and consequent act division, so far as Roman productions 
are concerned? ‘There are six possible vacant stages, at 52, 167, 250, 
328, 399, and 752. At 53 ff. Saturio’s monologue fills the interval of 
Toxilus’ absence; in other words, it performs the same function as 
the vacant stage posited at 52, with the added and, of course, essential 
function of introducing us to the character of the parasite. At 
168 ff. Sophoclidisca’s patter-talk fills the interval of Toxilus’ 
absence (167-83), again precisely what a substantial pause at 167 
would have accomplished; why. duplicate the devices for filling time 
intervals ?? At 250 Sagaristio’s monody similarly fills the interval 

1 For the details of an argument along these lines cf. Conrad, op. cit. 

2 An argument that, for example, more time is needed between 167 and 183 than _ 

is provided by the text of 167-82, and that therefore a substantial pause at 167 is 
required in addition to 167-82, is made difficult by the general consideration of time 
intervals in comedy such as Conrad sketches (op. cit., 19-34). , 


between the departure and return of Paegnium and links two chapters 
of the action. At 752, just as 738-52 have made it possible for Toxi- 
lus departing at 737 to return at 753, so 753-76 are arranged to allow 
Dordalus, making his exit at 752, to return in 777; in brief, the action 
around the supposed vacant stage is obviously so interlocked as to 
serve the same economic purpose that a substantial pause in the 
action at 752 would adequately meet; accordingly the substantial 
pause becomes quite unlikely. With regard to 328 and 399 the case 
is different, and taken by themselves these places admit pauses so 
far as the text is concerned, but (1) if the other four supposed pauses 
are rightly eliminated it is not likely that these two places, only 
seventy lines apart, mark substantial breaks in otherwise continuous 
action; (2) a pause at 399 breaks the action at a point at which rapid 
action in the execution of the intrigue is highly desirable; (3) if my 
suggestions in CP, XI, 129, n. 2 have any validity, the distribution 
of réles might point to 306-28 as devised, in part, to provide for 
Sophoclidisca’s assuming the réle of the parasite at 329, a condition 
which would make unlikely a pause at 328.! 

Now if we turn from the Latin play to the Greek original and ask 
ourselves whether any or all of the six possible pauses in the Latin 
text of the Persa were either real pauses or musical interludes of some 
sort in the Greek text, we face a very difficult question. We observe 
that the Latin text does not, implicitly or explicitly, suggest the 
existence in the Greek original of an inorganic chorus. And the 
same arguments against flute music would apply to the Greek original 
(if its text was essentially the same as the Latin text) as we have 
applied to four of the supposed vacant stages of the Latin copy. On 
the other hand, if the Greek text was essentially different from the 
Latin text, and if interludes other than monologue and monody took 
the place of the parasite’s monologue, of Sophoclidisca’s talk, Saga- 
ristio’s monody, etc., we have difficulty in imagining just how the 
Greek play could have been constructed, and we also have to admit 
an extraordinary, not to say incredible, originality on the part of 

1 That is, if there were a substantial pause at 328, this pause would supply the 
time needed for change of réles, and the present condition of the text, as regards 306-28, 
would not be so easily explained. But of course I do not contend that the distribution 
of réles in this play is so certain as to lend any great weight to this point. 

116 Henry W. PREscottr 

Plautus.' I leave to partisans of act division the issue; for myself I 
seriously question whether the Greek original of the Persa in these 
large structural features was essentially different from the present 
Latin text. 

Granting this, I observe with perfect equanimity that the 
Heautontimorumenos* contains evidence that an inorganic chorus 
operated in the Greek original; some of the vacant stages in the 
Latin text very distinctly point to interludes in the Greek performance 
such as we seem to have indicated in the Epitrepontes. And this 
diversity, represented in two plays, I feel perfectly free to extend 
indefinitely, not being hampered by any theory of exclusive or large 
dependence upon Greek tragedy, which inclines modern critics to 
put Hellenistic comedy in a strait-jacket of uniformity and regularity.* 


The discussion of vacant stages and of act division is much 
affected by the view that these and other aspects of Hellenistic and 
Roman comedy are the issues of a development from choral to non- 
choral drama. This development is suggested by many visible 
conditions in the texts of Old and New comedy and is explicitly 
stated in ancient theory, which describes Old comedy as choral and 
later comedy as at first removing the chorus but leaving a place for it, 
and then not even leaving a place for it. The last two periods of 
development in ancient theory are represented respectively by 

1 It may be observed that there are no monologues before 52, 167, and 250 (a very 
brief one before 167). This condition suggests that the solo speeches and songs at 
52 ff., 167 ff., and 250 ff. are surrogates in a non-choral drama of a chorus in choral 
drama, in so far as they fill intervals of time primarily, though not exclusively, as does 
a chorus. Why may they not have performed this function in the Greek original ? 

2 The conditions are particularly good at 409, where a night intervenes; at 748, 
where the ancillae may pass across the stage; and at 873, where the old men re-enter, 
having just left the stage at 872. At 229 I see no clear evidence of a break in the 
action; nor am I fully convinced by the arguments of Skutsch and Flickinger regarding 
the condition of the Greek original at 170. 

3 The technique which I discern in the Greek original of the Persa is roughly 
analogous to admittedly Greek technique in other Roman plays in which interlude 
scenes, spoken or sung, are found, e.g., Captivi 460-98, 909-21, Curc. 462-86, Most. 
313-47 (cf. Leo, Der Monolog, 59 and n. 2, Pl. Forsch.?, 227,n.3). Leo’s contention that 
such spoken and sung interludes are substituted in the Greek originals for the chorus 
only relatively late and in the period of the technitae, I should meet with the question 
why they might not have appeared at any time in a non-choral drama. 


Menander and by the Latin poets; and the Latin poets, by not even 
leaving a place for the chorus, made difficult a division into the five 
acts which in the Greek originals were clearly distinguished by 
choral passages or by the label chorou.!’ That Menandrian comedy 
often justified such a statement of the case I see no reason to question. 
But ancient theory, as I have elsewhere indicated (CP, XII, 409), 
seems to be operating with a selected mass of material; when it 
speaks of Old comedy it betrays no knowledge of Crates and Phere- 
crates; when it discusses New comedy it often, as above, concentrates 
upon Menander. We may concede, however, the truth and value 
of the broad generalization in ancient theory without closing our 
minds to other facts. A non-choral type of drama has problems in 
common with choral drama but must meet them without a chorus. 
Such problems, for example, are presented by a limited number of 
actors, by the necessity of covering plausibly time intervals, and by 
peculiarities of the stage setting. Time for off-stage action and for 
change of réles is easily provided by a chorus, whether organic or 
inorganic; non-choral drama is driven to a variety of substitutes for 
the chorus—to lyrical intermezzos by single actors or small groups 
of actors, to instrumental music, to dances, to monologues, or to 
dialogue scenes that may not always promote the action. It requires 
not a little skill to bridge gaps with scenes, whether spoken or sung, 
which are inseparable organic units and are not too manifestly mere 
bridges. With these considerations in mind we may better appreciate 
the most striking feature of the technique of New comedy. 

The difference between my own views and the tendencies of 
modern criticism may be illustrated by a brief criticism of Leo’s 
theory of the monologue? To understand his argument we must 
outline the results of his study, which, by its scope, by the thorough 
marshaling of material, by the nice discrimination of stylistic qual- 
ities, and by the historical perspective of the investigator, excites the 
greatest admiration and doubtless carries conviction. Racial psy- 
chology prepares us for an extensive use of solo speeches in Greek liter- 
ature. This tendency of the race is definitely limited in fifth-century 

1Euanthius De fabula iii. 1 (Wessner, I, 18); for further details cf. Conrad, 
op. cit., 8 ff., and footnotes. 

2 For brevity, following Leo, I use ‘“‘monologue”’ to cover solo speech and solo 
song; nor do I always differentiate soliloquy in the narrow sense. 

118 Henry W. Prescott 

drama by the presence of a chorus. Only before the entrance of the 
chorus is genuine solo speech available. To this limitation set by 
a chorus Aeschylus and Sophocles in the main submit. Euripides, 
however, strains against the barrier of the chorus. His interest in 
solo speech led to a steady development toward a detachable prologue 
in the only part of the play in which he was free from the handicap 
of a chorus. Within the play, between the entrance and the exit 
songs of the chorus, a similar progress appears toward the increasing 
use of quasi-monologues—the prayer monologue, the address to the 
elements and inanimate surroundings that gradually reverts to 
actors or chorus, and pathetic speech that disregards the presence of 
chorus and actors; rarely too he removes the barrier to solo speech 
and, withdrawing the chorus, as, for example, in the Helena, finds 
expression in more nearly genuine solo speech. The quasi- 
monologues in the presence of the chorus Leo finds most frequently 
just after a choral song and at the beginning of a meros; in a relatively 
few cases they appear just before a choral song and at the end of a 
meros. The goal toward which Euripides was tending, hampered 
by the chorus, is clearly indicated in the Helena, a play which in so 
many other features of form and content anticipates later comedy. 
In this play Euripides reveals what he would have done without a 
chorus; here the mere, or acts, of the drama are bracketed between 
monologues with remarkable regularity. The immediate issues of 
this technique Leo sees in Roman comedy. The Euripidean prologue 
is firmly established in many plays of Plautus. The monologue, now 
that there is no chorus, is freely extended within the plays of Plautus 
and Terence, and it brackets with some regularity in many plays 
those units of action which Leo discriminates as mere.! 

My objection to Leo’s inferences from the facts is that a sig- 
nificance is attached to many phenomena which they will not bear, 
So far as the position of the monologue is concerned, it is clear that 
(apart from “asides,’”’ with which Leo is not primarily occupied) the 
monologue as a solo speech must appear at the beginning or at the 
end of units of the action; at these points, only, the stage is cleared of 
other characters, and solo speech is possible; under any other con- 
ditions a solo speech must be delivered over the heads of other actors 

1 For a brief résumé of his argument cf. Der Monolog, 53. 


or the chorus. In Euripidean tragedy the chorus is usually present, 
and the dramatist can best introduce his surrogates of the monologue 
only when the scene of action is relatively clear, that is, just before or 
after a choral song.!. In non-choral drama a vast majority of mono- 
logues must appear just before the arrival or after the departure of 
other characters. In brief, in each type of drama the position of the 
monologues or quasi-monologues is largely inevitable, and it is 
accordingly unsafe to infer from the position of solo speeches that 
one type of drama has influenced the other type. The most that 
may be said is that Euripidean tragedy (or later Euripidean tragedy) 
and New comedy (at least Philemon and possibly Diphilus, according 
to Leo) prefer to begin new phases of the action with solo speech 
rather than with dialogue and much less regularly to end such 
chapters of the action similarly. 

Now this fact, just stated, may be significant and may repay 
careful study, but so far as Leo’s main thesis is concerned, viz., that 
the quasi-monologues in Euripides, limited in quantity and variety, 
are opening the way toward the vast number of monologues in 
comedy, most of which are entirely different in content from their 
supposed Euripidean forbears, and further, that a bracketing of 
acts in New comedy results from Euripidean practice in this regard, 
we must observe, not only that the position of the monologue is an 
unsafe criterion and that the qualitative and quantitative differences 
between the two types are remarkable, but that the regularity of act 
structure posited by Leo for New comedy is not established by the 

Leo’s statements of fact are full and frank, but naturally he does 
not throw into bold relief the obstacles to his theory. With some 
measure of success he finds in the Latin plays (only three) adapted 
from originals by Philemon the bracketing of mere by monologues.” 
Of Menander’s technique he can get no clear idea because, as he 
asserts, so many of Menander’s originals are contaminated in the 
Roman copies’; and in trying to account for contradictory conditions 
within the group of contaminated plays Leo displays an almost 

1 These somewhat obvious facts are sensibly stated by Legrand, Daos, 490. 
2 Der Monolog, 49-53. 
3 Tbid., 55 ff. 

120 Henry W. Prescott 

acrobatic versatility.!_ Nor is Diphilus’ practice easily determined 
from the two Latin plays, one of which is contaminated, that come 
from his hand. Of ten plays not traceable to any of these three 
playwrights Leo finds his norm of act structure fairly well established 
in all but three, the Epidicus, the Curculio, and the Asinaria2 Even 
this statement of Leo’s makes a rather weak case for any dominant 
Euripidean influence. Without stressing statistics*’ one may fairly 
describe the situation in the following terms: Not a single Latin play 
has all its acts bracketed by monologues; ten plays, only two of which 
are contaminated, have absolutely no acts bracketed by monologues; 
eight plays alone contribute the slightest support to Leo’s theory, so 
far as they have a reasonable percentage of acts bracketed by mono- 
logues (and to be quite fair I have called a little less or more than half 
a reasonable percentage); the other eight plays lie between the two 
extremes. If Leo contends that it is not fair to rest his case on 
bracketing, but that we should consider, apart from the bracketing, 
the proportion of acts that either begin or end with monologues, the 
figures are these: There are 130 opportunities to begin acts with 
monologues, of which the Latin plays accept 78; there are 104‘ 
opportunities to end acts with monologues, of which 31 are accepted. 
In other words, more than half the acts begin with monologues, 
and less than a third end with monologues. Or finally, not to neglect 
any angle, two-thirds of all the entrance monologues of Roman 

1 Thus, for example, the Casina, from the Greek of Diphilus, does not accord with 
Leo’s expectation of acts bracketed by monologues; the Rudens, from the same Greek 
author, does accord; Leo (ibid., 54) is confirmed in his view that the Casina is contami- 
nated, and he sees in that play Plautine technique. The Andria, though rich in mono- 
logues, has no bracketing of acts; Leo (ibid., 57) remarks that Menander’s composition 
has disappeared in the process of contamination, and that Terence’s technique is that 
of the Casina. The Stichus, Poenulus, Pseudolus, and Miles gloriosus, on the other 
hand, are fairly regular in the bracketing of acts; Leo concludes (tbid., 56, 60-61) 
that Plautus has observed and followed the technique of his Greek originals! Obvi- 
ously, if one accepts Leo’s theory of contamination and of the monologue, these are 
the only possible conclusions, but does such versatility in meeting contradictory 
conditions in supposedly contaminated plays stimulate confidence in theories either of 
contamination or of the monologue ? 

2 Tbid., 59 ff. 

3The figures that follow are based on Leo’s own interpretations, though he 
furnishes no statistics. 

4 The difference between 130 and 104 is due to the fact that, conventionally, the 

last act of a Roman play usually ends with dialogue in trochaic septenarii, so that a 
monologue at the end of the play and of the last act is practically impossible. 


comedy (not including the Zutrittsmonolog) stand at the beginning 
of acts; slightly more than two-thirds of the exit monologues stand at 
the end of acts. In my opinion there are hardly more than two 
significant facts in the situation: first, as we should expect, mono- 
logues stand at the beginning or end of smaller or larger units of 
action, and in so doing must appear often at the beginning or end of 
Leo’s acts; secondly, there is a notable predominance of entrance 
monologues, indicating a distinct preference for solo speech or song 
over dialogue in the technique of entrance; if one includes the 
Zutrittsmonolog and Eintrittsmonolog under the general term of 
entrance monologue, 60 per cent of the monologues of Roman comedy 
are entrance speeches, 20 per cent are exit monologues, and 20 per 
cent are link monologues. 

It is, however, more illuminating to observe the variations in 
practice in individual plays. For here we see, what I am most eager 
to establish in opposition to current opinion, the absolute negation 
of any uniform procedure, and the consequent weakness of a view 
that Euripidean tragedy exerted a determining influence upon the 
form of comedy. Leo himself, on coming to the two Latin plays 
from the hand of Apollodorus, the Phormio and Hecyra, immediately 
recognizes a novel and individual technique; the Phormio, for 
example, has twelve monologues and five acts; but only one of the 
dozen solo speeches stands at the beginning or end of an act, and 
two-thirds of them are link monologues. The Captivi, he has to 
admit, only seemingly supports his theory; for two of its monologues 
are interlude scenes, and as such reveal another novel type of structure 
only partially paralleled by the choragus scene of the Curculio; 
that is, here clearly the monologue does not follow a vacant stage but 
occupies a stage which would otherwise be vacant; in other words, it 
performs one of the main functions of a chorus. Beyond these clear 
marks of variety and individuality lie equally clear evidences of 
divergence from any norm in other plays. What could be more 
suggestive than the contrast between the A ulularia and the Asinaria? 
The former is supposed by Leo to be Menandrian and is innocent of 
contamination; it has twenty-two monologues, an unusually large 
number, and four acts; yet of this large number of solo speeches only 
one stands at the beginning of an act, three at the ends of acts, and 

122 Henry W. Prescott 

no act is bracketed; and all this in spite of the fact that there are 
nine entrance and seven exit speeches out of the twenty-two. On the 
other hand, observe the Asinaria, from the Greek of an obscure poet, 
Demophilus; it has only six monologues, the smallest number of all 
the plays, and all six are used in the first half of the play, one at the 
beginning, two at the ends of acts. Possibly the plots of these 
two plays are peculiar and the structure correspondingly peculiar; 
but are we likely to appreciate properly the various theories of act 
division, of monologue, of Euripidean influence, until we consider 
how the plot and various other factors affect structure? Between 
the two extremes presented by these two plays the other comedies 
offer other interesting vagaries, into which I need not go at present. 

In this discussion of the monologue I have necessarily accepted, 
for descriptive and argumentative purposes, the theory of vacant 
stages and of act division, although in the previous sections of the 
paper I have attacked the validity of the act theory, and of the 
vacant stage in Roman comedy as a criterion of division into acts. 
Perhaps I should state now my general attitude toward Leo’s theories 
of the vacant stage, monologue, and act division. The broad impli- 
cation in his discussion seems to me to be that a rather regular 
sequence of exit monologue, choral song, entrance monologue in 
choral drama (and specially in Euripides) results in Roman comedy 
in a fairly uniform sequence of exit monologue, vacant stage, entrance 
monologue.! Now I am perfectly willing to admit that the réle of 
the Menandrian komos-chorus makes it likely that a Roman poet, 
finding such a chorus in his Greek original, would substitute for it a 
vacant stage, and monologues might often appear on either side of the 
komos-chorus and of the subsequent vacant stage. What I doubt is 
whether this Menandrian technique was consistently employed by 
Menander or by other Hellenistic poets, and whether Euripidean 
influence is a factor to be reckoned with when such technique appears. 

1This statement is not quite fair to Leo. Exit monologues in Euripides are 
relatively few in number, and Leo would probably stress the fact that the sequence of 
choral song and entrance monologue in choral drama is replaced by the sequence of 
vacant stage and entrance monologue in Roman comedy. It is true that entrance 
monologue in Roman comedy is predominant, but from my standpoint the vacant 
stage before it is mere assumption in most cases. The sequence of exit monologue, 

vacant stage, and entrance monologue in Roman comedy occurs about 35 times out 
of a possible 104; eight plays have no examples of this sequence. 


In my own mind I leave room for a further possibility that, much 
oftener than Leo admits (in the Captivi and Curculio), a monologue 
is itself a substitute for the chorus of choral drama, that it bridges 
gaps rather than follows a gap, that it promotes continuity of action 
even in the Greek original, as it does in my view, for example, in the 
Persa as a Roman production.! From this standpoint possible vacant 
stages in Roman comedy are not very regularly substantial pauses, 
and monologues are sometimes surrogates of the vacant stage as well 
as of the chorus. So far as Euripidean influence is concerned I see 
nothing in the evidence that conflicts with the view that, given racial 
psychology which prompts soliloquy, and granting the dramatic 
convenience of the monologue as an artifice in facilitating structure,” 
the monologue is bound to assert itself in comedy, without any 
Euripidean influence, as soon as the chorus is removed; this begins 
to appear at once in the Ecclesiazusae and Plutus, and if the Helena 
also illustrates it I see only the parallel development which I should 
expect in the two dramatic types. 

Euripidean influence is certainly not manifest in the spirit and 
general content of the comic monologue, and if its formal features 
are due to the tragic poet the mold has been usually filled with a 
content that comes either from the resources of Old comedy or from 
the immediate dramatic necessities of the New comedy of intrigue. 
The Euripidean monologue is limited in the main to prayers and 

1 Leo limits the technique to the passages referred to above, p. 116, n. 3. Other 
passages which are chorartig (Der Monolog, 68, Pl. Forsch?. 240, n. 1) in his opinion 
are of a different sort, being mainly Lauscherscenen. 

2 Cf. Arnold, The Soliloquies of Shakespeare (New York, 1911), 81, who indulges in 
the paradox that the structural monologues opening, closing, and linking chapters 
of action are artificial speeches used to avoid the appearance of artifice. Similarly 
Roessler, The Soliloquy in German Drama (New York, 1915), 17, regards the structural 
monologue as a lubricant in the wheelwork of the drama. 

3 The point will be raised that Aeschylus and Sophocles do not use the Euripidean 
surrogates of the monologue. In this, as in many other respects, Euripides and 
comedy are more or less alike, while the older tragedians differ. Modern critics 
hastily use this situation to establish the influence of Euripides upon comedy. But 
who knows, if there is any influence exerted at all, whether or not comedy as early as 
Epicharmus or as late as Aristophanes influenced Euripides? Euripides and Old 
comedy have much in common: informality, direct appeal to the people, colloquial 
style, indifference to sophisticated art; Aristophanes criticizes Euripides because these 
and other features are out of place in tragedy; it would only be a pleasant irony if the 
tragic poet, from unconscious sympathy or conscious imitation, often approximated 
the style of comedy. 

124 Henry W. PREscotTT 

addresses to inanimate surroundings and to occasional pathetic 
speeches over the heads of actors and chorus. Of the huge number 
of comic monologues no general description is possible, but the 
commonest types are narrative monologues outlining past, present, 
and future action, and solo speeches on general aspects of social life.’ 
The former result largely from the dramatist’s obligation to cover 
offstage action or to make his plot intelligible; the latter, though 
occasionally touching Euripidean themes,? are quite as much in the 
spirit of the Aristophanic parabasis. Both types, and monologues in 
general in comedy, are very often explicit or implicit addresses to the 
audience® and as such reflect the informality of Old comedy; the 
speeches to the chorus and to the audience in Aristophanes supply all 
the needed literary background for the manner of delivery and for 
some of the material of the comic monologue of the next centuries.‘ 


In one type of expository monologue, however, modern critics 
seem to have unassailable evidence of the closest interrelation between 
Hellenistic comedy and Euripides. The Plautine prologue that nar- 
rates the plot in a detachable speech to the audience delivered by a 
divinity, or a character in the play, or a “prologus,”’ is generally 
admitted to reproduce all the essential features of the Euripidean 
prologue. This evidence I have no desire to minimize, but I may 
properly indicate by a few brief comments that the antecedents of 
the Plautine prologue are mixed rather than simple, as is so often 
the case with phenomena in which modern criticism stresses heav- 
ily the Euripidean features. 

The prologue is only one form of exposition, or only part of the 
exposition. At the outset I find it significant that another type of 
exposition, in which a dialogue between master and slave opens the 
play, and the master in response to urgent questions discloses facts 
of interest to the audience, is admitted by the chief essayist on the 

1 For examples, cf. Leo, Der Monolog, 72, nn. 13 and 14. 

2Cf., e.g., Leo, Pl. Forsch.2, 119; for the philosophizing as such cf. CP, XIII 
(1918), 134-37. 

3 Leo, Der Monolog, 80; Schaffner, De aversum loquendi ratione (Giessen, 1911), 18. 
4 Leo, Der Monolog, 79 ff., Geschichte d. rim. Lit., I, 107, 109, n. 1. 


prologues of Greek comedy not only to have distinctly mixed ante- 
cedents but to owe its origin to comedy rather than to tragedy;! and 
this too in spite of the closest resemblance in details of phraseology 
as well as of general situation between such dialogue expositions in 
the Roman plays and the corresponding expositions of Euripidean 
tragedy: “‘. . . . videntur mihi talia initia ut Thesmophoriazusarum 
Pluti Iphigeniae Aul. Pseudoli Curculionis primum ficta esse a poetis 
comicis, inde autem manasse et per tragoediam et per mediam novam- 
que comoediam.’? Without intending at all to subscribe to any 
theory of origins in this matter,’ I quote this statement of Frantz 
simply to suggest that in the triangular relation which is often ap- 
parent between Aristophanes, Euripides, and New comedy one must 
be open-minded to the possibility that early comedy rather than 
Euripides is the initiating force, and that Euripidean influence is only 
one of many strands in the complicated phenomenon of later comedy. 

It is this same triangular relation that confronts a student of the 
prologue as a detachable speech to the audience, if he is not biased 
by preconceptions of Euripides’ influence upon later comedy. A 
discriminating critic like Leo* may successfully trace in the Euripidean 
prologues a development from a speech in which the expositor care- 
fully accounts in the prologue for his appearance, justifies the solilo- 
quy form of his address, and in general satisfies all the demands of a 
modern sophisticated critic, to a negligent and relatively inartistic 
prologue in which the speaker seems to be almost impersonal, 
disregards motivation, external or internal, and is conscious of 
the audience, though he does not directly appeal to it.6 And the 

1 Frantz, De comoediae Ait. prologis (1891), 21 ff. He is quite convinced, however, 
that the prologue as a detachable expository speech is thoroughly Euripidean (ibid., 
30 ff., 40, 45, 49). 

2 Ibid., 28. 

3In this small matter I should probably not espouse any theory of origins or 
influence but content myself with the observation that comic and tragic dramatists, 
facing similar problems of exposition, solve the difficulties in similar simple ways. The 
modern playwright who opens his play with a dialogue between the butler and the maid 
need not have read ancient drama or contemporary drama; such devices are quickly 

conventionalized, of course, and become traditional, but they are weak props for any 
thoroughgoing theory of origins or influence. 

* Der Monolog, 14-26. 

5 Explicit address to the audience in tragedy is so rare that Frantz (op. cit., 50) 
properly describes it as a descent to the plane of comedy. 

126 Henry W. Prescott 

conclusion is that in this final type of Euripidean prologue “der 
‘prologus’ der spaiteren Komédie ist . . . . potentiell vorhanden.’ 
Over against this fact must be balanced the equally significant con- 
ditions in Aristophanes’ Knights and Wasps and Peace (cf. Birds, 
30 ff.), which critics cannot refer to Euripidean tragedy at all; in 
these plays one of two slaves, after some preliminary dialogue, turns 
to the audience and in frankly informal address to the spectators 
expounds the theme or general situation.2 Here is a much clearer 
background for the inartistic comic prologue of later times; nor can 
one deny that the interruption, in the Plautine prologues, of the 
exposition of the plot by facetious remarks and serious reflections 
(as, for example, in the Captivi) for the benefit of the audience is 
quite alien to Euripides and entirely in accord with the spirit of Old 
comedy. It is, however, quite clear that the monologue form of 
detachable exposition in New comedy is more closely allied to 
Euripidean technique than, for example, to the monologue of Dicae- 
opolis at the beginning of the Acharnians; and one may easily see 
how the travestying of tragedies would have brought over the 
Euripidean monologue into Middle comedy, and how readily the 
same expository form would have been retained in the comedy of 
manners. At the same time one must admit that the extreme 
informality, the frankness of direct address to the spectators, the 
conscious exposition of the plot, are all forestalled in Aristophanic 
comedy. In such matters Euripides may be not an initiating force 
but a complacent victim to the democratic informality of early 

Not only as relatively inorganic solo speech is the prologue in 
Hellenistic and Roman comedy traced to Euripides, but in the choice 
of persons as speakers comedy is supposed to be following closely the 
tragic poet. For in Euripides the prologues are delivered by char- 

1 Der Monolog, 25. 

2 Leo, of course, recognizes the contribution of Old comedy in this respect (Der 
Monolog, 80), but his general appraisal puts all the emphasis upon the Euripidean 
prologue. Beyer, De scaenis .... quibus .... narrantur, non aguntur (Gottingen, 
1912), 49, asserting that this Aristophanic form of exposition is primitive and was 
established in comedy much earlier, strangely argues that it is derived from tragedy. 
It may be observed that, so far as this expository address to the audience in Aristopha- 
nes follows preliminary dialogue, it furnishes a better background for the intercalated 
prologue of Plautine comedy than, I think, anything that Euripides has to offer. 


acters in the play or by divinities; and the extant prologues of 
comedy are put in the mouths of the same two types of speakers; 
comedy, to be sure, has added to the list the impersonal “ prologus,”’ 
whom modern critics dismiss as a natural final development of the 
inorganic prologue.’ In this bit of cumulative evidence, however, 
there is a deviation from complete correspondence that might prove 
significant of a different history for the expository prologue. The 
divinities who deliver the Euripidean prologues are, almost without 
exception, the major gods and goddesses of the hierarchy. The 
divine beings who serve as prologists in comedy are of a different 
and lower order. It is at least incautious to speak of ‘die direkte 
Abkunft’* (from the prologizing divinities in tragedy) of such 
allegorical figures as Aer, Elenchos, Agnoia, Auxilium, Luxuria, 
Inopia, Tuche, and Phobos, and of minor deities like Arcturus, Heros, 
and Lar Familiaris. The consistency of allegorical prologists in 
comedy is striking. One may argue, of course, that the less heroic 
material of New comedy naturally make unavailable as prologists 
such divinities as Aphrodite, Artemis, Apollo, and the like, and that 
allegorical figures are a natural substitute for the Euripidean pro- 
logists. On the other hand, there seems to be no special reason why 
Venus should not utter the prologue of many a comedy in which the 
love story is prominent, or why Neptune as well as Arcturus might 
not introduce the Rudens, if with consequent loss of the charming 
detail in the present prologue; but this does not happen, so far as we 
can discover from extant material! That Kalligeneia, who seems 
to have spoken an expository monologue at the beginning of Aris- 
tophanes’ second Thesmophoriazusae, or Dorpia, who perhaps simi- 
larly introduced Philyllius’ Herakles, is a perfect background for the 
allegorical prologists of later comedy is not quite certain; these 
deities were probably personifications of festival days, and as such 
approximate the divine prologists of New comedy; they may, 
however, have had active réles in the plays, and the Herakles may 

1 Leo, Pl. Forsch.2, 224 fi. 

2 The case of Thanatos in the Alcestis is hardly a real exception. 

3 Leo, op. cit., 212. 

# Dionysus in the Strassburg prologue is far from certain, nor are Eros and Aphro- 
dite in the Ghoran papyri valid exceptions. For other possible cases of comic pro- 
logists cf. Leo, op cit., 212, n. 4. 

128 Henry W. Prescorr 

have been a mythological travesty. But even if Old comedy had no 
prologists of precisely the same type as New comedy, it should be 
clear that the allegorical figures of Ploutos, Opora, Theoria, Eirene, 
the Logos Dikaios and Logos Adikos, which issue naturally from the 
fantastic plots of Aristophanic comedy, suggest that the allegorical 
prologists of New comedy, as allegorical figures, are not primarily 
Euripidean at all;! nor should anybody overlook in this connection 
the réles of Earth and Sea, of Logos and Logina, in Epicharmus. 
The part that Sicilian-Attic comedy and very early mythological 
travesty of epic story and oral legend played in this development 
both of allegorical figures and of the prologue is unknown, but con- 
servative criticism will reckon with the unknown, at least so far as 
to modify hasty conclusions from the known? 


It would strengthen the contention of modern critics appreciably 
if, through careful analysis of the structure of action in New comedy 
and of the mainsprings of action, they had established close con- 
nections with Euripidean tragedy. Legrand in his Daos (p. 383), 
having asserted that the rigorous unity of later comedy is due to the 
influence of tragedy, remarks that he will, in the course of subsequent 
chapters, repeatedly note that the comedies employed the same 
motives or adopted the same general arrangement as did the dramas 
of Euripides; yet in his immediately following discussion of simple 
and intricate plots and of “les ressorts de l’action” there is not a 
single reference to any Euripidean parallels. In various particu- 
larities of dramatic technique, however, Legrand and others do find 
further evidence of Euripidean influence. Some representative 
instances of such discussions I must briefly consider. 

1 The nearest approach to such figures in Euripides is in the prelude to the second 
part of the Hercules furens, in which Lussa, conducted by Iris, enters the palace some- 
what as Inopia is escorted by Luxuria to the house of the hero in the prologue of the 
Trinummus. I should be quite willing to grant that Philemon might have been 
influenced by Euripides here, without admitting that the isolated instance in Euripides 
is sufficient to explain the extensive use of allegorical prologists in comedy. 

2It is pertinent to remark that the call for applause at the end of the play has a 
background in Aristophanes; cf. Leo, op. cit.,240andn.3. And it is not uninteresting 
to observe that Leo is mistaken (ibid., 241) in thinking that the quotation of a similar 
tag in Suetonius (Aug. 99) is from Middle or New comedy; is it not clearly implied 
to come from a mime? 


A characteristic of most of these studies in the minutiae of 
dramatic technique is the acceptance, at the start, of the Euripidean 
theory; the writers then proceed to find cumulative evidence of the 
dependence of comedy upon tragedy in whatever detail of craftsman- 
ship they choose for investigation. Thus, for example, Fraenkel 
opens a chapter of his study with the statement: “id effectum est ut 
hodie paene iam pueris decantatum sit ex quinti saeculi tragoedia, 
Euripidea imprimis, in mediam novamque comoediam non modo 
varia fabularum argumenta ... . sed etiam singulas sententias 
. . . . defluxisse”;! and Harms begins his essay on motivation: 
“constat novam .... comoediam potius tragoediae Euripideae 
quam veteris comoediae forman atque rationem secutam esse.’? 
Considering the vogue of the theory that Euripides is “der wahre 
Begriinder der neueren attischen Komédie,” one can hardly blame 
such writers, but the danger in starting from this theory as a demon- 
strated fact is obvious. Nor are the methods employed in the 
course of investigation as sound as they should be. Constantly one 
finds the writers of dissertations observing that A resembles B, and 
that therefore B is derived from A; that both A and B may be 
derived from X, or that for other reasons the resemblance of A to B 
does not establish any causal connection between the two, never 
enters into their calculations. In general, having recognized the 
possibility of Euripidean influence, they never stop to eliminate all 
other possibilities. Practically such investigations are brought to a 
conclusion at the point where fruitful study might well begin. 

I can easily sympathize, for example, with anybody who, in 
reading the Alcestis of Euripides, remarks* that “der gastfreundliche 
Herr, die aufopferungswillige Gattin, der treue, etwas beschrinkte 
Diener, der bése, senile Alte’’ can easily be paralleled from Menander 
and Plautus. But if this stereotyping tendency in Euripides 
is a natural issue from the technique of the Mdrchen, and if in 

1 Fraenkel, De media et nova comoedia qu. sel. (Géttingen, 1912), 53. 

2 Harms, De introitu personarum in Euripidis et novae comoediae fab. (Gdttingen, 
1914), 1. 

3 Howald, Untersuch. zur Technik der euripid. Trag. (Tibingen, 1914), 19. 
Howald does not use the resemblance to prove any interrelation, and I quote his words 
only to illustrate a natural and current impression of the likeness between Euripides 
and comedy in the matter of characters. 

130 Henry W. PreEscotr 

Aristophanes I find Socrates approximating a typical philosopher 
rather than the real Socrates, and if Aristophanes and Doric farce 
already have developed, without Euripidean influence, stereotyped 
professional réles, I must conclude that the degree of Euripidean 
influence upon New comedy in this respect is difficult to determine; 
certainly I cannot lay much weight on the fact that Aristophanes does 
not stereotype domestic réles as long as he has little occasion to use 
them. And I must remain open-minded to the possibility that the 
resemblance of Euripides to New comedy does not establish any 
interdependence of the one and the other. For aught I know 
Sicilian-Attic comedy may have had stereotyped domestic réles 
before Euripides wrote tragedy. I am not denying that some comic 
poets learned something about character treatment from Euripides, 
directly or indirectly, but again the whole problem is a complex, not 
a simple, one. 

The so-called unities of time and place in drama have been 
studied, and various observations have been made regarding the 
devices used by dramatists to preserve these unities. The recent 
history of such studies is significant. Felsch' records the artifices 
used by Greek tragedians. Polezyk? follows with a study of the 
same problems in New comedy and notes in connection with almost 
every artifice that Felsch has found the same device in Greek tragedy; 
Polcyzk then concludes that in these respects New comedy is depend- 
ent upon tragedy. Almost immediately, however, Todd, in studying 
the unity of time in Aristophanes, avows that Old comedy uses the 
same devices as New comedy, a fact which Poleyzk had denied.* 
If Todd is right we are confronted with a dilemma: Did Euripides 
teach Aristophanes these artifices? Or did Aristophanes, Euripides, 
and poets of the New comedy, facing the same problem, solve it in 
the same way independently of one another ? 

That the second of these two alternatives must be chosen seems 
to me likely when we are concerned with particularities of technique 
that are clearly due to conditions of the Greek theater, in which 
Euripides and poets of the Old and the New comedy produced their 

1 Bresl. Philol. Abhandl., [IX (1907), Heft 4. 
2 Polezyk, De unitatibus et loci et temporis in nov. com. obs. (Breslau, 1909). 
8 Todd, Harv. Stud. Class. Phil., XXIV (1915), 50 ff. 


plays. A rigid scenic background and an essentially outdoor setting 
were conditions that faced Euripides and the comic poets; resem- 
blances between tragedy and comedy, therefore, in artifices which 
manifestly result from a common interest in overcoming these and 
similar difficulties cannot be used to establish the dependence of 
comedy upon tragedy, especially when the devices are of a simple and 
obvious nature. So in the mass of conventions relating to the mise 
en scéne which Legrand accumulates on pages 428-63 of his Daos, 
nobody should look for any evidence of the interrelation of the two 
literary types; nor does Legrand venture beyond the wise statement 
(p. 461) that the germs of these conventions are found both in 
Aristophanes and in Euripides. Other critics rashly jump to con- 
clusions; even if Polezyk is right in denying that Aristophanes 
preserves unity of place by the same devices as Euripides and New 
comedy, it is hazardous for him to argue from the resemblance in this 
respect between the tragic poet and later comic poets that New 
comedy took over these conventions from tragedy. 

It is of course natural, when Aristophanes differs in his procedure, 
and Euripides and New comedy agree, to infer a close historical 
relation between tragedy and New comedy. Even this inference is 
unsafe if, as is the case, tragedy and later comedy have in common 
but quite independently of each other domestic plots and broadly 
emotional incidents which Aristophanes does not employ. Thus, 
for example, Harms! in his study of motivation observes that the 
entrance of characters upon the stage in Euripides and in New comedy 
is often motivated “aut dolore aut inquiete animi aut consideratione,”’ 
whereas in Aristophanes such emotional and mental conditions are 
not generally employed to make the entrance of characters natural 
and inevitable; for this and other reasons Harms concludes that 
New comedy takes over from Euripides its devices for motivating 
entrance. But when such resemblances are pointed out one should 
first consider whether the common element may not be accounted 
for without any dependence of one type upon the other. Aris- 
tophanic comedy, in the nature of the case, does not stress the 
emotional side of life; Euripides and New comedy, on the contrary, 
are dealing with the emotional experiences of everyday people and 

10Op. cit., 64. 

132 Henry W. PREScOTT 

will naturally motivate action by elementary emotions to a very 
large degree without necessarily being interdependent in that respect. 
Harms, and others in similar studies, apparently strengthen their 
arguments by pointing out corroborating resemblances in details of 
phraseology and style. This procedure is in itself quite legitimate, 
but again the critics are hasty in their inferences. In the first place, 
some stylistic features which Euripides cultivates became common 
property of writers in the Hellenistic period and may appear in New 
comedy without any direct influence of the tragic poet. Again 
many details of form and turns of phrase may recur in both types of 
literature, because they are taken by each type, independently of the 
other, from the common fund of colloquial expression which 
Euripides, somewhat abnormally, and comedy, quite naturally, 
delight to use, or from some other common source. When Harms,! 
for example, discovers that the Phrygian in Orestes 1375 justifies his 
entrance by revealing fear in the words, ‘‘Woe’s me; whither shall 
I flee ?’”’ and that Bromia in the Amphitruo similarly exclaims, “‘me 
miseram, quid agam nescio?” and Myrrhina in the Hecyra, “ perii, 
quid agam? quo me vortam?” the resemblance in these emotional 
commonplaces between Euripides and New comedy moves me about 
as much as would the discovery that Harms and I had made the same 
blunder; without imitating him I am quite capable of #. Each of 
these details is trivial in itself, but the discussion of them so pervades 
the treatment of comedy in these days that I may be allowed another 
concrete example. Fraenkel’ discovers the following feature in both 
Euripidean tragedy and later comedy: Two interlocutors in a 
dialogue scene are engaged in expounding a situation or facts; one 
of them, A, is telling the story, but instead of setting it forth in an 
unbroken sequence he interrupts himself and turns to the other 
interlocutor, B, and says, “‘Do you know so-and-so?” B answers, 
“Of course I do,” and there follows a brief conversation on this line, 
after which A resumes his narrative. Now this simple bit of dialogue 
technique Fraenkel offers as proof of the dependence of comedy upon 
Euripides, although he says incidentally, “sane e cottidiani sermonis 
consuetudine mutuatus.”’ Naturally I wonder how he knows that 
1 Op. cit., 29 ff. 
2 Op. cit., 54 ff. 


Euripides and any comic poet did not independently draw upon the 
material of ordinary speech for this device; and I wonder too just 
how any dramatic poet who prefers dialogue to monologue can 
manage a bit of expository narrative without some such common- 
place device by which the other person in the scene may be drawn 
into the conversation. 

Briefly then, in these particularities of technique modern criticism 
stops short at the simple equation of resemblance with dependence. 
But to establish dependence something more must be discovered than 
simple devices to meet conditions, external or internal, that are 
common to both types of drama and result either from production 
in the same sort of theater with similar peculiarities of scene setting, 
or from the use of similar pathetic material. 


The force of these modern tendencies has led us to view Roman 
comedy as a Kunst, either quite disregarding farcical and burlesque 
elements and inorganic structure, or dismissing them as Roman 
intrusions in the artistic fabric woven under Euripidean influence. 
We need feel under no obligation to demolish this theory of 
Euripidean influence; least of all need we set up an opposing theory. 
But, as often in the study of literary genesis, a confession of ignorance 
is a wholesome preliminary to the discovery of sound methods and of 
helpful results. Surely we must admit that the direct and indirect 
literary antecedents of Hellenistic comedy include a number of totally 
unknown factors. There is the transitional period of Middle comedy, 
represented only by fragments; there is Sicilian-Attic comedy, of 

whose form and content we are quite ignorant; there are, possibly, 
subsidiary factors, like the mime and fictitious narrative in prose, 
which are chiefly known to us now only as they were developed in 
centuries later even than the period of New comedy. Such condi- 
tions should promote a conservative attitude toward any theorizing. 
It is very tempting to seize upon the known extant material of 
Euripides and Plautus and Terence and to construct a theory of 
dependence that disregards the unknown. 

Some degree of substantial dependence upon Euripides in particu- 
lar and tragedy in general is made probable by the cultivation of 

134 Henry W. Prescorr 

mythological travesty in the Middle period. The general proba- 
bility, however, and the degree of dependence are very difficult to 
determine, in view of the loss of comedies from the transitional 
period, and must be qualified by two known facts: (1) that such 
mythological travesty is much earlier than the Middle period and 
dates back even to a time when epic and oral tradition of myth may 
have been the subjects of travesty; and (2) that Aristotle seems to 
have found in Sicilian-Attic comedy rather than in Aristophanes or 
Euripides the antecedents of the comedy of hisown day. In addition 
to the indirect influence of tragedy through mythological travesty 
there is a more palpable and immediate impact of tragedy upon a few 
individual poets, notably Menander and Philemon; yet the general 
character and degree of such influence hardly warrants a careful 
critic in demanding even of Menander and Philemon a regular 
conformity to supposed canons of Euripidean art. And at least the 
current assumption that Hellenistic comedy as a whole was monoto- 
nously regular and uniformly artistic deserves a thorough overhauling. 

Mere comparison of Euripides and New comedy may lead to 
deceptive results. Currents of thought that are abnormal in the 
time of Euripides become commonplace in the next century; demo- 
cratic informality that sets Euripides apart from Aeschylus and 
Sophocles is an inherent quality of all comedy in Greece; prosaic and 
colloquial idioms that are idiosyncrasies in the tragic poet are the 
natural stock in trade of comedy; the material of later comedy 
is pathetic, as, independently, are the incidents of tragedy; and, 
finally, tragedy and comedy were produced under roughly the same 
external conditions. Naturally, therefore, there will be resemblances, 
but only after careful study may we accept them as evidence of any 
direct influence of tragedy upon comedy. Like many other types of 
literature in the Hellenistic period, comedy marks the confluence of 
many different streams, the crisscrossing of various earlier types, the 
constant fusion of contemporary realistic experience with themes 
and incidents conventionalized by a conservative literary tradition. 

A frank recognition of the complicated phenomenon would save 
us from the dangerous use of simple universal solvents. Our present 
practice, based on the Euripidean theory, is treacherously easy. We 
measure all the plays of Plautus and Terence by the standard of 


Menander’s Epitrepontes' and assume a uniform procedure in all the 
Greek authors of the originals which Plautus and Terence adapted, 
blinding ourselves to the manifest variety in the twenty-six Latin 
plays. With supposed canons of Euripidean art as a basis we note 
the inartistic and attribute it to Roman handling, disregarding both 
the fact that the whole history of Greek comedy naturalizes inartistic 
irregularities and the likelihood that the tradition of the Latin texts 
through the hands of stage managers offered every opportunity for 
excision, substitution, and displacement. 

What little we know and the large amount of what we do not 
know should lead us to approach the higher criticism of Roman 
comedy with caution and in a somewhat pessimistic temper. But 
there is one condition that prompts a mildly optimistic outlook. 
Twenty-six plays constitute a considerable mass of material. Should 
it not be possible, disregarding all theories, to analyze these plays, 
placing side by side like features, discriminating the unlike, and 
thereby ultimately obtaining a helpful synthesis which might lead 
to sounder “constructive interpretation? Legrand, in his Daos, has 
made a notable attempt to co-ordinate some important facts, but 
many problems remain either untouched or, if handled at all, only 
blurred by the shadow of the Euripidean theory. The results would 
not be startling; many difficulties would remain unsolved; the 
neatness and despatch of recent dissection, which removes the 
excrescences of Roman botchwork from the sound body of Euripidean 
Kunst, would be wanting; but we should at least be starting from a 
very proper confession of ignorance instead of from a mere theory 
that is supported, in large part though not wholly, by various weak 

1Cf. Wilamowitz, Sitzb. der. berlin. Akad. (1911), 485. 


By Joun A. Scort 


It is agreed that if there be an unanswerable argument for divid- 
ing the Homeric poems into different strata this argument is not to 
be found in the poetry as poetry but in the test of language. Men 
who have judged Homer merely as poetry have had no standing in 
the supreme court of criticism, for in this court language holds the 
final decision. Jebb’s Homer, page 117, says ‘Poets regard the 
Homeric poems as a unity; critics favor manifold authorship.” 

No test seems to me more convincing than the test of the Aeolic 
infinitive in -éuev. This is clearly an archaic survival even in Homer 
and, as Witte has shown in his article on the Homeric language in 
Pauly-Wissowa, sub voce ‘“Homeros,”’ p. 2217, this infirfitive is not 
found in Ionic-Attic, Homeric poetry having inherited it from earlier 
songs. Witte, following Bekker, shows that the Homeric verse 
has a peculiarly conservative influence just before the bucolic 
dieresis, and that it is just because of such a conservative influence 
that this infinitive is preserved at all, for he asserts, p. 2245, that it 
is never found in any other part of the verse, “ Altertiimliche Formen, 
die sich nur vor der bukolischen Diirese finden, sind z. B. die Infini- 
tive auf -éuev.”” This is an astounding error from one who assumes 
to be an expert in this particular field, as these few examples selected 
from many will show. 

A 443 watdd re col ayéuer, DolBw 0 iephy éxarouBnv. 

a 79 dbavarwvr déxnre Gedy épidarvéuer olos. 

B 305 GAG por éoOévev kal mrivéuev, Ws Td Tapos TeEp. 

This is simply an error and has no bearing on the question of 
Homeric authorship. This archaic infinitive does however furnish 
an important test for deciding the various Homeric strata and has 
been repeatedly so used; Witte says, in the article already cited, 
p. 2217: “I. Bekker, Homerische Blatter I, 147, hat beobachtet 

dass die Ilias im vierten Fuss 116 und die Odyssee 51 Infinitive auf 
(Cuassicau Pariovoey XIV, April, 1919) 136 

THE ReEwatTivE ANTIQUITY OF HomERIc Books 137 

-éuev aufweist.’’ The difference here can hardly be explained by 
difference in theme, and it must be admitted that the poet of the 
Odyssey has revealed his comparative lateness by his greatly restricted 
use of this archaic and important infinitive, if the above-mentioned 
figures are correct. 

Bekker is accurately quoted by Witte and the latter scholar 
is thus absolved from any responsibility for the figures, and he is 
justified in emphasizing the importance of this chorizontic argument. 

Bekker is known as one of the outstanding Homeric scholars 
of the last century, and as he is also the editor of one of the most 
illustrious recensions of the complete text of Homer we are thus able 
to test his figures in the readings of his own text. 

His statistics for the Iliad are substantially correct, since in 
reading the Jliad in search of these infinitives I found 114, as compared 
with his 116, so that I conclude that I have overlooked two and that 
we both have used the same method in counting, but in making a like 
search in his own edition of the Odyssey I found, not his fifty-one, 
but I actually found seventy, so that while his figures for the Iliad 
are essentially correct those in the Odyssey must be increased nearly 
forty per cent. 

. Inasmuch as the Iliad has 3583 more verses than the Odyssey, 
the seventy examples in the Odyssey show little relative decline 
when compared with the 116 of the longer poem. 

That it may be easy for anyone to test the reliability of these 
statistics for the Odyssey, a complete list, as found in the edition of 
Bekker, is here given; a 91, 370, 392; 8 60, 207, 244, 305, 370; 
¥y 89, 93, 188, 237, 336; 5 29, 94, 139, 171, 210, 215, 473, 708; € 99, 
112; ¢ 28, 257, 304, 327; » 109, 220; @ 223, 237; «3, 101, 494; x 73; 
d 315, 442, 475; w 49, 160; v 395; € 491; o 21, 393, 543; w 152, 278, 
422; p 56, 81, 106, 520; o 3, 127, 357, 371; 7 25, 64, 191, 316, 533; 
v 294; @ 69, 195, 312, 399; x 288; y 355; w 307, 457; total, 70. 
In these figures no infinitive in -éuev is counted unless it comes directly 
before the bucolic dieresis. I should have preferred to have compared 
all the infinitives of this formation, wherever they are found in the 
verse, but as Bekker chose to limit his investigation to this single 
position, I have no choice except to follow him. However, the value 
of this scrutiny is hardly less from the fact that it is not all-inclusive. 

138 Joun A. Scott 

This test is so important and its conclusions so valid that it can 
confidently be applied, not only to the Iliad and Odyssey as wholes, 
but to the various assumed strata. The first four books of the Iliad 
have about 2,500 verses and they have sixteen examples of this archaic 
infinitive before the bucolic dieresis; while the first four books of 
the Odyssey have about 2,200 verses, yet they have twenty-one of 
these infinitives. Hence by this test of language the despised 
Telemacheia is older than the first four books of the Iliad. 

By this same test Iliad xxii, the core of the Ur-Ilias, with but one 
example of this infinitive, is extremely late, whereas x, the discredited 
Doloneia, with seven, xxiii with eight, and xxiv with six, are all early. 
No book in either poem is without this infinitive, Iliad xx and xxii 
have one each, and x, xiv, xx, and xxii of the Odyssey have a like 
number, while book iv of the Odyssey has eight, the other extreme, 
and likewise xv and xxiii of the Iliad. The average for the Odyssey 
is about three to each book, while the longer books of the Iliad 
average over four. 

The poet of the Odyssey did not rely on the Iliad for these archaic 
forms, but freely employed or formed infinitives in -éuev which are 
not found in the earlier poem. A partial list of such infinitives 
not used in the Iliad but found in the Odyssey, just before the bucolic 
dieresis, will show that the poet of the Odyssey was not borrowing from 
nor dependent on the Iliad; d\adxéuer, dreuBéuev, Bacrdevéuer, Bw- 
oxéuev, Bovrevéuer, Ynpackéuer, elinoéuer, Oaacéuer, Onrevéuer, komCeuer, 
dpedréuer, Tadafeuer, Tacxéuev, wipavokéuer, parréuev. 

When we compare the usage of the Iliad and the Odyssey, in 
the matter of this old infinitive formation, as found in the fourth foot, 
with that of the Homeric Hymns we find the greatest contrast, since 
the first seven Homeric Hymns with over two thousand verses have 
but two examples, iii. 68, and iv. 172. Five of these seven greatest 
Homeric Hymns thus have no examples, and the average for the 
seven is one to each thousand verses, while the first two thousand 
verses of the Odyssey have twenty, that is, one to each one hundred 

Evidently this form was but a learned survival in the age when 
the Homeric Hymns were created, and many years must have 
separated these poems from the era which produced the Iliad and 


the Odyssey, while the identical treatment as revealed in these two 
great poems assigns them to a single epoch. 

No artifice ever produced such similarity of usage, and this 
unconscious agreement can be explained on no other hypothesis 
than on that of identity of origin. 


Jebb in his Homer, page 188, under the heading “ Differences 
between the language of the Iliad and the Odyssey,” presented 
the following paragraph; “In the Iliad ovéé is used as an adverb, 
‘not at all,’ or as a substantive, ‘nothing’; in the Odyssey it is used 
also as an adjective ovéév eros, 6 350, etc., and so once in the Iliad, 
K 216.” One would suppose from the argument and the use of 
“etc.” that this adjectival use in the Odyssey must be very general, 
but in reality the verse cited by him is the only verse in the entire 
poem which can be made, even by a forced interpretation, to illus- 
trate the rule. 

The clearness and simplicity of ovééy éros can find no parallel 
when the full passage is read, for the verse is, 

5 350: ra&v obdév ror éya kpiw Eros od’ émixebow. 

This is a typical verse in which the sense is found in the words 
before the caesura in the fourth foot, and the rest of the verse is a 
tag which repeats the idea already expressed; “Of these I will con- 
ceal nothing from you,” and then the tag, “neither will I hide a 
word.” The noun seems to me an afterthought, and the negative 
is too remote to have any genuine adjectival feeling. It takes 
careful handling and a little pressure to make an adjective out of 
ovdév in this verse, yet this is the only example of the construction 
which is assumed to be a distinguishing mark of the Odyssey. 

Jebb is right in saying that K 216 is an example of this use, 
but he is wrong in saying it is the only example, for he has overlooked 
one of great importance in X 518, obdéy coiy’ Spedos. “No benefit 
to thee.” These words are in the scene in which Andromache 
laments the fact that Hector is to have no benefit from the costly 
raiment she is about to burn for him. The negative and the noun 
go easily together, and all the editors whom I have consulted agree 
with Faesi, who translates it, ‘‘Fiir dich kein Gewinn.” 

140 Joun A. Scott 

There are two reasonably certain examples of this adjectival 
use in Homer; neither is in the Odyssey, but both are in the Iliad. 

It is worth noting that one of these examples is in K and the other 
in X, another slight indication of the unity of authorship of the 
Doloneia and the Death of Hector. 

If it be granted that the negative has an adjectival force in the 
one passage in the Odyssey, even this admission would be but a feeble 
justification for the argument quoted above. 


Professor Jebb, in arraying the main arguments for assigning 
the Homeric poems to different ages and authors, lays especial 
emphasis on the difference existing between the Iliad and the Odyssey 
in the matter of the hiatus in the bucolic dieresis; Jebb’s Homer, 
page 139 in the fifth edition: “Hiatus in the bucolic dieresis is 
about twice as frequent in the Odyssey as in the Iliad. Books xxiii 
and xxiv of the Iliad show an affinity with the Odyssey in this metrical 
point. Monro, Gr., 9382.” I shall take up the discussion of Monro 
later in this article. 

There are three kinds of hiatus in Homer: apparent hiatus, 
partial hiatus, and real hiatus. Real hiatus is generally spoken of 
as hiatus without the adjective “real.” Apparent hiatus is found 
in those places where the Vulgate shows a hiatus, but where originally 
a consonant intervened between the two vowels, such a verse as 
A 4, abrovds 5 éXwpia, where the final short vowel of 6é is not elided 
before an initial vowel, because the next word formerly began with 
adigamma. The hiatus is thus only apparent, a matter of printing 
or editing, and there is no defect in the meter. Such words are 
freely used in all parts of Homer. 

Partial hiatus is found in those verses where a diphthong or a 
long vowel is scanned as short before a following initial vowel or 
diphthong, as in such a verse as A 14, éxn8ddouv ’AmdAXwvos, where 
the final diphthong is scanned as short before the initial vowel. 
Examples of partial hiatus are on every page, and sometimes two 
or more in a single verse, as in A 299, obre col obre Tw GAAw, Exel KTH, 
where partial hiatus is found in three consecutive feet. This form 
of hiatus, like the other, seems to have presented no feeling of discord 
either to the poet or to his hearers. 


Genuine hiatus is confined to those passages in which a short 
final vowel is not elided, or in which a long vowel or a diphthong is 
not shortened metrically before another word with an initial vowel. 
Such a hiatus is rare in all parts of Homer, but long vowels and 
diphthongs in hiatus may sometimes retain their full quantity under 
the ictus, also occasionally before pauses in the verse, such as at the 
caesura or at the bucolic dieresis; also short vowels sometimes 
permit hiatus at these pauses. 

This paper concerns itself solely with genuine hiatus at the bucolic 
dieresis, and the use of the word “hiatus” is to be understood in 
that restricted sense. 

The examples of this hiatus are as follows; the text is Ludwich’s: 

A 578: Ad, ddpa py abre B_ 3: ppeva, ds “AXrjja 
B_ 6: ‘Ayapéuvove otAov dveipov B 218: cuvoywxdre: avrap trepbe 
B 231: dydyw } ddXos ’Axardy, B 262: aida dudixadvrre, 
B 397: &@ } &a yevwvra, 
(There is no example of this 

hiatus in the Catalogue of the 

Ships.) T 24: xepadv 7 dypwoy alya, 
A 138: apo & doaro kai rijs. A 410: dpoty &vOeo ryn7. 
E 50: éyxe dfvdevts, E 215: qaew@ év rvpi Oeinv. 
E 221: émiByoeo, ddpa idnar E 484: "Ayal  xev dyouev: 
E 538: apo 8 eicaro xaAxéds, E 542: re ‘Opcidoxov te. 
E 568: éyxea dfvdevra Z 422: jars “Audos cow: 
H il: éyye dévoer @ 66: deero icpov jyap 
© 105: émiByoeo, dppa iSyar ® 120: @nBaiov, "Hvomja, 
@ 514: eyye dévderte I 288: Au, ovd€ re rie 
I 690: xareddgaro: ds yap dviye, K 70: rovewpeba Sd€ rov dupe 
K 93: epideidia, obdé wor Hrop K 351: éi otpa méAovrat 
K 472: Kékduro, ed xara Kdopor, A 76: xabeiaro, Hx. Exdorw 
A 84: dé€aro iepov jap A 461: dvexd£ero, ade 8 éraipovs. 
A 554: rds re rpet éoovpevos rep’ A 791: Saippon, ai xe riOyrat. 
M 320: pedindéa: GdAX’ dpa xal is N 584: éyyee dfvdevrs. 
E 130: €\xeu &Axos dpyrat: O 28: BndAod, ddp’ dv ixnra 
O 161: Ocav 7 cis dra Siav. O 172: dérraro dxéa "Ips, 
O 177: Oeav 7 eis GAa Siar. O 232: péya dgp’ dv ’Axauoi 
O 271: Kepady 7 dyprov atya O 536: éyye dévdevre. 
O 742: eyxe dévdevts. II 226: avrov aidora olvov. 
P 368: ém doco dpwro P 518: spo 8 eicaro yadxés. 
P 663: re tpt éoovpevos rep: Y 22: mrvyxi OvrAvproo 
Y 170: ioxia dudorépwhev ® 111: deidrAn } péoov jyap 
® 234: éwécovro oidpare Giwv W 195: twrécyxero iepa ward. 
W 224: ddvpero dcréa xaiwy, W 441: dpxov oicy deOAov. 
WY 465: qvia, odd duvacOy 2 72: “Exropa: 7 ydp oi aici 
Q 207: dde, ot o eAXenoa Q 641: mwacdpny, xai aiPora olvov. 

142 Joun A. Scott 

That is, the Iliad has sixty reasonably certain examples of hiatus at 
the bucolic diaeresis, and there is one other given in the Teubner Text 
and in the Ameis-Hentze edition, 2 128 érnruya, ob krd. 9 érnrupor 

however is the reading given by Ludwich and Leaf. 
The following examples are from the Odyssey: 

a 60: "Oddpmre. obvi’ Odveceis a 61: yxapilero iepa pelwv 

a 263: veueoifero aitv édvras B 46: daddeoa, ds ror’ év dpiv. 
57: te alOoma olvov 8B 230: dyavds xai yrs éorw 

B 232: en xai aiovda peLo BA4l7: ero- dyyxe & dp’ airs 

y 8: éxdoroh évvéa ravpous y 393: re eis dda wrérpn 

y 435: cipydfero- HAOe F *AOnvy 8 141: éorxora ade idéo0u 

8 831: re éxAves addyv € 8: dyavds Kal Hrs éorw 

e 10: ein xai alovda peo € 81: peyadnropa évdov érerpev 

' € 87: ypvodppam, ciAndovbas € 255: momoaro, opp’ Biv 

€ 391: éravoaro nde yaAnvn n 6: re éodepov cicw 

n 25: yatns: Té ov twa olda n 70: avrod *AAKwéoo 

122: dro éppiLwrar 6 133: épapeba ei tw’ deBAov 

6 491: mapewy 7 ddXAov dxovoas « 56: dé€ero iepov jpap 

t 159: duddexa, és dé Exdorny t 215: eiddéra obre Oémoras 

t 4388: éécovro dpoeva pra xk 44: ®wpeba orre rad’ éoriv 

« 337: KéAeau gol Hmov eva x 403: épvccare nrepovoc 

xk 404: weAdooarte dria Te wavTa x 574: &0 7 &vOa Kidvta 

pe 75: €pwet, ovd€ ror’ aibpyn pp 168: éravcaro 7d5¢ yaAnvn 

p 252: xara data BadrAwv p 329: eépOiro jue wavra 

pw 374: “Yaepion dyyedos 7AGe v 114: éxi quov racns 

€ 352: da dudis éxeivwr. & 432: dodAéa, av 8 cvBarns 

o 425: moAdvyaAxov ebyopou elvat. o 500: re aifoma olvov. 

mw 356: Oedv, i eiordov adroi. p 301: "Odvocda éyyis édvra. 

p 536: re aifora olvov. o 102: mori épxiov avAjs. 

t 194: é eeinooa t 233: xara ioxadéoro 

t 380: éoxdra dde ideoOat, + 403: evdpeo orre xe Opa. 

v 24: édiocero évOa xai évOa, v 166: “Axaol civopdwow. 

v 306: eyxe dfvdevri. @ 51: aavidos Bi, évOa dt xno. 

x 386: modvwmd: ot S€ re raves x 408: péya eloder Epyov. 

x 426: deLero, odd€ € unrnp w 215: ftepevoare ds Tis dporos 

w 271: & éeinooa w 466: revxea éooevovro. 

w 524: 88 eioaro yaAxds. w 273: fewnu, ola eqxev. 

x 458: dAyea ixOvdevta 433: eyxet, dyxe 8 dp’ abrod. 

That is, the Odyssey has sixty-six reasonably certain examples of 
hiatus at the bucolic dieresis, and there is one other passage where 
the Teubner Text and Ameis-Hentze give x 249 xevé’ ebyuara, while 
Ludwich and the Oxford Text give xeva ebypara. There are thus 
sixty or sixty-one examples of this hiatus in the Iliad against sixty- 

Tue RewuativE ANTIQUITY OF Homeric Books 143 

six or sixty-seven in the Odyssey, an agreement which is surprising, 
even if it had never been an article of higher criticism that the differ- 
ence in this use was so great as to make untenable the notion of 
identity of authorship. 

It was also a part of that doctrine that [liad xxiii and xxiv shared 
with the Odyssey in the free use of this hiatus, and thus these two 
books separated themselves from the other books of the Iliad. A 
glance at the examples given above shows that O has eight examples, 
E has seven, B has six, A has five, while Y has but four, and is thus 
in fifth place, while Q2 and P are tied for ninth place. One of the 
easiest suppositions of higher critics is that no one will defend cer- 
tain books of the Iliad, so that in discussing them facts are hardly 
regarded as necessary. 

Three books of the Iliad have no examples of this hiatus, > T X, 
and oddly enough three books of the Odyssey, £ \ y, show the same 
absence of hiatus at the bucolic dieresis. The trouble with all such 
chorizontic tests is that they fail their users just when they are 
needed most, for nothing could be more to their liking than that 
Iliad xxii should be free from this blemish, but so are the Catalogue 
of the Ships and each Nekyia in the Odyssey, and thus this hiatus 
would throw the parts these critics regard as the oldest and those 
they regard as the latest into exactly the same stratum. The 
simple application of this test kills it for all the purposes of higher 

If the Iliad and the Odyssey show essentially the same treatment 
in this regard, then how did the argument advanced by Jebb and 
Monro ever originate? The answer to this question is simple. 
Monro, 4382, “Hiatus in the bucolic dieresis is commoner in the 
Odyssey than in the Iliad by the ratio of 2:1. It is worth notice that 
in this point Books xxiii and xxiv agree with the Odyssey, Knéss 
pp. 42-45.”” In the passage cited from Knéss that competent scholar 
gives a list of examples where a short vowel is not elided at the 
bucolic dieresis; this list has twenty-two examples for the Iliad 
and thirty-four for the Odyssey, omitting a total of five duplicates for 
both. The difference here is so small, but one example for each two 
books, or twelve in all, that it dwindles to little or nothing. He 
includes but one small part of the subject; that is, he does not discuss 

144 Joun A. Scotr 

hiatus in which long vowels or diphthongs are concerned, and he also 
has omitted such examples of the short vowel in hiatus as A 138, 
E 538, 8 105, K 93, P 518. No one of these passages is given a 
digamma in the edition of Bekker nor in the grammar by Monro. 

The figures by Knéss, admittedly incomplete, are changed so 
that they read two to one, the modifying clauses are dropped, and 
an overwhelming argument is advanced for diversity of authorship, 
an argument totally at variance with the facts in Homer, and all 
out of harmony with the work of Knéss, from whom these arguments 
are assumed to be drawn. Jebb made no reference to Knéss, but 
relied solely on Monro. Monro refers his arguments to Knéss, but 
must have quoted him at second hand, and thus was drawn into false 
inferences. Knéss, for example, quotes but two examples of hiatus 
from xxiv, so that there must be some intermediate link between 
this and the argument of Monro that xxiv shares with the Odyssey 
in the frequent use of hiatus at the bucolic diaeresis, since Knéss 
actually quotes more examples from xi than from xxiv. 

This argument, when traced to its source and to Homer, like all 
arguments, becomes a strong proof of the identity of treatment of 
language in both poems. 


I have luckily been able recently to trace to its source another 
great error of disintegrating criticism, namely the error with regard 
to the use of abstracts, an error that I pointed out in the Classical 
Review for February, 1910, pages 8 ff. This argument in its final 
form as presented by Cauer was most convincing. Cauer shows 
how the Homeric language had slowly progressed, and how marked 
the stages are in the liad and in the Odyssey, as shown by the increas- 
ing use of the abstract, in Grundfragen, page 393: ‘‘ Maurice Croiset 
hat beobachtet, dass von Substantiven auf -in, -obvn, -rbs die Ilias 39 
hat, die Odyssee 81.”” However, when we turn. to Croiset we find 
that he gives the number for the Iliad as 58, and not the 39 of Cauer’s, 
and thus immediately half of the force of the argument is gone. In 
the article quoted above I showed that even the 58 of Croiset must 
be raised to 79, and, as but 81 are assigned to the Odyssey, the other 
half of the argument also vanishes. 

Tue Rewative ANTIQUITY oF Homeric Books 145 

Croiset has never, so far as I know, questioned my figures, and 
as the exact passage for each of these abstracts in the Iliad was given 
they cannot be overthrown. Professor Bolling suggested to me in 
a conversation that there must be some excuse for Croiset in this 
matter other than carelessness in compilation or intentional decep- 
tion, and he thought that perhaps Croiset might have excluded 
certain books of the Iliad from his calculations, and hence the low 
figures. However, this view is not correct, as the passage in question 
has no limiting adjective connected with the word Iliad, and a foot- 
note, page 369, where the whole matter is reviewed, shows that he 
had the entire poem in mind, “Il y donc en somme 81 mots abstraits 
en in, cbvn, Tis dans le lexique de |’ Odyssée pour 58 dans celui de 
’ Iliade.” Croiset does not quote any authority for these figures, 
so that the assumption would be that he had made this investigation 
of the abstract for himself, but this is not the case, for I have found 
the source of his arguments and the identical figures in Geppert, 
Ueber den Ursprung der Homerischen Gesdénge, Leipzig, 1840. Gep- 
pert was a most radical critic and deleted from the Iliad several 
thousand verses, and then based his statistics on what he regarded 
as the original Iliad. He uses three terms for the Iliad—the Iliad, 
that is, his original poem, Accretions (Der Zuwachs), and Interpola- 
tions. His figures for abstracts are found on page 86 of the second 
part. Croiset limits the number of abstracts in -ctvn in the Iliad to 
twelve, which is precisely the number in Geppert’s first list of abstracts 
in his Iliad; Geppert adds the sentence, ‘‘ Der Zuwachs dieser Wérter 
erreicht in den spiteren Gesingen fast die Anzahl derer, die sich 
iiberhaupt bei Homer finden.” Geppert then gives a list of abstracts 
not included in the foregoing, “in dem Zuwachs,” and then an 
additional list of those found in the “interpolated” portions. By 
adding together the abstracts found in these three strata of the Iliad 
we reach exactly the same number as that published in the article 
in the Classical Review. 

It is clear that Croiset obtained his figures, not from Geppert, 
but from some intermediate source in which the fact was overlooked 
that “Iliad” in Geppert did not mean the poem of that name but 
meant only portions selected according to the whims of a most 
diligent but misguided critic. 

146 Joun A. Scotr 

Had Croiset studied Geppert at first hand he would never have 
written those pages with regard to the abstract, and he deserves 
severe criticism for taking over what he assumed was the correct 
figures of another and publishing them as his own. 

Monro must have quoted Knéss through a secondary source, a 
reviewer, perhaps, intent on advancing a theory rather than repro- 
ducing the facts; hence Monro quotes Knéss in proof of theories 
entirely out of harmony with the facts there presented. 

Geppert and Knéss both studied Homer at first hand, while 
Croiset and Monro drew their statements from these sources at such 
a distance that they reproduce neither the facts as given by these 
men nor the facts as found in Homer. 

The farther higher criticism retires from Homer the more con- 
vincing it appears, and the argument with regard to the abstract 
which seems in Cauer an irresistible flood is only a rivulet in Croiset; 
but when followed to its source in Geppert and Homer it is found to 
be absolutely nothing. 


By R. B. STeeLs 

Arrian frankly admits in his Introduction that he drew most of 
his material from Aristobulus and Ptolemy, for one had served with 
Alexander and the other was a king. His final statement is that he 
had criticized some of the acts of Alexander, for the sake of truthful- 
ness and as an aid to men; and this had been done not without the 
help of God. The latter part of this statement explains the frequent 
use of 76 Oefov and 76 datudrov in the Anabasis, for they clearly indi- 
cate the religious attitude of the author. In addition to the material 
from his main sources he gives other items that he deems credible. 
Especially in iv. 14. 4; vi. 11. 2, and vii. 3. 6 he shows that on some 
points there were several divergent accounts, and, because of this, 
it was necessary for him to express his own views frequently. For 
this reason the Anabasis is not only a record of accepted facts, but 
also a criticism of many phases of the current history of Alexander. 
To show these two elements in the work, we shall divide the discus- 
sion into two parts: I, The Historical; and II, The Critical. 


A. Aristobulus and Ptolemy.—Aristobulus and Ptolemy are the 
chief guides of Arrian, but there are no statements definitely fixing 
the source of most of the items which he presents. The determina- 
tion of the parts derived from each might be possible if we could 
bring to the discussion some marked features gained from a study 
of the works of each outside of the Anabasis. But in this work is 
found all that is left of the work of Ptolemy. We cannot tell how 
much of the unassigned material may be due to him, but there are 
at least two items. These are in i. 11. 3, the number of the troops 
of Alexander, given by Plutarch, Alexander 16, and De Alexandri 
Magni Fortuna aut Virtute, Or. i. 3. 327 E; and ini. 4. 8 an incident 
in the Thracian campaign, given by Strabo vi. 3. 8 C 302. Curtius 
says of Ptolemy in ix. 5. 21: “Scilicet gloriae suae non refragatus,”’ 

and on the strength of this we might be justified in assigning to him 
(CLAsstcaL ParLo.oey XIV, April, 1919} 147 

148 R. B. STEELE 

the passages in which he is freely mentioned, but otherwise there 
would be no justification for so doing. Most of the short quotations 
from his work give the losses in battle, and are merely approximations 
stated with a preposition, as in i. 2. 7, du@i; ii. 11.8; iv. 25.4, dép; 
vi. 2. 4, és. A wound of Alexander is described in vi. 10. 1, and in 
vi. 11. 8 is given Ptolemy’s denial that he himself was at the battle, 
so that he could not have been the original source of the account. 
In iii. 17. 6 is a short statement concerning tribute; and in v. 28. 4 
a sacrifice is mentioned. 

There are a few passages of considerable length definitely assigned 
to Ptolemy. The first is the account in i. 8 of the capture of Thebes. 
Here, as also in v. 15. 2, we find mecety twice, and its compounds 
several times. But the simple verb and its compounds, especially 
those in év-, éri-, and mpos-, as well as the associated participles 
Brnbeis, rrAnyeis, and rues, are freely used throughout the Anabasis, 
and in other passages we cannot connect the verb-forms with Ptolemy. 
Compare vi. 11. 7, from Ptolemy, with iv. 8. 9, from Aristobulus. 
Arrian says in v. 20. 8 that of the rivers of India Ptolemy gave a 
description of the Acesines only. This contains the words 76 téwp 
kupatverOat re kal xaxdafew, which are used again by Arrian in 
vi. 4. 4, in describing the juncture of the Acesines and the Hydaspes. 

Here and there we find briefly stated facts assigned to Aristobulus, 
and these may be taken as points in his narrative not agreeing with 
that of Ptolemy. A single quotation will show the general character 
of them all: ii. 4. 7, "AXégavdpos 5€. . . . bad Kapdrou évdoncer. 
There are half a score of others of a similar character. The longer 
quotations are, for the most part, discussions of matters technical 
in their nature, and calling for a vocabulary differing from that in 
other parts of the narrative. The subjects are as follows: iv. 6. 1 
the destruction of a part of the army; iv. 8. 9 the death of Clitus; 
iv. 13. 5 a Syrian prophetess; vi. 22. 4 the myrrh tree; vi. 29. 4 the 
tomb of Cyrus; vii. 17. 5 the entrance of Alexander into Babylon; 
vii. 18. 5 an account of a sacrifice; vii. 19. 3 the reception of the fleet. 
The first (iv. 6. 1) is most nearly like the general narrative. Here 
we find the two verbs d:adOapfvar and xataxdyar. The first is in 
general use, as it is found in v. 20. 9 from Ptolemy, as well as in 
ii. 4. 9 in what purports to be a letter from Parmenio; and in iv. 4. 9, 

Tue Mertuop or ARRIAN IN THE “ ANABASIS” 149 

an Arrian section. We find d:axorjvat in vi. 22. 8, an indirect state- 
ment. The compound in xata- is most freely used, several times with 
mpos, and in a series of actions is followed by éxérrovro. There are 
also some statements taken from Aristobulus without acknowledg- 
ment. The following are examples: In i. 16. 4 the number of men 
killed at the battle of the Granicus (Plutarch, Alexander 16); in 
ii. 5. 2 the description of the statue of Sardanapalus at Anchialus 
(Strabo xiv. 5. 9 C 672); and in iii. 29. 3 the description of the Oxus 
(Strabo xi. 7.3 C 509). These, however, like the others, do not help 
to fix the source of any other part of the Anabasis. This statement 
is also true of other fragments of the work of Aristobulus. The 
Alexander of Plutarch is not in all respects like his Caesar, but we 
cannot trace any of the differences to the work of Aristobulus, of 
which use was made in the Alexander. In chapter 31, odas adrois, 
though in harmony with the usage of Arrian, and contrary to Plu- 
tarch’s general form of statement, gives no evidence of the source 
from which it came. The personal element must also be taken into 
consideration, for even where Arrian and Plutarch are professedly 
quoting from the same source, the phrasing is often different, and 
the arrangement not the same. [Illustrations of this can be found 
in Anabasis ii. 25. 2: Alexander 29; i. 16. 7:16; ii. 26. 4:25; ii. 
4. 9:19. 

There are a few places where Arrian mentions an item found in 
neither Aristobulus nor Ptolemy, and also one found in both of 
them: ii. 12. 5; iii. 26.1; iv. 14. 1; and vi.11.5. There are two 
passages of considerable length in which these writers do not agree. 
The first is the description of the capture of Bessus, in iii. 29 ff., 
noticeable for the number of times the name of Ptolemy occurs. 
He takes to himself all the credit for the capture, although Aristo- 
bulus in chapter 30. 5 names Spitamenes and Dataphernes as the 
captors. Both accounts have yuurdr év kdoww Sqoarta, but the words 
are not used elsewhere by Arrian. The account of the battle with 
Porus is much longer. A brief statement from Aristobulus is given 
in v. 14. 3-4, but Arrian is not fully satisfied with this, and gives 
other facts from Ptolemy. He argues that the number of chariots, 
sixty, given by Aristobulus is incorrect, and in chapter 14. 6 accepts 
the number, one hundred twenty, given by Ptolemy. Plutarch, 

150 R. B. STEELE 

Alexander 60, twice states that his description of the battle is taken 
from the epistles of Alexander. In summing up the results of the 
first stage of the battle it is stated that four hundred were killed 
(avedetv), the number agreeing with that given from Ptolemy in 
chapter 15. 2 (weceiv és). At a few points there is an evident 
adaptation of the same phraseology, as Arrian has in chapter 16. 3 
ws érl 7d 5ef6v, for which Plutarch has the dative; in chapter 15. 1, 
from Ptolemy, mpocayev .... civ: Plutarch émévac pera; in 
chapter 14. 3, from Aristobulus, and in chapter 14. 6, from Ptolemy, 
éx THS vgou THs wuKpas wepacat: Plutarch dcarepacar rpds vigor ob 
peyarnv. ; 

There are a number of short passages in which the items are, for 
the most part, unimportant, as in iii. 4. 5 the road back from the 
shrine of Ammon; and in v. 20. 2 the name of a people. However, 
there are three passages in which the statements referred to the two 
authors contain contrasted terms. These are (1) in iii. 3. 5 the bird 
leaders in the desert; (2) in vi. 3. 5 an incident in the Indian cam- 
paign; and (8) in iv. 14. 3 the death of Callisthenes. 

1. iii. 3. 5: The contrasted terms in this are orparevuaros and 
orparias. The latter is freely used throughout the Anabasis, and 
nowhere more freely than in iii. 29. 6—30. 5, where is given the 
account by Ptolemy of the capture of Bessus. Arrian has the first 
word in iii. 18. 1 and the second in iii. 26. 3 referring to the same body 
of men. The use of two words is merely for rhetorical variation, as 
of orparid with orparés in vi. 5.5; and with dévamts in iii. 8. 6 and 7. 

2. iv. 3.5: Thy 5& éBddunv rode ef épddou E\aBe, Trodeuaitos pév 
héyet, S7t abrovds opas évddvras, "ApiordBoudos 4é, drt Bia xal rabryy 
éfeidev xal Ste wavras rods karadndbévras év airy dméxrewe. In this 
passage Arrian has éA\afe, and elsewhere in similar statements, but 
the compound in xara- not only here but also, apparently quoted from 
Aristobulus, in vii. 19. 3; and in his own discussions in v. 7.2 and 
vii. 23. 8. We find dméxrevve in iii. 30. 4 and iv. 5. 9, both passages 
probably from Ptolemy, and also quoted in iv. 8. 8 and iv. 9. 2. 
From this it is clear that neither word is peculiar to Aristobulus, and 
that the change in form is purely stylistic. Arrian rings all the 
changes on the forms of the reflexive pronouns, and their arrange- 
ment with verbs of giving. But while we find in iv. 19. 4 évébocav 


opas ab’rovs, the preceding section has rapadéidévac odas, and. this 
verb occurs several times in quotations from Ptolemy. Evidently 
neither the form of the reflexive, nor of the verb of giving, is a test 
of the style of the writers, and this is still further indicated by the 
variations in vi. 8. 3. 

3. iv. 14. 3: Here in successive clauses Aristobulus has reXev- 
thoa and Ptolemy dmofaveiv. Both verbs are used for the sake of 
variation in iii. 27. 3, and while the usage of Arrian with these words 
is sharply contrasted with that of Diodorus, the same cannot be 
shown for the usage of Aristobulus and of Ptolemy. 

B. Other Writers.—The quotations from other writers are valu- 
able as illustrations, rather than for their historical content. In 
vi. 13. 5 there is assigned to Nearchus a, line from Aeschylus (fr. 
444 N.), spoken to Alexander by an unnamed Boeotian. There is 
also in vii. 16. 6 a line from Euripides (fr. 963 N.), and this too 
probably came from Nearchus, for he is: mentioned in connection 
with the same incident by Diodorus xvii. 112. 4. Arrian further 
mentions from Nearchus in vi. 24. 4 the emulation of Cyrus and 
Semiramis by Alexander; in vii. 3. 6 Calanus; and in vii. 20. 9 a 
criticism of Onesicritus. The latter he names as an author in vi. 2. 3, 
but only to criticize, and Callisthenes and Chares not at all. He 
cites Eratosthenes and Megasthenes in v. 6. 1 for an item referring 
to India, but elsewhere he makes use of these writers, as well as of 
others, both named and unnamed, chiefly for critical purposes. . 

C. The Ephemerides and Epistles.—1. The account of the last 
days of Alexander is professedly taken by both Arrian and Plutarch 
from the Ephemerides, but the difference in the form of statement 
leads us to believe that one account was written with an eye to the 
other, and that we do not have unchanged what Aristobulus may 
have written. 

2. The concurrent accounts of Diodorus, Arrian, and Plutarch 
(Alexander) establish the fact that some letters passed between 
Alexander and Darius in regard to the royal captives. Plutarch is 
briefer than Arrian in ii. 25, and in neither place is there any indica- 
tion of the source of the information. The same is true in regard 
to the letters quoted by Arrian in ii. 14. The first of these is of a 
piece with the remainder of the narrative, but there are a few touches 

152 R. B. STEELE 

in the reply of Alexander which show that Arrian retained some of 
the original phraseology. The prepositional usage does not alto- 
gether harmonize with that of Arrian. We find in section 7 ovx 
akovres map’ éuot é.ovv, but there are not many other occurrences of 
the dative with zapd4, and among them are atr@ in iii. 19. 6 and 
BapBapors in iii. 23. 8, both in indirect statements of Alexander. We 
also find, instead of the usual civ, werd with the genitive; in section 5 
Baywov, in section 7 god (twice) and éuod. Noticeable also are the 
occurrences of epi, in section 9 with god, BactXelias, and airfs. The 
use of eis instead of és is also worthy of notice. The expression in 
section 9, érav méurys, may not be from Alexander, but nowhere else 
is there such a massing of prepositions unusual for Arrian. 


A. Clitarchus.—Arrian does not mention Clitarchus, whose nar- 
rative he sought to modify or supplant, and it is toward him that 
many of the silences and criticisms in the Anabasis are directed. 
Some of the highly colored accounts found elsewhere (it is assumed 
that they originated with him) are omitted altogether by Arrian. 
Among these are the description of the mutilated soldiers (800 in 
Diodorus xvii. 69. 3; 4000 in Curtius v. 5. 5); the vengeance wreaked 
on the Branchidae (Curtius vii. 5. 28-35); the story of Dioxippus 
(Diodorus xvii. 100-101; Curtius ix. 7. 16-26); and the wounding 
and cure of Ptolemy (Diodorus xvii. 103. 8; Curtius ix. 8. 22). He 
incidentally speaks of the Amazons in iv. 15. 4; and in vii. 13. 2 
states that Atropates presented to Alexander a hundred female 
warriors, declaring they were Amazons. This gavéan opportunity to 
discuss the existence of the race, and in doing this he cites Xenophon 
and Herodotus, and states that neither Aristobulus nor Ptolemy 
speaks of them in connection with Alexander. Diodorus in xvii. 52 
describes the greatness of Alexandria, and Arrian in iii. 2. 2 states that 
grain was used to mark out its site. Plutarch, Alexander 26, gives 
the marvelous addition that birds of all sizes and descriptions came 
from the clouds and devoured the grain. Similar to this is the treat- 
ment of the story about the eunuch attendant on the captive Persian 
women. He is said to have escaped, and to have carried some infor- 
mation to Darius. Arrian in iv. 20. 1 expressly says it was a little 


after the battle of Issus, and that when Darius learned that his wife 
was alive and well he uttered a prayer, closing with the plea that 
Alexander might be king, if he himself could be no longer king of 
Asia. Plutarch, Alexander 30, places this episode just before the 
battle of Arbela. This enables him to introduce some touches that 
would be out of place in the narrative of Arrian. And for the entire 
story he claims that there is good authority. 

The account of the destruction of Persepolis is another good 
illustration of the method of Arrian. He simply states in iii. 18. 11 
that Alexander burned the palace in Pasargada, though Parmenio 
counseled saving it. He does not mention Thais, and ends the para- 
graph by saying, “‘Alexander does not seem to me to have done this 
with sense.”’ Later, in vii. 1. 1, he mentions the return of Alexander 
to Pasargada and Persepolis, and in vi. 30. 1 to the palace. The 
story as told by Curtius in v. 7 is a glowing one, though some of the 
striking details are from Livy, and a part of the conclusion is from 
Vergil’s Aeneid. The work is represented as being thoroughly done 
(section 9): “ac ne tam longa quidem aetate, quae excidium eius 
secuta est resurrexit. alias urbes habuere Macedonum reges, nunc 
habent Parthi. huius vestigium non inveniretur, nisi Araxes amnis 
ostenderet. haud procul moenibus fluxerat: inde urbem fuisse XX 
stadiis distantem credunt magis quam sciunt accolae.”” This how- 
ever may be an adaptation from Livy; see Florus i. 16. 8. Pliny in 
N.H. vi. 26. 115, “ Persepolim caput regni dirutam ab Alexandro,”’ 
seems to concur with Curtius, though the city still existed in the days 
of Ammianus Marcellinus, as is shown by xxiii. 6. 42: “Persepolis est 

The reason for the highly decorated story of the passage of Alex- 
ander through Carmania is given by Curtius in ix. 10. 24: “aemulatus 
Patris Liberi non gloriam ... . sed etiam famam... . statuit 
imitari, animo super humanum fastigium elato.” Arrian mentions 
the existence of the story, but in vi. 28. 1 and 2 he pronounces it 

B. The Logos.—The term déyos is freely used by Arrian to indi- 
cate the source of items lying outside of the work of Aristobulus and 
Ptolemy, some of which must have been in the work of Clitarchus. 
The ravens leading the army of Alexander on its march to the shrine 

154 R. B. STEELE 

of Ammon are mentioned in iii. 3. 6 on the authority of Aristobulus 
and of the usual report (6 rXelwy Adyos) and this agrees with Diodorus 
xvii. 49.5. The story (iii. 2. 1) of the founding of Alexandria is also 
from the logos, and this, so far as it goes, agrees with Plutarch’s 
account. Yet all that is given under Néyos cannot be referred to Cli- 
tarchus, for iniv. 12. 3 is stated a piece of information which, in Plu- 
tarch, Alexander 54, is assigned to Chares, and the verbal resemblances 
show that Arrian and Plutarch are giving adaptations of the same 
account. This is also true of what Arrian in vii. 18. 6 and Plutarch, 
Alexander 69, say about Calanus meeting Alexander in Babylon. In 
vii. 18. 1 there is mentioned a logos written by Aristobulus, while 
forms of Aéyw occur with Adyos in i. 26. 4, vi. 28. 2, and vii. 22. 1. 
However, some form of éyw is generally used, though in i. 16. 3 
there is only ws Adyos. 

C. Verbs of Saying and Writing.—These verbs are used to intro- 
duce an extensive indefinite element in the Anabasis. Some of the 
items to which reference is made were evidently in Clitarchus, as 
can be seen by comparing the following passages from Arrian and 
Diodorus: i. 11.7: xvii. 17.2; ii. 12.3: xvii. 37. 5; as also vi. 11. 8: 
Curtius ix. 5. 21; vii. 14. 7: Plutarch, Alexander 72. 

These indefinite statements are usually in contrast with a definite 
one, generally of his main sources, as in ii. 12. 5; iv. 14. 1; ii. 3. 7; 
iv. 13. 5; and in vii. 3. 1 Arrian himself and Nearchus. The most 
noticeable section of all is vii. 14, where, through a long chapter, 
Gor, of wév, and most frequently of dé, reveal something of the 
extent to which Greek writers interested themselves in the com- 
radeship of Alexander and Hephaestion. 

D. Arrian’s Comments.—That Arrian was a free editor is shown 
by the dozen short passages in which he has expressed his attitude 
toward his authorities and his subject. He says in v. 14. 4 and 
vi. 2. 4 that he prefers Ptolemy to Aristobulus, and not infrequently 
names both. He has half a dozen negative statements similar to 
ii. 3. 8, ox éxw loxupicacba; and the same verbs in an affirmation 
of something divine helping Alexander on his march through the 
desert to the shrine of Ammon. He gives a sketch of himself in 
i. 12. 5, and in iv. 14. 4 calls attention to the fact that he had placed 
together the description of two events that were not immediately 


connected. He diverges from his subject in iii. 5. 7 to commend the 
Roman government of Egypt, and in iii. 16. 8 to call attention to the 
statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton at Athens. The characteri- 
zation of Darius in ili. 22. 2-6 is more closely connected with his 

The most important of the Arrian sections are those in which 
judgment is passed on the character of Alexander. His love of glory 
is mentioned in vi. 13. 4, and his high ambition in vii. 1. 4. But of 
far more importance than these are the final chapters of the Anabasis 
giving a characterization, and a discussion of criticisms passed on 
him. In addition to these three sections, there are others, usually 
short, scattered through the work, either praising or condemning 
some specific action. In ii. 24. 6 mention is made of an epigram not 
worthy of record, and so it is not given. Among other long sections 
are v. 7. 1—8. 1 discussing the method of bridging the Indus; ii. 16. 
1-6; and iv. 28. 2 his views about Herakles. There are shorter 
sketches of Anaxarchus in iv. 9. 8; of Callisthenes in iv. 12. 6-7; and 
of Clitus in iv. 9. 1. 

These passages indicate that Arrian was well aware of the diffi- 
culties involved in the history of Alexander, and that, for some of 
them, there was no solution. They also show that he went outside 
of the Alexander historians for material to illustrate his narrative. 
At the same time, so we may infer, most of his criticisms were called 
forth by the character of the work of Clitarchus, just as they were 
by statements of Strabo; see Class. Phil. XIII, 306. The latter fur- 
nished him with critical suggestions; the former with subjects to be 
criticized. As Aristobulus is the latest of the early cycle of Alexander 
historians, the question has been raised whether Arrian drew his 
criticisms from him. 

Frankel in Die Quellen der Alexanderhistoriker, p. 75, concludes 
that both Arrian and Plutarch found in the work of Aristobulus the 
indefinite expressions oi uév Aéyovat, etc. This indefiniteness, suitable 
for a writer in the position of Arrian, does not harmonize with the 
assurance which we conceive belonged to the original observers of 
incidents in the campaigns of Alexander. In ii. 3. 7 and iv. 13. 5 
the indefinite “they say” is put in opposition to the statement of 
Aristobulus, and in iv. 14. 1 to his and Ptolemy’s. In ii. 12. 5 the 


156 R. B. STEELE 

account of both of these is opposed to the logos. But in addition 
to this indefinite element there are four passages which indicate the 
critical activity of Arrian independent of Aristobulus. Two of these 
(vi. 2. 3 and vii. 13. 2) were suggested by Strabo (xv. 1. 33 C 701 
and xi. 5. 4 C 505), who made both statements independently of 

Arrian has in vi. 11 a discussion of the wounding of Alexander 
among the Malli. One item mentioned is that some said that Crito- 
demus, others that Perdiccas, acted as surgeon on the occasion. 
Some also have written (vi. 11. 8) that Ptolemy was present on that 
occasion, but this Arrian denies on the authority of Ptolemy himself, 
and in addition (chapter 11. 2) has an original polemic against liars, 
with special reference to a report that would continue if not put to 
rest by his own work. Curtius in ix. 5. 25 names Critobulus, and 
in section 21 states that the story about Ptolemy was given by Clitar- 
chus and Timagenes. Not Ptolemy, but Limnaeus and Peucestes 
are named as the defenders of Alexander by Plutarch, Alexander 63; 
but in De Alexandri Magni Fortuna aut Virtute, Or. i. 2. 327 B, he 
names Ptolemy and Limnaeus, and in Or. ii. 13. 342 D associates the 
Leonnati with the plural of these names. Arrian’s criticism seems 
directed at both Clitarchus and Plutarch. In the same connection, 
in opposition to the current logos, he asserts that the fight was among 
the Malli, and this statement may be directed against Plutarch, De 
Fort. ii. 13. 343 E, where the Oxydracae (Sudracae Curt ix. 4. 15) are 
mentioned, though it is the Malli in 327 B and 341 C; Alexander 63; 
and Strabo xv. 1.33 C 701. Another statement, also correcting the 
logos, refers to Arbela, and this is in accord with Strabo and Plutarch. 

Arrian begins vii. 27 with the statement that he knew many 
other things had been written about the death of Alexander, and 
then he mentions the story of the poison given by Iollas with Medius 
as his helper. This is suggested by Diod. xvii. 117. 5—118. 2, who 
speaks of the poisoning plot, adding that, immediately after the 
death of Alexander, it had been suppressed through fear of Antipater 
and Cassander. Curtius in x. 10. 14-19 follows Diodorus, and 
Plutarch, Alexander 77, has the same story. But Arrian adds to 
this the statement that someone had not been ashamed to write 
that Alexander, realizing he was doomed to die, threw himself into 


the Euphrates, and Roxana was aware of the fact. Arrian says he 
gives these facts so as to have it known that he was aware of them, 
rather than that he believed them true. This remark must be taken 
as referring to the last item, for the poison story was too widely 
known to call for any comment, nor would there have been need of 
any if the last item had been given by Aristobulus. 

Considered as a historical work the Anabasis is comparative 
rather than critical. By the side of facts gathered from Aristobulus 
and Ptolemy, whose trustworthiness was attested by their positions, 
Arrian placed facts garnered from other authors, against none of 
whom, save only Onesicritus, dared he bring a railing accusation. 
He lessens the weight of many items by referring them to indefinite 
authorities, but usually when his authorities disagree he cannot 
decide which is correct. The style is uniform throughout, and is of 
a piece with that in Arrian’s minor works. Even the parts definitely 
referred to his sources, either definite or indefinite, in no way differ 
from the portions containing his own discussions. 




Egyptian Pharaonic annals running back into the First Dynasty 
show that measurements of the rise of the Nile were kept even in 
the earliest period of the United Kingdom.'! Breasted’s hesitation 
in accepting the figures in these early annals as referring to the Nile 
rise? is based upon the fact that the measurements include fractions 
of a finger breadth, while no fractions appear in the extant readings 
from the Graeco-Egyptian Nilometers. If fractions of a “finger” 
can be used at all in the early dynasties—and they were used—cer- 
tainly they can be employed in indicating the rise of the Nile as well 
as for any other purpose. Furthermore, the similarity of the terms 
used in the Nilometer readings of the Roman period with the terms 
of measurement found in the early annals should conclusively prove 
that the latter indicate the Nile rise of that year. The measure- 
ments which appear in the early annals recorded upon the Palermo 
Stone’ are in cubits, spans, palms, and fingers. The Nile rise of the 
Roman period is recorded in cubits, palms, and fingers. It is true 
that in the few completely preserved lines of the Greek Nilometer 
readings out of the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, no fractions of 
“fingers” appear. This must be explained either as the accident of 
preservation or on the ground that the fractional measurement in 
fingers was found in the later period to be useless and was therefore 

These early notations of the height of the Nile do not prove that 
an irrigation system, except of the simplest sort, was in operation 
before the Pyramid Age. The digging of canals and the construc- 

1J. H. Breasted, Ancient Records of Egypt (Chicago, 1906), I, 57-60. 

2 Ibid., I, 54, and note. 

3 ah(xets), mwad(acral), daxrvdor. L. Borchardt, ‘‘Nilmesser und Nilstands- 
marken,” p. 20, in Abhand. Preuss. Akad., 1906. Borchardt, p. 3, accepts the measure- 
ments of the Pharaonic annals without question as those of the Nile rise, ‘“‘so genau 
wie miglich . .. . gemessen und aufgezeichnet.”’ 

(CuassicaL ParLo.oey XIV, April, 1919] 158 


tion of dikes on a large and organized scale are not to be expected 
until bronze tools were used.! The ability to build the pyramids 
would warrant the conclusion that the primitive and unregulated 
methods of using the flood waters must have been abandoned in the 
Pyramid Age. The Pharaohs had then the power to organize the 
labor of Egypt and concentrate it upon a large enterprise. Further- 
more, technical skill had been advancing rapidly and was already 
highly developed, as the pyramid construction attests. One is not 
surprised, therefore, that the word for “canals” is found in the 
Pyramid Texts, which fall approximately in the years 2625 to 
2475 B.c2 In the identification in these texts of the dead Pharaoh 
Pepi I with Osiris, Osiris is regarded as the source of the Nile flood: 
“The lakes fill, the canals are inundated by the purification that came 
forth from Osiris.”* An inscription of the noble Uni found in his 
tomb at Abydos comes from the Sixth Dynasty, or twenty-sixth 
century B.c. In it Uni records among the offices which he had held 
“that of superintendent of the irrigated lands of the Pharaoh.’ 
Under the Heracleopolite rulers of the Ninth and Tenth Dynasties 
(2445-2160 3.c.)® the irrigation system must have been already 
highly organized, with large dikes and extensive canals. Kheti II, 
nomarch of the Siut nome in Central Egypt, built through arable 
land a canal of ten cubits (about seventeen feet—width, undoubtedly). 
This canal supplied water to a city in the “highland district,” flooded 
the ancient landmarks, and covered the agricultural land with water.® 
This was clearly a large irrigation ditch. The scattered data given 
above warrant only the following general conclusion: The beginning 
of the Nile irrigation system, in the sense of a great, organized, and 
unified method of controlling the inundation for irrigation purposes, 

1TI have been unable to trace to its source the statement of Rev. James Baikie, 
in his Egypt under the Pharaohs, p. 21, that a ‘“‘commander of the inundation” is 

already mentioned under Zer, the successor to Menes. The existence of an officer 
with this title would not, in any case, affect the opinion given above. 

2 Breasted, Religion and Thought in Ancient Egypt (New York, 1912), p. 85. 

3 Ibid., p. 19. Cf. p. 88, where we read of a ‘“‘ herdman wading the canal immersed 
to his middle.’”” The Pyramid Texts are available to me only in the excerpts trans- 
lated by Professor Breasted in the above-mentioned work. 

4 Records of the Past (2d series), II, 6. 

5 For the dating see Breasted, History of Egypt (New York, 1905), p. 598. 

6 Breasted, Ancient Records, I, sec. 407. 

160 W. L. WrEsTERMANN 

falls in the third millennium (the Pyramid Age and the feudal period 
of Egyptian history). 

In the Middle Kingdom references to dikes and canals become 
more frequent and definite. A papyrus of about 2000 B.c. tells us: 
“Those who build of granite .... who erect pyramids.... 
their offering tables are as empty as those of the weary ones (the 
serfs) who die upon the dikes.” At about the same time Khnum- 
hotep, a noble, was appointed administrator of the Eastern Desert by 
Amenemhet I. Among his duties were the regulation of boundaries 
between the cities of his nome, “establishing the landmarks as 
heaven; reckoning the waters according to that which was in the 
writings, apportioning according to that which was in antiquity.’ 
Evidently the administrator of a nome had supervision over the 
irrigation in that nome. The apportionment of the irrigation waters 
to the various districts of the nome was, in this period, already fixed 
in written records which had the traditional support of long- 
established custom. 

In the Middle Kingdom (Twelfth Dynasty) falls also the large 
irrigation project which brought the Fayum under cultivation. 
Herodotus’ belief was that the depression in which Lake Moeris lay 
was an artificial excavation with the primary purpose of receiving 
the overflow of the Nile and acting as a regulator of the inundation 
from that place northward to the sea.* This information, accepted 
by Herodotus, is undoubtedly wrong,‘ and the formation of the 
Fayum is to be explained from geological evidence as a result of the 
action of nature.’ The irrigation project of the Twelfth Dynasty, 
the first large enterprise of which we have definite information, 
seems to have been one of reclamation. To Amenemhat III is 
ascribed the construction of a great embankment within the Fayum, 
restricting the size of Lake Moeris and thus reclaiming the land laid 

1 From the conversation which a man weary of life holds with his own soul. 
“‘Gesprich eines Lebensmueden mit seiner Seele,’’ Ad. Erman, Abhand. der kénigl. 
Preuss. Akademie, 1896. 

2 Percy E. Newberry, Archaeological Survey of Egypt, Beni Hasan, Part I (London, 
1893), p. 59. Cf. the inscription of Khnum-hotep in Records of the Past (1st series), 
XII, 17. 

3 Herod. ii. 149. 

4 Major R. H. Brown, The Fayam and Lake Moeris (London, 1892), pp. 19, 25-26. 
5 Ibid., pp. 61-69. 

Tue Irrication System or Ecypt 161 

bare. To accomplish this some type of regulator, or lock dam, must 
have been constructed at the natural entrance into the Fayum, 
which made it possible to exclude any further inflow after the water 
in the Fayum had reached a certain height. This dam might be | 
used equally well to control the outflow from the Fayum and bring 
about a more continuous and regular distribution of the water of 
the flood time into the Delta.! In other words, Lake Moeris became 
a reservoir for the Delta for some time after the usual decline of the 

In the period of the Egyptian Empire further progress in the 
development of the system is indicated in the sources. It is especially 
marked in the administrative organization. 

In the reign of Thothmes III the oversight of the water supply 
of entire Egypt was centralized in the hands of the vizier of Egypt. 
The vizier had a corps of officials working under his direction in this 
department.2 After the reign of Thothmes III the importance of the 
irrigation system is accentuated in the inscriptions and Pharaonic 
papyri by reference to various canals with distinctive names, notably 
“the Water-of-Re” or the “western canal” in the Delta.’ In the 
Papyrus Harris, Rameses III recites among his benefactions in a 
prayer to Re: “I made slaves as watchmen of the canal-administra- 
tion.’”* This must refer to the appointment of slaves as guards 
upon the embankments at the time of the flood, possibly with over- 
sight of the corvée labor of the peasants during that period. If this 
is true, the statement indicates a highly developed organization of 
the whole system of irrigation for this period. 

In the Twenty-first Dynasty, under a Sheshonk whom Breasted 
is inclined to regard as Sheshonk I, 945-924 B.c.,° we find an official 
with the title “chief of irrigation.’* In the fifth century Herodotus 
of Halicarnassus visited Egypt. He was not sufficiently impressed 
with the irrigation system itself to enumerate it among the wonders 

1 Ibid., pp. 69-70. Grenfell, Hunt, Hogarth, Fayum Towns and Their Papyri 
(P. Fay.) (London, 1900), pp. 4-5. ; 

2 Breasted, Ancient Records, II, sec. 698. 

3 Ibid., IV, sec. 224, and note d. Cf. the Heliopolitan canal of IV, secs. 266, 
278, 394. 

4 Ibid., sec. 266. 
5 Tbid., IV, 359. 6 Ibid., IV, sec. 726. 

162 W. L. WrsTERMANN 

of the country. Lake Moeris alone, because of its size and because 
of his belief that it was “hand-made,” attracted his attention; and 
he gives us some information about this reservoir which is very diffi- 
cult to interpret.' 

These scattered bits of information are what we have left out 
of the period of some 2,600 years during which irrigation in the 
Nile Valley was gradually evolving into the effective system which 
existed when Egypt was assigned as a satrapy to Ptolemy Lagus 
in 323 B.c. 

Several important periods of development or of restoration of the 
irrigation system appear in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods. 
Under Ptolemy Philadelphus occurred the reclamation of an addi- 
tional tract of land in the Fayum which was incorporated in the 
royal domain. This was done by again lowering the level of Lake 
Moeris, thus diminishing its size and bringing above water and 
beyond the water level another portion of the former lake bed.2 The 
evidence of this is from geographic data. Also the archaeological 
remains found in this region of the Fayum do not in any case antedate 
the reign of Philadelphus.* 

In support of this testimony comes positive documentary evi- 
dence of the digging of new canals and the construction of new dikes 
in the Fayum. The period covered from the beginning to the com- 
pletion of this project is approximately 270-237 s.c.4 The Petrie 
Papyri furnish us some correspondence out of the archives of two 
of the architectones, or chief engineers, in charge of the Arsenoite 
nome, who superintended the work of construction. The first of 
these, Cleon, was chief engineer (4pxtréxrwv) certainly from 258 to 
252 B.c. In 255 a subengineer (irapxiréxrwv) named Petechonsis 
was working under him. An official document which falls somewhere 
between 251-247 B.c. announces the advance of a man named 

1 Herod. ii. 149. Cf. P. Fay., p. 8. 

2P. Fay., p. 15. Mahaffy’s suggestion that the irrigation system of Egypt was 
neglected by the Persian rulers (P. Pet. II, 13) may, on general principles, be true; 
but the reclamation work of the early Ptolemies does not necessitate this as a con- 

8p. Fay., p. 15. 

4 Westermann, ‘‘Land Reclamation in the Fayum under Ptolemies Philadelphus 
and Euergetes I,”’ Classical Philology, XII, 429-30. 


Theodorus from the position of subengineer to that of chief engineer. 
It is clear from the correspondence of Cleon with his family that he 
fell into disfavor with the king, Ptolemy Philadelphus, at some time 
in the years 251-247 B.c. and was displaced by his subordinate, 
Theodorus. Theodorus remains architecton (“chief engineer”) from 
that time to 237 B.c. It is probable that the work was completed 
and the office abolished in that year or shortly thereafter.! 

The next large enterprise in connection with the irrigation system 
was a thorough cleansing of the canals occurring a few years after 
Augustus occupied Egypt. The direction of this work is to be 
ascribed to Aelius Gallus, second Roman prefect of Egypt, in the 
years 27-25 B.c. Possibly its beginning falls under the first prefect, 
Cornelius Gallus, which would stretch the period to 28-25 B.c.? 

There is no other great organization which has left a trace in the 
literature until we come to the time of the emperor Probus. He too, 
as Augustus had done, used the soldiery in his work of amelioration 
in Egypt.* Vopiscus tells us that he did so much work upon the 
Nile that by his efforts alone he increased the revenue in grain; that 
he built bridges, opened up many mouths of rivers (?), dried several 
swamps, and established crops and arable land where the swamps 
had been. This is the same type of work which was done by Aelius 
Gallus during his prefecture of Egypt and described in detail by 
Strabo (xvi. 1. 9, 10) when dealing with the Babylonian lowlands. 
The mouths of the canals were cleaned out and a greater volume of 
the overflow diverted for the use of the lands of Middle and Upper 
Egypt. The inundation throughout Egypt, and especially in the 
Delta, was thereby better regulated. Hence arable land was gained 
in regions which remained swampy under a neglected system. The 
“bridges” mentioned by Vopiscus are evidently those spanning the 
canals. The restoration and building of these is a marked feature 
of the work of the Ptolemaic irrigation engineers, Cleon and Theo- 
dorus, in the Petrie Papyri. 

1 For the chronology of this enterprise see the article just cited, Classical Philology, 
XII, 426-30. 

2 Westermann, “Aelius Gallus and the Reorganization of the Irrigation System 
of Egypt under Augustus,”’ Classical Philology, XII (July, 1917), 237-43. 

3 Vopiscus, Vita Probi, 9. 3, in Historiae Augustae Scriptores. 

164 W. L. WresTERMANN 

It is impossible to determine exactly the date of the work of 
Probus in Egypt.! It may have been done under his direction when 
he was holding command in the east,? or under his orders after he 
became emperor. In the latter case the work is ascribed to the 
emperor as that conducted by Aelius Gallus was ascribed by 
Suetonius to Augustus. In any event this reorganization is to be 
placed somewhere in the decade 270-80 of our era.* It was evidently 
an attempt to check the decline in production from the responsive 
soil of Egypt which has always so amply repaid any labor expended 
upon it. This decline began in the third century.* In the fourth 
century the irrigation system had unquestionably lost greatly in 
efficiency. The ditches which carried water to the fields around 
Bacchias, Philadelphia, and Euhemeria had filled up, and the towns 
themselves were abandoned.5 These were the Greek towns which 
had sprung up around the edge of the Fayum upon land reclaimed 
for irrigation by the architectones Cleon and Theodorus. Competent 
engineering and an effective system of irrigation had given them hard 
upon 600 years of life. The decline of this system gave them back 
to the desert. 


1J. H. E. Crees, The Reign of the Emperor Probus (London: University of London 
Press, 1911), p. 154. 

2 Ibid., p. 90. 

3 Crees is unable to agree with Lépaulle in assigning the work of Probus in Egypt 
to 280-81. See Crees, op. cit., p. 154. 

4P. Fay., Introduction, p. 16. 

5 Ibid., pp. 16 and 45. 



The specific, idiomatic use of dé ye in retort, though noticed by 
Niel (Appendix, Ar. Eq., p. 19) and occasionally by others, is not in 
my experience sufficiently appreciated by students and editors. The 
purpose of this note is to collect typical and helpful illustrations of 
the importance of this usage for interpretation. I take the idiom as I 
find it and make no attempt to trace it to its ultimate origin. The 
force of a Greek particle derives from its “ original’? meaning and the 
associations which it gathers in idiomatic usage, but the precise 
contribution of these two factors we have at present no data for 
determining. The first thing to do is to understand the actual usage. 
And similarly when two or more particles are used conjointly it is not 
easy to decide how far each retains its separate force and how far 
they blend in a new chemical union, and whether they are to be 
chiefly felt in a given case as qualifying one another, or an adjoining 
word, or the sentence as a whole. Both the adversative and the con- 
tinuative meanings of 6é are familiar, and it might be possible to 
deduce the meanings of the combination 5é ye from these and the 
emphasizing, logical, argumentative, or impatient force of ye. The 
combination is sometimes used in rapid advance or transition from 
one sharply defined point of argument, exposition, or narrative to 
another. This is the reason, unnoticed by Ritter, for its frequency 
in the descriptions of the types of states and men in the eighth book 
of the Republic. An elder, simpler, or less emphatic writer in such 
case might use only 5é, as Semonides does in his enumeration of the 
typesof women. Ritter says that there are sixteen cases in the eighth 
book of the Republic. My count does not quite agree, but I shall 
not revise it. What imports is not the precise statistic but the reasons 
for the comparative frequency. A similar frequency in the Sophist 
and Statesman of Plato is due I think (1) to the antithetic point- 
making in the dichotomies and (2) to the increasing tendency to 

emphasis in Plato’s later work, for dé ye is often only a stronger 6é. 
(CuassIcaL PaILoLoey XIV, April, 1919] 165 

166 Pau. SHOREY 

The combination is also used to introduce a new link in an argu- 
ment—more specifically, if we may anticipate Aristotle’s terminology, 
to introduce the minor premise of a syllogism; cf. among hundreds 
of available examples Plato’s Republic 335d, 338e, 349d, 350b, 352b, 
479d. A resourceful psychologist could associate this with the use 
of 6é ye in retort. For “argument” in the language of the people 
today means quarrel, and in the first book of the Republic when the 
debate grows hot and Thrasymachus begins to get angry it is 
neither easy nor necessary to distinguish the argumentative from 
the quarrelsome ‘ye. 

Dismissing then for the present these possible remoter inquiries, 
I turn to the direct illustration of the idiomatic use of 5€ ye in retort. 
I do not find it in Homer. Monro quotes two cases of separated 6é 
ve, in one of which (Iliad v. 350) there is hostile feeling if not precisely 
retort. But in the cases recorded in the Homeric lexicon ye follow- 
ing 6é, often at a distance, is itself usually attached to a pronoun. 
In the angry anacoluthon beginning éi 5’ ér’ avinoe ye, Odyssey 2. 115, 
there seems no reason for taking ye closely with the verb, and we 
have perhaps an approximation to retort. 

There are, I believe, no cases in the Greek lyrics of the Teubner 
Anthologia Lyrica. But in the Carmina Popularia the song of the 
three generations at Sparta, whatever its date, is an excellent example. 

The old men sing: 

“Apes 7x’ Hues GAKtpou veaviar. 
The men retort: 

“Apes 5€ y’ eivés: ai 5¢ Ags, abyateo. 
And the boys come back at them with: 

“Apes 5€ y’ écoduerba TodAG Kappoves. 
Keil’s conjecture 5€ re is obviously inept. Fragment 13 “HXuos 
*ArddXwr, 6 5é y’ ’Atd\AWwY HALOS looks like a case, but we cannot be 
sure in the absence of a context. 

In Herodotus I find but two instances. In vii. 103 Xerxes retorts 
to Demaratus’ boasting, “If a Spartan army can fight ten times 
their number of Persians oe 5é ye difnwar elxoor elvar avragiov.” In 
viii. 59, when Adeimantus rebukes Themistocles with the words 
év rotor ayGou, etc., he retorts of 5€ ye, etc. Plutarch, Themist. 11, has 

On 5€ ye IN RETORT 167 

Nal... . adda. In both cases Stein is silent. In vii. 103 Smith 
and Laird give a note on 6€ in apodosis with a reference to ov 6é in 
vii. 51. 3 which I think is not quite apposite. 

I have observed but one case in Thucydides, and that naturally 
in the Melian dialogue v. 109, where the Athenian’s 76 8’ éxupér ye, 
etc., is the reply to the Melian’s BeBatorépous. 

The best case in Aeschylus is Antigone’s retort to the herald in 
Septem 1031. 

éy@ 5¢ Kadpeiwv ye mpoorarais \éyw 
The metrically unavoidable separation of the particles makes no 
difference. Tucker rightly enough says, “The suggestion of eis that 
of contemptuous sarcasm.”’ But he does not seem to feel the idio- 
matic tone of 5é ye. I believe the passage genuine, but there is no 
lack of other Aeschylean examples. Danaus’ reply to his daughters’ 
fears of their pursuers in 746 is phrased as if it were a defiant retort 
to the Egyptians’ threat. He says 

tonnovs b€ y’ ebpnaovory, etc. 
So in Supplices 1055-56, 

av 5é Bé\yous Gv GbeNxTor, 
is met by the distinct retort, 

av 5€é y’ obx olc8a 7d péddov. 
In Agamemnon 939, 

6 8’ adbovnrés y’ obk éxifndos 7éXet, 
is a sharp retort in stichomythia. In Choephori 439, 

éuacxanicbn 5é y’, ws 70d’ edz, 
the text is uncertain. Blass, Verrall, and Sidgwick give little aid. 
Hermann’s 5é ye could be explained as expressing the emotional 
defiance of the chorus’ admonition with its implication, “Remember 
and do not pardon.” In Choeph. 921, 

tpépe 5€ y’ avipds uoxGos juévas éow, 
it is a stichomythic retort in the eternal debate between the sexes. 

There are several good cases in Sophocles. In the altercation 
between Menelaus and Teucer in the Ajax (1142) Menelaus begins 
a speech with 

Hin mor’ eldov avip’ eye, 

168 | Pau. SHOREY 

and Teucer retorts (1150), 
éya b€ y’ &vip’ Srwra. 

Jebb has no note, but his translation gives the tone fairly, “ Yea 
and I have seen.” In Electra 1367 copay 8’ évvérw ye is probably 
better than Hermann’s évvérw ’yw. Jebb interprets “and further 
(ye, i.e., besides counseling Electra).’’ I think, if we may refine so 
far, that it is preferably a rebuke delayed and so disguised by the 
three introductory lines of the speech. For dé ye in the retort of an 
implied friendly rebuke compare Plato, Phaedr. 275b. 

Phaedr.: °Q Dexpares, padiws ob, x.7.d. 

Soc.: Oi 6€ y’, & dire, x.7.d. 

Phaedr.: ’Op0as éwérdnéas 

In O.T. 1030, though the particles are widely separated, there is a 
hint of rebuke in the shepherd’s words got 8’, & réxvov, cwrnp ye 
T@ Tor’ év xpovy. The reading dé then is preferable to re or to a 
double ye. Jebb aptly comments “the gentle reproof conveyed by 
5é ye is not unfitting in the old man’s mouth.” Philoctetes 1293, éya 
5’ drravdd y’, is aclear case. Jebb’s “ye emphasizes the verb, cf. 660. 
1037” cannot be said to be wrong. Yet it is misleading. In 660 
there is no 6é. In 1037 é£orda 5’ as wera 7’ the d€ is adversative to 
the doubt in the preceding line and the 6€ and ye are probably felt 
separately. This, as I said at the beginning, is a difficult distinction, 
but it has to be drawn. In Ajax 1409, for example, rat, ov dé rarpés 
yy’... . Oyar, «.7.d., I think that Jebb is mistaken in saying that 
“the emphasis of ve belongs to the whole clause (do thou too raise) 
and not to the word rarpés.”” This is not to be felt as a case of the | 
5éye combination. , The od dé, as Jebb himself points out, is idiomatic 
after the vocative, and ‘ye is what in the freedom of classroom inter- 
pretation I sometimes call the ex vi termini ye. As often in Plato, it 
emphasizes a word to point out what follows from its very connota- 
tion. The child would not normally be called upon, but of course it 
must lend its feeble aid in the case of a father. It is possible, how- 
ever, that 5é ye simply expresses the defiant mood of the speaker. 

Euripides presents no striking peculiarities, but many good 
examples, of 5é ye. It brings out the colloquial smartness of Ion 
which Jules Lemaitre maliciously emphasizes (Impressions de 

On 6€ ye IN RETORT 169 

Thedtre, IX), and which embarrasses idealizing English translators. 
In 516-17 I am tempted to translate the stichomythia of Xuthus 
and Ion: 

Hail, all hail, my boy, that greeting is the best from me to you. 
I’m all hale, you keep—your distance. Then we’ll be all hale, the two. 

In 368 it emphasizes Creusa’s retort ad\yiverat to Ion’s aloxbvera. 
In 1304 Musgrave’s transposition destroys its pertinency in the 
stichomythia following 1303. In 1330 we have plainly a retort. 
In Alcestis 890 it expresses a slight rebuke, sometimes overlooked 
by editors. In Andromache 239 dé... . ye may be felt separately, 
but also as marking retort in stichomythia. In 462 the adversative 
use is practically a retort, as in Orestes 547 and Hippolytus 700 it is 
an answer to an argument. In Supplices 936 and 940 it is merely 
sharp opposition of two groups. In Hippolytus 724 xal.... ye 
is equivalent to dé. . . . ye in retort, an obvious possibility. Space 
fails for discussion of other examples of this use of kal... . Ye. 
In I.A. 21 todro 5é y’ éoriv 7d Kaddv chadepor is a plain case of retort. 
In Cyclops 561 6é ye expresses the “ wipe-off-your-chin”’ style of 
rudeness, and in 637 the Aristophanic outbidding in comic distress. 
In Hecuba 421 it is the same on the plane of tragedy. In 1247-48 
contrast expresses contempt if not retort. Bacchae 490 and 505 
are retorts in stichomythia. In Helena 564 éyw 5 Meveddw yé o’ the 
elliptic colloquial suggestion of a comic comeback invites and justifies 
Aristophanes’ parody in Thesmophoriazusae 910. 

Porson on Orestes 1234 cites a few cases, and Elmsley on 
Medea 800 quotes Androm. 237; Herc. 1248; and what is now Nauck 
Adespota 358, 

a&vdpoxrovou Yyuvatxds Spores epus, 
ab 8’ abroxep ye unrpds Ho” éyeivaro, 

which is a direct retort. 

Aristophanes illustrates the pugnaciousness of 5é ye. Cleon 
and the sausage seller use it repeatedly in rapid-fire repartee of 
Billingsgate (cf. Knights 363, 364-65, 1154-56; Lysistrata 374; 
Clouds 914-15; Birds 1053). It also marks their endeavors to out- 
bid one another for Demos’ favor (906-8; ef. 967, 1171, 1178; Frogs 
1395; Lysistrata 104-5, 115-17). In Wasps 941 outbidding and 

170 PauL SHOREY 

retort are blended. In Plutus 164-68 Chremylus and Charion out- 
bidding one another in parallels and parodies use it seven times. 
Distinct retorts are Clouds 1417; Birds 1048; Wasps 1230. In 
Birds 806 it is the retort of one “odorous” comparison for another. 

Many of the Aristophanic examples could be brought under the 
category already mentioned of descriptive or argumentative point- 
making. The student guide so employs 5€ ye in Clouds 169, 175, 211; 
cf. also Wasps 604; Birds 514; Ecclesiazusae 262. Plutus 165-68 
might be classified again here. In the frequent use of éyw dé ye it is 
hardly necessary always to determine the precise proportions of 
defiance, outbidding, retort, or point-making implied in the general 
adversative meaning. Much the same might be said of the phrases 
so common in Plato: dérav 5é ye; éav dé ye; 7d 5€ ye, oluar 5é ye. 
The often unnoticed, careless, colloquial Greek and Platonic idiom 
ti 5’ &do ye H occurs frequently in Aristophanes. I think psychologi- 
cal analysis could detect a slight residue of 5é ye feeling in it, but I 
forbear. In Ecclesiazusae 273 and 279 5€ ye at the end of the line (cf. 
Menander Epitrepontes 504; Demosthenes xxi. 95) is either metrical 
convenience or point-making in a description or a program. In 
Wasps 1230 at the end of the line it is practically a retort. 

The statistical count of dé ye in Plato is considerable. Ritter 
(Untersuchungen, pp. 69-70) gives it after Frederking. I have no 
ambition to revise it, though my suspicions are aroused by the state- 
ment that there is no case in the Apology; cf. 22D and 24C: where 
the statistician perhaps adopted Cobet’s emendation or followed 
the wrong manuscript. It would be of little significance unless 
regard were paid to our categories of point-making, minor premise, 
etc., in distinction from our present concern, its use in retort or 
implied rebuke. These things are of course not unknown, but editors 
and students continually miss them. Thompson’s otherwise excellent 
note on Meno 95e tells us that the combination occurs twelve times 
in the Meno and, wrongly I think, that at 77b there is a hyperbaton of 
ve which accents tapadeiyyara. He mentions its use to attach a 
further premise, but says nothing of its use in retort. The distinct 
retort in Apol. 24c is often overlooked by editors, though not by 

Schanz. Forman, for example, only comments “ye with éyw” and 

in his Appendix discusses only the question whether ye affects 5é or 
only the preceding word. In Politicus 257a it is, I think, a mistake 

On 6€ ye IN REeTOoRT 171 

to bracket ye. The whole tone of the passage is that of heavy 
repartee. It is a case of outbidding, as Theaetetus 165d; Philebus 48e 
(bis); Politicus 295b. In Laches 198c it is a slightly challenging 
question to prepare for the issue. In Gorgias 448a it expresses the 
rudeness or overeagerness of Polus. In 472e and 473 an opposition 
of opinion becomes a challenge. In 495d it is almost an Aristophanic 
conflict. The Gorgias has also many examples of dé ve in argument 
or minor premise. In Huthydemus 298D airixa 6é ye, “T’ll prove it 
to you right away,” the tone is challenging. An appreciation of the 
tone of playful retort in Phileb. 283A might save some scholars 
from arguing that the idea of good is to be literally identified with 
God. ov5é ye here as in many cases keeps the feeling of 5é ye (cf., 
e.g., Protagoras 28a and Eurip. J.A. 308... In Phileb. 34e rodro 5é 
7’ éori xevovrat it substitutes a synonym as a link or minor premise 
in a chain of argument. So Theaetet. 152B, 164B and elsewhere 
often. In Phileb. 66E ff., 6€ ye advances from point to point to the 
culminating defiance mp@rov 5é ye ot6’ Gv of wavres ... . GGar. 
Phaedr. 230C ov 5é ye dromwraros is another gentle rebuke. Republic 
487E ov 6€ ye ovx eiw6as is a similar ironical rebuke which editors miss. 
Republic 450B also implies a rebuke of the preceding use of perpiwv. 

The Laws do not offer so many occasions for 5é ye as Republic viii 
and the Sophist and Statesman, but there are plenty of examples of 
the logical, the adversative, and the point-making force of the cem- 
bination. In 676b the adversative force approaches retort. Jowett’s 
translation is not incorrect, but does not reproduce this shade of 
feeling. In 638a 6é ye marks a sharp dramatic retort which Jowett 
imperfectly renders and on which Stallbaum has no note. The 
Athenian has been citing the laws of various nations and the Spartan 
retorts: "2 Aware Sudxouev 5€ ye Hueis mwavras rovrovs. But it 
would be superfluous to accumulate further examples or to split 
hairs in determination of the precise point at which adversative 
or emphatically continuative 5é ye begins to pass into point-making, 
positing of a minor premise, outbidding, challenge, rebuke, and 
retort. I have sufficiently indicated the chief types. 

The only good retort that I have found in Xenophon is 
Mem. iv. 4. 6, 6 5€ ye Tobrou Sewbrepov, én, & ‘Inria, ob pdvov del ra 
aira Néyw, GAXAa Kal repli rSv abrdv. In iv. 6. 4 and iv. 6. 14 we have 
merely the familiar use to introduce a minor premise in Platonic 

172 Pau. SHOREY 

dialogue. In iii. 6. 31 the particles are adversative and in iv. 3. 13 
the text is doubtful. In Hellenica ii. 3. 38 the adversative almost 
equals a retort, as it does in Xenophon’s speech (Anab. iii. 1. 35) and 
in the divergent opinion of Kleanor (iv. 6.9). In v. 8. 16 it may be 
said to mark a climax or defiance, &\dov 6é ye . . . . Exatoa ré. 
In iii. 3. 17 the text is doubtful. In Symp. iv. 13 it is merely a strong 
adversative. In v. 3. it approaches the retort of bantering dialogue, 
GN’ aroxpivw. oat b€é ye épwra. Cyr. i. 6. 18 is unimportant. 

The Attic orators use dé ye sometimes in argument, contrast, 
and retort. But there is not enough dialogue to give them frequent 
occasion for it. Statistics would be of little value. Forman says 
his series is complete. I have glanced through my hand copies and 
consulted indexes. In Andocides, Mysteries 136, buty 5€ ye (7d) 
évavtiov, it is a strong adversative. In 68, éow6n 5€ ye 6 rarnp, the 
adversative becomes a defensive retort to the charge of betraying 
his comrades. There is little point in the inquiry whether ye empha- 
sizes 6€ or éow6n. Forman supports the view of Kiihner and Hartung 
that ye in such cases must re-enforce a particular word and not the 
adversative implication of 6é by the argument that the substitution 
of an adversative expression of undisputed emphasis involves a 
material shift in the thought accent. But in Homer, Iliad xv. 496-97, 
a close parallel to Andocides’ thought is expressed by a\\4. 

ov of deuxés . ... 
TeOvapev. GAN’ GAoxods TE o6n kal watdes drrigow 

Such difference as there is between the two passages is due, not to 
the emphasis on &Aoxos or o6n or tarnp or éow6n, but only to the fact 
that the words of Homer are an exhortation and those of Andocides a 
retort. If there was no feeling of the intimate association of 5é ye 
in such cases, why are they so often juxtaposed in cases where it 
would have been easy to place the ye after the word which it is said 
to be its sole function to emphasize? Van Cleef’s Index Antiphonteus 
gives no examples and I find none. Holm’s Index Lysiacus does not 
give ye. I find no examples in Frohberger’s index or in glancing 
through the text. Preuss’s Index Isocrateus omits ye and gives no 
examples under dé ye. I find none in rapid re-reading. Preuss’s 
index to Demosthenes does not record 6é and there are no exam- 
ples in the Rehdanz-Blass index. Demosthenes neglects some apt 

On 6€ ye IN RETORT 173 

occasions for the use of 5€ ve in retort and employs it rarely if at all. 
In F.L. 90, » 5€ ye THv mpayyarwv Karacxevn, it is merely a strong 
adversative. Shilleto’s note speaks of this use of 5é ye or 5€.... 
ve in continuation or retort and refers to Euripides and Aristophanes. 
He can hardly be right in saying that it is frequent in the orators. 
In v. 23. 19, 90, and xxiv. 129 it is adversative. In xix. 279 it con- 
cludes with a climax a series of adversative uses of 6é. In xx. 28 
an adversative following an apostrophe becomes practically a retort. 
The more personal tone of xxi (against Midias) perhaps finds expres- 
sion in three instances, 19, 90, 279. In xliii. 27 and 39, xliv. 55, 
xlvi. 6, the adversative argument is in effect a retort. In liv. 35-36 
the adversative is outbidding (cf. supra). The two cases in the 
spurious Epitaphios (lx. 36 and 37) mark rhetorical antithesis. 

Aeschines, with Andocides perhaps the most colloquial of the 
orators, has a few good cases. In iii. 28 it opposes or retorts the 
letter of the law against Demosthenes’ evasion. In iii. 117 he 
quotes a speech against Athens at Delphi beginning dpx7v dé ye and 
he himself uses it three times in section 246 to point the contrast 
between Athenian public policies and their influence on the moral 
education of youth. 

The fragments of the comedians have not enough dialogue to pre- 
sent many cases. In Pherecrates’ wéAr 5€ ye xpéumrerar the particles 
mark the outrageousness of the coarse climax. In Eupolis (Pollux 
x. 186), &ya 5ێ ye orifw ce Beddvarowy Tprir, it is the Billingsgate of 
retorted threats, as in the Knights. In Nichomachus’ eicowa dé ¥y’ 
av déyns (Athenaeus 290e) it expresses the bantering pretense of 
retort so common in Platonic dialogue. My other examples are 
hardly worth printing. 

In Menander’s Epitrepontes 63, éya 5€ y’ abrov gnu Seiv éxev 
x4apwv, etc., Daos is stating both sides of the case and dé ye marks his 
retort to the opponent’s plea. In 503-4 

ovK 018’ dre N€yers 
Onesimos: % ypais 5é ye 018’ 

theretortisobvious. You maynotknow, but the old woman doesknow. 

Bonitz’ Aristotelian index does not record 6é ye. I do not think 
that Aristotle uses it in retort. It is not found in the argument in 
the Metaphysics against Protagorean relativity, where the impatient 

174 Pau. SHOREY 

argumentative ye is frequent. Eucken says that dé ye is practically 
confined to the Physics. A rapid reading discovers five or six cases 
at most introducing premises in controversial argument—none of any 
special significance. 

The post-classical history of Greek particles has only a slight 
interest of curiosity. The feeling for idiomatic usage gradually dies 
out till little more survives than the obvious irony of 670ev in the 
modern Greek newspaper. 

Schmidt’s Atticismus records 6€ ye for Dio. Chrys. xi. 4 and xxxi. 4 
and ovdé ye for i. 25. 22, and so forth. He finds thirty-two cases in 
Aristides’ first forty-six orations, and enumerates twenty-eight cases 
in Lucian. They seem mostly merely emphasized adversatives or 
slight climaxes of satire, sometimes rather awkwardly employed. 
The Hermotimus naturally presents a few cases of argumentative 
6é ye. Lucian does not seem to have picked up the 6é ye of retort 
or rebuke from his reading of Aristophanes and Plato. 

Liddell and Scott offer nothing but the misleading statement that 
in Plato (Theaetet. 144e and 164a) 5é maintains its right to the 
second place in the sentence separating ye from the word it affects. 
Jowett and Campbell’s essay on the particles (Republic, II, 204) says 
only that dé ye (“yes, but”) often contributes a second statement 
which in some way modifies the first. Kiihner-Gerth (Syntax 2, 141) 
say that ye in dé ye as in pév ye affects both the other particle and 
the preceding word. They cite Xen. Anab. iii. 1.35 and Mem. ii. 6.31, 
of which the first is implied defiance and retort, the second a strong 
antithesis. Starkie on Aristophanes’ Wasps 94 and 134 has the root 
of the matter, but confines himself to a few examples from Aristoph- 
anes. Stephanus quotes Apollon. de conjunct. for the Stoic designa- 
tion of dé ye as rpooAnmrixév because of its use in the “assumption”’ 
or minor proposition of a hypothetical syllogism, a use too frequent in 
post-classical literature to need illustration. He cites a few cases 
from Aeschylus and Sophocles to exemplify hanc augendi vim, thus 
confounding all categories. 

There is nothing of importance in Hermann or Viger and nothing 
in Hoogeveen or Baumlein. Hartung (Erlangen, 1832), I, 382 
quotes a few examples of “‘adversative clauses” from Aristophanes 
and Euripides in support of his view that ye merely emphasizes a 
particular word. 



“Tam vero variae nocturno tempore visae 
terribiles formae bellum motusque monebant, 
multaque per terras vates oracla furenti 
pectore fundebant tristis minitantia casus, 
atque ea, quae lapsu tandem cecidere vetusto 
haec fore perpetuis signis clarisque frequentans 
ipse deum genitor caelo terrisque canebat. 
nunc ea Torquato quae quondam et consule Cotta 
Lydius ediderat Tyrrhenae gentis haruspex 
omnia fixa tuus glomerans determinat annus, etc.”’ (Cic. De Con- 

sulatu ii. 26-35). 

In the lines immediately before these Cicero has related the portents of 
the year 63, and in lines 33-59 he describes those of 65, the fulfilment of 
which, as he says in line 35, was to fall in 63. The intermediate three lines 
(ll. 30-33) seem capable of no easy application to either the former or the 
latter of the two groups of portents; to the former, because the conspiracy 
of Catiline was not yet crushed; to the latter, because the miscarriage of the 
conspiracy of 65 would in 63 hardly be regarded as vetusto.! 

Varied means of avoiding the dilemma have been sought, most of which 
may be found in the editions of Moser (1828) and Giese (1829), and an 
article by Thoresen? in 1893. The more distinctive are here briefly noted. 
Hottinger would interpret the words lapsu vetusto as ruina diu ante velut 
praestituta; dum scil. Catilina, quam aliis meditatus esset perniciem, eam sibi 
ipse machinaretur (which hardly meets the objection to the use of vetusto); 
Goerenz as diu labantia tandem ruinam dederunt, making vetusto practically 
equivalent to diu exspectato, surely an unfamiliar use of the word. Another 
group of interpretations understands Japsu literally (of statues from their 
pedestals, etc.; cf. the fall of the statue of Natta mentioned in ll. 39-40; 
the simulacra deorum depulsa of Cic. in Cat. iii. 19; or the signum..... 
Iovis cum columna disiectum of Obsequens 61). Davies, holding this view 
but troubled by the use of vetusto as applied to such an occurrence only two 
years previously, emends to vetusta; Ernesti, Scheller, and Heeringa retain 

1 Further, according to this interpretation the repeated beginning for the events 
of 65 in 1. 33 (nunc ea, etc.), would be very awkward. 

2 Nordisk Tidsskrift for Filologi, 3d series, II (1893), 24-26. 


the manuscript reading but explain the words as poetic expressions for 
lapsu rerum vetustarum, or, as Heeringa rather clumsily suggests, lapsu 
vetustate; while Thoresen, in the article cited, resorts to an elaborate emenda- 
tion (atque ea qui lapso [or lapsus] tum decidit aere vetusto) which he later! 
discards, simply obelizing the line. The difficulty with the theory that ea 
refers to material things, such as statues, is, as noted by Hottinger, that it 
confuses the sign with the thing signified (for to the latter haec fore must 
refer). If it be urged that these lines refer to a re-erection of the statue of 
Jupiter? valid objection may be taken to the use of the plurals (ea, haec) 
and to the separation of these lines from the passage (ll. 55 ff.) in which that 
restoration is discussed at length. 

We should, if possible, retain the accepted text, especially since the MSS 
here show no variation, save lapsus for lapsu in AH.’ I believe that for this 
accepted text a plain and very effective meaning can be found along quite 
different lines from those indicated in the attempts thus far mentioned, 
namely by keeping /apsu in the sense of “‘failure’’ and interpreting ea quae 
lapsu tandem cecidere vetusto of the events foretold by the portents in the 
Bellum Octavianum of 87. In support of this there should be noted the fact 
that lines 12-29 describe, as already stated, the portents of the year 63: 
cometae, an eclipse of the moon, Phoebi fax (meteor), the striking by lightning 
of a man (of high rank, as we know from Pliny‘), an earthquake, ghosts, and 
miscellaneous prophecies. If now we compare these with the de Natura 
Deorum ii. 14, we shall find there a list in which appear fulminibus, tempestati- 
bus, ... . terrae motibus . . . . tum labibus aut repentinis terrarum hiatibus, 
. .. . tum facibus visis caelestibus, tum stellis tis quas Graeci cometas, nostri 
cincinnatas vocant, quae nuper bello Octaviano magnarum fuerunt calamitatum 
praenuntiae, etc. Of course the phrase quae nuper ... . praenuntiae refers 
only to cometae, and we have no right to assume that the other signs in 
Cicero’s list, which is a general one, are taken from occurrences in 87. But 
cometae (whether comets proper or, as is perhaps more likely in the poem, 
displays of the aurora polaris) were not of everyday occurrence at Rome, for 
Wiilker' in his list of them cites no instance between 87° and 63. Further, 
the likeness in the item of fulmina becomes the more striking when we 
observe that in the Octavian war no less a personage than Pompeius Strabo 
met his death by lightning,’ corresponding well to the death of this kind 
described by Cicero in the poem. In the verses before us Cicero is probably 

1Tn his edition (1894). 
2 Obsequens 61; et al. 

3 Not affecting the meaning of |. 30, frequentas for frequentans in ABV inl. 31. 

4 N.H. ii. 137. 

5 Die geschichtliche Entwicklung des Prodigienwesens bet den Rémern (1903), p. 10. 
6 Attested also by Pliny N.H. ii. 92. 

7 App. B.C. i. 68; i. 80; Plut. Pomp. 1; Obsequens 56a; et al. 

Notes AND DIscussIONS 177 

not limiting his recollection to the one episode of the Bellum Octavianum, 
but rather extending it to the entire period of the civil war, of which it was 
apart. The general meaning, then, of lines 30-33, as I understand them, is 
that the violent measures of that turbulent period, foretold by many portents, 
some of them distinctive and unusual, at last (tandem, i.e., with the final 
victory of Sulla) failed, years ago (lapsu vetusto), but that similar revolu- 
tionary attempts (haec) will recur (fore) during the consulship of Cicero is 
predicted by Jupiter in clear and repeated (frequentans) portents. Or, in 
mathematical form: as the portents of 87 were related to the events of that 
and the following years, so the portents of 63 are in relation to the still 
unknown events of that and succeeding years. This explanation robs 
vetusto of much of its difficulty, for it is hardly necessary to object to its use, 
in the free language of verse, for events of a score of years previous; it well 
explains the word tandem; it avoids the confusion of sign and thing signified 
by taking both ea and haec as events; and, more than all, it adds greatly to 
the striking character of the situation by equating the petty Catilinarian 
conspiracy with the tremendous struggle of the civil war between Marius 
and Sulla.! That Cicero really made such comparisons a well-known passage 
in the third oration against Catiline? shows us. 

Anthologia Palatina xv. 23 

Mr. W. R. Paton in his translation of the Greek Anthology, Vol. 5 (Loeb 
Classical Library), says of the foregoing epigram, which is inscribed “On 
the Book of Marcus” (Eis riv BiBAov Madpxov): “ Nothing is known regarding 
it.” The epigram refers to the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius; it occurs 
as a “Subscriptio” to the Codex Vaticanus of Marcus Aurelius, and is quoted 
by Salmasius (ad Vulcacii Gallicani Avidium Cassium c. 3.7) as having been 
found by him “in vetustis membranis”; cf. Gataker (London, 1697), two 
pages before the Annotationes on the text; the information is also contained 
on the last page of Leopold’s Oxford edition. 

W. D. WoopHgap 

1 Perhaps in the earlier part of the poem this comparison had betn more fully 
developed. If so the rather casual allusion in ll. 30-33 would have been clearer to the 

224. Although, with characteristic vanity, he considers the plot of Catiline far 
more momentous than all other dissensiones with which he compares it. That Cor- 
nelius Lentulus, from a different standpoint, drew somewhat paraliel comparisons is 
shown by Sall. Cat. 47. 2: ‘‘ex libris Sibyllinis regznum Romae tribus Corneliis 
portendi: Cinnam atque Sullam antea, se tertium esse, cui fatum foret urbis potiri; 
praeterea ab incenso Capitolio illum esse vigesumum annum, quem saepe ex prodigiis 
aruspices respondissent bello civili cruentum fore.” 

Nores AND Discussions 

Ovid Metamorphoses i. 192-98 

“sunt mihi semidei, sunt, rustica numina, nymphae 
faunique satyrique et monticolae silvani; 
quos quoniam caeli nondum dignamur honore, 
quas dedimus, certe terras habitare sinamus. 
an satis, O superi, tutos fore creditis illos, 
cum mihi, qui fulmen, qui vos habeoque regoque, 
struxerit insidias notus feritate Lycaon ?” 

On these lines Haupt (Ehwald-Haupt, Berlin, 1903) contents himself 
with the comment “die Motivierung ist wohl Erfindung des Ovids.” His 
conjecture admits, I think, of easy confirmation. The transition passage 
in which the lines occur is admittedly a travesty of the Roman senate. Lines 
190-91 have been noted as a commonplace of Roman political oratory; cf. 
Burmann, ad loc., and Muretus in his comment on Cicero, Cat. ii. 5. 36-37. 
It seems fair to see in lines 192 ff. an ingenious adaptation of the traditional 
appeal to a Roman audience to rally to the defense of the socii who, though 
not endowed with citizenship, are entitled to protection. The best comment 
on the motivation of this passage would accordingly be andther quotation 
from Cicero; cf. Manil. vi. 1-5, “Quare si propter socios nulla iniuria lacessiti 
maiores nostri cum Antiocho, cum Philippo, cum Aetolis, cum Poenis bella 
gesserunt, quanto vos studio convenit iniuriis provocatos sociorum salutem 
una cum imperii vestri dignitate defendere, praesertim cum de maximis 
vestris vectigalibus agatur ?”’ 



The Greek Theater and Its Drama. By Roy C. Fuickineer. Chi- 
cago: The University of Chicago Press, 1918. Pp. xxviii+358. 
80 illustrations. 

This is a book for which we have long been waiting; one, that is, that can 
be unhesitatingly recommended to the general reader as a reasonably satis- 
factory account of the Greek theater and the technique and conventions of 
the Greek drama. Like all of the author’s numerous articles previously pub- 
lished, it is written in a pleasing and forceful style, and gives evidence of 
sound scholarship and of a firm grasp upon the problems with which it deals. 
Its statements are clear, its arguments cogent, and its conclusions sane. More- 
over, it abounds in literary citations and is enriched with many illustrations 
which for the most part are well selected and beautifully reproduced. Thus 
it constitutes one of the most important contributions of recent years to 
the interpretation of ancient classical dramatic art. Among the works pub- 
lished in English upon this subject it easily takes rank as the best. 

As stated in the Preface the book attempts (1) “to elaborate the theory 
that the peculiarities and conventions of the Greek drama are largely expli- 
cable by its environment; (2) to emphasize the technical aspects of ancient 
drama; (3) to elucidate and freshen ancient practice by modern and mediaeval 
parallels.” The author has “endeavored to treat the ancient plays as if they 
were not dead and inert, but as if their authors were men as real as Ibsen and 
Galsworthy, who had real problems and met them in a real way.” In 
accordance with this program the emphasis throughout is placed upon the 
conventions and technique of the drama rather than upon the archaeological 
reconstruction of the theater itself. Thus eight of the nine chapters which 
constitute the main portion of the work treat of the influences (1) of religious 
origin; (2) of choral origin, (3) of actors, (4) of festival arrangements, (5 and 6) 
of physical conditions, (7) of national customs and ideas, and (8) of theatrical 
machinery and dramatic conventions. The ninth chapter is devoted to a 
consideration of theatrical records. Preceding these chapters is a long Intro- 
duction (pp. 1-117), in which, rather more technically, the author discusses 
the origin of each of the types of Greek drama and finally the development 
and characteristics of the Greek theater. 

The difficulties which surround the topics treated in this Introduction are 
clearly recognized by the author, and he, I am sure, would be the first to 
acknowledge that his conclusions cannot be expected to meet with universal 
acceptance. As a rule these are not stated dogmatically, but are advanced 
merely as reasonable hypotheses. Taking his stand squarely on the state- 
ments of Herodotus, Aristotle, and other classical and postclassical writers, 


180 Boox REvIEws 

Professor Flickinger holds (pp. 3 f.) that “‘tragedy and satyric drama are 
independent offshoots of the same literary type, the Peloponnesian dithy- 
ramb.” Arion called his performances of caprine satyrs dramas and was the 
first to use the word in this sense (pp.8ff.). The terms rpaycxds xopds, tpaywodia, 
etc., arose at Sicyon about 590 B.c. and were suggested by the goat-prize, 
not by the costume of the choreutae (pp. 13 ff.). To ignore Aristotle and “to 
seek, as many do”’—Dieterich, Ridgeway, Harrison, and Murray are specified 
—‘‘to trace tragedy back to Spwpeva of various kinds by another line of 
development transgresses good philological practice” (p. 6). The very 
facility of all such attempts is their own undoing. 

Comedy arose from the comus. The claim of the Megarians that comedy 
originated with them is apparently unwarranted, although Megara probably 
“had something to do with the introduction of the histrionic element into 
Attic comedy” (pp. 47f.). It is wrong to assume, as is frequently done, 
that comedy had actors before tragedy (p. 48). They were probably not 
introduced into Athenian comedy until shortly before 450 B.c. (p. 56). 

The long, yet all too brief, section dealing with the theater (pp. 57-117) 
opens with an account of the different parts (1) of the Greek theater, (2) of 
the Graeco-Roman theater, and the names which were applied to these several 
members. The most perplexing of these terms are the Aoyeiov and the 
Georoyeiov. The former the author believes (p. 60 and Fig. 23) was in the 
Greek theater applied to the top of the proscenium, in the Graeco-Roman 
theater to the stage. The theologiwm was peculiar to the latter type of theater 
and was the top of the proscenium which now stood on the stage at the rear 
(Fig. 24). ‘There was no stage in the Greek theater until about the begin- 
ning of the Christian era” (p. 60). The earliest stage in the Athenian theater 
was erected in the Neronian period and was probably only about four feet 
nine inches in height (p. 74). The theater of Vitruvius was of the Graeco- 
Roman type (pp. 79-87, 92-97), as was also the building presupposed by the 
passages in Plutarch and Pollux (pp. 78, 98-103). ‘The only tangible 
argument for a stage of any height in the fifth century is afforded by the 
occurrence of the words dvaBaivey and xaraBaivev” (p. 91). These ‘are 
best explained on the basis of the slight difference in level between the orches- 
tra and the floor of the proscenium colonnade, which was probably elevated 
a step or two above the orchestra and was often used by the dramatic per- 
formers” (p. 91; cf. p. 68). ‘Since the Acharnians was produced in 425 B.c., 
the appearance of dvaBaivew in that play is valuable as affording a terminus 
ante quem for the introduction of a wooden proscenium at Athens” (pp. 91 ff.). 

So excellent is the work thus inadequately outlined and so great the 
service which its publication has rendered that one hesitates to indulge in 
criticisms. Yet many of the conclusions and many of the statements of fact 
invite discussion. A few of these may perhaps be mentioned without seeming 
to be ungracious.! 

1For a criticism of certain archaeological details the reader should consult Pro- 
fessor D. M. Robinson’s excellent review in Classical Weekly, X (1918), 63 ff. 

Book REVIEWS 181 

The statement made on the authority of Dérpfeld that the theater at 
Athens when reconstructed was moved “some fifty feet farther north”’ 
(pp. 68, 65) is, I believe, an error. It can be shown, I think, that the theater 
was moved only thirty feet, but the evidence for this view did not appear until 
the very month in which Professor Flickinger’s book came from the press 
(see my “Key to the Reconstruction of the Fifth-Century Theater at 
Athens,” University of California Publications in Classical Philology, V 
[1918], 55 ff.). If the argument of this paper be sound, it follows that the 
further statement (p. 68) that ‘“‘there are no means of determining whether 
this slight change in site was made at this period [ca. 425 ?] or about 465 B.c., 
when the first scene-building was erected,” is alsoinerror. That the change 
could not have been made in 465 is, I believe, certain. Unfortunately dog- 
matic is the statement (p. 66), after Dérpfeld, that the early “scene-building 
was set up behind the orchestra where the declivity had been,” or (he adds 
in a footnote) “in the south half of the old orchestra in case the orchestra was 
moved fifty feet nearer the Acropolis at this time.” The reason for this 
restriction does not appear. In any case there should have been included 
some discussion of the alternative view that the scene-building was erected 
on the orchestra before the theater was moved, as suggested by von Wilamo- 
witz, Robert, and others. The omission is unfortunate, for the general 
reader, unacquainted as he is apt to be with the special literature of the sub- 
ject, is at the mercy of the author. A few more notes upon such disputable 
points would have greatly increased the usefulness of the book without adding 
materially to its cost. 

The invention of scene-painting is ascribed to the decade ending in 
458 B.c., and, the author continues, “this would mean that at first scenery 
must have been attached directly to the scene-building itself and not inserted 
between the intercolumniations of the proscenium colonnade” (p. 66). 
Why? The only reason adduced is the unsupported assumption that the 
early scene-building had neither parascenia nor a columned proscenium. 
Nor is any reason offered for the hypothesis that the floor of the proscenium 
colonnade was raised a step or two above the level of the orchestra (see 
above). Doubtless the influence of Dérpfeld and Reisch (Das griechische 
Theater) is responsible for this assumption, but the thesis appears not to be 
supported by any valid evidence, and the interpretation of dvaBaivew and 
xataBaivew based thereon is, I believe, false. Dicaeopolis did not set up his 
market in the proscenium, but in the orchestra. 

The question regarding the manner in which the chorus entered the 
orchestra is not satisfactorily treated. The statement that the chorus was 
enabled “‘to enter the orchestra in three files of five men each and to retain 
this formation for their dance movements” (p. 134) does not tell the whole 
story. One searches in vain too for a systematic discussion of the manner of 
acting either of chorus or of actors, and this seems to me to be one of the most 
serious omissions. With the exception of the mask, the costume of the tragic 
actor also receives scant notice. It surely is deserving of more than seven 

182 Boox REVIEWS 

lines, and that too in a footnote (p. 162)! No hint is given that the Rieti 
statuette (Fig. 66) represents an actor of a late period, and the failure to 
reproduce or even to mention the charming actor-relief from the Peiraeus is 
regrettable. The discussion of the use of masks (pp: 221 ff.) does not at all 
points carry conviction. This is particularly true of the thesis that “the 
dramatists sometimes try to explain the immobility of the actor’s mask,” as 
in Sophocles’ Electra. When Electra unexpectedly holds her brother in her 
arms, alive and well, ‘not a spark of joy can scintillate across her wooden 
features, either then or later. Her subsequent passivity is motivated by 
Orestes’ request that she continue her lamentations and not allow their 
mother to read her secret in her radiant face (vss. 1296 ff.),” etc. This 
interpretation is due of course to Hense (Die Modificirung der Maske in 
der griechischen Tragédie [1905], p. 5), but I have always regarded it with 
suspicion. The very expression ¢aidpe mpocury (vs. 1297) gives one pause. 
Moreover (vs. 1227), Electra turns to the chorus and exclaims: & Ararat 
yevaixes, & modiriWes, Spar’ "Opéorny rovde, xrA. Again—and this is over- 
looked both by Hense and by Professor Flickinger—after Electra has 
promised that her mother will never see her face lit up with smiles (vs. 1310), 
she greets the aged attendant with rapturous joy (vss. 1354 ff.). This 
perhaps proves nothing. But Hense’s inept and unimaginative explanation 
is surely as wooden as the alleged ‘“‘ wooden feature” of Electra’s mask. One 
is reminded of Wecklein’s exquisitely poetical interpretation of the marvelous 
line in the Agamemnon (vs. 1267): GAAnv tw’ drys dvr’ éuod wdovri€ere, 
that “der Vers scheint unecht zu sein; denn der vernichtete Kranz kann 

niemanden mehr dienen!’’ ‘‘ Boeotum in crasso jurares aére natum.”’ 
Similarly unconvincing is the statement that in the Eumenides “the 
furies sing their first song behind the scenes .... ; presently Apollo 

drives them from his sanctuary into the orchestra” (p. 151; ef. p. 250). 
Later (p. 287) this scene is somewhat differently interpreted and the sug- 
gestion is proposed that possibly the ghost of Clytemnestra also “is merely 
heard from within the scene-building.” To my thinking this is inconceivable. 
Again the statement (p. 259) that ‘‘a whole trilogy was no longer than an 
average modern play” cannot be right. The time required for the presenta- 
tion of the average modern play does not exceed two and a half hours. The 
unabridged Hamlet contains 3,924 lines and requires five hours, exclusive of 
intermissions, for its performance. Macbeth consists of but 2,000 lines. 
But the average length of a Sophoclean or a Euripidean trilogy was evi- 
dently about 4,500 verses. Even the Oresteia of Aeschylus comprises 3,800 
verses. Miiller (Biihnenalterthiimer, p. 323) estimates the time required for a 
tetralogy as from seven to eight hours. 

The bibliographies constitute one of the valuable features of the book, 
and yet there are several rather serious omissions. Indeed, a close scrutiny 
of the bibliography reveals the fact that, with the exception of a few reviews 
by the author himself and two or three works mentioned in the Preface, there 

Boox REvIEWws 183 

are only five references to articles or treatises which appeared more recently 
than 1915. The reason for this is puzzling. Doubtless the war should be 
held responsible for some of the omissions, but it is to be hoped that when 
the book is revised the bibliography will be made somewhat fuller—why, for 
example, are only two of Robert’s many able articles cited ?—and brought 
down to date. The two indexes are full and executed with gratifying care. 
Personally, however, I should prefer to have the two combined; it would 
save the reader a considerable amount of time. One misses the words 
“entrances,” “painting,” ‘theophanies,” and “theoric fund.” Under the 
word “curtain” the last citation should be page 311. Other misprints are 
rare. There are two on page 302, and the date of Felsch’s dissertation 
(p. 246) is given incorrectly. It should be 1906. ; 

Many other matters invite comment, but their consideration would 
greatly lengthen this review, which is already too long. For the production 
of so monumental and so trustworthy a volume Professor Flickinger deserves 
both gratitude and congratulation. 


Notice sur le manuscrit Latin 4788 du vatican. By ANTOINE 
Tuomas. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1917. 

This is a very interesting document and Professor Thomas has done a 
service to mediaeval and indirectly to classical scholarship by publishing in 
sufficient extracts its substance, with Index and glossary. A Pierre de Paris 
had been known since 1692 as author of a manuscript translation. of the 
Psalms, and the present manuscript by a Pierre de Paris was described in 
1889 by M. Ernest Langlois. Professor Thomas establishes the identity of 
the two Pierres by the style and also by the fact that Simon Le Rat, to whom 
the translation of the Psalms is dedicated, lived at Cyprus from 1299 to 1310, 
where the author of the commentary tells us he also lived and where he says 
he wrote a translation of Aristotle’s Politics and a work on philosophy dedi- 
cated to the Seigneur de Tyr, i.e., Amauri de Lusignan. The naiveté and 
the spelling of Pierre’s fourteenth-century French are intelligible and very 
amusing to the amateur. Professor Thomas says that it shows the influence 
of the dialect of Venice, and his glossary records about fifty words not found 
in the Dictionnaire de Vancienne langue francaise of Frédéric Godefroy. 
Leaving this topic to reviewers of special competence I will merely give a few 
illustrations of the main interest of the document and the light it throws on 
the culture and classical scholarship of the early fourteenth century. 

Pierre is not able to construe Boethius’ Latin correctly, still less his Greek 
quotations, and the few names of classical literature and mythology and the 
anecdotes of ancient history of which he has heard are jumbled in inextri- 
cable confusion in his mind. We could almost match from this single treatise 

184 . Book REVIEWS 

the list in Professor Kittredge’s ‘‘Chaucer’s Lollius” (Harvard Studies, 
XXVIII, 81) of the howlers which a poet might commit in the fourteenth 
century. Alcibiades is a seductive damsel wooed by Alexander and Aristotle, 
Epygurien is derived from the Greek epy, “under,” and gyros, “pig,”’ and 
means “‘home menant vie de pore.” Socrates was poisoned by the roy Got 
in presence of Plato because he refused to destroy two virtuous men, Filatus 
and Omer. Vesseus (Vesuvius) is a furiosité who reigns in hell. Parmenides 
masquerades as Carparmentes. It would be easy to infer too much from 
this. Tredwell’s Apollonius of Tyana, published in New York in 1886, would 
furnish almost as good an anthology of Quiproquos. Anything may happen 
when a careless and confident sciolist mixes his notes and his memories. 
What Professor Thomas calls sa suffisance imperturbable leads Pierre on the 
trail of Boethius into many fields where a modern scholar would venture only 
with the guidance of a reference library. Pierre bluffs his way through and 
imperturbably refers to his alleged translation of the Politics or the De Caelo 
for things not dreamed of in Aristotle’s philosophy. Professor Thomas does 
not attempt to write an exhaustive monograph on the sources and psychology 
of Pierre’s blunders. A plausible explanation of the strange jargon which he 
makes of Boethius’ Greek quotations would be the hypothesis that he con- 
sulted some Cyprian Barlaam who, himself unable to translate the classical 
Greek, substituted for it edifying short sentences of his own which Pierre 
took down by ear, together with his guide’s translation of them. 

A specialist in mediaeval philosophy could perhaps discover the sources 
of the singular disquisition on time in Pierre’s prologue. He himself refers 
to the liber de causis attributed to Aristotle. But that affirms (sec. 4) 
prima rerum creatarum est esse, while Pierre’s thesis is (p. 11) “la premiere 
creature que nostre Sire Dieus forma si fu le Tens.’’ Pierre goes on to argue 
Platonically or neo-Platonically “que les formes de toutes les choses estoyent 
en la pensée de Dieu avant que le Tens.” But no ‘‘ forme esperituele’’ outside 
of the Trinity could have been produced outside of or before time in the 
Non-Tens. For in that case such forms would be sempiternal and without 
beginning, like God himself. This is derived directly or indirectly from 
Plato’s Timaeus. But I cannot give the source, if any, of Pierre’s ingenious 
argument that time is a cause of life in creatures and a living thing itself 
because it grows, six hours annually, necessitating an interpolated day every 
four years. 

The reference (p. 42) to a book of Aristotle ‘‘apele le livre des Derreniers”’ 
at first seems very blind, but on reflection it is obviously the Analytica 
Posteriora, and there we in fact find au comensement Pierre’s statement “que 
toutes les doctrines et toutes les sciences sont fait de une conoissance de 
devant.’’ These are only specimens of the dissertation which Professor 
Thomas declines to write and which this reviewer at present has no ambition 
to undertake.