The Book takes the approach of a critique of the prevailing international environmental law-making processes and their systemic shortcomings. It aims to partly redesign the current international environmental law-making system in order to promote further legislation and more effectively protect the natural environment and public health. Through case studies and doctrinal analyses, an array of initial questions guides the reader through a variety of factors influencing the development of International Environmental Law. After a historical analysis, commencing from the Platonic philosophy (...) up to present, the Book holds that some of the most decisive factors that could create an optimized law-making framework include, among others: progressive voting processes, science-based secondary international environmental legislation, new procedural rules, that enhance the participation in the law-making process by both experts and the public and also review the implementation, compliance and validity of the science-base of the laws. The international community should develop new law-making procedures that include expert opinion. Current scientific uncertainties can be resolved either by policy choices or by referring to the so-called „sound science.“ In formulating a new framework for environmental lawmaking processes, it is essential to re-shape the rules of procedure, so that experts have greater participation in those, in order to improve the quality of International Environmental Law faster than the traditional processes that mainly embrace political priorities generated by the States. Science serves as one of the main tools that will create the next generation of International Environmental Law and help the world transition to a smart, inclusive, sustainable future. (shrink)

Pluralism's renaissance, thanks to William Connolly, Chantal Mouffe and others, has established its position as the distinctive voice of late modern democracy. It thus calls for an explicit theory of tragedy to address the antagonisms and enmities it reflects and fosters. Treating Machiavelli, Rousseau, Nietzsche, Weber and Camus as members of a minor tradition of thought, I articulate a political conception of tragedy that flows not from the failures of politics but, ironically, from politics at its best. A tragic understanding (...) can provide a valuable re-description of intractable political conflicts that simultaneously de-moralizes them; it can also furnish vibrant ethical-political resources for an ethos of commitment and accountability suited to life in a democratic pluralist polity. Building on these thinkers, I propose the introduction of a Dionysian festival that subverts, even disables, mere patriotic celebration and turn to a classic in American cinema, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, to explore a tragic conception of political life that can be a source of inspiration and energy in a revitalized democratic community. (shrink)

There have been numerous attempts to understand the role and importance of the Great Dionysia in Athens, and it is a festival that has been made crucial to varied and important characterizations of Greek culture as well as the history of drama or literature. Recent scholarship, however, has greatly extended our understanding of the formation of fifth-century Athenian ideology—in the sense of the structure of attitudes and norms of behaviour—and this developing interest in what might be called a ‘civic (...) discourse’ requires a reconsideration of the Great Dionysia as a city festival. For while there have been several fascinating readings of particular plays with regard to thepolisand its ideology, there is still a considerable need to place the festival itself in terms of the ideology of thepolis. Indeed, recent critics in a justifiable reaction away from writers such as Gilbert Murray have tended rather to emphasize on the one hand that the festival is a place of entertainment rather than religious ritual, and on the other hand that the plays should be approached primarily asdramaticperformances. (shrink)

The following article challenges the traditional reading of the Rural Dionysia scene in Aristophanes’ Acharnians. It is often assumed that the text contains a reference to an animal sacrifice, which is arguably absent from this comedy. Moreover, the vast majority of scholars claim that the lines 244 ff. were uttered after the procession of worshippers reached the altar in the orchestra. However, as I argue, these verses were most probably spoken by the characters in front of the door of (...) the comic hero’s house and only subsequently did the procession form and move towards the altar. (shrink)

En este libro tratamos de evaluar la veracidad y de determinar el peso real de los contenidos de la doctrina órfica en Platón, a través del examen exhaustivo de los textos antiguos de que disponemos sobre este movimiento religioso, textos que son, además, presentados y traudcidos en un apéndice final. La indagación pone de manifiesto que hay numerosos puntos del orfismo que inspiraron el pensamiento de Platón, pero que los sometió a una profunda modificación para acoplarlos a sus propias ideas.

The Alcibiades purports to offer us the very first conversation between Socrates and Alcibiades. Previously, it seems, Socrates has just lingered at the back of a crowd of lovers looking rather stupid. This is hardly surprising. Socrates did look stupid, and both Aristophanes and his rival Ameipsias thought that he was good enough material for a laugh to present him on stage in their comedies at the Dionysia of 423 BC. The only slight surprise here is that Alcibiades, though (...) he is mentioned in other Aristophanic comedies, is never actually named in the Clouds. One might suspect that the young man Pheidippides, whom Socrates exposes to the corrupting influence of philosophic argument and the ensuing amoral attitudes, bears some relationship to Alcibiades. He shares with him a partially Alcmaeonid background, a passion for horse-racing, and an interesting lisp, but as the play stands Pheidippides is never seen as having been in any way close to Socrates.1 Their relationship is in fact akin to one between the principal of a college and an individual first-year student, with no sinister overtones whatever. I doubt that the relationship with Alcibiades had by that stage been seen as in any way unusual; either its bizarre nature was a well-kept secret, or it was not seen as very unusual after all. Alcibiades had experienced the attentions of a host of would-be lovers, so what would have made Socrates special? (shrink)

This article revisits the issue of female choruses in Classical Athens and aims to provide an alternative to the common pessimistic view that emphasizes the restriction of female choreia by the gender ideology of the democracy. We agree that Athens did not have the kind of female choral culture that is documented for Sparta or Argos, but a review of the evidence suggests that women did dance regularly both in the city itself and elsewhere in Attica, although not at the (...) ideologically most marked occasions such as the City Dionysia. The latter part of the article turns from actual choruses to their representation in textual and iconographic sources. An important reason why modern scholarship sometimes underestimates the extent of female choreia in Athens, we suggest, is that Athenian sources are often purposefully elusive in their representation of female choruses. (shrink)

This paper analyzes and discusses related passages of Euripides’ „Electra“ and Aristophanes’ „Wasps“ in order to suggest a date for the performance of the „Electra“. Particularly interesting are: Ar. „Wasps“ 615 and Eur. „Electra“ 985; „Wasps“ 1490, 1492, 1530 and „Electra“ 860-861, which seem to reveal more complex dynamics of dependence in the Aristophanic attempt to mock the language excessively hyperbolic of Euripides. In my opinion these puns and innuendos may endorse the dating of Euripides’ „Electra“ at the Great (...) class='Hi'>Dionysia of 423 b. C. one year before the performance of Aristophanes’ „Wasps“. (shrink)

The Theater Is always Dying traces the resilience of live theatrical performance in the face of competing performative forms like cinema, television and contemporary streaming services on personal, hand-held devices and focuses on theater’s ability to continue as a significant cultural, community and intellectual force in the face of such competition. To echo Beckett, we might suggest, then, that theater may be at its best at its dying since its extended demise seems self-regenerating. Whether or not you “go out of (...) the theatre more human than when you went in”, as Ariane Mnouchkin suggests, or whether you’ve had a sense that you’ve been part of, participated in a community ritual, a Dionysia, or whether or not you’ve felt that you’ve been affected by a performative, an embodied intellectual and emotional human experience may determine how you judge the state of contemporary theater. You may not always know the answer to those questions immediately after the theatrical encounter, or ever deliberately or consciously, but something, nonetheless, may have been taking its course. You may emerge “more human than when you went in”. (shrink)

Simply by formulating a question about the nature of ancient Greek poetry or music, any modern English speaker is already risking anachronism. In recent years especially, scholars have reminded one another that the words ‘music’ and ‘poetry’ denote concepts with no easy counterpart in Greek. μουσική in its broadest sense evokes not only innumerable kinds of structured movement and sound but also the political, psychological and cosmic order of which song, verse and dance are supposed to be perceptible manifestations. Likewise, (...) ποίησις and the ποιητικὴ τέχνη can encompass all kinds of ‘making’, from the assembly of a table to the construction of a rhetorical argument. Of course, there were specifically artistic usages of these terms—according to Plato, ‘musical and metrical production’ was the default meaning of ποίησις in everyday speech. But even in discussions which restrict themselves to the sphere of human art, we find nothing like the neat compartmentalization of harmonized rhythmic melody on the one hand, and stylized verbal composition on the other, which is often casually implied or expressly formulated in modern comparisons of ‘music’ with ‘poetry’. For many ancient theorists the City Dionysia, a dithyrambic festival and a recitation of Homer all featured different versions of one and the same form of composition, a μουσική or ποιητική to which λόγοι, γράμματα and συλλαβαί were just as essential as ἁρμονία, φθόγγοι, ῥυθμός and χρόνοι. (shrink)

Découverte près d'Alivéri en Eubée, cette importante inscription du milieu du IVe siècle av. J.-C. est demeurée longtemps inédite. Il s'agit d'une grande stèle amputée en haut et à gauche, où se lisent encore 35 lignes gravées stoichédon (à raison de 51 lettres par ligne après restitution). Sur la base du lieu de trouvaille, de la langue et du contenu, on peut rapporter à la même stèle le fragment IG XII 9, 190, en dépit du fait que ce petit morceau (...) — perdu depuis longtemps — n'a pas été présenté comme un texte stoichédon par son unique copiste. Ce rapprochement permet de restituer le frag ment en question (A) plus sûrement qu'on n'avait pu le faire jusqu'ici : c'est le début de la loi, avec l'énoncé des récompenses prévues pour le tyrannoctone, modulées en fonction de son statut politique et social. Le texte du nouveau morceau (B) se compose lui-même de deux sections distinguées par une asyndète significative. La première section (1. 1-17) comporte une série de clauses ayant pour objet la protection de la constitution démocratique contre toute tentative de mise en place d'un régime tyrannique, notamment par le biais d'une motion subversive : le contrevenant se verra non seulement privé de ses droits civiques (discussion sur la notion d'atimia à cette date) et de ses biens (confiscation par l'État — avec une dîme pour Artémis Amarysia, dont la prééminence dans le panthéon érétrien est ainsi confirmée), mais proscrit à perpétuité (interdiction d'inhumer ses restes dans l'Érétriade ou Érétrias gê; impunité et même récompense accordées à son meurtrier). Cette première section s'achève par une imprécation solennelle visant à décourager toute atteinte contre les dispositions de la loi elle-même (rôle intéressant des prêtres et des prêtresses — avec le mot rare, sinon même nouveau, hiéris pour hiéreia — lors des Dionysia et des Artémisia) ; entre les termes de cette imprécation et le libellé des grands serments « internationaux » (attestés à partir du IVe siècle précisément) il y a plus d'un point commun à relever. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-StateSheila MurnaghanSeaford, Richard. Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. xx + 455 pp. Cloth, $75.00.In his stellar commentary on Euripides’ Cyclops, and in a string of impressive and suggestive articles, Richard Seaford has already established himself as our era’s leading expert on a question that is both perennial and currently pressing: (...) what does tragedy have to do with Dionysus? Whatever that question meant to the ancients who first raised it in the form of the proverbial complaint “ouden pros ton Dionuson,” to us it expresses a felt need to contextualize tragedy, to overcome our habits of reading the surviving plays solely as self-contained literary texts. Our starting point for this inquiry must be the setting of tragedy’s original performance in the Great Dionysia, and a fully satisfying answer must address the character of the Dionysia as simultaneously religious and political, a ritual in honor of a god that was also a self-conscious expression of the Athenian polis. In a study that is explicitly framed as a historicist counter to the prevailing literary (or as Seaford has it “formalist”) approaches to tragedy, Seaford here excavates that junction of religion and politics, locating the origins—and thus the essence—of tragedy in a weaving together of several rituals, all of which promoted the emerging city-state.The core of Seaford’s argument, and the central contribution of his study, is in this resolutely ritualist theory of the origins of tragedy. Drawing on a deep and detailed knowledge of Greek religion, and building on his own previous demonstrations of the pervasiveness of ritual themes in the extant plays, Seaford argues that tragic drama was created through the making public of rites of initiation into the Dionysian mysteries; these rites were originally the secret practices of the all-female thiasos but were converted into tragedy through their public revelation and their enactment by male performers. The plots of tragedy dramatized the aetiological myths that grounded Dionysian cult, such as the myth of Pentheus, but also other rituals, especially hero-cult, that similarly fostered the creation of the polis.For Seaford, the defining feature of the polis is the transcendence of the autonomous household in the creation of a larger and cohesive civic identity. Dionysus is, above all, the deity who presides over that process, and this accounts for his central role in tragedy. Dionysus is a foreigner without internal allegiances; he traverses the space between the city’s margins and its center, thereby defining the city’s shared territory; and he draws women out of the household into his thiasos, thereby countering the possessiveness and exclusivity of the individual household. But the creation of trans-familial social cohesion is also key to the non-Dionysian myths and rituals incorporated into tragedy. Hero-cult, for [End Page 316] example, transforms the divisive private funeral into a unifying experience of general lamentation that leads to benefits for the whole community. Many of tragedy’s non-Dionysian myths, especially those of the Theban cycle, rehearse the destruction of the introverted royal family with positive results, usually through the foundation of a cult, for the community as a whole. This last point is among the most breathtaking in the book, and it helps to solve one of the main mysteries surrounding tragedy, which is why the polis would sponsor a form of art dedicated to representing terrifying, irremediable disasters.What makes this theory so compelling is the way Seaford manages to avoid a reductive identification of tragedy with any one ritual while finding a consistent thread among the many rituals that converge to shape the genre. He argues persuasively for seeing the suffering heroes of tragedy as reflecting simultaneously the cult hero, whose universal lamentation binds a community together; the scapegoat, whose expulsion also reinforces community; the initiate, whose isolation and confusion precede his reintegration into society; and the grasping monarch, whose downfall frees up the circulation of women and goods. He is able to find unforced connections between what have often seemed like irreconcilable clues to tragedy’s origins... (shrink)

I. We know fairly well how the City Dionysia at Athens was celebrated in classical times. But although the numerous dramatic festivals of the Hellenistic period were in many respects modelled on the Athenian Dionysia, it is not clear how the performances at these festivals were organized. The difficulty arises from the fact that apart from a few great centres which may have had their own theatre production, playwrights, actors, etc., the majority of cities depended on the travelling (...) of Dionysos’.1 It seems that the of Dionysiac artists were formed early in the third century. Three major Dionysiac associations—the Athenian, the Isthmian and Nemean, and the Ionian and Hellespontian—operated in Greece, Asia Minor, and the islands in Hellenistic times. The question is how these associations functioned. Were they theatrical companies as well as professional guilds? Did they undertake the organization of musical and dramatic performances at various festivals? Was there a division of territories between the and were certain festivals dominated by certain guilds? (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Making the Aristophanic AudienceNiall W. SlaterAristophanic comedy is rich in address to its audience and comments on the audience's behavior. It must be said at once, however, that this is not dispassionate reporting: Aristophanes' purpose in commenting on his audience is nearly always to redirect its attention or to shape or reshape the behavior of that audience. A study of the full extent of Aristophanes' attempts to shape the (...) response of his audience is beyond the scope of discussion here, where the focus is primarily on his strategies for controlling and directing the attention and response of his audience in general. Let me also make one methodological assumption explicit at this point. When the characters or chorus in Aristophanes remark on audience behavior, these comments must have some basis in reality in order either to be humorous or to influence that behavior: if things are not quite as Aristophanes describes them, they nonetheless must be close enough to reality for the audience to understand and react to them.The most basic problem of audience response in the theater is to make sure there is a response. Let me therefore begin simply with the problem of attention and attention span in the theater. There is still dispute as to whether the program of the City Dionysia was shortened during the war years from five to three comedies. I believe (against Wolfgang Luppe) that it was, which helps explain the comedy of a passage in Birds.1 In the play's parabasis, the chorus issues an invitation to the spectators to join their new bird city. If they join the city of birds, the audience is told, they will acquire wings, which will allow them to escape human limitations. In a superb parody of the common tragic choral theme of "I wish I were a bird and could fly away from here," the chorus enumerates the advantages of wings. One is, they would allow the spectators to fly away from the boring performances of tragedy! [End Page 351].(Birds 785–89)There's nothing better or more pleasant than to grow wings. Now, if one of you spectators had wings, when he was hungry he could escape the tragic performances, fly off home, have lunch, and then when he was full, fly back here again to us.Another advantage would be to slip away for a quick sexual encounter:.(793–96)And if any of you happens to be carrying on an affair with a married woman, and he sees the lady's husband in the Boule's seats, he again could have flown away from you with his wings, then after screwing her flown from her place back here again.These jokes work best, I submit, if Birds comes on in the afternoon, for they suggest a certain waning of audience interest and distraction by hunger as the morning's tragic tetralogy marched on. The solution? Skip the boring tragedy bits, head home for lunch, but do come back for "us," that is, the comedy at the end of the day's program.2Aristophanes is of course far too sensible to suggest directly that the spectators might be bored by the comedies on offer. He does allude to the problem of attention span in another way. Ecclesiazusae was probably produced in 393 B.C., well after the end of the war, when the [End Page 352] Dionysia certainly offered a full five comedies. At the end of the play, the chorus says it has a small request:.(1154–62)I want to make a small request of the judges: that the clever ones, remembering the clever stuff in this play, vote for me; those having a good laugh, vote for me because of the laughs; in fact, I want just about everybody to vote for me; and don't let the lot be any fault for us, that we drew the first position, but you must remember all these things. Don't transgress your oath, but always judge the choruses fairly, and don't imitate those low–class trollops, who always only remember their most recent customers.We shall come back to this passage when we consider... (shrink)

Une inscription trouvée à Chalcis célèbre l'exploit d'un Callinikos qui lors des Dionysia a fait 55 fois le tour de l'orchestra, porté sur une perche, et qui a soulevé seul le phallos. Rapprochement avec diverses traditions populaires.

In Michel de Certeau’s Invention of the Everyday, improvisational community dance function as a catalyst for the subversive art of the oppressed, via its ancient Greek virtue/power of mētis, being “foxlike.” And in de Certeau’s The Possession of Loudun, this foxlike dance moves to the stage, as an improv chorus that disrupts the events at Loudon when reimagined as a tetralogy of plays at City Dionysia. More precisely, Loudun’s tetralogy could be interpreted as a series of three tragedies and (...) one comedy, the latter of which involves the chorine nuns’ channeling of anomie into a proto-feminist transfiguration. More precisely, the tactical prowess of the nuns’ chorus leader, namely the prioress Jeanne des Anges, elevates her to the status of an angelic prophet, which in de Certeau’s theatrical dancing critique makes her the Loudun tetralogy’s Dionysian, foxlike mage. In conclusion, this analysis suggests de Certeau’s relevance for revolutionary social justice today. (shrink)

Intertwined with the celebration of Athenian democratic institutions, we find in the "Oresteia" another chain of interactions, in which the elite families of Argos, Phokis, Athens, and even Mount Olympos employ the traditional aristocratic relationships of xenia and hetaireia to renegotiate their own status within-and at the pinnacle of-the civic order, and thereby guarantee the renewed prosperity of their respective communities. The capture of Troy is the result of a joint venture by the Atreidai and the Olympian "family" . Although (...) Agamemnon falls victim to his own mishandling of aristocratic privilege, his son is raised by doryxenoi in Phokis , a relationship which is mirrored by that with the Olympian "allies," Hermes and Apollo. Orestes' recovery of his father's position is thus shown to depend upon a network of "guest-friends" and "sworn-comrades," reinforced by the traditional language of oaths and reciprocal loyalty. In the Eumenides, the alliance between the Olympian and Argive royal families is re-invoked as the basis both for Athena's protection of Orestes, and finally for Zeus' concern for his daughter's Athenian dependents. In contrast to this successful "networking," and the resultant benefits that trickle down to the citizens of Argos and Athens, stand the seditious oaths and perverted "comradeship" of Aigisthos and Klytaimestra; likewise, the Erinyes are unable to draw on equivalent claims of pedigree or xenia to those enjoyed by Orestes and Apollo. Like all Greek tragedies, the "Oresteia" presents the action through constantly shifting viewpoints, those of aristocrats and commoners, leaders and led, while the propriety of this hierarchy itself is never questioned. And although the action moves from monarchical Argos to an incipiently democratic Athens, paradoxically we hear less and less about "ordinary," lower-class citizens as the trilogy progresses. Thus, at the same time that the trilogy reinforces the sense of collective survival and civic values , it also suggests that these can be maintained only through the proper interventions of their traditional leaders. Aeschylus' plays were composed during a time when the Athenian democracy was still developing, and elite leadership and patronage were still taken for granted. Attic tragedy and the City Dionysia may be seen as a site of negotiation between rival ideologies within the polis, wherein a kind of "solidarity without consensus" is achieved. Written and staged by the elite under license from the demos, the dramas play out dangerous stories of royal risk-taking, crime, glory, and suffering, in such a way as to reassure the citizen audience simultaneously of their own collective invulnerability, and of the unique value of their leading families. (shrink)

This paper presents a new model for how the voting worked at the Athenian dramatic competitions, and demonstrates its viability mathematically. Previous proposals have either failed to take full account of the ancient sources or have not considered all the possible permutations of judging results. As is generally recognized, ten votes were cast, but in most circumstances not all were counted. Sections I-IV consider the tragic competition at the Dionysia, in which three competitors vied for the prize. For the (...) questions we consider, two likely cases are examined (when the votes are divided 4-3-3 and 5-3-2), then a random distribution covering all possible cases, and finally the situation when two competitors are favoured against a third (when the votes are divided 5-5-0, 5-4-1 and 4-4-2). Section I presents the proposal and situates it within the Athenian cultural context. Section II asks how many lots are typically drawn before a victory is obtained. Section III considers how other places are determined. Section IV introduces the question of 'fairness': does the person who receives the most votes actually win? Section V considers adjudication for comedies and at the Lenaia. Section VI considers dithyrambic competitions. (shrink)

Every Greek scholar knows the celebrated lapsus linguae committed by the tragic actor Hegelochus at the Great Dionysia of 408 B.C., when he faltered in his enunciation of line 279 of Euripides' Orestes and gave the impression to the mirthful audience of having said I am surprised, however, that the commentators on this line have only partially explained the reason for its having seemed exceptonally funny.

This article weaves together several lines of thinking in recent work on Euripides, in particular, his innovative approach to traditional dramatic and religious expression, and the overt theatricality of the Bacchae. To the first three choral odes, which are clearly modeled on hymn, should be added other parts of the play, especially its middle scenes (576–976). There, Euripides uses idioms of the theatre—dialogue, messenger speeches, and performance—to express the content found often in hymns, such as a god’s birth, nature, and (...) blessings. At its culmination, this “dramatic hymn” offers an etiology of the Dionysia itself. τὰ νομισθέντα γὰρ αἰεὶ Διόνυσον ὑμνήσω. (“As has always been the custom, I will sing the hymn of Dionysus.”) —Eur. Bacch. 71–72. (shrink)

The formal beginning of comedy is firmly dated to the Dionysia of 486 B.C.E.1 For what preceded it there were at least three ancient candidates: phallic processions, Doric comedy and Susarion. Each is supported by visual evidence of the sixth century B.C.E., each explains certain features of Old Comedy, but all have some anomalies as well. Striking is how many forms of performance attested in the sixth century contained comic elements. All these other forms ceased with the introduction of (...) comedies to the Dionysia in 486 B.C.E., which coincides with the ascendancy of the demos; yet it was not until forty years later that comedy becomes unabashedly political. (shrink)

Philosophical discussions about humour go back to ancient aesthetics, to laughing Democritus and the aporia of Socratic self-irony, to Diogenes the Dog performing tricks on the streets of Athens, and to the lost second book of Aristotle’s Poetics. Dramatized in texts and the arts, the comic emerges not only in popular literature and public events, like Dionysia and Saturnalia, but also in the lives of eminent philosophers in antiquity, the Renaissance, and today. Recently, humour has seen a resurgence in (...) aesthetics, in part owing to the titanic efforts of Noël Carroll. Desiring to learn first-hand about the risky aspects of philosophical wit, Valery Vino invited Noël to engage with a series of remarks and anecdotes borrowed from dead authors, led by Michel de Montaigne, about the nexus between humour and cruelty. In what follows, we consider why humans laugh (sometimes at themselves), what social function cruel humour plays, why a callous sense of humour may be of benefit in the face of life’s horrors, and whether we can hold each other morally culpable for vicious jokes. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Aristophanes' Thesmophoriazousai and the Challenges of Comic Translation:The Case of William Arrowsmith's Euripides AgonistesElizabeth ScharffenbergerThesmophoriazousai is conspicuously absent from the well-known and widely used series of Aristophanes translations that, under the editorial supervision of William Arrowsmith, was published originally by the University of Michigan Press and then taken up by New American Library. This is not to say, however, that a translation of the comedy was never composed for (...) this series. Arrowsmith took the task upon himself and began his translation of Thesmophoriazousai some time before 1960 when the Aristophanes series was at the height of its production; in later years, he revised his text at least once, and the evidence points to 1968-1973 as the principal period during which the translation was reworked. The cover page on the manuscript that he sent me in 1991 indicates that an introduction and notes (standard in this series) were to accompany the translation, but the package I received contained only the translated text, and I have no idea whether the notes and commentary were ever composed or finished. The text of the translation has a handful of typographical errors and minor inconsistencies in the directions on costuming and staging, which seem to mark the project as an arrested work in progress.The unpublished creation of a renowned classicist who was also a prolific and respected translator, Arrowsmith's Thesmophoriazousai — titled on the manuscript's cover page, Euripides Agonistes (Thesmophoriazousae)— provides an exciting venue for exploring the challenges involved in translating Aristophanes for contemporary English-speaking audiences. My purposes in this paper are thus twofold. I want to examine selected aspects of Arrowsmith's version of this comedy and also advance some general ideas about the challenges involved in translating the plays of Aristophanes and, for that matter, any comic work. My endeavor on both scores will be both preliminary and cursory; there is no way to do justice to every feature of this translation in a few pages or to [End Page 429] produce a complete theory of comic translation. But I hope that I can suggest a reasonably systematized foundation for analyzing the choices Arrowsmith made in his rendering of Thesmophoriazousai and, at the same time, present a set of criteria that might have broader use to people who rely on all kinds of comic translations.The "Frames" of Comic TranslationThere are very few works that treat, from either practical or theoretical perspectives, the translation of comic works and comic devices such as parodies and puns. These works include an essay on translating Ari-stophanes published in 1960 by Arrowsmith, titled "The Lively Conventions of Translation," as well as Douglass Parker's 1992-93 Arion essay in Arrowsmith's memory and André Lefevere's Translating Literature: Practice and Theory in a Comparative Literature Context. Their consensus is that translating comedy, especially Aristophanic comedy, poses formidable and unique challenges.1The most obvious challenge is the topicality of jokes and comic scenarios. According to Arrowsmith, "It is initially the hard facts of culture that most torment the translator of Greek comedy.... Tragedy... keeps a decent distance from common life, but comedy dumps into the translator's lap an intolerable profusion of things—odd bits of clothing, alien cuisine... unfamiliar currency, etc." (1960, 123). Thesmophoriazousai bears out this observation; it overflows with difficult "things" and "hard facts" to translate, beginning with the many props and elements of costume that come into play in the prologue with the appearance of Agathon and the dressing of the Kinsman, and including such crucial items as Mica's wineskin "baby." The problem of "translating" these objects is compounded by the challenges involved in making intelligible the comedy's preoccupation with Euripides and its many-layered engagement with Euripidean tragedy, which give rise to the parodies of Telephus, Palamedes, Helen, and Andromeda. These parodies go hand in hand with countless theatrical in-jokes and self-conscious references to local Athenian theatrical practices. Then there are the play's festal performance context (the Dionysia) and festal setting (the Thesmophoria), its allusions to local forensic and judicial procedures, and its caricatures of figures such as Agathon and Cleisthenes who, like Euripides, would have... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 123.3 (2002) 369-406 [Access article in PDF] The Body And Its Representations In Aristophanes' Thesmophoriazousai:Where Does The Costume End? Eva Stehle Aristophanes' Thesmophoriazousaiis a rich and funny play, but it gives the impression of lacking a sustained point. Theater directors can happily stage it, subverting Aristophanes by casting women and recasting the text to speak to modern disputes over gender, sex, and politics, as Mary-Kay (...) Gamel has done so wonderfully (see her article in this volume). But the student of comedy who wishes to study the play in the context of its original production in 411, probably at the City Dionysia, has a harder time. Because it has no overt political theme it was for long passed over as a paignion, an escape from relevance in the tense atmosphere of that spring. As a "woman play" it seems less satisfactory than Lysistrata or Ekklesiazousai because it has no female lead character and Euripides' nameless kinsman (whom I call "Inlaw") upstages the women and their concerns. 1 With the current interest in performance and the metatheatrical aspects of comedy, Thesmophoriazousai has finally come into its own as a sly dialogue on theater and ritual, comedy versus tragedy, and gender. 2 But the older view remains in effect that the play has no politics. At the same time, it is assimilated to Aristophanes' other plays in its thematics, while its striking anomalies go unremarked. As a result, it still does not quite come into focus. [End Page 369]As a play about ritual and theater, Thesmophoriazousai is said to absorb women's ritual and restage it within its own festival setting at the City Dionysia. Yet this is the only one of Aristophanes' surviving plays in which the principal male characters exit the stage before the end of the play. Here they flee, in female dress to boot, leaving the chorus to play out the final scene with the Scythian slave. 3 Euripides and Inlaw do not share in the fun of sending the slave running in one wrong direction then another. And the play ends as it began, on Nesteia, the day of fasting for the women performing the Thesmophoria. 4 No revelry brings on the transition to feast and renewal that the audience probably expected. No procession points the way to a new instauration created by the comedy. 5 Given the importance of processions in Athenian life as an expression of community revival, this is a speaking absence. 6As a play about tragedy and comedy, Thesmophoriazousai is said to show the triumph of comedy over tragedy as the more encompassing and flexible art form. The plots of tragedy fail to rescue Inlaw, while a comic plot succeeds: Euripides brings on a dancing girl, Elaphion, who seduces the Scythian slave away for sex while Euripides frees Inlaw. But Euripides' final trick is no comic plot. In the Aristophanic comic plot the [End Page 370] hero wins a desirable young woman, often one whose name promises new fertility, peace, or power; he does not give one away to the blocking figure. 7 Euripides also capitulates to the women, promising never to speak ill of them again. Only by relinquishing both triumph and sex (and thereby also festivity) does he salvage his poor kinsman's life. Euripides' plot fit for a "barbarian nature" (1129) is rather a farcical version of his own rescue-play plot: like Helen and Andromeda it involves deceiving the blocking figure, which allows the principals to escape while leaving others (chorus or a god) to thwart the chase. But its success is based on abandoning pure representation and giving the "real" (within the world of the play) woman away to the internal audience in order to rescue a pseudo-woman.As for gender representation in the play, most analysis holds that men prevail. Different commentators take Aristophanes to be revealing that women on stage are all really men, or questioning what a woman really is since she is the very figure of mimesis, or showing that women deserve... (shrink)

Revising Clouds for publication some five years after its third-place showing in the City Dionysia of 423 b.c., Aristophanes retooled the first parabasis to praise the play's propriety, omitting as it did distasteful matter and gratuitous buffoonery, which—along with the judges’ crassness—accounted, he says, for its failure.

This paper considers further evidence that five comic poets as opposed to three competed at the Lenaia and City Dionysia festivals in Athens during the Peloponnesian War. Aristophanes’ abuse of his comic rivals Phrynichos, Ameipsias and Lykis in the opening scene ofFrogs, produced at the Lenaia of 405, is interpreted as a response to his immediate competitors at the dramatic contest that year. A survey of the evidence elsewhere in comedy suggests that comic poets usually reserved such attacks on (...) rival poets for occasions when all were in direct competition at the same festival. Further analysis of Aristophanes’ competitive strategies also suggests these poets immediate participation in the festival and therefore that five poets competed at the Lenaia that year. (shrink)