'Why should I mention Io?'aspects of choral narration in Greek tragedy

‘WHY SHOULD I MENTION IO?’ ASPECTS OF CHORAL NARRATIONIN GREEK TRAGEDY1

Why should I mentionThe Inachaean daughter, loved of Zeus?Her whom of old the gods, More provident than kind,Provided with four hoofs, two horns, one tail, A gift not asked for …

Why should I mention Io? Why indeed?I have no notion why.

(Housman, Fragment of a Greek tragedy, orig. publ. 1883)

the motivation for including the narrative providedexplicitly by the narrator never entirely concurs withhis real motives for telling the story.2

I

The study of narrative, narratology, has for some decades now been a well-establishedsubdiscipline within the large field of critical methodology.3 Even classical scholarsgenerally resistant to theory have found it acceptable. In part this can be explained byits classical ancestry: it was Plato who emphasised the importance of distinguishingnarrator-voice and character-voice, and Aristotle who identified some of the keyelements constituting plot structured as story.4 Part of the success of narratology is also

1 A version of this paper was delivered at the Cambridge Philological Society on 9 February 2006, and Iam grateful to those present for their helpful and constructive criticism. I also owe much to the anonymousreferees of the journal for astringent comment, and to Christopher Pelling, Bruno Currie and Elton Barkerfor written annotations on successive drafts.

2 Pfeijffer in de Jong, Narrators 225 (see n. 6). Very similarly Currie 2005, 79–80, citing Miller 1993–4.3 The founding father is generally agreed to be Genette (Eng. tr. 1980 from French 1972); for other

important earlier studies see Brooks 1984, Chatman 1978; an excellent general study is Bal 1985(substantially revised as Bal 1997). Lodge 1977 and 1981 is eclectic in method but admirably lucid and insightful in his close readings. Prince 1987 is a useful glossary, and Cobley 2001 a handbook. Fora recent collection of essays see Phelan and Rabinowitz 2005, and for an anthology/reader McQuillan2000.

4 Pl Rep.3.392c–4b; Arist. Poet. 3.1448a19–28, 10.1452a11–b13, 24.1460a5–11: cf. de Jong 1987, 1–14;Lowe 2000, 3–18, 59–78.

due to the distinction of its classical practitioners.5 Naturally, the main emphasis amongthe studies of classical texts has been upon the major narrative forms, epic and thenovel; but broader examination of the whole generic range has extended the scope ofthis method, and the first volume of an encyclopaedic study of narrator and narrationin classical literature has recently appeared.6 Our concern here is with tragic drama ofthe fifth century in Greece. Because of the absence of an authorial voice, dramaconstitutes a particularly difficult case for analysis in narratological terms; but somevaluable recent studies have shown the way.7 Retrospective narration is sufficientlyprominent to be clearly a generic convention in several parts of the play, most obviouslythe prologue and the messenger speech: both have received detailed studies.8 Narrationof past events is also a frequent feature of choral song in all three dramatists, and thiswill be the main focus of the present paper. In part 1 I survey the field of enquiry infunctional terms, and attempt some generic contextualisation. Part 2, which adopts amore formalist approach, examines the rhetoric of the passages in question. In Part 3two sample passages, from Aeschylus and Euripides, are discussed in more detail.(Sophocles, as will emerge, provides fewer instances of this type of narration.) Part 4briefly sums up and offers a few generalisations.

In what follows I restrict myself to choral passages, and virtually ignore narrativesin other parts of the dramas. This is emphatically not because past events are ignoredor are treated in uninteresting ways in the dialogue portions: obviously there are manypassages in which individual characters narrate, exploit or misrepresent the past. Butthe passages embedded in dialogue are perhaps easier to handle in terms of rhetoricalpersuasion, contrast of characters, use and abuse of shared knowledge for personaladvantage or polemical ends. In a word, narratives in dialogue arise more obviouslyfrom the immediate context. The use of the chorus as the vehicle for narrative is ofparticular critical interest because its relation to the main plot of the play is so muchmore shifting and flexible, not only from play to play but within a specific drama. Thesetwo problematic issues, the place of narrative in drama and the relation of choral songto the action of the drama, can usefully be brought together through the examinationof choral odes containing extended accounts of past mythological events. This approachinvolves setting to one side some other types of enquiry: it is not intended to deny their

5 Above all de Jong 1987, recently reissued (2004); a valuable survey of later work by herself and othersis included in the introduction to the revision; note esp. de Jong 2001. On Homer see also S. Richardson1990. Lowe 2000 is a powerful and important contribution which bears on epic, drama (both tragic andcomic), and the novel. In Latin studies a typically brilliant essay is Fowler 1990 (= Fowler (2000) 40–63),on Virgil.

6 De Jong, Nünlist and Bowie 2004, including essays by I. J. Pfeiffjer on Pindar and Bacchylides (pp.213–32), J. Barrett on Aeschylus (235–54), I. de Jong on Sophocles (255–68) and N. Lowe on Euripides(269–80). I cite these as ‘de Jong, Narrators 257’ et sim.

7 Besides Lowe 2000, esp. 157–87, see esp. Goward 1999 (which, however, has rather little to say aboutthe choral material) and Markantonatos 2002: the opening chapter of the latter includes a very valuablegeneral survey of approaches to tragic narrative from a narratological standpoint. A more recent essay isde Jong 2006 on S. Ajax.

8 Erbse 1984, de Jong 1991.

2 RICHARD RUTHERFORD

importance. There is, for instance, a danger of fragmenting interpretation of the dramain question by considering the choral narratives in isolation; often, indeed, they needto be viewed in relation to other narrative retrospectives by individual characters. Acase in point is Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, in which the chorus’s partial and uncertainexploration of the past, characterised by doubt and anxiety, stands in contrast to theclear vision of the prophetess Cassandra into past and future (though her expression ofher insight is far from clear, and will not be believed by those on stage). For a completereading of a particular play, a synthesis is essential; there remains some value, I believe,in presenting a horizontal survey of a particular lyric practice evident throughout thetragic corpus.

The questions which I shall ask are as follows. How often and where do tragicchoruses provide extensive narratives of past events? Why are such narrativesintroduced, what is their function? Can we see any kind of development in the use ofthis device as the fifth century advances? How far can embedded narratives of this kindbe usefully compared with earlier narrative paradigms, for instance in Pindaric lyric?What can usefully be said about the technique and narratology of these accounts? Itgoes without saying that my account is selective and exploratory: much remains to bedone.

I define the field of relevant passages as those in which the chorus undertakes asustained narrative of past events falling outside the period dramatised by the play inquestion: a secondary question is whether the events are related directly to the eventsof the play or not.9 (For a catalogue of passages, see Appendix 1.)10 By ‘narrative’ Imean a series of events involving named agents, divine or human, described atsufficient length for the audience to grasp a sequence of cause and effect. Hence Iexclude short passing references to other myths, even if a story may be evoked by sucha reference. I do not normally include examples which occupy less than one strophe orequivalent, though there are marginal cases (e.g. Medea 1282–92 is included, but notPhiloct. 676–9, formally similar but shorter than a strophe). There is no doubt roomfor debate about such marginal cases, but that does not affect the validity of thecategory. On these criteria twenty-one of the surviving thirty-one tragic dramas11

include such passages; some additional cases might be disputed. Several plays include

9 In the case of a connected trilogy of plays, some odes of this type may represent recapitulation of eventsdramatised in earlier parts of the trilogy. This is very likely to be the case with parts of A. Septem 720–84,though there is much room for disagreement over the detail: see e.g. the discussions of Winnington-Ingram1977 (revised as Winnington-Ingram 1983, 16–54); Hutchinson 1985a, xxiii–vii.

10 Some partial lists at e.g. Schmid–Stahlin 1929–48, 1.2. 120–1, 1.3.800 n.3, Kranz 1933 252–6. ForEuripides a list is rather tentatively offered (‘an inventory … would probably include …’) by Lowe in deJong, Narrators 274–5.

11 Whether Aeschylus’ Persians is to be included in the survey is an interesting question. The restriction tomythological retrospective might seem to exclude it from discussion; on the other hand the ‘mythol-ogising’ of history in the play is obvious. Some at least of the passages concerned with earlier events aremore like catalogues than full-blown narratives, e.g. the account of the departure of Xerxes’ forces, andthe recollection of Darius’ campaigns. Cf. Michelini 1982, 99–100; Hall’s commentary (1996) 108, 144.But again such marginal cases may merit attention.

‘WHY SHOULD I MENTION IO?’ ASPECTS OF CHORAL NARRATION IN GREEK TRAGEDY 3

more than one example. The phenomenon is clearly a well-established part of the tragicrepertoire, so much so that the absence of this kind of narration in some plays may evenbe something which deserves explanation. In the Oresteia, for example, we find threesuch cases in the Agamemnon, one in the Choephori, none in the Eumenides. It istempting to associate this difference with the change of scene, tone and civic context,and with the reversals in patterns of imagery and the like, convincingly analysed bymany critics. Whereas in the first two plays the crime-laden past overshadows thedoomed house of Atreus, in the closing part of the trilogy the scene is Athenian, the airis purer, the focus is on the present and indeed the future (there are however otherfactors, notably the more dynamic role of the chorus, and the fact that they are not nativeto Athens, hence unfamiliar with its traditions).

What happens when narrative interrupts the action of a drama, when dramaticsequence is disrupted by extended analepsis? When such narration comes from anormal character, it is plain that the narration must generally be directed at an internalaudience, to inform or persuade, reassure or alarm, warn or arouse or inspire them withsome desired or anticipated emotion.12 It will normally be clear, or will swiftly becomeclear, what relevance such a narrative has to the immediate situation. But the relationof the chorus to the action, and of choral narrative to the play as a whole, is much lessstable or readily defined. For one thing, there is often no internal audience beingaddressed: either the narrative is to be seen as self-directed, reminiscence or reflectionmade articulate, or it must be in some sense addressed to the audience (which is not tofall back into older errors or simplicities regarding the ‘breaking’ of dramatic illusion).As will be seen from many of the examples cited, the retrospective narrations may bepart of the background to the drama, and function as explanations for the present events(a form of aetiology: a concern with the ajrch; kakwn is characteristic of tragicchoruses).13 But frequently the narratives concern other myths, parallel or illustrative,and the relation of these other myths to the main plot is often far from obvious.14

Connections are not always explicit, and when they are, they may only indicate oneaspect of the narrative’s relevance (e.g. E. El. 432–85, where the ostensible connectionwith the main plot is signalled at the conclusion, 479ff.). Even an account of thebackground may not fully explain the course of events: the extensive narratives of theAgamemnon leave many questions unanswered and contain surprising ellipses (for oneof these see II.3 below).

12 On matters concerning the narratee see Prince 1980 and 1982.13 Jouan 1966, 95–142, Hose 1990–1, 2.103.14 The catalogue of examples may be analysed in a variety of ways: e.g. each case can be subjected to the

following questions: is the chorus describing its own experience? Do the events described have an impacton or help to explain the present situation? Do the chorus speak from personal knowledge, and if not dothey name a source? (cf. Section II.7) Is the narrative explicitly characterised as positive or negative orboth? Is it explicitly presented paradigmatically, and if not, is there reason to see it as implicitly sopresented? Other divisions involve the nature of the narration: is it part of the history of the communityin which the play is set, or quite differently located? Does the chorus narrate events on the human plane,or does the narrative involve both men and gods?


Where the myth recounted appears to perform no explanatory function or indeed tobe wholly unconnected with the events of the play, it poses a challenge to the audienceto interpret its relation to the rest of the drama. Such challenges were familiar to theaudience from Homer and above all from choral lyric such as the Pindaric epinicia. Themodel of the paradigm is common in Homeric speeches, often used to justify a courseof action or for persuasive force; in Pindar, the narrated myth normally forms the centralpart of the victory ode, often outweighing in length and interest the framing eulogiesof the victor and his family. For heuristic purposes it is customary to distinguishbetween positive and negative paradigms, examples to follow and warnings of what toavoid. But in mythical narrative this division is often inadequate: heroes and theiractions are ambivalent, and victory or heroic achievement can involve disastrous conse-quences. A paradigmatic narrative can therefore demand conflicting responses.15

Further, the obvious point of contact may not be the most important. One of the earliestinstances in tragedy is a passage from Aeschylus’ Suppliants which appears to be a‘disguised’ exemplum. This is a case where the chorus cite the story with one superficialconnection in mind, but poet and audience discern a deeper analogy. At Supp. 57–68the Danaids compare their own distress and lamentation with that of Tereus’ wife, thenightingale (line 69 proceeds ‘so too, I …’):

eij de; kurei` ti" pevla" oijwnopovlwne[llaio" o\kton ajivwn,

doxavsei tinΔ ajkouvein o[pa ta" Threi?a" 60†Mhvtido"† oijktra" ajlovcou,kirkhlavtou tΔ ajhdovnh",

a{ tΔ ajpo; cwvrwn potamwn tΔ ejrgomevnapenqei me;n o\kton hjqevwn,

xuntivqhsi de; paido;" movron, wJ" anjtofovnw"w[leto pro;" ceiro;" e{qendusmavtoro" kovtou tucwvn:

63 clwrwn Scheer (del. tΔ)

If there is any near at hand who knows the song of birds, a dweller in this landwho attends to my piteous cry, he will think he hears an utterance of the pitifulwife of Tereus, of Metis (?), of the nightingale persecuted by hawks, the one whogrieves piteously, barred from the regions and rivers where she had her home,and with this grief she unites the doom of her son, how he perished at her hand,slain by kindred, encountering a cruel mother’s wrath.

15 Cf, Lloyd 1966, a classic account of Greek thought in terms of polarity and analogy.


The ostensible parallel is between their crying and the bird’s mournful song; the deeperanalogy lies in the crime which the nightingale is lamenting, explicitly cited at 65ff.As she slew her son, so the Danaids will murder their husbands. This is an importantcase as it makes clear that choral exempla, like choral narration in general, can carryironic resonances. The exemplum may be more apt, or more meaningful, than thespeaker supposes. Again the technique has Homeric precedent (esp. the speech ofPhoenix in book 9 of the Iliad).16

More extensive and more complex is the famous central stasimon of Aeschylus’Choephori on the wickedness of women (585–651). This ode examines a variety ofpossible analogies to the villainy of Clytemnestra, but the audience can perceive thatin some ways they can also look forward to the further crime of Orestes (especially thestory of Althaea, where the antagonism is between mother and son, and the case ofScylla, in which child kills parent). By the time of the Antigone this technique of posinganalogies which extend in troubling or unexpected directions is well established (Ant.944–87). But the very obscurity of some of these allusive references raises a furtherquestion about the extent to which the audience is expected to share the knowledge ofthese myths possessed by the chorus. There are several aspects to this. On one level, itis a question of the audience’s general mythological awareness: did some or all of thempossess a good knowledge of at least the major versions of the standard myths?17 Thisissue has been addressed by many scholars, often in connection with discussions ofliteracy and the availability of texts, theatrical and other.18 But the phrasing used in theposing of the question a moment ago highlights further difficulties: whereas the word‘versions’ suggests a variety, ‘standard myths’ imposes an unreal rigidity. Even thecanonical Homeric poems were inconsistent in detail, and discrepancies betweenHomer and Hesiod, or Homer and the Cycle, are numerous: they were recognisedalready in antiquity. The tragedians too innovated and introduced novel characters orunusual versions: that was an inevitable part of the genre’s popularity. Competition andcontention between dramatists evidently played a part here.19 There are in any caseproblems on the theoretical level with trying to establish the ‘orthodox’ version of themyth of Oedipus or even Orestes. In the main plots of the plays, we can reasonablyassume that experienced audiences were expected to see that Sophocles or Euripideswas doing things differently from previous dramatists, and to admire or at leastrecognise their ingenuity. The problem is rather different when we consider the briefer,more selectively and sometimes cryptically narrated myths in choral odes, where somuch can be treated allusively or ambiguously. Rather than assuming that there was aspecific version, now lost to us, which would enable the audience to ‘make sense’ of

16 On all this see now Alden 2000 passim, esp. chs. 1–2 and 7; also the useful review of earlier work onHomer’s narratives in Appendix A, 292–6 of her study. For a related enquiry in another genre, histori-ography, see Rutherford 1994.

17 Stinton 1986 = Stinton 1990, 454–92.18 E.g. Pickard-Cambridge 1968 (revised 1988) 275–7; Barrett on E. Hipp. 451–6.19 See e.g. Griffith 1990, Osborne 1993.


an ode, it may be that we should allow that bafflement or perplexity may sometimesbe the effect sought. Creation of mood may be as important as imparting of information.That is not to rule out the desirability of establishing firm ground where possible andidentifying the areas of uncertainty.

The relation of audience’s knowledge and chorus’ knowledge is conceptuallycomplex in even more ways than these. The original audience was a collective bodywhich existed in historical time or times and whose numbers, identity and multipleperceptions are irrecoverable to us.20 What we are more concerned with is the ‘ideal’ audience that the play constructs for itself: the audience who perceives theimpending disaster or understands the ironies of the situation when the character does not. This conceptual audience is the narratee of the choral narratives which we are considering. Such an audience should be regarded as possessing sufficientmythical and genealogical knowledge to understand what the chorus is on about: they need to know where Argos is, why the war at Troy was fought, whose son Dionysus is, and so forth. But the choral narrator shapes the narrative in specific ways in order to emphasise certain aspects of the story; sometimes these aspects may be areas where the dramatist is innovating, so that there is a sense in which the chorus as narrator knows more than the audience as narratee. It is also, however,frequently the case that the chorus as character is less knowledgeable than the audience, and the song may even place emphasis on their bewilderment and anxiety.The account of the omen of the eagles and of Calchas’ prophecy in the parodos of theAgamemnon illustrates both points. On the one hand there is every likelihood thatAeschylus has complicated the cause-and-effect relationship between the humanwrongdoing, the divine anger, and the punishment of Agamemnon through Iphigenia(as opposed to the simpler account given in the Cypria and in Sophocles’ Electra563–76).21 Instead of crime and retribution, we have a more enigmatic and difficultsequence, the obscurity of which is stressed by the cryptic language of Calchas’warnings. In this respect the audience needs the chorus’ information but is betterpositioned to interpret at least some of the obscurities. On the other hand, the chorus,limited in perspective by their position in the time-sequence of the dramatic events,cannot look ahead or exploit mythological knowledge to predict further developmentslater in that sequence (particularly the actions of Clytemnestra, which for the audienceare cryptically but nevertheless obviously prophesied in Calchas’ lines as quoted in thechorus’ account at 154–5).22

Some of the aspects of tragic narration so far discussed may be usefully contrastedwith narration in choral lyric and particularly in the lyric form best known to us, Pindaric

20 For discussion of the tragic audience see Csapo and Slater 1995, 286–305; Goldhill 1997, Revermann2006.

21 E.g. Fraenkel 1950, 2.96–9; Conacher 1987, 76–82 gives further bibliography.22 It is obviously important that direct speech by Calchas is employed here: the chorus are not speaking with

the same authority or knowledge that a prophet may possess. On oratio recta in these passages see belown. 54.


epinician.23 The three main categories mentioned above into which the various passagesfall, namely aetiology, parallel example and contrasting example, surely cover aconsiderable number of Pindar’s myths.24 It is characteristic of the victory ode tocelebrate the earlier history of the victor’s city, to commemorate the successes of his ancestors, mythical or historical, and to enhance the glory and prestige of theoccasion by recounting events from the heroic age.25 Often there are connections and analogies which relate the mythical narrative to the present-day victory. Not all of these are simply upbeat in tone: the grim wound of Philoctetes is analogous to the sickness of Hieron (Py. 1.50–7), though even here we can recall that Philocteteswas eventually healed, as Hieron perhaps hoped to be (cf. Py. 3). More broadly, thereare a number of ways in which Pindar’s techniques and objectives differ from those of the tragic poets. First, Pindar is concerned to glorify the honorand, the games, andthe gods. Some of the myths have their darker aspects, but the overwhelming tendency is positive.26 When grimmer tales are narrated, they normally stand in contrast with the victor’s triumph over adversity.27 The reverse is the case in tragedy.A typical contrast might be the figure of Pelops. For Pindar in the first Olympian, he is the glamorous lover of Poseidon, the successful wooer of Hippodamia, theprototype of the Olympic victor in the chariot-race, an example triumphantly followedby Hieron; after death, he is commemorated with heroic cult. Notoriously, the sabotage of Oenomaus’ chariot is edited out. In tragedy, Pelops is normally mentioned– not least in choral retrospectives – as the originator or an early victim of the chain of misfortune that afflicts the house of Atreus (S. El. 504–15, E. Hel. 386–92, Or.988–94 (Electra or chorus), 1545–8). Tragedy characteristically darkens the myths,

23 Of course, Pindaric passages have often been cited as parallels in studies of tragedy, and sometimes theimplications are taken a little further: e.g. regarding the echo of Paean 9 (fr. 50) in Soph. Ant. 100–3, orthe Pindaric flavouring of the chorus Soph. Tra. 497ff. (cf. e.g. Easterling ad loc. on the interrogatives at504–5, and note the context of a wrestling contest). But larger comparisons of the genres and their lyricstrategies seem thin on the ground.

24 I should make clear, in the light of misunderstanding of this point at the Philological Society meeting,that these ‘functions’ are heuristic and bound to oversimplify. They are not intended to be mutuallyexclusive, whether in Pindaric or tragic song. In Olympian 1, to look no further, Pelops is both an aetio-logical figure associated with the origins of the games, and an exemplar of heroic prowess and dedication.

25 On myth as exemplum, and some other pertinent points, see Carey 1981, 7–13. 26 Hornblower 2004, 296 cites Burnett’s remark ‘Pindar was confessedly uneasy as he composed his

songs, while Bacchylides was unperturbed.’ I would not phrase it quite in these terms, but what I amarguing for is a somewhat similar opposition between epinician and tragedy. (Bruno Currie, however, to whom I am indebted for illuminating discussion, thinks Burnett’s position hard to sustain. He comments that Bacchylides could in fact be seen as closer to tragedy than Pindar, both in tone (suicidalheroes are absent from Pindar, present in Bacchyl. 3 (Croesus) and 11 (Proetus); Heracles weeps inBacchyl. 5) and in form (esp. the possibly dithyrambic dramatic dialogue Bacchyl. 18: cf. Herington 1984,211–12).)

27 There are doubtless exceptions: Christopher Pelling points out to me the sombre case of Coronis in Py. 3, and for a contrary example in the opposite direction see n. 29. Any comparison tends to over-simplify at least one pole of the opposition (cf. Fowler 2000, 60–1), but again for heuristic purposes, Isuggest that to view the genres in this oppositional way may be illuminating.


placing the emphasis on suffering and crime.28 Past prosperity or happier examplesoffer a brighter foil to the pessimism and misfortune of the present.29

A second contrast between the genres is that in Pindar there is a consistent gulfbetween the present and the heroic age. In none of his odes can poet or chorus claimdirect access through memory to the period narrated; they are recounting a tradition,sometimes correcting or adapting it. In tragedy the singers may indeed sometimes berecounting traditional tales, and again there is room for questioning and challengingthat tradition (often more problematically than in epinician), but frequently the chorusspeaks from memory or is in some other way closely concerned with the events (evenin Aeschylus’ Suppliants, where the chronological gap is unusually large, the chorusare the descendants of Io). So in addition to aetiology and paradigm, tragedy introducesa further motive for extensive narration – memory. This leads on to the third and mostimportant contrast I wish to draw between the genres, that of the chorus’ status. Thetragic chorus exists within the time-frame and plot of the drama, as well as beingcomposed of citizens of the contemporary Athenian state. By contrast the chorusperforming the epinician ode does not possess a dual identity of this kind. Pindaricchoruses are singing about the past in the present, and the events narrated have no conse-quences for them (though the narratives, like the praise of the victor, may call forthemotions of pride or civic solidarity in the participants). But tragic choruses have astake in the heroic world of the drama: they are involved, though not to the same degreeas the central tragic characters. Their role is not simply that of narrator or onlooker oreven of loyal citizens. At the very least, they feel some concern for the action takingplace on stage; often their own hopes and fears are foregrounded; sometimes their wholefuture is at stake. I shall return to this later in connection with a particularly memorablechorus from the Trojan women (II.4).

This final contrast leads on to further consideration of the special status of the chorusin tragedy. The problem has often been addressed: among the models proposed and

28 I can only outline the broader basis for comparison between the genre of tragedy as a whole and that ofepinician: e.g. (a) contrast the treatment of Trojan themes in Ol. 8 (walls of Troy, Apollo and Poseidon,prophecy of the fall of Troy) with the version in Eur. Trojan women; (b) Py. 8 on the Seven against Thebesand the Epigoni, where the stress falls on the prophecy of future achievement by Amphiaraus, rather thanon the bloodshed and waste of the earlier expedition. (c) A third motif which offers an effective contrastis the handling of seduction/abduction by a god, for which the extended narrative of Apollo and Cyrenein Py. 9 provides a fine instance, rich in teasing humour and presenting a mixture of divine modesty andconfidence – but told from the masculine viewpoint (Cyrene is never given a voice). Contrast the painfultreatment from the female, human angle of the rape of Creusa by Apollo, recalled in the central aria ofEur. Ion. (d) Perhaps especially interesting is Ol. 2.35ff., the story of Laius and Oedipus. This beginsdarkly, but line 43 refers to the survival of Thersander, son of Polynices and one of the Epigoni, herenamed as preserving the line and reigning after Adrastus. He is the ancestor of the line of Theron.Thersander is named in Paus. 9.8.7 (cf. 7.3.1 as one of the Epigoni) but never in tragedy; in A. Sept., E.Pho. and S. OC it is clear that the war of the Seven marks the end of the line of Oedipus. (Kirkwood on2.30–4 remarks that the name of Oedipus is avoided.)

29 For a conspicuous counter-example see the ode in Eur. Alc. 569ff., where both the hospitality of Admetusto Apollo in the past and to Heracles in the present are viewed positively, and both will have positiveoutcomes. Of course, Alcestis is a highly atypical tragedy, whether or not we ascribe this to its allegedlypro-satyric role.


rejected are the chorus as the ideal spectator, guiding the audience or at least mediatingbetween the action and the audience; the chorus as representatives of the community,perhaps a democratic collective as opposed to the heroic mythical characters; and, asa subtle variation on this approach, the chorus as representative of some marginal group,females or old men or foreigners, victims rather than agents in the main action.30 Whatthese readings share is a sense of the difference of the chorus, their presentation of adifferent kind of perspective on the action. Despite the many variations between theplays concerned, it is notable that these mythical narratives, whether they deal withevents closely bound up with the play’s action or not, are sung by choruses who havelittle or no power to influence the action: the most conspicuously potent and activelyinvolved chorus of all tragedy, the Erinyes of the Eumenides, sing no such songs. Justas the chorus is involved in but to some degree detached from the tragic action, so tooit commemorates past action through narrative, often emotionally coloured but stillframed as part of the past, often the very remote past: the relevance to the present isnot denied but is often hard to establish, standing in need of explicit comment whichit may not receive. In this way too the tragic chorus can be seen as significantlycomparable to the tragic audience, but the gap between them remains, for the conse-quences of the events recounted sometimes (as in Trojan women) include the chorus’spresent condition, whereas that can never be the case for the audience.31

Older critics from antiquity onwards (see n. 83) found fault with Euripides forincluding ‘irrelevant’ choral odes; some even ventured to suggest that in a few caseshe anticipated the younger Agathon’s decision to turn the odes into embolima, mereinterlude-songs, with no integral connection with the drama proper.32 Among the casesmost frequently cited are IT 1234–82, on Apollo’s early career and the mythic historyof prophecy, and the ‘mountain-mother’ ode in Helen 1301–68 (both of which alsoraise quite acutely the question of the chorus’ knowledge: how are they able to singwith such assurance of these events which took place beyond the sphere of mortals?).More recent criticism has been more cautious, though sometimes labelling these andsimilar examples as ‘dithyrambic’.33 Probably no scholar nowadays would dare go sofar as to call these irrelevant:34 it is more common to seek an integrative approach, andI attempt below an analysis along these lines of one other case where ancient readersevidently felt dissatisfied (III.2).

30 See esp. Gould 1996 (supplemented by Gould 1999), with the qualifications of Goldhill in his responseto this paper (Goldhill 1996). For fuller discussion of the status and authority of the chorus see the essayscollected in Arion 3.1 and 4.1 (1995–6); also e.g. Easterling 1997b.

31 It seems noteworthy that the mythical narratives never involve the heroic deeds of Athens, despite thepopularity of such themes in both poetry and rhetoric (cf. Hdt. 9.27; Heath 1987, 64–71, esp. 65n.).

32 Cf. recently Csapo 1999–2000. A valuable discussion of the late odes is Nordheider 1980, a reference Iowe to Dr W. Allan.

33 This goes back at least to Kranz 1933, 228–62, esp. 254ff. (cf. Schmid–Stählin 1929–48, 1.3.778–9); seealso Panagl 1971. An overview of some of the issues, more from the point of view of performance, inWest 1992, 350–5.

34 For bolder assertions in the not-so-distant past see Knox 1979, 256 (criticised by Halliwell 1986, 247);Barlow 1971, 3 and n. 12.


The huge gaps in our evidence mean that we are constantly in danger of makingover-confident assertions on inadequate grounds. We have so much more of Euripidesthat it is natural that the examples from his work seem more abundant and more varied.It would be unsafe to claim that he was the first to do what we see first in his work:already enough has been said to show that Aeschylus at least was versatile and imag-inative in handling this type of material. However, we can observe that as far as ourevidence goes, Sophocles was much less interested in composing odes of this type. Theexample in his Electra is very brief; the parodos of the Antigone barely qualifies, beingan account of the immediate past rather than a longer perspective; the later passage inwhich the chorus console Antigone consists of exempla, intriguingly oblique in theirapplication;35 both there and in the Trachiniae the connection with the immediatesituation and with the character closest to the chorus is reinforced through use of thesecond person.36 Moroever, Euripides ranges more widely in selecting subjects for hischoral narrations. Achilles’ shield and his use of it in combat with Hector is at least notan obvious part of the background to Orestes’ revenge. If we had to guess at the subjectof a choral narrative in the IA we might predict the judgement of Paris and the abductionof Helen – a favourite theme of Euripides37 and of course part of the very recent pastin the time-scheme of that tragedy; but even if we were told that Achilles played a partin that drama, would we be likely to guess that one ode would recount the divinely-blessed marriage of Peleus and Thetis?

A further tendency visible in Euripides is the multiplication of choral narratives.This is in line with a general trend in his plays: more characters, more agon-scenes,more messenger speeches (four in the Phoenissae), more complex story-patterns. TheAndromache includes not only an ode on the judgement of Paris but also one on thefall of Troy and its aftermath for the Greeks. In the Electra we find not only the narrativeode already cited on Achilles’ shield, but one which deals with the golden lamb andthe crime of Atreus. The tendency reaches its peak with Phoenissae (three relevantodes) and Orestes (two, supplemented by the choral exchange with Electra at 960ff.,982ff. (nn. 40–1 below), and by a further brief reference in an interlude song, 1537ff.).It is even possible to claim that in these two plays the dramatist is aiming at a totalhistory of Theban mythology and of the house of Atreus: the different songs focus ondifferent episodes, but cumulatively provide a full picture.38

A final general point concerns an area in which we know Euripides to have been aninnovator: his use of monody.39 This is relevant because the narrators of monodies oftenrecall their own past experiences: there is a sense in which Euripides’ choruses and his

35 Sourvinou-Inwood 1989; much of her analysis is absorbed in Griffith’s commentary.36 See n. 58 and Appendix 2 below. For a discussion of the Trachiniae ode which relates it to other narratives

in the play see Kraus 1991.37 See esp. Stinton 1990, 17–75.38 So Kranz 1933, 260; also Arthur 1977, on the sequence as a ‘song cycle’; a proposition accepted by

Mastronarde 1994, 209, 330 etc.39 Barner 1971, 277–320.


actors are reaching towards common ground. It may be artificial to separate narrativesong by the chorus, at least when it involves their own experience (as in Tro. 511ff.)from the song of a character who with equal lyric intensity recalls her past pain anddisillusionment (as Hecabe does in the same play, Tro. 122ff.). Such reminiscence is afeature of several monodies, but above all of those delivered by Creusa in the Ion(859–922), by Iphigenia, in epirrhematic exchange with the chorus in IT 203ff. (thechorus sing of the early history of the Pelopid house, and Iphigenia responds by singingof her own supposed ‘death’); and by Helen in the Helen (230ff.) on the origins of thewar and her own abduction. The interweaving of choral and actor-song in Euripidesreaches its peak in the Orestes, in which there is a notorious passage (960ff.) wherecritics find it impossible to agree whether the singing is first the chorus, then Electra(so Diggle), or all Electra, or (very improbably) all the chorus, or some more complexcombination.40 In a late but still possibly Euripidean section of the Iphigenia at Aulisa song by Iphigenia concerning the judgement of Paris not only covers ground that istypical of a choral ode of the type we have been considering, but also ‘usurps’ the placeof an act-dividing song.41 Questions of form, characterisation and literary history (thegradual dethronement of the chorus) here converge.

II

Thus far the discussion has been general and much concerned with questions whereliterary history and theory can fruitfully engage with one another. It is also necessaryto give a clearer typology of the techniques and rhetorical resources which thetragedians employ in these odes. In this section I give a survey of many of the moststriking features, including some more detailed comment on particularly interestingpassages (see below on E. Tro., Hec., El.). The next section will address two moreextended extracts.

1. Length, range, time

In terms of average total line-numbers Aeschylus might seem to be the most ambitiousin deploying passages of this type: 65 lines in the Septem, 74 in the Suppliants, 148 inthe parodos of the Agamemnon (though divided by comment and hymnic utterances).This is of course in line with the greater importance of the chorus in his dramas. Morestriking therefore is the contrast between Sophocles and Euripides. Sophocles’ intro-duction of passages of this type is limited, Euripides’ is abundant and increasingly

40 Thus C. W. Willink in his (1986) commentary gives 960–4 and 971–5 to Electra; rejected by West 1987ad loc. For further discussion see Damen 1990.

41 Taplin 1984–5, after Kranz 1933, 229. Taplin also cites Or. 960–1012 (which however is more probablydivided between chorus and actor: see previous note).


frequent as his career advances. At least six examples in his work exceed sixty lines;the account of Heracles’ labours runs to ninety-six.

The time-span of narrated events varies considerably. In some of the odes treatingsuccessive exempla it may be unclear how the different figures relate to one anotherchronologically (A. Cho., S. Ant.): that hardly matters, for their very multiplicationadds to the force of the rhetoric. In passages which review the history of a family, orlook back to earlier events in the war of Troy, the audience’s perception of time willbe more precise: from the aftermath of the fall of Troy back to the judgement of Paris(e.g. E. Andr.) takes us back ten years and more, but more important is the need to findthe beginning, the ajrch; kakwn. The passages which trace the early horrors of the houseof Atreus or Oedipus normally go back two or three generations. Most far-reaching ofall is the recollection of the sufferings of Io by the Danaids, her descendants (see SectionIII.1 below). According to the Prometheus they are the fifth generation from Io (853–6,with schol. 774); the genealogy in the Suppliants appears consistent with this(289–324). The ode describing the wanderings of Io is also striking for its extension ingeographical space; only the narration of Heracles’ exploits in Euripides’ Heracles canmatch this scale of globe-trotting.

The time-scale is often stressed by all the dramatists: where possible, it is emphasisedthat these are events of long ago (e.g. A. Sept. 741, 766, Suppl. 532–3, 538, S. Antig.594, El. 504, E. El. 432, Helen 1301, Or. 811, cf. 973, 980, 986).42 The expansion ofthe scope of the drama not only introduces diversity but enhances the significance ofthe action proper. From another viewpoint, it counteracts the intense concentration ofthe main tragic action, normally closely confined in place and time.43

2. Metrical design

The range is wide, and no clear pattern can be identified. To take a few conspicuousinstances, the central stasimon of the Choephori is predominantly iambic, the ode onthe combat over Deianira in the Trachiniae includes dactylo-epitrite elements (as suitsthe Pindaric tone), but also anapaestic and iambic structures, with an aeolic closure tothe epode; the ode in Antigone is aeolo-choriambic/iambic. The earliest instance inEuripides, in the Alcestis, also shows affinities with dactylo-epitrite, but especially inhis later work, Euripides can use a whole medley of metres in a single ode (as in theexample in section III.2 below). The brief exemplary passage in Medea even usesdochmiacs, perhaps better suited to the desperation of the preceding strophe.

One observation worth airing relates to the transition between stanzas of an ode. InPindar and Bacchylides sentences commonly continue across the boundary of stropheand antistrophe, antistrophe and epode (eight such instances in Olympian 1 alone, out

42 For Pindar see Pfeijffer in de Jong, Narrators 216, on uses of povte, palaiov", provtero", etc.43 Cf. Herington 1984, 141ff.; Hutchinson 2000, 438.


of eleven possible cases). The phenomenon is extremely rare in tragic choral lyric, andit is notable that several of the few cases occur in narrative odes of the type consideredhere: particularly notable are A. Sept. 749–50, Ag. 237–8, E. Hec. 647–8, 941–2. It looksas if this is something which is considered more appropriate in such narrative contexts.

3. Order and selection

The obvious way to tell a story is chronologically. Naturally, the tragedians do notalways follow the obvious route. Often we are plunged in medias res: E. El. 432ff.illustrates the tendency; still more extreme is E. Pho 1019ff., discussed at III.2 below.This practice is not confined to cases where the subject-matter is familiar or relatedelsewhere in the play: the opening of the ‘mountain mother’ ode in E. Helen describesthe haste and din of Demeter’s panic-stricken motion and only after several lines arewe given the explanation, her distress at the disappearance of her daughter. Informationis released gradually; the audience is expected to make the connections and bridge thegaps.44 Names are not always given: Capaneus is not named in the parodos of theAntigone, even though the account of his crime and downfall occupies fifteen lines. Allof this is strongly reminiscent of Pindar.

In some contexts, what is omitted may be as significant as what is described.45 InEuripides’ Andromache the chorus state explicitly that Cypris was the winner in thejudgement of Paris, but in his other lyric treatments of this scene Euripides does notspell this out: it is hard to suppose that this makes a difference. But in the Agamemnonthe chorus’ failure to narrate the actual death of Iphigenia is thrust on our attention:‘what followed I saw not, neither do I tell’ (249). After the vivid visual detail of thepreparations for sacrifice, the silence is eloquent: the horror of the deed itself, the fathercutting his daughter’s throat, is left to our imagination: but we have been led towardsit by a series of uses of the word ‘father’(cf. 228, 231, 243, 244). When the chorus makethis disclaimer, Fraenkel is certain that this means they were there to see what they haveso far described. 46 This seems very doubtful. The contrast is rather between what theydid not see, but do narrate, and what they did not see and do not narrate because it isso horrible. Here too we have a narratological topos, familiar from Pindar: the techniqueof narrating up to a certain point, but drawing a veil over the rest (Ol. 13.91, N. 5.14,cf. Ol. 1.52, Bacch. 5.176–8). Again there is a contrast between the tragic chorus (whoas characters could have been physically present at the sacrifice) and the chorus ofepinician, which only recounts inherited or invented tradition.

44 For omission of parts of the fabula see also Barrett in de Jong, Narrators 239, referring to Septem 742–90.45 For crucial omissions in earlier poetry cf. Phoenix’s tale of Meleager (the death of Meleager omitted);

Bacchyl. 5 (the future relations of Heracles and Deianira).46 Fraenkel 1950, 2.141 (on 247); differently Denniston–Page on 247. Lines 72–5 say that they did not go

to Troy, and there is no suggestion that they went as far as Aulis. Lines 105–6 strongly suggest that theynarrate with divine inspiration.


A more intriguing case is E. El. 699ff., where the first strophic pair recounts theappearance of the golden lamb and how Thyestes obtained possession of it by adultery;after that, the second strophic pair describes the cosmic reversal whereby the heavenlybodies changed direction (though the final stanza casts doubt on the tale: see below).‘Then it was, then, that Zeus changed the course of the glittering stars and the radianceof the sun and pallid face of the dawn …’ (726ff.) But the poet omits to tell us whyZeus acted in this way. There is a rather complex set of issues here. The usual viewexpressed in Euripidean commentaries is that the supernatural intervention indicatessome form of support for Atreus’ kingship, and so condemns Thyestes (essentially thisis the position of various Euripidean scholia). The version popular with the Latin poets(notably Ovid and Seneca), that the sun and stars altered their courses in horror andrevulsion at Atreus’ crime of feeding Thyestes his own children, is usually taken to bea later version. There are however two independent testimonies suggesting that this,the ‘moral revulsion’ version, figured in a drama by Sophocles, though we do not knowwhich one and so cannot date it.47 So even if Euripides is accepting the ‘divineendorsement of Atreus’ version, he could still be aware of a different account; in thatcase the phrase ‘then it was …’ would be an emphatic intertextual correction. Somemight even wish to claim that he is deliberately leaving the question open: which sideis Zeus on, where does the moral high ground lie? That would not be inappropriate ina play which so persistently explores moral uncertainties, but perhaps the timing of theprodigy supports the orthodox view, that Zeus is supporting Atreus’ kingship. The pointremains that Euripides is being peculiarly elliptical. It is in any case telling thatThyestes’s adultery is stressed, but not Atreus’ retaliation, which was certainly the mostmemorable part of the myth. On this point the chorus’ shaping of the narrative certainlysuits the plot of the play and the needs of the characters they support, in that antagonismto the crimes of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra blinds Electra and Orestes to the enormityof what they themsleves are undertaking until the scene in which Orestes falters(962ff.). Martin Cropp has suggested that the ‘suppression’ of the Thyestean feastreflects in the choral voice the reluctance to dwell on the true horror of the plannedmatricide in the action proper.48 Critics will differ on whether they endorse this psycho-logical explanation or prefer to see Euripides as a proto-Alexandrian, refusing to spellout the obvious, demanding that the audience fill in the ellipse:49 whichever approachis preferred, the narrative procedure merits comment.50

47 For Sophocles taking this line in some unnamed play see Statilius Flaccus 5 Gow–Page (= Soph. T181Radt), and S E.Or. 812. Among the lost dramas Atreus and Thyestes (perhaps more than one version) areboth attested. Cf. Radt in TGF 4.162. Gantz 1993, 2.545–7 sets out the position clearly.

48 Cropp (1988) 149.49 For the classic statement of the case for Euripides as an Alexandrian before his time see Dover 1971,

lxvii. The point has often been taken up since. See already also Winnington-Ingram 1969. But who is theearliest ‘proto-Alexandrian’? N. J. Richardson 1985, 383–401 makes a case for Pindar.

50 Cf. Pfeijffer in de Jong, Narrators 220 on avoidance of the obvious.


4. Voice

Under this and the following headings I group a number of questions regarding theidentity of the chorus, their relation to the persons on stage, and their use of the firstand second person. ‘Who speaks?’ is one of the most basic questions of narratology.Obviously at one level the answer in all our examples is ‘the chorus’, but the specialstatus of this body means that the voice is fluid:51 at one point their specific identitywithin the play may be crucial, at another that identity may be submerged, and theymay be speaking more as purveyors of traditional wisdom or religious faith. When thechorus narrate, they often do so in order to relate the events to the larger realm ofmorality or divine law: to this extent there is a typical choral moralising voice whichis at the opposite extreme from the more personalised voice of, say, a group of Argivewomen. But their personal allegiances and their bond with one or more of the charactersmay still emerge: thus the chorus of Sophocles’ OT , in the ode that follows therevelation, begin by addressing ‘the generations of men’, and their meditation onOedipus’ passage from greatness to disaster is set in a broad religious context, but theyretain their sense of loyalty to the hero (addressing him at 1195, 1207, 1212 tavla",1216ff.), and at the very end of the ode recall how they were saved from destructionthrough his efforts (1220–2).

The most vivid use of the chorus’s personality is through narrating events in whichthey themselves have played a prominent part: here narrator and focaliser are one. Thisoccurs in two particularly memorable odes in Euripides, both concerned with the sackof Troy (Hec. 905ff., Tro.511ff.). In Hecabe, after an introductory invocation of Troy,we find extensive first-person verbs: ‘I shall set foot in you no longer’; ‘in the middleof the night began my ruin’; ‘I myself was arranging my hair … as I looked in a goldenmirror’, ‘I left the marriage bed I loved’, ‘I was led away to the ocean’s sea’, ‘I faintedmiserably …’ (913, 914, 923f., 933, 936, 942); twice ‘my husband’ is mentioned, onceas resting on the bed after celebratory dancing, once as dead (919, 936). Nowhere elsein Greek tragedy does the chorus come this close to individuality, yet it is still (a) arepresentative individuality (the particularised experience narrated stands for theexperience of all the Trojan women ), and (b) a passive individuality, that of a victim:the chorus cannot of its nature be a tragic agent.52

Something like the same technique is used in the passage of Trojan women, but itis not taken to the same extreme. The opening is closely comparable: ‘Sing, Muse, ofIlium; sing with tears a song of death in strange new strain. For I shall sing an ode forTroy, how I perished, an unhappy captive, because of the four-wheeled horse …’ (Tro.511–16). But the description that follows is more general, focused not on a single scenein a private bed-chamber but on the whole public sequence first on the plain, then within

51 As notoriously in epinician: see e.g. Currie 2005, 19–21, with bibliography. A valuable survey of tragicusage which also analyses the lyric background is Kaimio 1970, 1–34.

52 See further Gould 1996, 221–2 (= Gould 2001, 384–5).


the walls of Troy: the astonishment of the Trojans at the horse, the conveyance of themassive object into Troy, the celebrations of peace. Third person plurals are used (esp.530, 541, 546); the scene is viewed from a distance, with grimly ominous commentsarising from hindsight (530, 535, 540–1). Only in the concluding epode do we returnto the manner of the ode in Hecabe, with a more individualised memory and the firstperson singular. ‘I for my part at that time was singing and dancing in the palace inhonour of the mountain-dwelling daughter of Zeus …’ (551–5) But the narration thenreverts to the third-person description (‘children clutched their mothers’ dress withtrembling hands … and at the altars there was murder of Trojans …’): the perspectiveof the conclusion, and of the ode in general, is broader and less emotionally subjective.There is pathos, but it is less intense than in the Hecabe.

Direct speech is used in both these passages – in Hecabe, the rallying call of theGreek warriors, in Trojan women the misguided rejoicings of happy Trojans. Thistechnique is used within narrated passages at a number of points in both Aeschylus andEuripides (not in extant Sophocles): A. Suppl. 584–?9 (Egyptians on the birth ofEpaphus), Ag. 126–55 (Calchas), 410ff. (prophets), E. Hec. 929–32 (Greek warriors),El. 708–11 (a herald’s proclamation), Tro. 524–6 (happy Trojans), Helen 1341–5(Zeus!), Or. 827–30 (Clytemnestra to Orestes)53, IA 1062–75 (singers at Thetis’wedding). It is notable that direct speech can be ascribed to the gods (Helen loc. cit.),and that the device may even be used in passages imagining future events (IA 791–3:wives of Trojans).54

It appears to be a convention of choral narrative that the chorus is omniscient unlessotherwise stated (some cases where the chorus does reserve its position or expressuncertainty are noted below under ‘Authority’).55 This is no doubt a legacy from lyricpoetry: Pindar has no hesitation about ascribing motives to figures of the mythical pastor quoting conversations among the gods (e.g. Py. 9.29ff.). Despite the distances oftime and space, the Danaids can describe the transcontinental route of Io from Argosto Egypt without hesitation (Supp. 538ff.). Similarly the chorus of the IT and the Helencan narrate events of early mythical time, covering ground appropriate to the hymnicgenre (and indeed treated by the Homeric hymns) – Apollo’s winning of the oracle atDelphi,56 the quest of Demeter for Persephone. No sources are cited,57 yet they caneven quote the words of Zeus himself (above). By contrast when the issue is not ‘whathappened’ in the remote past but ‘why is this happening? What is Zeus/another godtrying to do to us?’, the chorus may be at a loss. Choral bewilderment is itself almost

53 With intertextual allusion to earlier accounts of the matricide.54 See further Bers 1997, ch. 1. For an equally useful catalogue of the cases of direct speech in Pindar and

Bacchylides see Hornblower 2004, 325–6.55 This is one of the topics which is prominent in the de Jong, Narrators volume: e.g. 239, 260, 276, and

see index s.v. ‘omniscience’ and the subsection ‘qualified omniscience’.56 This passage is indeed included in the collection of Greek hymns by Furley and Bremer 2001: 1.329–36,

2.322–9.57 Contrast Pind. Ol. 9.49 (Deucalion), Py. 2.22 (Ixion), Nem. 6. 53–4 (Aeacids): in some cases, clearly, the

poet finds it necessary or appropriate to pay due homage to tradition. But see also n. 66 below.


a dramatic topos (e.g. A. Ag. 475ff., Soph. OT 463ff.). An outstanding passage exem-plifying both these tendencies is the famous ode in Tro. 799–858, which includes bothdetailed reference to the gods’ past dealings with Troy (the links through Laomedon,Ganymede, Tithonus) and agonised expressions of perplexity at the apparent neglectof Troy’s interests by the gods in the here and now.

5. Who speaks to whom?

Stories are told by the chorus, but often we may be unsure who is meant to be listening.The first distinction to be drawn is between the internal audience, if any, present onstage, and the audience in the theatre of Dionysus. Secondly, whether there is an internalaudience present or not, the chorus often addresses other beings divine or human, livingor dead, sometimes even features of nature (mountains, rivers etc). There may be a shiftfrom apostrophising some remote entity to addressing one more immediatelyconcerned, perhaps even a principal figure of the play. There is a tendency especiallyin Euripides for narratives to end with some such address, the so-called terminalapostrophe.58

As for internal audiences, in Aeschylus it appears that the stage is clear in all thecases listed: the chorus are addressing either themselves or the audience.59 In the laterdramatists this is still the general tendency, but there are some definite exceptions andsome uncertainties.60 Electra is on stage during the ode in Sophocles’ play, and isaddressed by the chorus at 477. More difficult is the question of the second stasimonof the Antigone. Antigone is no longer on stage, but whether Creon is or not is disputed.The dark reflections on the misfortunes of the house of Labdacus might be thoughtmore relevant to the daughter of Oedipus, although the deeper moral resonances of theode, as has often been observed, apply at least as much to Creon’s actions. But as Creonhas shown himself an angry and imperious ruler, the chorus are not free to speak plainly.The elusiveness and ambiguity of their comments are perhaps more comprehensible ifwe think that Creon is present.61

In the Euripidean catalogue, I would judge that the stage is certainly clear in sixteencases. It is perhaps notable that Hecabe is such a constant presence on stage in bothTrojan women (where she is prostrate and visible to the audience in both the relevantodes) and to a lesser degree in Hecabe (where she is on stage for one ode but not theother). Her experience and sufferings are especially close to those of the choruses inthese two plays – she is almost like one of their number.


58 See already Kranz 1933, 197ff.; e.g. Andr. 1041, Helen 1301. For a catalogue of second-person addresses,see Appendix 2.

59 PV 425–30 would be an exception, if the passage is authentic (and if the play is by Aeschylus).60 For discussion of these matters more broadly see Taplin 1977, 54, 110–13; Mastronarde 1994, 347f. on

Pho. 690.61 Griffith takes this view in his commentary.

6. Gender

As is well known, female choruses outnumber male in Greek tragedy generally andespecially in Euripides.62 The overall total is eleven male choruses versus twenty-onefemale (Aeschylus 2M–5F, Sophocles 5M–2F, Euripides 4M–16F). The prepon-derance of female choruses is naturally reflected in the passages under considerationhere. A few examples where the gender is significant: in the Suppliants, it is naturalfor the Danaids to sympathise with Io and her sufferings; in the Agamemnon, the malechorus are sympathetic to Agamemnon and Menelaus, hostile to Helen, distrustfultowards Clytemnestra; in the Trachiniae, the intimate relationship between Deianiraand the chorus is made clear in the parodos, and their narrative of her wooing is toldfrom a standpoint closely similar to her own (the suitors are violent and terrifying, thebride-to-be is described in tender and compassionate terms (524ff., esp 528, 530)).Female bonding is important in other plays too: Medea, Electra, Hippolytus come tomind. It is perhaps still more striking when ‘natural’ gender-loyalties are transcended.The female chorus of virtuous women in the Choephori condemn the monstrous actsof vicious women. In the Antigone, as we have seen, even a chorus of male counsellors,closely associated with Creon and masculine civic order, find that they must shed tearsand sympathise with the doomed heroine (944ff.).

This ode of Antigone is notable as one in which the song is entirely dominated bymythical narrative but the chorus is engaged throughout with the actor. Here there are no invocations, no appeals to deities. The chorus is very clearly addressing the song to Antigone, and not without sympathy: the exempla are intended as consolatory,however cold the comfort.63 In the opening strophe they address her (949) w\ pai, pai:the repetition conveys their emotion (they describe themselves as weeping as early as 802f.). The closing words return to her (986–7): qewn pai": ajlla; kajpΔ ejkeivva/ Moi`raimakraivwne" e[scon, w\ pai. ‘But even upon her the long-lived Fates bore hard, my child.’ We may contrast the central chorus of the Choephori: there, the catalogue ofcrimes emphasises the enormity of female wickedness; here, although they recall acts of folly and madness, the prevailing note, particularly in the final stanza, is one of sympathy, not condemnation (contrast their comments earlier at 853–6, 872–5, 929–30). The staging here is difficult to reconstruct, but Antigone must depart from the stage before or during the ode; emotion intensifies in her absence, butshe is unaware of their deepening sympathy (contrast the earlier epirrhematicexchange).64


62 See the recent discussion by Gould 1996, esp. 219ff. (= Gould 2001, esp. 382ff.).63 For some briskly sceptical comments on the value of such consolatory exempla see Bond on E. HF

1016–24. According to Bond, the tone of Ant. 944ff. is ‘chilly’.64 Cf. de Jong, Narrators 260 on uncertainty of tone, 265 on the Antigone case.

7. Authority

That a chorus has witnessed events does not make them infallible interpreters of thoseevents.65 Nevertheless, the claim to autopsy must be allowed importance. Such claimsare however surprisingly rare. While the chorus often has some connection with orreason to appeal to one particular episode, they are not generally in a position to say ‘Iwas there, I witnessed it.’ It is possible that the chorus of Sophocles’ Trachiniae werepresent to observe the battle between Heracles and Achelous over Deianira, but thecrucial line is textually doubtful (526). The controversial case of the parodos of theAgamemnon has already been considered (II.3).

Often a chorus will represent the memory and knowledge of the civic community: thechorus of the Septem will hardly have witnessed the cursing by Oedipus of his sons, butthe events are well known in Thebes. Elsewhere the reliance on hearsay, legend, oraltradition is emphasised: in A. Cho. 602–4, 613, 623ff. (text doubtful), 632, 638, the chorusmake plain that these are tales told, not first-hand knowledge. Euripides extends thistechnique: in Medea, the only comparable crime by a mother against her children is thatof Ino: ‘one, one alone I have heard, of women in time gone by ...’ (1282, quoted below).In Electra, introducing the story of the Golden Lamb, the women of Argos declare: ‘once,so goes the story, enduring amongst our greying tales … Pan … brought down a lamb,golden, fine of fleece …’ (700–5).66 Also in Electra, the chorus tell of the expeditionagainst Troy, and name their source for knowledge of the amazing sight of Achilles’ shield:‘In Nauplia’s harbour I heard of your famous shield, son of Thetis, from one who had beenat Troy, and of the blazons upon it ...’ (452ff.); similarly in Phoenissae, the Tyrian womenknow so much about the legendary history of Thebes that it seems to require explanation:‘once upon a time, Earth, you gave birth, yes, birth (so I heard the foreign tale long ago inmy home)’ (818–19). This distancing of knowledge can leave room for subversive ques-tioning. In two cases the narration is undercut by sceptical comment, in language whichseems to cast doubt on the credibility of ancient myth: E. El. 737ff. and IA 794–800.67

8. Rhetorical outbursts

A further technique is to try to find an analogy for the current situation but withoutsuccess: one might adapt a phrase which Simon Goldhill has used in a different context,‘the failure of exemplarity’.68 This is what we find in the passage where the chorus ofMedea struggle to grasp what Medea has just done:


65 Cf. Mastronarde 1999 (a closely related Italian version is Mastronarde 1998).66 Strikingly similar to the archly allusive techniques favoured by Hellenistic and Roman poets: see e.g.

Nisbet–Hubbard 1970 on Hor. Odes 1.7.23 fertur. In the light of later practice, we may suspect that thepresence of Pan in this version is in fact a Euripidean addition. Note already the fascinating case of Pind.Ol. 7.54–7, where the founding of Rhodes is ascribed to ‘the ancient sayings of men of old’ (fanti; dΔajnqrwvpwn palaiaiv rJhvsie"), but the scholia remark that the story is not found elsewhere. See Verdeniusad loc.; also Braswell on N. 1.33–4; Young 1968, 67; de Jong, Narrators 221 (Pfeijffer).

67 See the important discussion of passages of this type by Stinton 1990, 236–64.68 Goldhill 1994.

mivan dh; kluvw mivan twn pavro"gunaikΔ ejn fivloi" cevra balein tevknoi",ΔInw; maneisan ejk qewn, o{q Δ hJ Dio;"davmar nin ejxevpempe dwmavtwn a[lai": 1285pivtnei dΔ aJ tavlainΔ ej" a{lman fovnwitevknwn dussebeiajkth" uJperteivnasa pontiva" povda,duoin te paivdoin xunqanousΔ ajpovllutai (1282–92)

One only, one woman, have I heard of among those of old, who set her hand uponher own offspring: Ino, driven mad by the gods, when the wife of Zeus sent herforth from her home in wandering. But she, unhappy woman, fell into the wavesas a result of the impious slaughter of her children, stepping off the cliff thatbordered the ocean, and perished together with her two sons.

The analogy is adequate only in one respect, that a woman is killing her sons; but Inowas insane, Medea is in her right mind, Ino was driven out and perished with or soonafter her children, while Medea will survive them and escape persecution; there is alsoa contrast in that Ino plunged into the sea while Medea will be carried into the heavens.A similar outburst marks the enormity of the crisis at the climax of the Heracles(1016–24).

Another move which Euripides introduces in his choruses (as also in a number offamous rheseis) is the counter factual wish, the desperate desire for something that hasto be described not to have taken place.69 There is an extended use of the device inAndromache 293ff. (‘If only his mother had cast him forth to die as one polluted, beforeletting him make a home on Ida’s uplands …’) , and a still more elaborate case at Phoen.801ff. (‘never, Cithaeron … should you have nurtured Oedipus …’). 70 Or again, thenarration of the past may be undertaken but leave the speaker still bewildered anddistressed (esp. Tro. 799–858). What these techniques share in common is somethingtypical of tragedy: narration is undertaken in the hope or expectation that it will bringsome advantage, whether clarification or consolation, but that hope is frustrated:71

instead, often, recollection brings perplexity and pain.


69 In spoken verse famously at Medea 1ff. See Pease on Virg. Aen. 4.657 for later imitations.70 At IA 1291ff. the wish is expressed by the hapless Iphigenia, but in a style highly comparable to the other

cases in choral lyric.71 Perhaps comparable is the standard pattern of the agon, especially in Euripides: debate does not bring

resolution, but normally intensifies conflict.

III

Tabulation and catalogues of phenomena can be useful, but inevitably threaten to takeus away from the emotion and particularity of the individual song or play. Enough hasbeen said to indicate that a full discussion of these choral odes would fill a considerablemonograph; I must at least try to do slightly more justice to some specific examples.In this section I look first at a song from Aeschylus, where the relevance of the subject-matter to the narrating chorus is obvious, though not wholly straightforward; I thenexamine a relatively short ode (one strophic pair), from one of Euripides’ latest andmost complex plays, the Phoenissae, an ode where scholars ancient and modern havefound cause for perplexity. These odes are at least fifty years apart,72 and should helpto illustrate not only what has changed in the handling of lyric narrative, but also whathas remained constant. In particular, the use of mythical narrative to expand the scopeof the drama in terms of time and space is shared by both passages: change of fortunewith the passage of time, and after cruel suffering, is made a structuring principle; thearrival of an intruder in the polis (or in Io’s case in a foreign nation) is the catalyst forchange, good and bad; disaster is made more bizarre through exotic formations oflanguage and syntax; and the supernatural forces are seldom far from the chorus’ mind(but in Aeschylus the emphasis is on prayer and affirmation, whereas the gods aredarker and more enigmatic in the Euripidean passage).

1. A. Suppl. 524–99

The first point of importance concerns the chorus’ status in the play. Althoughsuppliants, they are central both to the action and to the emotional thrust of the play.Present on stage throughout, they form the focus of the plot: their fate is what is at issue.Despite their apparent helplessness, they manipulate the action in one crucial respect,when they effectively blackmail Pelasgus by threatening to commit suicide on holyground (455–67). They also dominate the play in terms of their contribution, since theproportion of choral song in this play is the highest in Aeschylus and therefore in allextant tragedy (594 lines out of 1072 = 55%).73 This contrasts strongly with the examplefrom Euripides in III.2 below, where the Phoenician women exemplify a tendency welldiscussed by Gould, to make the chorus marginal figures both in status and in theirrelation to the action.

The central stasimon of the Suppliants lasts almost seventy-five lines and is not thelongest of the choral songs of this play, but it carries special weight because of itsposition (the Danaids are awaiting the crucial decision by the Argive populace whether


72 The orthodox date for Suppliants, 463 BC, has been provocatively challenged by Scullion 2002; forjudicious comment see Garvie’s foreword to the reprint of his indispensable study of the play (Garvie2006, ix–xv).

73 Griffith 1977, 123.

to accept them as refugees, a decision announced in the scene which follows), becauseof the grandeur of its hymnic language at opening and close, and because of its depthof myth-historical

perspective, looking back through the centuries to their ancestress Io. It is too longto quote in full, but a skeleton summary may be useful:

Str. 1 Prayer to Zeus, elaborated (superlatives, a long string of vocatives). Thesingers’ family link with Zeus. May he hate their pursuers and wreck their ship.

Ant. 1. See these events from the women’s side. Remember Io; renew her story74

through kindness to us.Str. 2 We are following in Io’s path. Description: how she left the meadows of

her home, maddened by the gadfly, and crossed from Europe to Asia.Ant. 2 Her wanderings.75

Str. 3 She reaches the Nile, but continues to suffer torment.Ant. 3 The natives of Egypt are amazed and frightened of her cow-form. ‘Who

was it then that soothed far-wandering wretched goad-driven Io?’ Str. 4 Zeus brought her release from her agony and shame, with his divine breath.

Pregnant by Zeus, she bore a blameless child.Ant. 4 The child was long-lived and blessed; he is acclaimed in Egypt as the son

of Zeus (oratio recta by Egyptians at 584f.).76

Str. 5 Whom among the gods can I duly summon? Only Zeus, our father (extendedlist of titles).

Ant. 5 magnificat of Zeus, whose thought becomes act.

There are thus five strophic pairs, of which the first and the last include praise to Zeusand praise of his power (ring composition); the intervening passage (pairs 2, 3 and 4)narrates the wanderings of Io. Their link to Zeus by blood relationship is stressed at 527and reiterated thereafter (533, 536, 584, 588, 593). Just as Zeus rescued Io from adversitydespite the enmity of Hera, so the Danaans pray for his protection against their pursuers.There is also an analogy in the description of their travels: just as Io travelled from hernative Argos to Egypt, so the Danaids are returning from Egypt to Argos and seekingrefuge there. History repeats itself with reversal, as in the Aeneid (3.167–8, 7.205–11:Dardanus’ journey from west to east answered by Aeneas’ from east to west).

The ode thus follows a classic paradigmatic pattern which is united with a traditionalprayer-form. Often in prayer the argument is explicit: ‘help me, as you did before’; herethe thought is ‘help us, as you did our ancestress’. The appeal could have moved directly

74 Self-referential, as the story is about to begin? For a clearer instance of self-conscious announcement seeEum. 306 (followed up by 332 = 345).

75 This stanza includes six place-names and a further periphrasis masking a place-name. On Aeschylus’fondness for catalogues see Hall on Pers. 480–514.

76 This extends at least to the end of 585 (so Page, West): for other possibilities see Friis Johansen andWhittle (1980) ad loc.


from the first strophic pair to the last (Io is already mentioned in the first antistrophe);instead the appeal is backed up by the extended narrative of her agonised wanderings,described in vivid present tenses and with heavy emphasis on her pain from Hera’spersecution (541–2, 562–4, 572–3). The account of Io, however, is not confined todescription of her extraordinary suffering and pain; it also moves on to the gloriousmoment of her final release and the miracle of the birth of Epaphus, whose name impliesthat he was conceived merely by the touch of Zeus, perhaps only by his breath (535,577). So too the Danaans are suffering the misfortune of flight into exile and fear ofpursuers; they too in their turn trust in salvation by the awesome power of Zeus, hereglorified in terms still more hyperbolic than those in the parodos of the Agamemnon.There are further analogies in the reaction of the Egyptians to Io’s metamorphosed form(563ff.); similarly the Argive king is bewildered at the appearance and attire of the newarrivals (276ff.) The new positive note is struck first at 571 (kai; tovte dh; tiv" h\n oJqevlxa"); it continues, we discern through a haze of textual corruption, in the lines whichfollow (ajphmavntw/ sqevnei). Where Hera brought pain and toil, Zeus’ strength inflictsno harm. The word of Zeus is free of falsehood; the child of Zeus is free of flaw (580–1).Epaphus will not live through ‘unending age’, like his father (574), but he will live andbe ‘all-prosperous’ through ‘a lengthy age’ (582): the phrases are deliberately placedat the equivalent point in strophe and antistrophe. The celebratory cries of the land atthe new offspring of Zeus reverse the astonished fear of the Egyptians at the weird formof his mother earlier. The second reference to Hera brings to an end the ‘plagues’ thathaunted Io, reversing the earlier lines in which her victimisation had been allowed fullrein (586–7, reversing 562–4). Each of the questions the chorus asks – who eased Io’ssuffering? Who ended the plague sent by Hera? Whom can I call upon? – has the sameanswer: Zeus. The first two refer to actions long past, the last to present and future: thehymnic appeal and the enclosed narrative are knit closely together. Aeschylus’ chorallyrics often owe a clear debt to ritual forms,77 but the relationship should not be misun-derstood or overstated. There is no doubt that the hymnic form here, as in theAgamemnon, is fully adapted to its place in the play.78

We have already noted that the point of view of the song shifts with Io’s arrival inEgypt: in 565–70 the action is focalised through the Egyptians, and their direct speechis quoted shortly afterwards.

brotoi; dΔ, oi} ga" tovtΔ h\san e[nnomoi,clwrw/ deivmati qumo;npavllontΔ o[yin ajhvqh,boto;n ejsorwnte" duscere;" meixovmbroton,

ta;n me;n boov",ta;n dΔ au\ gunaikov": tevra" dΔ ejqavmboun …

77 E.g. Kranz 1933, 127ff., 185–7; further Garvie 1969, 93 n. 2.78 Cf. the remarks of Furley-Bremer 2001, 1.275–8.


and the mortals who dwelt then in the land were shaken at heart with green terrorat the unfamiliar sight, gazing upon a beast of monstrous form, half-human, inpart a cow, in part a woman; the portent filled them with amazement …

The parallel between their astonishment and that of Pelasgus draws attention to theimportance for the play of the differing novmoi of Greeks (here especially Argives) andEgyptians, a contrast which is drawn elsewhere in political, legal, religious and otherterms, not just with regard to the externals of dress (232–326, 365ff., 387ff., 921ff.,952–3).79 That the Danaids are neither wholly Egyptian nor properly Greek is the clearimplication of the plot of the play, more specifically indicated by most of the passagescited. (The suggestion that their opening invocation in this ode, a[nax ajnavktwn, has anoriental flavour would aptly underline this.80 How they are to fit in a Greek polis ismade a central problem of the trilogy.

A final element which further complicates the paradigm is the issue of sexual unionand childbirth. A large part of the glorification of Zeus concerns his sexual bond withIo and the resulting divine child Epaphus. It seems a significant contrast that thesalvation of Io coincides with her conceiving a child, whereas the Danaids seek toescape their suitors and reject marriage with abhorrence. The birth of the child is markedas a joyous events by the adjectives in lines 581–2 (ajmemfh, pavnolbon). The changein Io’s situation seems to correspond with both reversion to human form and a changeof attitude: pauvetai, dakruvwn dΔ ajpo | stavzei pevnqimon aijdw (578–9, ‘she is broughtto rest, and allows to trickle away her sorrowful shame of tears’). Some change wouldbe necessary in the chorus’ attitude for the analogy to operate fully, but in this play, ofcourse, no such change occurs. The conclusion of the play and the fragment from theDanaids make clear that sexuality and marriage will be important in the remainder ofthe trilogy, however much doubt we may feel about detailed reconstruction. Here thenwe see another function of this ode: through their celebration of Zeus and Io Aeschyluspermits the Danaids to expose the limitations, perhaps even the perversity, of their ownattitude to sexual union.81

79 Cf. Hutchinson 1985b, 179; more generally Hall 1989, ch. 3.80 The evidence is thoroughly discussed by Friis Johansen and Whittle 1980, 2.408–10.81 How exactly we frame this argument will of course depend on whether the Danaids are to be seen as

rejecting marriage only with the sons of Aegyptus, or marriage tout court: for discussion of this knottyproblem see Garvie 1969, 215ff. (with the additional remarks in his 2006 revision, xvii), Friis Johansenand Whittle 1980, 29–40. I am not persuaded by Zeitlin 1996, 153–8 that the analogy between Danaidsand Io is to be read as showing that the former are erotically fixated on Zeus.


2. E. Pho 1018–66

At this point the chorus of Phoenician women, who have just witnessed the resolutionof Menoeceus, son of Creon, to die for Thebes, reflect on the earlier history ofmisfortune; the stage is clear.82

e[ba" e[ba", You came, you came,

1020 w\ pteroussa, Ga" lovceuma winged one, offspring of Earth

nertevrou tΔ ΔEcivdna", and of infernal Echidna,

Kadmeivwn aJrpagav, ravager of the Cadmeians,

poluvfqoro" poluvstono" rich in slaughter, rich in groaning,

meixopavrqeno", half-maiden,

davion tevra", terrible portent,

foitavsi pteroi" on speeding wings,

calaisiv tΔ wjmosivtoi": with claws that win raw food;

Dirkaivwn a{ potΔ ejk once you carried away our young men

tovpwn nevou" pedaivrous from Dirce’s lands

a[luron ajmfi; mousan through a lyreless song,

ojlomevnan tΔ ΔErinu;n a ruinous Fury,

1030 e[fere" e[fere" a[cea patrivdi you brought sorrows, yes, you brought deadly sorrows to our land,

fovnia: fovnio" ejk qewn and deadly by the gods’ will

o}" tavdΔ h\n oJ pravxa". was he who brought this about.

ijavlemoi de; matevrwn, Lamentations of mothers,

ijavlemoi de; parqevnwn lamentations of maidens

ejstevnazon oi[koi": resounded in their homes.

ijhihvion boavn, Grief-filled cries – oh –

ijhihvion mevlo" grief-filled songs – oh –

a[llo" a[llotΔ ejpotovtuze one or another uttered at different times

diadocai" ajna; ptovlin. in succession throughout the city.

bronta/ de; stenagmo;" The mourning and the wailing

1040 ajcav tΔ h\n o{moio", were like thunder

oJpovte povleo" ajfanivseien whenever the winged virgin

aJ pteroussa parqevno" tin ajndrwn. abducted one of the men from the city.

82 Many valuable observations in Mastronarde’s excellent commentary (1994); note also his general noteson the other, related choral odes of this play, esp. p. 331 for characteristics of the so-called ‘dithyrambicstyle’. Cf further Panagl 1971, 178–93; Hose 1990–1, 2.111–13.


crovnw/ dΔ e[ba But in time he came,

Puqivai" ajpostolaisin dispatched by Pytho,

Oijdivpou" oJ tlavmwn Oedipus the unhappy –

Qhbaivan tavnde lan he came to this land of Thebes;

tovtΔ ajsmevnoi", pavlin dΔ a[ch: then they welcomed him, but afterwards came sorrow:

matri; ga;r gavmou" marriage to his mother, marriage that was vile,

dusgavmou" tavla" wretched man, he made that match,

kallivniko" w]n when triumphant

aijnigmavtwn sunavptei, in his success with the riddles;

1050 miaivnei de; ptovlin, he polluted the city,

diΔ aiJmavtwn dΔ ajmeivbei through bloodshed he brings his offspring

musaro;n eij" ajgwna to contest of defilement,

katabalw;n ajraisi hurling them down with curses

tevkea mevleo". ajgavmeqΔ ajgavmeqΔ, – miserable man. I marvel, yes, in admiration,

o}" ejpi; qavnaton oi[cetai at the one who is going to his death

ga" uJpe;r patrwv/a", for his homeland’s sake,

1060 Krevonti me;n lipw;n govou", who leaves behind mourning for Creon,

ta; dΔ eJptavpurga klh/qra ga" but will make the seven-towered gates

kallivnika qhvswn. of the land triumphant.

1060 genoivmeqΔ w|de matevre" May we be mothers of sons like this,

genoivmeqΔ eu[teknoi, fivla may we have noble children,

Pallav", a} dravkonto" ai|ma dear Pallas, you who brought about

liqovbolon kateirgavsw, bloody death of a dragon, shattered by stone,

Kadmeivan mevrimnan urging Cadmus’ thoughts

oJrmhvsasΔ ejpΔ e[rgon, on to action;

o{qen ejpevsuto tavnde gaian and so there came swiftly upon this land

aJrpagaisi daimovnwn ti" a[ta. through divine abduction, disaster.

The chorus have just heard Tiresias declare that one of the descendants of the SownMen of Thebes must die to placate the anger of Ares at the slaying of the great snakeby Cadmus at the foundation of the city (931ff.); only Menoeceus, Creon’s son,qualifies. More generally, the gods continue to be angry with the line of Laius; Thebescannot prosper while one of Oedipus’ line still lives (867ff.). Despite his father’sconcern to save his life, Menoeceus resolves to die for his country, and leaves the stagewith this intention. The ode which follows touches on these themes at the close, but follows a bizarre sequence of thought. The scholia already expressed indignation:pro;" oujde;n tauta: e[dei ga;r to;n coro;n oijktivsasqai dia; to;n qavnaton Menoikevw" h]ajpodevcesqai th;n eujyucivan tou neanivskou. ajlla; ta; peri; Oijdivpoun kai; th;n Sfivgga


dihgeitai ta; pollavki" eijrhmevna (‘This is all pointless. The chorus ought to beexpressing pity at the death of Menoeceus, or approving the valour of the young man.But instead it narrates the hackneyed themes of Oedipus and the Sphinx.’)83

Moreover, the narrative is presented in the characteristic late Euripidean idiom:abundant vocatives, emotional repetitions, compound epithets (some of them newcoinages), accumulated relative clauses, strongly visual and sensual descriptions. Thechorus first address a winged creature who turns out to be the Sphinx: her sinisterchthonic origin, her monstrous form and marauding raids form the subject of the longstrophe. There is fullness of expression with some duplication of information (we aretold in the strophe three times that the Sphinx is winged, and twice that she abductsmen from Thebes (1026–7, 1041–2, already anticipated at 1021). (The topic is closedby ring composition with the recurrence of pteroussa (1019 ~ 1042 ; note also 1023meixopavrqeno" ~1042 parqevno".) The event is placed in the past (1026, the commonuse of pote); the vocative addressed to so destructive and inhuman a creature, and onelong dead, is a bizarre form of direct engagement with the events. Although addressingthe Sphinx, the chorus make no pretence of sharing her viewpoint: virtually everyepithet in the strophe serves to bring out her ferocity. There is however a shift at theend of the strophe as the chorus moves away from direct address to the Sphinx andbegins to speak of her in the third person (1042–3).

Then from the Sphinx we move to the apparently saving figure of Oedipus –‘Oedipus the unhappy’, as they call him proleptically/with hindsight –, who solved herriddle and saved Thebes (1043ff.). The strophe begins with the arrival of the Sphinx,the antistrophe with that of her destroyer – who will himself bring fresh misfortune.The ambiguity of his role is stressed: first welcomed by the citizens, then a bringer ofsorrow (1046); his incestuous marriage is intertwined in the sentence with his triumphin answering the riddle (1047ff.); then we pass to matter more obviously germane tothe play, the curses he uttered against his sons. The Sphinx ravished homes and causedgrief in the city because of the death of children (1027, 1030, 1033ff.); the kingship ofOedipus polluted the city (1050) and his curses mean death for his own children(1051–4). Line 1056 surprises: ‘I marvel, yes, in admiration ...’ As the new sentenceprogresses we grasp the change of topic: the chorus have abruptly turned to the newsaviour in the present, Menoeceus, a purified version of Oedipus. His virgin self-sacrifice stands in contrast with the polluted marriage that followed Oedipus’ apparentsuccess in the past, which only led on to disaster. The contrast is not spelt out; the twomen’s deeds are simply juxtaposed. The repetition of the term ‘triumphant’ (1048kallivniko" w]n ~ 1059 kallivnika qhvswn) gives a clue to the sequence of thought, butmuch is still left to the audience to work out.

83 See Schwartz 1887–91, 1.356 (note on 1019); quoted and castigated by Mastronarde 1994, 435. One notes also with amusement the index entry in Mastronarde’s commentary, s.v. ‘criticism (often carping)found in scholia’ – a revealing expression in so austere a work. For similar concern with the relevance of digressions in the Pindar scholia see e.g. S N. 7.56a, and Heath 1989, 143–5 on their modern successors.


The gender of the chorus is foregrounded by the fervent wish to have sons of thecalibre of Menoeceus (1060–1): we are perhaps intended to contrast this unselfishadmiration with the over-protective paternal love of Creon. But this prayer is oddlyaddressed to Pallas, a goddess not associated either with childbirth or Thebes. Pallas isnamed in order to make the transition to the slaying of the snake by Cadmus, whomshe assisted in his task (already mentioned in an earlier ode, 666). Thus at the close ofthe ode we revert, anti-chronologically, to the foundation of the city and it seems to theroot of all the subsequent misfortune, the slaying of the snake by Cadmus (1062–6).The Sphinx and her persecution of Thebes is one misfortune which Tiresias has notmentioned; nor has there been any previous suggestion that the Sphinx was sent inretribution for the death of the snake. And who sent her? That was left mysterious inthe strophe, though 1031–2 invites the question (‘and deadly by the gods’ will was hewho brought this about’). Who is meant here? Ares? Hades? Or is this a deliberateenigma?84 We have seen that it is a typical move for the chorus to seek out the ajrch;kakwn, but here the origin is hard to grasp. Either this knowledge is presupposed, or(more probably) the mythical connection is devised ad hoc, as part of the elaborate andoppressive background of historic horror which Euripides is conjuring up in thesuccessive odes of this doom-drenched play.

Choral song, especially in Euripides, often views the action from a perspective atvariance with the dialogue portions.85 In the early scenes of the Orestes the Furiesappear to be hallucinations, the product of the matricide’s disordered mind; but thechorus still invoke them as dreadful divinities (Or. 316ff.). Similarly in this play, thedark exploration of the remote past by the chorus strikes a completely different note from the more harshly modern and political motives aired in the agon betweenEteocles and Polynices. Although Tiresias has done much to bring to the foregroundthe supernatural causes for present disaster, the chorus’ role remains important. Theaudience is faced with a dilemma: can the events of the play be better understood inpolitical or supernatural terms? As the drama advances the sophisticated outlook of theagon, with its trendy catchwords such as isotes and philotimia, begins to look too simpleto do justice to the tragedian’s dark vision of catastrophe. Menoeceus’ self-sacrifice,like the later intervention of Jocasta on the battlefield, demonstrates the possibility ofunselfish behaviour at Thebes; but the conflict between the brothers remainsremorseless.86

Although the chorus enthusiastically praise Menoeceus, they do not address him or Oedipus. The direct apostrophe which was used so extensively in the strophe isreserved for the end of the antistrophe, where they invoke Pallas (1061–2), asking for sons like this. The virginal Olympian goddess forms a powerful contrast with the monstrous chthonic predator. Are we entitled to look further, and seek an Athenian

84 So Mastronarde 1994 on 1032, comparing 810–11, where Hades is mentioned. According to ‘Apollodorus’the Sphinx was sent by Hera. For mythological innovation see nn. 66 and 91.

85 Cf. Goldhill 1986, 162–5, on the Electra.86 I approach here topics skilfully treated by Mastronarde 1986.


dimension?87 That would not be an inevitable conclusion – after all, Athena has a clearrole in the myth of Cadmus, and we must allow representatives of other states to addressher without forcing them into an Athenian role; also, if the prayer to Athenamomentarily draws us closer to the Athenian audience’s own world, the reminder ofthe chorus’ gender in 1060 simultaneously distances us, discouraging us from iden-tifying them too closely with the citizens who constitute the chorus.88

If we broaden the question to ask what this ode, in this context, has to say to anAthenian theatre-goer in the year 410–409,89 we embark upon murkier waters. A well-known paper by Froma Zeitlin has argued that Thebes is best seen in a number of playsas an anti-Athens, a place of disorder, unhealthy relationships and corrupt or monstrousautochthony.90 This approach would suggest that the horrendous Theban history isrelevant only as a kind of horror-story for an Athens which is free from such traumaticexperiences. A rather different point might be deduced from Tiresias’ remarks on hisfirst entrance (852ff.). He comments that he is weary, having just returned from thecity of the Erechtheids, where he gave them the key to victory in their conflict withEumolpus.91 This must allude to the saving of the city through human sacrifice; Tiresiasis about to recommend the same remedy for Thebes’ misfortunes. (The whole episodeof Menoeceus’ death may well be a Euripidean invention.)92 In mythical time, Thebescan learn a lesson from Athens; in historical time, might Athens take comfort from themyths of Thebes? But the matter is complicated by the double-saviour: on the one hand,the illusory case of Oedipus, on the other the real but self-destructive case ofMenoeceus. In the last analysis, at this stage in the war, in years dominated bybreakdown of democratic consensus at home and heavy losses abroad, even one whois sceptical about pressing the relation of tragedy to history may be willing to see somerelevance to Athenian misfortunes in the prayer for children willing to sacrificethemselves on behalf of the state. (Both Pericles and Lysistrata would have been quickto make the connection.)

87 A full bibliography to this best-known of all modern debates on tragedy would be out of place here: seee.g. the references given in one of the most recent contribution, Rhodes 2003.

88 I allude of course to C. Sourvinou-Inwood’s paired concepts of ‘zooming’ and ‘distancing’: see e.g. (ofmany expositions) Sourvinou-Inwood 2003, part 1, ch. 2, esp. 22–5.

89 For the arguments regarding the dating of the play (which cannot be precise) see Mastronarde 1994,11–14.

90 Zeitlin 1986; for qualifications, Easterling 1989; accepted with reservations by Parker 1997, at 148–51.91 As the scholia remark, this is anachronistic, and evidently included for the sake of the allusion to Athens

and in some sense to Euripides’ own earlier Erechtheus (Schwartz 1887–91, 1.343, note on 854). Thereis however no reason to suppose that Tiresias was a character in that play.

92 For discussion of this point see Mastronarde 1994, 28–9.


IV

We are now in a position to draw some of the strands together and to attempt somegeneralisations.

Embedded narrative was familiar to the tragic poets from epic. Already in the Iliadsuch narratives could draw upon the speaker’s own experience (Nestor’s reminiscences)or allude to extraneous events (Achilles on Niobe); self-conscious innovation andreshaping of the narrative is evident. Lyric poetry too made free use of the device: onlyPindar has been considered above, but other poets undoubtedly used the technique.Even personal poetry could admit it (Sappho 95, as a parallel to her own erotic longings;Alcaeus 298, in relation to contemporary politics). The simplest use of the device is asan explicit paradigm, but Aeschylus has already gone beyond this. The embedded mythmay mean one thing to the choral singers, something else to the ideal audience; fore-shadowing and ironic double meanings are common. Aeschylus’ choruses rarely movefar from the narration of events related to the events of the play, and when he does so(Supp., Cho.) the procedure involves explicit indication of the illustrative nature of hisnarratives. Sophocles and Euripides both develop Aeschylean practice, but Sophoclesobserves greater restraint. Only one of the Sophoclean examples moves beyond thehistory of the family at the heart of the play (Ant. 944ff.). Moroever, Euripides makesfar greater use of the device (more than three times as many cases), treats his narrativesat much greater length than Sophocles, and approaches them in more ingenious andunpredictable ways. Sophocles seems concerned to anchor his apparent digressionsfirmly in the play (witness the vocatives addressed to Antigone in Ant. 944ff., orOedipus in OT 1197ff.); he prevents them from becoming independent stories of theirown. In Sophocles we find no direct speech by characters within the embedded tales,and there is virtually no address by the poet to characters or forces within the tale (El.504 seems the only exception). All of this seems in keeping with Sophocles’ evidentconcern to achieve a greater naturalism than Euripides seems to have sought;93 we mayalso detect a desire for greater concentration on the events of the single play. By contrastEuripides repeatedly expands his plots and looks beyond the limits of the present action.Only in Euripides do we find cases in which the narrative is entirely sealed off fromthe surrounding action, with no external addressee or concluding application to thedramatic situation: even in his work such odes are rare (IT 1234–82 is the best example).Yet it is also Euripides who elsewhere gives the chorus its most individual voice (Hec.,Tro.: see II.4 above). In other ways too (direct speech, direct address by the chorus,emotional comment and expostulation, wishes and prayers), he involves the chorus inthe subject of their song and the audience in the chorus’s lyrics: the parallel with hispractice in monody is obvious. Connections with other strands of mythology are sought,though analogies or cause–effect relations are often not spelt out and can be problematic(cf. above on Pho. 1031–2); in one case at least the song’s version seems to contradict

93 For a broad account of the contrast between them, see Michelini 1987, 95–116.


the main tenor of the play (Helen 1355–68).94 Although Euripides follows Sophoclesin preferring the single play to the trilogic structure, he follows and goes beyondAeschylus in his powerful consciousness of the connections between different myths,of the many threads that run across the genealogical and mythographic web.

A distinguished reviewer has recently remarked that narratology only tells you howa story is put together in a given text, not why the author has done it in this way.95 Thismay indeed be the impression left by some more formalistic work, though some of usmay feel that verbal structures and stylistic or rhetorical features are demonstrable andopen to scrutiny in a way that ideological drives or the negotiation of power-relationswithin the polis are not. But the criticism is surprisingly sharp and the polarisationsomewhat extreme. To examine the formal aspects of a passage, to subject it tocomparison and analysis, is already to begin to ask questions about why, which can beanswered from an authorial, a text-based, or a reader-response perspective, accordingto one’s preference. That the study of texts as complex narrative structures need not bedivorced from higher-level questions has in any case been shown by several importantstudies of other genres.96 Closer reading of choral passages can shed some indirectlight, I hope, on a number of aspects of Greek beliefs and perceptions – in the fields ofmyth, morality, religion and gender, to look no further. The examination of narrativeportions within a dramatic genre also poses important questions of literary history:tragedy might be seen as colonising the domains of both epic and lyric. The handlingof legendary material, old, new and invented, also carries implications for ourassessment of the audience’s literary knowledge and competence: we can see somejustification for the light-hearted praise of Athenian sophistication in a well-knownpassage of the Frogs (1109–18). In a paper for this Society, and in this journal, I neednot struggle too hard to justify this enquiry further. After all, is not Cambridge, amongstother things, the original home of practical criticism?97

CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD R. B. RUTHERFORD

94 The forthcoming commentary on this play by W. Allan reviews the problems of this passage; I am gratefulto him for a preview of his notes on this stasimon.

95 S. Halliwell, commenting on de Jong 2001, in G&R 49 (2002) 237.96 I think especially of the penetrating work on Lucan by Matthew Leigh and on Thucydides by T. Rood

(Leigh 1997; Rood 1998); see also Fowler 1990, cited in n. 5 above.97 For an absorbing account of the founding fathers Richards and Empson, see Haffenden 2005, ch. 8.


APPENDIX 1

Conspectus of extended choral narrative passages in extant tragedies.

Aeschylus

1. Septem 720–84 (Laius, Oedipus, the curse on the sons)2. Supplices 57–68 (the wife of Tereus)3. Supplices 524–99 (the wanderings of Io, partly anticipated in the parodos)4. Agamemnon 40–258, esp. 40–67, 104–59, 184–249 (the origins of the Trojan war;

the fleet at Aulis; Calchas’ prophecy; Iphigenia)5. Agamemnon 398–436 (Paris’ taking of Helen; Menelaus’ distress)6. Agamemnon 681–749 (Helen and Troy)7. Choephori 585–651 (exempla: evil women, including the present case of Clytemnestra)8. Prometheus 425–30 (exemplum: suffering of Atlas) (text corrupt; del. Griffith)

Sophocles

9. Electra 472–515, at 504–15 (Pelops, Myrtilus)10. (OT 489–511 (denial of past roots of present problem))11. OT 1197–1222 (Oedipus’ career)12. Antigone 100–47 (immediate past; the failure of the expedition of the Seven)13. Antigone 582–625 (misfortunes of the Labdacids; more gloomy moralising than

narrative)14. Antigone 944–87 (analogous exempla; cf. already Antigone herself in lyric exchange

at 823ff.) 15. Trach 498–530 (wooing of Deianira)

Euripides

16. Alcestis 569–605 (kindness of Admetus to Apollo, analogous to his hospitality toHeracles in the present)

17. Medea 1282–92 (antistrophe only: parallel of Ino)18. Hippolytus 752–75 (Phaedra’s journey from Crete, and how it has all ended)19. Andr. 274–308 (judgement of Paris; extended counterfactual wish at 293ff.)20. Andr. 1009–46 (the building and the ruin of Troy, and disasters for the Greeks)21. Hec. 629–56 (judgement of Paris)22. Hec. 905–52 (memories of the sack of Troy)23. Electra 432–86 (journey to Troy, Achilles’ shield (ekphrasis))24. Electra 699–746 (the golden lamb and the conflict of Atreus and Thyestes; the sun’s

reversal of course) 25. Heracles 348–441 (labours of Heracles)26. Heracles 1016–24 (Danaids, Procne)


27. Troades 511–67 (the taking of Troy)28. Troades 799–858 (first expedition against Troy; fortunes of the house of Laomedon;

divine favour given and withdrawn (last theme resumed, though without retrospective, in the next ode, at 1060ff.))(Note treatment of similar material in Hecabe’s lament 122ff., on arrival of Greekfleet)

29. IT 179–202 (part of epirrhematic parodos; earlier history of the Pelopid house;Answered by Iphigenia herself 203ff., on her own life; note 203, 205 ejx ajrca")

30. IT 1234–82 (early career of Apollo; how he gained the oracle. Unrelated tale, except in that Apollo inspired Orestes; Euripidean additions. Cf. the mountain-mother ode in Helen)

31. Ion 184–218 (wars of gods and giants; commenting on reliefs at Delphi, so a kindof ekphrasis)

32. Helen 1301–68 (the mountain mother; Demeter and Persephone)33. Pho. 638–89 (Cadmus, the dragon, Io and Epaphus)34. Pho. 784–832 (misfortunes of Thebes; Jocasta, Oedipus, the Sphinx, the snake)35. Pho. 1018–66 (the Sphinx and Oedipus; reverting to snake at end)36. Orestes 807–43 (strife in the house of Atreus. Selective history of the family)37. Orestes (supplementing this account) Electra’s strophic dirge at 960ff., esp.

982–1012 (Tantalus, Pelops, Myrtilus)); 960–81 ascribed to the chorus by Diggleand others.

38. IA 573–89 (epode of stasimon. Paris and the judgement; Helen)39. Orestes 751–800 (a very curious case. Future narrative, but vividly anticipated, to the

point of oratio recta. The war of Troy described as it will happen, the sufferingit will cause.)

40. Orestes 1036–98 (marriage of Peleus and Thetis; hence Achilles)

The fragments of the lost tragedies yield little certainty, but Eur. Hypsipyle F 752g.18ff.Kannicht (= F 1.iii.18ff. Bond) seems a clear instance (consolatory narrative from thechorus to Hysipyle, reminding her of the exempla of Europa and Io).


APPENDIX 2

Use of the first and second person

Narrators characteristically describe events in the third person; for the narrating ‘I’ or‘we’ to intrude is noteworthy, and so is the use of ‘you’. We have already considereda number of notable cases of the former. A full list of instances in or immediatelyadjacent to the narrative passages under consideration may be useful for futureresearchers, glossed with a few comments as appropriate:

First persons: (singular unless otherwise stated)

Aesch. Septem 720, 742 (self-referential ‘for I speak of’), 764, 790; Supp. 69 (drawingthe analogy from the Tereus-exemplum), 536 (pl.), 538, 591; Ag. 72ff. (pl.), 104, 160ff.(invocation of Zeus, interrupting the narrative), 248 (see above, p. 00), 362, 459(indirect reference to chorus’ misgivings), 471–4 (gnomic), 740, 757ff. (firm assertionof moral viewpoint on events narrated); Cho. 623, 629, 638; PV 427 (‘only one otherhave I seen …’).

Soph. El. 472–3, 479, 496 (pl.); OT 483, 486–97, 500, 504ff. (extended soul-searching),1188, 1193ff., 1196, 1200–1 (‘my land’), 1218, 1221–3; Ant. 110 (‘our land’), 120 (pl.),153 (pl.), 594; Tra. 500ff. (self-conscious narrator), 526 (text dubious).

Eur. Alc. 603–5; Medea 1282 (‘I have heard of only one other woman …’); Hipp.755 (‘my mistress’; cf. earlier 732, 735, escape-wishes); Hec. 629ff. (emphatic openingself-reference), 649 (‘my halls’), 913, 914ff. (extended first-person narration, see p. 00above); El. 452 (‘I heard …’), 486 (‘I shall see’), 737ff. (expression of scepticism onmyth); Heracles 352ff. (self-conscious; chorus as panegyrist), 436ff. (Nestor-stylelonging for lost vigour), 1021 (‘I can tell…’), 1025ff. (self-referential, uncertainty asto what kind of song to sing); Tro. 515 (‘I shall sing’), 517ff. (narration in first person,cf. p.00 above), 806–7 (‘our city’), 846; IT 181; Ion 194ff. (exchanges between choralmembers); Pho. 679 (invocation of Epaphus), 819 (‘I heard in my native land …’),1054 (plural, regarding chorus’ admiration for Menoeceus), leading on to prayer1060ff.; Or. 960ff.; IA 757 (‘where I hear that Cassandra …’), 785ff. (apotropaic prayer:‘never to my children’s children may this prospect come …’); Hyps. F 752g.18 and 28.

Second persons

Aesch. Supp. 524ff. (invocation of Zeus), 589 (‘you would hit the mark’, i.e. ‘you’ hereused as equivalent to ‘one’); Ag. 83ff. with 97, 98 (Clytemnestra), 121 = 138 = 159(refrain), 252 (‘one’), 355ff. (invocation of Zeus and Night).

Soph. El. 477 (address to Electra as tevknon), 502ff. (apostrophe of Pelops’ iJppeiva);OT 1186 (invocation), 1193ff. (address to Oedipus), 1201ff., 1207, 1212, 1214ff., 1216;Ant. 100ff. (invocation), 151 (address to fellow-chorus members or fellow-citizens),604ff. (invocation), 949, 987.


Eur. Alc. 569ff. (address to the house of Admetus), 582f. (Apollo), 588ff. (Admetus);Med. 1290ff. (invocation of women); Hipp. 752f. (dangling vocative to Cretan ship);Andr. 302f. (terminal apostrophe to Andromache), 1010ff. (opening invocation toApollo and Poseidon), 1036 (Apollo again), 1041 (Hermione); Hec. 511 (invocationof Muse), 905ff. (opening invocation of Troy); El. 432ff. (dangling invocation of‘glorious ships’), 454 (address to Achilles), 480f. (‘daughter of Tyndareus’, toClytemnestra), 745f. (similar address to Clytemnestra, again at close of ode); Tro.799ff. (opening invocation of Telamon), 822ff. (invocation of Ganymede), 841ff.(invocation of Eros); Heracles 434 (at close of ode, finally addressing Heracles),1022ff. (to Heracles); IT 1251ff.; Ion 190ff. (exchanges between choral members);Helen 1355–7 and probably 1369 (terminal apostrophe to Helen – but a Helen ratherdifferent from the dramatic character in the rest of the play); Pho. 676ff. (invocationof Epaphus; subsequently of Persephone, Demeter, Ge), 784–98 (extended address toAres), 801ff. (to the grove on Cithaeron), 818 (to Gaia), 1018–31 (address to Sphinx;quoted p. 00 above), 1061 (‘dear Pallas’); Or. 839 (near-apostrophe of Orestes, thoughthird person maintained), 976f. (periphrastic address to mankind); IA 573–89 (to Paris),794 (terminal apostrophe of Helen, combined with sceptical comment on her birth),1036ff. (at end of narrative proper, address to Iphigenia in the present at 1080; but unityof authorship questionable); Hyps. F 752g.33.


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'Why should I mention Io?'aspects of choral narration in Greek tragedy

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