BMCR 2009.05.47: Battezzato on Kraus, Visualizing the Tragic. Drama, Myth, and Ritual in Greek Art and Literature. Essays in Honour of Froma Zeitlin

Chris Kraus, Simon Goldhill, Helene P. Foley, Jas Elsner (ed.),
Visualizing the Tragic. Drama, Myth, and Ritual in Greek Art and
Literature. Essays in Honour of Froma Zeitlin.  Oxford:  Oxford
University Press, 2007.  Pp. xxii, 475; ills. 36.  ISBN 9780199276028.
$175.00; L78.00.

Reviewed by Luigi Battezzato, Universita\ del Piemonte Orientale
([email protected])
Word count:  4397 words
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Table of Contents
(http://catdir.loc.gov/catdir/toc/ecip078/2007001874.html)

Froma Zeitlin is one of the most influential contemporary classicists,
and this all-star volume is a fitting tribute to her scholarship.

Unlike many 'Festschriften,' the present volume achieves a great
thematic and methodological unity. Six papers discuss vases and
sculptures representing tragedy (see the contributions by Lissarrague,
Frontisi-Ducroux, Taplin, Most and Giuliani, Hall, and Henderson);
others examine literary topics in tragedy (Pucci, Goldhill, Wilson),
the reception of tragedy in the Second Sophistc (Elsner, Bowie), and
tragedy on the modern stage (Foley). Three fine papers on Homer and
choral lyrics (Slatkin, Martin, and Kurke), discussing visual images
and performance, are less relevant to the general theme, but are not
less interesting for that reason.

Tragedy is the well known forte of the dedicatee, and the present
volume succeeds in reflecting several important aspects of her work
(even if it does not include much on gender, identity, or religion, for
instance).

Froma Zeitlin 'delivered the Sather lectures precisely on visualization
and the prose of the Second Sophistic' (14). Her original lectures in
fact also included extensive discussion of tragedy (e.g. the Iphigenia
in Tauris by Euripides).[[1]] They are still unpublished, and one hopes
that author will offer them soon to the scholarly public. Visualizing
the Tragic is in some ways a supplement to that unpublished work, and
bears testimony to the variety of approaches and themes that have been
the object of Zeitlin's research. The editors should be complimented on
finding a topic which has generated a number of excellent papers and on
the careful editing. The volume is beautifully printed; the black and
white illustrations are good; the indexes very detailed; misprints very
rare.

I will offer a short summary of each piece, with brief comments.

Laura Slatkin ('Notes on Tragic Visualizing in the Iliad': 19-34)
analyses the function of visualization in the Iliadic narrative,
showing how often 'the act of seeing arrests, suspends, or dilates
poetic action, authorizing the inner life of its characters' (23). This
is especially the case with the feeling of 'wonder',
<greek>qau=ma</greek> (27). The other main aspect Slatkin discusses is
the visualization of a future event, especially 'of a sight that cannot
be countenanced' (31), such as Andromache's slavery (6.450-465) or the
death of Priam and Hector (22.66-76 and 485-501).

Richard P. Martin ('Outer Limits, Choral Space': 35-62) focuses on an
epigram which accompanied a tripod dedication, dating from 500-480 BC,
from the Athenian Acropolis (IG3 833 bis). The epigram celebrates a
victory in the (dithyrambic) 'chorus of men' and presents itself as a
'boundary marker of poetic wisdom' (<greek>sofi/es</greek>...
h<greek>o/ron</greek>). Martin offers a subtle reading of this dense
text, comparing it to similar boundary metaphors used in the poetry of
(among others) Solon, Pindar, Euripides, and Aeschylus, pointing out
the contrast between the 'boundary stone' and the circular choral dance
of the dithyramb. Martin also argues that the author played on the
possible meaning 'boundary made of poetry': 'the poem proves itself to
be the boundary it embodies, the ne plus ultra of this kind of epigram'
(60).  A couple of minor corrigenda. In his translation of IG3 966,
Martin forgets to translate the demotic of Eryxias (38). In the second
lacuna of the first line of IG3 833 bis, one must delete the extraneous
<greek>w|</greek> (sic) from the Greek text (39). On the same page, the
words <greek>o(/de</greek>, 'this person' (the accent is missing in
Martin's text), from the first line of the same inscription, and
<greek>eu)xsamenos</greek>, 'praying/declaring/boasting', from the
third line, are missing from the translation. These two words are in
fact doubtful supplements, and make the syntax of the sentence
difficult.

Leslie Kurke ('Visualizing the Choral: Epichoric Poetry, Ritual, and
Elite Negotiation in Fifth Century Thebes': 63-101), in the longest and
most detailed paper of this collection, discusses the ritual, literary
and political interpretation of Pindar's parthenion daphne^phorikon
(fr. 94b Maheler). Pindar composed this poem for a chorus of young
girls who accompanied a procession in Thebes. Pausanias and Proclus
give somewhat different descriptions of the ritual. According to
Pausanias, each year a young boy from a noble Theban family acted as
daphne^phoros, a yearly priest, in the temple of Apollo Ismenios; the
richest ones, not all of them, dedicated tripods to Apollo. Proclus,
however, reports that the festival took place every eight years, in
memory of the mythical battle that brought Boeotian settlers to Thebes.
Proclus also describes the ko^po^, an olive log adorned with laurel
branches and with a kroko^to/s, a saffron robe.

Kurke's splendid analysis (71-84) demonstrates that the aition reflects
the tensions between Theban and Boeotian identity, also attested in
other sources for the fifth century BCE. The rite itself was 'a hybrid
of symbolic elements associated with war and with marriage'; the maiden
chorus and the saffron robe in particular are associated with
marriage.[[2]] Some of the details of the two descriptions and of
Pindar cannot be completely reconciled, and some details are certainly
post-classical (see esp. Kurke 83 n. 34 and F. Ferrari, RFIC 119 (1991)
395-396). However, Kurke convincingly suggests that the presence of the
ko^po^ and the route of the procession were chosen in 'an attempt to
appropriate southern [Boeotian] -- particularly Plataean -- elements in
a Theban ritual' (81) with the aim of integrating Thebes in the larger
Boeotian community. Finally, the dedication of tripods by the richest
families suggests the importance of elite competition in the enactment
of ritual. Kurke implies (but does not state) that the yearly priestly
service as daphne^phoros, as described by Pausanis, does not entail
that the ritual described by Pindar and Proclus had to take place each
year (75). One could suggest that a daphne^phoros was appointed every
year, but that the procession described by Proclus took place every
eighth year. Only the daphne^phoros who took part in the ritual
dedicated the tripods; the appointment in the special year would go to
the wealthiest families. This would explain the differences between the
account of Pausanias and that of Proclus. However this may be, Kurke is
able to show how Pindar's poem takes up these issues, skilfully weaving
the topics of Theban and Boeotian identity, of the dangers of
competition within the elite, and of the relationship between civic
organisation and aristocratic power (85-99). Her last couple of pages
offer much food for thought on the relationship between Athenian
dithyramb and drama, on one side, and non-Athenian choral forms on the
other (100-101).

Pietro Pucci ('Euripides and Aristophanes: What does Tragedy Teach?'
105-126) discusses Aristophanes' presentation of a didactic and
political Euripides in the Frogs and in the Acharnians, developing the
arguments of Loraux, Foley, Zeitlin and others. Pucci argues that
'Laughter ... weakens or even nullifies Aeschylus' aggressive question
[Ar. Ra. 1010-1012] ... and by so doing it diffuses Euripides'
assertion that '"we poets make people better citizens'" into vagueness'
(116). Pucci, commenting on Ar. Ach. 455, brings out well the
paradoxical eros of Aristophanes for Euripides (120-121). The
'obsessive satire against Euripides' miserable props opens up
contradictory significations,' as in fact Dicaeopolis ends up becoming
not just 'a disguised Telephos' but 'Euripides himself': 'it is
Euripides himself who finally parodies and satirizes Euripides' (124).

Simon Goldhill ('What's in a Wall? 127-147), introduces his paper with
some general reflections on the symbolic meaning of walls in
contemporary culture (the Berlin wall, the Great Wall of China, ghetto
walls, the Israeli Security Fence). He then focuses on how Aeschylus
and Euripides represent the walls of Thebes and Troy in the Seven
against Thebes, in the Phoenician Women, in the Trojan Women and in the
Hecuba. The walls of Thebes in the the Phoenician Women 'are
constructed through both Homer's Troy and Aeschylus' Thebes' (144). In
Aeschylus, Eteocles insists on the city walls as a firm boundary. In
Euripides only the not-so-prophetic pedagogue imagines that 'the city
is safe on inside matters at any rate' (E. Pho. 117; Goldhill, 139).
Goldhill illustrates the shifting meaning of the physically stable, but
symbolically moving, walls. Some of the best observations in Goldhill's
nuanced paper concern the significance and the cultural connotations of
the Athenian walls (the Long Walls and the 'wooden walls' of Hdt.
7.141.3) in Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon (129-130 and 144-147).

Franc,ois Lissarrague ('Looking at Shield Devices: Tragedy and Vase
Painting': 151-164) takes up a theme discussed in Zeitlin's famous book
Under the Sign of the Shield: Semiotics and Aeschylus' Seven against
Thebes (Rome 1982): the relationship between shield devices and their
bearers. Lissarrague examines the representation of shield devices on
classical Attic vases, with special attention to centaur devices
(listed on pages 163-164). He rightly stresses that these images obey
the visual logic of the banqueting vessels, and should be not taken as
'evidence documenting the archaeology of shields' (155); he also
suggests that vase painters preceded Aeschylus in the creation of a
link (or a contrast) between sign and warrior. Centaur devices often
symbolise the savagery of the fighter (as in the case of Amazons, in a
cup attributed to the Cleophrades painter). However, in a pelike
attributed to the Harrow painter, an unusually peaceful lyre-playing
centaur (probably Chiron) adorns the shield of a warrior that we might
identify as Achilles. In a surprising twist, centaurs defeat a hero
(Caeneus) who has a centaur as a shield device (in a crater attributed
to the Cleveland painter): 'Caeneus' bisexuality, the centaurs'
hybridity are on a par with the half-horse on the shield' (161). This
brief and intelligent paper is part of a larger work in progress (152
n. 4). It displays Lissarrague's usual flair and sensitivity for the
visual and intellectual complexity of Attic vase painting.

The paper by Franc,oise Frontisi-Ducroux ('The Invention of the
Erinyes': 165-176) is an English translation of the first part of her
French article 'L'e/toffe des spectres', Metis n.s. 4 (2006) 29-50 (see
esp. 29-42), with little reworking; the author does not refer to the
French publication. Frontisi-Ducroux discusses the appearance of the
furies as presented in the Choephori and the Eumenides of Aeschylus.
She explores topics such as the gaze, the mask, and the problem of
making visible what it is impossible to look at (the Gorgon-like
Erinyes). A few notes on details. Frontisi-Ducroux, following Verrall,
suggests that at Choephori 1048 <greek>dmwai\ gunai=kes, ai(/de
Gorgo/nwn di/khn</greek>  the words <greek>dmwai\ gunai=kes</greek>
could be interpreted 'as a nominative forming part of Orestes'
description: 'Captive women, these Gorgon-like creatures, in dark robes
interwoven with close-packed snakes'' (169). She adds that 'we are not
to choose between these two interpretations of the same grammatical
construction, but retain the semantic ambivalence the Greek permits.'
(169). In fact, the two grammatical constructions are quite different:
in one case, vocative plus nominal sentence; in the other case,
nominative as a subject of the nominal sentence. The meaning 'captive
women' is just possible, but the normal translation would be 'slave
women'. The vocative, with address to the chorus, is indeed very
strange, but it would be even stranger if Orestes called the furies
'slave women' when in fact they are terrorising him. Frontisi-Ducroux
is apparently unaware of West's attractive emendation <greek>smoiai\
gunai=kes</greek>, 'fearful, hateful women', which solves all these
problems, and of the discussions of the passage by West (Studies in
Aeschylus, Stuttgart 1990, 263) and Garvie (Aeschylus, Choephori, ed.
A. Garvie, Oxford 1986, 344). Choephori 1061 <greek>u(mei=s me\n ou)k
o(ra=te ta/sd', e)gw\ d' o(rw=</greek> does not mean 'You see nothing,
I do', as Frontisi-Ducroux translates (170; 'vous ne voyez rien, moi je
vois' in Metis n.s. 4 (2006) 34), but 'you do not see them; I do'.

Oliver Taplin ('A New Pair of Pairs: Tragic Witnesses in Western Greek
Vase Painting?' 177-196) discusses two Apulian vases and their
relationship to tragedy. Taplin's work, especially his book on Comic
Angels and Other Approaches to Greek Drama through Vase-Paintings
(Oxford, 1993), has been seminal in this field, and has been the
obvious source of inspiration for some of the papers in this
collection. The article under review anticipates and expands some
problems discussed in his most recent contribution, Pots and Plays.
Interactions between Tragedy and Greek Vase-Painting of the Fourth
Century BCE (Los Angeles, 2007), 241-245, regarding two amphorae
attributed to the Darius Painter (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 1991.437
and Geneva, Muse/e d'Arte et d'Histoire [on loan]). The Boston amphora
illustrates the murder of Atreus; two female figures are labelled
'maids' (<greek>DMWIAI</greek>). The Geneva amphora illustrates the
supplication of Heracles by Priam and Paris; two soldiers are labelled
'Phrygians' (<greek>FRUGES</greek>). Taplin argues that these figures
(his 'new pair of pairs') have a group identity: they are 'painterly
transformations of the tragic chorus' (196). Taplin offers a fine
analysis of anonymous figures (nurses, pedagogues, messengers, maids,
'tragic witnesses'), in both tragic texts and vases related to tragic
plots (187-195).

Luca Giuliani and Glenn W. Most ('Medea in Eleusis, in Princeton'
197-217) discuss a fourth century BC Apulian vase attributed to the
Darius painter, now kept in the Art Museum of Princeton University
(inv. 83-13). The vase shows Medea and a paidago^gos in the temple of
Eleusis, surrounded (from top right, clockwise) by Demeter and Kore,
Heracles and Iris, two boys on an altar (the children of Medea?), two
young boys (the Dioscuri according to Trendall; 'two anonymous visitors
of the sanctuary' according to Giuliani and Most, 199), and Athena with
Nike. No surviving myth fits the image. Giuliani and Most convincingly
refute M. Schmidt's suggestion of a connection with the story narrated
about Heracles and Medea in Diodorus Siculus 4.54.7 and 55.4. Trendall
argued that the painter illustrated a (now lost) post-Euripidean
tragedy. Giuliani and Most accept and take further Trendall's
reconstruction of the plot, developing it into an episode-by-episode
summary of the play (216-217). Medea, who has not murdered her
children, leaves them at the temple of Eleusis, on her way to Athens,
where she intends to marry Aegeus. When the Corinthians want the
children back, the Eleusinians refuse to hand them over. The
Corinthians attack, but they are defeated 'by the Athenians and
Heracles', presumably summoned by Iris (217). The military victory
would explain the presence of Nike besides Athena on the vase. The
reconstruction is, as Giuliani and Most put it, 'some sort of informed
guess' (215) and the result is 'very far from being a great tragedy'
(217): some such tragedy is however a very plausible source (see now
Taplin Pots and Plays, 238-240). Many details are of course tentative.
A military victory is not the only possible explanation for the very
frequent pairing of Athena and Nike (see Giuliani and Most 214; Wilson,
in the volume under review, 259). One can add that Heracles, Athena and
the Dioscuri appear on another vase illustrating the more traditional
version of Medea's myth (Taplin, Pots and Plays, 255-256). Giuliani and
Most also analyse other vases by the Darius painter, stressing close
correspondences with tragic texts. Taplin arrives at similar
conclusions on the Phrixos vase (see now Pots and Plays, 215-217), but
not on the vase from Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81954 (H
3221) (another Medea: Taplin, Pots and Plays, 124-125; see also D. J.
Mastronarde (ed.), Euripides. Medea, Cambridge 2002, 66-67).

Edith Hall ('Tragedy Personified': 221-256) discusses the
personifications of Tragedy in Greek vases and literature. Her subtle
analysis focuses in particular on three Athenian vases from around
440-430 BCE, and a sculpture from the fourth century BCE, from Thasos.
Hall convincingly shows that, with 'Tragedy's escape from the specific
ritual context of the Athenian Dionysia', later iconographic sources
celebrate 'Tragedy's divorce from satyr drama' (248). Hall finally
discusses personifications of tragedy in Ovid and Plutarch. She
interweaves iconographic and literary sources, striking an elegant
balance between concision and complexity of analysis. One example of
personification is debatable. Hall argues that 'the 'mystery lady' on
the Pronomos vase in Naples [...] holding a mask, is in my view none
other than Trago^idia herself' (233), a suggestion already advanced by
L. Curtius. Hall rejects her identification with 'the actor who played
Hesione since she inhabits the divine sphere' (235), sitting on the
same couch as the Ariadne-Dionysus pair. This is true, but the (other)
actors hold masks too. Moreover, the 'mystery lady' looks at Himeros
('Desire'), who touches her, a gesture more appropriate if directed to
a young heroine of marriageable age than to the personification of
Tragedy. Compare the image of Eros depicted next to Hesione in the vase
discussed by Taplin in this collection, 183-185, and in Pots and Plays,
243-245. By placing the female figure on the same couch as Dionysus and
Ariadne, the painter suggests a similarity between her role and that of
Ariadne, and perhaps hints to future heroisation.

Peter Wilson ('Nike^'s Cosmetics: Dramatic Victory, the End of Comedy,
and Beyond': 257-287) discusses the way in which Victory 'does the work
of beautifying after conflict' (hence 'cosmetics') (261). This elegant
and complex paper discusses the apparently contrasting representation
of victory in tragedy and comedy. 'Victory in tragedy is shown to cast
a moral shadow that renders impossible any unambiguous celebratory
sweep from the stage into the city' (264). Wilson convincingly argues
that this applies also to the ending of Aeschylus' Eumenides, where the
Erinyes 'have not been defeated' (line 795). Victory, especially
victory in the dramatic agon (within the play) and in the dramatic
competition at the festival, is central to comedy. On ancient theories
discussing the voice of the tragic poet in choral lyric (265 note 30)
add the scholia to Euripides, Hippolytus 1102 and Medea 823. Wilson, in
a fine analysis of Acharnians (271-278), demonstrates how Dicaeopolis'
victory celebrations anticipate the victory of the play at the
competition. This is however put at risk by Aristophanes' stress on the
lack of 'communal involvement' (278) displayed by Dicaeopolis; and yet
the individualism of Dicaeopolis suggests a possible prize for the
protagonist. The tension between chorus and actor, individual and
community, play and protagonist, brings out the 'critical and
cautionary approach to nike^' (267). Wilson discusses several other
classical texts and artefacts (the temple of Athena Nike, the Women at
the Assembly by Aristophanes) and the public monuments celebrating
victory in the competitions for dithyrambs, comedy and tragedy. He
notes that 'no single monument to comedic victory has been identified'
(285), despite the stress on victory in the text of the plays, and in
contrast with the numerous monuments celebrating victory in the
dithyramb competition. This may be connected with the communal aspect
of the dithyrambic competition, organised by tribe. Wilson matches
subtle literary analysis with a sharp eye for the cultural negotiations
involved in celebrating victory.

John Henderson ('Everything to do with Dionysus? (Medelhavsmuseet,
Stockholm, inv. MM 1962:7/ABV 374 no. 197)': 288-305) argues that
'extemporizing on the proto-language of imagery developed within their
craft, a painter could so warp the semiotic field as to gesture towards
an untenable co-presence of legible elements of mimesis at odds with
marked features of distortion' (289). Henderson's high style, in
contrast with the tamer type of writing he adopts in his books directed
to a wider audience (see e.g. Classics: A Very Short Introduction,
Oxford 1995, with Mary Beard), is at the same time erudite and
colloquial. It is not unattractive, and often amusing, but is not
calculated to make reading easy. Henderson claims that the Stockholm
vase is an 'under-appreciated coup de the/a^tre in Greek ceramics'
(289). He emphasises the contrast between the Apollonian side of the
vase (depicting Hermes, a male figure on a chariot [Apollo?] and a
saluting female figure [Artemis?]), and its Dionysian side (showing a
seated Dionysus, flanked by two dancing satyrs, one of them sporting a
dangling/dancing panther skin). Henderson pairs and compares this vase
with a famous amphora by Amasis that displays a similar contrast
between the Dionysian side and that with Athena and Poseidon. Henderson
has several good points on the iconographic choices of the painter of
the Stockholm vase.

Jas Elsner ('Philostratus Visualizes the Tragic: Some Ecphrastic and
Pictorial Receptions of Greek Tragedy in the Roman Era': 309-337) is
the author of some of the finest recent work on ecphrasis. In this
excellent paper, he discusses the descriptions of the death of
Pentheus, the death of Hippolytus, the madness of Heracles, and the
madness of Cassandra in the Imagines by Philostratus the Elder (see
respectively 1.18, 2.4, 2.23, 2.10). Philostratus describes visual
representations that are in turn based on literary texts by Euripides
(Bacchae, Hippolytus, Heracles), Aeschylus (Agamemnon), and (for
Cassandra) Homer (Odyssey). The paragone between art and literature is
here made doubly complex by the presence of two literary texts: the
tragic and the ecphrastic. Elsner explores with subtlety the artistic
strategy of Philostratus. For instance, Elsner shows how Philostratus,
in the 'madness of Heracles', describes not simply what is visible in
the painting, and what Heracles sees, but also what Heracles thinks he
sees (328). Elsner also stresses the interaction between viewer and
reader, on which Philostratus plays by inviting the reader to 'look' at
the (absent) image. Furthermore, he notes how ecphrasis takes up the
synchronic representation of visual artefacts, but creates a diachronic
experience for the reader, thus alluding to the diachronic narrative
text on which the artefact was based (310). The language of
Philostratus is imbued with theatrical terms. He gives us an instance
of the word <greek>skhnh/</greek> in the very unusual meaning of
'stage, show, tableau': see Philostr. Im. 2.10.4, Elsner (332), who
does not discuss the rareness of the usage, and R. Ferri, ''Scenes' in
Roman Drama: A Lexical Note', CQ 58 (2008) 675-81, esp. 680 n. 30.

Ewen Bowie, in his learned and wittily titled paper ('Pulling the
Other? Longus on Tragedy': 338-352), offers a very useful list of
tragic intertexts which could be relevant for Longus. He lists cases
'where a tragic intertext might [my emphasis, L. Battezzato] be argued
for on grounds of language or (less often) content' (340). Since he
includes a large number of potential cases, and since he also discusses
examples adduced by other scholars, not all instances are equally
cogent, as Bowie's own comments often note. For instance, at Longus
3.20.2, the mere presence of the adjective <greek>a)rtimaqh/s</greek>
is not enough to establish a convincing link with E. Hec. 687. Bowie
himself remarks that the adjective also occurs 'in second century
medical and philosophical contexts that might be thought closer to the
situation of Daphnis here' (346). Bowie's own observations and
parallels make clear that the case for a tragic intertext at e.g.
Longus 3.4.1 (341), 3.28.2 (343), 1.21.5 and 1.27.1 (345), 3.4.5 (346)
is not especially strong. As for 4.17.2 (346), add the possible
wordplay on 'pretending', <greek>u(pekri/neto</greek>, and
'goatish'/'tragic', <greek>tragiko/n</greek>, not discussed by Bowie:
see Longo Sofista, Dafni e Cloe, a cura di M. P. Pattoni, Milan 2005,
464 n. 40 with bibliography. Bowie (342-343) argues that
<greek>leiperga/ths</greek> in 2.22.3 is a possible allusion to A. Ag.
212 <greek>lipo/naus</greek>. Similarities in the rhetorical structure
of the passages, not discussed by Bowie, might strengthen the case for
intertextuality: in both passages a character wonders what he should
do, in a monologue, and phrases his uncertainty as a series of
questions. However, the dissimilarity in meaning and the existence of
very many compounds beginning in <greek>lip-</greek> (see LSJ p. 1053,
mostly poetic: e.g. <greek>lipo/sarkos</greek> 'thin') suggests
caution. Bowie's list of passages is extremely useful, and should be
consulted by all scholars working on the language and the literary
models of Longus. He concludes his paper with a nuanced and convincing
general interpretation of tragic intertextuality in Longus  (347-352).
Longus attempts from time to time at a generic 'high style', without
alluding to a precise tragic text. Bowie, however, shows that allusions
to plays such as Medea, Hippolytus, and Stheneboea 'function as
pointers to contrasts between the texture of tragedy and that of
Longus' narrative' (350): intertextuality, instead of stressing
similarities, highlights the contrast.

Helene P. Foley ('Envisioning the Tragic Chorus on the Modern Stage':
353-378), another Sather professor, takes up a topic that is related
both to her Sather lectures on 'Reimagining Greek Tragedy on the U.S.
Stage' (classics.berkeley.edu
(http://classics.berkeley.edu/people/prevSathers/FoleySather.php) ) and
to a recent paper by her on the chorus ('Choral Identity in Greek
Tragedy', Classical Philology 98 (2003) 1-30). The tragic chorus is
often a problem on the modern stage, not only because of its cost (as
in antiquity), but also because the audience is used to a realistic
mode of acting. Foley discusses how choral sections are handled by
directors such as Suzuki Tadashi, Peter Stein, Yukio Ninagawa and Peter
Sellars, and in adaptations of Greek tragedy by contemporary
playwrights such as Peter Morris, Lee Breuer, Charles Mee, Richard
Schechner, and John Barton. Her focus here is not simply on the
American stage; she addresses Japanese, German, Greek, Polish and
Romanian performances. The 'engagement with multicultural world theatre
traditions and techniques' (377) has made audiences more open to
unfamiliar and unrealistic stage action, and has provided directors and
playwrights with new dramatic tools to stage the tragic chorus. Readers
working on reception and theatre studies will find much of interest in
her fine paper.

Two short texts by the late Jean-Pierre Vernant and by the late Pierre
Vidal-Naquet close the volume (see respectively 'Rencontre avec Froma':
381-387, and 'Pre/sence de Froma Zeitlin': 388-397). They both describe
the intellectual excitement caused by reading (and, in the case of
Vernant, 'stealing')[[3]] an offprint of her now famous article on 'The
Motif of the Corrupted Sacrifice in Aeschylus' Oresteia' (TAPA 96
(1965) 463-508). This experience was, in the words of Vernant, a 'coup
de foudre intellectuel' (383) (Leofranc Hoford-Strevens demurely
translates this as 'an intellectual thunderbolt' (386), rather than
'intellectual love at first sight'). The meeting of these particular
schools of French and American research was to prove crucial to the
evolution of scholarly debate, especially on themes such as civic
identity, the political dimension of theatre, and the relationship
between visual arts and literature. The aura of the French language and
the authority of Vernant and Vidal Naquet is such that these two texts
are printed in the original French as well as in an English
translation.

Froma Zeitlin, write the editors, 'is fantastic at bringing people
together, and at seeing the potential of others' (14). The volume under
review is an expression of her personality and her scholarship in a
measure that is rarely found in 'Festschriften.' It is also a token of
how much she has influenced research on Greek literature in the last
forty years.


------------------
Notes:


1.   I write this as someone who sat in the audience for the whole
series.

2.   Kurke also claims that the footwear of the daphne^phoros has
military symbolism: its name (epikratides or iphikratides) is
'associated in various late sources with the fourth-century Athenian
general Iphicrates' (83). This supposition, however, works only if the
traditional footwear, worn in Pindar's time, had later changed name.

3.   'Ferreting through the Kleins' library [the American friends of
Vernant, who had just introduced Froma Zeitlin to him], I put my hand
on a little work that its author, Froma Zeitlin, had presented to her
friend Marousia. It was a study of Iphigenia and the corrupted
sacrifice in Aeschylus' Oresteia. Curiosity overpowered my scruples. I
put it in my pocket, persuading myself that I should return it to its
owner once I had cast an eye over it' (386).