Feminine Discourse in Roman Comedy: On Echoes and Voices (Oxford Scholarly Classics)

OXFORD STUDIES IN CLASSICAL LITERATURE AND GENDER THEORY General Editors David Konstan

Alison Sharrock

Oxford Studies in Classical Literature and Gender Theory publishes substantial works of feminist literary research, which offer a gendersensitive perspective across the whole range of Classical literature. The field is delimited chronologically by Homer and Augustine, and culturally by the Greek and Latin languages. Within these parameters, the series welcomes studies of any genre.

Feminine Discourse in Roman Comedy On Echoes and Voices

D O ROTA M. DUTSCH

1

3 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford ox2 6dp Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York © Dorota M. Dutsch 2008 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Dutsch, Dorota M. Feminine discourse in Roman comedy: on echoes and voices / Dorota M. Dutsch. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-19-953338-1 1. Women in literature. 2. Latin drama (Comedy)–History and criticism. 3. Plautus, Titus Maccius–Characters–Women. 4. Terence–Characters–Women. I. Title. PA6030.W7D88 2008 872
.01093522–dc22 2008009311 Typeset by SPI Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by Biddles Ltd., King’s Lynn, Norfolk ISBN 978–0–19–953338–1 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Meis parentibus

This page intentionally left blank

Preface Sicut est mendax in natura, sic et in loquela. Nam pungit et tamen delectat, vnde et earum vox cantui Syrenarum assimilatur, que dulci melodia transeuntes attrahunt et tandem occidunt. (Jakob Sprenger and Heinrich Institoris, Malleus Maleficarum 1. 6. 44b) 1 Just as she is deceitful in nature, so she is in her speech. For she stings, yet nevertheless pleases. This is why the voice of women is compared to the song of the Sirens, who lure passers by with sweet melody and eventually kill them.

From the Malleus Maleficarum to New Yorker cartoons, Western culture betrays a persistent belief that women speak an other-language. Both inferior to, and more formidable than, the language spoken by men, this ‘dialect’ allegedly defies and deforms the boundaries of proper speech. In the present study I track a Latin version of the mythical ‘feminine idiom’ in Roman comedy, showing how it might have functioned for Roman audiences and readers, and asking how modern readers can engage with it. Roman comedy makes a fascinating case-study for two reasons. First, because it resorts to feminine speech mannerisms that form a ‘women’s idiom’; second, because this idiom is a fiction. 2 Written and enacted by men, the feminine discourse of the comoedia palliata must be viewed as a fabrication by playwrights and performers. The rift between the male artist and his feminine speech is a concern central to the study of feminine speech in comedy. This concern, present as an underlying theme from the beginning of this book, comes into focus in the second half.

1 The Latin text quoted after Mackay (2006: i. 290). Witchcraft in the Malleus is both gendered and explicitly sexual; the fathers argue that witchcraft is rooted in lust and that women’s lust is insatiable, 1. 6. 40. Cf. Broedel (2003: 24–6). To justify their thesis, Institoris and Sprenger quote several excerpts from ancient authors (1. 6. 42b), including Terence, He. 312: ‘itidem illae mulieres sunt ferme pueri leui sententia.’ (Those women are almost like children, fickle in their opinion). 2 Joseph Farrell (2001: 52-8) discusses the scarcity of Latin texts written by women and the construction of Latin as a masculine language.

viii

Preface

This book began as my doctoral dissertation at McGill University and was, in its initial stages, funded by a doctoral scholarship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. I feel immensely grateful towards those who helped me complete the initial version of the project, most especially to Anne Carson for her comments, which prompted me to read more deeply into my material, to Benjamin Victor for sharing with me his profound knowledge of Latin literature, to the long-suffering chair of my committee, Wade Richardson, and to Donna Williams, who graciously and patiently edited my writing. Crucial in transforming the dissertation into a book was the advice of Elaine Fantham and Judith P. Hallett who directed me towards a more context-oriented reading of comedy. Benjamin Victor and Sara Lindheim read portions of what later became Chapters 1 and 5. I am also grateful to Sharon L. James, who commented on Chapter 1 and kindly shared with me the script of the lecture she presented in Toronto in March 2007. 3 My warmest thanks, however, must go to David Konstan and Alison Sharrock, the editors of this series, from whose vast expertise I benefited immensely, and whose combined maieutic skills helped birth this project. I am also indebted to the anonymous adviser enlisted by Oxford University Press, for a thorough and insightful reading of the manuscript and for genuinely helpful remarks. Finally, first Hilary O’Shea and Jenny Wagstaffe, then Dorothy McCarthy and Charlotte Green at Oxford University Press were generous in responding to my numerous queries, while the copy editor, Jane Robson, provided valuable help in the production of this volume. Several people have assisted me in putting this manuscript together and have earned my sincere gratitude: Carolyn Jones, Michael Kelleher, Donna Williams, and especially Chris Maisto, who worked on numerous drafts of all the chapters, ferreting out the idiosyncrasies of my English, and Talya Meyers, who kindly and carefully read through the final version of the manuscript. I am also grateful to my colleagues at the Department of Classics at the University of California, Santa Barbara: Apostolos Athanassakis, 3 ‘Revisiting Women’s Speech in Roman Comedy: The Case of the Mother’, Toronto, 2 Mar. 2007.

Preface

ix

Francis Dunn, Frances Hahn, Sara Lindheim, Robert Morstein-Marx, Robert Renehan, and Jo-Ann Shelton for sensible advice and support, and to the Interdisciplinary Humanities Center for granting me an award to fund the final stages of manuscript preparation. An earlier version of Chapter 2 appeared in Greece and Rome, 2 (2004), 205–20 under the title ‘Roman Pharmacology: Plautus’ Blanda Venena’ and is reprinted here with the permission of Cambridge University Press. Last but not least, to my husband François Zdanowicz and to our daughter, Sophie, I owe apologies for all the times when this project had to take precedence over family fun, and thanks for the times when fun took precedence.

This page intentionally left blank

Contents Abbreviations 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

xii

Introduction: Reading towards the Other Plautus’ Pharmacy Of Pain and Laughter (Wo)men of Bacchus Father Tongue, Mother Tongue: The Back-Story and the Forth-Story Epilogue

1 49 92 149

Bibliography General Index Index locorum

232 258 268

187 228

Abbreviations Most of the abbreviations for the names of the ancient authors used follow those in Liddel’s and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon (1996, 9th edn: pp. xvi– xxxvii) and in the Oxford Latin Dictionary (1982: pp. ix–xxi). The following additional abbreviations are found in the text, notes, and bibliography: A&A

Antike und Abendland

AC

Antiquité Classique

AJAH

American Journal of Ancient History

AJP

American Journal of Philology

ANRW

Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt

CJ

Classical Journal

CP

Classical Philology

CQ

Classical Quarterly

CR

Classical Review

CW

Classical World

G&R

Greece and Rome

BISC

Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London

HSCP

Harvard Studies in Classical Philology

ICS

Illinois Classical Studies

ILLR

Inscriptiones Latinae Liberae Rei Publicae, ii, ed. Atilius Degrassi (Florence, 1963)

JRS

Journal of Roman Studies

LSJ

Liddel, Scott, Jones, McKenzie

MH

Museum Helveticum

OLD

Oxford Latin Dictionary

OSAPh

Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy

PCSP

Proceedings of Cambridge Philosophical Society

PQ

Philosophical Quarterly

RPh

Revue de philologie, de littérature et d’histoire anciennes

Abbreviations R.é.l.

Revue des études latines

RFIC

Rivista di Filologia e di Istruzione Classica

RM

Rheinisches Museum

SCI

Scripta Classica Israelica

SMSR

Studi et Materiali di Storia delle Religioni

TAPA

Transactions of the American Philological Society

WS

Wiener Studien

YClS

Yale Classical Studies

xiii

This page intentionally left blank

1 Introduction: Reading towards the Other Here the term ‘language-game’ is meant to bring into prominence the fact that speaking of language is part of an activity, or a form of life. (Wittgenstein 1958: 11) One of the instruments of use to him [man] for constructing his enclosure [against nature] is language itself. Learning to name, to appropriate with words . . . man surrounds himself inside-outside with a world of signifiers which separates him from the real and from all others. . . . But is naming sufficient? Does speaking with the other amount to naming things? Or is a different language indispensable to which philosophy has given little thought, of which we have hardly any idea? (Irigaray 2002c: 7)

LANGUAGE-GAME Language is the fabric from which social identities are made: we constantly use words to fashion our own personae. It is a game we play every day, hardly ever reflecting on the rules that define what we do and do not say. Like our daily self-creations, figures fabricated in ‘play-wrighting’ are an inevitable part of this game; in fact, the self-conscious constructs produced for the stage reflect the languagegame at its most exhibitionist and spectacular level. 1 The male and 1 Plautus’ awareness of the rules of language-game and his artistry in playing with them have been the subject of several articles; see e.g. Maria E. Hoffmann on

2

Introduction

female personae of Roman comedy are no exception: the characters in these plays would have been shaped by (and would have in turn shaped) the ways in which Roman people (and characters) projected their identities. My study is concerned with the rules defining the various feminine voices embedded in the programmatically subversive and self-defiant genre of comoedia palliata. 2 The definition of gender I use builds on the assumption that gender is an act performed against the background of cultural practice. This, in turn, draws upon Judith Butler’s notion of gender as a performative (1990: 11–22, 33; 1993: p. x) and upon the work of linguists who adapted this idea, envisioning gender not as a ‘noun’ but as a ‘verb’, a language people speak, making their individual choices within its grammar (Mills 2003: 4–5). 3 The linguistic differences caused by such choices become, in turn, symbolic of and associated with the social differences that had prompted them, and thus tend to perpetuate gender stereotypes (e.g. Freed 1996: 54–76), though speakers sometimes adopt strategies that they perceive as dissociated from their gender. 4 The scripts for feminine voices in Roman comedy must, in fact, have been crafted with extraordinary cleverness. After all, the conversation openings (1983), Michel Griffe on interrogative strategies (1989), and Rip Cohen on making peace (1994). 2 This tension has inspired several readings of comedy. John Wright sees the authors as engaged in a Nietzschean dance in the chains of stifling conventions (1974: 195). Niall Slater analyses the tension inherent in the plays of Plautus in terms of a reaction against the illusory conventions of Menandrean theatre, which leads this playwright to play with the very idea of imitation in frequent feats of meta-theatre (1985: passim, esp. 147–67). Kathleen McCarthy writes of twin visions of naturalistic and farcical in Plautus’ theatre (2000: passim, esp. 7–17). On Terence’s palliata, see Goldberg (1986: 15–30). 3 However, while I follow Butler’s (and others’) view on how gender is performed, that is that people make choices within a ‘grammar of gender’, I find it difficult to reconcile myself with the disembodied logic of pure constructivism, in which social differences prompt linguistic differences, which in turn reinforce social differences. I therefore depart from the constructivist standpoint in adopting Luce Irigaray’s psycho-social concept of ‘sexuate’ difference as the answer to the question of why discourses (verbal and others) are gendered (cf. 1985b/2002b). According to this model, girls and boys tend to enter relationships differently because their original relationships with their mothers develop differently. For a more detailed discussion of this concept, see the final sections of Ch. 5. 4 See e.g. McElhinny on the speech of female police officers (1998: 309–37).

Introduction

3

audience may well have admired the skill of a single male actor impersonating a prostitute and a freeborn man in one and the same play. 5 In some plays they might have seen him acting like a prostitute while playing a citizen: recall Argyrippus, the youth in the Asinaria who verbally and sexually gratifies his slaves in order to obtain money. 6 This versatile performer would, of course, have used costume, voice, and deportment to situate his character within the theatrical taxonomy of stock-types. However, the details of his variegated masculine and feminine creations, especially those that, like the youth in the Asinaria, defied the rules of this taxonomy, were crafted through words. And these words are still here for us to read, while the other aspects of the craft of impersonating women—the stage props, the techniques of voice, deportment, and dance—can only be retrieved with difficulty. 7 After all, even for the more recent 5 The number of Roman actors (and the ensuing necessity for ‘dubbing’ or doublecasting) is uncertain, given the lack of evidence. Beare argues that the numbers of trained actors would have been small, citing the influence of the Greek tradition (1950: 159), while Gratwick points to a scene in the Poenulus that requires six actors as proof to the contrary (1982: 83). On Greek new comedy, see Sandbach (1975: passim). 6 In the original performances of the palliata, all roles would have been played by men; all references to female performers concern the mime (Beare 1950: 141–2). Donatus’ commentary to the Andria (Ad An. 716. 1. 1) testifies to a change to this practice in the 4th cent., specifying that, whereas feminine roles were played by men in the ancient times (apud veteres), at the time the gloss was composed (nunc) women were seen playing feminine roles. It stands to reason that women’s roles were played by the youngest members of the troupe (so Marshall 2006: 94), though some feminine roles, e.g. those of Plautine courtesans, would have required considerable experience and might conceivably have been considered ‘star parts’. Moreover, it is possible that social divisions were also put into question as free actors played slaves. Garton assumes that free men, such as Roscius, would have routinely chosen the more prominent roles of slaves (1972: 171–2); Dumont draws attention to the Saturnalian role-reversal in a theatre where the dominus gregis would have often played the clever slave while his slaves/employees would have played his masters (1987: 523–4); so also, briefly, Moore (1998: 183). Most recently, Brown observed that, although the protagonist or actor might frequently have played the slave, the example of Ambivious Turpio taking the part of the parasite in the Phormio (Ph. 35–47) demonstrates that this was not always the case (2002: 235). 7 See, however, Dutsch (2007) for some speculations on gesture in late revivals of Terence. As will become apparent later, the convention that female roles were played by men, no matter how time-honoured, was often brought to the audience’s attention through jokes about the female characters’ ‘true’ identity. Cf. Moore on the actor’s gender as a factor undermining the tragic tone of Alcumena’s songs in the Amphitruo (1998: 120). As Richlin, in the introduction to her translations of Plautus (2005: 20),

4

Introduction

and much better-documented genre of Elizabethan drama, details of theatrical impersonation are hard to reconstruct, leaving scholars to look for the fiction of femininity in the features of the scripts themselves. 8 The engendering capacity of words spoken on stage is the focus of this chapter. I will begin by outlining the previous research on ‘female Latin’ and proposing a new approach to the text of Roman comedy.

THE HISTORY OF ‘FEMALE LATIN’

On Scholiasts and Scholars In the first half of the twentieth century, literary historians flatly denied the existence of linguistic differentiation in Roman comedy: Wilamowitz-Moellendorf famously asserted that all the dramatis personae of Plautus and Terence (those hopelessly indolent imitators of Menander) spoke in exactly the same fashion (1925: 160), 9 while Eduard Fraenkel, the passionate advocate of Plautinisches in Plautus, believed that the Plautine language should be admired for its uniformity (1960: 389; 2007: 286). Even though scholars in the last points out, jokes about cross-dressing are a staple of Roman humour (cf. Corbeill 1996: 193–8); it is therefore hard to believe that the actors of comedy were exempt from mockery. 8 On the absence of the actress see e.g. Helms (1994: 109–12, esp. n. 12) and Callaghan (2000: 30–43) and their references. On play-boys, see Shapiro (1997: 31–47) and Madelaine (2003: 225–34). See also Edgecombe on the position of children in allboy companies (1995: 45–69) and Ferris’s discussion of their influence on other genres (1989: 48–51). Shapiro offers a useful classification of cross-dressing recorded in literary and judicial discourses contemporary with Elizabethan theatre, which include women cross-dressing as men to gain greater freedom of movement (1997: 15–28), men cross-dressing as performers in festal plays (ibid. 30–1) and in professional theatre (ibid. 31–47). But for his extensive research, Shapiro can only speculate about the style of impersonation, e.g. relying on references to performers specializing in female roles to postulate a rise in the quality of female impersonation in the mid1590s (ibid. 33). 9 Conversely, Donatus claimed that Terence surpassed his Greek originals in his efforts to differentiate the speech of various types of personae (cf. Ad Ad. 81. 2; Ad Ph. 647; Ad Hec. 440. 3).

Introduction

5

fifty years have challenged this view, such challenges have mainly served to expose exceptions to the general monotone, rather than to disclose registers of speech typical of entire classes of characters. 10 John Barsby’s recent discussion of the use of language by various female characters in the Cistellaria (2004) is a notable exception to this rule. 11 Conversely, linguists studying these same texts have always taken it for granted that the Latin of Roman comedy was highly nuanced and that gender was one of the principal social categories such nuances reflected. This second perspective is rooted in the testimonies of ancient grammarians: Aulus Gellius comments that ‘in old writings’ only men swore ‘by Hercules’ and only women ‘by Castor’ (Noct. Att. 11. 6. 1), while Charisius notes that the oath mediusfidius was used exclusively by men (Inst. gramm. 2. 13). 12 The most important source for speech mannerisms attributed to women is Aelius Donatus’ commentary on Terence. Just like the other scholia, Donatus’ fourth-century ce compilation is not an insider’s account of the language-games played by the authors of comedies and their audiences six hundred years earlier. Instead, this commentary incorporates readings proposed by several generations of Latin-speaking scholiasts from different parts of the Empire. 13 In this capacity of 10 E. W. Leach has argued that contrasting vocabularies served to set apart the Epidamnian Menaechmus from his pious brother (1969). W. G. Arnott has described the techniques of characterization in Terence’s Phormio (1970) and Plautus’ Stichus (1972) consisting in the accumulation of pertinent vocabulary. Concentration of metaphors and ‘vivid language’ are shown to be characteristic of Phormio (1970), and obsessive repetition of moral terminology typical of the ‘leading’ sister in the Stichus (1972). W. Hofmann has observed that greetings are used to characterize speakers in the Aulularia (1977) and Walter Stockert that Euclio’s short, asyndetic sentences and earthy metaphors are contrasted both with the periphrastic expressions of the old servant Staphyla, and with the sophisticated diction of Megadorus (1982). 11 Barsby points out that this play, in which female speech predominates, has indeed an exceptionally low incidence of Greek loan words and terms of abuse (2004: 336–8). He also analyses individual characters’ use of affirmatory oaths, polite modifiers, intimate address, and miser in apposition to a first-person subject. 12 For an overview of all loci in ancient grammarians pertaining to the peculiarities of female speech, see Gilleland (1980: 180–3); on women using hercle, see Stockert (2004). 13 The earlier scholia, now lost, but incorporated into Donatus, would include those by Valerius Probus of Breytus (1st cent. ce), Sulpicius Apollinaris, Aemilius

6

Introduction

witness to potential readings, Donatus will play an important part in this chapter; the concept of female speech underlying his comments will come into focus in Chapter 5. Let us begin by describing the typical glosses on linguistic behaviour ‘proper for women’ found in Donatus: ‘speaking softly to others’ (aliis blandiri) and ‘pitying oneself ’ (se commiserari), which may be and often are combined. 14 The first verb denotes the ingratiating or coaxing behaviour often associated with the use of certain expressions, such as the formula amabo and the possessive mi/mea in address. 15 According to the scholia, this attitude, though labelled ‘typically feminine’ (proprium mulierum), is not restricted to women; more than once Donatus comments on things spoken ‘coaxingly’ (blande) by Terence’s men, especially old men. 16 The commentary also lists a third feature, a penchant for long-winded introductions (tardiloquium) that women of all ages allegedly share with old men. 17 The scholia on Terence thus seem to point persistently to some of the rules the playwright followed in constructing feminine personae. The resulting discourse is not part of a clear-cut binary opposition, but rather one element in a complex fabric of intertwining and overlapping discourses. Modern linguists discussing female speech in Roman comedy have often taken their cues from Donatus’ lists of feminine expressions, but so far have sidestepped the insights into what women do (or what the playwrights have them do) with words, focusing instead on the words themselves. Asper, Helenius Acro (2nd cent. ce), and Arruntius Celsus (mid-3rd cent. ce); cf. Marti (1974: 163). 14 e.g. Ad Ad. 291. 4: proprium est mulierum, cum loquuntur, aut aliis blandiri . . . aut se commiserari; many of Donatus’ remarks on linguistic characterization are conveniently collected in Reich (1933). 15 Ad Eu. 656. 1: mulieribus apta . . . blandimenta (blandishments appropriate . . . for women). 16 See Donatus’ comments on the conversation between Laches and Sostrata (Ad Hec. 231); apparently the personable old gentleman unaffably calls his wife anus (old woman), while he describes his daughter-in-law affably enough (blande) as a girl (puella). The scholiast calls the reader’s attention to Laches’ affability towards another young woman (Ad Hec. 744) when the senex describes the relationship between his son and Bacchis as ‘their love affair’ rather than ‘his love and her trade’—an expression Donatus would have considered more precise. 17 Cf. Ad Hec. 741. 15: senile et femineum tardiloquium (long-windedness of old people and women).

Introduction

7

Ethnography of Gender The topic of a ‘women’s idiom’ was in vogue at the beginning of the twentieth century, when ethnographers studying specific feminine idioms used in traditional societies tried to explain them as manifestations of a supposedly universal ‘female nature’. 18 Classicists followed in their footsteps and interpreted the Latin of comedy in a similar vein. 19 Andreas Gagnér’s 1920 study of the distribution of the oaths (me)hercle, (e)castor, and (ede)pol in Plautus and Terence exemplifies this approach. 20 The (almost) exclusively masculine usage of (me)hercle easily lent itself to Gagnér’s anthropological explanation—men would have ‘naturally’ invoked the name of a hero who represented both leadership and relations with the outside (80–8: hercle, mehercle). To rationalize the distribution of ecastor (used only by women) and edepol (used by speakers of both genders), Gagnér relied on another assumption then fashionable, that women dreaded linguistic innovation. He therefore speculated that ecastor must have been an antiquated expression that men had abandoned out of boredom, but that women had continued to use. Meanwhile men had invented a new oath, edepol, which, at the time when the playwrights set out to portray the peculiarities of female Latin, women were beginning to imitate (88–101). This notion is rooted in Otto Jespersen’s belief that women have ‘none of that desire to avoid those all too common, flat, everyday expressions that prompt boys and men constantly to seek renewal of the language through the use of stronger and stronger words’ (1906). 21 Women apparently lack this 18 Ploss and Bartels (1885) is a classic example of the 19th-cent. ‘anthropological’ approach to female speech. 19 The peculiarities of female use of Latin interjections had already been described towards the end of the 19th cent. by Richter (1890), Meinhardt (1892), and Nicolson (1893) and were later to be discussed by Ullman (1943–4). 20 In fact, women in Plautus do swear by Hercules three times (Cas. 982; Cis. 52; Per. 237); on each occasion the oath conveys the female character’s assertiveness; cf. Stockert (2004: 367–8). 21 This is a translation of Gagnér’s quote (1920: 93 n. 5) from an article in Danish that Jespersen published in Gads Danske Magasin (1906–7: 583). In his grand œuvre, The Language (1922), in a chapter entitled ‘The Woman’ (237–54), Jespersen expresses a similar view: that even in languages that do not dispose of a genderdifferentiated vocabulary, women have a comparatively poor vocabulary and use too many euphemisms and adverbs. Needless to say, the book contains no chapter entitled ‘The Man’, and its absence is, as Deborah Cameron observed, revealing (1992: 43). See

8

Introduction

manly ‘output of spasmodic energy’ because the age-old division of labour has assigned them domestic tasks demanding ‘little energy’ and ‘no deep thought’ (Jespersen 1922: 254). In spite of the sweeping generality of his descriptions, the Danish linguist thus ascribed the seeming meekness of female speech to a triumph of Nurture over Nature. The assumption that feminine mannerisms are a social phenomenon also informs Hofmann’s Lateinische Umgangssprache (1926), the authoritative description of ‘colloquial’ Latin based largely on the literary language of comedy. 22 Hofmann’s book is arranged like the catalogue of a butterfly collection: word specimens are pinned down according to families, and their natural habitats (typical contexts) are described and illustrated by examples. The collection itself is meant to represent features Hofmann considered typical of spoken language, including subjectivity, use of special modes for acknowledging the addressee, an appeal to the senses, and economy. Hofmann placed all the ‘species’ of words whose distribution was influenced by the speaker’s gender in the first two categories of subjectivity and attentiveness to the addressee. The interjections—both the less articulate ones (feminine au and masculine ei) and oaths calling up cult figures, such as Hercules (invoked by men), Castor (invoked by women), and Pollux (invoked by both), or the concept of divine fides (used by men)—are means of expressing subjectivity. 23 Strategies for ‘taking into consideration and influencing the listener’, to which women typically resort, include the expressions Donatus regarded as ‘feminine blandishments’ (amabo and mi/mea in address) and diminutives. 24 also Fögen on Wilhelm von Humboldt’s view that feminine speech was ‘delicate’ and emotional (2004: 199–201) and on Jacob Grimm’s notion of women as less active and less informed speakers of German (ibid. 201–4). 22 On the scarcity of studies on colloquial Latin, see Bagordo (2001: 9). Hofmann (1950: 11, §8) quotes the differences between male and female use of language as an obvious example of the distinctions between various Gesellschaftsschichten. 23 For details see 1950: 13, §12 on ei (predominantly male), 13, §13 on vae (originally used by both men and women), 14, §15 on au (exclusively female), 15, §17 on heus (almost exclusively male), 29, §36 on hercle, 30, §37 on ecastor or mecastor as well as eiuno described as a feminine expression by Charisius (Gram. 1. Com. 12; 111) and 30, §38 on mediusfidius, per fidem. 24 Die Rolle des Partners in der Äußerung des persönlichen Gedankens (Rücksichtnahme und Einwirkung auf den Hörer) (1950: p. xii) ‘The role of the [conversational] partner in the expression of personal thought: [Ways of] taking into consideration

Introduction

9

Thus Hofmann not only catalogued and illustrated the observations of ancient grammarians, but he also classified feminine expressions, implying that male and female speakers of Latin differed in the way they projected themselves into language and included others in their utterances. Over the next fifty years, however, research on ‘women’s Latin’ focused almost exclusively on naming (and renaming) and on counting (and recounting) the lexical items, and took no notice of Hofmann’s intriguing suggestions.

Quantitative Model Following a ground-breaking study by William Labov (1966), which employed statistics to describe gender variables in New York English, sociolinguistic research began to rely heavily on statistical evidence. 25 This model also influenced research on linguistic characterization in classical drama, including research on gender. 26 This statistical approach was exemplified in its preliminary, ‘fundamentalist’ stage by Michael Gilleland’s doctoral dissertation, entitled ‘Linguistic and influencing the listener’. Under this heading, he discussed formulae introducing requests and attempts to persuade others (Die geschprächeröffnenden Bitt- und Überredungsformeln), means of captatio benevolentiae, and euphemisms. On amabo, ibid. 127–8, §117; Hofmann notes that, while amabo is restricted to women in comedy, this restriction does not apply to Cicero’s letters. For comments on mi/mea preceding or following the pronoun, ibid. 138, §128. Among formulae used indiscriminately, Hofmann lists several expressions meaning ‘I beg, please’: oro, rogo, obsecro, obtestor (ibid. 129–33, §§119–21) as well as the polite formulae sodes and si placet (ibid. 133–4, §§123–5). On diminutives, ibid. 139–40, §129. 25 On Labov’s influence on linguistic research on gender, see Downes (1998: 204–6) and Wodak and Benke (1998: 133–5). See also Fögen’s useful outline of the questions addressed by sociolinguists working on gender, such as ‘societal roles’, ‘language change’, ‘language and power’, ‘language domains’, and ‘dominance of masculine speech forms’ (2004: 212–15). 26 See Katsouris (1975, on tragedy and Menander), Maltby (1979, on the speech of old men, and 1985, on the distribution of Greek loan words), and Karakasis (2005, on the speech of old men: 79–99, on idiolects: 101–20). Dickey’s study of terms of address (2002) is a general description of the system (from Plautus to Apuleius) and its scope is somewhat too large to give a good idea about the functioning of address in the microcosm of the palliata. Her claim that the presence of women as speakers and/or addressees makes little difference to the major rules of address system (ibid. 240) may hold true for later periods but does not account for the statistical data found in comedy.

10

Introduction

Differentiation of Character Type and Sex in the Comedies of Plautus and Terence’ (University of Virginia, 1979). The author chose four aspects of speech cited as potential gender markers—the use of Greek words, diminutives, interjections, and endearing terms of address—to determine that female characters in Plautus and Terence use fewer Greek words but more diminutives and endearments than men. 27 Gilleland did not, however, comment on the implications of his data. A later piece of scholarship drawing upon Labov’s model, J. N. Adams’ seminal article on female speech in Roman comedy (1984), confirmed and refined Hofmann’s description of women’s colloquial Latin. 28 Adams proposed new labels for the feminine expressions distinguishing oaths (pol, edepol, ecastor, mecastor, hercle, mehercle, and eiuno) from exclamations (au and ei), and defining amabo and similar expressions (obsecro, quaeso) as ‘polite modifiers’. 29 Moreover, his account includes several new observations. He points out, for example, that there is a subtle difference in the distribution of the two oaths by Pollux (pol and edepol) and that women frequently use other ‘polite modifiers’ besides the ubiquitous amabo. 30 Adams also devised a method for quantifying women’s tendency to complain, demonstrating in the process that Terence tends to attribute clusters of words built on the stem miser- to women. 31 This superbly documented article leaves little doubt that Latin playwrights used lexical mannerisms to create a stage language for women. In the first attempt to assess the implications of feminine speech patterns of Roman comedy since 27 Gilleland quotes the following numbers for Greek words (1979: 171–2): men in Plautus 1:81 lines; women in Plautus: 1:145; men in Terence 1:207; women in Terence 1:269. His numbers for diminutives are (1979: 250): women in Plautus 1:161; men in Plautus 1:227; women in Terence 1:215; men in Terence 1:335. He also compares the use of terms of kinship with and without mi/mea and concludes that in Plautus there is no difference between women and men, while in Terence women speaking to the members of their family use an address with mi/mea 5.25 times more often than not; men use the pronoun 0.6 times less often than address without mi/mea (1979: 279). Cf. Ch. 2, Table 2.3. 28 See also Bain’s survey of female mannerisms in Menander, including expressions of self-pity and empathy, intimate forms of address, and oaths (1984). 29 On oaths, see Adams 1984: 47–54; on exclamations, pp. 54–5; on polite modifiers, pp. 55–67; on ‘imperatival intensifiers’ (sis, sodes, and age), whose distribution does not seem to be determined by gender, pp. 67–8; on mi/mea, pp. 68–73. 30 31 Women use the latter one more frequently (ibid. 66–7). Cf. ibid. 73–5.

Introduction

11

the 1920s, this article also offers an answer to the question of why ‘modifiers’ and miser were used as markers of femininity: ‘The main general features of the way women speak in comedy are (a) that they tend to be more polite or more deferential (note the use of polite modifiers + mi), and (b) that they are more prone to idioms expressing affection or emotion (vocatives + mi, various uses of amo and miser). This conclusion parallels the introductory section of the article that calls the reader’s attention to feminine idioms of modern languages, such as the penchant for prestigious forms and conservatism observed by Peter Trudgill, or the ladylike delicacy and politeness described by Robin Lakoff. 32 Adams posits that there are correlations between the linguistic mannerisms of women in comedy and those identified in other languages. Taking into account that the language of Roman comedy may have been influenced by Greek models and distorted by comic exaggeration, 33 he concludes that the texts of Plautus and Terence have transmitted an essentially authentic register of speech. Like the language of working-class women from Norwich in Trudgill’s study, comedic women’s Latin would thus have been a permutation of the universal ‘female idiom’—polite, conservative, and emotional. Universals should, however, be approached only with the utmost caution. While at first glance it seems reasonable to assume that the modifier amabo is ‘polite’ and that frequent use of mi and miser- bespeaks female ‘emotionality’, the confidence with which we 32 Peter Trudgill’s publications (1972, 1975) are cited as evidence for women’s supposed conservatism and penchant for prestigious expressions. Trudgill (1972) examined the speech of men and women in urban British of Norwich and found that women of all classes were using more standard English forms than men. He suggested that men were under-reporting their use of standard expressions, while women were over-reporting them, and concluded that women were more status-conscious than men because status was the only source of self-esteem and identity for housewives. Adams refers to Language and Women’s Place (1975) where Robin Lakoff puts forward three basic premises: that women are less assertive than men, that they are more polite, and that their speech is expected to be more correct. However, Lakoff provides no evidence to support her hypothesis, except her own intuitions about her native language. See a later publication (1977) for a more precise definition of the style of women’s speech. 33 Adams comments, nevertheless, on the originality of the Latin amabo and the absence of any ‘parallel for the distinction between the male and female methods of saying “please” ’ (ibid. 77).

12

Introduction

often correlate Latin words and modern expectations is, I believe, unfounded. 34 In fact, Adams’ thoughtful analysis of feminine vocabulary uncovers patterns that defy easy labels: mi is deferential and affectionate, while amabo is polite (as a modifier) and emotional (as a usage of amo). The need for such mixed categories as deferentialand-affectionate or polite-and-emotional in itself indicates that the concepts underlying our statistics do not exactly correspond to the patterns of twenty-first-century thought, and should therefore be described in their own terms. I have begun with a history of research into the feminine speech of comedy, rather than with a summary of its conclusions, because there is valuable insight to be gained from looking at approaches to Latin against the shifting background of sociolinguistic theories. It would seem that, in the past hundred years, scholarly readers have brought to the texts of comedy what research tools they had at their disposal, along with their assumptions about ‘Woman’ and how she speaks. Thus, in their reading of the scripts, scholars have discovered mirror images of their own definitions of female speech: Gagnér found an idiom deprived of innovations, Hofmann a peculiar sociolect, and Adams proof of feminine emotionality and politeness. Each interpreter found his own expectations and ideologies (reassuringly) confirmed by the object of his study.

DEFINITIONS

Discourse While it is inevitable that we bring to texts our own assumptions and interpretive tools, I would like to work towards a less reductionist 34 Even by Cicero’s time there was (to the best of my knowledge) no Latin adjective or expression to render the term ‘emotional’ with all its connotations; motu animi perturbatus (Ad At. 8. 11. 1) comes close, but even this expression implies a temporary condition rather than a permanent one. Cicero, when discussing motus animi, deplored the lack of a specialized Latin word for ‘emotion felt’ (Tusc. 3. 7), which would be equivalent to the Greek pathema; in his attempt to find such an equivalent, he considered ‘disease’ (morbus) before finally opting for ‘disorder’ (perturbatio). Beside this general question, there is also the lack of correspondence between the specific Latin words, such as amor and odium, and their equivalents in modern languages, such as ‘love’ and ‘hate’; see Kaster (2005: 5–7).

Introduction

13

reading, one dictated by the need to approach the other of the classical culture as one who, as Luce Irigaray put it, cannot be reduced ‘to ours or ourselves’. 35 Such a non-reductionist reading will have to distinguish the responses that the representations of female speech in the comedies could arguably have been designed to elicit from their subsequent interpretations. 36 My study is, consequently, an archaeological effort that aims first to identify feminine speech patterns (Chapter 1), then to uncover the structures of thought circumscribing the feminine identities in the plays of the palliata themselves (Chapters 2 and 3), and afterwards to look at them through the prisms of other, both ancient and modern, discourses of the feminine (Chapters 4 and 5). 37 It is important to point out that the endeavour to reveal discursive practices without imposing contemporary assumptions can never be fully realized. An analysis devoid of any modern interference must remain an unattainable goal. Nevertheless, a conscious effort of turning towards another culture, without reducing it to our own, should at least bring to our attention some revealing differences and difficulties. To do so, I will begin with perceptible linguistic patterns rather than assumptions about how women speak. While my own interpretation (Chapter 5) will draw upon the model of gendered communication proposed by Luce Irigaray, 38 I will first describe women’s speech from within the texts of Roman comedy, observing the patterns of repetition and resemblance, then compare these patterns with the reflexive discourses that define women both inside and outside the plays. This itinerary, from words and routine strategies to perceptions, will distinguish my method from the one that Laura McClure employs in her important book on feminine discourses in Greek drama (Spoken Like a Woman, 1999). McClure 35

For a concise self-description, see Irigaray (2004: 5); for a fuller account of ‘being with the other’, cf. Irigaray (2002c : 60–95). Examples of reductionist readings of the classics are discussed by duBois (2001: 1–74). 36 Sharrock (2002: esp. 271–2) proposes a useful distinction among different levels of reading ancient texts, one determined by the way in which these texts construe their original addressee, another inserted by a modern critic; cf. Sharrock (1996: 156) on the character of Pseudolus. 37 See Foucault’s definition of ‘archaeology’ as distinct from history of ideas (1972: 6–7). 38 See esp. 1990 and 2001c; Irigaray’s explanation of gender differences in language as a psychosocial phenomenon (a welcome compromise between constructivism and essentialism) is discussed in the Epilogue.

14

Introduction

uses the term ‘discourse’ to describe what ethnographers term ‘speech genres’, that is, speech situations derived from ritual events (1999: 29). She identifies four such discourses associated with women in Greek culture: gossip, persuasion, lamentation, and aischrologia, and then discusses the ways in which dramatic, mostly tragic, poets deployed these traditional genres. The analytical toolbox I will bring with me is that of critical discourse analysis, which studies utterances and attitudes as stretches of ‘discourse’ or linguistic testimonies to structures of thought. 39 The term ‘discourse’ will be used in the sense developed by those linguists who incorporated Foucault’s work on discursive structures into research on ‘discourse’ understood as the use of language. 40 Within this framework, discourse is viewed as a text formed by the particular circumstances of its production, especially the specific speech event, and ultimately shaped by—and shaping— the larger social structures. For example, an interview at the doctor’s office would be a specific event that involves and determines roles for doctors and patients. Accordingly, all aspects of the text, but especially the semantics, including conversational structures and vocabulary, can be examined for traces of discursive practices. 41 This requires the reader to analyse the text and break it into new units, which can then be put together as a new sequence of ‘discourse’. The difficulty lies in identifying the borderlines between texts and discourses, the spaces 39 This definition of discourse is drawn from ‘critical discourse analysis’ as formulated by Kress (1985: 6–10) and Fairclough (cf. 1995: 53–74), which builds on Austin’s notion of language as a mode of action (1962), stressing the connections between discourses and social institutions. Kress e.g. writes that ‘the discourse of sexism’ (1985: 7) ‘determines the manner in which the biological category of sex is taken into social life as gender’ and further explained that this discourse ‘specifies what men and women may be, how they are to think of themselves, how they are to think of and interrelate with the other gender. But beyond that the discourse of sexism specifies what families may be . . . It reaches into all major areas of social life specifying what work is suitable . . . how pleasure is to be seen by either gender’. Critical discourse analysis combines Foucault’s notion of discourse (1972) with that elaborated by sociolinguists, especially Stubbs (1983), van Dijk (1988), and Fraser (1989). 40 On the effectiveness of this approach for the study of gender see Talbot (1998: 149–60). 41 Fairclough (2003: 36) defines semantic relations as ‘meaning relations’ between words and larger expressions, between elements of clauses, between sentences, and larger stretches of speech, such as sections of conversations. See also Mills on the value of combining critical discourse analysis with conversational analysis (2003: 242–6).

Introduction

15

between the specific event (say, a particular conversation between a mother and her child) and the established social structure, that is, the general ‘order of discourse’ (say, the standard roles of mothers and children). 42 The existing studies of feminine vocabulary provide an excellent starting point for just such an analysis. 43 The lexical data collected so far indicate the aspects of speech likely to be marked as ‘feminine’ in the Latin of comedy. Recall that most peculiarities observed by grammarians and studied by scholars pertain, as Hofmann has already observed, either to the projection of the speaker’s emotions (idiosyncratic interjections) or to inclusion of the other in speech (terms of address, modifiers, diminutives). 44 This suggests that Roman playwrights portrayed women’s ways of including themselves and others in their speech as distinctive from men’s speech. It seems therefore that the relational aspects of female speech are likely to constitute the privileged space in which text can be separated from discourse. Furthermore, lexical markers, whose existence has been statistically confirmed, can be helpful in selecting passages that place emphasis on feminine speech patterns.

Difficulties The task of identifying the feminine speech patterns in Roman comedy is far more difficult than just finding and commenting on lines attributed to female personae. First, there are general sociolinguistic factors to consider. Not every stretch or every aspect of female speech is calculated to indicate the speaker’s gender. Conveying information about the speaker’s identity is only one of the many functions of 42 This distinction between communicative events and order of discourse is proposed by Fairclough (1995: 56). 43 Fairclough considers lexical markers the reliable indicators of how text breaks into discourse: ‘The most obvious distinguishing features of a discourse are likely to be features of vocabulary—discourses “word” or “lexicalize” the world in particular ways’ (2003: 129). 44 Diminutives are a means of expressing tenderness towards others and the world around us. They are ‘naturally associated with things small, helpless, and weak’ and often accompany tender terms of address with mi/mea (Hofmann 1950: 139–40, §129). I do not include Greek words, whose distribution, as Maltby has demonstrated, is affected by class as well as gender (1985: 123).

16

Introduction

any utterance. Additionally, gender is only one facet of an identity that includes, among other factors, age and status. In comedy, these other factors are reflected in the traditional division of the stock-types mulieres, meretrices, and ancillae. 45 Moreover, the same character must shift registers of speech according to the situation. For example, Erotium, the meretrix in the Menaechmi, addresses her lover in one fashion when he brings her a sumptuous cloak and in quite another when he tries to take it away from her. 46 Numerous literary considerations arising from the specific nature of the comoedia palliata would also have intersected with gender representation and will thus be briefly addressed in this chapter. 47 For example, the question of ethnicity is a difficult one. The ‘male’ and ‘female’ figures of palliata are symbolically Greek, and therefore their behaviour can reasonably be expected to subvert the Roman ideals of masculinity and femininity (cf. Chapter 4). Another issue, particularly pertinent to Plautus, is the general instability of theatrical identities (also Chapter 4). Stock characters often assume counter-identities and play against type or gender: a case in point

45

The lists of dramatis personae are not transmitted with the manuscripts, and reflect the thought of modern editors. I follow here Packman’s well-argued proposal (1999: 245–58) to use the mulier for women arbitrarily referred to as uxores, matronae, and mulieres in diverse edns. See also Konstan’s useful discussion differentiating among the female characters in Greek new comedy according to their eligibility as partners (1995: 120–30). 46 Compare the tone of her speech in Men. 182–215, esp. 192: ‘superas facile ut superior sis mihi’ with that in Men. 675–700; esp. 692–4. 47 Certain topoi pertaining to the representation of women have been studied under the heading of ‘amatory motives’. Thus, Leo in Plautinische Forschungen, convinced that all Plautine characters show the influence of the Greek models (1912: 130–2), is particularly affirmative when writing about the hetaerae (ibid. 140). Fraenkel in Plautinisches in Plautus comments, however, on adaptations of plot to the social realities of Rome that concern women. For example, he points out that the social status of the meretrices in the Pseudolus is reminiscent of that of the employees of a Roman lupanar (2007: 101–3). Just like Fraenkel’s seminal book, Flury’s study of amatory motives in Menander, Plautus, and Terence (1968) strives to demonstrate Plautus’ original approach to Greek tradition: the author argues e.g. that Plautus enriched the repertory of erotic motives by introducing an archaic Roman concept of the lover’s surrender of his animus to the beloved (1968: 31). Conversely, Zagagi in her re-examination of Plautine amatory motives (1980) concludes that Plautus’ attitude towards Greek erotic tradition is that of a creative adapter whose inventiveness nevertheless largely depends on his sources.

Introduction

17

is the matron Cleustrata, who plays the cunning slave in the Casina (cf. Slater 1985: 92–3). 48 We must also consider feminine discourse outside female speech. In addition to the instances where a male character disguises himself as a woman (Chalinus-Casinus in the Casina), wears a woman’s garment (Epidamnian Menaechmus), or paraphrases female speech (Periplectomenus in the Miles), 49 I will discuss the feminine features of speech that appear within lines composed for male characters, and then identify the governing themes and circumstances under which they occur. Finally, we must also keep in mind the complex issue of male actors playing female roles, which will receive attention in Chapter 4. With these precautions, let us proceed in medias res and begin to identify feminine discourse in excerpts from Roman comedy. My task here will be to find within the portions of text assigned to female speakers stretches of discourse foregrounded in the scripts as typically feminine. I will undertake this task in four steps. First, taking the cue from the statistics that highlight endearing terms of address and the adjective miser as typically feminine, I will scrutinize two passages from Terence, one featuring terms of endearment, the other references to suffering. Reading these representative excerpts of feminine stage language, I will focus on the relational aspects of speech. These aspects, I will assume, are expressed through both explicit terms denoting relationships and relevant verbal actions, such as providing details, discussing problems, and paying attention to the problems of others. 50 I will also compare my readings with Donatus’ insights into the typical aspects of women’s linguistic behaviour.

48 See also Gold’s analysis of the quick sequence of changes in gender identities in this play (1997: 104–7). 49 Chalinus introduces himself as ‘Casinus’ in Cas. 814 and appears on stage pursuing Lysidamus (977); Olympio describes his behaviour in Cas. 881–936. Epidamnian Menaechmus parades in a palla in Men. 143–82. For Periplectomenus’ imitation of female speech, see Mil. 685–704. 50 In breaking relationships into: (1) terms denoting relationships; (2) relevant verbal actions (a) providing details and (b) discussing one’s own problems and paying attention to the problems of others, I follow Pomerantz and Mandelbaum (2005: 149–71).

18

Introduction

Second, I will read two sample passages from Plautus, chosen because they illustrate events similar to those considered in the section on Terence. These sample passages will allow us to compare Plautus’ and Terence’s feminine speakers in similar situations. Third, sidestepping statistics, I will juxtapose scenes that show male and female characters addressing friends. Fourth, I will reflect on the ontological status of female words in scripts written and performed by men, and ask whether these scripts could in fact reflect women’s modes of speech.

READING TOWARDS THE OTHER

Step 1: Reading Terence with Donatus Sostrata’s web Sostrata, the mother-in-law in Terence’s Hecyra, is unjustly accused of having made her daughter-in-law move out of the family house. Suspecting that her presence was indeed an obstacle to her son’s happiness, the mother decides to withdraw to the country. First, however, she seeks his approval for her plan, prefacing her proposal with an introduction decked out with the endearment mi (‘dear’): Non clam me est, gnate mi, tibi me esse suspectam, uxorem tuam propter meos mores hinc abisse, etsi ea dissimulas sedulo. verum, ita me di ament, itaque optingant ex te quae exoptem mihi ut numquam sciens commerui merito ut caperet odium illam mei; teque ante quod me amare rebar ei rei firmasti fidem; nam mi intus tuos pater narravit modo quo pacto me habueris praepositam amori tuo: nunc tibi me certumst contra gratiam referre ut apud me praemium esse positum pietati scias. mi Pamphile, hoc et vobis et meae commodum famae arbitror: ego rus abituram hinc cum tuo me esse certo decrevi patre, ne mea praesentia obstet neu causa ulla restet relicua quin tua Philumema ad te redeat. 51 (577–88) 51

All quotations from Terence are based on Kauer and Lindsay’s edn. (1902).

Introduction

19

I am not unaware, my son, that you suspect me, that your wife has left this house because of my ways, although you scrupulously hide these things. But—so may the gods favour me, so may they help me obtain from you what I am asking for —I have never knowingly deserved that she should have justified reasons to dislike me; as for you, I always thought you loved me, and you have confirmed my belief: your father has just told me inside the house how you have placed your loyalty towards me above your beloved. I am determined to return you the favour, so that you may know that I have a reward for your affection. Dear Pamphilus, I think that this is expedient both for the two of you and my own reputation: I have decided to retire to the country with your father, so that my presence may not be an obstacle, and that there be no reason why your Philumena should not return to you.

The intimate terms of address (mi gnate in 577 and mi Pamphile in 585) turn out here to be the details in a portrait of a family bound by fides, amor, and pietas. While Terence seems to be distorting these values through his general portrayal of Pamphilus’ motivations, 52 the mother’s naïve discourse quoted here presents the network of family affections as functional. She describes her son’s reluctance to confront her as a proof of his love for her (me amare) and explains her own plan as a repayment of a favour (gratiam referre) and a reward for his filial affection (praemium . . . pietati). In her story, all the actors are entangled in a web of emotional bonds, in the centre of which is Pamphilus—loving, loved, and connected to his loved and loving mother, to his dear wife, and to his father. 53 Sostrata swathes her son in a close-knit fabric of relationships that leaves little room for privacy. She claims to be able to read her son’s mind (non clam me est) and to appreciate his efforts to hide 52

So Konstan (1983: 137). Sostrata’s description of the abusive conversation in which her husband blamed her for Philumena’s departure on the premise that all mothers-in-law are wicked (198–242) is a particularly striking element of the endearing image she concocts for her son’s use. 53

20

Introduction

suspicions that might hurt her feelings (dissimulas sedulo). Her references to her daughter-in-law are also remarkable: she affectionately calls her Pamphilus’ wife (577), his love (583), and his Philumena (588). She even stresses that she has never knowingly (sciens) offended her daughter-in-law, thus admitting that she might in fact have done so unwittingly, but that any odium would therefore have been due to a misunderstanding. 54 Given that the portrayal of the mother-inlaw as a loving and compassionate figure was one of the high points of the Hecyra, Sostrata’s speech is most probably meant to strike the audience/readers as benevolent. 55 Donatus, for his part, describes the mother’s conduct as exemplifying blanditia, the term that in the commentary also denotes the calculated kindness of prostitutes. 56 The fact that the mother is seeking her son’s approval, which is the impetus for the entire conversation, is ascribed to the playwright’s effort to present her as ‘ingratiating’ (579. 3. 2: blanda). Apparently, blanditia also affects the structure of Sostrata’s utterance, resulting in an overly long introduction. 57 Likewise, the fact that she states that her plan is in her son’s and his wife’s best interest is explained as another form of blanditia. 58 While we do not need to espouse Donatus’ value judgement, the notion that the feminine vocabulary is merely the uppermost layer of a far deeper and more complex linguistic and cultural phenomenon is attractive. The stress on connectedness in the linguistic portrayal 54 Sostrata now must reconcile her own innocence with the arguments presented by Laches; cf. Gilula (1980: 153). 55 On the sympathetic portrayal of women in the Hecyra, see Goldberg (1986: 152–5) and his references (esp. 152 n. 4). 56 For comments on a prostitute’s blanditia, see e.g. Ad Eu. 151. 1, 462. 2, and 463. 1. Donatus notes also that in referring to Philumena as her son’s wife (uxorem tuam), the matron speaks more softly (blandius) than she would if she had used her name (577. 1. 4); her next reference to the young woman (amori tuo) is apparently even softer (583. 7. 1). 57 Ad Hec. 585. 9. 1: ‘rem duram dictura uide quantis praeblanditur uerbis remque praemollit.’ (Look how this woman, about to discuss a difficult matter, uses many blandishments and prepares the ground in advance.) 58 Ad Hec. 585. 9. 2: ‘principium hoc aliquid precantis est feminae. a blandimento ergo incipit, ut libenter audiat.’ (This is an introduction of a woman making some request. [Sostrata] starts with a blandishment in order that [Pamphilus] may listen willingly.)

Introduction

21

of the mother-in-law is particularly interesting because it represents a direction opposite to that suggested by the plot, which depicts her as willing to step aside in order to allow her son’s relationship with his wife to improve. In construing Sostrata’s speech in a way that stresses connectedness, Terence may be situating this mother within some larger discourse of motherhood.

Messy heap of worries Few passages in Terence contain a concentration of feminine expressions comparable to that in Adelphoe 288–96. 59 In this brief exchange, the audience is invited to contemplate the household and mind of a poor widow and loving mother; like the mother-in-law in the Hecyra, she is named Sostrata. Her daughter Pamphila has been seduced and impregnated by young Aeschinus, who has promised to marry the girl. Pamphila is now in the initial stages of labour; her mother, conversing with her old nurse Canthara, appears very anxious: so. Obsecro, mea nutrix, quid nunc fiet? ca. Quid fiet, rogas? recte edepol spero. modo dolores, mea tu, occipiunt primulum: iam nunc times, quasi numquam adfueris, numquam tute pepereris? so. miseram me, neminem habeo (solae sumus; Geta autem hic non adest) nec quem ad obstetricem mittam, nec qui accersat Aeschinum. ca. pol is quidem iam hic aderit; nam numquam unum intermittit diem quin semper veniat. so. solus mearum miseriarumst remedium. (288–96) so. Please, dear nanny, what’s going to happen now? ca. Are you asking what’s going to happen? I hope, by Pollux, everything is going to be fine. The pains have only begun just a tiny moment ago, sweetheart: 59

This scene would mark the beginning of the third ‘act’ of the Adelphoe; I will in general avoid references to acts, assuming that, whereas Menander’s plays can be divided into five acts (see Hunter 1985: 35–42; cf. Handley 1970: 11–18; 1987: 299–312), Roman comedy did not adopt this structure. A comparison between the fragment of Menander’s Dis Exapaton and Plautus’ Bacchides reveals striking differences between the two dramatic techniques (cf. Goldberg 1990). On Terence’s techniques of adaptation, see e.g. Lowe (1983).

22

Introduction

are you anxious in anticipation, as though you have never been present or never given birth yourself? so. Wretched me! I have no one (we’re alone; Geta is not here) either to send to the midwife, or to fetch Aeschinus. ca. By Pollux, Aeschinus will be here soon; he never lets a day pass without coming. so. He is the only comfort in my sufferings.

This assortment of feminine expressions (mea nutrix, mea tu, and obsecro) constitutes but one element in an atmosphere of closeness and intimacy characterizing this exchange. The relationship is asserted through the sharing of anguish between the matron and her old servant, who attempts to calm Sostrata by drawing her attention to familiar facts known to both of them. First, in response to the matron’s anxious question about the future, the older woman reminds her of all the deliveries she has attended in the past as well as of her own childbearing experience. All these, she points out, suggest that it is far too early to be concerned about Pamphila, whose contractions have only just begun. The strategy does not work: although her daughter’s delivery is unlikely to take place soon, Sostrata is already worried that there is no servant whom she can send either to fetch the midwife or the child’s father. Canthara again resorts to the tactic of deflection, observing that it will not be necessary to send for Aeschinus, since he will come at any moment (after all, he always comes). This reference to the young man’s daily visits immediately raises the matron’s morale (Solus . . . remedium). Canthara apparently is not much use as a messenger herself, probably because of her age, but by directing the younger woman’s attention away from the great unknown towards familiar and shared experiences she manages to ease her fear. In Donatus’ assessment, this exchange reveals women’s inability to analyse dangerous situations. For example, Sostrata’s complaint about the absence of servants (l. 291) allegedly shows that the ‘endearing speech of worried women’ was a symptom of women’s inability to face peril. 60 One gloss (291. 4. 2) explains that Sostrata ‘whines like a woman and, judging things by her own confusion (ex perturbatione 60 Not surprisingly, Donatus qualifies mea nutrix and mea tu as blandishments, but, what is more interesting, he also tells us that such expressions are characteristic of the speech of anxious women (288. 1. 4 and 288. 2. 1), thus implying that anxiety and ‘soft speech’ could be but different facets of one discourse.

Introduction

23

sua), she fearfully exaggerates small matters’. Another comment on the same line describes the process with greater accuracy and suggests that comedy is not the only genre in which this phenomenon occurs: 291 4.4 MISERAM ME proprium es mulierum, cum loquuntur aut aliis blandiri, ut (Verg. Aen. 4. 643) ‘Annam, cara mihi nutrix, huc siste sororem’, aut se commiserari, ut (Verg. Aen. 4. 420–1) ‘miserae hoc tamen unum/ exsequere Anna, mihi’. Nam haec omnia muliebria sunt, quibus pro malis ingentibus quasi in aceruum rediguntur et enumerantur nullius momenti querellae. 61 4.4 O WRETCHED ME: It is typical of women, when they speak, either to address others softly, as (Verg. A. 4. 643) ‘dear nurse, bring me here my sister Anna’, or to express pity for themselves, as (Verg. A. 4. 420–1) ‘for me, your poor sister, Anna, do this single thing.’ For all these [ways of complaining] are feminine in which, in place of great hardships, complaints of no importance are piled up in a heap of sorts and itemized.

According to Donatus, women’s complaints typically take the form of ‘heaps of small worries’ that substitute for greater hardships, so the genuine reason for anguish is not merely fragmented, but is in fact replaced with a series of inconsequential concerns. Dido wants Anna to persuade Aeneas to delay his departure, though her profound desire would be for him to stay (cf. 4. 431–6). Sostrata wishes to have a messenger to send to the midwife and the father, but she is presumably hoping for a happy delivery and marriage. According to Donatus, in both cases, the woman expresses a lesser wish to substitute for her deeper desire. Donatus, or at least the most personal layer of Donatus’ text, betrays impatience with the alleged triviality of Sostrata’s complaint; he loses his scholarly composure and directly rebukes the character (291. 4. 5): ‘NEMINEM HABEO quid enim opus est aut cur nunc quereris?’ (I HAVE NO ONE: What do you need, or why are you whining now?) Obviously, the scholiast reads the voice of Pamphila’s mother as disturbingly realistic and settles his account with some contemporary ‘Sostrata’ whose complaints troubled him personally. 61

Donatus’ text is quoted after Wessner (1963).

24

Introduction

In the two excerpts from Terence, women’s conversational attitudes challenged textual and interpersonal boundaries in several ways. These include disproportion (the speaker in the Hecyra coaxes her son to accept a favour in a very long introduction), deflection (the woman in the Adelphoe substitutes immediate concerns for profound anxiety), and a peculiar sense of self as able to absorb thoughts and feelings of others (the first speaker pretends to know her son’s thoughts). A contemporary reader may be tempted to sympathize with this attitude of connectedness, compassion, and indulgence that informs the vocabulary and structure of feminine utterances, while Donatus appears to disapprove of such speech as smacking of ‘flattery’ (blandiri) and ‘self-pity’ (se commiserari). Both the first reaction to these deflections and disproportions (mine) and the second (Donatus’) could perhaps have been found among the original audiences of Terence. 62 Let us, however, put speculation aside and instead continue our search for observable patterns that outline feminine discourses.

Step 2: Reading Plautus with Terence And I for you and you for me . . . Our passage from the Hecyra presented a matron addressing a male member of her family and seeking his approval for the plan she has conceived in what she believes to be his best interests. A comparable situation is featured in Plautus’ hilarious miser comedy, the Aulularia, 63 when Megadorus, the miser’s generous neighbour, is approached by his sister Eunomia, intent on advising her brother to take a wife. The conversation between the siblings begins with Eunomia’s canticum that pointedly introduces the theme of female garrulity:

62 In her analysis of the representation of rape in the Eunuchus, Louise Pearson Smith argues persuasively that, by indicating points of view undermining the dominant ideology, Terence would have introduced doubts and questions in the minds of at least some of his spectators (1994: 30–1). 63 On the Aulularia, see Konstan 1977/2001.

Introduction

25

Velim te arbitrari med haec verba, frater, meai fidei tuaique rei caussa facere, ut aequom est germanam sororem. quamquam hau falsa sum nos odiosas haberi; nam multum loquaces merito omnes habemur, nec mutam profecto repertam nullam esse hodie dicunt mulierem ullo in saeclo. 64 (120–6) I would like you to think that I am saying these words, brother, out of loyalty, and for your own good, as befits your own sister, although I’m not unaware that we are considered a nuisance; for we are all deservedly considered chatterboxes, and, in fact, they say that not a single silent woman has been found either now or at any time.

While the notion that women say too much as soon as they say anything has the potential for being bitterly ironic, the rest of Eunomia’s act perversely demonstrates that she, for one, would be considered talkative by any standard. In each of the next six lines, the second part echoes the first: Eunomia tells her brother that brothers are close to sisters (and sisters to brothers), that both she to him (and he to her) should offer advice (and admonishment) rather than hide (or bear in silence) their opinions, but that she and he (and he and she) should share their thoughts with each other. uerum hoc, frater, unum tamen cogitato, tibi proxumam me mihique esse item te; ita aequom est quod in rem esse utrique arbitremur et mihi te et tibi <me> consulere et monere; neque occultum id haberi neque per metum mussari, quin participem pariter ego te et tu me [ut] facias. eo nunc ego secreto ted huc foras seduxi, ut tuam rem ego tecum hic loquerer familiarem. But take this single thing into consideration, brother, that I am as closely related to you as you are to me; therefore it is proper that, whatever we both think profitable for either of us, 64

In all Plautine passages I follow Lindsay’s edn. (1904).

26

Introduction that you should inform and advise me, and I, you, and that this should not be kept concealed or hushed in fear rather than that I should share it with you and you with me. I have brought you out here in private to discuss with you a private matter that concerns you.

Eunomia’s song seems to conjure up a vision similar to the one evinced in Sostrata’s long introduction—a close-knit family whose female members know what is best for their loved ones. By the time she arrives at the keyword of her song, ‘allow to partake’ (participem facere), the listener, having heard ‘I’ and ‘you’ declined several times, has a blurred sense of the distinction between the eloquent sister and her (so far) silent brother. But the preliminaries are not yet finished. Megadorus now asks his sister to give him her hand to hold: me. da mi, optuma femina, manum. eu. ubi ea est? quis ea est nam optuma? me. tu. eu. tune ais? me. si negas, nego. eu. decet tequidem vera proloqui; nam optuma nulla potest eligi: alia alia peior, frater, est. me. idem ego arbitror, nec tibi aduorsari certum est de istac re umquam, soror. me. Give me your hand, best of women. eu. Where is she? Who is the best of women? me. You! eu. That’s what you are saying? me. If you deny it, I deny. eu. You should be telling the truth: For no woman can be chosen as the best. One is worse than another. me. I think the same. I am determined never to disagree with you in this matter, sister.

Megadorus’ flattering circumlocution, optuma femina, provokes his sister’s second misogynist confession—that women are intrinsically wicked; the brother politely agrees. Only now does Eunomia make the final request for attention and formulates her proposal—that Megadorus should take a wife. So far the linguistic characterization of Eunomia has been conducted through the structure of her speech, not her vocabulary, and only now does Plautus give her an expression catalogued as feminine, amabo.

Introduction

27

eu. da mihi operam amabo. me. Tuast, utere atque impera, si quid uis. eu. id quod in rem tuam optumum esse arbitror, ted id monitum aduento. me. soror, more tuo faci’. eu. facta volo. me. quid est id, soror? eu. Quod tibi sempiternum salutare sit: liberis procreandis— me. (ita di faxint)—eu. uolo te uxorem domum ducere. me. ei occidi. (120–51) eu. Please, pay attention to me. me. You have it, use it, tell me what you want. eu. I have come to inform you of what I think is in your very best interest. me. Sister, it is your style. eu. I want this to happen. me. What is this, sister? eu. Something that will forever be good for you: in order to beget children . . . me. (may gods grant it) eu. I want you to take a wife. me. Ahhhh! I am finished.

Like Sostrata in the Hecyra, Eunomia carefully assures her male relative of her good will before she expresses her thoughts, a delaying tactic reminiscent of Donatus’ remarks on feminine tardiloquium. Eunomia’s references to feminine loquacity and wickedness may be compared to Sostrata’s subtle acknowledgement that she might have unwittingly offended her daughter-in-law. Both utterances seek to pre-empt any (the usual?) reservations about female speech by assuming some of the blame. However, where Terence uses an innuendo, Plautus resorts to overstatement; where Terence constructs an utterance maintaining the illusion of feminine identity, Plautus breaks this illusion by inserting flamboyantly self-critical comments. The speeches of Terence’s mother-in-law and Plautus’ Eunomia reflect significant aesthetic differences, yet build on fairly similar assumptions about the linguistic behaviour of women in broaching a delicate personal matter with a close relative. In both samples this involves a long introduction stressing the speaker’s good will, her

28

Introduction

close relationship with the addressee and a token admission that, given her gender, her credibility is questionable. It appears plausible that the audiences would have recognized affectionate preambles as one of the linguistic strategies typical of women in drama. It is also tantalizingly possible that the discursive practice that shaped the utterances of Sostrata and Eunomia would also have defined the daily speech of Roman women.

Suffering insufferable sufferings . . . Plautus also plays with and draws his audience’s attention to one of the leitmotifs of the short exchange from the Adelphoe—se commiserari. In the second half of the Epidicus, Philippa comes on stage lamenting her fate. Poor, frightened, and alone, she has no place to go: Si quid est homini miseriarum quod miserescat, miser ex animost. id ego experior, quoi multa in unum locum confluont, quae meum pectu’ pulsant simul: multiplex aerumna exercitam habet, paupertas, pauor territat mentem animi, neque ubi meas conlocem spes habeo mi usquam munitum locum. ita gnata mea hostiumst potita, neque ea nunc ubi sit scio. (526–32) Anyone who has compassion for some sufferings is suffering heartily. This is what I experience, for whom many [sufferings] congregate In one spot, which goad my heart All at once: variegated affliction torments me, Poverty and fear terrify the thought of my mind, And there is no safe place where I could deposit my hopes. My daughter has fallen into the enemy’s power and I do not know where she is.

The collection of words built on miser- in the first line leaves little doubt that suffering is on display in this short monody. Moreover, just like the frightened mother in the Adelphoe, Philippa, in spite

Introduction

29

of the generalizing homini, 65 suffers her insufferable sufferings in a peculiar fashion. Just as in the Adelphoe, where Sostrata concentrates on her immediate concern, so here, in the Epidicus, Philippa dwells on her own feelings of fear and insecurity. Her afflictions include poverty, fear, and the absence of a place where she might feel secure; she recites this list before mentioning the true cause of her distress and the reason for her appearance on stage—the kidnapping of her daughter. Periphanes, the other character present on the stage when she enters, draws attention to her self-centred lamentation: ‘quis illaec est mulier timido pectore peregre adveniens/quae ipsa se miseratur?’ (Epid. 533) (Who is this woman of fearful heart, arriving from abroad, who takes pity on herself?) Although Periphanes’ remark bears no trace of generalization, focusing as it does on ‘that woman’, his comment (se ipsa miseratur) draws attention to a comic routine both recurrent in Plautus and traditionally recognized as characteristic of women in the scholia (se commiserari). 66 The Plautine audience would thus arguably have been invited to think of Philippa’s speech as expressive of self-pity. Modern readers may sympathize with Philippa’s plight and may willingly grant her the right to pity herself, and it is possible that some ancient spectators would have felt the same way. Nevertheless, Periphanes’ aside inscribes the mother’s speech into a comic routine that caricaturizes women’s willingness to discuss pain as self-centred—‘quae se ipsa miseratur’. It is on such asides that the later scholiastic tradition would possibly have drawn to establish the stereotype of the self-pitying woman, which we know from Donatus. Philippa’s confession that a confluence of many troubles has pooled into one place to assail her heart (multa in unum locum confluont) bears, in fact, an uncanny resemblance to Donatus’ comment 65

On this usage, see Lodge (1962: i. 716 B). This scene is probably a particularly good example of Latin practice, as it has some typically Plautine features, such as characters echoing each other’s asides (Goldberg 1978: 86–7) and comes from a play that possibly had no Greek original (ibid. 91). 66 See the lines of Bromia (Am. 1053–75), Pardalisca (Cas. 621–30), and Halisca (Cist. 671–94); the comic routine of the panicky maid pitying herself for other people’s misfortunes is discussed in detail in Ch. 3.

30

Introduction

about the many small worries women collect into heaps (291. 4. 4 in aceruum rediguntur). In fact, the enumeration of endless sorrows we find in the Epidicus exemplifies the stereotype of women ‘piling up’ grievances even better than does the complaint about servants, which motivates this comment by Donatus, or the speech of Dido that he quotes to illustrate it in Ad Ad. 291. 4. 2. Our reading of Terence and Plautus has detected similarities in the way the two playwrights represent feminine speech. Both show women trying to stress connections with their interlocutors; both testify to a peculiar mode of complaining characterized by laundry lists of worries and a shifting of focus. While acknowledging the presence of such stretches of speech, we do not need to embrace the stereotypes of female flattery and self-pity, nor assume that male characters of comedy never coax others or pity themselves (for, as I will argue in Chapters 2 and 3, they do). However, the Plautine aside and Donatus’ comments do suggest that some audiences and readers of comedy construed indulgence for self and others as befitting women.

Step 3: Reading Plautus with Plautus Let us now leave behind the statistics and the scholia, and look for gendered speech in comparable conversations between women and men. To eliminate linguistic distinctions indicative of social distance between speakers as much as possible, I have chosen exchanges between friends of the same status and gender. All passages are from Plautus and come from conversation openings, which are typically devoted to negotiating the roles that will be played in the ensuing exchange. 67 I will pay close attention to such criteria as the speaker’s references to him/herself and to the interlocutor, greetings, polite expressions, as well as to the choice of topic and ways of expressing requests. 67 On ‘openings’ and sequencing conversation, see e.g. Schegloff (1968: 1075–6), Sacks et al. (1974: 702), and Zimmermann (1988: 406–32); more recently Schegloff refers specifically to various forms of ‘pre-expansion’, such as ‘pre-invitations’, ‘preoffers’, or ‘pre-announcements’ (2007: 28–57). On gender and relational maintenance, see e.g. Canary and Wahba (2006: 359–73).

Introduction

31

Friendly openings I was on my way to see you Our first conversation comes from Plautus’ Casina; the speakers are matrons. One of them, Cleustrata, is furious because her husband is in love with her protégée. The vengeful wife makes sure the wrongdoer’s lunch will not be ready (149–55), goes to visit Myrrhina for a bout of griping (cf. ibo questum), and she meets her on the street. It turns out that Myrrhina was on her way to visit Cleustrata. From the beginning, the symmetry of their exchange is striking: ( . . . ) cl. Myrrhina, salue. my. salue mecastor. sed quid tu es tristis, amabo? cl. ita solent omnes quae sunt male nuptae: domi et foris aegre quod siet, satis semper est. nam ego ibam ad te. my. et pol ego istoc ad te. sed quid est quod tuo nunc animo aegrest? nam quod tibi est aegre, idem mi est dividiae. cl. credo ecastor, nam uicinam neminem amo merito magis quam te nec qua in plura sunt mihi quae ego uelim. my. Amo te, atque istuc expeto scire quid sit. (Cas. 171–83a) cl. Myrrhina, hello. my. Oh, hello. But why are you sad, please? cl. It’s the fate of those unhappily married; at home or outside, there’s always plenty of things to make them upset. But I was on my way to your house. my. And I, in fact, was coming to yours. But what is it that makes you upset? For whatever causes your sadness is a reason for me to grieve. cl. Oh, I do believe you. Indeed, it’s for good reason I love no female neighbour more than you, nor is there anyone who pleases me more than you. my. Thank you darling, and I really want to know what’s the matter.

Myrrhina not only wants to know the reason for her friend’s discomfort, but also claims to grieve already for the same, yet unspecified, reason. Cleustrata responds with a declaration of love and a

32

Introduction

compliment. Only after Myrrhina has thanked her affectionately with amo te will the actual exchange of information take place. Note that the question is repeated three times and sandwiched between pledges of undivided attention and oaths of eternal love. So far, a warm and friendly relationship is what this conversation exudes. This, however, does not hold true for the entire scene: Myrrhina will play a vigorous devil’s advocate, responding to Cleustrata’s bold diatribe against her husband from the point of view of a man: my. tace sis, stulta et mi asculta. noli sis tu illic aduorsari, sine amet, sine quod lubet id faciat, quando tibi nil domi delicuom est. cl. satin sana es? Nam tu quidem aduorsus tuam rem istaec loquere. (203–8/9) my. Do shut up, you fool and listen to me! Don’t you contradict him! Let him love, let him do whatever he wants, as long as you don’t miss anything at home. cl. Are you crazy? For in fact, you are preaching against your own cause.

The sudden disagreement between the two women serves many purposes; while Myrrhina’s reaction underscores Cleustrata’s boldness, Cleustrata’s indignant protest draws the audience’s attention to the curious phenomenon of women speaking against their own interests (which I will discuss later in this chapter). It is also possible that the shift of tone is meant to undermine the credibility of the matrons’ original declarations of boundless love and of feminine blanditiae in general. Shall we swap? The beginning of Plautus’ Trinummus features an exchange between two devoted male friends. Callicles apparently bought a house for a very low price from an irresponsible young man, whose father had left him in Callicles’ care. This looks like an act of betrayal, and the city is abuzz with gossip. Worried about his friend’s damaged reputation, Megaronides comes to chastize Callicles. It will turn out that Callicles’

Introduction

33

actions were irreproachable, but not before Megaronides has had a chance to prepare the way for his criticism: ca. o amice, salue, atque aequalis. ut uales, Megaronides? meg. et tu edepol salue, Callicles. ca. ualen? ualuistin? meg. ualeo, et ualui rectius. ca. quid agit tua uxor? ut ualet? meg. plus quam ego uolo. ca. bene hercle est illam tibi ualere et uiuere. meg. credo hercle te gaudere, si quid mihi mali est. ca. omnibus amicis quod mihi est cupio esse idem. meg. eho tu, tua uxor quid agit? ca. inmortalis est, uiuit uicturaque est. meg. bene hercle nuntias, deosque oro ut vitae tuae superstes suppetat. ca. dum quidem hercle tecum nupta sit, sane uelim. meg. uin commutemus, tuam ego ducam et tu meam? (Trin. 48–59) ca. Greetings, old friend! 68 How are you, Megaronides? meg. And greetings to you, Callicles! ca. Are you well? Has your health been good? meg. I am well, and I have been healthier. ca. And how is your wife doing? How is her health? meg. Better than I’d like. ca. Yes, good for you, that she is alive and well. meg. Seems to me you’re happy when I have no luck. ca. I always want all my friends to share in what I have. meg. How is your wife doing? ca. She is immortal; she lives, and intends to keep on living. meg. Great news; I pray the gods that she may survive and outlive you! ca. On condition she is married to you, that’s my wish. meg. Want to swap? I’ll marry yours and you’ll marry mine.

In this conversation, just as in the one between Cleustrata and Myrrhina, an emphasis on relationship also serves as a prelude for frank criticism, but instead of a direct and emphatic pledge of affection we find a polite enquiry about the spouse’s health, which quickly turns into a teasing contest, the humour of which revolves around the notion that the unloved spouse’s good health is bad news. However, the antagonism between the two men is merely playful and ends 68

Literally: ‘friend and equal’.

34

Introduction

in a declaration of friendship. 69 Whereas both conversations begin with a focus on mutual understanding, there appears to be a difference between the ways the two pairs of friends assert closeness. The exchange between the women opens with emphatic declarations of love and shared emotions, while male friends bond by comparing their dislike for ageing wives.

Greetings from Cyrene In order to see if these divergences represent a legitimate trend in the Plautine portrayal of friendly relations, I propose now to analyse two excerpts from the Rudens featuring pairs of friends who are reunited after a shipwreck. These exchanges juxtaposed in one play deserve special attention, as the conversational strategies deployed in them might have been purposefully contrasted. The girls come on stage first. Before they can see or hear each other, each laments her fate profusely (their cantica will be analysed in Chapter 3), then, each suddenly hears the other’s voice: pa. certo uox muliebris auris tetigit meas. am. mulier est. muliebris uox mi ad auris uenit. pa. num Ampelisca opsecrost? am. ten, Palaestra audio? pa. quin uoco ut me audiat nomine illam suo? Ampelisca! am. Hem quis est? pa. Ego, Palaestra am. dic, ubi es? pa. pol ego nunc in malis plurimis. am. socia sum, nec minor pars meast quam tua. ed uidere expeto te. pa. Mihi es aemula. am. consequamur gradu uocem. ubi es? pa. Ecce me. accede ad me atque adi contra. am. Fit sedulo. pa. cedo manum. am. Accipe. pa. Dic, uiuisne? obsecro. am. tu facis me quidem ut uiuere nunc uelim, quom mihi te licet tangere. ut uix mihi credo ego hoc, te tenere. obsecro, amplectere, spes mea. ut me omnium iam laborum leuas. (Rud. 233–47)

69 A direct declaration of friendship comes later, in l. 94, when Callicles says that he believes that Megaronides is a true friend (‘tu ex amicis certis es mihi certissimus’).

Introduction

35

pa. Surely, a woman’s voice has touched my ears. am. It’s a woman: a woman’s voice has reached my ears. pa. Oh, I beg you; is it Ampelisca? am. Is it you, Palæstra, that I hear? pa. But why don’t I call her by her name, so that she may hear me? Ampelisca! am. Ha! who’s that? pa. It’s me, Palæstra. am. Tell me, where are you? pa. Amidst many hardships. am. I am your partner, my own share no less than yours. And I long to see you. pa. [In that wish] you are my rival. am. Let’s follow our voices with our steps; where are you? pa. See, here I am. Step towards me, and come straight on to meet me. am. With pleasure. pa. Give me your hand. am. Take it. pa. Are you still alive? tell me, I beg you. am. Indeed, you make me now wish to live, since I can touch you. I can hardly believe it, that I am holding you. Please embrace me, my only hope; how you now ease me of all my woes. . . .

Note once again the discourse of sharing (socia sum, pars mea, aemula) and references to a mutual and symmetrical desire to see each other, strongly reminiscent of the exchange between Cleustrata and Myrrhina. The excerpt also contains stage directions hinting at handholding, embraces, and kisses. Most probably the actors, coming from different directions, would have met to embrace, so the stage action would have reflected the convergent symmetry of Palaestra’s and Ampelisca’s friendly affection. This scene is followed by several other ones: the girls are received by a priestess; a fisherman enters with a slave who works for Palaestra’s beloved; the slave recognizes Ampelisca and promises to notify his master of his girlfriend’s miraculous rescue; Ampelisca is harassed by another slave who requests sexual favours in exchange for filling her jar with water; as she is waiting she has a nightmarish vision—their owner, the greedy pimp Labrax, enters the stage, followed by his friend Charmides.

36

Introduction

Whereas both girls would most likely have been represented as coming towards one another, the old men go in the same direction, yet Labrax seems unwilling to wait for the older and less fit Charmides (cf. 493). This stage action, so distinct from the meeting between Palaestra and Ampelisca, is also accompanied by a conversation that is quite different from the tearful reunion of the earlier scene: la. sed ubi ille meus hospes qui me perdidit? atque eccum incedit! cha. Quo malum properas, Labrax? nam equidem te nequeo consequi tam strenue. la. Utinam te prius quam oculis vidissem meis, malo cruciatu in Sicilia perbiteres, quem propter hoc mihi optigit misero mali. cha. Utinam, quom in aedis me ad te adduxisti , in carcere illo potius cubuissem die. deosque inmortalis quaeso, dum uiuas, uti omnes tui similis hospites habeas tibi. (491–500) la. Where’s this guest of mine who has turned out to be my ruin? Oh, here he comes. cha. Where the heck are you hurrying off to, Labrax? I can’t follow you that fast. la. I only wish that you had died a painful death in Sicily before I had set eyes on you, you who have brought ruin upon me. cha. I only wish that on the day you brought me into your house, I had spent the night in prison instead. I pray the immortal gods, for as long as you live, that all your hosts be just like you.

We must note that the two men are cast as the villains of the play and that they have lost money in the shipwreck, hence their openly aggressive tone. Yet the contest of insults indulged in by the two businessmen of the demi-monde is reminiscent of the exchange between the two wife-bashing gentlemen in the Trinummus discussed above; the only notable difference is that, while the gentlemen compete humorously and indirectly, the crooks do so directly. In the exchanges from the Rudens, just as in the earlier examples from the Casina and the Trinummus, women open their conversations with words of affection, while men engage in more or less

Introduction

37

friendly verbal wrestling. The male and female conversations thus appear to lead in opposite directions, aptly represented by the two stage actions in the Rudens: women use language to draw themselves closer to their interlocutors, while men use it to distinguish themselves from their companions. Male characters’ witty attempts to outdo each other appear to be a part of the culture of male friendship as portrayed in the two excerpts from Plautus.

Acid test Let us now put the thesis that men and women in Plautus address their friends in distinctive ways to the test. Transcribed below is one more exchange between friends. It is not an initial utterance but an excerpt from the middle of a long conversation that shows how one of the speakers goes about changing the topic—an operation that is arguably a secondary opening of sorts. To emphasize strategies for signalling gender that are other than the better-known tricks of vocabulary, I have substituted the letters X and Y for the characters’ names and obscured all grammatical clues to their gender. x. Meus oculus, mi/mea (y), numquam ego te tristiorem uidi esse. quid, cedo, te obsecro, tam abhorret hilaritudo? neque mundus/a adaeque es, ut soles (hoc sis uide, ut petiuit suspiritum alte) et pallidus/a es. eloquere utrumque nobis, et quid tibi est et quid uelis nostram operam, ut nos sciamus. noli, obsecro, lacrumis tuis mi exercitum imperare. y. Med excrucio, mi/mea (x): male mihi est, male maceror; Doleo ab animo, doleo ab oculis, doleo ab aegritudine. Quid dicam nisi stultitia mea me in maerorem rapi. x. Apple of my eye, my dear (y), never have I seen you sadder; I beg you, tell me, why does happiness keep its distance from you? And you are not so neat as you are wont. (To Z.) Look at that, please, what a deep sigh (s)he drew. You are pale, too. Tell us both what’s the matter, and how we can help you, so that we may know how. I beg you, don’t torment me with your tears. y. My dear (x), I’m in anguish; I feel ill; I am worn out by illness. I feel pain in my spirit, pain in my eyes, pain from weakness. What can I say, but that by my own folly I am driven to sadness?

38

Introduction

If you guessed that the speakers are women, you are right. This is an excerpt from the first scene of the Cistellaria featuring Gymnasium and her mother, Lena, talking to Selenium. 70 Note how Gymnasium focuses on her friend, remembering to insert a compliment into her unflattering remark about Selenium’s neglected appearance. Much of what she says has parallels in other conversations between women: for example, as we have seen, there is also attention to appearance and a compliment in the exchange between matrons in the Casina, while comments on clothing can be found in the Rudens. 71 Gymnasium’s suggestion that her friend’s tears are a torment to her is strongly reminiscent of the words of Myrrhina in the Casina. We can then conclude that Gymnasium uses terms of endearment and polite formulae (obsecro) next to other means of indicating affection, such as expressions of attention and concern, avowals of friendly love, and compliments. Selenium’s answer contains only a small token of affection (the address to ‘dear Gymnasium’); she has already eloquently declared her unconditional love for Gymnasium and her mother in the first seven lines of their exchange. 72 Her gender is instead written into her confession of vulnerability. Particularly interesting is the second line of the confession: ‘doleo ab animo, doleo ab oculis, doleo ab aegritudine’. The lack of logic evinced in this catalogue, juxtaposing the spirit, a body part, and the abstract concept of sickness, is remarkable, but by no means exceptional (recall the description of multiplex aerumna sung by Philippa in the Epidicus). 73 The samples of Plautus’ discourses of male and female friendship suggest that women’s speech indeed displayed the propensities for sweet talk and complaints described in the scholia. There is much 70 See Fantham’s discussion (2004) of the complex dynamics of characterization in this scene; Gymnasium (and Lena) are both set apart through different moral codes and united by the solidarity of their social class (ordo) of meretrices. 71 See below, Ch. 3. 72 Cist. 1–3: . . . ‘ego antehac te amaui et mi amicam esse creui, | mea Gymnasium, et matrem tuam . . . ’ (I have always loved you and considered you and your mother to be well disposed towards me, my dearest Gymnasium). 73 This routine is more fully developed in other plays, such as the Amphitruo, where Bromia keeps asking for directions, and cannot tell her body from her mind, her mistress from herself, or her right side from her left (1053–75).

Introduction

39

more to this discourse of female friendship than lexical mannerisms; these are but the tip of an iceberg shaped by the powerful undercurrents of communication—the speaker’s vision of herself, the other, and their relationship.

‘‹Î·Ì, ًηÌ: a Greek interlude Before formulating our questions about the feminine voices in Roman comedy, we need to pause for a moment to consider the Greek equivalents of the emerging feminine discourse. Numerous references to the peculiarities of the speech of women are scattered throughout Greek literature, especially in drama. These remarks fall into two categories. First, there is the dictum that silence is the best ornament for women („ıÌ·ÈÓd ͸ÛÏÔÌ ô ÛÈ„c ˆ›ÒÂÈ) and repeated complaint that women are excessively talkative. 74 Second, there are comments suggesting that women spoke with some mannerisms that distinguished them from men; a fragment of Aristophanes (Meineke 685. 1) describes this way of speaking as a dialect. 75 Women (Arist. Ecc. 148–60, 189–92) apparently use peculiar oaths and have a predilection for certain forms of address, such as t ÏÂΛ and t Ù‹Ì (Suda 3. 609, 628–9). David Bain, in his study of Menander (1984), has shown that this playwright indeed consistently attributed certain oaths and terms of address to female characters: 76 Menander’s women often address others as ‘poor darling’ (‰˝ÛÏÔÒÔÚ, ًηÚ, ًηÌ) or use terms of kinship outside the family circle (t Ù›ÍÌÔÌ and t ‹·Ú). 77 Alan Sommerstein’s study, based on both old and new comedy, has confirmed Bain’s findings (1995: 64–78). 78 74

For the proverb, see Aesch. Trag. Fr. 470 (Radt), Soph. Ajax 293; for the complaints about feminine garrulity, see Arist. Eccl. 120, Thesm. 393, and Alexis fr. 96 (Kassel and Austin). 75 These mannerisms are listed by Gilleland (1980: 180–2) and Bain (1984: 28–9) and briefly discussed by Fögen (2004: 224–9) and McClure (1999: 38–40). 76 See also Sommerstein (1995: 73–8) and Willi (2003: 186–8, 192–3) on Aristophanes. 77 Bain classifies ًηÚ, ±È, ‰˝ÛÏÔÒÔÚ, „ÎıÍ˝Ú, ‹·Ú, and Ù›ÍÌÔÌ as ‘individual expressions’ (33–9), distinguishing them from ‘oaths and invocations to the gods’ (39– 42). 78 Sommerstein discusses the rule that women swear by female deities, men by male, and points out notable exceptions (1995: 64–8); he also analyses the usage of

40

Introduction

Furthermore, Laura McClure has demonstrated that women in Greek tragedy would have been prone to charm others and to lament. 79 While the preferences for oaths, such as ‘by two goddesses’, can be explained by religious concerns (cf. Bain 1984: 42), the terms of address conveying tenderness appear to reflect stereotypes similar to those we identified in Roman comedy. Let us consider the recognition scene in Menander’s Epitrepontes as an example of the comedic version of ‘feminine Greek’ in action. In this scene the harp-girl Habrotonon enters the stage holding a baby; she tells the audience that it has been crying, exclaims ‘oh dear’ (ًηÌ), and asks the infant, ‘Little darling (ˆflÎÙ·ÙÔÌ Ù›ÍÌÔÌ) when will you ever see your mother?’ Just as she speaks these words expressing a seemingly unrealistic wish, she sees a young woman who could well be the child’s mother; Habrotonon now turns to Pamphile with the same endearing title that she used when speaking to the child (860: ˆÈÎÙ‹ÙÁ). She also calls her sweetheart (862, 863: „ÎıÍÂE·) while holding her hand and questioning her. The citizen woman responds in kind, but only after she has realized that Habrotonon is rendering her a great service (872: ˆÈÎÙ‹ÙÁ). The linguistic strategies Roman comedy ascribes to women are thus not unlike the attitude of compassion and tenderness displayed by the Greek characters; but it does not seem that the Roman playwrights simply imitated the Greek idiom. 80 Neither the affectionate Ù›ÍÌÔÌ, addressed to adults as well as children, nor Ù‹Î·Ì has an exact equivalent in the Latin scripts. 81 The ‘feminine Latin’ we are tracing can thus be assumed to be Latin; let us now ask if it is really feminine.

four adjectives for which female speakers have a preference: ‰˝ÛÏÔÒÔÚ, ًηÚ, „ÎıÍ˝Ú, and ˆflÎÔÚ (68–73), and describes women’s use of forms of address with its predilection for diminutives, proper names, and ‘complimentary epithets’ and avoidance of generic terms, such as àÌËÒ˘ or „Ò·F (73–8). 79 Cf. McClure (1999: 80–92) on Klytemnestra’s binding song and on Cassandra’s lament in the Agamemnon (ibid. 92–7). 80 Bain discusses Menander’s tendency to give the vocatives of Ù‹Î·Ú and „ÎıÍ˝Ú to female speakers, but does not mention ˆÈÎÙ‹ÙÁ (1984: 33–7). On ًηÌ, see also Gomme and Sandbach, who note that this expression is more typical of the speech of women of lower social standing (1973: 328). 81 Me miseram is, unlike ًηÌ, self-referential.

Introduction

41

POENULUS AND POLYPHONY Our discussion, having focused so far on the speech of mothers and friends, has merely grazed the surface of an intricate discourse, one which must involve several other subgenres practised by diverse feminine figures: clever enchantresses, imperious wives, and devoted servants. Nevertheless, the limited material we have studied so far is sufficient for us to state that the Roman playwrights and their audiences did indeed engage in language-games that involved gendersensitive rules. At this point it appears that the common denominator of feminine mannerisms is a propensity for confusing proportions and boundaries, especially the boundaries between self and loved ones. In later chapters we will see that these ‘feminine’ mannerisms are not limited to feminine characters but can be ascribed to masculine characters in significant ways. This reference to the feminine ‘self ’ in the context of a performance in which men wrote and enacted feminine roles brings up the question of how this dramatic discourse compared to everyday practice. 82 I have proposed above that in general the comic scripts would have remained in a dialectic relationship with the cultural networks that created them. Now we need to consider the nature of this relationship in some detail. Twentieth-century discussions of Roman comedy explained female mannerisms of speech as a variant of the ‘female idiom’, a phenomenon shaped by social conditions, yet disturbingly universal. This identification involves a circular thinking process: since the women of Roman comedy were women, they must have spoken like women. My principal objection to this belief—or at least to adopting this belief without further deliberation—rests on the fact that the ‘women’ on the Roman stage were, quite literally, male. Their bodies and voices were male. The entire aesthetics of their performance, its scripts, music, and choreography, was a creation of male artists who composed and produced the plays, and who appeared on stage as both ‘men’ and ‘women’. 82 As Mary-Kay Gamel aptly put it in her introduction to the special edn. of the American Journal of Philology devoted to the Thesmophoriazousai, ‘dramatic performance reflects and affects specific social practices concerning the meaning of the human body, uses of language, ideas about psychology, identity, gender, agency, class and much more’ (2002: 321).

42

Introduction

The tension between the maleness of the author’s (and the actor’s) perspective and the symbolic femininity of the theatrical ‘women’ would have been inherent to the (fe)male roles of comedy. This tension would have affected both the performance and reception of comedy in ways on which, at this late date, we can only speculate. But one aspect of this tension—the allusions to the conflict of interest between theatrical ‘women’ and women—is embedded in the scripts themselves. Consider the conflicting loyalties behind the misogynist jokes derived from the lines of Eunomia in the Aulularia (124–7): ‘Which woman is best? None, because one woman can only be worse than another’; ‘Why do women talk too much? Because they are not mute!’ And Eunomia is not the only woman on the Plautine stage to crack such jokes. Pasicompsa, the highly desirable prostitute from the Mercator, replies, ‘No! There is no point in repeating well-known facts’, when asked if she would say that all women are naturally wicked (Mer. 512–13). Such comments on women by theatrical ‘women’ can only have drawn the audience’s attention to the gap between the two. Misogynist remarks by women characters are exploited with particular gusto in a scene from Plautus’ Poenulus. In this scene Adelphasium (‘Little Sister’), an apprentice courtesan who appears in front of her house after hours of bathing and putting on makeup, delivers a fiery diatribe against women’s penchant for long baths and excessive cosmetics (210–32). She then defines the inconvenience of these costly and time-consuming habits from what is obviously a man’s point of view, joking that whoever longs for endless nuisance should buy himself either a woman or a ship (Poen. 210–11). Little Sister’s out-of-body vision of herself as an object of transaction, rivalling the costs of a ship, is both disturbing and amusing, but the script goes on to cast her in an even more awkward position. A few moments later in the same scene, she interrupts an anti-feminine tirade by her sister to draw the audience’s attention to the absurdity of women’s self-criticism (recall Cleustrata’s comment on Myrrhina’s passionate speech against the rights of wives): ( . . . ) soror, parce, amabo: sat est istuc alios dicere nobis, ne nosmet in nostra etiam vitia loquamur. (Poen. 250–1) ( . . . ) stop, sister, please, others talk about our vices often enough that we don’t have to do it ourselves.

Introduction

43

Little Sister can thus not only subject women, but also women’s criticism (such as her own), to analysis, pointing out that the first kind of criticism ultimately derives from the point of view of ‘others’. Moreover, hers is not an isolated case of split personality: Plautine ‘women’ routinely side with alii, warning the audience not only against feminine wickedness and extravagance, but also against what is of particular interest to us—female speech. In fact, the speech of theatrical ‘women’ often turns against itself, censuring its own verbosity (Aul. 124–6; Cist. 120–2), deceitful sweetness (As. 222–3; Truc. 225), and fraudulence (Epid. 546). Some of these remarks seem intended to inform the audience’s interpretation of the lines about to be uttered, encouraging the audience to examine the female stage-language from the outside, from the author’s and the actor’s position vis-à-vis woman as the other whose tricky habits they expose. The vocal score for the Poenulus must have been a complex one, given that even the single voice of a female persona, such as that of Little Sister (or Sister’s sister), would have, in fact, included at least two voices: one analysing self as an object, the other criticizing such an analysis as alien (alios dicere) and claiming a bond with other women (nos). Of course, it could hardly have escaped the notice of the spectators that Little Sister, in describing the male voice as alien, inverts the perspective of the male artists behind the female images, casting other as self and self as other. The prologue of the Poenulus draws attention to the sound effect in the background of this (fe)male qui-pro-quo: women’s silence. 83 While noise control is one of the most important tasks of any Roman prologue speaker, in this particular prologue, not all kinds of noise are assumed to be equally objectionable and not all tones of silence equally desirable. 84 Its speaker chooses his targets carefully: posing as a theatrical imperator, he addresses the highly stratified society under his imperium in strict accordance with its class structure, beginning with the closest rows and ending with the furthest ones. 83 Although Plautus’ authorship of the prologue is disputed (see Maurach 1988: 43–4, for a summary of the discussion) its text remains a viable source of information about performance of the Poenulus. 84 On the Roman prologue speaker in general, see Hunter (1985: 26). Slater (1992) offers a perceptive account of the prologue speaker in the Poenulus and his negotiations with the audience.

44

Introduction

His initial remarks carefully omit the formidable figures occupying the prestigious rows close to the proscenium, targeting instead the people and things around them: the lictor is instructed not to utter words and his rods (!) not to make noise; the speaker then quickly moves to safer ground, telling the usher not to disturb spectators and warning slaves not to occupy seats they have not paid for. 85 Women and infants are last on his list: sitting in the furthest rows of the subsellia, they are quite literally pushed to the margins of the Roman theatre. 86 nutrices pueros infantis minutulos domi ut procurent neu quae spectatum adferat, ne et ipsae sitiant et pueri pereant fame neue esurientes hic quasi haedi obuagiant. matronae tacitae spectent, tacitae rideant, canora hic uoce sua tinnire temperent, domum sermones fabulandi conferant, ne et hic uiris sint et domi molestiae. (28–35) Let nannies take care of the tiny tots At home, let none of them bring [her little one] to the show, So that they will not be thirsty themselves and the kids will not die of starvation And will not hungrily bleat here like little goats. Let the matrons watch in silence and laugh in silence. Let them refrain from ding-donging with their loud voices here; Let them take their chitchat home, So that they will not be a nuisance for men both here and at home.

Admittedly, the prologue speaker also imposes silence on the male figures of the lictors and slaves, but his ban on female sounds differs from the earlier comments on male noises in three respects. 85 The ‘full-grown prostitute’ (scortum exoletum) sitting on the stage (so Beare 1950: 166; Duckworth 1952: 79 n. 18) or just next to it, mentioned in ll. 17–18, is probably male (so Maurach 1988: 49); his/her presence hardly disturbs the seating hierarchy, since the point is that (s)he would have been out of place on the proscaenium. 86 In this theatre, the audience would have gathered around a wooden stage (Beacham 1991: 56–85); in the case of the Poenulus, the stage could have been set in the sacred precinct of Magna Mater (Goldberg 1998: 17).

Introduction

45

First, the speaker jokes that female sounds are ultimately undesirable even outside the theatre (cf. domi molestiae), while nothing comparable is suggested about any of the other sounds. Second, whereas the lictor was advised to refrain from uttering a word (a distinctly civilized sound), the hullabaloo coming from the back rows is styled as a cacophony of barely human noises, including the goat-like sounds of infants neglected by their selfish and constantly drunk nurses, as well as the giggling and constant chatter of matrons. The choice of the verb tinnire, which is usually applied to objects, to describe the matrons’ part in this chorus would seem to relegate them (humorously?) to a quasi-inanimate status. Third, women are forbidden to laugh or, more precisely, they are invited to laugh without making any sound. If this non-invitation is funny, its humour is rather twisted: forbidden to make the very sound that playwrights, producers, and actors of a comedy crave to hear from their public, women are symbolically excluded from the audience. 87 The collective cackle of a festive crowd watching a comedy has the power to define communities by distinguishing between ‘us’ and ‘them’—those who laugh and those who are laughed at. To forbid someone to partake in public laughter is therefore a powerful form of censorship, for the outcast automatically becomes the object at whose expense ‘we’ can amuse ourselves. 88 The right to laugh thus stands for the right to be the subject rather than the object of public entertainment.

87 I am grateful to David Konstan for bringing to my attention several Greek parallels to this treatment of feminine speech. Euripidean drama features a number of scenes in which characters attempt to silence choruses or other feminine sounds. See e.g. Orestes’ attempt to stop feminine lamentations addressed to Electra (E. Or. 1022–4). Variations on this motif are the repeated attempts to stop the less than human songs of the satyrs in the Cyclops, where the chorus is first patronized by Silenos and called ‘children’ (82), then by Odysseus, who calls them animals (624). A similarly dismissive attitude towards female speech is attested in Theocritus’ Id. 15. 87–8, where a bystander attempts to silence Praxinoa and Gorgo, complaining that the women’s endless cooing has exhausted him and imitating feminine mannerisms of speech, such as the use of adjectives implying compassion, ‰˝ÛÙ·ÌÔÚ; cf. Gow on 7. 119 (1952: 161). 88 On the ‘unifying’ character of the Saturnalian laughter, see Minois (2000: 65– 71).

46

Introduction

The references to noise made by women in the audience indicate that the attempts to eradicate the sound of female laughter (and agency) from the theatrical world over which the prologue speaker presides have fortunately been unsuccessful. Nevertheless, numerous episodes in the plays enact successful silencing of ‘women’s’ screams of joy or sorrow. In the Poenulus itself, the nurse, mad with joy at the sight of her long-lost son, is told to shut up (1145), as is Philippa, the distressed mother in the Epidicus who has lost her daughter and laments her fate (601). Occasionally crying women appear on the Plautine stage with no lines to speak, but only so that their sobs may be suppressed by male figures. 89 Such scenes of sealing shut the female mouth, resonate with the outbursts of ‘women’s’ misogyny discussed above. Both confirm that the prologue speaker’s ban on the genuine female voice is an attitude etched into the scripts themselves, and not merely an aspect of crowd control. If this effort to squelch feminine vitality is programmatic, as implied by the authority of the histrionic imperator, we can then conclude that comedy, at one level at least, had little interest in women as subjects. It was instead interested in ‘women’ as objects: objects of laughter whose lines echo the male subject’s mistrust, awe, and contempt of women. This interest, however, was not relentless or uniform. It was subject to irony, subversion, and mockery, which at times undermined the design to replace women with ‘women’. Comedy, as Niall Slater observed, tends to turn its humour against its own conventions (1985: 15).

CONCLUSION Little Sister’s comment on nos and alii is a reminder that a simulation of the feminine voice was at least one of the sounds in the polyphonic score of the palliata. The voice of Eunomia in the Aulularia, just like the sisters’ voices, would have included a parody of feminine subjectivity (the affectionate introduction) as well as a reminder that it is but a parody (Eunomia’s comments on feminine loquacity). Some stretches of female speech in Terence would, quite possibly, have been intended to pass for something close to women’s speech. For example, 89

Cf. Cur. 520; Ps. 1038, 1041; see also Ch. 3.

Introduction

47

Sostrata in the Hecyra insists that most women are as kind as she is; given that her kindness is manifested in speech, this proclamation of authenticity further seems to imply that she would also have sounded authentic (Hec. 274–5). But even without allusions to the purported similarities between theatrical ‘women’ and women, we can assume that, while the bodies and voices of the stage ‘women’ were inevitably male, the ‘ownership’ of the feminine portraits would have been a more complex issue. In order to be identified as ‘feminine’ by the audience, these images must have at least attempted to reproduce the discursive practices defining—and defined by—the daily performances of gender by Roman women. As Judith Butler has argued (1990, 1993), individuals create their genders through repeated enactment of behaviours coded as masculine or feminine. And thus the identity of a ‘woman’ would have been constructed by women through considerable effort and knowledge. In order to be recognizable as ‘feminine’, the artistic enactment of ‘femininity’ would have drawn upon women’s skill in performing as women. Therefore, in spite of all efforts to defy, deform, or objectify woman, the author’s and the actor’s ‘woman’ would have ultimately depended on women’s everyday performances. No matter how stylized, perverted, or denied, the polyphonic scripts of comedy must thus echo women’s words, both testifying to Roman women’s mode of existence and constituting their contribution to the discourse of Latin literature. These words need to be retrieved cautiously, in the same way that an underlying script is recovered from a palimpsest. 90 Our task will be further complicated by the fact that, unlike layers of a palimpsest, the various modes of palliata engage in a constant dialogue, playing with the tensions between farce and illusion, Roman and Greek realities, and theatre and life. 91 90 If we were to expand Gerard Genette’s terminology coined for literary parodies (1982: 1–47) so as to include spoken genres of discourse, we could term the Latin used by women in daily conversations the ‘hypotext’ and women’s Latin as imitated in comedic scripts the ‘hypertext’. 91 McCarthy (2000: 7–17) distinguishes three predominant features of Plautine comedy: stylization (focus on language), secondariness (penchant for rewriting existing scenarios), and dialogism (tendency to foreground rather than minimize linguistic and ideological differences).

48

Introduction

In order to read the feminine within this vivacious script, we must gain an understanding of the rationale behind and the modalities of its efforts to distort women. I propose to move gradually from the texts of comedy to the intellectual background found in classical views on women and language. I will begin by exploring the borderlines between text and discursive practices, dividing the discussion into two chapters, centred on two linguistic stock-portraits of theatrical ‘women’—the poisonous seductress who can transform the man into woman-like mulierosus (Chapter 2) and the maiden melting into tears (Chapter 3). This part will draw upon Plautus’ self-reflexive comments on feminine speech, comparing them with excerpts from his own plays and those of Terence. From comedy, I will move to its background, exploring the challenge to the Roman concept of gender implicit in the murky affair of the Bacchanalia (Chapter 4), and finally turning to rhetorical and philosophical methods of constructing otherness (Chapter 5).

2 Plautus’ Pharmacy PATTERNS

Donatus’ Blandimenta As I noted in the last chapter, Donatus, the fourth-century commentator on Terence, tells his readers that women typically pity themselves or seek to please others whenever they speak. 1 This same scholar also observes that male personae occasionally indulge in this purportedly feminine attitude of blanditia when speaking to women. 2 The assumption that women are both more prone and more susceptible to blanditiae than men informs Latin texts of various periods and genres, and statistical research on Roman comedy confirms that both Terence and Plautus comply with this stereotype. 3 Donatus explains that (on the most literal level) blanditia manifests itself in certain An earlier version of this chapter appeared in Greece and Rome, 2 (2004), 205–20, under the title ‘Roman Pharmacology: Plautus’ Blanda Venena’. 1 Ad Ad. 291. 4: ‘It is characteristic of women when they speak either to please others or to pity themselves’ (‘Proprium est mulierum cum loquuntur aut aliis blandiri aut se commiserari’). For blanditiae being typical of women (not just certain female stock-types) see also Ad Ad. 288. 4, 289. 1, and 353. 2, Ad An. 286. 2, 685. 1, Ad Hec. 585. 3, 824. 2 For Donatus’ comments on how old men occasionally speak blande when addressing women, see Ad Hec. 744. 7; cf. Reich (1933: 77). Terence himself uses the term exclusively to draw attention to male blanditia (Ph. 252; Hec. 68, 861). However, an exchange in the Hecyra (860–2), during which Pamphilus dismisses Bacchis’ claim that he is the most coaxing of all men with ‘look who’s talking’, suggests that male blanditia is the exception rather than the rule. 3 See e.g. Apul. Met. 10. 21, 10. 27, Livy, AUC 1. 9. 16, 27. 15. 11–12, 32. 40. 11, Pacuv. Trag. 195, Petron. Sat. 113, and Tac. Hist. 1. 74, Ann. 13. 13, 14. 2. See also Santoro L’Hoir (1992: 88–9) on blanditiae as synonymous with feminine deceit in Latin prose. On blandiri in elegy, see Sharrock (1994: 284).

50

Plautus’ Pharmacy Table 2.1. Number of lines spoken by male and female characters Plautus Female characters

Terence

Male characters

Female characters

Male characters

138,422

6,462

42,221

22,415 Source: Gilleland 1979: 80–3.

expressions—the modifier amabo, the emphatic possessive mi/mea, and the use of the interlocutor’s proper name, among others—which he calls blandimenta. 4 These expressions not only predominate in the speech of female characters in Roman comedy, but are generally addressed to women when they occur in the lines of men. 5 The plays of Plautus offer a particularly interesting testimony to blanditiae, since, in addition to linguistic data, they feature numerous comments that reveal how the original audience might have been expected to construe such speech. In the search for a rationale for the gendering of ‘soothing speech’ in Roman comedy, I will draw on just such selfreflexive discourses, but not before taking a closer look at the token words Donatus calls blandimenta and their distribution in male and female lines in both Plautus and Terence (see Table 2.1).

Intimate Words Amabo The modifier amabo, ‘I will love you’, probably originated in phrases that included imperatives, such as amabo, dic mihi, ‘please, tell me, I will love you (for it)’. 6 In comedy, amabo is used to soften commands 4 ‘Mea, mea tu, amabo, and other such expressions are blandimenta suitable for women’ (Ad Eu. 656. 1). Repeated use of the name of one’s interlocutor is also a blandimentum (see Ad Eu. 462. 2, 871). 5 Cf. Hofmann (1950: 127 and 137) and Adams (1984: 68–73) on polite modifiers (amabo, quaeso, and obsecro) and on mi/mea (ibid. 68–73). Gilleland (1979: 281) analyses the distribution of endearing forms of address among various stock characters in Plautus and Terence, concluding that gender, not status, is the decisive criterion. 6 This plausible explanation is proposed by Bennett (1966: i. 41). Hofmann (1950: 127) proposes more contrived solutions: (sic) hoc (quod te rogo) fac (ut te amabo) (do

Plautus’ Pharmacy

51

Table 2.2. Amabo Plautus

Imperative In questions amabo ut amabo te Other total

Terence

Women

Men

Women

Men

45 1:498 43 1:521 3 1:7,471 6 1:3,735 2 1:11,2075

3 1:46,140 4 1:34,605 –

5 1:1,292 4 1:1,615 1 1:6,462 –

–

1 1:138,422

99 1:226

8 1:17,302

–

– 10 1:645

– – – – – –

and questions. In the plays of Terence amabo occurs merely ten times and is uttered only by courtesans and maidservants. The words, id amabo aiuta me, spoken by Thais (Eu. 150) when she humbly and endearingly asks for Phaedria’s assistance are a prime example of this usage, illustrated in Table 2.2. The plays of Plautus, where amabo appears about a hundred times, show far more complex and interesting patterns, prompting one to reconsider the opinion that this expression is chiefly appropriate for the humblest of female characters. Amabo marks the speech of all Plautine women, including domineering wives; it occurs approximately once every 226 lines of female speech. Citizen women use this modifier both when speaking among themselves (e.g. Cas. 172–3) or with their spouses (e.g. Cas. 236), fathers (Per. 336; St. 91), or brothers (Au. 121); one matron even addresses this endearment to her slave (Cist. 728). 7 what I am asking for in such a way that I will love you) or ita te amabo, ut hoc facies (I will love you in the same way as the one in which you shall do this). 7 My figures for Plautus are slightly different from those provided by Adams (1984: 61). Women use amabo 99 times, 45 times to modify commands, 43 times in questions. Amabo is also used with the interrogative particle eho in Bac. 1149 and with the expression iam sat est in Mil. 1084. The expression amabo ut, ‘I would greatly appreciate’, occurs three times. Amabo te, ‘I beseech you’, occurs five times; cf. Table 2.2.

52

Plautus’ Pharmacy

Furthermore, unlike Terence, Plautus sometimes gives this modifier to male characters. Although he does so extremely rarely (approximately once in 17,302 lines), these exceptional instances are particularly informative. 8 Men who use amabo are almost invariably either young lovers who happen to address an order or a question to their beloved, or slaves who must beg a woman on behalf of their masters. Interestingly, while the speaker must be (or desire to be) in close relationship to his addressee, he does not need to be in a vulnerable position to use such a feminine term: the slave-lover Toxilus uses this modifier when triumphantly inviting his girlfriend to recline with him (Per. 765). The most remarkable exception to the general tendency to attribute amabo to women (or men speaking to women) is found in Plautus’ Asinaria, where a young man addresses this term to his slave (As. 707 and 711). The stage situation as a whole is a hilarious instance of role reversal. Young Argyrippus is in love with a meretrix and wants the money to purchase her services. His sympathetic father entrusts the designated amount to two slaves, instructing them to hand it over to his son. The slaves, however, decide to take advantage of this opportunity to amuse themselves (and the audience) at the expense of the young lover. They first request his beloved to beg them for the money, and when the poor fellow protests (664– 92), they demand that he take her place. Argyrippus must therefore beg for the money himself and call his slaves ‘freedmen and patrons’ (689–90). At one point, he is forced to carry one of the slaves on his back, engaging in a game with obvious homosexual overtones. 9 Twice during this horseback game Argyrippus tries to put an end to his discomfiture, each time using amabo to propitiate his tormentor: Amabo, Libane, iam sat est. (As. 706) Please, Libanus! That is enough! 8 Given the total numbers of lines spoken by all male and female characters (138,422 and 22,415, respectively; cf. Table 2.1), this means that, proportionally, the women in Plautus use amabo seventy-six times more often than men. 9 So MacCary and Willcock (1976: 200).

Plautus’ Pharmacy

53

Quid nunc, amabo? quoniam ut est lubitum, nos delusistis datisne argentum? (As. 711–12) So what now, please? Since you have duped us as you liked, are you giving the money?

Thus the only instance of a man using amabo to address another man in Roman comedy occurs in a situation where the speaker is pretending to be the homosexual partner of his slave. 10 Amabo, then, is always associated with intimacy, and almost always with women. This expression’s connotation as private and familiar seems to distinguish it from the others translated as ‘please’ (quaeso, sis, and sodes) and found in the speech of men more often than in the speech of women. 11 This connotation survived into the first century bce when gender differences became less rigid. In Cicero’s letters to Atticus and Caelius, amabo is a token of affection acceptable in the language of male friendship. 12 In short, this lexical feature that statistics reveal as most decidedly feminine is essentially a marker of intimacy. 13

Mi/mea The use of the possessive mi/mea with terms of address has also long been considered a ‘feminine’ mannerism, though, in the case of Plautus, so far only partial statistics have been published to support this claim. 14 My calculations indicate that the gendering of this pronominal adjective depends heavily on the term of address it modifies (see Table 2.3). In both Plautus and Terence, male characters use mi/mea with terms denoting family members quite often, though less frequently than women: more than six times less often in Terence and 10 Adams agrees with this view (1984: 61 n. 73 on As. 711; 1982: 162 on ludus and ludo as physical play falling short of intercourse). 11 12 So Adams (1984: 63–7). Ibid. 62–3 and his references. 13 Its link with intimacy seems to distinguish amabo from the other expressions translated as ‘please’ (quaeso, sis, and sodes). 14 Adams (1984: 68) offers numbers based on eleven plays out of twenty-one.

54

Plautus’ Pharmacy Table 2.3. Mi/mea Plautus

Family terms Social relationships Terms of endearment Name Generic terms Substantive (mea) total

Terence

Women

Men

Women

33 1:679 6 1:3,735 35 1:640 30 1:747 8:22,415 1:2,801 1 1:22,415 113 1:198

40 1:3,460 9 1:15,380 47 1:2,945 12 1:11,535 –

14 1:461 3 1:2,154 2 1:3,231 26 1:248 5 1:1,292 2 1:3,231 52 1:124

– 108 1:1,281

Men 15 1:2,814 – – 1 1:42,221 12 1:3,518 – – 28 1:1,507

five times less often in Plautus. It would seem, then, to be perfectly acceptable for a man to use the possessive in such expressions as mi pater or mea soror. Men also use mi with titles referring to social relationships, such as those between companions (mi sodalis) or patrons and clients (mi patrone, mi liberte); 15 slaves employ this term to address their masters (mi ere). 16 Notably, these are contexts in which the possessive has a clear semantic function to fulfil, indicating that the addressee is the speaker’s—not someone else’s—brother, sister, patron, or companion. This possessive would have also had a legitimate semantic function in terms of endearment. It is worth noting that the two comic playwrights differ greatly in how often and in what way they use these terms. While Terence has only three examples of mi anime (two in female speech, one in male), Plautine women and men use a wide 15 Proportionally, men in Plautus use mi/mea with terms pertaining to social relationships four times less often than women. In Terence there are only three instances of such a usage, all occurring in the speech of women addressing other women; cf. Table 2.3. 16 The affectionate mi seems incompatible with puer, but mea ancilla is attested in the flirtatious exchange between Lysidamus and Pardalisca in the Casina (Cas. 646).

Plautus’ Pharmacy

55

variety of terms of endearment. 17 The linguistic mechanism of the formation of such terms, adding mi/mea to any noun, is exploited several times for the audience’s amusement. For example, in the scene from the Asinaria I have discussed, the slave Libanus requests his master’s girlfriend to call him not only her dear little sparrow and her little quail (both of which are authentic endearments), but also her chicken (666–8). 18 In the Poenulus (370–400), a slave forced to flatter his master’s girlfriend takes advantage of this opportunity to speak in the first person: ‘amabo, mea voluptas, sine te exorarier’ (please, my pleasure, let me persuade you, 380). The angry youth then punishes his servant for his insolence, forbidding him to call his girlfriend mea. From now on the slave has instead to employ a rather peculiar endearment: huius voluptas te opsecro, ‘his pleasure, I beg you’. Women in comedy use mi/mea at least four times more often than men in any of the situations discussed above. But gender differences are more striking in those contexts in which the function of the pronoun is purely emphatic. This is the case with proper names, where the pronoun merely indicates affection. This particular construction occurs in female speech fifteen times more often than in male speech in Plautus, and twelve times more often in Terence. Moreover, the endearing mi/mea with generic terms used to address strangers (such as mi homo) occurs exclusively in female speech. 19 We can conclude, then, that the possessive (not unlike amabo) is a marker of closeness used by both men and women, but that male characters tend to use it less frequently and to do so mainly in those contexts where the semantics demand it. The female personae, by contrast, tend to use the possessive emphatically, stressing or simulating rather than merely indicating familiarity. 17

In Plautus, female characters use the possessive with terms of endearment such as anime, animule, rosa, voluptas, lepus, vita, festivitas, ocule, pietas, spes, benignitas, and opportunitas 4.6 times more often than men. 18 For passer as a term of endearment, see Cas. 138; for coturnix, Mart. 10. 3. 7; Dickey (2002: 353) cites Hor. S. 1. 3. 45 and Suet. Cal. 13 as places where pullus functions as a term of endearment. 19 Mea as a substantive is also given only to women; cf. mea in Pl. Mos. 346 and mea tu in Ter. Eu. 664 and Ad. 289.

56

Plautus’ Pharmacy

A Discourse of Contiguity The expressions that Donatus has described as most common blandimenta have one common denominator: they accentuate affinity and relationship. Amabo, ‘I will love you’, would originally have conveyed a promise of future affection. The emphatic use of the possessive mi/mea would have been a token of familiarity, as would have the use of the addressee’s proper name. Consequently, blanditiae appear to have connoted a level of speech suitable to the most personal interactions that take place on the outskirts of ‘civilized’ language, where articulate speech borders upon interjections and onomatopoeia. Ernout and Meillet would seem to concur with these intuitions: they propose that the adjective blandus originally denoted cajoling and inarticulate speech. 20 Indeed, in the corpus of Latin texts, references to vox blanda often appear in contexts of the utmost privacy. Erotic contexts are without a doubt the most common, 21 but the ‘soothing voice’ would not have been confined to the bedroom. For example, Lucretius’ usage of the adjective blandus in De rerum natura implies that blanditiae would have resounded in nurseries, in the prattle of young children and the voices of their nannies, as well as at the bedsides of the moribund where moans would have mingled with words of comfort. 22 What lovers, children, and the moribund all have in common is vulnerability. After all, they are obliged to expose the intimate details of their bodies, allowing lovers or caregivers to cross the interpersonal boundaries generally respected by their society: they must tolerate a too-close presence of the other. Lovers and those tending to the very sick or the very young thus acquire an in-depth knowledge of the needs of others, along with an overwhelming power to comfort or to harm. The exchanges that take place in the bedroom, nursery, and 20

Ernout and Meillet (2001: 71–2). Hor. Carm. 4. 1. 8, Petr. 113, Ov. Am. 3. 1. 46, 3. 7. 58; Ars 1. 455, 468, etc. 22 See Lucr. 5. 230 on the nurses’ blanda atque infracta loquella (soft and mincing speech) and 5. 1017–18 for children’s blanditia (cf. Hor. S. 1. 1. 25, Verg. G . 3. 185). For vox blanda as alleviating pain, see Lucr. 6. 1244–6: blandaque lassorum vox mixta voce querellae (the soft voice of the weary mingled with the voice of complaint); the voice can be understood to belong either to the weary caregivers or to the victims of the plague, see Bailey 1963: 1793. Blandus is regularly applied to describe soothing remedies, cf. TLL 2030, 12–40. 21

Plautus’ Pharmacy

57

hospice belong to a discourse of contiguity and indulgence, where empathy (or the illusion of empathy) prevails over objective judgement and soothing is more important than telling the truth. The association of blanditiae with such a discourse explains the Plautine idiom denoting promises whose fulfilment is much desired yet highly improbable—blanda dicta. 23 Psychologists and anthropologists have in fact discerned just such an attitude of connectedness and participation throughout the history of human societies. 24 This orientation towards the world, in which the self is defined as an inherent part of the cosmos closely connected to other people, animals, and landscapes, emphasizes the unity rather than the divisions between various logical categories. This stress on unity tends to destabilize binary oppositions, such as self and other, man and woman, human and animal, living and dead, inside and outside, and opens up the spaces between categories. 25 The attitude promoting links between diverse categories has been described as a mode of representing the world prevalent in certain non-Western societies (Lévy-Bruhl); however, in societies that favour the logic of division (such as our own), this alternative persists mainly as an intellectual undercurrent, a discourse of care and connectedness frequently associated with women (Gilligan). 26 It has also been demonstrated that speakers of various modern languages will commonly resort to a discourse of intimacy when trying to compensate for any action that threatens the other’s self-esteem. 27 It might be that Roman blanditiae represent a similar cultural and linguistic 23

See Epid. 158–9 and 320–1; Mos. 389 and 395; and Aul. 192 and 195–6. See Tambiah (1990: 84–110) for the history of this concept in the social sciences since Lévy-Bruhl. 25 See Lévy-Bruhl’s notes on the personality in ‘primitive’ societies (1966: 15–54). One such space—between inside and outside—has been defined in Lacanian psychoanalysis as ‘extimacy’, an irruption of the exterior into the inmost parts of the self that transforms the other into an intimate presence; see Miller (1994: 75–85) and Nasio (2004: 109). 26 See Gilligan (1982: passim, but esp. 16–19) on women’s tendency to define themselves in a context of human relationship. Kristeva (1977: 7) comments on the innate adversity towards generally established categories felt by the woman ‘cramped within the confinement of the body’ (‘trop prise par les frontières du corps’). 27 This theory, proposed by Brown and Levinson, draws upon data from unrelated languages. People across cultures use similar strategies to show respect for the other’s self-image. One such strategy, ‘positive politeness’, consists in stressing the relationship between speaker and hearer (1987: 101–29). See Kerbrat-Orecchioni 24

58

Plautus’ Pharmacy

phenomenon. If so, let us analyse the comedic perceptions of this mode of speaking in terms of personal boundaries.

PLAUTINE PERCEPTIONS

Fish and Lovers are Best Fresh Of all Plautine personae, prostitutes (meretrices) and madams (lenae) are most frequently accused of using blandimenta to manipulate others. 28 A typical example is found in the first act of the Menaechmi. Sporting his wife’s best coat, the cross-dressing Menaechmus visits his (well-named) girlfriend Erotium. When he offers the coat to her as a gift, Erotium thanks him in an appropriately effusive manner: her extravagant reference to Menaechmus’ triumph is spiced with an allusion to the (supposedly) numerous rivals he has outdone: ‘You easily manage to be more successful with me than all those who have their requests granted’. 29 The parasite Peniculus, who has been observing all this, now reminds the audience why they should not be fooled: Meretrix tantisper blanditur, dum illud quod rapiat uidet; nam si amabas, iam oportebat nassum abreptum mordicus. (Men. 193–5) A hooker wheedles as long as she can spot something to steal. If you really loved him you would have bitten off his nose. (1990: ii. 192–7) for references to other research confirming the validity of the Brown– Levinson theory. 28 For discussions of the meretrices in Roman comedy, see Fantham (1975: 44– 74; 2000; 2004); cf. Gilula (1980: 142–65) and Duncan (2006: 258–70). Though their dramatic functions are no doubt distinct, both the procuress and the courtesan participate in the process of verbal seduction. In the Asinaria, the young man describes how both the older and the younger woman seduced him ‘with charm and kind words’ (blande et benedice) 204–14; see esp. 207–9: ‘me unice unum . . . te atque illam amare aibas mihi’ (you used to say that both you and she loved me and only me). 29 ‘Superas facile, ut superior sis mihi quam quisquam qui impetrant’ (192). Gratuitous compliments are typical of the speech of the meretrix; Donatus (Ad Eu. 463. 1) remarks that Thais speaks ‘like a hooker and a witty girl’ (‘utpote meretrix et faceta’).

Plautus’ Pharmacy

59

A courtesan’s blanditia, then, consists in presenting to her client an image (of him, of herself, and of the situation that has brought them together) that corresponds to his desires. Such indulgence is meant to divert his attention from the threat she poses to his property. Peniculus’ joke is even more revealing. If Erotium indeed loved Menaechmus for himself, she would be a menace not only to his symbolic territory, but also to his very person: instead of taking his money, she would bite off his nose—a body part that is sometimes euphemistically substituted for the penis. 30 Whether penis or nose, the references to biting off (mordicus abripere) and snatching away (rapere) seem to cast the wheedling woman in the role of a sly predator whose tail begins to wag as she awaits the opportunity to bite. The confessions of a madam in the Asinaria contain another veiled allusion to the courtesan’s anthropophagic appetite. 31 Just prior to telling the audience how she uses sweet words to become intimate with men (220–4), the procuress compares her clients to fish (178– 80), lauding the qualities of the fresh lover who is as succulent in a pie as he is grilled (not-so-fresh lovers being apparently far less satisfying). Both excerpts portray the honeyed speech of a courtesan or a madam as a threat to the man’s physical well-being, suggesting that he could end up consumed or destroyed: the demimondaine speaks coaxingly to get her food and the client is her meal. Not surprisingly, then, the profession of a madam requires, above all, a good set of teeth. Indeed, another character from a prostitute’s entourage, Astaphium, the clever maid in the Truculentus, explains that a successful procuress needs to bare her teeth in a deceitful smile as she charms (blanditur) her visitors: bonis esse oportet dentibus lenam probam, ad-ridere ut quisquis ueniat blandeque adloqui, male corde consultare, bene lingua loqui. (Truc. 224–6) 30 On the use of nasus as anatomical metaphor, see Adams (1982: 35). See contra Gratwick’s suggestion that Erotium might be compared here to a tame bird nibbling on her client’s nose (1993: 158). 31 Cf. Hor. Ep. 5. 37–8 on Canidia’s cannibalistic intentions.

60

Plautus’ Pharmacy A proper madam should have good teeth; she should smile at people as they come and, talking to them softly, plot evil in her heart while saying good things with her tongue.

This smile in which the lena bares her teeth, at once alluring and threatening, is a fitting emblem of the demi-mondaine’s speech. 32 Indeed, her blanditia is an ambivalent discourse associated with the opening of personal boundaries and with all the pleasure and harm that this entails.

Courtesans’ Blanda Venena Our version of the Bacchides opens with a drama of seduction. In trying to enlist a reluctant young man (Pistoclerus) in her sister’s negotiations with a soldier, Bacchis deploys an entire arsenal of strategies. First, in an attempt to arouse compassion, she sighs ‘No creature is more miserable than a woman!’ Pistoclerus jokingly asserts that women deserve their misery (41), but Bacchis is not in the least discouraged; formulating the request that Pistoclerus be her sister’s protector, she does not omit the quintessential blandishment amabo (44). The adolescent seems mildly interested in this new adult role and asks where the soldier is. Bacchis immediately seizes the opportunity to tempt him with the prospect of her company: ba. Iam hic credo aderit. sed hoc idem apud nos rectius poteris agere; atque is dum veniat, sedens ibi opperibere. eadem biberis, eadem dedero tibi, ubi biberis, savium. (47–9) ba. He will be here soon. But at our place you will be better able to complete your business; and until he comes, you will sit and wait here. And you will also drink, and when you are finished drinking, I will also give you a kiss. 32 Given the speaker’s profession, it is tempting here to think of the pervasive representations of the female body as having an upper and a lower mouth. Cf. Carson on the implications of this analogy for the Greek assumptions about female sound (1995: 130–2).

Plautus’ Pharmacy

61

The youth is appropriately mistrustful of her efforts: pi. uiscus merus uostrast blanditia. ba. quid iam? pi. quia enim intellego, duae unum expetitis palumbem, peri, harundo alas uerberat. non ego istuc facinus mihi, mulier, conducibile esse arbitror. (Bac. 50–2) pi. Your coaxing is nothing but birdlime. ba. How come? pi. Because I understand that you are both after one dove. I am lost; the rod is lashing my wings. Woman, I don’t think that I should enter this undertaking.

Bacchis then paints a picture of ‘Pistoclerus the protector of helpless women’, no doubt attractive to the boy whose status has so far been that of a child supervised by his paedagogus and beaten by his teacher: sed ego apud me te esse ob eam rem, miles quom ueniat, uolo, quia quom tu aderis, huic mihique hau faciet quisquam iniuriam: tu prohiberis, et eadem opera tuo sodali opearam dabis: et ille adueniens tuam med esse amicam suspicabitur. quid, amabo obticuisti? pi. quia istaec lepida sunt memoratui. I want you to be at my place when the soldier comes because, as long as you are here, no one will do any harm to me or to her; you will prevent this and at the same time help your friend; and the soldier when he comes will suspect that I am your girlfriend. Please, why have you become silent? pi. Because these are lovely things to say.

Bacchis has not won the battle yet. Pistoclerus still has to reconcile himself with his choice (68–72) and learn ways of speaking (81–4) appropriate for his new role as adulescens amans, 33 but the prospect of being treated like an adult, and the courtesan’s persistent allusions to sexual pleasure, will eventually lead to his surrender, which will be discussed below in some detail. 34 Meanwhile, let us focus on the meaning ascribed to blanditia in this dialogue. Pistoclerus’ definition of Bacchis’ techniques of seduction as mere birdlime meant to immobilize the hunted bird (a possible 33

See Slater (1985: 95–7). Allusions to pleasure probably translated into some stage action. Cf. Bac. 73–4: ‘you must be softened, I will help you . . . pretend to love me’ (‘malacissandus es, equidem tibi do hanc operam . . . simulato me amare’). 34

62

Plautus’ Pharmacy

phallic symbol) 35 is not the sole instance in which female speech is compared to an adhesive substance. Messenio in the Menaechmi (342) also represents female speech as sticky when he warns his master that, once prostitutes know how to call a man by his name (a blandimentum), they ‘lean against’ him (se adplicant) and glue themselves to him (adglutinant). Stickiness in itself threatens boundaries. As Mary Douglas writes, ‘the viscous’ is ‘a state of half-way between solid and liquid. . . . Its stickiness is a trap, it clings like a leech; it attacks the boundary between myself and it’. 36 Meretrices, then, use sticky language (promises of future affection or shared pleasures) to obliterate personal boundaries, creating permanent bonds between themselves and their clients. In the Asinaria, Cleareta, the madam who prefers both her fish and her clients fresh, indulges in an exhibitionistic diatribe in which she unveils the secrets of her profession to her daughter’s destitute lover. Her lecture offers yet another example of an extended metaphor in which the speech acts performed by women are endowed with the power to incapacitate the listener: esca est meretrix, lectus inlex est, amatores aues; bene salutando consuescunt, compellando blanditer, osculando, oratione uinnula, uenustula. (As. 221–3) The hooker is the bait, the bed is the decoy; lovers are birds; they wax intimate with fond greetings, solicitous coaxing, and kisses—through enchanting, inebriating talk.

Cleareta’s aim is to capture men and turn them into sui (consuescunt, cf. also assuescunt in As. 217)—that is, to eliminate the prescribed social distance between herself and her victims. Since she achieves her goal through ordinary speech acts, such as greetings and requests (salutando . . . compellando), the power of her persuasion must lie in the manner in which she speaks. Plautus renders her style through adverbs and adjectives: she greets people fondly (bene); her requests 35 Cf. Adams (1982: 31) on the bird as the representation of the phallus; the term is used as an intimate term of endearment in Cas. 138 and As. 693. 36 Douglas (2002: 47) is drawing upon Sartre’s essay on stickiness in L’Être et le néant (1943). See also Carson on ‘losing the edge’ (1986: 39–45), also referring to Sartre.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

63

are uttered in a coaxing manner (blanditer); all of her speech is spellbinding (uinnula, uenustula). This final alliterative jingle foregrounds two adjectives that call the audience’s attention to the essential mechanism of feminine seductive discourse: enchantment, which involves a loss of free will and selfhood. 37 The first adjective, uinnulus, is possibly meant to evoke wine, a substance that alters awareness, 38 while the second, uenustulus, has similar connotations. It brings to mind the related word uenus that signifies the inherent charm of seduction rites. This might in turn have brought to the spectator’s mind the cognate words uenenum and ueneficium, denoting a substance imbued with uenus and the ritual practice of enchantment, respectively. 39

Homegrown Poisons The belief that female persuasion is a sort of sorcery takes its most elaborate form in Plautus’ Miles (185a–194). Philocomasium, the young woman whom the braggart soldier owns, but who remains loyal to her lover and secretly visits him in the house next door, has been spotted by Sceledrus, the soldier’s loyal slave. The owner of the house where the lovers meet, the kind senex Periplectomenus, is worried, but the cunning slave Palaestrio explains that, as long as the young woman follows her natural inclinations, the danger can easily be averted: pal. profecto ut ne quoquam de ingenio degrediatur muliebri earumque artem et disciplinam optineat colere. per. quem ad modum? pal. ut eum, qui hic se uidit, uerbis uincat, ne is se uiderit. 37 Not only are these adjectives possibly coined for the occasion, but diminutives in general are arguably a feature of female speech in Roman comedy; cf. Gilleland (1979: 251). 38 Fest. 577, p. 519 Lindsay: ‘vinnulus dicitur molliter se gerens et minime quid viriliter faciens’ (vinnulus is said of someone who acts spinelessly and conducts something in an unmanly fashion) is probably an extrapolation and does not preclude that Plautus intended a pun on vinum. 39 The stem ∗ venes- occurs both in venenum, the substance endowed with venus, and veneficium, the practice of venus; see Ernout-Meillet (2001: 721). Both Ernout and Meillet and Walde (1910: 735) agree in linking venus with ∗ wen, ‘to desire’, and deriving veneficium from venus, either directly or as haplology. The link between Venus and venenum is possibly alluded to in Verg. Aen. 1. 688–9; cf. O’Hara (1996: 128). See also Tibullus 2. 4. 55–7. On venerari and venia, see Fest. 573, Lindsay p. 517.

64

Plautus’ Pharmacy

siquidem centiens hic uisa sit, tamen infitias eat. os habet, linguam, perfidiam, malitiam atque audaciam, confidentiam, confirmitatem, fraudulentiam. qui arguat se, eum contra uincat iureiurando suo: domi habet animum falsiloquom, falsificum, falsiiurium, domi dolos, domi delenifica facta, domi fallacias. nam mulier holitori numquam supplicat, si quast mala: domi habet hortum et condimenta ad omnis mores maleficos. 40 (185a–194) pal. She must be sure not to depart in any way from the female nature, and see to it that she continues to use women’s tactics and training. per. How is that? pal. So that she may prevail with her words upon the fellow who saw her here that he actually didn’t see her. Even if she has been seen a hundred times, let her still deny it. She has her mouth, her tongue, her disloyal nature, wickedness and effrontery, self-assurance, tenacity, and treachery. Should anyone contradict her, she would overcome him with her oaths. At home she has a spirit prone to speak falsehood, do falsehood, swear falsehood. At home she has the tricks; at home she has the charms, at home she has deceits. For woman, if she is clever, never has to beg the gardener. At home she has the garden and the ingredients for all harmful acts.

Palaestrio explains here that it is both a woman’s nature (ingenium muliebre) and an acquired skill (earum ars et disciplina) to overwhelm people with words that erase the memories of true events. The recipe for this irresistible mixture calls for a mouth and tongue soaked in wickedness, fraudulence, and perjury, and spiced with venomous ingredients, which a wicked woman grows domi, within herself. 41 Not every woman in Plautus, however, is a poisoner, and not every poisoner is a woman. For example, the furious Amphitruo, who 40 Plautus uses the adjective maleficus, which as substantive was destined to become the technical term for black magic; see Graf (1997: 55–6). 41 Palaestrio may well be alluding to the fact that many secretions of the female body were regarded as magical; see Richlin (1997: 201–2) and Vons (2000: 116–25), and their references to the magical use of milk, urine, and menstrual blood described by Pliny.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

65

suspects that some Thessalian witch has vitiated the minds of the members of his family, assumes that the unknown wrongdoer must have been a male sorcerer, a ueneficus (1043). Palaestrio’s monologue implies, however, that witchcraft, deceit, and enchanting discourse are particularly suited to the feminine body (mouth and tongue) and mind. The parallel between the uenus of charming conversations and that of spells and curses might have been quite vivid for the audience of Roman comedy. Ancient Roman society associated the female body and mind with the practice of ueneficium—a ritual disrupting personal boundaries and undermining an individual’s control over his own body. 42 Engaging in ueneficium involves the use of uenenum and is a task to which, according to Palaestrio, a woman is indeed by her nature well suited. It is significant that in the Plautine theatre accusations of ueneficium are often levelled against the artisans of Venus, who constantly resort to the sticky and inebriating discourse of blanditia. Consider, for instance, how often female characters expert in the practice of uenus are accused of ueneficium: in the Mostellaria, the young lover Philolaches calls the old woman Scapha a uenefica when he hears her suggestion that his girlfriend Philematium should not devote herself to him exclusively (Mos. 218), the old man in the Epidicus refers to a girl with whom his son has been having an affair against his father’s will (219–21) as ‘that witch’ (uenefica), and Diniarchus threatens to bring the formidably persuasive Phronesium before the tribunal as a uenefica (Truc. 762–3). The juxtaposition of bland- and venus- becomes a collocation in later Latin. 43 The dangerous duplicity of language also becomes, as Alison Sharrock has argued, an essential theme of Roman elegy, especially for Ovid, who self-consciously presents himself as the true master of both erotic and narrative seduction in his Ars Amatoria and 42 For an incisive discussion of the link between women and poison in Pliny, see Currie (1998: passim, esp. 147–8). 43 Among the sententiae from Publilius Syrus we find both a proverb according to which ‘sweet talk’ is intrinsically poisonous (‘Habet suum venenum blanda oratio’; cf. Friedrich 1964: 47), and one that links venus and blanditia (‘Blanditia, non imperio, fit dulcis Venus’, ibid. 32). The epic poet Silius Italicus uses the expression ‘to be treated with the soothing poison’ (medicari blando veneno) as a paraphrase for falling in love (7. 453).

66

Plautus’ Pharmacy

Remedia Amoris. 44 Venom and charming speech are paired with particular clarity in Ovid’s Amores (1. 8), in which the lena (a character taken directly from comedy and branded as a witch at the beginning of the poem) gives her disciple the following advice: 45 Lingua iuvet, mentemque tegat: blandire noceque; Impia sub dulci melle venena latent. (1. 8. 103–4) Let your tongue help you (in this task) and veil your mind; coax and cause harm! Unholy venoms hide under sweet honey.

The lena comes from a long literary tradition that includes the comic bawd, who acts as a preceptor and appears to be a mask for Ovid himself, whose advice she echoes. 46 In Plautus’ Mostellaria (218–19), young Philolaches witnesses a scene analogous to the one in Amores 1. 8: the old woman Scapha strives to persuade his Philematium to have as many lovers as she possibly can. The girl rejects her advice; while she admits to having used coaxing words to attract Philolaches in the past (cf. 221: subblandiebar), she does intend to remain faithful to him. Yet the monody of Philolaches that opens the play makes it clear that his affair with Philematium has had a disastrous impact on his moral constitution in spite of her best intentions, and the development of the play (upon his father’s arrival Philolaches is too drunk and too busy with his social life to receive him) would confirm this diagnosis. The Mostellaria demonstrates, then, that a woman’s blandimenta are pernicious even when she does not mean to harm her lover: it is as though she were infected with a virus of moral laxity transmittable through speech.

44

See Sharrock 1994: 50–86. McKeown (1989: ii. 198) notes that the dramatic setting of Am. 1. 8 parallels closely the scene in the Mostellaria discussed here and concludes that, in this elegy, ‘Ovid adheres closely to the comic tradition’. McKeown (1989: ii. 201–10), Lenz (1965), and Munari (1959) comment on the numerous references to witchcraft in Amores 1. 8. 46 So Sharrock 1994: 84–6. 45

Plautus’ Pharmacy

67

However, before we analyse the symptoms of such a disease, let us look into its (literary) history. 47

CONTEXTS

Greek Pharmakopeia Seduction and magic were traditionally intertwined in the Greek literary imagination. 48 The Odyssey, for example, shows Helen, the archetypal seductress, administering a drug to her husband Menelaus and to his guest, Telemachus (4. 220–6). Described in rather unusual terms, this pharmakon has the power to banish grief and anger (ÌÁÂÌË›Ú Ù’ à˜ÔÎ¸Ì ÙÂ), rendering those who consume it oblivious to all evils. 49 But is such oblivion desirable? The poem depicts the condition induced by Helen’s drug as a state of absolute indifference to the suffering of others, even one’s own parents and children. The narcotic thus brings about a loss of knowledge, a condition reminiscent of a Homeric description of death as a state that prevents a mother from recognizing her own son. 50 Perhaps the most disquieting quality of Helen’s pharmakon is that it is ÏÁÙȸÂÌ, ‘skilful in obtaining its ends’; this epithet suggests that the drug has a mind of its own and also likens its capacities to the divine cunning of Zeus himself. 51 47 Zagagi (1980: 97) suggests that the figure of the greedy meretrix is as Greek as other topoi: not only the motive of the unquenched greed of a hetaera, evoked in Truc. 244–6, but even the wording of her request, as Zagagi argues, is likely to echo Philemon. 48 See Bergren (1983: 70–1) on the double nature of female discourse in early Greek poetry and Bittrich (2005: 104–9) on the ‘dark sides’ of Aphrodite. 49 The drug cannot be identified with any known substance and is best assumed to be a literary extrapolation; ÌÁÂÌËfiÚ and KflÎÁËÔÚ, though later imitated, appear to be unique to this passage; à˜ÔÎÔÚ, ‘lacking anger’, is peculiar in its active usage; cf. Heubeck et al. (1988: i. 206–7). On Helen’s pharmakon as a token of her bardic abilities as story-teller, see Bergren (1981: 201–14; 1983: 79–82) and Clayton (2004: 48–9). 50 Odysseus’ encounter with his mother suggests that the dead also lose their memories; cf. Od. 11. 139–54. 51 On ÏÁÙȸÂÈÚ being exclusively an epithet of Zeus, see Heubeck et al. on Od. 4. 22 (1981: 207).

68

Plautus’ Pharmacy

While in this famous scene from Homer’s Odyssey pharmakon is a very concrete substance, a drug that one can toss into a goblet of wine, in classical Greek this word had numerous applications. In his well-known essay Plato’s Pharmacy, Jacques Derrida extracts a variety of meanings of pharmakon from classical Greek texts (beginning with Plato’s Phaedrus) and shows how this term—denoting both poison and remedy—pervades such diverse domains as painting (where it indicates colour), politics, and farming. 52 Derrida is particularly interested in the linguistic applications of pharmakon. He argues, for example, that Plato encourages his reader/listener to regard writing as the result of the poisoning of language, both a remedy for and antidote against memory. 53 But there are also other forms of charmed speech, such as language spiked with rhetorical devices that, as the sophist Gorgias claims in the Encomium of Helen, can also perform magic (goeteia). Tellingly, later readers of the Odyssey interpreted Helen’s pharmakon in a similar vein, equating it with her bewitching eloquence. 54 Pronouncements about pharmacological virtues of words abound in scripts of Greek comedies. In the plays of Menander, for example, the notion of speech as the most powerful of all drugs is proverbial: such spoken pharmaka are usually described as soothing to the spirit, 55 but, when administered by women, are often said to be harmful rather than beneficial. 56 This mistrust of women’s words is apparent in one fragment in which an unknown speaker (possibly one whose judgement will prove wrong in the light of the plot) warns his listener: 52 ‘La pharmacie de Platon’ is a chapter of the Dissemination, first published in 1972 and translated into English by Barbara Johnson in 1981. On the various pharmaka, see 1972: 108–33; 1981: 95–117. 53 Phaed. 274e, 1972: 82–4; 1981: 73–5. 54 For ancient interpretations of this passage, see Plut. Moralia 614b and Macr. Sat. 7. 1. 18. 55 e.g. Meineke iv. 84: œPÍ äÛÙÈÌ OÒ„BÚ, ΩÚ äÔÈÍÂ, ˆ‹ÒÏ·ÍÔÌ | àÎÎ’ j θ„ÔÚ ÛÔı‰·EÔÚ IÌËÒ˛Ôı ˆflÎÔı. (There is, it seems, no remedy against anger other than an earnest word from a friend.) Similar statements on speech as medicine can be found in Menander’s Sententiae e Codicibus Byzantinis 46, 84, 437, 439, and 476. 56 One fragment (Meineke iv. 6. 9) associates repeated uses of poison (ˆ·ÒÏ·ÍÂE·È) and ‘jealousy, the harshest of all diseases’ (Ì¸Û˘Ì ˜·ÎÂ˛Ù·ÙÔÚ ˆË¸ÌÔÚ) with the marriage bed.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

69

‘¸Ù ÙaÚ „ıÌ·EÍ·Ú ‰Â‰È›Ì·È Ï‹ÎÈÛÙ· ‰ÂE, ¨Ù·Ì ÙÈ ÂÒÈ΋ÙÙ˘ÛÈ ÙÔEÚ ˜ÒÁÛÙÔEÚ Î¸„ÔÈÚ. (Meineke iv. 106) One should fear women particularly on those occasions when they smooth things over with kind words.

In another fragment, an anonymous speaker states that written words may be particularly venomous and warns against the dangers of teaching the art of writing to women: „ıÌ·E˜’ ≠ ‰È‰‹ÛÍ˘Ì „Ò‹ÏÏ·Ù· ÔP Í·ÎHÚ ÔÈÂE, IÛfl‰È ‰b ˆÔ‚ÂÒ©·Ñ ÒÔÛÔÒflÊÂÈ ˆ‹ÒÏ·ÍÔÌ. (Meineke iv. 154) He who teaches letters to a woman doesn’t do any good. To a formidable viper he provides a poison.

Again, we have no way of judging the function of this particular statement in its original context (now lost), but it would seem that the speaker is playing with the collocation of logos-pharmakon in order to suggest that it is bad enough that women can speak poison, without their writing poison in addition. This statement means that writing is to a woman what venom is to a viper. Consequently, a woman and a viper, writing and poison, are one and the same. The duplicity of viper-woman mirrors that of poison-writing, and the connection between speech and writing parallels that between woman and beast. It is perhaps not a coincidence that Greek folklore ascribed irresistible beguilement to creatures that combined feminine and animal characteristics. 57 The two Sirens of the Odyssey use their piercing song to enchant (thelgein) Odysseus as he sails by (44, 183). Their 57 See e.g. Hermione’s speech in Euripides’ Andromache (930–53), where she blames her destruction on pernicious speech of women, which she compares to the tales of Sirens: ÍI„g ÍνÔıÛ· ÙÔ˝Û‰Â ”ÂÈÒfiÌ˘Ì Î¸„ÔıÚ | ÛÔˆHÌ ·ÌÔ˝Ò„˘Ì ÔÈÍflÎ˘Ì Î·ÎÁÏ‹Ù˘Ì (936–7) (And I have listened to the Siren tales of those sly, depraved, cunning babblers). ‘Deceptive speech’ is the definition of the Sirens’ voices in Hesych. Lex. Schmidt, iv. 721. Various interpretations of the Siren motif have been proposed; some critics have emphasized their connections with the Muses (cf. Pollard 1952: 60–3), others have presented them as female demons seducing sailors with their song (Gresseth 1970: 212–13). The Homeric Sirens are also said to have a meta-literary mission to fulfil: Pucci quotes a series of idioms and formulae pointing to an Iliadic stylization in the Siren song (1979: 121–32). See also

70

Plautus’ Pharmacy

spell relies, as sympathetic magic often does, on the victim’s essence— his name and story—to take control over his being. 58 Like these birdwomen, the prostitutes in new comedy create an illusion of intimacy that incapacitates their victim, luring him to them. The beginning of the Neotis (Fr. 22 in Kassel and Austin), a lost play by the middle comedy author Anaxilas, draws upon the comic potential of just such comparisons of women and monsters. The speaker posits that prostitutes are worse than any of the vast array of voracious mythological creatures and proceeds to compare different courtesans to those creatures that occupy the tenuous boundary between woman and beast. One hetaera apparently serves her clients in so many positions that she can be compared to the Chimaera; others are mocked for their insatiable appetite and compared to Charybdis (who is but a mouth) or Scylla (whose lower body is agape with no fewer than six voracious maws); while another one is likened to a Siren and ridiculed for the discrepancy between her human voice and her bird-like body. The culminating point of this lecture is that these female beasts, who conceal their anthropophagic habits behind words of love and friendship, speak in the manner of another murderous mythological creature, the Sphinx: ”ˆfl„„· »Á‚·fl·Ì ‰b ‹Û·Ú äÛÙÈ ÙaÚ ¸ÒÌ·Ú Í·ÎÂEÌ, ·Q ηÎÔFÛ’ ãÎHÚ ÏbÌ ÔP‰›Ì, IÎÎ’ KÌ ·NÌÈ„ÏÔEÚ ÙÈÛÈÌ, ΩÚ KÒHÛÈ Í·d ˆÈÎÔFÛÈ Í·d Û˝ÌÂÈÛÈÌ ô‰›˘Ú. (KA 22. 22–4) We can call all the prostitutes by the name of the Theban Sphinx For they say nothing simply but speak in riddles, saying that they love us, are our friends, and enjoy our company.

Although a riddle may not possess magical powers, it nevertheless shares in the ambiguity characteristic of pharmakon. In fact, magical discourse, oracular pronouncements, and nursery rhymes often have

Rabinowitz on the role of softening words and Peitho in Euripides’ Hippolytos (1986: 133). 58 Instead of nails, hair, or bodily secretions, the bird-women use Odysseus’ metaphysical ousia, his name and story, to construct his image in their song.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

71

similar linguistic features. 59 By comparing the speech of the hetaera to empty riddles rather than powerful pharmaka, Anaxilas represents women’s speech as resembling magical formulae that are stripped of their powers. 60 In a way, the speaker of the fragment could be said to be fantasizing about being able to hear the female monsters’ seductive voice with impunity, very much like Odysseus listening to the Sirens. A similar fantasy features in both the fragments from Menander’s Dis Exapaton and the corresponding excerpts from Plautus’ Bacchides. I propose to briefly examine these two texts in order to gain some understanding of the similarities and differences between representations of feminine persuasion in Greek and Roman comedy.

Plautus Vortit Barbare Sostratos, the youth in Dis Exapaton, suspects that his girlfriend— whose freedom he intended to buy with money stolen from his own father—has betrayed him with his best friend. He declares that there is only one way he can confront her without giving in: he must return the money that he was originally going to offer her to his father and then let her unleash her art full-force against him. Otherwise, she might persuade him to give her the money after all (24). Let us pay close attention to Sostratos’ description, which anticipates these formidable words: NÙ·Ïc „‹Ò—ÂNÚ Ï›ÛÔÌ Ù ‹ÌÙÂÚ Ô¶ ËÂÔd lÓÔıÛÈ. Ãc ÙÔflÌıÌ[.]ÔÌ[ Í·Íc Í·ÍHÚ ÙÔflÌıÌ—K[]‹.Ì.[·„Â, ”]˛ÛÙÒ·Ù· YÛ˘Ú Û ÂflÛÂÈ· ‰ÔFÎÔ[ K„g Ï‹ÎÈÛË’, ô ‰’ Ω[Ú ÍÂÌeÌ Ûı]ÏÂÈÛ‹Ù˘ ä˜ÔÌÙ· ÏÁ‰[›Ì · Ù]HÈ ·ÙÒd Ùe ˜]Ò.ı.ÛflÔÌ· ÈË·Ì[ÂıÔÏ›Ì]Á „aÒ ·˝ÛÂÙ·È ¨Ù·Ì] ÔÙ’ ·YÛËÁÙ·[È, Ùe ÙBÚ ·]ÒÔÈÏfl·Ú, ÌÂÍÒHÈ] Λ„ÔıÛ·[ÏFËÔÌ. (21–9) 59 Gods notoriously pronounced their will in ainigmata; cf. Plu. Moralia 281b. 1, 358c. 5, and 407a. 10. On the similarities between the Latin of oracles and magical tablets, see Grottanelli 1996: passim. 60 On the language of magic with its characteristic alliterations and double meanings, see Sharrock 1994: 68–78.

72

Plautus’ Pharmacy She is reckless—every single god will be called as witness. So don’t . . . The hell with her! No, Sostratos, come back. She may persuade you. For slave . . . I indeed. Let her win me over when [I am broke] and have nothing. I will give back all the gold to my father. For she will cease persuading me when she notices that, as the proverb has it, she is lecturing a corpse.

Plautus’ Mnesilochus also prefers to return the money he has stolen for his girlfriend before giving her a chance to win it back. 61 In fact, the corresponding excerpt in the Bacchides is a rather close translation of that part of Menander’s play in which Sostratos imagines the hetaera’s vain efforts to get hold of his money: Numquam edepol uiua me inridebit. Nam mihi decretumst renumerare iam omne aurum patri. Igitur mi inani atque inopi subblandibitur tum quom mihi nihilo pluris [blandiri] referet, quam si ad sepulcrum mortuo narret logos. (Bac. 515–20) She will not make fun of me as long as she lives, For I have decided to give every gold coin back to my father. So she will be fawning on me when I am empty and void, when it will be no more use for her to coax me than it would be to tell stories to a corpse. 61 The similarity between the two passages I quote could create a false impression about the Plautine versio. In fact, the differences between the 80 lines from the opening scene of Menander’s Dis Exapaton (19–112), discovered in 1968, and the action of Bacchides (494–562) are very important. Menander’s young man expresses his disappointment in a monologue and decides to return the money to his father (DE 18–30). The monologue is followed by two dialogues between father and son, separated by a choral interlude, during which the money is returned (DE 47–63 and 64–90). Once left alone on stage, the young man, in a second monologue, imagines his encounter with the unfaithful girlfriend (DE 91–101) and is later joined by his friend (102–12). Plautus’ script is drastically different: he has his young man pronounce just one monologue (Bac. 500–25), deleting two dialogues along with the choral interlude. The changes adapt the Greek text to the stage conventions of Roman theatre (so Gomme and Sandbach 1973) and to the tastes of its audience (Gaiser 1970). They are purposeful and reveal a shift of dramatic emphasis from the bond between citizen fathers and sons to meretrices and their power over fathers and sons; cf. Goldberg (1990) and Halporn (1993).

Plautus’ Pharmacy

73

Both Menander’s Ì·ÌflÛÍÔÚ and Plautus’ adulescens picture themselves watching with death-like indifference their girlfriends’ attempts to charm them. 62 However, while Menander’s youth pictures his girlfriend calling upon all the gods to persuade him of her innocence (21–4), Plautus has his character imagine Bacchis trying to fawn on him (517: subblandiri). Menander’s emphasis on ‘all the gods’ defines peitho as persuasion that relies on endless oaths, while Plautus’ ‘fawning’ suggests a less articulate speech focused on pleasing. Thus both scripts share the assumption that women’s persuasion is overwhelming; yet, when alluding to linguistic means of persuasion, they reflect different cultural practices. 63

SIDE EFFECTS

The Loss of Self: Immutatio In her ability to disrupt personal boundaries and transform her victims, the blanda meretrix is the equal of the ueneficus/a. The Amphitruo alludes several times to the possibility of being transformed from a subject in charge of one’s own body into an object deprived of free will. Sosia, having been maltreated by MercurySosia—who looks exactly like him, yet is most definitely someone else—is under the delusion that someone has taken possession of his image and is using his body (Am. 456): ‘Where was I lost? Where was I exchanged (immutatus)? Where did I lose my body?’ The verb immutare ‘to exchange’ seems to be the technical term for such a magical transformation, as Plautus uses it again when he has Sosia caution his master, Amphitruo (Am. 845–6) ‘not to lose ownership 62 Such fantasies of immunity to the power of feminine persuasion are reminiscent of the image of Odysseus listening to the Sirens’ song while bound to the mast. Bacchis’ comparison of Pistoclerus pacing outside her house with Ulixes (Bac. 21– 5) may well evoke this motif. Bacchis’ comparison of her sister with a nightingale further strengthens the association between the two sisters and the two birdlike creatures in the Odyssey. A very interesting interpretation of the latter line is offered by Zehnacker (1994), who argues that some of the exchanges in the Plautine diverbia would depend for their effect on one speaker answering another’s utterance with very similar wording and intonation, as happens in operetta or opera buffa. 63 Cf. the ‘Greek interlude’ in Ch. 1.

74

Plautus’ Pharmacy

of yourself; people here are being exchanged (immutantur) these days’. While in the Amphitruo these disturbing transformations are blamed on a ueneficus, 64 in the Truculentus, an ability to produce similar changes is attributed to the meretrix. First, one of the play’s leading male characters, Diniarchus, threatens to accuse his lover of being a uenefica because she removed what little intelligence he had from his heart (78) and made him forcibly ‘closest to and most intimate with her’ (79). 65 Second, the only two scenes in which the play’s eponymous villain appears are connected through the dynamics of blanditiae. Truculentus’ entrance scene (256–321) revolves around his vehement disapproval of Phronesium’s maid, Astaphium. He ridicules the girl’s apparently emaciated body, abundance of cheap ornaments (270, 273), slow gait (286), unnaturally red cheeks (290, 294), and elaborately dressed hair (287–8), announcing that he would much rather spend a night in the country with a wide-mouthed cow than with this abominable urban creature (276–80). Nevertheless the girl responds to him with compliments: ‘I like you now that you speak harshly to me’ (273), exhibiting the same kind of behaviour as Bacchis (Bac. 1174) who is called ‘sweet-talking’ (blandiloqua). Finally, she expresses her belief that blandimenta, along with other tricks, will be able to transform this violent monstrosity of a man standing before her: uerum ego illum, quamquam uiolentust, spero immutari potis blandimentis, hortamentis, ceteris meretriciis; (Truc. 317–18) However violent he is, I believe he can be transformed with blandishments, words of encouragement, and other prostitutes’ tricks.

The verb Plautus chooses to denote the Grouch’s anticipated metamorphosis is immutari, the same verb he used to describe Sosia’s loss of self. Indeed, Truculentus’ transformation involves a similar 64 Amphitruo himself accuses a ‘sorcerer’ (ueneficus) of having ‘perversely perturbed’ the mind of his entire family (Am. 1043–4). 65 Cf. Mos. 125–30 where Philolaches claims that Venus has deprived him of both his intelligence and sense of proportion.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

75

demise. When the Grouch returns on stage, he is—just as Astaphium predicted—a completely different man. He now makes his own attempts at being blandus (675–8), seems to have lost his former taste for cattle, and, moreover, declares surrender: ‘I have an entirely new character (mores), I have lost the old one’ (677). The audience’s introduction to this newly transformed Truculentus has no purpose in the play other than to emphasize the degree of immutatio that a prostitute can effect through her blandimenta. Other male characters in this play undergo a similar transformation. Greek literature has a perfect paradigm for a woman of such abilities in Circe, another Homeric figure closely associated with pharmaka. 66 In middle and new comedy, she might have (like Charybdis and the Sirens in the Neotis) served as a figure for a prostitute’s bewitching charm. This indeed seems to be her role in Anaxilas’ play that bore her name, a short fragment of which describes a woman who turns ‘us’ into pigs ‘that walk in the mud’. 67

On the Other Side of the Mirror: Blandus Amator Let us now recapitulate the imaginary stages of the immutatio. Once the meretrix has transfixed, immobilized, and embraced her victim (Bac. 50; Men. 342), her blandimenta can penetrate into the innermost recesses of his psyche, transforming him into her familiar (cf. As. 217, 222: -suesc- and Truc. 79: summum atque intumum). Young Pistoclerus in the Bacchides describes in detail the results of this transformation as he imagines what will happen if he enters Bacchis’ house (Bac. 68–72). In his vision, he is holding a dove instead of a sword; his head is covered with a chamber pot and he is wearing a soft cloak instead of a cuirass. 68 With a harlot instead of a shield at his side, the young man’s new self is the complete antithesis of soldierly 66 In Od. 10. 394 Circe tries lethal poison (ˆ‹ÒÏ·ÍÔÌ ÔPθÏÂÌÔÌ) on Odysseus, but it failed to produce the desired effect because Odysseus had used the famous antidote, or ‘noble poison’ (ˆ‹ÒÏ·ÍÔÌ KÛËÎeÌ), the ÏHÎı. 67 Cf. ‰›Îˆ·Í·Ú MÎÈ‚‹ÙÔıÚ fr. 12 further mentions carnivores: panthers, wolves, and lions; cf. Kassel and Austin, vol. ii (1999: 283). Circe mixing pharmaka also appears in Aristophanes’ Plutos 302–8. 68 This military colouring is not always associated with manliness in Plautus, in whose texts virtus usually denotes physical courage; cf. McDonnell (2006: 16–33).

76

Plautus’ Pharmacy

virility. Apparently, Pistoclerus perceives his choice between virtue and pleasure as a choice between the masculine and the feminine sides of his nature. As the temptation continues, it becomes clear that, should his feminine inclinations prevail, his new self will have to adopt a whole new way of speaking. Bacchis readily offers him a lesson in this foreign tongue: ubi tu lepide voles esse tibi, ‘mea rosa’, mihi dicito ‘dato qui bene sit’. (Bac. 83–4) If you want to feel good, just say, ‘my dear rose, give me something nice’.

Like the soft cloak of the young man’s vision, these expressions of endearment function as a token of his surrender to Bacchis and her ways, as though the coaxing discourse of the prostitute were a symptom of some contagious disease that the young man contracts when he becomes intimate with her. Bacchis’ representation of an exchange between lover and courtesan, wherein the amator uses blandimenta to obtain free services, is quite flattering compared to the one featured in the Trinummus (223–75), in which the song of the virtuous young man (Lysiteles) contains a parody of the lovers’ discourse: ‘da mihi hoc, mel meum, si me amas, si audes’ ibi ille cuculus: ‘ocelle mi, fiat: et istuc et si amplius uis dari, dabitur’. (Trin. 243–6) ‘Give me this, honey, if you love me, if you please’. To this, this nincompoop replies ‘Of course, my precious, I will give you this and if you want more, you will get it too.’

Whereas the girl’s endearing term of address and choice of modifiers ostensibly help her to have her request granted (and so are for her a source of power), the male lover’s words serve only to expose his malleability. This foolish lover is a blandus amator; indeed blandus and its cognates feature prominently in the part of the song that precedes this conversation and explains how Love depraves men:

Plautus’ Pharmacy

77

numquam Amor quemquam nisi cupidum hominem postulat se in plagas conicere: eos petit, eos sectatur; subdole blanditur, ab re consulit, blandiloquentulus, harpago, mendax, cuppes, auarus, elegans despol[i]ator, latebricolarum hominum corruptor blandus, inops celatum indagator. (Trin. 237–41) Love never aspires to cause misery to anyone but a lustful man. He seeks that kind, Follows them, wheedles them treacherously, gives them nonsensical advice, That little wheedler, Mr Harpoon, that liar, that glutton, that miser, that dandy brigand, That wheedling corruptor of skulkers, needy explorer of dissimulators.

Love’s wheedling is responsible for turning the youth into a wheedling cuculus. But Lysiteles also identifies another culprit—the lover’s excessive appetite (237). ‘Sweet talk’ is thus the means by which a woman tests a man’s boundaries in the hope of discovering that they are penetrable, that is, that he is overcome by desire (cupidus), and so likely to participate in her discourse of pleasure and contiguity. What the latebricolae and the celati try to hide is their propensity for indulging their inner women. Plautus has a name for this kind of male: ‘the effeminate species’ (genus mulierosum), the term used by the soldier in the Poenulus (1303) to describe a man dressed like a eunuch (cauponius) and embracing two women at one time (1296–9). 69 Plautus routinely casts the uir blandiens in the following scenario: in order to satisfy his lust, the lover needs someone else’s help and, in order to obtain it, adopts a woman’s persuasive manner of speaking (blanditia). 70 Thus the unfaithful husband attempts to secure 69 The opposite of a mulierosus is a mas homo, the kind of men with whom the soldier identifies himself (1311). 70 Additionally, some old men in comedy, as Donatus observed, also resort to blanditia (cf. Ad Ad. 291; Ad Hec. 231, 744). Plautus has only two scenes with a senex blandiens. Euclio (Aul. 184, 185) accuses Megadorus of blanditia, ascribing his ingratiating words to greed. Simo’s kindness (Ps. 1290) towards the drunken Pseudolus seems inspired by the same motivation (cf. hoc in 1291 referring to his wallet). Notably, both Greeks, as argued by Giacomelli (1980: 14–15), and Romans (so Skinner 1997: 135) may have viewed old men as incapable of active sexual behaviour and, consequently, as effeminate.

78

Plautus’ Pharmacy

his wife’s cooperation; 71 the young man in love speaks sweet words not only to his beloved, 72 but also to those who can help him gain access to her—even if they are his own slaves. 73 Notably, these efforts are almost always represented as futile: 74 wives rebuke their homegrown Don Juans; 75 girlfriends expect financial support rather than promises; 76 slaves, those Plautine artists of deception, are the least likely to be fooled by blanda uerba. 77 Lysidamus, the outrageous senex in the Casina, is perhaps one of the most memorable Plautine incarnations of the ‘coaxing man’. 78 This amateur of girls and bearded men alike (466) comes on stage, singing of his new perfumes and his love for Casina. He then goes on to complain to the audience that, although his wife’s very existence is a torment to him, he must nevertheless address this living curse ‘coaxingly’, blande (228). Rejected by his wife and impatient to spend the night with his Casina, this vigorous patriarch then makes amorous advances on his pet slave Olympio (449–75). As he tries to kiss him and mount his back (459), he whispers in the slave’s ear (454), ‘my delight’ (uoluptas mea). The adventures of this senex blandus, which will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 4, end up in a miserable fiasco; we learn the details from Olympio, his pet slave who goes through the same ordeal (cf. 933). Olympio, for his part, tells the audience how hard he tried to coax Chalinus-Casinus disguised as the bride, 79 only to be beaten up (931) and threatened with rape by his fake bride (906a–916).

71

72 Cas. 228–9; Men. 626–7. Cist. 249, cf. 302; Poen. 360, cf. 357. As. 707–18; Poen. 129–50. These observations are based on those stage situations where (a) the text includes at least one explicit reference to the male character practising blanditia; (b) the character in question utters at least one of the blandimenta identified by Donatus (in Poen. 357, exceptionally, a slave speaks for his master); (c) we have the addressee’s reaction. 74 Jupiter in the Amphitruo is an exception. Plautus has Mercury (Am. 506– 7) draw the audience’s attention to the sycophantic skills of Jupiter (cf. Am. 499– 550), reminding everyone that he is, after all, his father. Cf. Hes. Op. 78, where Hermes is said to have bestowed the gift of sweet words on Pandora and her daughters. 75 76 77 Cas. 229; Men. 627. Poen. 360. As. 731; Poen. 135–9. 78 Cas. 228, 274; on Lysidamus’ sexuality as a source of his ridicule, see MacCary and Willcock (1976: 30–1). 79 Cas. 883: mollio, blandior; 917–18: amabo mea uxorcula. 73

Plautus’ Pharmacy

79

Blanditia is thus a language shared by woman and the womanizer (mulierosus), a kind of secret code by which a woman can gauge a man’s weakness. Primarily a subversive property of the demimondaine’s speech, blanditiae enable a woman to transgress a male’s personal boundaries and transform him into a ‘smooth-talking man’ (uir blandus). Her victim then takes on her mode of speaking, only with far less success.

Salutary Poisons Unlike men, the Plautine women—regardless of their status—are redoubtable whenever they resort to blanditia. And although the clever prostitutes and procuresses are the most adept at it, the skill of coaxing is not unknown to virtuous matrons. For instance, the first scene of the Stichus shows a pair of faithful wives employing blandimenta to coax their father (quite slyly) into allowing them to continue waiting for their husbands (58–154). One daughter uses the endearing mi (90); the other sweetens a question with amabo (91). They also try to kiss and cleverly compliment their father, saying that he is the most important man in each of their lives and implying that their loyalty towards their absent husbands is merely derived from their filial obligations (96–8). Interestingly, a quarrel in the Casina revolves around the ownership of a married woman’s sweet talk. When old Lysidamus instructs his wife Cleustrata to ask her neighbour Myrrhina for help in preparing her protégée’s (Casina’s) wedding, she fails to make such a request and, when questioned by her husband, lies, saying that Myrrhina’s husband refused to lend her (his wife’s) help. Lysidamus is disappointed and assumes that his wife is directly responsible for her failure: ly. uitium tibi istuc maxumum est, blanda es parum. cl. non matronarum officiumst, sed meretricium, uiris alienis, mi uir, subblandirier. (Cas. 584–6) ly. This is your greatest fault: you are insufficiently coaxing. cl. It is not the duty of matrons, dear husband, but of prostitutes, to attempt to coax other women’s husbands.

80

Plautus’ Pharmacy

Lysidamus’ reproach implies that, if only his wife had been blanda, she would have succeeded in persuading the neighbour. This bitter exchange between husband and wife points to an underlying conflict regarding the ownership of a matron’s blanditia. Cleustrata claims that it is not the duty of matrons to charm other women’s husbands, but rather the business of prostitutes. She thus admits that she can (and perhaps should) speak pleasantly with the men of her household. Lysidamus’ general criticism, ‘you are insufficiently coaxing’, presents the same point of view, as it seems to address not only his wife’s failure to charm the neighbour, but also her general reluctance or inability to deliver the due portion of blanditia. The assumption that married women should speak coaxingly, provided that they do not do so to other women’s husbands, closely parallels the critique of real women lobbying for the abolition of the Oppian law that comes from the mouth of (Livy’s) Cato: Qui hic mos est in publicum procurrendi et obsidendi vias et viros alienos appellandi? Istud ipsum suos quaeque domi rogare non potuistis? An blandiores in publico quam in privato et alienis quam vestris estis? (34. 2. 9–10) Where does this habit come from? All that running around in public, blocking the streets and accosting other women’s husbands? Couldn’t each of you ask the very same thing from your own husband at home? Or perhaps you are more coaxing with other women’s husbands in public than you are with your own in private?

Cato’s pointed suggestion that the sweet-talking matrons may not be so sweet when addressing their own husbands at home reminds us of Lysidamus’ complaint about his wife, and confirms that a woman’s blanditia was thought to belong to the men of her household. 80 Cato also hints that it is almost adulterous for married women to talk ‘softly’ to other women’s husbands (blandiores alienis); in this he practically echoes Cleustrata’s reply (alienis subblandirier). 81 By using their private voices in public, the matrons are giving away something 80 On the relationship between Livy’s portrayal of Cato and the views that can be reconstructed from fragments of Cato’s speeches, see Ch. 4. 81 Hallett (1984: 229) notes that Cato in fact uses the same expression, vir alienus, when referring to a wife’s adultery in De dote.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

81

that Cato considered to be their husbands’ private property and are thus threatening to turn the Roman world inside out. Livy’s Cato, like Plautus’ Lysidamus, clearly regarded soothing speech as part of a wife’s obligation towards her husband, a valuable artifact, not unlike her pensum of wool. A funeral inscription from the second century bce (CIL 1. 1211), which lists charming conversation (sermo lepidus) and decorous gait next to housekeeping skills, attests to a similar ideal of womanly virtue. 82 Like uenenum, which could either heal or harm, a woman’s soothing words were not necessarily undesirable. 83 When practised under the auspices of husband and home, blanditia might even have been considered beneficial—a daily dose of salutary poison.

Rabiosa Femina Canis Wives in comedy (and in life) do not always follow the ideals stipulated in funerary inscriptions. Cleustrata in the Casina, for one, is criticized for failing to spin her pensum of charm. A conversation between her husband Lysidamus and his pet slave Olympio contains a metaphor commonly used to describe behaviour that is the very opposite of blanditia: ly. quid istuc est? quicum litigas, Olympio? ol. cum eadem qua tu semper. ly. cum uxore mea? ol. quam tu mi uxorem? quasi uenator tu quidem es: Dies atque noctes cum cane aetatem exigis. (Cas. 317–20) ly. What’s that? Who are you quarrelling with, Olympio? ol. The same person as you always do. ly. My wife? ol. What wife are you talking about? You really are like a hunter— spending your days and nights with a bitch. 82 ‘[A woman of] pleasant conversation, of convenient gait; she kept house; she spun wool: I have spoken; you may go now’ (‘sermone lepido, tum incessu commodo; domum seruauit: lanam fecit: dixi: abi’). 83 The lex Cornelia de sicariis et veneficis distinguished several types of venena: ‘evil’ (mala), ‘love potions’ (amatoria), and medications (ad sanandum); cf. Graf (1997: 46–7).

82

Plautus’ Pharmacy

This joke, conflating wives and dogs, finds its justification not only in Cleustrata’s (allegedly) quarrelsome disposition, but also in her conduct in the preceding scene, in which, in truly dog-like fashion, she sniffs her husband’s bodily odours and scolds the ‘grey-haired gnat’ for spending too much money on perfume. 84 The association of the curious wife with a dog inevitably brings to mind the sixthcentury Greek poet Semonides, whose catalogue of women features a satirical description of the dog-woman. Just like Cleustrata, the dogwoman desires to hear and know everything (note the emphasis on curiosity) and her incessant chatter cannot be stopped, not even if her unhappy husband were to knock out her teeth with a stone (12–20). Many husbands of Plautine uxores dotatae confess in their monologues that they too are terrorized by their spouses’ verbal aggression. Demipho in the Mercator complains that his wife Dorippa is a murderess and reveals his fear that she will castrate him with her sarcasm. 85 Similarly, in the Asinaria, Demaenetus dreads his own wife. 86 And not without good reason—the formidable matron is, as John Henderson has recently argued in his commentary on this play, the ‘ultimate slave driver’. 87 Another husband, Daemones in the Rudens, seems to be the least unlucky—he merely resents his wife’s empty words (uaniloquentia). 88 Significantly, the wives’ wicked curiosity coincides with a desire to leave the house. The shameless ‘matron’ of the Miles, played by Acroteleutium, leaves her husband’s house to meet her lover (1137). Artemona (As. 875–6) and Matrona (Men. 707) go out to look for their husbands. Dorippa travels from country to city house to spy on her husband (Mer. 667–9), while Cleustrata abandons her household duties to chat with her neighbour (Cas. 144–6). Plautus’ Menaechmi features the most overbearing of overbearing wives; ‘wicked, stupid, unbridled, with no control over her soul’ 84

Cleustrata’s examination of her husband is described in Cas. 235–50; see 239 for her imaginative insult (cana culex). 85 Mer. 274–5: ‘uxor me . . . iam iurgio enicabit. . . . quasi hircum metuo ne uxor me castret mea’ (She will kill me with her curses; I fear that my wife will castrate me like a he-goat) Mer. 732 ff. 86 As. 60, 62, 900; see also 896 and 934, on her smelly kisses. 87 See Henderson’s argument that the Matron in fact is the eponymous Asinaria, or ‘donkey driver’ (2006: 210–11). 88 Rud. 904–5.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

83

(mala, stulta, indomita, imposque animi), the nameless Matrona constantly tortures her husband (Men. 110–11). The audience first hears her husband berate her in an effort to escape the usual interrogation at the door. Though she herself is absent, Matrona’s penetrating voice finds its way into the audience’s ears through Menaechmus’ description of the fierce assaults he suffers each time he leaves his house: . . . me retines, reuocas, rogitas, quo ego eam, quam rem agam, quid negoti geram, quid petam, quid feram, quid foris egerim. portitorem domum duxi. (Men. 114–16) You hold me back, you call me back, you keep asking where I am going, what is the matter, what is my business, what I am fetching, what I am bringing, what I am going to get done at the forum. I married a customs inspector!

Like a customs inspector, Matrona stays in the vicinity of the gate, at the boundary of her world (cf. Men. 815). Like a portitor, she guards the limits of ‘the inside’; worse, she usurps control over her husband’s actions outside the domus. While her very presence in the doorway may well be disgraceful, the emphasis here is on the fact that her voice travels outside the house to ask after her husband’s whereabouts all over town. But Matrona’s most objectionable habit has to do with invading Menaechmus’ private space. Striving to know her husband’s secrets, she attempts to transgress his personal boundaries, not unlike a policeman frisking someone for contraband goods hidden on his body (or Cleustrata sniffing her husband’s perfume). Later in the play she discovers that her suspicions were indeed well founded and that her husband has stolen a costly coat from her wardrobe. She then proceeds to humiliate him and order him to bring the coat back (Men. 605–74). When she sees a man who looks like her spouse carrying her coat, she assumes that she has been victorious and welcomes him with the ‘words he deserves’ (704–6). Not surprisingly, she begins with a (rhetorical) question, ‘Aren’t you ashamed, you scoundrel, to come before my eyes, with this piece of clothing?’ As her husband’s astonished twin protests, Matrona attacks

84

Plautus’ Pharmacy

him with another question: ‘How do you dare, shameless man, to mumble a single word, or speak to me?’ This fierce attack provokes the twin’s counterattack (also in the form of a question): men. non tu scis, mulier, Hecubam quapropter canem Graii esse praedicabant? ma. non equidem scio. men. quia idem faciebat Hecuba quod tu nunc facis: omnia mala ingerebat quemquem aspexerat. (Men. 714–17) men. Don’t you know, woman, why the Greeks used to say that Hecuba was a dog? ma. No I don’t. men. Because she did exactly what you are doing now: She hurled all her curses at whomever she could see.

As ancient authorities assert, the wife’s duty is to guard the home. 89 So is the dog’s. Both have to stay within the house and ward off any strangers who try to enter. A Latin proverb quoted in the Poenulus resorts to the dog analogy to indicate unexpected hostility: ‘So even my own bitches bark at me’. This proverb specifies that a dog’s duty is to bark at strangers and fawn over its master. 90 Matrona’s performance is a violation of these canine standards of excellence: she mistrusts and assaults her own husband (114–16) and leaves the house that she is expected to protect (707). By such standards, she will deserve the insult that her husband’s brother is going to hurl at her—that ‘rabid bitch’ (Men. 838: ‘rabiosa femina canis’). It may well be that similar thinking informs the drastic distinction between sui and alieni that we have observed in references to spousal blanditia. 89 Aristotle (Oec. 1344b1–5) and Xenophon (Oec. 7. 30). Fragments of new comedy reveal similar perceptions of women’s space. The street door, the passage between the two worlds, is described in one fragment of Menander as the boundary (›Ò·Ú), established by law, beyond which a married woman should not trespass (Meineke iv. 2. 2). Nor should an unmarried woman: Kore fears a beating if she is discovered outside (Dysk. 205). Tellingly, it is the man’s responsibility to control the traffic between the inside and outside. Davus, discovering that Kore has left her house, is scandalized, but he does not blame the girl for her behaviour: it is her father’s duty to safeguard her (Dysk. 223–5). In contrast, the ideal young man, Gorgias, is given a line where he declares that under no circumstances would he leave his mother alone at home (Dysk. 617–19). 90 Poen. 1234: ‘Etiam me meae latrant canes?’

Plautus’ Pharmacy

85

Though the uxor dotata is often described as a typically Roman phenomenon, 91 several complaints about dowered wives in the fragments of Greek comic poets attest that the outspoken ÍıÒfl· ÙBÚ ÔNÍfl·Ú was also a stock-figure in all of new comedy. 92 One of the unfortunate husbands compares such a wife to Lamia, a monster that, according to some accounts, kidnapped and devoured small children, and, according to others, attached herself to young men in order to drink their blood (Men. Meineke, iv, fr. 2). The similarity between this perception of wifely arrogance and the fear that informs the comments on the pharmacological power of the speech of the prostitute is quite striking. Whether wheedling or barking, the woman is pictured as a threat to the integrity of the man’s bodily boundaries. 93 The wife is thus an intruder within the house who feels entitled to an intimate knowledge of her husband’s body (recall Cleustrata’s sniffing) and who strives to control his dealings outside the house. Her insulting and interrogative speech reflects her (perceived) desire to control and manipulate her husband. Though painful and frightening (the husband in the Mercator fears castration), such open attacks are represented as less alarming than the prostitute’s insidious speech.

The Politician and the Prostitute Inside the house, then, blanditia was a woman’s way of insinuating herself into her husband’s intimate space, and a certain amount of such insinuation was desirable. Inside, men would also, as the 91 Schuhmann (1977: 55–64) presents the dotata as an essentially Roman figure; McDonnell (1983: 53–80) draws upon the Plautine use of divorce formulae to argue that Roman women had the legal power to initiate divorce; Lowe (1992: 152–75) reveals the Plautine features of the portrayal of Artemona in the Asinaria. While the imperium that Plautine wives enjoy on stage does not correspond to either Greek or Roman legal realities (see Stark 1990: 69–79), it does often seem to parody Roman customs; see Rosenmeyer on divorce formulae (1995: 201–17). 92 Several fragments of Menander, e.g. 1 and 2 (Meineke, vol. iv), contain references to overbearing wives. Complaints about marriage in general, and about marrying wealthy women in particular, are commonplace in middle and new comedy. The criticism of wealthy wives, as Arnott points out (1996: 442), can be paralleled with Aristotle’s observation (EN 1161a1) that ‘women with dowries sometimes rule’. 93 See McCarthy (2000: 66–7) on the parallels between Matrona and Erotium in the Menaechmi (668–74 and 696–700).

86

Plautus’ Pharmacy

Plautine usage of words of affection allows us to conjecture, assume a familiar register of speech. But what if men rather than women took the intimate words outside and used them to bind people? Just such a situation occurs in Plautus’ Aulularia. Mr Great Gift (Megadorus), the wealthy neighbour of the miser Euclio (Mr Good Reputation), has decided to marry the latter’s daughter, Phaedria, without a dowry (171–3). Megadorus expects his poor neighbour to be thrilled and so pre-emptively addresses him with the kind of cordiality that would be appropriate for a future son-in-law. me. saluos atque fortunatus, Eclio, semper sies. euc. di te ament, Megadore. me. quid tu? recten atque ut uis uales? euc. non temerarium est ubi diues blande appellat pauperem. iam hic homo aurum scit me habere, eo me salutat blandius. (Au. 182–5) me. Euclio, I wish you everlasting health and happiness. euc. May gods love you, Megadorus. me. How are you? Are you doing well? Is everything as you wish? euc. (aside) When a wealthy man accosts a poor man like a friend, it is not without reason. This man already knows that I have gold; that’s why he is greeting me too coaxingly.

Megadorus not only uses an elaborate formula far longer than the usual salue/salus sis to greet Euclio, but he also goes on to ask some rather personal and detailed questions (instead of the casual quid agis). This interest in his private affairs arouses the miser’s suspicion; Mr Good Reputation has good reasons to mistrust unsolicited friendliness: altera manu fert lapidem, panem ostentat altera. nemini credo qui large blandust diues pauperi: ubi manum inicit benigne, ibi onerat aliquam zamiam ego istos polypos noui qui ubi quidquid tetigerunt tenent. (Men. 195–8) In one hand he carries a stone, with the other he shows me a piece of bread. I trust no wealthy man who lavishly flatters a poor man: Where he puts a friendly hand, he burdens you with some loss. I know those polyps that hold on to anything they touch.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

87

The images Euclio uses here are curiously reminiscent of those commonly expressing fear of women: bread and stone bring to mind the honey and bitterness of the speech of the prostitute and the sticky polyp recalls the allusions to glue and birdlime. Despite being blinded by greed and stubbornly mistaking his daughter for his pot of gold, on this particular occasion the miser may in fact be an astute judge of character. As David Konstan has argued, Mr Great Gift’s intentions seem to be prompted by erotic impulse and the absence of any dowry may have cast a shadow on Phaedria’s status as a legitimate wife. 94 Consequently, Megadorus’ unwarranted use of familiar expressions may well be a sign of duplicity on his part, and thus it is quite possible that Euclio has indeed deciphered them correctly. Interestingly, just such strategies were apparently a staple ingredient of electoral campaigns in the first century bce. In Cicero’s De oratore (1. 112. 3), the outstanding orator Licinius Crassus voices a certain embarrassment with regard to blanditia: 95 Equidem cum peterem magistratum, solebam in prensando dimittere a me Scaevolam, cum ita ei dicerem, me velle esse ineptum, id erat, petere blandius, quod, nisi inepte fieret, bene non posset fieri. When I was an electoral candidate, I used to send Scaevola away when campaigning. I informed him then that I was going to be silly, that is to canvass in quite a coaxing manner, which, unless it was conducted in a silly fashion, could not be done well.

Unfortunately, Cicero’s Crassus gives us no details regarding exactly how he went about being so silly. The anonymous author of De petitione (possibly Cicero’s brother Quintus) is more generous, though he obviously shares Crassus’ uneasiness: nam comitas tibi non deest ea quae bono ac suavi homine digna est, sed opus est magno opere blanditia quae, etiam si vitiosa est et turpis in cetera vita, tamen in petitione necessaria est. (De pet. 42) 94 See Konstan (1977: 314–16/2001: 144–6), esp. his reference to Trin. 689–91. The later appearance of Megadorus and Euclio (Au. 475–586) reintroduces the theme of inequality, this time in the form of Mr Great Gift’s monologue against excessive dowries of aristocratic matrons (Konstan 1977: 316–18/2001: 147–8). 95 Crassus is a figure particularly obsessed with the pudor and decor that befit a Roman aristocrat; see Gunderson (2000: 207).

88

Plautus’ Pharmacy

You certainly do not lack politeness, which is worthy of a good and kind man, but you will need blanditia most of all, which, even though it is vile and base in other situations, is necessary in canvassing.

The author then spells out the two most common strategies of blanditia: empty promises and nomenclatio, meaning the candidate’s use of the names of people with whom he has hardly been acquainted. 96 When called by their own names, strangers were apparently bound to feel as though they were the candidate’s personal friends and so were inclined to vote for him (31). This practice must have been highly successful. In his Life of Cato Minor (8. 2), the biographer Plutarch (1st– 2nd century ce) reports that a law was passed specifically forbidding the use of nomenclators by candidates for office. (Apparently, there was a risk of the offices going to the men who could afford the best ‘namers’.) Cato, a candidate for the tribuneship at this time, resorted to memorizing the census list and managed to be elected. Plautus’ Menaechmi contains a passage that perhaps explains some of the embarrassment surrounding political nomenclatio. In this passage, Messenio, the virtuous twin’s cautious slave, declares that this same tactic of naming was used by the wheedling prostitutes of Epidamnus in order to obtain clientele: 97 . . . morem hunc meretrices habent: ad portum mittunt seruolos, ancillulas sei qua pergrina nauis in portum aduenit, rogitant quoiatis quid ei nomen siet postilla extemplo se adplicant, adglutinant: si pellexerunt perditum amittunt domum. (339–43) The prostitutes have this habit: they send their little maids and slaves to the harbour, and if any foreign ship arrives, they ask where she is from and what her owner’s name is. 96 This kind of persuasion, with its abuse of tokens of familiarity (nomenclatio), would have been regarded as dishonest, esp. when used for public affairs: Enn. 69 Ribbeck: ‘nam neque irati neque blandi quicquam sincere sonunt’ bears witness to the perception of blanditia as deceitful. 97 Cf. Men. 261–2 ‘tum meretrices mulieres/nusquam perhibentur blandiores gentium’.

Plautus’ Pharmacy

89

Then they immediately approach him and glue themselves to him. Once they have scanned him, they send him home bankrupt.

By using the same strategy of calling strangers by name, the Ciceronian politician and the Plautine prostitute were anticipating comparable results, binding the stranger’s attention and affection to the name-caller. 98 In the Ars Amatoria, Ovid recommends the use of electioneering techniques in campaigning for the favours of the puella, bringing together (our) two themes of politics and love. His reader/lover is advised to seek the support of the plebs, just as one canvassing for office (ambitiosus) would, 99 and calling servants by name figures prominently in the poet’s store of advice: Nec pudor ancillas, ut quaeque erit ordine prima, Nec tibi sit servos demeruisse pudor. Nomine quemque suo (nulla est iactura) saluta, Iunge tuis humiles, ambitiose, manus. (2. 251–4) Don’t be ashamed to win favour with maids (whichever is at the foremost of her own kind) or with slaves. Call each of them by their own names (it costs nothing) When seeking a position, join hands with the humble ones.

Indeed, the techniques used by the politician, the prostitute, and the Sirens calling out to Odysseus are all reminiscent of Greek and Roman binding spells in which the victim’s name was added to—and sometimes substituted for—nails, hair, or bodily secretions as a token of his or her ‘essence’. 100 Thus, the social ritual of using a person’s 98 See Malinowski’s ethnographic theory of language (1935: ii. 234–52); and, in particular, his astute observation that the binding properties of language used in European politics and those of Trobriand magic are essentially the same (ibid. 212– 18); see also Tambiah’s analysis (1990: 80) of Malinowski. 99 On the rapport between the lover of the Ars and his mistress’s ancilla, see Sharrock (1994: 285). 100 See Faraone (1991: 12–14) on the use of names in Greek binding spells, and Graf (1997: 127–8) on the Roman tabulae defixionum. Lincoln has recently argued that a similar register of words (haimuloi logoi) both charming and untrustworthy would have been associated generally with women in early Greek poetry (1997: 346–8).

90

Plautus’ Pharmacy

name and the magical one of casting a spell appear as two different versions of a basic linguistic pattern designed to gain influence over and even appropriate the other. 101

CONCLUSION The Latin word blanditia denotes a discourse of contiguity and indulgence that creates a space where self and other co-mingle. When applied to language, blandus and its cognates often refer to expressions and speech acts representing the speaker and her (or his) interlocutor as connected (mi/mea, amabo) and on the brink of sharing future experiences (promises). Plautine drama appears to construe the illusion of care and connectedness inherent in female blanditia as a threat to interpersonal boundaries, thus portraying this discourse as a phenomenon akin to ueneficium and endowed with similarly invasive powers. Consequently, the seductive deportment of women skilled in the practice of uenus was styled as a sort of witchcraft, an attempt to dissolve the boundaries between self and other and to undermine a man’s control over his own body and mind. Even though blanditia would—like uenenum—have most likely been perceived as morally ambivalent—both harmful and beneficial—Roman comedy most often portrays this type of discourse as an insidious drug. In Plautus, blanditia essentially marks the female speaker as the subversive other whose words and actions require constant vigilance. What makes the otherness of the discourse of contiguity particularly dangerous is its extreme contagiousness, its power to penetrate into the innermost recesses of a man’s psyche and awaken the woman within. The ultimate rationale for the mistrust of female blanditia in Plautine drama appears to be the fear of discovering the other within oneself. As we have seen, the complexity of the Roman perceptions of blanditia goes far beyond Donatus’ observation, proprium est 101 The coherence between social ritual and other rituals practised by a society, such as theatre, was the main theme of Turner’s From Ritual to Theatre (1982). See esp. his remarks on social drama as a matrix from which many genres of cultural performance have been generated (p. 78) and on the ethnography of theatrical performance (p. 99).

Plautus’ Pharmacy

91

mulierum cum loquuntur . . . aliis blandiri. I have examined the blanditia of male lovers and have briefly noted how such a discourse could be useful for notables and politicians. We have also discovered the opposite of the tail-wagging mulier blanda—the canis rabiosa who barks out an interrogation at her husband. It makes eminent sense that women would have been primarily associated with a kind of persuasion that relies on intimate and emotional arguments, such as ‘if you do it, I will love you’ (amabo) or ‘you should do it because you are dear to me’ (mi/mea). After all, women’s roles as mothers, lovers, and caregivers often give them an intimate knowledge of others. The social position of an upper class wife, an intruder within her husband’s household, can also be cited as a rationale for feminizing the ‘intimate other’ who invades the man’s personal space. The next chapter, exploring comic references to pain, will deal with a different threat—that of being forced to enter a woman’s confused world.

3 Of Pain and Laughter In Chapter 1 I noted that complaints are one of the features of speech that Plautus (as well as Terence) seems to present as typically feminine. In this chapter I reflect on the different types of pain about which the characters gripe and look at comedic, particularly Plautine, representations of suffering women and men. In exploring how sounds, vocabulary, and themes form gendered patterns, I try to uncover the beliefs that lie beneath the stereotype of the whimpering woman (quae se ipsa miseratur) as well as the countercurrents that destabilize it. I then compare these perceptions revealed by my reading of comedy with ideas about gender and pain articulated in other discourses, including medical treatises and Cicero’s reflections on grief in the Tusculan Disputations. First, however, I will address the inevitable question that comedic suffering raises, namely, the genre’s relationship to pain.

THEORIES OF PAIN AND HUMOUR Laughter and pain (or death) are often associated in ancient literature. Recall the gods’ inextinguishable cackle at Hephaestus’ handicap, Odysseus’ sardonic joy at the death of Ctesippus, or the suicidal effects of Philemon’s malicious giggle. 1 The theories of the comic that 1 Gods laugh at Hephaestus in Od. 8. 343–4, Odysseus smiles contemplating the suitor’s death in Od. 20. 301–2; on sardonic laughter, see Lateiner (1995); on the etymology of Û·Ò‰‹ÌÈÔÌ, see Kretschmer (1954–5: 1–9). Philemon’s death from laughing at a donkey that ate the figs prepared for dinner is described by Val. Max. Mem. 9. 12 ext. 6. Greek references to laughable pain are collected by Minois (2000: 15–22); see

Of Pain and Laughter

93

come down to us from antiquity reflect this apparently paradoxical association. 2 Most of them connect laughter with the feeling of superiority on the part of the spectator. 3 For example, Plato in the Philebus (47e–50a) theorizes that the viewer’s feeling of superiority depends on the misfortune of the viewed object and suggests that suffering causes a mixture of pain and pleasure in the spectator (48b). 4 This mixed feeling, Plato claims, is not unlike that felt by malicious individuals enjoying a neighbour’s misfortune (48b). 5 Misfortunes that befall weak people suffering from self-delusion (à„ÌÔÈ·) tend to elicit laughter, rather than fear. 6 According to Plato, then, the shortcomings of the object cause pain and pleasure in the audience of comedy. Aristotle in the Poetics seems to refute Plato when he states that, while debasement of the dupe is an indispensable element of comedy, debasement is laughable inasmuch as it does not involve pain. 7 As an example, he gives the funny mask, which is ‘ugly and distorted without pain’ (·NÛ˜Ò¸Ì ÙÈ Í·d ‰ÈÂÛÙÒ·ÏÏ›ÌÔÌ àÌÂı O‰˝ÌÁÚ), suggesting also Garland (1994: 74–82). Genette, in his essay ‘Morts de rire’, draws upon Freud and Bergson to define the aesthetic pleasure characteristic of ‘the comic effect’ (l’effet comic) as one depending on the transmutation of a painful feeling (2002: 178–80). 2 See also Silk’s discussion of Aristophanes’ own intriguing remarks on the nature of comedy, stressing such qualities as novelty and ability to surprise, as well as a capacity to treat serious matters in an amusing fashion (2000: 42–50). 3 Hokenson (2006: 23–32) comments on the place and role of ancient ideas in the development of modern theories; Plaza (2006: 6–13) proposes a useful division of the theoretical approaches into ‘superiority’, ‘relief ’, and ‘incongruity’ theories, classifying Plato’s, Aristotle’s, and Cicero’s approaches to comedy as stressing superiority. 4 I am interested here in only one aspect of Plato’s theory; see e.g. Thein (2000: 168–80) for a more systematic discussion. 5 48b: ÏÂ}ÓÈÚ Î˝ÁÚ Ù ͷd M‰Ô̘ÁÚ. 6 Delusions of strong individuals are apparently frightening (49b). If weak sufferers happen to be the spectators’ friends, the resulting mixture of pleasure and pain is apparently harmful (49d); conversely, the delusions of enemies are, according to Plato, a legitimate source of enjoyment. 7 1449a32–7: ‘«‰b Í˘Ï©˘‰fl· KÛÙdÌ uÛÂÒ ÂYÔÏÂÌ ÏflÏÁÛÈÚ ˆ·ıÎÔÙ›Ò˘Ì Ï›Ì, ÔP Ï›ÌÙÔÈ Í·Ù‹ AÛ·Ì Í·Ífl·Ì, IÎη` ÙÔF ·NÛ˜ÒÔF KÛÙÈ Ùe „ÂÎÔEÔÌ Ï¸ÒÈÔÌ. Ùe „aÒ „ÂÎÔE¸Ì KÛÙÈÌ ãÏ‹ÒÙÁÏ‹ ÙÈ Í·d ·rÛ˜ÔÚ IÌ˛‰ıÌÔÌ Í·d ÔP ˆË·ÒÙÈ͸Ì, ÔxÔÌ ÂPËfÚ Ùe „ÂÎÔEÔÌ Ò¸Û˘ÔÌ ·N·˜Ò¸Ì ÙÈ Í·d ‰ÈÂÛÙÒ·ÏÏ›ÌÔÌ àÌÂı O‰˝ÌÁÚ. (Comedy is, as we have said, an imitation of people who are worse [than the average], but not worse in every kind of wickedness. The laughable is in fact a subcategory of the ugly. For the laughable is a kind of transgression, a disgrace that is not painful or destructive. For example, a laughable mask has something ugly and twisted without pain.)

94

Of Pain and Laughter

that laughter occurs in a state that approaches, but does not reach, pain. This is an intriguing insight, but it is not entirely clear to whose near-pain Aristotle is referring: the spectator’s, the character’s, or that of both. Later theorists of the laughable who echo Aristotle only hint at a co-dependence between the object’s defects and the pleasure felt by those who either make jokes about these defects or laugh at such jokes. 8 For example, in his brief discussion of laughter in the second book of De oratore, Cicero repeats Aristotle’s definition of humour and identifies human vices and physical deformities as suitable objects of jokes. 9 The notion that humour often involves a complex tension between pleasure and pain (Plato) or near-pain (Aristotle) reappears much later in Sigmund Freud’s theory of the comic, articulated in Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious (1905) and supplemented by an incisive article entitled ‘Humour’ (1927). 10 According to Freud, humour is rooted in play and, like art and other forms of human playfulness, conceals meaning. In his book, he analyses jokes in terms that could apply to other kinds of comic performance as involving a teller, a butt and a listener. 11 The chapter on the social aspects 8

Perhaps the lost second book of the Poetics would have explained how anticipation of pain turns into laughter. According to Janko’s reconstruction, the book on comedy would have included sections on debasing the characters and abuse (1984: 197, 201–3). 9 2. 236: ‘et regio . . . ridiculi turpitudine et deformitate quadam continetur’ (then the realm . . . of the laughable is restricted to what is in some way base and malformed). On the sources of Cicero’s discussion of humour, see Janko (1984: 186–9); see also Hutchinson (1998: 173 n. 2). The proximity of tragedy and comedy would also have been, as Silk points out, part of Aristophanes’ perception of the comic genre (2000: 42–97). See also Garland (1994) on the mockery of the disabled in GraecoRoman culture, which, according to him, strengthened group cohesion, diminished embarrassment, and provided an outlet for aggression. 10 On the 19th-cent. scientific and philosophical background of Freud’s essay, esp. Freud’s debt to Karl Groos, see Simon (1985: 211–20); see also Colletta’s useful discussion of Freud’s insights into dark humour (2003: 17–35). Der Witz und seine Beziehung zum Unbewußten was first published in 1905; my page references are to Anna Freud’s edn. of Gesamelte Werke, vi (1940) and James Strachey’s Standard Edition (1960), viii. ‘Der Humor’ was first presented in 1927; my references are to Gesamelte Werke, xiv (1948) and Strachey’s translation, xxi (1961). 11 Freud notes that the three are necessary for jokes but optional in other forms of the comic (1940: 161–71; cf. 1960: 143–53). In the 1927 article, he envisions literary humour as a situation in which ‘a poet (Dichter) or a story teller (Schilderer) describes the behaviour of real or fictional people in a humorous way’; the imaginary characters

Of Pain and Laughter

95

of joking, for instance, discusses the strongly sadistic component of ‘tendentious’, that is, aggressive and obscene, jokes (1940: 159–60). In joke-work, Freud explains, the first person, the teller, feels pleasure at overcoming his inhibition, in being aggressive towards the second person (the victim) and displaying his triumph in front of the third person, the listener who shares in his delight. The suffering and humiliation of the dupe is thus the means by which both author and audience achieve pleasure (Genuß, ibid. 160). The final beating of the deluded braggart at the end of Plautus’ Miles may epitomize this category of the comic. Suffering is also an essential part of that peculiar mechanism Freud calls ‘gallows humour’ (Galgenhumor). In this kind of humour, the teller and the butt are one and the same person (1940: 260–3). Such a person typically finds himself in dire circumstances. For most of his examples of gallows humour, Freud chooses the convict facing an execution as the protagonist (ibid.). If, instead of yielding to despair, the convict jokes about his situation, he can derive a certain pleasure ‘at the cost of the relief of affect that does not occur’. 12 Split thus into the observer and the observed, the teller of the joke triumphs over his trauma. Later on, I will argue that the notorious jokes that Plautine slaves make about whipping and torture constitute prime examples of this type of humour. Needless to say, however, dramatic texts call for interpretive caution. Roman comedy involves both real and fictional tellers of jokes (the author and characters), both real and fictional listeners (spectators and characters), and finally, both real and fictional objects whose suffering induces laughter. The playwright can use humour at many levels, both when he fashions his characters within the comedic conventions and when he makes these characters joke at each other’s expense. He can also have his dramatis personae ridicule groups of fictional or real people. Yet, even with these nuances taken into consideration, Freud’s universal trio of author, audience, and butt will later provide a useful framework for our reading of comic representations become passive butts of authorial jokes, enjoyed by the reader or viewer (Zuschauer) (1948: 383–4). Strachey (1961: 161) translates Dichter as ‘writer’, rather than ‘poet’, creating the impression that Freud refers mostly to prose and its readers. 12 Tr. Strachey (1960: 229).

96

Of Pain and Laughter

of pain. While pain shown on the comic stage is undeniably fictional and therefore laughable, this reading will place emphasis on ways in which the scripts portray distress, assuming that this portrayal reflects social perceptions of pain and gender.

LANGUAGE AND PAIN

Unscripted Sounds Speech is not the only way in which we express pain. In fact, language and pain are hardly compatible. Rather, as Elaine Scarry notes in her seminal study of the subject (1985: 4–5), bodily pain is more adequately expressed through inarticulate, preverbal sounds and cries. Pain, Scarry argues, resists verbalization inasmuch as it has no point of reference in the outside world, no object meaningful to others (ibid. 5). Likewise, for Julia Kristeva, the pain of melancholy and depression is beyond words. In her theorizing, mental torment inevitably dissolves the bonds between symbols and their meanings (1987: 18–19), resulting in linguistic regression (ibid. 34–5). 13 When the late antique grammarian Priscian defines the interjection in his Institutio (c.620 ce), he seems to be thinking along similar lines. ‘Pronounced with a strangled voice (abscondita voce) and affected by the speaker’s emotions, the interjection’, he claims, ‘is a barely articulated sound’ (Inst. 15. 41–2). 14 Dramatic performance allows for the enactment of sounds symptomatic rather than consciously symbolic of suffering. Although these sounds are not transcribed, the comedies do contain verbal cues to weeping (flere, fletus) and wailing accompanied by gestures of despair (plorare). 15 While Terence avoids references to loud weeping on stage, 13 Kristeva observes that the depressed struggle against the collapse of symbolic language and coherent speech and, in this struggle, the very ability to speak represents a triumph over unbearable sadness (1987: 36–7). 14 This remark is made in the margins of a brief discussion of the difficulty in establishing accent in the interjection. Cf. also Donatus, Ars. 2, 17. 15 Roccaro (1974: 30) quotes later sources that make it possible to distinguish the meanings of the Latin verbs for crying: flere refers to weeping, plorare to weeping accompanied with certain gestures. In contrast with flere and plorare, lacrumae are quiet tears; cf. As. 620, oculi lacrumantes, and 983, lacrumans tacitus.

Of Pain and Laughter

97

Table 3.1. Weeping on stage Plautus

flere plorare total

Terence

Women

Men

Women

Men

9 1:2,490 4 1:5,603 13 1:1,724

6 1:23,070 2 1:69,211 8 1:17,302

–

–

–

–

–

–

permitting his characters only silent tears, lacrumae, 16 the scripts of Plautus invite audiences to laugh at female weepers more often than at male weepers. 17 (See Table 3.1.) Women in Plautus weep frequently and always over their separation from lovers, families, or friends. 18 In order to flesh out these statistics, let us consider some Plautine scenes making fun of fletus. When Philippa, whom we met in Chapter 1, learns that the girl who passes herself off as her lost daughter is an impostor, she immediately exclaims, ‘Perii misera!’ (O wretched me! I am lost!). In response, Periphanes, the girl’s father, tells her to stop crying (Epid. 601: ‘ne fle, mulier’). Evidently, the actor playing Philippa must have wept while pronouncing the words perii misera. The same words, when shrieked by Syra in the Mercator, are described as ‘wailing’ (eiulare). 19 16 Terence refers to ritual lament (flere) twice in the Andria (129 and 136) and has one allusion to a lover crying when begging a pimp (Ph. 521–2). But he does not refer to characters weeping on stage; in fact in the prologue to the Phormio, Terence criticizes a rival for representing a hunted doe on stage and tearfully begging a young man for help (cf. Garton 1972: 136). 17 The statistics in Table 3.1 reflect testimonies to theatrical representations of weeping and therefore do not take into consideration the instances of flere, fletus, and plorare occurring off stage (Am. 256; As. 32–5; Aul. 308, 317, 318; Cist. 567; Poen. 377). 18 Philocomasium in the Miles (1311 (twice), 1324), Selenium in the Cistellaria (Cist. 123, 132, 192), and Phoenicium in the Pseudolus (Ps. 1041) all lament separation from their lovers. Virgo in the Persa is instructed to cry in order to create the illusion that she misses her parents and her country (152); she then follows these instructions (622); Philippa cries because she has lost her daughter (Epid. 601). 19 ‘sy. disperii, perii misera, vae miserae mihi! | do. satin tu sana’s, opsecro? quid eiulas?’ (Mer. 681–2) (sy. I am lost, I am done for, woe to wretched me! | do. Are you crazy? Why are you wailing?) A number of female characters in Plautus are ordered to stop crying, including our Philippa, Virgo in the Persa (622, 656), and the meretrices

98

Of Pain and Laughter

Particularly striking are the scenes in which weeping would have been the sole task of the female characters on stage, which I briefly mentioned in Chapter 1. In the Curculio (487–532), for example, there are no lines for a female character to speak, yet the pimp’s question ‘Why are you crying (ploras), silly girl?’ indicates that an actor playing the girl Planesium must have been on stage, using sound and gesture—but no words—to create a caricature of a damselin-distress. 20 An almost identical situation occurs in the Pseudolus (1039–51) where the sycophant talking to a courtesan seems to hear only weeping in response (Ps. 1036, 1041). Women’s tears are also extremely hard to stop. Consider the scene in the Miles that shows the courtesan Philcomasium and the slave Palaestrio pretending to regret that they must take leave of the great Gloriosus. The woman enters on stage sobbing demonstratively; the slave implies that this has been going on for a long time, ‘when will you stop crying?’ (1311). Philcomasium interjects, ‘How could I not cry?’ and probably continues to vocalize, while uttering her short responses (1312–19). Her only longer utterance, describing how reluctant she is to leave the great man (1321–4), must also have been recited in a tearful voice, since the soldier orders her to stop crying (ne fle). 21 Male characters in Plautus weep as well. For example, in the scene during which Philcomasium cries so profusely, Palaestrio, the servus callidus, also pretends to burst into tears at the prospect of leaving such an exceptional master, but his performance is far shorter and less flamboyant. 22 There are notable differences between the ways in which Plautine comedy plays with male and female weeping. Not only do the scripts suggest that actors in male roles would have cried on stage less often, but also there are no scenes in which a Planesium (Cur. 520), Pasicompsa (Mer. 501), and Phoenicium (Ps. 1036, 1041). Furthermore, crying is the characteristic by which the audience is invited to recognize the girls in the Rudens (mulierculae flentes in Rud. 560) and Selenium (Cist. 123 and 132). 20 520: ‘quid stulta ploras?’ 21 Greek drama offers numerous parallels to the topos of uncontrollably weeping women; see e.g. the chorus in Aeschylus’ Seven Against Thebes (78–180) or the Suppliants (800–35). 22 1342: ‘pa. eheu! nequeo quin fleam quom abs te abeam’ (Eheu! Since I am leaving you, I cannot stop myself from crying).

Of Pain and Laughter

99

male character’s only contribution to the conversation is moaning. 23 Moreover, although male weepers share with their female counterparts the most common cause for tears, namely, loss of a loved one, 24 the jokes made at the expense of male lamentations have an interesting twist. The male character is more likely to focus on the concrete means he needs to fulfil his desire than on the loss itself. For example, Calidorus in the Poenulus specifically laments his lack of money with which to purchase his girlfriend (96), while Charinus in the Mercator is angry that his friend did not gather more information about the new owner of his beloved (623). Phaedromus in the Curculio explains that he lacks the very thing (rather than person) he desires (136: ‘id quod amo careo’). This focus on objects and means is even more obvious when the male characters bewail the two other ‘chosen objects’ they seem to treasure most: food and money. 25 Thus male weeping is not only less frequent than female weeping, but it also is linked to the lack of clearly defined objects—human and 23 One aspect of the representations of weeping in ancient literature has obtained ample attention from scholars in the last twenty years—the echoes of lament tradition. Greek literature, Alexiou (2002) has argued, reflects women’s role as the chief lamenters in ancient and modern Greek rituals. Indeed, as e.g. Martin (1989) and Murnaghan (1999) have shown, female speech in Homer seems to be associated with lament, although, as Derderian (2001) has pointed out, this association holds true for the formal (goos) rather than informal lament (klauthmos, goos). Tragedy appears to associate weeping with women—see Loraux (1995, 1990), Zeitlin (1996), Foley (2001), and, most recently, Dué (2006). However, it also features male lamenters; cf. Suter (2003). Van Wees (1998: 10–19) outlines an evolution of Greek attitudes: in the 8th cent., both women and men lament, but ritual lament is a distinctly feminine activity; in the 6th and 5th cents., lamenting in general becomes associated with women. Roman lament has received far less attention, but see Richlin (2001) for a reflection on gender and lament as represented in the Latin sources, Fantham (1999) on the role of lament in the development of Latin epic, and Dutsch (2008) on the nenia. 24 In Civilization and its Discontents (1974: xxi. 101–2=cf. 1952: xiv. 160–1), Freud speaks of the desire of ‘the loved object’ referring to objects of sexual desire and parental love; Nasio (2004: 20) extends the Freudian definition to sources of physical comfort; his definition would allow us to include money, the means of obtaining the comfort and prestige that male characters in Plautus typically desire. 25 Examples of men crying over such objects include an old pimp deploring his financial ruin (Rud. 557) and a parasite bewailing past dinners (Cap. 139). Plautus also has one example of a man apparently crying for joy: upon discovering his long-lost daughters, Hegio, the effeminate Phoenician (Poen. 1298), whose behaviour verges on incest, sheds a few tears (Poen. 1109: adflet). On Hanno’s incestuous behaviour, see Franko (1995).

100

Of Pain and Laughter

material. 26 Because of this stress on rationales and remedies, male tears appear understandable. An exchange in the Pseudolus sheds some light on this discursive practice that dissociates men from uncontrollable weeping. Pseudolus has just finished interpreting the letter that his master, Calidorus, the adulescens amans, has received from his beloved Phoenicium. 27 The letter informs him that the pimp has sold his girlfriend to a Macedonian soldier and that she is desperately awaiting Calidorus’ help: cali. est misere scriptum, Pseudole. ps. oh! miserrume. cali. quin fles? ps. pumiceos oculos habeo: non queo lacrumam exorare ut exsputant unam modo. cali. quid ita? ps. genu’ nostrum semper siccoculum fuit. cali. nihilne adiuuare me audes? ps. Quid faciam tibi? cali. eheu! ps. ‘eheu’? id quidem hercle ne parsis: dabo. cali. miser sum, argentum nusquam inuenio mutuom— ps. eheu! cali. neque intus nummus ullus est. ps. eheu! cali. ille abducturus est mulierem cras. ps. eheu! cali. istocne pacto me adiuuas? ps. do id quod mihi est; Nam is mihi thensaurus iugis in nostra domo est. (Ps. 74–84) cali. It is a wretched piece of writing, Pseudolus. ps. Oh! Utterly wretched. cali. Then why aren’t you crying? ps. These eyes are pumice stone: even if I beg, I cannot get them to spit out a single tear. cali. How come? ps. I am descended from dry-eyed stock. cali. Are you going to help me at all? ps. What should I do for you? cali. Eheu! ps. ‘Eheu’? Well, don’t deprive yourself of this. I will provide it. 26

It seems therefore that male tears in comedy may have a status comparable to those of the elegiac lover of the dura puella, whose primary devotion, as Sharon James has argued (2003), is to his ego. Cf. James 2003: passim, on reading Propertius and Tibullus with Ovid’s Ars as a guide that helps the reader unmask the elegiac conventions. 27 On this scene and Pseudolus’ control of knowledge and action, see Sharrock (1996: 159).

Of Pain and Laughter

101

cali. Oh me, Oh my, I can’t borrow money anywhere— ps. Eheu! cali. And no money at home— ps. Eheu! cali. He is going to take the woman away tomorrow.— ps. Eheu! cali. Is this how you are helping me?— ps. I give what I got. And I have a store-house of this stuff at home . . .

Comic actors, then, would have been expected to cry on stage when interpreting a ‘heartbreaking piece of writing’. 28 Nevertheless, based on an incapacity to cry typical of his ‘kind’, Pseudolus does not follow Calidorus’ stage directions, ‘quin fles?’ (why aren’t you crying?); instead, he produces an ironic echo of crying, the interjection eheu. 29 Later in the same scene, Pseudolus formulates his objections against fletus as he scolds Calidorus, who apparently bursts into tears (96): ‘Quid fles cucule? uiues.’ (Why are you crying, you nincompoop? You will survive.) Tears, the clever slave says, are worthless unless Calidorus can weep silver drachmae (100–1) and thus spontaneously produce the means to fulfil his desire. It would seem, then, that fletus, the proper idiom of pain, was the prerogative of women and hopeless nincompoops (cuculi) 30 and that the audience watching this and other scenes of crying could have felt superior to both groups.

Scripted Sounds An interjection may well be a ‘barely articulated sound’, 31 but it involves a greater degree of verbalization and self-control than 28 Pseudolus has just read a text written in the first person by his master’s lover and so might well have been expected to imitate Phoenicium on stage. We have evidence indicating that, at least in late revivals of drama, actors would have at times imitated the body language (and possibly voices) of the characters whose words they were quoting; cf. Quint. Inst. 11. 3. 91. 29 This possibly means the genus servile, since the comic slaves almost never cry: the exception to this rule is Palaestrio’s display of fake affection for the Gloriosus (Mil. 1342–3). 30 I find Lilja’s suggestion (1983: 17 n. 12) that cuculus, because of its phonetic similarity to culus, had homosexual connotations, persuasive. 31 Prisc. Inst. 15. 41–2.

102

Of Pain and Laughter Table 3.2. Interjections denoting distress Plautus

au ei

Women

Men

1 1:22,415 –

– –

eheu

–

heu

2 1:11,207 3 1:7,471

total

Terence

38 1:3,642 18 1:7,690 7 1:19,774 63 1:2,197

Women 9 1: 718 – 1 1:6,462 1 1:6,462 11 1:587

Men – 22 1:1,919 1 1:42,221 3 1:14,073 26 1:1,623

weeping or sobbing. It is therefore remarkable that Roman playwrights generally prefer to place scripted echoes of pain in male speech (see Table 3.2). For example, all seventy-five instances of the exclamations ei (denoting anguish) and eheu (indicating grief) occur in the lines of male characters. 32 Heu, the shortened form of eheu, 33 also predominates in male speech. This tendency is peculiar to interjections denoting pain. Other interjections, for example, ah and vae, which express not only anguish but also other feelings such as anger and joy, are attributed to men and women with comparable frequency (see Table 3.3). 34 Notably, scripted sounds of pain are found in all the situations identified above as occasions for male weeping as well as in more complex variations on ‘id careo quod amo’ (I lack what I love). When Hegio in the Captivi (995) realizes that he has subjected his 32 My definitions are derived from the OLD. The numbers for ei in Table 3.2 (total of 38 occurrences for Plautus and 22 for Terence) are based on a Pandora search; Adams’s numbers (33 and 22 respectively) are slightly different (cf. 1984: 54–5). 33 Notably, the only female characters to use heu are matrons: Dorippa in the Mercator (701, 770) and Sostrata in the Hecyra (271). 34 Ah can denote a whole range of feelings, from pleasure to suffering. Vae is used to express the speaker’s anguish (with the first person pronoun) or compassion (with a third person pronoun or a noun), but when accompanying the second person it often denotes anger and stands for a curse rather than an expression of pity and compassion. For example, Philocrates in the Captivi 945 exclaims: ‘wretched me (uae misero mihi), because of me the best of all men is in peril’; his feelings are arguably those of anger and frustration rather than grief.

Of Pain and Laughter

103

Table 3.3. Ah Plautus

ah

Terence

Women

Men

Women

Men

4 1:5,603

18 1:7,690

6 1:1,007

41 1:1,029

own son to torture, he is one among many male characters in comedy to express guilt and regret with the interjection eheu. Compared to the abundance of masculine exclamations, the repertory of typically feminine sounds is far less impressive: only one interjection of pain—au—is reserved exclusively for women. This interjection is rather rare in Roman comedy: there are only ten instances of it (compared to the seventy-five examples of ei and eheu alone), only one of them in the Plautine corpus. (See Table 3.2.) The reason for this disparity may have something to do with the specific and peculiar context in which this interjection is used. As Donatus points out, au denotes the pain of not understanding. 35 In fact, every single woman to whom Terence assigns this interjection is mystified by some act of perfidy, always committed by a man, and always against a woman entitled to his protection. The speakers include matrons aghast at their husbands’ cruelty, 36 maids who suspect fellow slaves of being disloyal, 37 and the women from Thais’ household alarmed by the actions of the eunuch-turned-rapist. 38 The only Plautine example of au adds a grotesque twist to this usage. Here, the female speaker 35 Ad Eu. 899: au interiectio est perturbatae mulieris (‘au’ is an interjection of a confused woman); cf. Ad An. 751 and Ad Eu. 680. 36 Sostrata (Hau. 1015) reacts to her husband’s suggestion that they are raising a child, whom she adopted in secret, while Nausistrata is shocked to hear that her husband is prepared to mistreat a kinswoman (Ph. 803). 37 The nurse in the Adelphoe is stunned to learn that a trusted slave contemplates making their young mistress’s illicit affair public (Ad. 336: twice). The maid in the Andria is horrified to hear Davus, whom she considers an ally, suddenly denying that her mistress is a citizen (An. 781). 38 See Eu. 656, 680, 899; remarkably, there is only one occasion on which a woman articulates pain felt on her own account; in most of our examples, women suffer not because of loss of an object, but at the very thought of an injustice inflicted on another woman. The only interjection restricted to women expresses compassion and solidarity, arguably less violent and more altruistic feelings than the angst of separation associated with fletus.

104

Of Pain and Laughter

reacts to an extravagant story the parasite Gelasimus tells to illustrate his poverty, namely that he has sold his own tongue. The woman pretends to take his absurd claim at face value and exclaims: ‘au! | you have no tongue?’ (St. 259–60). This Plautine example involves an act of ‘betrayal’, just as au always does in Terence, but here the man has apparently committed treason against a part of his own body (whose grammatical gender happens to be feminine). 39 Au thus expresses indignation mixed with pity, a complex feeling in which Plautus may have had less interest than Terence. Possibly, Plautus’ predilection for weeping female characters also rendered the scripted au less useful. While the visceral sounds of pain tend to be associated with female characters, the sounds denoting pain, that is, symbols filtered through the intellect, are more often ascribed to male characters. It would thus seem that beneath the variations of scripted and unscripted sounds lies a deeper pattern of differentiation between male and female discourses of pain, one that depends on perceived correlations between gender and intellect. I will now scrutinize the common vocabulary of pain, searching for similar distinctions.

PAIN IN THE BODY, PAIN IN THE MIND Pain can be perceived and represented in many different ways. 40 Our own perceptions, often stressing the difference between 39 Narratives of injustice do, however, seem to lurk behind the humour of this strange joke, which evokes stories of voracious fathers willing to sacrifice their daughters for the sake of their own bellies. Among such tales is the plot of the Persa, in which the parasite ‘rents out’ his daughter to please his patron, as well as the Alexandrian story of the sacrilegious Erysichthon, the archetypal glutton, punished with perpetual hunger and so obliged to sell and resell his daughter Mnestra. This obscure story seems to have been popular with Hellenistic writers: it appears both in the scholia to Lycophron and in Antonius Liberalis; the most extensive version that has come down to us is by Ovid (Met. 8. 738–878); a similar story also appears in Callimachus’ Hymn to Demeter where Erysichthon is a young man who has no daughter; cf. Anderson (1972: 401). 40 Helen King e.g. observes that it is extremely difficult to translate the language used about the experience of pain in the Hippocratic corpus, esp. the expressions classifying pain as possessing various degrees of heat (1998: 118–20).

Of Pain and Laughter

105

‘psychological’ and ‘physical’ pain, are still marked by the Cartesian ‘theatre of the mind’ in which a dispassionate intellect observes and interprets the body’s reactions to external stimuli. 41 We should therefore note that the ancient vocabulary of pain does not always reflect this modern mind–body split. For example, the Greek word νÁ (and its cognates) can refer to both psychological and physical sensations, while à΄ÔÚ (and its cognates) refers predominantly to physical sensations. 42 The Latin dolor, like the Greek νÁ, describes suffering that affects a person’s body and mind, 43 though, as will become apparent later, it does seem to matter whether the pain originated with physical or emotional injury. 44

Dolor and Cruciatus To denote pain, Plautus and Terence commonly use the nouns dolor and cruciatus and the corresponding verbs dolere and cruciare. 45 Of 41 Descartes discusses sensations in his Principia paragraphs 190–206 (1973: viii/1. 319–28). The role of the mind as the central dispatcher is particularly clear in the discussion of pain in paragraph 97 (ibid. 321). On modern theories of pain since Descartes, see e.g. Melzack and Katz (2004: 13–17); the theories proposed in the last 30 years are surveyed in Asmundson and Wright (2004: 42–53). The current approach to pain, the so-called ‘Gate Control Theory’ (first introduced by Melzack and colleagues in 1965), undermines the duality of physical and mental pain, stressing instead the role of the central nervous system in every experience of pain. Differences in the neurology of pain are minimal, and it is doubtful that they result in significant variability among larger populations; cf. R. T. and S. T. Anderson (1992: 122). 42 See Konstan’s discussion of the absence of grief from Aristotle’s account of emotions (2006: 145–7) and his references to earlier literature. 43 Rey argues that a differentiation between physical and psychological pain was also absent from Homeric Greek (1995: 12). 44 Modern psychological research distinguishes between pain originating with nocioception (mostly tissue damage) and ‘psychogenic’ pain that does not originate with nocioception (Fordyce 1986: 59–60). The two are often combined: chronic pain leads to depression and psychogenic pain is known to increase nocioception (Merskey 1986: 100). There is also a large body of both psychological and neurophysiological research indicating that women report pain more often, respond differently to experimentally induced pain, and metabolize opioid drugs used in pain relief less effectively than men. Rollman (2004: 155) offers a concise summary of the literature using methods derived from human sciences, especially psychology. See also Fillingim’s useful introduction to Sex, Gender, and Pain (2000: 1–5) which addresses mostly medical questions. 45 Algor, the painful sensation of cold, is mentioned rarely and mostly construed as a feminine concern: Periplectomenus’ imaginary wife cites algor as a pretext to get

106

Of Pain and Laughter

these, the words derived from crux (cross) are infrequently used of or by women; we will, however, see one exception below. 46 For instance, women never pronounce the curse ‘i in malam crucem’ (go get yourself crucified), though they are sometimes the objects of this malediction. 47 Curiously enough, despite the obvious association with the physical pain of being impaled or crucified, both the noun and the verb tend to denote suffering that begins with emotional rather than physical distress. 48 Crucifixion is, by and large, a metaphor for a variety of mental states and emotions, for instance, doubt (An. 851), 49 anxiety over children, 50 love and jealousy, 51 or shame, 52 and is only rarely mentioned in connection with pain originating in the body. 53 Unlike the torments of cruciatus, which generally begin with perceptions rather than bodily harm, the suffering described by dolor and money to buy expensive wool for him (Mil. 687); Philolaches imagines that he will use it as punishment for old Scapha (Mos. 193), and there is the painful cold felt by the shipwrecked men and women in the Rudens (215, 528). 46 The three examples of crucior in Terence denote vexation rather than physical pain; cf. Am. 851, Eu. 95, 384, Hau. 81, 673, 1045. 47 See e.g. Cas. 641 where Lysidamus curses Pardalisca. On terms of abuse, see Lilja’s study (1965), which, in addition to a useful index of the terms, contains a chapter on social references (52–77). 48 Parker briefly discusses the historical background of the crucifixion in relation to Plautine comedy, pointing out that the first historic record of this practice dates to 217 bce (1989: 239). The Romans apparently took over this practice from the Carthaginians (cf. Barsby 1986: 126). It is worth noting, however, that the ancient authorities quoted to corroborate this thesis merely refer to the practice of crucifixion by the Carthaginians (Plb. 1. 11. 5) and the Romans (Liv. 22. 13. 9) in 3rd century bce. Moreover, if impalement and crucifixion were indeed recent arrivals, their metaphorical connotation of mostly mental torment is surprisingly well established in Plautus and Ennius (Skutsch, 11. Fr. 7). On Roman perceptions of all punishments that required a crux (stake or cross), see Hengel (1977: 33–45). 49 In An. 851 Simo is wondering whether or not Pamphilus is inside the house. 50 Mil. 719–20 (an old bachelor explains his unwillingness to marry) and Truc. 450 (a meretrix puerpera pretends to worry about her child). 51 Cas. 276; Cist. 206. 52 In Bac. 435, a youth worries that he has compromised his friend; in 1092 and 1099, old men are ashamed of being duped. 53 I am aware of two exceptions to this rule: in the Asinaria a cheeky slave threatens his young master with the pain of excruciatingly hard work (709); in the Curculio, the hypochondriac pimp uses crucior to describe the liver pain from which he suffers (237).

Of Pain and Laughter

107

Table 3.4. References to pain without nocioception Plautus

dolor, dolere cruciatus, cruciare total

Terence

Women

Men

Women

Men

2 1:11,207 4 1:5,603 6 1:3,735

9 1:15,380 17 1:8,142 26 1:5,323

3 1:2,154 – – 3 1:2,154

11 1:3,838 5 1:8,444 16 1:2,638

doleo can start either in the mind or the body (see Tables 3.4 and 3.5). Both men and women speak of dolor, but do so in somewhat different circumstances. Men tend to speak of disembodied pain, typically caused by a love or loss. Phaedria’s pain, caused by his confused feelings for Thais (Eu. 93), is a typical example of this kind of suffering. Sometimes, albeit rarely, men also complain of dolor that has a direct physical cause, such as flogging (Epid. 147) or illness (Cu. 236). (See Table 3.4.) Conversely, female dolor almost always involves the sufferer’s body. 54 It may have begun there, as in the case of labour pains, or may just as often have involved no physical injury. For example, Bromia has a headache from observing a divine epiphany (Am. 1059), while Selenium complains that love causes pain in her soul as well as her eyes (Cist. 60). Unlike their male counterparts, theatrical ‘women’ only exceptionally use doleo to refer to abstract suffering. 55 The female characters thus not only avoid the specialized vocabulary of intellectual distress (cruciatus, cruciare), but also tend to use the generic doleo, dolor in a particular way, suggesting that, regardless of its origin, pain usually ends up affecting the female body. (See Table 3.5.) 54 When unqualified, dolores often denote labour pains (Hec. 349; Ad. 289 and 486), cf. uterum dolet in Au. 691. 55 All the instances of dolor and doleo in male speech in Terence denote vexation and distress; out of the seven examples in female speech, only three refer to the feeling of anxiety; the other four denote physical pain. The Plautine instances are distributed more evenly: men speak fourteen times about physical pain and nine times about anxiety; women speak ten times about physical pain and twice about anxiety.

108

Of Pain and Laughter Table 3.5. References to pain with nocioception Plautus

dolor, dolere cruciatus, cruciare total

Terence

Women

Men

Women

Men

10 1:2,2415 –

14 1:9,887 2 1:69,211 16 1:8,651

4 1:1,6155 –

– –

–

–

10 1:2,2415

A Note on MiserSome attention should also be paid to the word miser and its cognates that have been prominent in earlier discussions of ‘female Latin’ (see Introduction). Ernout and Meillet consider this adjective ‘an expressive word of unknown origin’ (1967: 407). This modifier, meaning ‘that is to be pitied, wretched, unfortunate’ (OLD), describes the sufferer, rather than the pain itself: it denotes the consequences of pain for the sufferer. 56 To state that a person is to be pitied, one must look at him or her from the outside, comparing his/her situation against some common standards. Miser thus denotes pain as seen by the other. When uttered to describe oneself, this adjective denotes self-pity, the strange condition in which the sufferer splits into two parts, one part experiencing the pain, the other contemplating and describing it. 57 It is this particular emotion that is connoted by the idiom me miseram/me miserum, which is used far more often in its feminine form (see Table 3.6). Terence seems to resort almost automatically to this idiom when he wants to signal a woman’s distress, using it seven times more often than its masculine equivalent. 58 As for Plautus, his 56 I focus on the primary meaning of this adjective, but it should be noted that miser- recurs hundreds of times in comedy with varying shades of meaning. For example, in the Truculentus (119) the maid Astaphium, who is not particularly eager to open the door, comically exaggerates her irritation: ‘enicas me miseram quisquis est . . . ’ (Whoever you are, you are killing poor me). 57 On pity as emotion, see Konstan (2001: passim, esp. 1–25). 58 This usage was noted by Donatus (Ad Ad. 291. 4. 2). Adams (1984: 73–4) indicates that Terence uses miser/a in apposition to the subject of a first person verb

Of Pain and Laughter

109

Table 3.6. Me miseram(-um) Plautus

Terence

Women

Men

10 1:2,241

18 1:7,690

Women 12 1:538

Men 11 1:3,838

female characters exclaim me miseram a little more than three times more often than male characters exclaim me miserum. 59 Like this idiom, repetition of miser is associated with the discourse of self-pity. When Periphanes in the Epidicus (533–4) draws attention to the role of the self-pitying woman played by Philippa (526–32), he insinuates that it is not merely the use, but rather the abuse of miserthat is characteristic of the speech of distraught women. Indeed, the initial line of Philippa’s short canticum is remarkable for its triple reiteration of miser: si quid est homini miseriarum quod miserescat, miser ex animost, id ego experior. (Epid. 526) Whoever is wretched on account of [some] wretchedness, is truly wretched; This is exactly how I feel.

Such triple recitations of miser- do not occur in male speech. 60 Even double repetitions are quite rare and are restricted to the same once every 37 lines in the speech of women, and once every 300 lines in the speech of men. 59 According to Adams (1984: 73), women in Plautus employ the nominative of the adjective to refer to themselves 2.6 times more often than men, while the incidence of the accusative of exclamation me miseram is 3.4 times higher than me miserum in male speech. My calculations are presented in Table 3.6. 60 Conversely, misera, me miseram, me miserari reverberate in the cantica sung by Palaestra and Ampelisca, in the exchanges between the girls, and in their pleas for help. Cf. 189: ‘miseram me’ (wretched me!); 197a: ‘minus me miserer’ (I would feel less sorry for myself); 216a: ‘parentes hau scitis, miseri, me nunc miseram esse ita uti sum’ (my wretched parents, you don’t know that I am as wretched as I am). Here, the reiterated miser- might be justified by the effort to imitate the lamentations of tragedy, which, as Marx argues, Plautus would have found in his Greek original (1959: 90).

110

Of Pain and Laughter

circumstances as male weeping. 61 Lost treasure incites the most flamboyant of such male laments by the old miser Euclio, who passionately weeps: ‘ahhh! wretched me, I am wretchedly ruined’ (Au. 721: ‘heu me miserum, misere perii’). 62 Men also repeat miser when they are, have been, or fear that they will become the victims of physical violence. 63 These two uses of miser add another layer to the (thus far) uncomplicated assumption that female characters tend to be inarticulate and focus on the body. Women are not only associated with exuberant vocalizations of pain, but are also represented as especially likely to look upon themselves with pity and, in giving voice to this pity, to request the assistance of others. There is an exchange in the Cistellaria that may help us understand the discursive practice of representing women as commiserating with their own embodied pain. In this scene, Selenium, the gentle hostess of Gymnasium and her mother (see Chapter 1), bursts into tears and confesses: misera excrucior, mea Gymnasium: male mihi est, male maceror; doleo ab animo, doleo ab oculis, doleo ab aegritudine. (Cist. 59–60) Oh poor me, I am in torment, Gymnasium, my dear, I feel so bad, I am very weak, my entire soul is in pain, my eyes are in pain, I am all in pain from sorrow.

Her friend’s advice is to bury the pain deep in her chest and endure it. But Selenium does not think she can; her heart, she says, is in pain. Gymnasium reminds her then that women, as men claim, have 61 Adams (1984: 73) offers helpful statistics about the use of miser in Terence; my data seem to show a similar tendency for Plautus. Repetition of miser is linked to the loss of an object of sexual desire in the Pseudolus, where Calidorus appears on stage in a dejected state and announces that he indeed is ‘miserably miserable’ (13). Nicobulus in the Bacchides laments over loss of money (1101 and 1106). 62 See also Au. 462–4: ‘ueluti Megadorus temptat me omnibus miserum modis, | qui simulauit mei honoris mittere huc caussa coquos: | is ea caussa misit, hoc qui surruperent misero mihi’. 63 e.g. Sosia laments his fate when Mercury is beating him up (Am. 160, 167), as does the poor cook Congrio mistreated by Euclio in the Aulularia (409, 411). Nicobulus, who is afraid of the soldier, also falls into this category; cf. Bac. 853 and 862.

Of Pain and Laughter

111

no heart. Selenium shows no interest in debating this outrageous anatomical theory. For, while she does not know where her pain comes from, she is only too familiar with the pain itself: se. si quid est quod doleat, dolet; si autem non est—tamen hoc hic dolet. gy. amat haec mulier. (Cist. 67–8) se. If there is anything that hurts, it hurts. If not, nevertheless I am hurting here. gy. This woman is in love.

We can only guess which part of the body the actor playing Selenium would have been pointing to here in order to elicit Gymnasium’s diagnosis of ‘love’. His belly? Below his waist? Wherever he was pointing, the joke is still quite appropriate. The exchange itself constructs a woman’s (or at least a theatrical ‘woman’s’) anatomy as rather strange. It may or may not include a heart and may well have a spirit located near the eyes, but one thing is certain: it has a site of desire. This deformed body would be a suitable locus for feminine pain as represented by the vocabulary we have discussed. This pain, hard to contain, sometimes expressed without a single word, and linked to lack of self-control, seems to stand for the hypothetical pain of the other. By Plato’s definition of the comic, such grotesquely alien pain and the concomitant lack of self-knowledge (agnoia) would perhaps make women’s suffering a particularly fitting object of laughter. 64

DISCOURSES OF PAIN Generalizations based on statistics can be misleading, focusing as they do on select words, numbers, and proportions. In order to complete our understanding of the discourse of pain in Roman comedy, we 64 This coincides with the conclusions Lauren Taaffe draws from her study of women in Aristophanes, namely that ‘Femininity is represented by Aristophanes as the site of the ultimate comic figure: completely deceptive because she is not “real” ’ (1993: 138–9). My reasons here for identifying ‘women’ as particularly suitable objects of derision are, however, somewhat different: I place the emphasis on intellectual aporia rather than on general ‘shiftiness’.

112

Of Pain and Laughter

need to shift our perspective from general lexical patterns distributed throughout the œuvre of Plautus and Terence to specific discourses making fun of women’s bodies and minds in pain. I will focus on three themes: women’s references to childbirth, the empathetic speeches of the lady’s maid, and the lament of the two shipwrecked girls in Plautus’ Rudens. Whenever possible I will compare these narratives with male speech.

Nursing the Seeds of Pain Mothers, I observed in Chapter 1, speak of their children as though they were extensions of themselves. 65 Certainly, women would have had good reason to think that they were one with their children; after all, their future wellbeing depended on that of their children. 66 Yet it is worth noting that comedic mothers tend to shift their attention from their children’s urgent needs back to their own concerns. 67 Accounts of childbirth are an especially enlightening variant of this discourse of maternal self-pity. Such accounts, though rare, are strikingly negative. In addition to the well-known vignette of the virgo in labour and crying for help, the theme of childbirth comes to focus twice in comedy: once in a brief but telling allusion to the hardships of motherhood in the Epidicus (556–7) and again in a generous sample from a puerpera’s discourse in the Truculentus. In a manner befitting a genre wherein 65 The most outrageous case of this conflation is perhaps that of the pimp mother who uses the body of her daughter as though it were her own, repeatedly selling it to provide food for her household. Cf. As. 504–44 and Cist. 40–119. See also Fantham (2004) on the lenae and their daughters. 66 e.g. as Sharon L. James argued in two recent talks ‘Effeminate Elegy, Comic Women, and the Gender of Language’ (2005 APA) and ‘Revisiting Women’s Speech in Roman Comedy’ (Toronto 2007), comedy tends to portray mothers of boys as more assertive than mothers of girls. 67 Beside the examples discussed in Ch. 1, this contradiction also informs the speech of Myrrhina, the mother of Pamphilus’ wife in the Hecyra, whose daughter has just given birth to an illegitimate child by (as she thinks) an unknown father. Myrrhina (Hec. 516–17) pities herself and cites an immediate concern—what she should tell her husband. ‘Perii, quid agam? Quo me vortam? Quid viro meo respondebo | misera? nam audivisse vocem pueri visus est vagientis’ (I am lost! What should I do? Where should I turn myself? What should I tell my husband? Poor me! For it seems that he heard the voice of the crying child).

Of Pain and Laughter

113

the female body exists as a fiction, the latter stretch of text is a part of a play-within-a-play, staged by the clever courtesan Phronesium. 68 Her conversation with Diniarchus serves as a preface from which the audience learns that the courtesan is going to pretend to have given birth to a son. The soldier Stratophanes, whom she hopes to hoodwink, will be cast in the role of the father, while an infant stolen by the hairdresser will play the soldier’s offspring (Truc. 401–11). The playlet itself (we might call it Meretrix Puerpera) includes an introductory monologue (448–81), a dialogue between the mother and the father (482–550), and a conversation between the mother, the soldier, and a slave bringing a rival lover’s gifts (551–644). In scene 1, Phronesium complains about the anxiety new mothers feel. She then proceeds to inform us that the infant represents an important business investment for her: Puero isti date mammam. ut miserae matres sollicitaeque ex animo sunt cruciantque! edepol commentum male, quomque eam rem in corde agito, nimio—minus perhibemur malae quam sumus ingenio. ego prima de me, domo docta, dico. quanta est cura in animo, quantum corde capio dolorem—dolus ne occidat morte pueri: mater dicta quod sum, eo magis studeo uitae; (Truc. 448–57) Nurse this child! How miserable and worried mothers are! How they suffer! By God, what a clever fiction! When I think about it quite frankly, we are thought to be far less clever than we are by nature. I’m first to admit it, having learned it from my own example. How great is my anguish of mind, what torment I do feel in my heart, [fearing] that through the death of the child the plot could fail. Because I’m called its mother, I am all the more anxious for its life. 68 On the clever courtesan and her powerful gate-keeper, and the play’s intriguing affinities with Terence’s Eunuchus, see Fantham (2000: 290–9).

114

Of Pain and Laughter

Phronesium further explains that money is not everything: there is also the sheer pleasure of deception that every woman enjoys (465–70). This is an inborn propensity cultivated with skill and transmitted from mother to daughter (471). The heavy emphasis on the general nature of feminine malitia frames the ensuing description of the mise en scène as not just an isolated episode, but rather something that the members of the audience could witness at home. Insecurity about the offspring produced by legitimate wives is an old comic motif (cf. Arist. Thesm. 500–16), and even the noble matron in Terence’s Self-Tormentor is not above suspicion (cf. 1015–16). Through precise stage directions, the audience is being invited to look at childbirth as an act easily faked: the alleged mother puts on the attire proper for a puerpera (463–4), then lies down on a couch covered with a blanket, asking for her shoes to be removed and herbs to be burnt (475–81). Some water to wash the hands, and the ‘mother’ is ready to receive her duped husband. In scene 2 the maid Astaphium assures Stratophanes that the boy is already asking for sword and shield, which the vainglorious soldier takes as unmistakable proof of his paternity. To his self-important greetings, Phronesium responds with an accusation and a detailed description of her poor physical condition. Although the text (Truc. 526–8) is corrupt, it is quite clear that she is complaining about a number of different symptoms. She is in pain, is having trouble lifting her head, and is unable to walk on her own. More important, Phronesium’s account of her painful sensations seems to be purposefully contrasted with the point of view of the besotted ‘father’: strat. Mars peregre adveniens salutat Nerienem uxorem suam. quom tu recte prouenisti quomque es aucta liberis, gratulor, quom mihi tibique magnum peperisti decus. ph. salue qui me interfecisti paene uita et lumine †quidem ibi† magni doloris per uoluptatem tuam condidisti in corpus, quo nunc etiam morbo misera sum. strat. heia! haud ab re, mea uoluptas, tibi istic obuenit labos: filium peperisti, qui aedis spoliis opplebit tuas. ph. multo ecastor magis oppletis tritici opust granariis, ne, ille prius quam spolia capiat, hinc nos extinxit fames.

Of Pain and Laughter

115

strat. habe bonum animum. ph. Sauium sis pete hinc ah nequeo caput tollere, ita dolet . . .69 (515–26) st. Coming from abroad, Mars greets his wife Neriene. 70 May I extend my congratulations to you, since you have recovered and have been blessed with offspring, since you have given birth to a great glory for me—and yourself. ph. Hail to you, you who have nearly killed me, shut off my life and light (. . . ) of tremendous pain, for your pleasure, in my body, you have embedded a disease and I’m even now sick from it. st. Whoa! My darling, you’ve not suffered for nothing! You’ve borne a son who will fill your house with the spoils of war! ph. Before he captures booty, we are in a much greater need of granaries filled with wheat, by Castor, or starvation will finish us! st. Cheer up. ph. Try to kiss me here. . . . Ah . . . I cannot lift my head; it hurts so much . . .

This dialogue splits the mother’s and the father’s worlds into inside and outside: the duped father describes the (male) infant as seen from the outside of the household. He defines birth in terms of economy and prestige: Phronesium’s household has been ‘increased’ by her giving birth to the pride (decus) of both parents. The mother, by contrast, describes the child from within, not only from within the household, by stressing the costs of his upbringing (523–4), but also from within her own body, as the source of her morbid symptoms. Her discourse is virtually confined to her distress. The child to whom the father refers in positive terms (aucta liberis, decus, filium) is absent from the mother’s words. Instead, she speaks about her own body, describing it as a place wherein one can bury the seeds of 69 Dolet, proposed by Spengel for do ut of B, D, and C is printed both by Lindsay (1904) and by Enk (1953). For mea sponte meaning, ‘without help’, see Spengel (1868: ad loc.). 70 Neriene, the wife of Mars, is not necessarily a comic mistake on the part of the soldier. Aulus Gellius (13. 23) cites e.g. a prayer to Neria Martis and two lines from a play, Neaera, by Plautus’ contemporary Licinius Imbrex, which contains a pun on the names Neaera and Neriene: ‘nolo ego Neaeram te vocent, set Nerienem | cum quidem Mavorti est in conubium data’ (I don’t want you to be called Neaera, but Neriene, since indeed you have been given in marriage to Mars). See also Hofmann (2001: 179–80) and his references.

116

Of Pain and Laughter

pain that will germinate into illness (morbo). The ‘mother’ appears to be overwhelmed by her sensations and unable to see beyond them. Let us now correlate this scene with the Freudian joking trio of teller, butt, and audience. At the level of the plot, it is Phronesium who is the trickster, while the soldier plays the part of the dupe whose naïveté would provide the audience with the feeling of superiority (according to ancient theories) or humorous pleasure (according to Freud). The courtesan’s maid Astaphium may stand for just such a sympathetic internal listener. But the other audience, the one seated in the subsellia, would have had yet another perspective from which to look at the stage. This audience would have contemplated both the soldier’s undoing and the anatomy of Phronesium’s cleverness. And this cleverness, malitia, as she explains, is a generic feature of all mothers. It is she and other women who practise secret adoption who are ultimately on display; it is their malitia that is exposed. At the end of the Truculentus, Phronesium may triumph over all her lovers, but Plautus and company have seen through and exposed her tricks. The ‘woman’ is thus the butt of the playwright’s humour that ultimately frames not only the courtesan’s enactment of post-partum depression, but all women’s propensity to discuss pain, as disingenuous and manipulative. Men who listen to women’s complaints are cast as objects of derision as well. The visions of parenthood in the exchange between Philippa and Periphanes in the Epidicus are contrasted in a similar fashion. The man represents his role as a father in entirely positive terms. He insinuates that, by acknowledging his daughter and sending money for her upbringing, he did a favour not only to his daughter, but also to her mother and her grandmother: pe. meministin? . . . at in Epidauro— . . . . . . uirgini pauperculae tuaeque matri me leuare paupertatem? (Epid. 554–6) pe. Do you remember? . . . in Epidaurus— . . . How I alleviated the poverty of a poor little girl and of your mother?

Of Pain and Laughter

117

Philippa strongly disagrees with this image of the benefactor of three generations of women. Instead, her words seem to accord with Phronesium’s definition of fatherhood: ( . . . ) ph. tun is es qui per uoluptatem tuam in me aerumnam opseuisti grauem? (Epid. 556–7) ph. Are you the one who, for the sake of your [own] pleasure, has sown grievous sorrow in me?

Just like Phronesium, Philippa describes the act of begetting a child as an act of sowing distress in the mother. Both characters speak of childbearing as though it were a disease whereby the boundaries of the woman’s body are violated and foreign objects implanted in her flesh to produce a painful growth—the child. Philippa’s reference to aerumna construes this child/outgrowth as both inseparable from the mother and a lifelong source of pain. Such an interpretation of motherhood caricaturizes women’s concern for their children’s wellbeing as fearful, negative, and ultimately selfish. Quite remarkably, both male characters accused of causing all this pain react by demonstrating affection. Each seeks physical contact with the body upon which he has inflicted pain. The soldier tries to kiss Phronesium and offers her several gifts (Truc. 527–50). Periphanes forgets his earlier mistrust, confirms his identity, and wants to hold Philippa’s hand (Epid. 558). Feminine references to pain are shown to elicit pity in their partners, who seem obliged to provide protection for the mothers of their children. The discourse of maternal pain is thus exposed as a means that mothers use to appeal to their partners’ compassion and so to manipulate them. On a more abstract level, we may observe that the two references to childbirth and motherhood stress the permeability of the boundaries of the female body. Because of her permeable boundaries, the figure of the mother threatens logical systems of contrasting identities— self and other, man and woman, parent and child. The mother’s pathological condition of first physical and then emotional contiguity to her offspring makes her into an ambiguous and (in terms defined

118

Of Pain and Laughter

by Kristeva) abject figure. 71 While the position of the mother is arguably unique, the tendency to confuse self and other that we have observed in the lines assigned to mothers is echoed in other feminine discourses, most notably in the speech of the ancilla.

The Ears of her Soul . . . We can begin with Bromia in Plautus’ Amphitruo. She runs onto the stage all in a panic to share with the audience the news of Alcumena’s miraculous and painless delivery. In spite of this good news, the messenger is far from joyful: Spes atque opes uitae meae iacent sepultae in pectore, neque ullast confidentia iam in corde, quin amiserim; ita mi uidentur omnia, mare, terra, caelum, consequi iam ut opprimar, ut enicer. me miseram, quid agam nescio. ita tanta mira in aedibus sunt facta. uae miserae mihi, animo malest, aquam uelim. corrupta sum atque absumpta sum, caput dolet, neque audio, nec oculis prospicio satis. nec me miserior femina est neque ulla uideatur magis. Ita erae meae hodie contigit. (Am. 1053–61) All the dreams and riches of my life lie buried in my heart and any faith that once was there I have now lost. The world entire, it seems, the sea, the earth and sky have conspired to crush and slay me. O wretched life, what am I going to do! Such strange things happened in the house. O my wretched life My spirit feels faint; I would like some water. I am weak and exhausted. My head aches. I can’t hear well and my eyesight is weak. No woman is more miserable than I am—nor could any seem to be— such things happened today to my mistress. 72 71 See Kristeva’s discussion of the child’s first attempts to distinguish him/herself from the mother as a form of abjecting the maternal body (1980: 20). 72 Cf. Christenson 2000: ad 1060 and 1061: ‘neither is there a woman more wretched than I am, nor could any woman be thought to be more so’ | ‘Such things did happen to my mistress today’.

Of Pain and Laughter

119

This is Bromia’s first appearance on stage; her initial task is thus a convincing enactment of the damsel-in-distress routine. She begins her performance with a confession of utter diffidence, blaming it on nothing less than a cruel conspiracy of the elements. While supernatural forces are not out of place in a plot that draws upon Hercules’ miraculous birth, Bromia’s theory that this commotion was aimed at her reflects the comically distorted perception she has of herself. The connection between Bromia’s symptoms and the circumstances that provoked them is equally laughable: ‘No one seems more miserable than I ; such things happened to my mistress’. The servant obviously thinks of ‘I’ as intimately entwined with ‘my mistress’. She not only entertains a false opinion of her own importance (recall the victims of delusion whom Plato describes in the Philebus), but also is unable to tell herself apart from her mistress. Bromia is not the only ancilla who considers herself an extension of her mistress. 73 For example, Syra from the Mercator, upon discovering a prostitute in her mistress’s house, also bewails her own misery (Mer. 681), while Astaphium in the Truculentus declares that she is heartbroken at the very mention of Phronesium’s (purported) labour pains (Truc. 195–6). Pythias pities herself when discovering that Pamphila has been raped (Eu. 643). Since such utterances have no equivalent in the lines of male slaves, they cannot merely reflect the economic dependence of the maid on her owner, but must instead constitute a stylized discourse of intimacy and compassion gendered as feminine. The miniature skit on adultery in the second poem in book 1 of Horace’s Sermones (126–34) bears witness to the pervasiveness of this stereotype. When, in the background of the drama, Horace introduces the ancilla, all he needs to do, to identify her for his reader, is to say ‘accomplice, she may exclaim “poor me!” ’ (‘miseram se conscia clamet’). I know of no male slave who declares that the suffering of his owner causes him physical pain, though there is certainly no shortage of comic situations that could accommodate this type of soliloquy. 74 On the contrary, as we will 73 This stereotype can even be detected in Homer’s description in the Iliad of the weeping women who, ‘under the pretext of Patroklos’ death’, ‘moan each one over her own sorrows’ (Il. 19. 301–2). 74 Tranio in the Mostellaria, upon seeing that his master’s father has returned from abroad, would have good reason to utter such a monologue on behalf of Philolaches,

120

Of Pain and Laughter

soon see, male slaves often speak of pain, including their own, with indifference. 75 A scene in the Casina (621–719) outlines some of the possible audience responses to the ancilla routine. As a part of the play-withina-play directed by Cleustrata for the benefit of her lecherous husband Lysidamus, her maid Pardalisca must act as a messenger. She comes out of the house where Casina is allegedly trying to murder her mistress, to tell Lysidamus what is happening. But a distraught ancilla makes a very poor messenger. Her words come with extreme difficulty for, as she claims, ‘fear chains the speech of the tongue’. 76 And even when words do arise, they turn out to be less concerned with what has happened inside the house and more with what is happening inside the maid’s mind and body. Nulla sum, nulla sum, tota, tota occidi, cor metu mortuomst, membra miserae tremunt, nescio unde auxili, praesidi, perfugi mi aut opum copiam comparem aut expetam: tanta factu modo mira miris modis intus uidi, nouam atque integram audaciam. caue tibi, Cleustrata, apscede ab ista, opsecro, ne quid in te mali faxit ira percita. (Cas. 621–8) I am finished, I am finished, I am totally, totally expired. My heart has died from fear. My limbs tremble. I don’t know where to find or seek help, protection, refuge, or even a chance for assistance. Such strangely performed strange acts but he never does. Even Messenio in the Menaechmi, posing as a model of servitude, never makes such a claim. 75 A male slave never identifies himself with his master’s feelings, typically keeping a ‘mocking distance’. Cf. Leonidas and Libanus in Asin. 591–745, Palinurus in Cur. 1–95, Epidicus in Epid. 337–81, Messenio in Men. 226–50, Milphio in Poen. 129–209, and Pseudolus (Ps. 1–131). The closest equivalent to the whining of the ancillae is the relatively sober exclamation of Tranio in Mos. 348–9: ‘Iuppiter supremus summis opibus atque industriis | me periisse et Philolachetem cupit erili filium’. (Supreme Jupiter, with all his might and effort, desires to ruin me and my master’s son, Philolaches). 76 ‘Timor praepedit dicta linguae’ (653).

Of Pain and Laughter

121

have I seen inside, a new and fresh insolence. Be careful, Cleustrata, please keep away from her so that, agitated by anger, she does not hurt you.

Pardalisca claims that her organs are affected by symptoms very similar to those described by Bromia in the Amphitruo. Ostensibly desperate for help, she instructs Lysidamus to give her a chest massage, demands to be fanned (Cas. 636–8), and later on to be held by both ears. Lysidamus, the internal spectator of Pardalisca’s act, is not fooled about the utility of her requests. He responds with a curse, mocking the girl’s obsessive attention to her body, naming the body parts involved and specifying that, unless she gets to the point soon, he is going to knock her brains out: pectus, auris, caput teque di perduint! nam nisi ex te scio, quidquid hoc est, cito, hoc iam tibi istuc cerebrum dispercutiam, excetra tu . . . (Cas. 642–4) May the gods damn you, chest, ears, and head. For, unless I learn from you soon what this is about, I am going to knock out those brains of yours, you viper . . .

The impatient spectator perceives the monologue of the ancilla, inviting him to pay attention to her body, as improper and ridiculous, but not unappealing. As soon as Pardalisca reacts to the threat with the flattering ‘my master’, the man calms down and adopts a suave, almost flirtatious tone: ‘what would you like me to do, my servant?’ The exchange ends with Lysidamus promising the maid several gifts if she pleads with Cleustrata and Casina as enticingly (blande) as she usually does (Cas. 705–12). 77 Yet whom and in what manner does the maid typically coax? Chances are that the vigorous paterfamilias is referring to himself and that her submissive reaction to his threat of beating her (a few lines earlier) corresponds to his ideas about the feminine mode of coaxing. 78 Lysidamus’ reaction would suggest that the peculiarly 77

McCarthy comments on the sexual nature of Pardalisca’s role in this scene (2000:

105). 78 It is just such a masochistic declaration that one of the Bacchis sisters uses to charm Nicobulus. Threatened with being beaten, she answers (Bac. 1172–3): ‘patiar,

122

Of Pain and Laughter

corporeal language of headaches and trembling limbs was expected to both amuse and titillate the audience. Perhaps between the lines describing headaches and tremors there was a message that the maids’ (fictional) bodies communicated to ancient spectators. Let us try to reconstruct it.

Pain Embodied Ancilla speeches are typically disordered yet highly detailed descriptions of symptoms. Recall how Bromia’s excited report of Hercules’ birth begins with an account of her own physical and emotional discomforts. Her ‘sore spirit’ is listed along with a request for water, and her physical symptoms—headache, plugged ears, and blurred vision—are enumerated with the precision of a medical diagnosis. 79 Such descriptions appear only in the lines of female characters. 80 While it is not unthinkable for a distraught man to announce that his heart (Bac. 1159; Mos. 149) or his spirit (Mer. 388) is in pain, only female characters fritter away their anguish in confused recitations of minor pangs. 81 Let us compare this peculiar image of the suffering body with medical discourses.

non metuo ne quid mihi doleat quod ferias’ (I will endure it. I am not afraid that it will hurt when you attack me). The man is rather taken with her and exclaims: ‘ut blandiloquast, ei mihi, metuo’ (what a sweet-talker she is! Oh . . . I fear for myself). 79 Am. 1059–60: ‘caput dolet, neque audio, nec oculis prospicio satis’ (My head hurts; I can neither hear nor see well enough with my eyes). This tendency to describe pain in the entire body even when its source is clearly psychological, which I observed when discussing the distribution of dolor, can also be seen in the lines of Selenium, the girl in love in the Cistellaria, who complains that her entire soul, eyes, and person are sick and in pain (Cist. 60). 80 The association of pain and disease with feminine discourse seems to be exploited in Curculio, where the pimp Lycus is portrayed as both sick and obsessed with his disease (cf. 216–50). Lycus’ fascination with Asclepios is named as the very reason why he presented no threat to Planesium’s pudicitia (698–700). It is assumed that the pimp would otherwise have undertaken Planesium’s sexual initiation. Cf. Cur. 58 where Palinurus expresses doubt that Phaedromus’ beloved can be pudica while living with the pimp. 81 e.g. Alcesimarchus’ speech describing the tortures of love (Cist. 206–28) differs from the passages below in that it does not mention physical pain or any organs affected, and uses the motif of torture as an abstract concept.

Of Pain and Laughter

123

While we do not have any Roman medical sources exactly contemporary with Plautus and Terence, the extant medical treatises, both earlier and later than our texts, do represent pain as gendered. 82 For example, Celsus, the first-century ce encyclopedist, regarded various types of pain as correlated with the sufferer’s age, temperament, and gender, saying that some types were more likely to be experienced by women. 83 Celsus’ younger contemporary, the Hippocratic clinician Aretaeus of Cappadocia, theorized that pain was inversely proportional to tissue density. 84 Given the widespread beliefs about the loose consistency of female flesh, 85 Aretaeus would have been implying that women feel all sorts of pain with greater intensity than men do. One disease medical theories construed as feminine was hysteria. According to the Hippocratic treatise De virginum morbis, this malady was likely to affect young women who suffered from an excess of blood collecting in the womb (Littré, viii. 466–8). 86 As the blood rushed from the womb up to the heart and lungs, it would make the heart sluggish and cause insanity. The characteristic symptoms found in De virginum morbis include tremor and the feeling that the heart has stopped from fear (466. 8–9; cf. Cas. 622). Aretaeus (De caus. 2. 11. 4–6) also supports this theory and discusses some of the symptoms we have encountered in Plautus. For example, a hysterical woman becomes sluggish and weak and loses strength in her knees (466. 10). She suffers from vertigo, headache, and a heaviness of the head. It would seem, then, that comedic ‘women’ frightened by extraordinary events present the physical symptoms of hysteria. 87 82 The mechanisms of pain were first described by Herophilus of Alexandria; see Von Staden (1989: 115–24) and Solmsen (1961: 150). 83 84 So Rey (1995: 26–7). Ibid. 29–30 and her references. 85 The medical writers consider a woman’s flesh to be softer, moister, and more porous than a man’s (Litré, viii. 571=De Glandis 16; Litré, viii. 10–12=De mulierum affectibus 1. 1). In Aristotle’s opinion, women have softer bones as well as wet, cold, and ‘uncooked’ flesh (GA 766b17–18). Similar concepts were later to play an important role in the theories of Galen of Pergamum, who commented on woman’s colder and more sluggish flesh (De usu 14. 6). See King (1998: 28–9) for more references to the medical lore. 86 Philippa, whose speech I have quoted several times, is not a virgin, but as a woman living without a partner would, according to the Hippocratic standards, be in a comparable condition. 87 See Am. 1057 and Cist. 59 on fatigue and trembling limbs, Cas. 622 on ‘numbness of heart’, Am. 1058 on headache, Am. 1059 and Cist. 60 on impaired vision, and Am. 1058 on impaired hearing.

124

Of Pain and Laughter

Theatrical ‘women’ in general could also be said to suffer from the mental symptoms of hysteria as described in De virginum morbis (466. 8). Such symptoms were expected to occur when the mind, having been exposed to terrible visions, conceives ‘the desire to love death as though it were a form of the good’ (ibid.). The severity of a morbid reaction was thought to depend not only on the sufferer’s physical constitution, but also on her or his (sic!) mental capacities. While virgins, we are told in De virginum morbis, were physiologically more prone to excess of blood, gruesome and often fatal visions could affect all women, as well as some men (ibid. 466. 4). While the sexual aspects of hysteria may have been oversimplified and dramatized in secondary literature, it remains true that sexual abstinence is often cited as a cause of feminine diseases and sexual intercourse as a therapy. 88 Such prescriptions would have appealed to the popular imagination. The belief that a woman’s malaise can at times be symptomatic of her sexual needs may have contributed to the vaguely erotic aura that surrounds the chaotic description of maiden bodies. We will soon meet two other women who suffer from hysterical morbidity, but first, a few words must be said about male discourses of bodily pain (or lack thereof).

On the Back and its Slave In contrast to the ancillae and their desultory descriptions of discomfort, male slaves very rarely complain of physical pain. This fact is all the more surprising when we consider that references to slaves subjected to whipping, shackles, and crucifixion are so frequent in Plautus that, as Erich Segal has put it, torture ‘may well be called an obsession on the part of the playwright as well as his characters’ (1968: 140). 89 However, as Holt N. Parker observed in his article on the Plautine jokes about torture (1989), these omnipresent threats are 88

See King’s exhaustive discussion of hysteria in the ancient medical texts and her critique of the modern interpretations (1998: 205–46). Female health in general was contingent on intercourse, cf. Dean-Jones (1994: 126–9). 89 This statement holds true for Plautus or Naevius (cf. Parker 1989: 233 n. 1), but references to beatings in Terence are relatively rare. Spranger (1984: 84–6) lists all pertinent passages. Note that female slaves are not immune to being beaten. We have the example of the old Staphyla whom Euclio constantly threatens with physical

Of Pain and Laughter

125

never carried out on the boisterous servi callidi. Parker theorizes that the clever slave, always acting on behalf of his young master, in fact represents his young master’s desire to rebel against his father and therefore avoids being beaten (1989: 241–2). 90 It is also worth noting that very often it is the slave himself who jokes about past or future tortures. In this respect, the Plautine setting is reminiscent of the context Freud describes for gallows humour. Like the criminal from the Freudian anecdotes—about to be hanged, yet joking about his own neck—the Plautine slave often jokes about, rather than laments, the horrors of whipping. The necessary Freudian splitting of the self into the teller and object of the joke may be reflected in the numerous instances of the comic slave speaking of body parts that are about to be punished, as though they were separate from himself. Consider the cook who, worried that dinner will be late, exclaims, ‘My back is in trouble’ (Men. 275: ‘vae tergo meo’), as though the rest of him were not concerned. The slave’s back, and not the slave himself, is the object of punishment; he is there merely to tell his back-story. 91 As the slave’s only true possession (Ps. 1325), the tergum is the treasury from which he pays his debts (As. 276) and the only friend to whom he remains unquestionably loyal. 92 Conversely, some slaves go so far in their estrangement from their own backs as to claim not to care at all for this body part. Epidicus’ declaration that he ‘does not give a whip’ for his back is a particularly striking specimen of such humour (Epid. 348). In the same spirit, some prospective victims express tender concern for the instruments of torture. Tyndarus in the Captivi worries that many a wretched twig will die on his back (Capt. 650), while Milphio in the Poenulus reminds his master of just how much leather he has used up whipping him (Poen. 138–9). punishment. Halisca in the Cistellaria (703) also fears for her skin (corium) when she loses her casket. 90 Very young men were apparently beaten by their teachers; the paedagogus in the Bacchides fondly recalls how the teacher punished his pupil until his skin was as colourful as a nurse’s clothes (434). 91 While the back is the protagonist of most torture jokes, the skin, sides, shins, cheeks, or head may be the objects of such comments; cf. Olympio in Cas. 337: ‘quis mihi subveniat aut tergo aut capiti aut cruribus?’ (Who will help me or my back or my thighs?) 92 Messenio (Men. 985) claims that his actions show their loyalty to his back.

126

Of Pain and Laughter

In the images of the slaves’ tortured bodies, we can catch glimpses of the cruel reality that underlies such jokes. The slave’s rugged skin reads like an album of past whippings; 93 the snapshots feature the back stripped of its skin (Ep. 65), purple-red and about to turn black (Rud. 1000), with bruises so colourful that Zeuxis and Apelles could not have painted them with richer hues (Ep. 626). Yet however picturesque the details, the torture jokes remain removed from reality not only because their tellers commonly avoid punishment, but also because they speak of torture with the detachment characteristic of gallows humour. In Freudian terms, torture jokes would represent the triumph of the ego over reality. 94 Indeed, the slave’s ability to elevate himself over his pain is an ultimate feat of cunning, a glorious victory of ingenium over the demands of the body. Significantly, such intellectual triumphs over pain are the prerogative of the male slave and, as such, are almost never granted to theatrical ‘women’. 95 Female slaves are instead represented as strongly affected by their pain and unable to comprehend it (recall Selenium in the Cistellaria). In order to explore the modes and reasons such lack of awareness entails, I now turn to a peculiar tragicomic play concerned with knowledge.

APORETIC LANDSCAPES

On Looking and Seeing Plautus’ tragicomedy Rudens (the Rope) 96 features two damsels-indistress, Palaestra and Ampelisca, and emphasizes this female duo’s 93 Such telltale scars, shaped like oyster shells (Poen. 397), become the token of a slave’s identity: Sosia in the Amphitruo is willing to recognize Sosia-Mercury on the condition that the god’s back has the same oyster-shaped scars as his (Am. 446). See also Rud. 753–4, where Trachalio calls to witness the pimp Labrax’s back and its scars to prove that the pimp used to be a slave. 94 Freud, GE. 1955: xiv. 384. SE 1961: xxi. 162. 95 The only exception I know of is Staphyla in the Aulularia who imagines herself hanging from a noose, wittily comparing her dead body to the letter ‘I’ (76–8). 96 The name comes, according to Marx (1959: 186–7), from the tug-of-war scene in which two slaves pull a rope (cf. rudentem in 938, 1015, and 1030); it is worth noting that popular etymology connected rudens with rudo, rudere, meaning: (a) ‘to roar, bellow’, (b) ‘bray’ (so OLD). As attested in Plautus (Rud. 1015), rudens was originally scanned with a long ‘u’, like rudo. The ancient association, though not

Of Pain and Laughter

127

cognitive deficiencies. 97 Perception is first underscored in the prologue spoken by the star Arcturus, who boasts about his bright light (1–6), implying that his capacity to see surpasses even his astonishing visibility. We gods, he says, see everything even when we are not seen. 98 The ability to see everything is also the privilege of the members of the theatrical audience with whom Arcturus shares some of his divine knowledge. He explains that they are looking at the seashore near Cyrene and that the house on stage belongs to an Athenian named Daemones, who lost his daughter several years before. Unbeknownst to the father, but known to the gods and spectators, the girl (Palaestra) has been living in nearby Cyrene. The pimp who owns her has recently attempted to carry her away to Sicily in secret from her devoted Athenian admirer. Yet Arcturus has foiled the pimp’s plans by causing his ship to sink. The first two scenes take place near Daemones’ cottage. The senex, so far unaware of the pending encounter with his daughter, is repairing the damage Arcturus’ storm caused to his roof. Meanwhile, the young Athenian Pleusicles is looking for the treacherous pimp; he accosts Daemones and his servant in the hope of obtaining some clues. The two men look at each other, but neither recognizes the other. Pleusicles leaves as soon as some shipwrecked people become visible at a distance; the moment he has left, Daemones and his slave notice two shipwrecked girls on another part of the beach. The old Athenian then observes with utter indifference his daughter’s justified linguistically, is understandable in light of the references to the loud and screeching noise produced by a ship’s cables (e.g. Verg. A. 3. 561). 97 On Rudens as tragicomedy, see Marx (1959: 274–8). Fear is often pointed out as the reason behind the lamentations of the mulierculae flentes in the Rudens. Palaestra calls herself timida (188); Ampelisca describes her state of mind as metus (Rud. 232). See also Rud. 348–50: ‘ex malis multis metuque summo capitalique ex periculo . . . recepit’ (after many misfortunes, extreme fear, and mortal danger, [Ptolemocratia] received us). Tears and anxiety are associated as Sceparnio describes the frightened girls in the temple, embracing a statue and crying; (Rud. 559–61): ‘duae mulierculae . . . flentes . . . nescioquem metuentes miserae’ (two wretched little women weeping and afraid of someone). It may be worth noting that Plautus uses the adjective timidus mostly to describe the mentality of female personae. See Am. 526, 1079; Bac. 106; Cas. 630, 632; Cur. 649; Epid. 533; Rud. 75, 188, 366, 409. There are only five examples of fearfully shy males: Epid. 61; Mer. 220 and 222; Mos. 1041; Ps. 576. 98 Cf. Rud. 12: qui noscamus (so that we learn) and Rud. 16: scit (he knows).

128

Of Pain and Laughter

fight for her life. As Daemones and his slave watch people wrestle amidst the waves, they comment on the shipwreck victims’ struggles with tender contempt: ‘little people, how small you are!’ (homunculi quanti estis). 99 Yet these spectators are themselves homunculi being observed by other spectators, who, in turn, according to the prologue, are being watched by divine eyes. In this hierarchy of understanding, human knowledge is contingent on a felicitous connection between looking and seeing. Gods grant the power to see to those who merit it: Daemones will receive a prophetic dream, a gift that will not be granted to the pimp.

The Girls at the Ends of their Ropes Since the initial scenes of the Rudens imply that, the more deserving one is, the better one can see, it seems significant that the heroines of the play are introduced to the audience as those who err. It is Daemones’ slave Sceparnio who first notices the young women. He draws attention to the fearful posture of the first girl and the wrong direction chosen by the second one (174–5); that one, he predicts, will go astray (176: errabit). As the first of the girls, Palaestra, appears on stage, her canticum opens with an epigrammatic reflection on the deep rift between narratives of suffering and suffering itself: Nimio hominum fortunae minus miserae memorantur quam in usu, experiundo is datur acerbum. (Rud. 185–6) In stories the fates of people are far less miserable than is the bitterness they experience in practice.

But she quickly proceeds to complain about her clothes: <satin> hoc deo complacitumst, me hoc ornatu ornatam in incertas regiones timidam eiectam. (Rud. 187–8) Has this really pleased the god to have me cast out, clothed in this clothing, frightened, onto those unfamiliar shores? 99

Cf. Rud. 162–80: mulierculas (little women).

Of Pain and Laughter

129

This complaint represents the first in a series of innuendos regarding the girls’ inadequate garb. 100 The actor would obviously have played the role of Palaestra in a state of dis-dress, exposing the character’s vulnerability and his own body. Her canticum further highlights her desperate need for guidance, both in the purely literal sense of finding her way out of what she presumes to be a foreign wilderness and in the more metaphorical sense of advice. Her predicament seems to find its geographical equivalent in the concise depiction of the wild and inhospitable landscape between the rocks and the sea where she is wandering: nunc quam spem aut opem aut consili quid capessam? ita hic sola solis locis compotita [sum]. hic saxa sunt, hic mare sonat neque quisquam homo mihi obuiam uenit. (Rud. 204–6a) What hope or help or advice can I apprehend? so alone I have reached lonely places. rocks are on this side, sea on that one. No man at all crosses my path.

Thus Palaestra (like Bromia, Pardalisca, and Philippa) feels powerless and unable even to imagine where to search for help, unless someone can advise her. Without a guide to point her in the right direction, she is alone (sola) in the wilderness (solis locis). As her monologue develops, the parallel between the damsel’s state of mind and the landscape, between her inability to find a way out and her inability to find a path, becomes even clearer: hoc quod induta sum, summae opes oppido, nec cibo nec loco tecta 101 quo sim scio: quae mihi spes qua me uiuere uelim? nec loci gnara sum nec† diu† hic fui. 100 Palaestra mentions her attire again (200) and yet again, suggesting that her outfit does not quite cover her (207–8). Later we read that the girls probably should not go anywhere in garments so wet (250), and indeed, the priestess is at first shocked that they dare approach a temple dressed as they are (265–265a). 101 Marx, commenting on Rud. 207 (1959: 93), observes that tecta is in itself an allusion to both shelter and clothing (bedeckende Kleidung).

130

Of Pain and Laughter saltem aliquem uelim qui mihi ex his locis aut uiam aut semitam monstret, ita nunc hac in illac eam incerta consili nec prope usquam hic quidem cultum agrum conspicor. algor, error, pauor, me omnia tenent. (Rud. 207–15) What I wear is in fact the best of my resources. I do not know where I can find food or a place to protect myself. What hope is left to me that would make me want to live? I do not know this place, nor have I been here [for long]. I wish that someone were here who would at least show me either a road or a path out of this place, so am I at a loss for advice whether to go this way or that. Neither, indeed, do I see anywhere near here a cultivated spot. Cold, incertitude, and fear hold me all.

As Sceparnio predicted, Palaestra gets everything wrong: she accuses the gods who have intervened on her behalf of injustice, 102 refers to her own country as an ‘unknown land’ and terms the neighbouring fields ‘uncultivated’. 103 While optical laws need not apply to the stage, the girl’s blindness, along with her desire to find a cultus ager, seems symbolic. This correlation is likely Greek in origin, as both the absence of physical passage and mental helplessness converge in the Greek word IÔÒfl·, which renders the lack of intellectual resources as a lack of ¸ÒÔÈ, passages or paths. 104 The word ¸ÒÔÚ, as Detienne and 102 Cf. Rud. 189–200; the members of the audience would have just heard the story of Arcturus’ intervention on Palaestra’s behalf and would have perceived the irony of her accusations against the ‘god’ who caused her undeserved suffering. They would also have seen the second girl, Ampelisca, whom Palaestra bewails as lost, wandering on stage. 103 The city of Cyrene, where the heroines are said to live, was situated at a considerable distance from its harbour Apollonia. Laronde (1987: 312, fig. 108) assesses it at 75 st. (=9.375 miles=13.8 km) and suggests (figs. 106, 107) that forests grew in between and some shores could well have been uninhabited. Plautus, however, does not care about Greek topography (cf. Blackman 1969) and is famous for constructing a harbour for the city of Thebes when it suited his plot of the Amphitruo (cf. 629–30). It is therefore Plautine imaginary geography that counts, and this geography has a settlement (marked by Daemones’ cottage) visible from the shore. 104 Such monologues are a cliché of Greek and Roman literature. Palaestra’s problem with aporia has a tragic equivalent in the lies spoken by Ennius’ Medea; Ribbeck, Medea Exul 231: ‘Quo nunc me vortam? Quod iter incipiam ingredi?’ (Where should I turn myself? Upon what path should I set my steps?) The Greek antecedents are found

Of Pain and Laughter

131

Vernant have convincingly demonstrated (1978: 276–88; 144–62), can denote a path of knowledge as well as a physical passage. The second girl, Ampelisca, is similarly lost in a wilderness devoid of solutions. 105 She informs the audience that after much frantic effort her mind has stumbled upon the final boundary—that between life and death. Quid mihi meliust, quid magis in remst, quam a corpore uitam ut secludam? ita male uiuo atque ita mihi multae in pectore sunt curae exanimales. ita res se habent: uitae hau parco, perdidi spem qua me oblectabam. omnia iam circumcursaui atque omnibu’ latebris perreptaui quaerere conseruam, uoce, oculis, auribus ut peruestigarem. neque eam usquam inuenio neque quo eam neque qua quaeram consultumst, neque quem rogitem responsorem quemquam interea conuenio, neque magis solae terrae solae sunt quam haec loca atque hae regiones; neque, si uiuit, eam uiua umquam quin inueniam desistam. (Rud. 220–8) What is there better for me, what is a greater benefit than to shut out life away from my body? So wretched is my life and so many deadening sorrows are there in my chest. Such are the matters: I do not care for my life; I have lost the hope with which I used to comfort myself. All places have I now run about, and through each covert spot have I crawled along to seek in tragedy; Fowler traces this type of speech, which he terms ‘desperation speech’ (1987: 6), through classical literature, pointing back to Homeric antecedents (36–7). 105 Ampelisca is styled as the weaker of the two girls. She must be told where to go (250), has to be instructed not to think about her appearance (252), must be comforted (256), and remains silent most of the time when Palaestra negotiates with Ptolemocratia (259–89). Ampelisca and Palaestra are just one among a series of pairs of women, one stronger, the other weaker, one a leader, the other a follower, as are the Bacchides, Selenium and Gymnasium (Cist.), Adelphasium and Anterastilis (Poen.), Panegyris and Pamphila (St.). As Arnott (1972: 55) observed, when commenting on the wives in the Stichus, this tradition goes back to Sophocles’ Antigone (1–100) where the heroine is contrasted with her sister Ismene. With the notable exception of the Bacchides, where Bacchis is simply more of an entrepreneur than her sister, it is usually the ‘leader’s’ role to represent female virtues, and censure the ‘follower’s’ weakness; cf. Poen. (210–330) and St. (1–57).

132

Of Pain and Laughter

my fellow-slave, to trace her out with voice, eyes, ears. Nor can I find her anywhere, nor have I yet determined where to go, nor where to seek her, Nor do I find any person here whom I could question and who would give me an answer. Nor are there any lands more solitary than these places and these regions. Nor, if she lives, so long as I live, will I give up until I find her.

Ampelisca tells the audience of her frenetic activities—running in circles, creeping around—that are reminiscent of an animal, perhaps a dog using its eyes and ears in pursuit of its master. 106 Like a faithful dog, Ampelisca uses her senses of sight, hearing, and smell, but is unable to resort to rational thinking. She can look, but cannot see. Because there is no one to tell her where to go, she cannot find the way to her mistress. Since, according to the strange para-logic she outlines, she can neither stop looking for Palaestra as long as she lives nor continue to look for her, the only path she can follow is death. Luckily, the two girls wandering on stage end up bumping into one another, whereupon they fall into a mutual embrace and seek shelter in the shrine of Venus. Then Ampelisca, sent to fetch water, meets Trachalio, the slave of Palaestra’s lover; now the girls know that they are still in Cyrene. Before the play ends, they will be assigned yet more querulous speeches, but let us first pause here to ask whether or not the aporia that characterizes the discourse of the damsel-in-distress is truly associated with gender.

The Cunning Tongue The matter deserves some consideration, since, after all, shipwreck survivors, whether female or male, have good reason to be disoriented. The Rudens features a scene, briefly mentioned in Chapter 1 (‘Greetings from Cyrene’), that, when juxtaposed with the songs of 106 For vox as the sound made by a hunting dog, see Ennius, Ann. 342. At the beginning of Sophocles’ Ajax, Athena compares Odysseus prowling near Ajax’s hut to a tracking Spartan dog (cf. 5, 8, 37), but the Sophoclean description of Odysseus’ deliberate and careful movements is entirely different from the image we have in the Rudens.

Of Pain and Laughter

133

Palaestra and Ampelisca and their tender greetings that follow, serves as a reasonable comparandum for the speeches of distraught maidens. In this scene, the pimp Labrax and his Sicilian friend Charmides, who have survived the very same shipwreck, tell their side of the story. Like Palaestra, Labrax begins with a general statement that sets the tone for his angry and ironic rant: Qui homo sese miserum et mendicum uolet, Neptuno credat sese atque aetatem suam: (Rud. 485–6) Whoever should desire to become a miserable beggar, Should entrust himself and his life to Neptune.

Rather than complaining vaguely about the caprice of some god (as does Palaestra), Labrax points to a particular god, Neptune, as being responsible for what happened. He speaks of this deity irreverently, joking that he is a rather hopeless bath attendant (Rud. 527–8). The pimp also blames his companion, Charmides (Rud. 491). Unlike Palaestra and Ampelisca, he seems to know why he is suffering and where he is. 107 There may be, of course, a practical reason for all this: free to move around, the pimp can be expected to have seen these places before, but even Charmides, who is a stranger to Cyrene, has no doubt of where he is. The ensuing exchange between the two men (Rud. 492–558) is strikingly different from the sentimental encounter we have witnessed between the two girls (Rud. 229–58). They exchange jokes and curses: when Labrax is seasick, his friend wishes he would vomit his lungs and jokes that the two girls, the pimp’s most prized possessions, have become fodder for fish. The Sicilian also ventures to say that the pimp should be grateful to him for the opportunity to take his first good bath ever. The attitude here is strongly reminiscent of that of the servus callidus who cracks jokes about torture. Both men also discuss physical sensations, but these include only the most obvious effects of having been tossed around; Labrax is seasick (Rud. 510–11) and cold (527–8); Charmides feels dizzy (525) and jokes about having drunk more than his share of salty water 107 Cf. Rud. 554: the pimp knows that he will now have to face the young man whom he deceived.

134

Of Pain and Laughter

(530). In other words, their pain is represented as plausible. This long exchange of malicious jokes and curses reaches its climax when Labrax, cold and sick, remembers Pleusicles, the young man who paid him for Palaestra. It is only then, in contemplating his loss and the prospect of confronting the angry young man, that the pimp begins to cry. But unlike the prolonged tearful complaints of the girls, the pimp’s crying spell does not last, for, as his friend soon points out, he is not resourceless: ch. quid stulte ploras? tibi quidem edepol copiast, dum lingua uiuet qui rem soluas omnibus. (Rud. 577–8) Why are you crying, fool? In fact you have plenty As long as your tongue, with which you can pay everybody, is safe.

Labrax’s cunning tongue stands for his clever mind and speech. The wicked old man thus makes the point merely implied in the girls’ complaints explicit: intellect is the best antidote for despair. This belief is intimately connected with Roman comedy’s representation of suicide, yet another theme that pervades the tearful speeches of the ‘little women’ in the Rudens.

Death and the Maiden When he accidentally discovers the whereabouts of his two female slaves, the pimp’s luck seems to change. He enters the temple and claims his property. Frightened and depressed, Palaestra runs out of the temple. Even though we can assume that she now knows that she is in Cyrene and that Plesidippus will come to claim her, she cannot handle the sudden reversal (recall De virginum morbis). Her canticum again stresses the absence of a cognitive path out of her despair. nunc id est quom omnium copiarum atque opum, auxili, praesidi uiduitas nos tenet. nec uiast quae salutem adferat, ingredi persequamur scimus: tanto in metu nunc sumus ambae. (Rud. 664–8)

Of Pain and Laughter

135

Now it has come to that, that destitution of all resources and possessions, of help and protection has got hold of us. There is no salvation, nor a way that could take us towards salvation, nor do we know where we should go. We both are in such great fear.

Palaestra’s mind is a wilderness, a place over which no one has power (opes) 108 and no one keeps watch (praesidium), a place devoid of resources or help. There is but one way to escape such unbearable emptiness—suicide. pa. sed nunc sese ut ferunt res forunaeque nostrae, par moriri est. neque est melius morte in malis rebus miseris. tr. Quid est? quae illaec oratiost? (Rud. 674–6) pa. But now the point of our fortunes and fates is just like dying. Nor is anything better than death in wicked and miserable circumstances. tr. What? What kind of talk is that?

Just as the Hippocratic De virginum morbis has warned, in the state of near-death, the aporetic mind construes the utmost evil as the utmost good. When Trachalio, the slave of Palaestra’s paramour, hurries to become the much-desired guardian (praesidium), she acknowledges his efforts with gratitude, even though she fears that such efforts will prove insufficient. pa. o salutis meae spes. tr. tace ac bono animo es. me uide. pa. si modo liceat, uis ne opprimat, quae uis uim mi adferam ipsa adigit. tr. ah! desine, nimis inepta es. (Rud. 680–1a) pa. Oh hope for my salvation! tr. Be quiet and cheer up. Trust me. pa. If only it were possible to free me from this power, the power that forces me to turn against myself. tr. Oh! Stop it! You are being quite foolish. 108

Cf. OLD 2b. on ops pl.

136

Of Pain and Laughter

Trachalio’s first-aid attempts concentrate on the victim’s mind and speech. She must not speak the way she does. She must also rectify her way of thinking by copying him (me uide). But the void in the girl’s mind has been filled by a power that is now urging her to destroy herself. Ampelisca’s response to her friend’s song provides the comic relief to the tragic tension established: certumst moriri quam hunc pati <saeuire> lenonem in me. sed muliebri animo sum tamen: miserae in mentem mihi mortis, metus membra occupat. (Rud. 684) I decided to die rather than suffer the cruelty of this pimp, But I am of feminine disposition. As soon as I think of death, Fear takes over my limbs.

The feminine nature, she implies, is so indolent that, for all her talk of death and despair, the damsel-in-distress is quite unlikely to commit suicide. The humour here depends on the speed with which Ampelisca passes from ‘I have decided to die’ to ‘but I am a woman’. 109 The logical conclusion of her declaration is that empty threats of suicide are a token of animus muliebris. 110 It is therefore remarkable that such threats are routinely used in Roman comedy to denote the effeminacy of the same male characters who are susceptible to weeping. Young amatores, for example, often claim that they do not wish to live deprived of their loved objects 109

The idea that most women are too weak to kill themselves correlates with the conclusion Nicole Loraux proposed in her discussion of the tragic ways of killing a woman (1987). Tragic heroines are particularly likely to prefer death to intolerable pain, usually by hanging themselves (1987: 7–11), though some exceptionally brave women prefer the dagger (ibid. 14). Nevertheless, the courage to follow the ‘last path’ (cf. Soph. Antig. 806–80) is reserved for noble women. To cite a prime example, Helen, the very embodiment of feminine vanity, is criticized for not ending her own life, as a „ÂÌÌ·fl· „ıÌc would have done in her circumstances (Eur. Troiades 1012–14). See also Katsouris’s earlier treatment of the topic with a list of references to suicide in tragedy (1976: 9 n. 8). 110 The other two girls in Plautus who declare that they would rather die than go on living are meretrices: Philaenium in Asin. 608, 611–12, and Planesium in Cur. 173–4. There is also Staphyla in the Aul. 50–1, 77–8, who fears her master. In An. 129–31, Glycerium’s act is comparable to sacrificial suicide, reminiscent of that of Euadne in Euripides’ Suppliants (1012–28).

Of Pain and Laughter

137

and make it clear that a modest sum of money is all they need to change their minds. 111 Likewise, a ruined pimp, 112 a poor fisherman deprived of his find, 113 and a parasite all declare that life is worthless without money. 114 Greek comedy also seems to have used allusion to male suicides as a source of black humour. 115 But Ampelisca’s claim that suicide is antithetical to a woman’s nature corresponds most closely to Roman attitudes towards suicide, which are distinct from the disapproval that predominates in Greek references to this practice. 116 Roman historiographers record most acts of suicide as noble and manly deeds. While some of the comments may well have been affected by Stoic considerations, others refer to specific Roman customs, such as the practice of devotio. 117 Significantly, mors voluntaria, as the act is usually termed in the Latin sources, was regarded as an intellectual and moral achievement. It is often conveyed in the texts through verbs of thinking or volition, such as mortem sibi consciscere, ‘to consciously determine to die’. 118 111 Plautus: Argyrippus in Asin. 591–615 sings a duet with his (also suicidal) girlfriend. They do not specify the method. Chalinus, a slave serving as a substitute for an adulescens amans, says that he is willing to hang himself (like a tragic heroine) before his rival kills him (Cas. 111–12). Alcesimarchus wonders if he should strike his right or his left side with a sword (Cist. 639–41). Stratippocles (Epid. 362–3), Charinus in Mercator 487–9 (cf. also 60–1 and 601–2), and Calidorus in the Pseudolus (88–96) make it clear that their suicidal thoughts could be cured by money. Terence likes to insert some anxiety into the lines of others; e.g. Davus fears for Pamphilus (An. 210) and Parmeno for Phaedria (Eu. 65–6); however, Antipho (Ph. 201–2, 483) and Charinus (An. 322) express suicidal thoughts themselves. 112 113 Labrax in Poen. 794–5. Gripus in Rud. 1189–90. 114 Gelasimus in St. 631–40. 115 For brief discussion of Aristophanic references to suicide, see Katsouris (1976: 22–4) and van Hooff (1990: 147–8). In new comedy, suicidal thoughts are occasionally assigned to frustrated lovers; in Menander’s Perikeiromene, the soldier Polemon twice alludes to ending his life when his companion, Glycera, leaves him because he has brutalized her (504, 977). On Glycera’s position and her motives, see Konstan (1987: 131). 116 On Grisé’s list of successful suicides on record, only three would have been committed by women before the 1st cent. bce (1982: 34–53). Van Hooff ’s statistics (1990: 239 b.II) indicate the overall ratio of male and female suicide in Roman sources as 95% to 5% (=19:1) and in the Greek 89% to 11% (=8:1). 117 See Griffin (1986b: 193 n. 3). 118 Other idioms include mortem arcessere, oppetere, festinare, sumere, de se consulere, deliberare, cf. Grisé (1982: 245–6); her annex includes a repertory of idioms with references (292–7).

138

Of Pain and Laughter

One can name exceptions to the rule that Roman suicide is essentially a manly gesture. Livy’s famous tale of Lucretia (1. 58. 10–12) is certainly a prime example of an honourable female suicide. Her act, considered—quite notably—excessive by her male relatives, nevertheless commanded respect and imposed on her family a duty to carry out revenge (1. 59. 1). Yet, according to at least one posthumous admirer, the noble Lucretia was a freak of nature, ‘a male soul implanted in a feminine body’ (Val. Max. 6. 1. 1). 119 The exceptional status of Lucretia’s story in fact confirms the belief that most women are unable to choose a timely death. The same holds true for another famous literary example of feminine suicide, Virgil’s account of Dido’s death in book 4 of the Aeneid. The image of the dying queen can be seen as a part of a larger scheme of aestheticizing dead female bodies as objects against which Roman subjectivity and agency can be defined (see Keith 2000: 101–31). In general, then, the competence necessary to inflict death upon oneself would have been deemed the prerogative of the Roman male. This association of competence and masculinity is essential to the gendering of distress in Roman comedy.

Tears and Boundaries As has become apparent in our reading, comedic representations of male and female ways of coping with distress are gendered. The playwrights choose interjections rather than references to weeping to signal masculine suffering and place an emphasis on means and solutions in the lines of distressed male characters. Conversely, feminine pain is styled as indefinite and associated with the aporia or ‘pathlessness’ of the female mind. Consider again Bromia in the Amphitruo whose painful symptoms have been caused by events beyond her comprehension (Am. 1057). In her narrative of the divine epiphany, Jupiter’s voice orders all the servants to get up. 120 Bromia obeys. 119 Livy notes two other early instances of suicides committed by women. Around 216 bce, Floronia, a Vestal accused of adultery, apparently committed suicide (22. 57. 2), as did some women involved in the affair of the Bacchanalia in 186 bce (39. 17). 120 Am. 1066: ‘exsurgite . . . qui terrore meo occidistis pro metu’ (you . . . who have died terrified because of your fear of me, raise).

Of Pain and Laughter

139

When Alcumena calls upon her, Bromia runs to learn (ut sciscam) what her mistress wants (1068). Thus Bromia’s temporary victory over pain and fear is coextensive with a desire for knowledge and comes about as a result of an order from Jupiter. 121 Philippa in the Epidicus, who, like the ancillae, speaks of her mind’s helplessness, is very specific in her description of the safe place she desires to find. Here she seems to imagine herself wandering outside protective walls: (. . . ) pavor territat mentem animi, neque ubi meas conlocem spes habeo 122 mi usquam munitum locum. (Epid. 530–1) fear terrifies the thought in my mind, there is no fortified place where I could place my hopes.

Philippa’s quest for safety can be described as successful. Her exlover Periphanes will be moved by her vulnerability. In spite of the comic inadequacy of his effort to find their daughter, he will vigorously take charge, ordering her to stop crying and go inside his house. The lonely mother is thus admitted into the locus munitus she has been desperately seeking. While the yearning to see a cultivated field (ager cultus) and find protection (praesidium) in the Rudens can be understood in concrete physical terms, Philippa’s locus munitus clearly has a metaphysical dimension: it is a safe place with knowable limits and cultivated paths where she can be harboured. 123 A woman, it seems, cannot create such a place on her own. Her susceptibility to pain, which we have observed in comedy, would have been due to a cognitive (as well as physical) weakness, that is, the incapacity to recognize not only external limits and boundaries, but also inner paths of thought. This lack of self-knowledge and weakness make the 121 Pardalisca’s imaginative assortment of bodily symptoms is also caused by mira (Cas. 625); cf. also Cas. 623: nescio. 122 For habeo denoting possession of knowledge (especially in indirect deliberative questions), see OLD on habeo 11a and b. 123 This perception of woman as situated ‘outside’ corresponds to Greek ideas about the feminine. For example, Page duBois, writing about the metopes of the Athenian treasury at Delphi, observes that Theseus’ triumph over the Amazons represents the hero as establishing boundaries within which the polis will define itself; the Amazons, who play the other in this drama, must remain outside these boundaries (1992: 67–8).

140

Of Pain and Laughter

suffering woman the perfect object of laughter, according to Plato’s definition of the comic. While only implicit in comedy, the notion that despair is effeminate was later to become explicit in Cicero’s writings. I propose to examine both his views on pain and his perceptions of the cultural background of his views.

CICERO’S FLETUS

Surrender In Tusculum, in February 45 bce, Cicero’s daughter Tullia died. Her father immediately left behind his beloved villa to stay with his friend Atticus in Rome. Then, in March, he fled again, this time to his most secluded property in Astura. 124 From there he wrote frequently to Atticus, asking him to take care of business for him in Rome and reporting on his private struggles with pain, to which he refers as dolor or maeror. 125 Cicero tells Atticus many times that what he needed and found on his isolated property was solitudo. 126 His third letter (12. 14) indicates that solitudo entailed something quite different from the leisure to read and write. Reading, in fact, did not prove helpful to Cicero: he claims to have read everything in Atticus’ house in Rome to no avail—‘pain (dolor)’, he writes, ‘overcomes all comfort’. Writing was a source of some distraction (impedior), but was not an adequate means of regaining even external, let alone internal, composure (ibid. 17–20). Solitudo is also a space. In the third letter from Astura (12. 13), Cicero portrays the refuge of his isolated villa as a place both wild and sacred: latibulum et perfugium. 127 His fourth letter (12. 15), one of the shortest, depicts this site as follows: 124 On the circumstances of the composition of this letter and Cicero’s other activities at the time, see the references in Treggiari (1998: 17 n. 56). 125 Dolor: 12. 13. 2, 12. 14. 3, 12. 18. 1, etc; maeror: 12. 14. 3, 12. 28. 2, etc. Treggiari (1998: 17–20) offers a compelling interpretation of these letters as a testimony to Cicero’s position between the public and private spheres. 126 Bailey in the Loeb translation alternates ‘lonely place’ and ‘solitude’. 127 For latibulum meaning a wild animal’s den, cf. Cic. Vat. 4.

Of Pain and Laughter

141

In hac solitudine careo omnium colloquio, cumque mane me in silvam abstrusi densam et asperam, non exeo inde ante vesperum. secundum te nihil me est amicius solitudine. in ea mihi omnis sermo est cum litteris. eum tamen interpellat fletus; cui repugno quoad possum, sed adhuc pares non sumus. (Epist. Ad Att. 12. 15) 128 In this lonely place I am free from all conversation, and once in the morning I have hidden in a thick and wild forest, I do not come out before evening. For, except you, I have no better friend than loneliness. Here my only conversation is with books. Yet even this is interrupted by weeping, which I fight with all my strength, but, so far, we are not equals.

The wilderness surrounding Cicero’s remote villa is the landscape of his emotions. (This correlation of wilderness and depression is reminiscent of the sola loca where the weeping girls in the Rudens wander.) Every day he would burrow into the thick woods to mourn his daughter. Only there, in the womb of the woods, was he to allow fletus to choke words (interpellare). Deep in the wilderness and alone with his books he felt free to cross the boundaries of manly self-restraint. For all his efforts, Cicero was unable to hide from the public eye. Rumours evidently spread about his ‘weakness’. 129 Servius Sulpicius Rufus’ famous letter (Ad Fam. 4. 5=248) gives us a clear idea why prolonged grief jeopardized a politician’s reputation. 130 He states unequivocally that dolor has a negative effect on one’s intellectual abilities. 131 Servius also emphasizes that his friend’s very private pain (dolor intestinus) is but a small inconvenience (incommodum) compared to the true dolor that should affect all good Romans in the present political circumstances (2. 1–5). Tullia’s gender works nicely in this rhetorical scheme. Servius is able to point out that Cicero is mourning ‘one little life of one little woman’ (unius mulierculae animula), when outstanding men have died and the power of the 128 This is almost its entire text, with only the last short sentence including instructions to Atticus suppressed. 129 Cicero’s prolonged mourning went against the Roman practice that, in general, assigned praising of the dead to men, and mourning them to women; see Corbeill 2004: 68–70. 130 See Hutchinson’s analysis of this letter and Cicero’s reply (1998: 65–77). 131 Ad fam. 4. 5. 1. 12: ‘quod forsitan dolore impeditus minus perspicias’ (since, impaired by pain, you perhaps are less perceptive).

142

Of Pain and Laughter

Roman people has been diminished (4. 14–16). He also discreetly reproaches his friend for neglecting his male descendant (5. 9–10). Such behaviour, Servius goes on to imply, undermines Cicero’s credibility as a statesman (5. 1, 10) and casts a shadow over his reputation for sapientia (6. 2–3) and prudentia (6. 10–11). 132

Renunciation In the Tusculan Disputations, a consolatory treatise Cicero wrote later that year and addressed to himself, he assigns to mourning and wailing the very label that his friends have politely avoided. ‘We’, he writes espousing the views of his critics, ‘censure mourners for the debility of their effeminate mind’ (Tusc. 4. 60: ‘obicimus maerentibus imbecillitatem animi ecfeminati’). ‘There could not be anything less decorous for a man,’ he preaches, ‘than effeminate fletus’ (2. 58). He also cautions his readers against the actual damage that the sound of grief can inflict on men: ‘in lamentation we soften and virtually melt in self-indulgence’ (Tusc. 2. 52: ‘liquescimus fluimusque mollitia’). This association of grief with females is further evinced in consolatory literature addressed to women, wherein men, speaking from the lofty level of philosophical detachment, advise women on how to handle grief. Plutarch’s consolation to his wife, written after the death of their 2-year-old daughter, is a particularly striking example of this attitude. 133 When the child died, Plutarch was travelling; he did not 132 Atticus expressed similar concerns; in a letter written two months later (12. 40) Cicero echoes Atticus’ anxiety: ‘you write that you are afraid that both my popularity (gratia) and my prestige (actoritas) are diminished because of my grief (maerore)’. To provide Atticus with arguments to oppose his critics, Cicero painstakingly enumerates all the gestures he has made in order to safeguard his social persona, such as spending a month in Atticus’ villa and receiving guests. 133 See Pomeroy’s introduction to and commentary on Plutarch’s letter (1999: 75– 81). As Manning (1981: 17) points out, Seneca’s consolation to Marcia also has a distinctly didactic flavour. One could, however, argue, along with Langlands, that in writing for a woman, Seneca was forced to reflect on how women read and that this thought affected his writing; cf. 2004: 115–25. For an overview of ancient consolatory literature, see Kassel (1958); Hutchinson (1998: 49–50 nn. 1 and 2) refers to further scholarly discussions. Ochs (1993: 111–15) traces the origins of consolatory discourse to the funeral ceremonies, which involved the presence of women. See also Manning (1981: 12–13). Vergil’s first eclogue contains elements of Epicurean consolation; cf. Davis (2004: 64–74).

Of Pain and Laughter

143

return home for her funeral. The letter suggests that Plutarch himself is quite calm and would like his wife to suppress the customary demonstrations of grief. The discussion of pain in the Tusculans presents endurance as a virtue that is not only manly, but Roman. Cicero even temporarily forgets his Greek, claiming that, unlike Latin, the language of those petty Greeks (Graeculi) does not distinguish between labor and dolor (2. 35). 134 Vigorous military training is known to help one disregard pain (36–41), but the best defence against it is the virtue of endurance, the exclusive prerogative of the manly mind. Appellata est enim ex viro virtus; viri autem propria maxime est fortitudo, cuius munera duo sunt maxima mortis dolorisque contemplatio. (Tusc. 2. 43) For virtue is named after the word vir. And man’s foremost characteristic is strength, of which the two greatest achievements are disregard for death and disregard for pain.

Behind this violent denial of a man’s right to express pain lies a theory. Cicero explains that pain originates in the irrational part of the soul, which is ‘soft, depressed, humble, somehow deprived of vigour, and indolent’. 135 The rational part must then act as its parent or master, restraining it whenever needed. Pain and mourning necessitate just such an intervention, as in grief the soft part of the spirit is, like a woman, shamefully given to tears and lamentations. 136 This womanly part of the soul must then be restrained by ratio; this restraining action of ratio is compared to the placing of bonds and chains on a mentally ill person by concerned friends and relatives. A reader of 134 His recent and intimate experience probably informs his (proudly Roman) definition (2. 35) of the latter: ‘motus asper in corpore alienus a sensibus’ (a harsh shift in the body unfamiliar to senses). Dolor, Cicero tells us, can be neither smelled nor seen, neither touched nor heard. Yet it exists inside the body as a harsh and noisy commotion difficult to ignore. 135 2. 47. 10: ‘molle quiddam, demissum, humile, enervatum quodam modo et languidum’. 136 2. 48. 1: ‘Si turpissime se illa pars animi geret, quam dixi esse mollem, si se lamentis muliebriter lacrimisque dedet, vinciatur et constringatur amicorum propinquorumque custodiis.’ (Should that part of the soul, which I have described as soft, behave most shamefully and devote itself to lamentations and tears, like a woman, let it be chained and restricted by the guardianship of friends and relations.)

144

Of Pain and Laughter

Cicero’s letters can hardly pass over this passage without imagining Cicero, the parent and master, the very personification of reason, placing such bonds on the feminine part of his own soul. Cicero construes this rational parent as a very Roman figure. To illustrate the correlation of the capacity to withstand pain and manliness, he often chooses examples from Latin literature. The most illuminating of these is his discussion of the play Niptrae by Plautus’ younger contemporary, Pacuvius (2. 48–50). 137 The Niptrae was a translation of Sophocles’ play of the same name relating Odysseus’ death from the bone of a stingray shot by his son Telegonus. In the original play, Cicero tells us, Sophocles allowed the wounded Odysseus to lament. Apparently, the servants carrying him comment that such behaviour does not suit a warlike hero. Cicero finds the remarks Sophocles puts in the mouths of mere servants demeaning and praises Pacuvius’ more dignified rendition of the same scene. In Pacuvius’ version, the hero at first errs; screaming in pain and self-pity, he asks the bearers to stay with him and strip him naked: Retinete, tenete! opprimit ulcus: nudate! heu miserum me; excrucior! (Ribbeck 263–4=Tusc. 2. 50) Hold me back, hold me, my ulcer torments me, Strip me bare, ahhh, wretched me: I am in pain!

But soon enough he pulls himself together, ordering the servants to cover him and leave him alone. Operite: abscedite, iamiam, Mittite: nam attrectatu et quassu Saeuum amplificatis dolorem. (Ribbeck 265–7=Cic. Tusc. 2. 50) Cover, go away, quick, quick put down. Pulling and shaking, you increase my fierce pain. 137

On the plot of the Niptrae, see Manuwald (2003: 88).

Of Pain and Laughter

145

Unlike Odysseus, the Roman Ulixes, the most resourceful of heroes, knows that to silence the pain of his body he must first overcome the pain of his mind (animi dolor). Moreover, unlike Sophocles’ hero, he comes to this conclusion independently. He regains control and towards the end of the play is able to preach, instructing the others in gnomic sentences not to lament his death. Conqueri fortunam adversam, non lamentari decet: Id viri est officium, fletus muliebri ingenio additus. (Ribbeck 268–9; Cic. Tusc. 2. 50) One must complain about misfortune, not lament Such is the duty of a man; weeping is an attribute of a feminine nature.

In advising others to tolerate pain, Cicero, the lucid author of the Tusculan Disputations, possibly sees himself as a second Ulixes, a hero who has been able to conquer pain by means of his intellect. While the words questus and queri would later be associated with the elegiac lover’s lonely lament, 138 the verb conqueri has somewhat different connotations. In Plautus it denotes a verbal complaint addressed to an understanding listener. 139 This meaning seems to have been still valid in the first century bce. Catullus, for example, uses questus to refer to an expression of inconsolable grief, but he seems to think of conqueri as a social activity, oriented towards finding a solution. In his Epithalamium, Ariadne points out that she cannot complain (conqueri) to the winds, because winds can neither hear nor answer her (64. 164–7). 140 In Cicero’s prose, this same verb has strong civic undertones. It can, for example, be a synonym for legal 138

See Gibson (2007: 44). In Au. 190 Megadorus asks Euclio ‘what were you discussing with yourself?’ to which the miser answers: ‘I am just complaining (conqueror) about my poverty’. Consider also Au. 727–8, where Euclio is wailing and complaining in front of his neighbour’s door. Lyconides then asks: ‘Quis homo . . . eiulans conqueritur maerens?’ (Who is the man who complains, wailing and mourning?). Since Euclio is both speaking (713–26) and crying, and eiulans and maerens are most likely to denote inarticulate sounds, the verb conqueritur probably refers to his speech. Miles 125 also refers to an articulate complaint that involves story-telling. 140 In Cat. 62. 36 fictus questus stands for false tears shed as a part of wedding rites; in 63. 62 queri denotes Attis’ lament over his lost identity. 139

146

Of Pain and Laughter

proceedings or for protests voiced for the sake of the republic. 141 Such complaints can be performed with indignation and brave spirit and their connotation as ‘virile’ thus seems plausible. 142 Conversely, lamentari is associated with funeral lament and so primarily denotes a complaint against death—one that takes on a lost cause. Inarticulate and extravagant, the ritual enactment of grief was considered a form of intemperance (cf. Cic. De nat. 1. 42). 143 While in times of war the fletus of anonymous women was heard amidst the chaos of a captured city, in times of peace lamentari is the prerogative of mothers, wives, and sisters. 144 Overall, the citation from the Niptrae would have represented to Cicero a contrast between what is public, rational, and manly on the one hand, and private, irrational, and feminine on the other. Cicero’s reading of Pacuvius brings us back to the masculine and feminine discourses of pain in Roman comedy.

CONCLUSION The closing lines of Pacuvius’ Niptrae provide us with a vantage point from which we can look at comedy, measuring its representations of pain against the assumption that desperate weeping is the prerogative of women. At one level, comedy appears to conform to this stereotype. Like Cicero’s discussion of the Niptrae, the comic scripts encourage a biased vision of feminine pain as mirroring the 141 Conqueri is used repeatedly by Cicero with a meaning close to ‘accuse’ or ‘denounce’ in court: Pro Quinct. 59. 10; In Ver. 1. 12. 40, 2. 1. (30)84, 2. 2. (64)155, 2. 4. (6)11; Pro Murena (27)1. 55. See also conqueri pro republica in Pro Sest. 3. 3. 142 See De Invent. 1. 109. 12 and Rhet. ad Her. 2. 50. 143 Cf. Cic. De leg. 2. 55. 2 about the limitations imposed on funeral laments by the XII Tables; Seneca, Dial. 12. 3. 2 asks his mother to renounce ‘laments, wailing, and other things that confuse women’s pain’. For other derogatory references to mourning, see e.g. Sen. Phaed. 851–3; Plin. Nat. Hist. 8. 21. 7; Val. Max. Mem. 4. 1. 12. 144 Women weeping in times of war are mentioned, e.g. in Liv. 5. 40. 3, 2. 40. 9; Cic. De inv. 2. 78–9 features the story of Horatia, murdered by her brother because she mourned her fiancé rather than her brothers and other men of her clan; female family members crying are represented among others in Tac. Ann. 12. 47. Seneca in Cont. 1. 5. 1 deliberates on the story of a man who raped two girls in one night: should he marry one of the girls (who is willing) or should he be put to death at the request of the other? To a speaker who wishes to argue that the man be condemned, Seneca recommends a description of the would-be wife and her family lamenting the rapist.

Of Pain and Laughter

147

feminine intellect, and so unstructured, soft, and lacking in definite boundaries. Female characters moan and shriek. Their speech is often a translation from hysterical body language and projects images of pain that simultaneously affect the eyes and limbs. These jeremiads amount to a woman’s call for a man to put a stop to her moaning, point her in the right direction, and invite her within the confines of his locus munitus/cultus ager. Thus female pain is caricatured as an indefinite and chaotic force that exists outside the praesidium of the male self, on the outskirts of the civilized and articulate world. In general, the vis comica of such pain exploits its capacity to signify women’s bizarre and excessive nature. Male characters weep less often, expressing themselves instead in conventional interjections. They speak of distress and identify its causes with unattainable objects of desire (including prestige and moral standards); they also tend to joke about physical pain and discomfort. Unlike their female counterparts, they never confuse themselves with their masters or their children. Yet comedy also subverts the gendering of inconsolable fletus as feminine. The topos of the damsel-in-distress serves as a standard that renders male weepers womanly. We have only to recall Euclio in the Aulularia whose lamentations qualify as feminine, at least by the standards formulated by Pacuvius’ Ulixes. Such male characters invite the audience to feel superior to them not only on account of the humiliation that causes their tears, but also on account of their obvious failure to exercise self-control and ‘behave like men’. By contrast, the torture jokes rely on just the opposite principle, an excess of self-control, and so reduce ad absurdum the ban on male tears. In both types of scenes, characters who fail to observe the proper measure (modus) become the objects of laughter. These characters may be inferior versions of the (male) spectator who is, nevertheless, able to identify with their pain. This ability would be particularly important in the case of gallows humour, as it would allow some members of the audience to partake in the clever slave’s triumph over torture and pain. It is therefore significant that mulieres are hardly ever granted such victories. Their pain is caricatured as excessive, irrational, and (sometimes) manipulative. Notably, some of the most extravagant representations of women in pain—the hysterically funny song of

148

Of Pain and Laughter

the maid in the Casina and the whining of the meretrix puerpera in the Truculentus—are staged as episodes in plots involving feminine conspiracy. The complaints of these women bind men to offer them help and protection, and these binding properties of feigned or exaggerated complaints are reminiscent of the quasi-magical powers ascribed to feminine blanditia (cf. Chapter 2). Nevertheless, the notions of flattery and self-pity are in other respects intriguingly contradictory. While blanditia linked women’s speech with pharmakon and beguilement, suggesting that female linguistic abilities are dangerous, the discourses of pain and self-pity style women as altogether confused and weaker beings. To reconcile the contradictory images of the formidable manipulator and the deluded soul in need of male assistance, I will now move to definitions of gender proposed both in the comic scripts and outside them.

4 (Wo)men of Bacchus INTRODUCTION So far I have argued that linguistic impersonations of women in comedy are best understood in light of beliefs about ‘woman’ and her ‘nature’, and concluded that Roman comedy construes feminine discourses of pain and pleasure as defying interpersonal boundaries and failing to follow the paths of logic. Masculinity, on the other hand, should allegedly ensure intimate knowledge of such boundaries and paths. This chapter leaves strictly linguistic issues aside in order to contextualize the central assumption that limitedness, stability, and moderation are the prerogatives of men. I am particularly interested in exploring how comedy distorts this ideology and how the resulting distortions can help us relate the gendered discourses of the palliata to the Roman perceptions of acting and theatre. To do so, I first discuss one subversive technique, namely the interplay of ideology of temperance and female sexuality in two Plautine roles. One of them, a prostitute’s praise of chastity in the Poenulus, allows us to define the ethics that instigated this parody and to set it against its (Greek and Roman) cultural background. These comparanda, in turn, lead us to the debate on gender boundaries reflected in the senatorial decree against the Bacchanalia and dramatized by Livy in his account. I also discuss the Plautine allusions to this cult, which invariably undermine the ideal of masculine moderation and often stand as metaphors for acting.

150

(Wo)men of Bacchus

Comedy and Moderation The personae of Roman comedy often pay lip-service to the ideal of moderation. For instance, Messenio in the Menaechmi sings the praises of a seruus modestus, one who requires little food and drink (970–1). 1 A moderate intake of love is, we read in the Bacchides, a young man’s legitimate need; therefore he can indulge himself so long as he observes due limits (temperare) and proper social conventions (Epid. 111). 2 These are, however, difficult to respect when one is in love, as that condition is completely resistant to moderation and rationality (Eu. 57–8). When one cannot control desire, endless expenses ensue (Heau. 755). As it happens, most of the comic adulescentes are lovers; one such youth tells the audience that his passion has rendered him unrestrained, irrepressible, and unjust (‘intemperans, non modestus, iniurius’, Merc. 54); another recounts that love has impaired his mental abilities (Bac. 614: ‘sine modo et modestia sum’). An exception to the comedic stereotype of the Plautine adulescens is Lysiteles, the unbearably virtuous youth in the Trinummus; he takes great pride in his exceptional modesty (Trin. 313–16), which he considers a guarantee of his moral competence (Trin. 324). With age, the limited space accorded to love in an ideal citizen’s industrious life shrinks further (Asin. 934; Cas. 239; Merc. 305). Contrary to the joyfully lewd Plautine patriarchs in the Casina or the Asinaria, the ideal senex is expected to demonstrate exemplary restraint in ‘these pursuits’, temperare istis artibus (Merc. 982). Despite, or rather thanks to, the ambitious moral programme outlined above, immoderate men would have given the Roman audience a healthy dose of entertainment.

1 Cf. Stich. 692: ‘sat est seruo homini . . . modeste facere sumptum’ (It is enough for a slave to spend with moderation). See also McCarthy and her comparison of Messenio’s ideology with that proposed by Tranio in the Mostellaria (2000: 71–2). 2 Plautus does not use the abstract noun temperantia, but the verb temperare, ‘to observe proper limits or measure,’ occurs fairly often (cf. Lodge 1962). Segal (1968: 74) notes that pleasure in moderation is defended by Pistoclerus’ father (Bac. 416–18). Modestia may be contrasted with the Plautine uirtus, denoting excellence, bravery, and dignity; see Eisenhut (1972: 24–9) and McDonnell (2006: 16–33) for a comprehensive discussion of the meaning of uirtus in Plautine drama.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

151

However, while there is no doubt that male characters in comedy frequently lack self-control, their immoderation is never portrayed as essential to their virility. 3 This characteristic is instead represented as intrinsic to the feminine nature. The tendency to transgress limits often defines the comedic women’s behaviour and is the leitmotif of most of the comments on women. In the Poenulus, the cacophony of a nurse’s immoderate screams of joy (clamor sine modo) is unbearable to her master. 4 In the Asinaria, there is no limit (modus) to a female pimp’s desire for money (As. 167). 5 Leaena, the old servant in the Curculio, is, for her part, ‘moderate’ (by female standards) since her passion for wine (Cur. 110) calls for ‘only’ several gallons at a time. 6 Women also have trouble uttering just the right number of words. 7 In the Aulularia a verbal flood drowns Eunomia’s pronouncement that women are indeed guilty of loquacity. 8 The madam in the Cistellaria admits that lack of moderation affects not only the quantity, but also the quality 3 Such perceptions of gender are not limited to Roman comedy: Greek drama propagates quite similar assumptions about women as incompetent moral agents; see Foley (2001: 110–15) and her review of Greek opinions about male and female characteristics with special emphasis on tragedy. Like Roman comedy, Greek comedy at times subverts these assumptions. For example, Aristophanes’ Lysistrata and Ecclesiazousae most strikingly dramatize women’s role as the bearers of certain values. Yet, as Konstan has argued in his analysis of the Lysistrata (1995: 45–60), the values that Lysistrata and her companions represent are specifically feminine. Women’s excessive desire undermines civic boundaries, thus creating a ground for a solidarity that is the antithesis of men’s commitment to the pursuit of conflict (ibid. 47–9). 4 Cf. Poen. 1146; Hanno’s joke derives an additional twist from the contrast between the supposedly physiological assumption that women scream immoderately because they have breasts and the mimetic context wherein both the actor’s bust and his high-pitched voice are an imitation; cf. Dutsch (2004). The effect of clamor in Poen. 1146 is augmented by its cognate adjective clarus, used to describe a particularly sharp, piercing noise, such as a rooster’s cry (Lucr. 4. 711). Men are said to utter clamores only in the turmoil of strife (e.g. Am. 228, 245; Asin. 423; Aul. 403; Bac. 974; Rud. 613, etc.) when they forsake their civilized manners. Cf. Cic. Tusc. 2. 23. 56 on the honourable screams uttered by athletes and warriors. 5 As. 167–8: ‘Qui modus dandi? Nam numquam tu quidem expleri potes.’ (What is the limit of giving? For you can never be filled.) 6 Cur. 110: ‘modica est; capit quadruntal’ (this woman is moderate, her capacity is a mere 25 litres) is no doubt ironic. 7 Cf. Rud. 1114: ‘eo tacent quod tacita bonast semper mulier quam loquens’ (They are silent because a silent woman is always better than one speaking.) Cf. Aul. 135–40. 8 Aul. 124: ‘nam multum loquaces merito omnes habemur.’ (For we are deservedly considered very talkative.)

152

(Wo)men of Bacchus

of female words: women of her profession, particularly when drunk, tend to betray secrets, and she proceeds to do just that. 9 This stereotype of women’s intemperance is sometimes challenged in contexts contrasting virtuous women with male personae who conduct themselves sine modo. For instance, Virgo in the Persa lectures her gluttonous father (in vain) on the charms of a well-measured life (Pers. 346). 10 In the Casina, Cleustrata, who is married to the lecherous Lysidamus, not only teaches her husband a lesson in moderation, but also forgives him—in order not to prolong the play (Cas. 1006). Cleustrata’s decision defies the belief that women do not pay attention to time constraints, expressed by the impatient lover in the Miles (1292): ‘Mulier profecto natast ex ipsa Mora’ (Woman is truly the daughter of Delay). 11 Similarly, the patient wives in the Stichus lecture their father, who encourages them to remarry, on the bonds of fides between a man and his son-in-law (Stich. 129–31). Terence’s Hecyra entails yet another strategy for destabilizing the stereotype of female immoderation. In this play, Parmeno explains to his master, who assumes that the reason for the disagreement between his mother and his wife must be important, that the matter is most likely trifling: pueri inter sese quam pro leuibus noxiis iram gerunt quapropter? quia enim qui eos gubernat animus eum infirmum gerunt. itidem illae mulieres sunt ferme ut pueri leui sententia. (Hec. 310–12) How passionately children quarrel among themselves for trifling offences. Why? Because the spirit that rules them is in poor condition. Those women are just like children—fickle in their opinion.

Coming from the mouth of the slave, these words are, as Niall Slater has observed (1988), ironic. The audience would have recalled how in the opening scene Parmeno first complained about feminine 9 Cis. 122: ‘Largiloquae extemplo sumus, plus loquimur quam sat est.’ (We immediately become largiloquent: we say more than enough.) 10 Virgo is particularly interesting, since, as J. C. B. Lowe has shown (1989), she may very well be Plautus’ own creation. 11 Clitipho in Terence’s Self-Tormentor expresses a similar opinion: a woman’s nature is so sluggish that persuading her to do anything may take up to a year (Hau. 239–40).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

153

indiscretion, only to go on to prove himself utterly indiscreet. Thus the speaker chastizing feminine fickleness is a puer (slave) leui sententia preaching against vices that are his own. In creating tensions between the words and actions of its characters and the assumption that men respect limits while women do not, Roman comedy playfully exploits the allegedly oxymoronic concept of modus muliebris. The resulting mischievous creations include men speaking of their own immoderation and virtuous women lecturing men on the necessity to observe limits, in addition to theatrical ‘women’ who coach all women in proper behaviour. I will now discuss two figures who fall into this last category. The first is a faithful adulteress, the second a chaste prostitute.

MODUS MULIEBRIS

The Faithful Adulteress of Thebes Alcumena in the Amphitruo has often been described as a paragon of matronly virtue. 12 Yet this character is in fact a contradiction in terms: a chaste matron who, having committed adultery, is by no means shy in discussing her overwhelming physical and moral satisfaction. Played by an actor with an enormous padded belly, Alcumena would have cut a rather grotesque figure. 13 She first appears on stage in a leave-taking scene, trying to detain her husband(’s all-mighty double). 14 Her role in this scene rather closely resembles that of the 12 Sedgwick wrote ‘Whenever Alcumena appears, P. forgets his clowning and the tone changes to something not unworthy of tragedy, a high seriousness as would befit a Roman matron’ (1960: 103); Gratwick (1982: 109–10) describes her as a ‘tragic heroine’; and Stewart writes of ‘gravity of speech and nobility of character’ (2000: 295). Several scholars, beginning with Perelli 1983 and including Lefèvre (1999: 26– 8), have challenged this view. See Christenson (2000: 40–4) on the grotesque elements in Alcumena’s speech, and Owens (2001: 217–21) on Plautus’ efforts to stress the ambiguity of Alcumena’s position as an ideal matron and adulteress. 13 On Alcumena’s padded belly, see Phillips (1985); see also Moore’s analysis, stressing the comic elements in this scene (1998: 119–22). 14 I am particularly grateful to OUP’s anonymous referee for comments on this section of Chapter 4.

154

(Wo)men of Bacchus

meretrix in the Asinaria who is unwilling to part from her lover. 15 Like the prostitute, Alcumena speaks of her desire to feel, rather than merely hear, the proof of her lover’s affection; she even reminds him of the warmth of the bed he has just left (Am. 512–14). Two scenes later, this pregnant Madonna still speaks to the audience of the pleasure she has derived from her encounter with her ‘husband’, obsessively repeating the word uoluptas, which has strong sexual connotations (Am. 638–9). 16 When this passionate expression of illicit love quite abruptly turns into a praise of virtue (641a–53), the contrast is nothing short of shocking, especially since uirtus denotes a form of excellence that archaic Latin otherwise reserved for men: 17 Virtus praemium est optumum; uirtus omnibus rebus anteit profecto libertas, salus, uita, res et parentes, patria et prognati tutantur seruantur: Virtus omnia in sese habet, omnia adsunt. bona quam paenest uirtus. (Am. 648–53) Virtue is the best reward; Virtue, without doubt, comes before all other matters Liberty, health, life, property and parents, country and family are protected and kept safe [by virtue]. Virtue contains everything in itself, she who has virtue has all worthy things.

Alcumena’s praise of virtue is delightfully incongruous with her earlier references to the (extra-)marital uoluptas. While Myles McDonnell may be overstating his case when he asserts in his monograph on uirtus that Alcumena adopts here the role of an aggressive 15 As. 591–2: ‘arg. Qur me retentas? ph. quia amans abeuntis egeo. | arg. Vale, . ph. aliquanto amplius ualerem si hic maneres’. (arg. Why are you trying to retain me? ph. Because I am in love and miss you when you leave. arg. Farewell ph. I would fare much better if you stayed here.) 16 Donatus’ comment on Thais’ use of libuit as verbum meretricium (Ad Eu. 796. 26. 1) suggests that references to pleasure would have marked the speech of prostitutes. Regarding the constraints on the expression of feminine eros in Greek and Roman comedy, see Konstan (1994: 141–50). 17 So McDonnell (2006: 161); in the texts dating to the late republic, uirtus is ascribed to women only on a handful of occasions; cf. ibid. 162–3.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

155

male (2006: 162), it is undeniable that she is speaking with the selfrighteousness of a male moralist and that her hymn to virtue is structured as a series of answers to sophisticated philosophical questions: ‘What is the highest good to be sought?’ ‘What is the position of virtue with respect to other goods (liberty, property, and family)?’ ‘Why should virtue take precedence before other goods?’ Amphitruo’s appearance on stage interrupts Alcumena’s musings; after the bitter exchange that follows, our heroine sings more praises for virtue. This time, her plaudits are carefully framed by comments on the deceitfulness of a female’s words. Amphitruo refuses to take a woman’s oaths seriously (Am. 836: ‘mulier es. audacter iuras’) and sneers at her declarations of innocence (838: ‘uerbis probas’). Sosia echoes his master’s disdain when he asserts, ‘she is indeed a paragon of virtue—if she tells the truth’ (843). Such remarks draw attention to Alcumena’s ambiguous position: she is and is not telling the truth. Once again, she formulates her (un)truth with philosophical aplomb: non ego illam mi dotem duco esse quae dos dicitur sed pudicitiam et pudorem et sedatam cupidinem, deum metum, parentum amorem et cognatum concordiam, tibi morigera atque ut munifica sim bonis, prosim probis. (Am. 839–42) I do not consider a dowry, what is called a dowry, but rather modesty, chastity, and control of desires, fear of gods, love of parents, and harmony in the family, to obey you [i.e. Amphitruo], be generous towards worthy people, and benefit those who are honest.

Alcumena both is and is not a modest woman who has (and has not) proven to be chaste. She has pleased the gods (especially one), being dutifully submissive (morigera)—this word is especially appropriate since it evokes sexual compliance. 18 The remarks of Sosia and Amphitruo invite the audience/reader to take these hymns to virtue as an illustration of woman’s moral incompetence. Yet the 18 On morigerari, see Adams (1982: 164). Conventional family values connoted by this verb are discussed by Treggiari (1993: 229–61).

156

(Wo)men of Bacchus

play’s—notoriously immoral—ending, 19 in which Jupiter appears as a deus ex machina to vindicate Alcumena’s point of view, points towards a different conclusion: that mythical and theatrical scenarios transcend the clear-cut categories of logical predicates. Alcumena is an exceptional figure in the corpus of Roman comedy, a tragicomic heroine (un)faithful to a human/divine husband/lover. Nevertheless, the contrast between the two strains in her voice, embodied and feminine on the one hand, and moralizing and masculine on the other, is not unique.

The Chaste Prostitute of Calydon Let us go back to the scene from the Poenulus discussed in Chapter 1, in which lack of modus is pronounced a distinctly feminine trait. 20 The exchange between the young-man-in-love (Agorastocles) and his clever slave (Milphio) that precedes the appearance of the two heroines on stage identifies them as objects of both love and the gaze (205–9). Enter the actors playing the two sisters, Adelphasium (‘Little Sister’) and Anterastilis (‘Sweetheart’), apprentice prostitutes on their way to the festival of Aphrodisia. Adelphasium, the ‘leading’ sister, begins her introductory song by speaking as a subject who describes women as objects that require as much maintenance as ships: Negoti sibi qui uolet uim parare, Nauem et mulierem haec duo comparato. Neque umquam sat istae duae res ornantur neque is ulla ornandi satis satietas est. atque haec, ut loquor, nunc domo docta dico. (210–16) Whoever wishes to procure for himself a lot of trouble, Let him buy these two things—a ship and a woman. These two things are never sufficiently decked out, Nor is there any surfeit that satisfies their need for supplies. And I say these things having just learned them now, as I speak, On my own example. 19 See Lefèvre’s references (1999: 24–5) to numerous scholarly comments on the lack of moral in the Amphitruo. 20 I have already mentioned this scene in Ch. 1, drawing attention to the theatrical women’s view of themselves as alii.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

157

A line in a comedy by the second-century bce playwright Turpilius suggests that ‘what is enough’ (satis esse) passed at that time for a philosophical question. 21 This is the first hint that Little Sister, an apprentice prostitute, will (just like Alcumena) usurp for herself the voice of a serious moralist; while the pregnant Alcumena preached manliness, Adelphasium’s doctrine teaches respect for limits. Little Sister’s joke equating a woman’s and a ship’s needs to be properly ‘outfitted’ also introduces erotic overtones that playfully undermine the moralist strain that runs through this virtuous sermon, just as it did in Alcumena’s speech. A ship requires frequent repairs because the waves and storms at sea cause constant wear and tear, but what is it that wears out a woman and has the relentless power of the sea? The equation of woman with the boundless sea was a popular analogy in Greek comedy, especially in representations of prostitutes and their excessive demands. 22 Some forces, comparable to the incessant battering of the waves against a ship, also have the power to erode a woman. The nautical motif inevitably evokes numerous Greek jokes comparing sexual intercourse to seafaring, 23 and the allusions to vigorous scrubbing (fricari) in the description of the morning toilet also carry sexual connotations. 24 If, moreover, we consider that the speaker is a courtesan, we will probably be justified in concluding that the script invites us to think that it is constant sexual activity (inspired by greed) that wears a woman out. 21 Turpilius 144, Ribbeck, ii. 102, l. 144: ‘Ut philosophi aiunt isti quibus quiduis sat est . . . ’ (As those philosophers say who are satisfied with anything). 22 This topos goes back at least to Semonides’ Catalogue 7. 27–31: ÙcÌ ‰’ KÍ Ë·Î‹ÛÛÁÚ, m ‰˝’ KÌ ˆÒÂÛdÌ ÌÔÂE· (And this one from the sea, she has two minds in her midriff.); Menander described marriage as a ‘sea of trouble’ (Men. Fr. 65.6 Kock=Meineke iv. 1. 3: ›Î·„ÔÚ . . . Ò·„Ï‹Ù˘Ì); Anaxilas compared a wife to the sea in fr. 34 (cf. Kassel and Austin, ii): „ıÌfi, uÛÂÒ Ë‹Î·ÙÙ· . . . (a woman, just like the sea); Pherecrates wrote a play about a prostitute named Thalatta; see also Henry on the greedy courtesan (1985: 16). 23 See Henderson (1991: 163) on Ì·ıÏ·˜ÂEÌ in the fantastic image of Callias waging sexual combats in the chorus of the Frogs (R. 434). Henderson (ibid.) also observes that this image survived in new comedy and is attested in Anax. 22. 19 (Kassel and Austin, ii). Adams (1982: 89) cites both Greek and Roman loci comparing sexual intercourse with seafaring or rowing and the woman herself to a ship or the sea in general; these include Macrobius, Sat. 2. 5. 9 quoting Iulia’s notorious joke about ‘taking passengers’ in her ‘ship’. 24 On the verb fricari and the noun frictrix equivalent to fellatrix, see Adams (1982: 184).

158

(Wo)men of Bacchus

The motif of washing brings to mind yet another form of woman’s affiliation with the boundless, her association with dirt. Dirt is, after all, as Mary Douglas has observed, ‘matter out of place’ or a form of disorder (1966: 44). Indeed, dirt and stench are not uncommonly attributed to ‘women’ in Plautus. The unfaithful husband in the Asinaria justifies his distaste for his wife by explaining that she stinks (As. 928). The parasite in the Menaechmi refuses to sniff the palla that his patron has stolen from his wife on the pretext that the lower part of a female garment ‘pollutes one’s nose with a dirty odour’ (Men. 167–8). Along the same lines, when Diniarchus in the Truculentus is about to approach his long-term lover, he first inquires whether she has washed yet (Truc. 378). Adelphasium’s sister Sweetheart declares that, unless women are soaked in water like salted fish, their stench is unbearable (Poen. 241–7). Adelphasium herself develops the themes of female filth and immoderation in an exuberant description of the sisters’ morning toilet. We learn that Operation Good Looks consisted mainly of bathing, cleaning, washing, and rinsing. In addition to the girls’ own hard work, the assistance of four maids and two slaves was required (217–31a). 25 Adelphasium makes it clear that this endless washing is a symptom of women’s lack of moderation: Postremo modus muliebris nullus est. neque umquam lauando et fricando scimus facere neniam. nam quae lauta est nisi perculta est, meo quidem animo quasi inluta est. (Poen. 230–2) Finally, there is no such thing as feminine moderation. And we are unable to say goodbye to washing and scrubbing. For a woman who is clean (i.e. attractive), unless she is cultivated, seems dirty (i.e. unattractive) to me.

Another point she is making here is that all this washing and scrubbing cannot eliminate every last impurity. Even after hours of frantic cleaning, the dirt still lingers because the physical filth (difficulty in ordering matter) is only the residue of the metaphysical dirt 25 The length of women’s baths is a standard reason for complaint. Diniarchus claims that Phronesium has spent more time in the water than any fish (Truc. 322–5).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

159

(difficulty in ordering the mind). Cultus is thus the ultimate and most elusive remedy for feminine dirt. Intriguingly, the speaker herself, as her sister is quick to remind the audience, is a perculta puella, that is, a woman who has undergone metaphysical as well as physical grooming. The contradiction between Little Sister’s thesis that women know nothing about modus and her own competence in this matter is even more apparent when she goes on to explain why the ability to set limits is the single most important skill a human being can acquire: Modus in omnibus rebus, soror, optimum est habitu. Nimia omnia nimium exhibent negoti hominibus ex se. (238–9) Limit is the best attitude to take in all matters. All things in excess bring to people excess of trouble. 26

If, as Adelphasium has just announced, women indeed are ignorant of limits, then her own knowledge unmasks her as a ventriloquist. As her sermon continues, the moralizing voice brings up other philosophical questions, for example, the difference between natural goodness (bonum ingenium) and prosperity based on luck (symbolized by aurum). 27 Ultimately, the two strains, the moralizing and the sexual, converge into an oxymoronic aphorism on whorish chastity: Meretricem pudorem gerere magi’ decet quam purpuram magi’que id meretricem pudorem quam aurum gerere, condecet. pulchrum ornatum turpes mores peius caeno conlinunt, lepidi mores turpem ornatum facile factis comprobant. (Poen. 304–7) For a prostitute it is more fitting to deck herself with modesty than a purple robe. And indeed to wear modesty rather than gold is more befitting for a prostitute. 26 Cf. below Poen. 284–8. Adelphasium stresses that an expense that remains in proportion to income is good enough (satis). 27 Poen. 301–2: ‘Bono med esse ingenio ornatam quam auro multo mauolo: | aurum id fortuna inuenitur, natura ingenium bonum.’ (I prefer to distinguish myself with my good disposition rather than with a lot of gold. Gold is found thanks to fortune, good character thanks to nature.)

160

(Wo)men of Bacchus An ugly disposition stains a pretty dress worse than mud. A beautiful disposition will easily earn approval for an ugly dress through deeds. 28

The claim that prostitutes must embody the matronly virtue of pudor and should be adorned by modesty rather than by expensive clothes presents a hilarious paradox. 29 This paradox is to some degree reminiscent of the passage in the Curculio (288–300) that ridicules educated male slaves, contrasting their citizen-like deportment with their social subjection. 30 After all, our philosophizing prostitute is a ‘Phoenician’ in a ‘Greek’ city, one who mouths moral maxims appropriate for Roman matrons. 31 Adelphasium’s lines also have several points in common with the speech against the repeal of the Oppian Law that Livy attributes to Cato (34. 4. 4). 32 Since Plautus could 28

Adelphasium’s attitude has its equivalent in the toilet scene in the Mostellaria (156–312). In this scene an old lena (Scapha) gives advice to a young meretrix (Philematium) preparing to meet her lover (Philolaches), who is in fact eavesdropping on them. The old woman uses very similar arguments against the younger one’s determination to remain devoted to her lover. For example, she subverts the principle of moderation in clothing by explaining that men are ultimately attracted to a woman’s body, not her dress: ‘Why don’t you decorate yourself with a pleasant disposition, since you are pleasant yourself. | Lovers do not fall in love with the dress but with its stuffing’ (168–9). 29 Eukosmia is a topos commonly found in Greek discussions of marriage duties or household economics, yet the assumption that links Adelphasium’s moral lecture to Melissa’s letter, namely that disposition, not clothing, is a woman’s ornament, is also known from Pythagoras’ address to women composed by Iamblichus (VP 11. 56–7). For a brief survey of such passages, see Städele (1980: 253–5). 30 Cur. 288–30: ‘Tum isti Graeci palliati, capite operto qui ambulant | qui incedunt suffarcintai cum libris, cum sportulis/constant, conferunt inter sese drapetae.’ (Then those Greeks in their Greek coats, who strut their heads covered, who walk leisurely stuffed with books, with their little baskets; they stop, debate among themselves, runaway slaves that they are.) 31 Roman prostitutes were slaves, often women and children captured in war, and at the time the audience would have laughed at the Poenulus, those captives may well have been Phoenician. On the links between immigration and prostitution in Rome, see Noy (2000: 122–3). McGinn (2004: 55–77) confirms that, with very few exceptions, slaves were recruited as prostitutes. He also indicates that captives were often prostituted (ibid. 55; esp. nn. 291 and 292 for references to literary and epigraphic evidence). See also Henderson (1999: 3–37) on the construction of Hegio’s ethnicity. 32 See Johnston (1980: 150–7) for a detailed comparison. It is worth noting that, in general, the aesthetics of comedic speech-making would probably have echoed that of contemporary oratory. Goldberg demonstrated intriguing stylistic similarities between one particular subgenre of comedic speech—prologues (as practised by Terence)—and arguably authentic fragments of Cato’s speeches (1983: 198–211).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

161

have been Livy’s inspiration in recreating the second-century debate about female luxury in the first place, the possibility that Plautus’ preaching prostitute was directly modelled after the politician must be approached with caution. It is, nevertheless, possible that both Livy’s Cato and Plautus evoke an ideology of moderation that was in vogue in the second century bce (see the next section). What the script undoubtedly foregrounds is the contrast between the philosophical (and manly) concern for quid sit satis and the female speaker’s constant slips into sexual double entendre. Not unlike Alcumena in the Amphitruo, who sang of her (il)legitimate love for her husband(’s double), Adelphasium invites her audience to contemplate her peculiar condition as a philosopher/prostitute, judging subject and judged object at the same time. In her discourse, purportedly masculine and feminine threads intertwine to form a thought-provoking texture of a (fe)male voice.

PRECEDENTS AND PARALLELS

Ideological Background Ethical reflections found in Roman comedy are derived from this genre’s complex intellectual background. In addition to Roman ideologies, the Latin adaptations of Greek plays may still reveal ideological tensions relevant to their Greek playwrights and audiences. 33 The question of exactly which philosophical schools influenced individual plays and playwrights received much attention between the mid-nineteenth and mid-twentieth centuries. 34 Most scholars have 33 e.g. Plautine Trinummus, adapted from Philemon’s Thesauros, reveals influences from Peripatetic ethics in the presentation of characters, their actions, and their motivations (Fantham 1977). See also Konstan on Terence’s Self-Tormentor (1995: 140). 34 New comedy’s reputation for philosophizing goes back to antiquity, as attested in the stories about Menander being a student of Theophrastus (Diog. Laert. 5. 36), a friend of Epicurus (Alciphron 4. 19. 14), or a friend of Demetrios of Phaleron (Diog. Laert. 5. 79). Gaiser (1967: 39–40) presents a bibliography of fifty-five books and articles tracing the philosophical motives in Menander, published between 1859 and 1965.

162

(Wo)men of Bacchus

considered Stoic, Epicurean, and, especially, Peripatetic influences; 35 only recently, Arnott (1996) has discussed the echoes of Pythagoreanism in the fragments of Alexis’ Tarantinoi and Pythagorizousa. 36 It is not always possible to link comic philosophizing to a specific school of thought. Some concepts transcend both the divisions that separate philosophical doctrines and the boundaries between professional philosophy and popular morality. Temperance is just such a concept. Although praise of moderation achieved its most rigorous form in Aristotle’s ethics, it belongs properly to Greek moral koine. 37 The universal status of this ideal is sanctioned in a legend reported by Pausanias (second century ce), according to which the Delphic inscription ÏÁ‰bÌ à„·Ì, ‘nothing in excess’, was dedicated to Apollo by all of the seven sages as the fruit of their collective wisdom (Periegesis 10. 24. 1). 38 While moderation is not the exclusive property of any one philosophical school, Plautus’ ‘Modus in omnibus rebus . . . optumum est habitu’ does bear a notable resemblance to the Pythagorean gnomon Ï›ÙÒÔÌ ‰’ Kd AÛÈÌ àÒÈÛÙÔÌ (measure is best in all things) known from the Golden Verses (38), 39 a protreptic poem, which may have been circulating in Rome in the second century bce. 40 The Pythagorean 35 On Stoic influences, see Pohlenz (1943: 270); on the lack of echoes of Epicureanism, de Witt (1952: 116–26). The similarities between Menander and Peripatos have been described both as evident (Webster 1950: 217–19) and as merely probable (Gaiser 1967: 36). It has also been argued that cross-references do not necessarily bear witness to a direct Peripatetic influence. For example, Webster (1950: 216) points out that certain complaints about women found in the fragments of Menander seem to go back to middle comedy (ibid. 216 n. 3), and argues that Menander’s ethopoiia merely adds a more realistic and individual dimension to the traditional stock-types. 36 So Arnott in his commentary on Alexis (1996: 579–82 and 635–47). 37 See Gibson’s useful comments (2007: 10–16) on the Greek (metron, mesotes, meden agan) and Roman (modus, medius, modicus, modestus, moderatus, and moderatio) concepts of ‘moderateness’, all of which share the idea of quantity that sets them apart from the notion of sophrosyne (‘soundness of mind’). 38 Pausanias also reports that on the same occasion the seven sages dedicated to Apollo the famous inscription, „ÌHËÈ Û·ıÙeÌ (Periegesis 10. 24. 1). The proverb ÏÁ‰bÌ i„·Ì is a favourite of Theognis (e.g. 1. 335, 401); Diogenes Laertius ascribes it to Chilon of Sparta 1. 41. 4; Plato uses it frequently (e.g. 228e3, 45e1); it also appears in Eur. Hip. 265, and in a fragment from Pindar quoted by Plutarch (116D11). 39 The gnomon Ï›ÙÒÔÌ ‰’ Kd AÛÈÌ àÒÈÛÙÔÌ occurs three times in Stobaeus and is labelled as Pythagorean. A fourth occurrence in the 5th-cent. Hierocles is unlabelled. The Aristotelian Ï›ÛÔÌ Ù ͷd àÒÈÛÙÔÌ (EN 1106b18–23) is also a close match. 40 On that poem and its possible Latin translation, see Thom 1995: 39.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

163

possibility is especially cogent because Alexis (the likely author of Plautus’ model for the Poenulus, the Karchedonios) is already known for casting a female Pythagorist in another play, the Pythagorizousa. 41 It is worth noting that the figure of the Pythagorizing woman had another manifestation in Hellenistic literature—that of the author of Pythagorean pseudo-epigrapha. 42 One of these texts, Melissa’s Letter to Cleareta, stresses the difference between the modest attire proper for married women and the purple robes worn by prostitutes. Melissa’s letter possibly exemplifies the kind of discourse Adelphasium’s proposal of ‘whorish chastity’ (or its Greek model) could arguably be satirizing. 43 Moreover, the principles of Pythagoreanism, which explicitly associate ‘the feminine’ with ‘what has no limit’ (àÂÈÒÔÌ), closely parallel the Plautine ideology of nullus est modus muliebris. 44 As it happens, an eclectic form of Pythagoreanism was probably fashionable in Rome during Plautus’ lifetime. The Annales and Epicharmus of his younger contemporary Ennius (Skutsch 41 On Alexis rather than Menander as the author of Plautus’ model, see Arnott 1996: 284–7. 42 Texts allegedly authored by women are published along with other Pseudopythagorica in Thesleff 1965; for the dates, see Thesleff (1961 and 1972); cf. Burkert (1972b), Centrone (1996: 148–58), and Macris 2002. Translations of the feminine Pseudo-pythagorica are available in Waithe 1987/1992, but see Clark (1988) on the quality of Waithe’s comments. 43 Thesleff dates Melissa to the 3rd cent. bce (1961: 112–16); the excerpt in question (Thesleff 1965: 116) reads: ˜Òc tÌ ÙaÌ Û˛ˆÒÔÌ· Í·d KÎÂıË›Ò·Ì Ù©H Í·Ùa ̸ÏÔÌ ỈÒd ÔÙBÏÂÌ ãÛı˜A ÍÂÍ·Î΢ÈÛÏ›Ì·Ì IÎÎa Ïc ÔÎıÍÂÒ‰HÚ, qÏÂÌ ‰b Ù©·Ñ KÛËAÙÈ ÎÂıÍÔÂflÏÔÌ· Í·d Í·Ë‹ÒÈÔÌ Í·d IˆÂÎB, IÎÎa Ïc ÔÎıÙÂÎB Í·d ÂÒÈÛÛ‹Ì· ·Ò·ÈÙÁÙ›ÔÌ „aÒ ·PÙ©·Ñ ÙaÌ ‰È·ı„B Í·d ‰È·¸ÒˆıÒÔÌ Í·d Ùa ˜ÒıÛ¸·ÛÙ· ÙHÌ K̉ıÏ‹Ù˘Ì. Ù·EÚ õÙ·flÒ·ÈÚ „aÒ Ù‹‰Â ˜ÒfiÛÈÏ· ÔÙÙaÌ ÙHÌ ÎÂ¸Ì˘Ì ËfiÒ·Ì, ÙAÚ ‰b ÔË’ åÌ· ÙeÌ Y‰ÈÔÌ ÂP·ÒÂÛÙÔ˝Û·Ú „ıÌ·ÈÍeÚ Í¸ÛÏÔÚ ≠ ÙÒ¸ÔÚ ›ÎÂÈ Í·d ÔP˜ ·¶ ÛÙÔηfl· (A self-possessed and honest woman should be lawfully married to her husband; having beautified her face discreetly, not excessively, she should wear a white dress, clean and simple, not expensive and extravagant; she must avoid [wearing] a translucent dress, one decorated with purple, or gilded. These things are useful for prostitutes since they hunt after more than one man; for a woman who seeks to please only her own husband, character, not clothing, is a fitting ornament.) 44 See Aristotle’s Pythagorean Table in Met. 986a 23–7; Guthrie (1962: i. 245–8), De Vogel (1966: 4, 158, 196), and Burkert (1972a: 51–2) concur that the passage reveals a structure wherein nine pairs of opposites (odd-even, one-many, right-left, male-female, at rest-moving, straight-crooked, light-darkness, good-evil, and squareoblong) are regarded as permutations of the first pair, limit-unlimited. Kirk et al. are, however, somewhat sceptical as to the primacy of the first pair (1983: 339).

164

(Wo)men of Bacchus

1985: 148–50; Kahn 2001: 86–7) revealed eclectic Pythagorean ideas, as did the cultural activities of Fulvius Nobilior, who was Ennius’, and also possibly Plautus’, patron. 45 The forgery and auto-da-fé of Numa’s ‘Pythagorean books’ in 181 bce constitute yet another testimony to the spread of this ideology in Rome. 46 It is also important to keep in mind that what was suppressed by the decree of the Senate in 186 bce was probably a syncretic form of the Bacchic mysteries intermingled with Pythagorean as well as Orphic notions. 47 However, an in-depth examination of the intellectual background of the assumption that men are by nature moderate while women are not is beyond the scope of the present investigation. It is therefore simply best to be aware that the ethical use of the term modus can be traced back to a philosophizing milieu that included Ennius and his protector Cato. Primarily, this word would have denoted an essential idea of measure: 48 ‘the right measure’, the model to be copied, be it the customary length of a spear (Nep. Iph. 1. 4), the prescribed amount of medication (Cat. De agri, 156. 6–7), or the desirable proportions of a human body (Cels. 7. 18. 10). The ‘ethical’ meaning of modus is first attested in a fragment of Ennius’ Satire 1, containing a rebuke against one who ‘feasts beyond measure’ (conuiuat sine modo). This usage of modus to denote ‘limit’ closely corresponds to Cato’s attitude towards pleasure as evidenced 45 On Noblior as Plautus’ patron, see Halkin 1948; Boyancé 1955; Arcellaschi 1982, 1990. For a more cautious view of Plautus’ political allegiances, see Gruen (1990: 128– 9). On Fulvius’ Pythagorism, see Martina 1981: passim. 46 See Gruen 1990: 163–8; Willi 1998: passim. 47 On the Orphic, Bacchic, and Pythagorean syncretism, see Burkert (1977: 7–8, 1972a: 125–35). Ferrero (1955: 243) sees the decrees expressing the same attitude, but differentiates between the Pythagorean and Bacchic ideology; Pailler sees the actions of the Senate in 186 and 181 as interconnected (1988: 669–82; 1998: passim); Gruen stresses that the two affairs represented the same kind of posturing on the part of the Senate (1990: 168), but dismisses the notion that the books were forged by Pythagoreans who ‘went underground’ as a result of the suppression of the Bacchic cult. 48 Ernout and Meillet (2001) posit that the abstract meaning ‘measure that one should not exceed’ and the sense of ‘limit’ would have developed from this concrete concept. Porphyry (Ad Hor. Carm. 1. 20. 1. 2) testifies that the direct Greek equivalent of modus would be metrion: ‘Videtur modicum pro paruo positum; quod quidm negant, existimantes modicum a modo dici, et significationem habere eius, quod Graece metron dicitur.’ (It seems that the adjective modicus has been substituted for parvus; some critics refute this, asserting that modicus is coined after modus and that it has a meaning equivalent to what is termed metrion in Greek.)

(Wo)men of Bacchus

165

in various sources. That attitude was based on moderation; Plutarch writes that Cato apparently made sure that the cost of his clothing and food did not surpass certain predetermined amounts (Plut. Cat. Maior 4. 3–4), and considered obesity and the taste for sumptuous foods symptoms of a moral disorder (ibid. 9. 6). Cato’s views on restraint with regard to sexual pleasure are aptly summed up in the famous anecdote in which he praises a young man who goes to a brothel once, only to reproach that same man after he visits the establishment a second time (cf. Hor. Sat. 1. 2. 31–6). 49 Similar opinions inform the speech against the repeal of the Oppian Law that Livy composed for Cato (cf. above, Chapter 2). 50 In this speech, female desire for luxury is represented as a disease, whose aetiology and treatment may be summarized as follows: because women are incapable of controlling themselves (34. 2. 2: impotentia muliebris), men are obliged to make laws that set limits—facere modum—on feminine desire (34. 4. 8, 34. 4. 18). 51 This rhetoric corresponds closely to that found in the fragments of an authentic speech entitled ‘Si se M. Caelius tribunus plebis appellasset’ (If Marcus Caelius, Tribune of the Plebs, summoned him to court), 52

49 Pseudo Acron commenting on Sat. 1. 2. 31 (cited after Heinze 1921 ad loc.) paraphrases Cato’s second opinion: ‘Adolescens, ego te laudavi tamquam interdum huc venires, non tamquam hic habitares’ (Young man, I have praised you for visiting this place from time to time, not for living here.) For Horace’s Macta virtute esto as an imitation of Cato’s style, see Fedeli’s commentary (1994: ii. ad loc.). 50 The speech is most likely the historian’s own composition; see Briscoe’s arguments and his critique of Paschovsky’s claim (1966) that the speech contains many features of Cato’s style (1981: 39–43). Nevertheless, even written by Livy, the speech could plausibly reflect ‘Catonian’ thoughts and may even echo some authentic accounts that have not come down to us, such as Ennius’ paraphrase of this speech in the Annales of which we have but a single line (fr. 362 Skutsch). 51 Livy 34. 4. 7–8: ‘Nondum lex Oppia ad coercendam luxuriam muliebrem lata erat; tamen nulla accepit. Quam causam fuisse censetis? Eadem fuit, quae maioribus nostris nihil de hac re lege sanciundi; nulla erat luxuria quae coerceretur. Sicut ante morbos necesse est cognitos quam remedia eorum, sic cupiditates prius natae sunt quam leges, quae iis modum facerent.’ (At that time the Oppian law had not yet been passed in order to curb female luxury, but no woman accepted [the gifts]. What do you think was the reason? The same one that our ancestors had for not sanctioning anything by law in that matter: there was no luxury to be curbed. As it is necessary that diseases become known before remedies are formulated against them, so desires have been born before the laws that were to limit them.) 52 Orat. 22 fr. 81–9 in Cugusi’s and Sblendorio Cugusi’s edn. of Cato (2001: 304–9).

166

(Wo)men of Bacchus

which portray Cato’s adversary as a man who knows no measure, and lack of moderation as a sickness: Numquam tacet, quem morbus tenet loquendi tamquam vernosum bibendi atque dormiendi. (Orat. 22. 81; Cugusi and Sblendorio Cugusi 2001: 304) He is never silent; in fact, he suffers from a morbid desire to speak, just like someone afflicted with dropsy suffers from a desire to drink and sleep.

Quite remarkably, this corrupt individual, whose silence or speech can be bought for a slice of bread (22. 82), is styled as an entertainer; he would be comfortable being carried as a statue in a festive procession, would gladly chat with the onlookers (22. 83), and after that would take various postures and tell jokes (22. 84). Such a man is also fond of singing, acting, and changing the pitch of his voice (22. 85). 53 While our evidence for Cato’s ethics of moderation may be fragmentary, a notion of modus defined as a boundary (or boundaries) to be imposed on an imaginary surface was in use in the earlier part of the first century bce. For example, in his De officiis (1. 93), Cicero distinguishes modus rerum (limit to be placed on desired goods) from temperantia (moderation), modestia (self-control), and sedatio perturbationum (freedom from passions) (1. 93). Cicero also associates modus with the Greek (and Pythagorean) concept of ÂPÙ·Ófl· (1. 142) that involves not only the concept of boundaries, but also the issue of the right order for things (ordinis conseruatio). 54

Roman Limits Greek pedigree notwithstanding, the notion that limit is manly seems to be integral to the Roman perceptions of space. The Romans were deeply concerned with physical boundaries, associating them with sacred masculine figures and phallic imagery. Thus, the twofaced god Janus protected the city gates and bridges, those critical 53

See later in this chapter, in the section on Spectaculum. The ideal of moderation later becomes pervasive in elegy, especially in Ovid’s Ars where it determines, among other things, the status of the ideal puella, a woman between matrona and meretrix, so it is intriguing to trace the peculiar relationship between women and modus in comedy. See Gibson (2003: 32–5) and his references. 54

(Wo)men of Bacchus

167

structures demarcating ‘our side’ from ‘the other side’. 55 Boundary stones were guarded by another male deity, Terminus, whose sacred image, a stone representing the essence of all boundaries, was located on the Capitol in the temple of Jupiter. 56 The phallic Mutinus Titinus, sometimes identified with Liber, the guardian of seed, both protected crossroads and supervised a bride’s passage from girlhood into womanhood. 57 The wooden figures of the Greek god Priapus that dotted the Italian countryside further testified to the gendering of boundaries as masculine in the Roman imagination. 58 Just as sacred boundaries were gendered in Roman culture, gender boundaries were sacred. These boundaries were challenged—only to be reinforced—in the exclusively feminine cult of the Bona Dea that temporarily granted women the sacrificial privileges of men. This ritual masculinizing of the matrons involved in the ceremonies was deemed not merely acceptable, but even beneficial. 59 In contrast to the apparently desirable transformation of female into male in the Bona Dea cult, the opposite transformation of male into female that took place in the cult of the god Bacchus was considered dangerous and led to this cult’s suppression by the Senate in 186 bce. 60

55

So Latte (1960: 132–6). According to a popular legend, when the temple was to be built, the augurs consulted the various divinities already worshipped there, and Terminus was the only one who refused to yield his place for a temple of Jupiter; see Livy 1. 55. 3–4; Ovid, Fast. 2. 667–76; Dion Hal. 3. 69. 4–5. Cf. Richardson 1992: 379–80; Simon 1990: 108– 9; Latte 1960: 64. 57 On Mutinus Titinus, see Richardson 1992: 264; Palmer 1974: 187–206; Dumézil 1966: 586; Latte 1960: 96. On his association with crossroads, see Palmer 1974: 191. 58 On Priapus as the central figure of Roman sexual humour, the standard by which all other figures are defined, see Richlin 1983: 57–60. Archaeological material is presented in Johns (1982: 50–2); cf. Richlin’s critique of Johns’s commentary on Priapus as a figure regarded with amusement and affection (1984: 257). 59 See Staples’s analysis of the cult as the manifestation of the feminine in Roman religion (1998: 11–51) and Versnel’s comparison between the festival of Bona Dea and the Greek Thesmophoria (1994: 276–88). References to cross-dressing in Roman custom are collected in Delcourt (1961: 28–9). See also Staples on the goddess Pales (1998: 47, 50). 60 Both literary and material evidence exists to support the presence of the cult of Dionysus-Bacchus in Rome for a long time before its repression in 186 bce. See Pailler (1998: passim; 1988: 127–35); Cazanove (1986: 182–3). On Dionysus-Liber, see Beard et al. (1998: i. 91–6, ii. 288–92); Simon (1990: 126–34); Bruhl (1953: passim). 56

168

(Wo)men of Bacchus THE (WO)MEN OF BACCHUS

The events, while documented by a senatorial decree (ILLRP 511), are best known through Livy’s dramatization (39. 8–18), composed nearly two centuries later. As I have observed above, Livy’s History does not necessarily offer a clear window onto Plautus’ Rome, but in the case of the Bacchanalia, the historian’s view of the role of gender issues in the affair coincides with the tenet of the senatorial decree and is therefore worth summarizing here.

Livy’s Bacchanalia At the beginning of the second century bce, the cult of Bacchus, which had originally included only women who met three times a year in the grove of Similia on the Aventine, took a new turn when men were admitted and the ceremonies were held more often. According to Livy, it was only by accident that the consul Postumius discovered that the activities of its initiates amounted to ‘internal conspiracy’ (39. 8. 1). This ‘conspiracy’ was exposed when a young man named Aebutius came under pressure from his mother and stepfather to join the sect. On the advice of a courtesan named Hispala, who informed him of the dangers awaiting new initiates, Aebutius refused to join. Forced to repeat her story before the consul Postumius, Hispala described nocturnal debauchery, murder, human sacrifice, and machines for whisking away victims ‘kidnapped by the gods’ (39. 13. 13). She also revealed that men and women of high rank were among the initiates. When the consul brought the matter to the attention of the Senate, the fathers passed a decree forbidding the worshippers of Bacchus to congregate and perform their rites, and a large-scale investigation into the activities of the bacchae was launched. Postumius also delivered a speech in front of the assembly warning people about the dangers of a conspiracy and of a cult that rendered men effeminate. The Senate’s decrees were made public throughout Italy, and those found guilty of unlawful intercourse (stupris), murder (caedibus), or fraud were condemned to capital punishment (39. 18. 4).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

169

Simillimi Feminis Mares The theme of boundaries first surfaces in Livy’s preface to his account of the Bacchanalia, in which he criticizes the simultaneous participation of men and women in the mysteries: 61 Cum vinum animos mouisset, et nox et mixti feminis mares, aetatis tenerae maioribus, discrimen omne pudoris exstinxisset, coruptelae primum omnis generis fieri coeptae, cum ad id quisque, quo natura pronioris libidinis esset, paratam uoluptatem haberet. Nec unum genus noxae, stupra promiscua ingenuorum feminarumque erant . . . (39. 8. 6–7) 62 When wine had confused the minds and the night and the mingling of men and women, of tender and mature ages, had extinguished every sense of modesty, first all kinds of debauchery began to be practised, because each found easily the kind of pleasure for which her/his desire was most inclined by nature. Nor was there only one type of crime committed; there was interchangeable intercourse of free men and women . . .

There is a lot more to Livy’s criticism than the observation that wine, night, and mixed company lead to promiscuity: he perceives the festive intermingling of social categories as a threat in itself, and this mistrust parallels the ideology of new comedy that repeatedly represents such festivities as conducive to rape. 63 Concern for boundaries resurfaces in Livy’s account of the testimony of Hispala. She traces ‘the evil’ back to Paculla Annia’s decision to initiate men as well as women (13. 9) and insists that the resulting chaos contributed to the cult’s moral dissolution. 64 Finally, Livy 61 The discussion here is an attempt to emphasize one of the motifs present in Livy’s ‘anti-Bacchic’ discourse, rather than to encompass the affair of the Bacchanalia in all its complexity. For a comprehensive analysis of the affair, see Gruen 1990: 34–78; Pailler 1988. 62 Text quoted after P. G. Walsh 1999. 63 On the intermingling of categories in Greek comedy, see Konstan’s discussion of the ‘liminal episode’ in Aristophanes’ Frogs (1995: 68–71). Menander’s Samia and Epitrepontes, Terence’s Hecyra, and Plautus’ Truculentus all feature stories of rape committed during religious festivals. Such situations render young people vulnerable to the intervention of ‘some power above’, as Charisius confesses in the Epitrepontes (911) when discussing a rape he committed during a festival; on this speech, see Konstan (1995: 143–5). Rosivach, in his list of characteristics of rape in new comedy, mentions both ‘wine and night’ (7) and ‘nocturnal religious activities’ (9) (1998: 36). 64 Livy 39. 13. 10: ‘Ex quo in promiscuo sacra sint et permixti viri feminis, et noctis licentia accesserit, nihil ibi facinoris, nihil flagitii praetermissum. Plura virorum inter

170

(Wo)men of Bacchus

stresses the dangers of promiscuity further in the speech of the consul Postumius, which cites gender confusion as one of the most egregious symptoms of the Bacchic disease: 65 Primum igitur mulierum magna pars est, et is fons mali huiusce fuit; deinde simillimi feminis mares, stuprati et constupratores fanatici, uigiliis uino strepitibus clamoribusque nocturnis attoniti. (39. 15. 9) First, then, women constitute the majority, and they were the source of this evil; then there are the men who are quite like women, those who submit to intercourse, those who actively take part in it, frantic, overwhelmed by lack of sleep, wine, noise, and nocturnal screams.

Clearly, the feminization of men is styled as one of the chief offences against Roman ideals committed by the initiates.

Bacas—Vir Livy’s opinion that the commingling of men and women resulted in the male votaries’ symbolic feminization cannot be dismissed as an anachronistic perception of the past on the part of the historian. A bronze tablet with the text of the consuls’ letter reporting the substance of the consultum de Bacchanalibus of 186 bce, found in Tiriolo, confirms that these objections do in fact parallel the original rhetoric of the second-century bce legislation. 66 The document restricts male participation in the cult, stipulating that subsequently only women will be admitted to the priesthood (l. 10); it also explicitly bans any man from ‘entering’ the thiasos of bacchae: ‘BACAS VIR NEQUIS ADIESE VELET’ (The Women of Bacchus—no man shall join! l. 7) sese quam feminarum esse stupra.’ (From that time on, the sacred rites took place in confusion, men mingled with women, and with the permissiveness of night, there was no crime, no vice that was not committed. And there were more acts of men between themselves than of women.) Livy’s Latin lends itself to double interpretation: feminarum may be taken as modifying virorum and referring to ‘men’s crimes of women’, i.e. ‘committed against women’, or as parallel to virorum, in which case it would modify stupra and imply that the comparison is to homosexual intercourse (inter sese crimina) between men versus intercourse between women. 65 Livy 39. 9. 1: ‘Huius mali labes ex Etruria Romam veluti contagione morbi penetravit.’ (This degenerate evil has spread to Rome from Etruria just like a contagious disease.) 66 ILLRP 511.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

171

The legalistic style of this text, such as the foregrounded word order of Bacas uir, suggests that this is the central point of the decree reported on the tablet of Tiriolo. 67 This allows us to assume that the incompatibility of the feminine gender of Bacas and the masculinity of uir was advertised as the most objectionable feature of the cult. The Roman Senate decided to set a limit on the practice of mingling the feminine bacchae and the Roman uiri. If masculinity were in fact coextensive with the ability to set limits and femininity with its absence, then the Senate’s action would have to be understood as ‘manly’ and the disallowed practice as ‘feminine’. Livy’s rendition of this particular clause (39. 14. 11) reveals the same tension, implying that in the past some men would have been initiated as bacchae: 68 ‘ne quis qui Bacchis initiatus esset coisse aut convenisse sacrorum causa uelit’ (lest the man who had been initiated as one of the bacchae take part in any gatherings or assemblies for the sake of worship). Both phrases, Bacchis initiatus and Bacas vir, etch, as it were, the male initiate’s transgression into the Latin language. This transgression of gender boundaries produced pathological individuals who, as Livy states through the consul’s speech, were unfit to bear arms (39. 14–15). 69 In this respect, the status of the initiates of Bacchus is reminiscent of that of another group of men who at times donned female costumes, 70 the histriones, who (along with the tibicines) had long been exempt from military service. 71 67 The presence of censuere in l. 9 is another such feature; cf. Fraenkel (1932: 370–1). 68 See Pailler’s equation adisse=initiari (1988: 25–6); adire meaning ‘enter, go inside’ is usually used in the passive (cf. OLD on adeo 1c). 69 It is worth noting that Livy’s image corresponds rather closely to the frank bisexuality of many Plautine characters who, while being husbands (Lysidamus in the Casina) or lovers (Toxilus in the Persa), also entertain homoerotic relationships with slaves or parasites. On Roman homosexuality, see Lilja and her references to both young pueri and older slaves serving as partners to their masters (1983: 16–25). 70 Restrictions about handling (not to mention wearing) male and female clothing may have been quite rigid, to judge from the indignation voiced by Matrona in the Menaechmi, who reacts to her husband’s claim that he has lent her cloak to someone; cf. Men. 659–60: ‘mulierem aequom est uestimentum muliebre | dare foras, uirum uirile’ (it is proper for a woman to loan out feminine clothing, for a man, masculine). 71 Jory’s comparison between histriones and the Artists of Dionysus in this respect is compelling (1970: 232–3).

172

(Wo)men of Bacchus

To continue in this vein, Livy’s narrative itself, as P. G. Walsh has demonstrated (1996), has a distinctly theatrical flavour. Walsh divides the story into five segments/acts (pp. 195–6), pointing out that its intrigue, featuring a youth (Aebutius) and a good courtesan (Hispala), could possibly follow an account of an earlier historian. Indeed, historians, such as Postumius Albinus (a descendant of the consul) or Gaius Acilius, wrote in Greek for an audience familiar with the conventions of new comedy, and could easily have availed themselves of a dramatic version of the events in question. Let us give this potential connection between the theatre and the Bacchanalia further consideration.

FROM BACCHANALIA TO THEATRE While we cannot say for sure that Roman theatre professionals had first-hand knowledge of the cult of Bacchus, their Greek counterparts certainly did. In the Hellenistic period, Dionysus, the god of mystery cults, was everywhere strongly linked with Dionysus, the patron of the ‘artists’, and the phenomenon is well documented for Greek actors working in Italy. 72 The existence of Roman actor guilds analogous to the technitai, while highly probable, is not provable. 73 The main evidence for the existence of an association of theatre professionals in Rome consists of a few lines in Festus. These relate that, after Livius Andronicus had composed a hymn that won the divine favour for Roman affairs in the second Punic war (218–201 bce), ‘a place in the temple of Minerva on the Aventine was granted to playwrights and actors (scribis histrionibusque) so that they could assemble and make offerings’ (446 Lindsay). 74 The event does not mean that Minerva had been the patron of Roman actors before this attribution; DionysusBacchus is far more likely to have been cast in that role. 72 See Le Guen (2001: ii. 93) and her references. For material evidence of the presence of the technitai in Rhegion (2nd–1st bce) and Syracuse (1st bce), see Le Guen (2001: i. 317–19 and ii. 36–8). 73 See Gruen (1990: 86–9); the most exhaustive treatment of the question remains Jory (1970: 224–53). 74 See Jory (1970: 226–7) on the date of the dedication and (ibid. 226–33) on Dionysus as a potential patron of Roman actors; cf. also Brown (2002: 226–7).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

173

Bacchus and his myths did in fact command tremendous attention in Roman dramatic literature in the second century bce. Certainly, the titles of Naevius’ Lycurgus, Pacuvius’ Pentheus and Anthiope, and Accius’ Alphesiboia, Athamas, Bacchae, and Stasiastae sive trophaeum Liberi testify to the audience’s and the theatre professionals’ shared interest in the myths of Bacchus. 75 Indeed, a fragment of Naevius’ Lycurgus (line 57 Ribbeck) presents us with an image of Dionysus clad in a long saffron robe that could have served as a model for the actor in his task of representing women on stage.

Play-within-the-Play as Bacchanalia Plautus’ comedies contain a hefty dose of Bacchic folklore and specialized vocabulary. 76 Critics have interpreted these allusions to the Bacchic cult in Plautus both as an ardent believer’s Dionysiac manifesto (Dumont 1983) and as slander that contributed to the prosecution of the cult (Rousselle 1987). 77 I will refrain from passing a value judgement on the Plautine references to bacchae and will look instead at the dramatic function of such references. This is appropriate, as the most salient quality of these allusions is their immediacy: they tend to refer to characters and actors on stage. For example, when the cook in the Aulularia tells the audience that he and his staff feel as though they have worked for the bacchae—so brutally were they beaten—he advertises the entrance of the wailing old miser who is coming on stage in the guise of a raging baccha. 78 Likewise, jokes in 75

See Ribbeck’s list of titles (1962: 364–5). I accept Pailler’s conclusion that the Roman audience would have been familiar with the Bacchanalia both through literary sources and direct experience (1988: 235–45). Cf. ibid. 232–5, for a convenient summary of the views of those scholars who prefer to insist on the importance of either one or the other source. 76 Words like bacchanal and bacchari rely on a borrowed stem but show Latin word-formation, a tell-tale sign of permanent residence in a language; cf. Pailler (1988: 236). 77 More recently, Flower (2000: 25–6) also stressed the negative character of the Plautine references to the cult. 78 Aul. 408–9: ‘neque ego umquam nisi hodie ad Bacchas ueni in bacchanal coquinatum, | ita me miserum et meos discipulos fustibus male contuderunt.’ (If I have not come to cook for the bacchae today in their place of worship, I never have; so horribly have I and my assistants been clubbed.) Similarly, Sosia in the Amphitruo tells his audience that his mistress Alcumena, who is standing next to him on stage,

174

(Wo)men of Bacchus

the Bacchides identify the eponymous heroines, not some anonymous revellers, as blood-drinking bacchae. 79 The play ends with a festive celebration under the auspices of the bacchae that unites fathers and sons, suspending the conflict of the generations and the tensions between civic duties and private pleasures. 80 Not only are the characters in these plays identified as bacchae, but also the action of a Plautine comedy itself is at times compared to a Bacchic conspiracy. Consider, for instance, the mention of the cult in the Miles. The scene in which it occurs involves three characters: Milphidippa (the maid of the courtesan Acroteleutium), the soldier, and Palaestrio (the clever slave). Milphidippa addresses Palaestrio, asking him to identify himself as her fellow conspirator (1016): ‘cedo signum si harunc baccharum es’ (Give me the sign if you are one of these women of Bacchus here). The identity of the conspiracy to which the maid refers is ambiguous. To the soldier, the conspiracy means the fictitious matron’s plot to become his lover, but Milphidippa might be in fact alluding to the-play-within-the-play directed by Palaestrio. In both cases, however, the Plautine script can be said to refer to its own plot as a ‘conspiracy’ and to its own male and female characters as bacchae. A similar reading can be proposed for the final scene (of our version) of the Casina. The plot of this play is woven around the figure of Casina, who never appears on stage. Brought up by the mistress of the house, Cleustrata, she is a girl of 17 and the object of desire of Cleustrata’s son. However, his father Lysidamus, that tireless ‘lover of girls and bearded men’, would prefer to sleep with Casina himself. He does not dare to do so overtly, but instead aspires to marry her off to his obliging slave (and lover) Olympio, on the understanding that he will take Olympio’s place in bed on the first night. To prevent this, must in her frenzy be treated like a baccha: Am. 703–4: ‘Bacchae bacchanti si uelis aduorsarier, | ex insana insaniorem facies, feriet saepius.’ (If you wished to contradict a Baccha in her frenzy, from crazy she would turn crazier and would strike more often.) 79 Bac. 53: ‘Bacchas metuo et bacchanal tuom.’ (I fear your bacchae and your bacchanal.) Bac. 371–2: ‘Bacchides non Bacchides sed bacchae sunt acerrumae; | apage istas a me sorores quae hominum sorbent sanguinem.’ (The Bacchides are not Bacchides, but most bitter bacchae; take away from me those sisters who drink the blood of men.) 80 Cf. Konstan (1995: 140, esp. n. 29) on the festive endings in Menandrian comedy as a parallel to Plautus’ Bacchides, which is based on Menander.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

175

Cleustrata disguises her faithful slave Chalinus as Casina. This Chalinus/Casina is then led into the bridal chamber to await the groom. 81 The first to enter the room is Olympio, who has no intention of keeping his promise to allow Lysidamus to bed Casina first. The audience learns what has happened in that chamber from Olympio’s embarrassed account of having been assaulted by his ‘wife’. Pardalisca, Cleustrata’s maid, who helped arrange the mock wedding night, plays the fool, interrogating Olympio about the nature of the weapon with which he has been assaulted and letting the audience enjoy the fantasy of a bride with a penis: ol. Oh erat maxumum. haberet metui: id quaerere occepi. dum gladium quaero ne habeat, arripio capulum. sed quom cogito, non habuit gladium, nam esset frigidus. pa. eloquere. ol. at pudet. pa. num radix fuit? ol. Non fuit. pa. num cucumis? ol. Profecto hercle non fuit quicquam holerum, nisi, quidquid erat, calamitas profecto attigerat numquam. ita quidquid erat grande erat. (Cas. 907–14) ol. It was huge. I feared that she might have a sword: I started to search for it. While I am searching (in case she had it), I snatch the handle. But when I think about it, she didn’t have a sword, since it would have been cold. pa. Tell us. ol. But I am ashamed. pa. Was it a radish? ol. No. pa. Was it a cucumber? ol. It certainly wasn’t a vegetable, but, whatever it was, it has never been touched by rot. So big it was.

Olympio manages to escape his bearded bride and waits for his master to take his place, hoping that Lysidamus will have an equally unpleasant encounter. He is not disappointed. Lysidamus soon runs out of the house, with his ‘bride’ (Cas. 814, 988) following behind: 81 On the complex implications of cross-dressing in the Casina, see Gold (1997: 104–7).

176

(Wo)men of Bacchus

ly. occidi! ch. etiamne imus cubitum? Casina sum. ly. i in malam crucem! ch. non amas me? (Cas. 977–8) ly. I am done for! ch. Are we going to bed at last? I am Casina. ly. Go to hell! ch. Don’t you love me?

When Cleustrata inquires about the reasons for her spouse’s undignified demeanour, the old man blames everything on the bacchae: cl. quin responde, tuo quid factum est pallio? ly. bacchae hercle, uxor—cl. bacchae? ly. bacchae hercle, uxor— (Cas. 978–9) cl. So, why don’t you tell me what happened to your coat? ly. bacchae, I swear, dear . . . cl. bacchae? ly. bacchae, I swear, dear . . .

When the female neighbour and family friend Myrrhina indicates that this answer has no credibility whatsoever, Lysidamus, having been assaulted by a character in drag, obstinately blames the bacchae for his misadventure. 82 my. nugatur sciens, nam ecastor nunc bacchae nullae ludunt. ly. oblitus fui. Sed tamen bacchae— cl. quid bacchae? (Cas. 979–80) my. He is pulling your leg, I guarantee you, these days no bacchae are celebrating their festivals here. ly. I had forgotten, but nevertheless bacchae . . . cl. What about bacchae?

Critics have used this line to argue for the late date of the play, pointing out that the disapproving references to the bacchae and their ‘sexual irregularity and violence’ may have reflected the suppression of the cult in 186 bce. 83 More directly, this mention of the bacchae 82

Cf. Cas. 875–936 for a parallel experience recounted by Olympio. See MacCary and Willcock (1976: 207 ad loc.) and MacCary (1975) on the bacchae as a symbol of ‘moral corruption’, especially homosexual rape. 83

(Wo)men of Bacchus

177

refers to what is happening on stage. 84 The title of baccha would suit Lysidamus’ persecutor ‘Chalinus/Casina’. Moreover, just as in the Miles, the ‘conspiracy of the bacchae’ is also a suitable description of the theatrical intrigue directed by Cleustrata and executed by Olympio, Myrrhina, and Pardalisca. 85 All these characters are now on stage celebrating their triumph; they are the bacchae responsible for Lysidamus’ humiliation.

So, How Likely is my Likeness? Chalinus’ stunt as a baccha brings us back to the analogy between acting and the Bacchanalia. We have seen that a character in drag can be described as a baccha, but does the comedy justify the claim that the actors’ gender performances compare to that of the simillimi feminis mares described by Livy? Plautus’ Menaechmi, a play that at several crucial points spotlights a feminine garment, may give us an answer. This garment, a palla, makes its first appearance in the scene that introduces the pleasure-seeking Menaechmus of Epidamnus. Menaechmus has just stolen the palla from his wife and is beaming with self-admiration, when Peniculus, his hanger-on, startles him with his sudden arrival. Menaechmus is delighted to have an audience and invites Peniculus to look him over carefully (inspicere 141). At this point, the actor was perhaps wearing the palla underneath the costume of a young man, as Peniculus at first does not seem to notice anything unusual about his attire. Menaechmus would have had to remove his outer garment, or at least lift it, in order to reveal the palla. Given that Menaechmus clearly wants to be seen as a likeness of some visual representations of Ganymede or Adonis, the actor would probably have assumed enticing postures, not unlike the staticuli that Cato mentioned in a speech caricaturing Marcus Caelius (cf. below on Spectaculum). 84 Moore (1998: 178) draws attention to the parallels between Livy’s allegations that the worshippers of Bacchus forced men to have homosexual intercourse and Lysidamus’ excuse that his actions can be blamed on the bacchae. 85 See Petrone (1989: 101–2) on the contrast between gnomic misogyny and the triumph of female intelligence in the Casina and Hallett (1989: 69) on the mannish behaviour of Cleustrata.

178

(Wo)men of Bacchus

men. dic mi, enumquam tu uidisti tabulam pictam in pariete ubi aquila Catameitum raperet aut ubi Venus Adoneum? pe. saepe. sed quid istae picturae ad me attinent? men. age me aspice. Ecquid adsimulo similiter? pe. qui istic est ornatus tuos? (Cas. 143–6) men. Tell me, have you ever seen a picture on a wall where the eagle seizes Ganymede, or Venus, Adonis? pe. Yes, more than once. But why should I care about them? men. Come on, look at me. So isn’t my act convincing? pe. What’s that costume that you are wearing?

While Menaechmus poses as the archetypical male beloved and asks Peniculus to observe him, compare him with famous paintings, and gaze upon him (141–5), the actor for his part invites and submits to the gaze of the audience. There is little doubt about the voyeuristic nature of this invitation; the spectators are asked to admire the actor’s art (adsimulo), and the term used for looking here (aspice) is the same one Cicero later uses to describe the audience’s gaze when indiscreetly directed at an actor’s private parts (De off. 1. 129. 9: aspiciantur). The palla next appears in the hands of Menaechmus’ visiting twin (Menaechmus II), the double of the would-be Adonis. Menaechmus II takes advantage of his brother’s arrangements and then meets the disappointed parasite Peniculus, who is excluded from the feast. When Peniculus, in trying to remind Menaechmus of the promised party, refers to the fact that Menaechmus wore the palla, the young man takes its mention as an insult and exclaims: . . . uae capiti tuo! omnis cinaedos esse censes quia tu es? (Men. 512–13) . . . The hell with you! Do you think that everyone is a cinaedus, because you are one? 86 86

In his book on Roman song, Habinek discusses this line as a reference to the dance of the cinaedi, which would have been derived from the ancient mimus (2005: 178–80). In ‘Roman Comedy, a Dance Drama’, a paper given at the APA convention in San Diego, Moore distinguished this type of dance ‘reserved for moments of greatest inversion of societal norms’ from the more frequent gestural dancing and from yet another kind of intense choreography used in the servus currens scenes. See .

(Wo)men of Bacchus

179

If a man wearing a palla is automatically a cinaedus, then the histriones wearing female garments are cinaedi as well. And Menaechmus II is about to become one. In subsequent scenes we see him entering the courtesan’s house, leaving it with the precious palla, and confronting his brother’s wife (Men. 710–52). Since Menaechmus II recognizes neither the wife nor her father who joins them later (808–11), they declare him insane. The twin decides to play along and fake insanity (832). 87 His first words have a Bacchic flavour as they are addressed to ‘father Bromios’ (835), and it is very likely that at this point he would have put on the palla that the courtesan had entrusted to him. If this conjecture is correct, here again, as in the Casina, a male on stage in female clothing would have been associated with the Bacchic cult. Like the tablet of Tiriolo, Roman comedy tends to use the feminine title bacchae to refer either to mixed groups of male and female conspirators (Casina and Miles) or to male bacchae (Aulularia and Casina). Cross-dressing is associated with these male bacchae in both the Menaechmi and the Casina. These two plays also explore the ambiguity of the gender of male characters and actors, while other allusions to on-stage conspiracies of the bacchantes confirm the connection between theatrical and ritual cross-dressing, implying that the theatre would have undermined the gender of its male and female characters, as well as that of its actors.

This Man is Made of a (Wo)man A joke in the Amphitruo may provide a clue to the actors’ (and characters’) uncertain gender status. The context for this joke is a highly dramatic exchange between Alcumena and Amphitruo. In this scene, the pleasure-loving matron, who is just about to sing her second hymn to ‘manliness’ (uirtus), realizes that her husband doubts her fidelity: al. opsecro ecastor, qur istuc, mi uir, ex ted audio? am. uir ego tuus sum? Ne me appella, falsa, falso nomine! (Am. 812–13) al. Dear husband, what words do I hear from you? am. Am I your husband? False woman, do not call me with that false name. 87

On the tragic parody in this scene, see Goldberg (1986: 208).

180

(Wo)men of Bacchus

Alcumena addresses her husband with mi uir, an idiomatic expression that literally means ‘my man’. Her husband’s angry reply, which labels her falsa, ‘false’ woman, and proclaims uir an incorrect term when applied to him, contains a twin double entendre. 88 First, the word falsa, accusing Alcumena of infidelity, may also hint at the fictional femininity of the male actor wearing a woman’s costume. (Ovid was later to use this same adjective to describe the appearance of Caenis/Caeneus, a girl transformed into a man by Apollo. 89 ) Second, the ‘false name’ that Amphitruo rejects is uir, meaning both ‘husband’ and ‘man’. Consequently, Amphitruo’s words imply both that he does not consider himself Alcumena’s husband anymore and that his virility is questionable. Plautus seems particularly anxious to stress the second meaning, for he has the slave make the following comment: so. haeret haec res, si quidem haec iam mulier facta est ex uiro. (Am. 813) so. Now, all is in order, if this one has become a woman. 90

The double entendre would thus have undermined not only the feminine stage persona of the actor playing Alcumena, but also the masculine persona of Amphitruo; they may have implied that an actor, even when playing a mighty warrior, is not exactly a uir. Sosia’s joke has some logical consequences: Alcumena is a fake woman (presumably) because (s)he is a man, while the actor playing Amphitruo is a fake man. The first actor is thus not a woman, and the second, not a man. Unless we read here an allusion to specific 88 Even if the notion of men playing women’s roles were completely naturalized for the Roman audience, it would still be legitimate to assume that such naturalization could be questioned in the Amphitruo, a comedy that plays with identities. Mercury prepares the audience for this kind of drama from the beginning by announcing that he and his divine father will act in this play (Am. 25–31). 89 See Ovid, Met. 12. 466–73, where Latreus provokes Caeneus, proclaiming he is not a man, but a woman who looks like a man, and reminding him that he had bought his fake appearance of a man (‘viri falsam speciem parasti’). The story of Caenis/Caeneus, a woman who was loved by Poseidon and who asked to be turned into an invulnerable man, provides a mythological parallel for the actor’s unstable gender identity, especially given that Caeneus turns back into Caenis after death and is listed among Dido’s companions in the underworld: Verg. A. 6. 448. 90 The fact that haec can be simply attracted to the grammatical gender of mulier does not change the implications of Plautus’ choice.

(Wo)men of Bacchus

181

actors’ sexual preferences, this comment would appear to place the histrio in an imaginary space between genders. Neither a woman nor a man, the actor is, much like a baccha, a ‘most womanlike man’. A similar perception of the actor’s self as contagiously unstable, and therefore supremely dangerous, fuelled Phillip Stubbes’s vehement criticism of Elizabethan theatre more than 1700 years later. In his Anatomie of Abuses, Stubbes thundered against men donning female clothing as ‘monsters, of both kindes, half women, half men’. 91 In Chapter 5 I will discuss in greater detail this space where one can be a (wo)man and link it to classical reflections on gender and language; in the meantime, let us conclude that Plautine comedy resonates not only with echoes of the Bacchic cult, but also with a rhetoric of gender similar to the one attested by the tablet of Tiriolo. Both discourses demonstrate a fear that masculinity may be corrupted by the enactment of femininity. We can therefore posit that the rejection of the cult of Bacchus also expressed, at least indirectly, mistrust towards the male bacchae and their conspiracies featured on the stage. Perhaps the decision not to complete a permanent theatre building made in 154 bce (cf. Livy Epit. 48) had something to do with this perception of theatre as a tenuous and unmanly space. The notion that the actor is a figure between genders finds sufficient confirmation in sources outside comedy.

SPECTACULUM In the Latin corpus, actors are usually praised for their versatility; it is therefore reasonable to assume that they were expected to handle both male and female roles. 92 A fragment of Cato the Elder’s speech against Caelius contains a malicious portrait of an elite man who behaves like a public entertainer, a rare testimony to second-century bce perceptions of acting: 93 91 Quoted after Levine (1994: 19); cf. ibid. 10–25 on the concept of self underlying Stubbes’s diatribes. See also Callaghan (2000: 30–2) and her discussion of male effeminacy on stage. 92 See Ch. 1 n. 4, for references. 93 Sciarrino (2004: 339) discusses the convivial context in which it would have been acceptable for an upper class Roman to imitate a professional entertainer.

182

(Wo)men of Bacchus

Praeterea cantat, ubi collibuit, interdum Graecos uersus agit, iocos dicit, uoces demutat, staticulos dat. (Macrobius Sat. 3. 14. 9=Cato Orat. 22. 85) Besides that, he sings whenever it pleases him, from time to time acts out Greek poetry, tells jokes, changes his voice, takes on postures.

This short statement, itself skilfully juggling verbs, reflects the bewildering flexibility of this amateur singer/actor/stand-up comedian who could not only labour in various performing genres, but could also speak in different voices, one of which was very likely feminine. We know from Quintilian’s Institutio that in later times actors were trained to produce a feminine voice (1. 10. 31), along with another marginal voice, that of an elderly man (11. 3. 91). We also know that some actors resorted to the skill of speaking like a woman or like an old man not only when playing such parts, but also when playing other roles that call for repeating the words of women or old men (ibid.). Versatility was demanded of first-century bce actors whose training, which included both ballet and wrestling (Cic. De orat. 3. 83. 4), would have presumably prepared them for a wide range of roles. At that time, an actor was not only likely to play different parts in the genre in which he specialized, but also to play (occasionally) roles that belonged to other genres: a comic actor was encouraged to test his skills in tragedy, while a tragic one might try his hand at comedy. 94 The histrio who portrayed Plautine heroines in the original performances of the plays would probably have been a generalist, suspect because of his versatility. A man who wore feminine clothes would have transgressed the boundaries between male and female over which Livy and the senatus consultum had expressed such overwhelming anxiety. Though at first glance our hypothetical actor, a man with a ‘female’ voice and body in his repertory, would have been not unlike the Greek hypocrites, his social position was quite 94 Orat. 109; cf. Quint. Inst. 11. 3. 91. See Hall (2002: 26) on Nero’s experiments with tragoedia cantata and citharoedia. Nero’s aesthetic ideal would have also been versatility, since Suetonius reports that when the emperor sang tragic arias he would impersonate different characters, both divine and human, both female and male, and would use a female mask as well as a male one, both fashioned in his own likeness (Nero 21. 3. 3).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

183

distinct from that of his Athenian counterpart. 95 In Athens, the role of the performer and the spectator were interchangeable; many members of the Athenian audience watched the performance with the interest and knowledge of practitioners, who themselves may have danced in the chorus once. But early Roman theatre was a radically different space. Here roles were asymmetrical: the citizen spectatores came to watch; the entertainers came to exhibit themselves as spectaculum; gaze divided audience and actors into subjects and objects. 96 The first-century bce historian Cornelius Nepos specified that being an object of public gaze—that is, being looked at without being able to look back—was the underlying reason for the Roman contempt for actors. 97 in scaenam uero prodire ac populo esse spectaculo nemini in eisdem gentibus fuit turpitudini. quae omnia apud nos partim infamia, partim humilia atque ab honestate remota ponuntur. (Nep. Praef. 5) No one in those [i.e. Greek] nations considered showing oneself on stage and being a spectacle for the crowd shameful. According to us, all this is infamous as well as submissive, and unfitting for an honest person. 98

In a more practical vein, Cicero’s excursus on decency in De officiis explains why this kind of exposure was considered so degrading. Specifically, he praises the performer’s precaution in donning underwear to shield at least some areas of his body from the spectator’s penetrating gaze:

95

Blondell et al. offer a general overview of Athenian acting practices, with an emphasis on women in tragedy (1999: 33–8). 96 The relationship between the viewers and the viewed cannot, however, be reduced to the tension between men and women, as the viewed are men enacting women and some of the members of the audience are women. On the peculiar position of the feminine viewer, see Sharrock on ‘Aphrodite’ on the Portland Vase (2002: 276–80). Ovid’s famous comment (Ars 1. 99) ‘spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsae’ (they come to watch; they also come to be watched) emphasizes the ambiguous position of the feminine spectator. 97 On prodire meaning ‘coming forth to be seen’, see OLD on prodeo, 2. 98 Tacitus writes that the stage had the capacity to befould (foedare) and pollute (polluere) anyone who stepped onto it (Ann. 14. 14. 15).

184

(Wo)men of Bacchus

Scaenicorum quidem mos tantam habet vetere disciplina verecundiam, ut in scaenam sine subligaculo prodeat nemo; verentur enim, ne, si quo casu evenerit, ut corporis partes quaedam aperiantur, aspiciantur non decore. (De off. 1. 129. 9) Indeed, the actors’ customs, on account of their ancient craft, are so imbued with modesty that no one enters onto the stage without a loincloth. For, should it happen by accident that certain parts of their body were to be exposed, they fear that the parts might be inspected lasciviously.

The danger of being looked at seems to have been a pervasive concern: Justinian’s Digest stipulates that the actor’s infamy is the direct result of his appearing on stage where he offers his body as a spectacle (3. 2. 2. 5). 99 Any visual ‘penetration’ of the actor’s body would have been perceived as tantamount to physical humiliation (sexual harassment or beating) and so would have constituted a direct threat to the actor’s masculine integrity. 100 The bacchae of the Roman stage were thus not only dressed as women, but also found themselves in a condition of womanlike openness and penetrability. The histrio’s gender would therefore have been unstable on two counts, first because his profession required him to enact feminine as well as masculine roles, second because his body was an object of erotic gaze. Inasmuch as this instability has left its mark in the scripts (or so I have tried to argue), it is important for readers as well as audiences to be aware of it.

99 Just. Digest. 2. 2. 5: ‘Ait praetor: “Qui in scaenam prodierit, infamis est”. Scaena est, ut Labeo definit, quae ludorum faciendorum causa quolibet loco, ubi quis consistat moveaturque spectaculum sui praebiturus, posita sit in publico privatove vel in vico, quo tamen loco passim homines spectaculi causa admittantur.’ (The praetor rules ‘He who has entered the stage is an infamis’. The stage, as Labeo defines it, is one set for the sake of entertainment in any place, be it public or private, or in a street, wherever one would stand or move, as long as people are admitted there for the sake of watching.) 100 On patterns of manhood as a function of degrees of penetrability, see Walters (1997: passim, esp. 40–1). Edwards (1997: passim) analyses the infamia tarnishing the reputation of actors, gladiators, and prostitutes in light of the Roman concepts of pleasure, arguing that those who ministered to the sensual pleasures of others were generally regarded with disrespect (esp. ibid. 83). On performers of the Atellanae and the reason they were not subject to infamy, see Brown (2002: 227–8).

(Wo)men of Bacchus

185

CONCLUSION In this chapter I have expanded and developed the notion that the dramatis personae of Roman comedy have several layers to their identities, more than one of which may surface in a single scene (cf. Chapter 1). It has emerged that gender roles are in flux both in the lines of female characters, who speak as subjects only to frame women as objects (Adelphasium), and in the actions of the male characters who invite the audience to look upon them as objects (Menaechmus). In grafting male and female identities onto one another, comedy committed the same transgression that Livy and the tablet of Tiriolo associate with the cult of Bacchus. Furthermore, Plautus’ self-conscious appropriation of this cult as a metaphor for plot and acting draws our attention to the fact that the Roman theatre is a space where gender boundaries were constantly challenged. I have found it useful so far to conceptualize Roman views on masculinity and femininity in terms of precincts, limitations, and restrictions. The position of the feminine in this scheme is reflected in an image recurrent in the discourses of pain and fear, that of a woman wandering aimlessly outside the locus munitus of masculine rationality. If we assume that limitedness and stability are indeed categorized as essentially masculine in Roman culture, we will have to conclude that the theatre, a place reinvented with each performance and peopled by ambivalent figures, is a feminine space par excellence. By virtue of this reasoning, the subversive discourses undermining theatrical genders, which I have discussed in this and in the earlier chapters, would have been at some symbolic level feminine, no matter whether they were formally assigned to male or to female speakers. In fact, any discourses revealing problems with the hygiene of the self, whether the self is split in self-pity or extended so as to include others, could be qualified as ‘feminine’ by Roman standards. We can, then, conclude that Roman audiences and readers would have recognized figuratively ‘feminine’ characteristics in the lines of both female and male personae of Plautus and Terence. As it turns out, Roman viewers might have even thought of the whole enterprise of theatre as emasculating those who offered themselves as spectaculum. With this conclusion the first of the two tasks set forth in the first

186

(Wo)men of Bacchus

paragraph of the preface has been fulfilled: we have now a hypothesis describing how Roman audiences and readers might have perceived the feminine speech patterns of Roman comedy. However, the second, equally vital question—of how we as readers can come to terms with the ‘feminine idiom’ in the Roman scripts—still remains unanswered. I now propose to reflect on the ontology of feminine discourses composed by Greek and Roman authors, and to discuss the way in which the feminine voice is excluded from classical thought on reason and language.

5 Father Tongue, Mother Tongue: The Back-Story and the Forth-Story ‘Le style est l’homme même’: style makes the man. 1 This aphorism by the eighteenth-century French intellectual, the Comte de Buffon, encapsulates two dilemmas we must tackle if we are to reflect meaningfully on the way female speech is rendered in classical literature. First, it proclaims the writer’s style and person, l’homme même, to be one and the same, raising the question of how the style that the writer creates for a fictional character relates to ‘the man himself ’. Second, since homme most likely signified both man and woman to the Comte, this saying draws our attention to the semantic mechanism of foregrounding one gender as a signifier for both and to the ethical implications of this practice with regard to authorship and style. Our reading of the feminine discourses of Roman comedy has repeatedly shown that this genre explores alternatives to standard gender roles. Such roles are defined (and challenged) through language-games played in a space between the author’s and the character’s identities, between ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’. It follows, then, that, if we are to understand the rules defining the feminine, we must closely examine this space. In order to do so, this chapter leaves comedy aside, returning to it only in the Epilogue. In Chapter 4 I constructed a somewhat similar vantage point from which to investigate how comedy interfaced with Roman perceptions of gender and boundaries. Now, however, I travel further away from the Rome of

1 Lit. ‘Style is man himself ’ (1905: 22); Georges Louis Leclerc Comte de Buffon (1707–88).

188

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

Plautus and Terence, moving vertically through the layers of time to examine Greek and Roman assumptions about identity and language. My back-story begins with the Romans; more precisely, with the fourth-century commentator Donatus and his theory of style and gender. I then proceed to explore Cicero’s views on conversational misconduct and to consider Quintilian’s descriptions of the difficulties inherent in composing another’s words. Finally, I turn to the Greeks and the philosophical debate on the ontology of the feminine and its relationship to language and meaning. From this debate a new concept emerges that symbolizes woman as indefinite—the chôra. This concept in particular, I go on to argue, can help us understand the way in which gender is negotiated through speech in Roman comedy.

FATHER TONGUE: THE BACK-STORY

The Romans Fourth century ce: Donatus on purity Donatus’ commentary on Terence is the culmination of a long tradition of investigation into the way language can be used to differentiate speakers. Testimonies scattered throughout various texts allow us to imagine an ongoing debate about dramatic dialogue (sermo) and linguistic differentiation. 2 Among these testimonies is that of Terence himself, who praised Menander’s differentiation of both the form (stilus) and content of the speeches (oratio) in the Andria and Perinthia. 3 From this we may speculate that the Roman playwright was probably aiming to achieve similar effects in his comic dialogue. Varro’s concise note on the virtues of the three best-known Roman comedy writers suggests that Terence was indeed successful in achieving stylistic diversity: Varro praises him for his ability to 2 According to OLD, the term sermo refers to speech, in particular to informal speech (2 and 4) and exchange (3, 6b). See e.g. Damon 1997 (passim) on Livy’s stylization of his sources into a narrative of a polyphonic ‘talk’—the sermones. 3 An. 11–12: ‘dissimili oratione . . . factae ac stilo’.

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

189

construct characters while lauding Plautus for the dialogues of his plays. 4 Conversely, both Cicero and Caesar composed poems praising Terence’s (rather than Plautus’) sermo. 5 Quintilian, like Varro before him, apparently admired Terence’s ability to use speech to fashion various personae, for he quotes from the latter’s plays when explaining how best to imitate the speaker’s character in words (9. 2. 58, 11. 1. 40). Over three centuries later, Donatus complimented both Terence’s dialogue and character portrayal by formulating his praise from (what seems to be) a new point of view: Hic inducitur multiplex concursus dissimilium personarum et tamen virtute et consilio poetae discretarum, ut confusio nulla sit facta sermonis. (Ad Eu. 454. 1) 6 Here a whole crowd of diverse characters is introduced, yet each of them is distinct, thanks to the talent and design of the poet; as a result, it is impossible to make a mistake about which one is speaking.

Donatus thus applauds the differentiation of Terence’s sermo as a means of distinguishing between speakers, and is possibly a useful tip for editors deliberating on the attribution of lines to different dramatis personae. 7 This system of styles that offered such practical benefits depended on the notion of linguistic correctness (proprietas) 8 epitomized by a subgenre of glosses in the scholia termed differentiae. Such glosses compare a specific expression chosen by the playwright to the ‘proper’ option proposed by the commentator. 9 Donatus’ 4 Var. Men. Parmeno fr. 399, Astbury: ‘in argumentis Caecilius poscit palmam, in ethesin Terentius, in sermonibus Plautus’ (Caecilius receives the palm for the plots, Terence for characters, Plautus for dialogues). 5 Suet. De poetis fr. 11. 94–100. 6 Further examples can be found in Ad Phor. 212 (2) and Ad Hec. 596 (20). 7 See also Euanthius De Fab. 3. 8: ‘illud quoque mirabile in eo . . . quod non ita miscet quattuor personas ut obscura sit earum distinctio.’ (Another admirable characteristic of his writing is that he can mingle four characters in such a way that the distinction among them is clear.) 8 See Jakobi (1996: 109–12) for a thorough discussion of the history of proprietas as the main criterion of linguistic analysis. 9 This genre of grammatical literature flourished in late antiquity, but its roots may, as Uhlfelder suggests (1954: 12–13), go back to the controversy about analogy and anomaly. An interest in synonyms and homonyms seems to have been a recurrent

190

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

commentary contains hundreds of classical differentiae introduced by the formula ‘non x sed y’; additionally, this ‘differential’ definition of style as a matter of distinction informs countless other comments. 10 In both formal and informal differentiae, the scholiast considers the reasons for Terence’s linguistic choices, comparing them with the options he has passed over. 11 Some of these remarks draw attention to conversational strategies. For example, in the first exchange in the Andria, old Simo confesses that he was quite pleased with his son’s limited interest in hunting and philosophy (An. 55–60), and his subservient freedman Sosia tosses out the truism (also preached by Adelphasium in the Poenulus) that moderation is the most important thing in life (60–1). Donatus ponders the advantages Sosia’s comment may have over silence; he concludes that, although it is inopportune (intempestive), its wisdom (prudentia) compensates for the disruption. Donatus’ concept of style depends upon a ‘norm’ that imposes an ideal economy of expression on speakers. It is this norm that the playwright at times apparently violates to achieve ‘special effects’ in the lines of characters whose speech is markedly different from his own. This tension between the norm and its violations informs the glosses on the linguistic mannerisms of the various stock-types. 12 motif in Roman literature: Jakobi traces the Roman glosses on differentiae back to Varro and Cicero (1996: 102–4). See also Goetz (1923: 90–3). Jakobi has demonstrated that Donatus’ differentiae not only offer synonyms of various expressions chosen by Terence (as those found in other scholia do), but also explain how the playwright’s choice of words serves the ethopoiia (1996: 105). For example, in Ad Eu. 746. 1, the scholiast draws his reader’s attention to two verbs denoting desire, volo and cupio, and points out that Terence chooses volo over cupio to signal the speaker’s timidity. 10 Jakobi (1996: 102); the commentary on the first 100 lines of the Andria e.g. includes 33 less formal glosses in the spirit of differentiae. 11 Cf. Jakobi (1996: 105). An example of a grammatical differentia is Ad An. 38. 3 in which Donatus states that Terence preferred the imperfect form of servio to the perfect because he wanted to represent the action as incomplete. A lexical one can be found in the comments on the prologue of the Andria, where Donatus invites the reader to appreciate Terence’s artistic choice of the less precise word facere to refer to writing as reminiscent of the Greek root for ‘poet’. ‘Bene “fecisset” non “scripsisset”. unde et poetae a faciendo dicti sunt Ie ÙÔF ÔÈÂEÌ’ (Ad An. 3. 3) (‘Made’ instead of ‘wrote’ is a good choice; for the poets are named after ‘the verb to make’—Ie ÙÔF ÔÈÂEÌ.) 12 These are often introduced by KÌ XËÂÈ or moraliter. Though Kroll (1919: 68–76) seems to go too far in his suggestion that KÌ XËÂÈ and moraliter sometimes have nothing to do with the notion of character and should be translated as ‘expressing emotion’, ‘emphatic’, or ‘ironic’, his meticulous classification of different uses of both terms is

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

191

Phormio’s abuse of metaphors, for example, elicits the observation that he speaks in the typical manner of a parasite (Ad Ph. 327: ·Ò·ÛÈÙÈÍHÚ). 13 Indeed, as a scurra who lives by his wits, Phormio needs to be entertaining. The courtesan Thais, for her part, has a professional penchant for references to pleasure; Donatus describes her use of ‘it pleased’ (libuit) as a ‘meretricious expression’ (Ad Eu. 796). In another gloss, Micio’s double declaration, ‘this is how I think and this is my opinion’, is dismissed as the characteristic longwindedness of an old man (Ad Ad. 68. 3: senilis Ï·ÍÒÔÎÔ„fl·). 14 When composing the lines for slaves, Terence apparently made (deliberate) mistakes in logic (Ad Ph. 186; Ad Hec. 323. 2) and grammar (Ad Ph. 249. 2). Likewise, by leaving out important words (Ad Eu. 1056), he portrayed the soldier Thraso as a sloppy speaker. As it is, the soldier often repeats himself (Ad Eu. 405. 2, 412. 3), being, Donatus tells us, ‘too foolish to understand his own words if he hears them only once’ (Ad Eu. 405. 2). All these examples would seem to indicate that Donatus viewed the styles for various comedic stock characters as exhibiting specific, recognizable anomalies. 15 nevertheless instructive. In fact, it reveals that, in his judgement of Terence’s character portrayal, Donatus took various criteria into consideration: consistency, expression of emotion, and realism. The latter, classified by Kroll as Nachdruck, Betonung (p. 71) or as the character proper (p. 74), is the object of numerous comments; see e.g. Ad Hec. 131, 611, 748; Ad Ph. 70, 303; Ad Eu. 837, 901; Ad Ad. 284, 313, 396, 492, 798, 958. Hellenistic critics (Tract. Coisl. 8) considered realistic speech, lexis koiné, to be fitting for comedy. 13 ‘Totum translationibus loquitur; huius modi est enim umbraticorum hominum scurrilis oratio.’ 14 ‘Mea sic est ratio et sic animum induco meum’ (Ad Ad. 68). Quintilian used Ï·ÍÒÔÎÔ„fl· to describe the redundancy of Livy’s style (8. 3. 53); the term itself can be traced back to Plato (Prot. 329b) and Aristotle (Rhet. 1418c 25); cf. Cousin (1967: ii. 101). Elsewhere a lengthy introduction by the same character is again ascribed to his age (Ad Ad. 646. 2: seniliter). Donatus must have perceived the style of the senex as quite distinct, for he suggests that another character can imitate it. A young man, Chaerea, repeating a conversation he has had with a senex, reiterates his speech, imitating, in Donatus’ opinion, the annoying slowness of old men: ‘Hic ostenditur odiosa tarditas senis apud festinantem Chaeream’ (Ad Eu. 338. 1). 15 On the old men, see e.g. Ad Phorm. 68. 3; Ad Ad. 88. 2, 646. 2; Ad Eu. 338. 1; Ad An. 28. 1; for young men in love: Ad An. 267. 5; Ad Eu. 223. 1; Ad Hec. 325. 1, 201. 1; for parasites: Ad Ph. 318. 2, 339; and for slaves: Ad Ph. 41. 4, 60. 1, 186. 6, 249. 2; Ad Hec. 323. 2). The quotations gathered by Reich (1933), far more numerous than the passages indicated above, include not only the comments on Terence’s effort to create a consistent register for different theatrical types, but also the glosses on linguistic

192

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

Muliebriter dixit It could be proposed that the reflections on feminine mannerisms describe just one of the styles established for the different stocktypes. In this case, the contrast between the ideal proprietas and the speech of, say, Sostrata would correspond to the distinction between the linguistic norm and poetic licence. But there is an interesting twist to Donatus’ critique of female speech. Let us look, for example, at his judgement on Sostrata’s complaint, ‘miseram me, neminem habeo . . . ’ (Oh wretched me, there is no one). ‘Muliebriter queritur . . . ’ (She is whining like a woman), rules Donatus, adding that one can easily predict what all women—not, it should be noted, just matrons or mothers—are likely to say (Ad Ad. 291. 4): ‘proprium est mulierum, cum loquuntur, aut aliis blandiri aut se commiserari’ (It is typical of women when they speak to either flatter others or pity themselves). This suggests that various female personae express themselves in a way that is characteristic of ‘women’ in general rather than of their particular stock-type. Indeed, when the courtesan Philotis complains in the Hecyra about the harsh treatment she has received from a soldier who took her to Corinth, 16 Donatus points out that in describing herself as wretched (misera) she uses a ‘typically feminine’ expression. 17 Furthermore, Donatus’ comments on blanditia do tend to construe flattery as a characteristic of all women. Consider, once again, Sostrata in the Adelphoe (353–4). She is in a hurry; her daughter is about to give birth and it is high time to fetch the midwife, so Sostrata calls upon her faithful nurse, Canthara: ‘propera tu, mea Canthara, | curre, obstetricem accerse’ (you hurry up, my dear Canthara, run and fetch the midwife). Donatus takes advantage of the opportunity this request presents to explain the precise function of the emphatic pronoun: individualization of characters within certain types and the comments insisting on the playwright’s efforts to render his characters’ emotions in speech. 16 ‘Biennium ibi perpetuom misera illum tuli.’ (Hec. 87) (There I, wretched thing, endured him for two years.) 17 ‘Muliebris interpositio Ùe misera’ (Ad Hec. 87. 2) (Misera is a feminine expletive). Likewise, when commenting on the diction of Mysis (Ad An. 685. 1), he describes it as ‘soft, feminine, and wrapped in many blandishments’, and so typical not merely of the comic ancilla, but of all women.

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

193

TU MEA CANTHARA tristis ac seriae feminae blandimentum est ‘mea’ magis quam pronomen possessivum. deest enim ‘cara’ vel quid tale, quod additum pronomen faceret ‘mea’. (Ad Ad. 353. 2) YOU DEAR CANTHARA: Here mea is a term of endearment used by this sad and solemn woman rather than a possessive pronoun. For the adjective ‘dear’—or a similar one in the presence of which mea would be a pronoun— is missing.

By reminding his reader that the primary function of mea is that of a pronoun (or pronominal adjective), the scholiast suggests that its use in Adelphoe 353 is a tell-tale sign of Sostrata’s state of mind and gender. The latter apparently is the more important consideration, for in a brief survey of terms of endearment, Donatus features mea as typical of feminine speech: ‘Mea’ et ‘mea tu’ et ‘amabo’ et alia huiscemodi mulieribus apta sunt blandimenta. (Ad Eu. 656. 14. 1) ‘Darling’, ‘my dear’, and ‘pretty please’ and other such expressions are terms of endearment suitable for women. 18

Like the propensity to describe pain, blanditia is not restricted to the speech of one type of theatrical ‘woman’, but is conceived as a way of speaking that marks all feminine (and effeminate) characters inside and probably outside the theatre. Let us now return to Donatus’ concept of style. I have posited that the scholia on linguistic mannerisms define stylization as a series of intentional transgressions against correct language usage. Donatus usually explains these purposeful departures from the norm by pointing to some characteristic that renders the persona marginal. Old men tend to be grandiose because of their age (and not, say, their social status as citizens); soldiers and slaves speak substandard Latin, not because of their age or gender, but because of their lack of education and, perhaps, their foreign origins. 19 The comment on Thais’ reference to pleasure, quoted above, belongs here (Ad Eu. 796); however, the majority of Donatus’ remarks on female speech explain violations of the ‘norm’ by merely indicating the speaker’s gender. In 18 Donatus’ remarks on the speech of the courtesan Thais in the Eunuchus also draw the reader’s attention to her blanditiae (cf. Ad Eu. 463. 1). 19 Cf. Ad Ph. 327; Ad Ad. 68. 3 and 646. 2. See also Plautus’ Truc. 955.

194

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

contrast (although, as we have seen in Chapter 3, some expressions, for example interjections, are used exclusively by men) we are never told that someone speaks in a ‘manly’ way or that some expression is distinctly ‘mannish’. Manliness, we can thus conclude—along with education, intelligence, adulthood, and citizenship—would have been a prerequisite for proprietas. Donatus’ commentary seems to read feminine speech as different from the standard set for sermo because femininity in and of itself would have been sufficient cause for linguistic impropriety. Donatus regards this marginal register as proof of the playwright’s artistry, but even so, the dissociation of feminine speech from centrality and correctness hints at the ethical and ontological underpinnings of the commentator’s aesthetic judgements. I now propose to explore the moral implications of the conversational anomalies the scholiast associates with theatrical women. In order to do so, I will go back in time to a period closer to the original audiences of Plautus and Terence and enlist the help of an expert speaker and moralist.

First century bce: Cicero’s interpersonal mathematics Inward transgression In the second book of his De oratore, Cicero has the renowned orator Marcus Crassus lecture on flawed conversation: Quem enim nos ineptum vocamus is mihi videtur ab hoc nomen habere ductum, quod non sit aptus; idque in sermonis nostri consuetudine perlate patet; nam qui aut tempus quid postulet, non videt, aut plura loquitur, aut se ostentat, aut eorum, quibuscum est, vel dignitatis, vel commodi rationem non habet, aut denique in aliquo genere aut inconcinnus aut multus est, is ineptus dicitur. (De orat. 2. 4. 17) We call a person ineptus, it seems to me, because he lacks [a certain] aptitude. This can be seen clearly in our everyday conversational manners; for a person who does not see what [a particular] occasion requires, or who says too much or who shows off, or who does not take into consideration the social status or the convenience of the persons present, or who, finally, is in some way incoherent or tedious, is called ineptus.

The vocabulary Crassus uses to define conversational vices reveals a perception of proper speech as intimately linked with the notion of

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

195

modus. A good speaker would observe the proportions determined by convenience and rank (ratio commodi et dignitatis) and avoid saying too many things (plura). Such limitations apply not only to one’s speech, but also to the speaker himself. Therefore, one whose conversation is inadequate is himself automatically inadequate, ineptus. Likewise, a man unable to control the structure of his utterance is himself inconcinnus or disarranged, and he who says too much becomes ‘too much’ (multus) himself. Style does indeed make the man. The ability to perceive and respect the boundaries that separate the conversational space designated for self from that of others is portrayed as characteristically Roman. In order to give his reader an especially shocking example of ineptia, Cicero criticizes the (alleged) Greek habit of plunging into passionate discussions about the ‘most complicated and unnecessary things’. ‘Search everywhere’, he asserts (De orat. 2. 4. 18), ‘but you will not find the Greek word for “tactless” ’ (ineptus). 20 This brief lesson on proper speech shows that sermo, in Cicero’s view, required what we might call interpersonal mathematics. Savvy speakers had to calculate just how much they could say without infringing upon their interlocutors. Their exchanges can thus be imagined as a game in which the participants need to estimate the dimensions of their respective fields of power, taking into account their addressee’s position in the social hierarchy (dignitas) and his comfort level (commodum). Apparently, certain general rules governed the verbal transactions between the holders of those fields. Each player had to avoid intruding upon the other’s rights by occupying more than his share of the symbolic territory (cf. multus, plura) or commanding more than his share of the other’s attention (se ostentare). Such were the rules to be observed in rather formal exchanges; by violating them, the inept conversationalist encroached upon his or her interlocutor’s territory and risked the latter’s disapproval or retaliation. 20 Crassus’ discussion of the ineptitude of Greek speakers has a precedent in the Plautine passage expressing irritation at the idle talk of the Graeci palliati clogging the streets of Rome (Curc. 288–300); cf. also Ch. 4. Cicero also thinks of pudor (a sense of what it is proper to do), backed up by religio and fides, as distinctly Roman and describes impudentia as typically Greek; see Kaster (2005: 60).

196

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

Cicero describes conversational ineptitude in terms that prefigure Donatus’ (later) comments on inopportune intervention (intempestive) and the vice of tardiloquium (which in Donatus’ view women share with old men), but the conversational invasions analysed in De oratore do not directly recall the two cardinal errors the commentator associates with women: flattery and self-pity. Elsewhere in his writings, however, Cicero does comment on these features. Outward transgression In the Laelius, Cicero implies that the territorial limits separating interlocutors depended on the degree of intimacy between speakers. Apparently, close relationships and informal exchanges not only allowed but actually obliged participants to break the rules that would limit the more formal exchanges described in De oratore. True friendship, we read, often requires criticism and reproach (Lael. 88, 91), and so true friends must enter the symbolic territories that protect each of them against outsiders and must, if need be, say things outsiders should not. 21 Such encounters demand the highest level of moral competence. Cicero warns his reader that only the virtuous man is both honest enough to offer criticism (Lael. 89) and wise enough to accept it with gratitude (Lael. 91). A truly intimate exchange of ideas, being based on virtue, is possible only between accomplished and wise men (Lael. 100: ‘perfectorum hominum id est sapientium’). In fact, intimacy with someone who is not a ‘homo sapiens et perfectus’, Cicero informs us (91–9), poses certain dangers. Impostors who are not morally qualified to be true friends can only feign closeness and aim at pleasing others and so fail to contribute to their 21 Cicero’s concept of friendship is a part of his social theory that draws largely upon the Greek concept of ÔNÍÂfl˘ÛÈÚ, which had both Stoic and Peripatetic resonances; see Görgemanns 1983: 166–8; Atkins 1990: 269; Schofield 1995: 69–71. The definition of friendship in particular is strongly reminiscent of the one Aristotle formulated in the Nicomachean Ethics. Like Aristotle (1166a 1, 1166a 30), Cicero reasoned that friendship was contingent upon self-love (Lael. 80–1); like the Greek philosopher (EN 1156b), the Roman theorist defines the perfect friendship as uniting men of equal virtue. Aristotle’s theory of ˆÈÎfl· is far more complex than Cicero’s amicitia and is gendered differently, as it includes emotional bonds between family members; Aristotle, in fact, conjures up motherly feelings as the very paradigm of disinterested ˆÈÎfl· (EN 1166a 5–10). On Aristotle’s ˆÈÎfl·, see Konstan (2006: 169–84); on women as friends in the Greek polis, see Konstan (1997: 90–1).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

197

moral improvement. Conveniently enough, these impostors can be identified by their peculiar speech patterns: . . . habendum est nullam in amicitiis pestem esse maiorem quam adulationem blanditiam adsentationem; quamvis enim multis nominibus est hoc vitium notandum levium hominum atque fallacium ad voluntatem loquentium omnia, nihil ad veritatem. (Lael. 91) No plague is to be considered more detrimental to friendship than obsequiousness, flattery, and compliance. No matter how many names it has, this vice of fickle and deceitful men who say everything for the sake of pleasure and nothing for the sake of truth must be branded.

Cicero does not even consider women’s competence as friends, nor does he state that those men who resort to the kind of verbal indulgences that weaken the other’s spirit and mind are behaving like women. 22 However, as I argued in Chapter 2, this association is ubiquitous in Roman literature of all periods and so can be assumed to be present in the background (if not the foreground) of Cicero’s thought. 23 22 The figure of the Í¸Î·Ó gained importance in the post-classical period and is intimately connected with the ·Ò‹ÛÈÙÔÚ; cf. Konstan (1996: 10–11). Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics characterizes the flatterer only briefly as a figure concerned exclusively with procuring pleasure, without any regard for moral goodness (EN 1173b30). Theophrastus apparently devoted an entire treatise, or at least one of the three books of his treatise on ˆÈÎfl·, to this topic (Diog. Laert. 5. 47). Traces of Peripatetic and other theories are found in Plutarch’s essay How to Tell a Friend from a Flatterer (Mor. 48e–74e); cf. Engberg-Pedersen (1996: 61–79). While the Greek notions of flattery and free speech have received considerable attention (e.g. Fitzgerald 1996), it may be useful here to stress the feminine qualities of the flatterer as represented by both Cicero and Plutarch. Diverse, changeable, and multifarious (Lael. 92), in Cicero’s account, the flatterer transforms himself in response to the other’s will, and follows every change in his victim’s facial expression (ibid. 91, 93–4); this flexibility is the token of the flatterer’s depravity (91). The imagery present in Plutarch’s metaphors clearly frames the Í¸Î·Ó as an effeminate figure. His words are soft, like the cushions used by women (59c9). Like the woman, the Í¸Î·Ó has the consistency of water that takes the form of its receptacle (52b): he tends to the other’s ‘base enjoyments’ (ÔÌÁÒ‹Ú ÙÈÌ·Ú ô‰Ì·ËÂfl·Ú) and, through his conversation, stimulates the other’s sexual organs (·N‰ÔE· ·Ò·ÍÈÌÂE). 23 According to Livy, a man besieged day and night by female blandishments (‘circumsessus muliebribus blanditiis’) has to make a considerable effort to free his mind and turn it to matters of state (24. 4. 4); Seneca (Con. 1. pr. 8. 5) writes that a man has to weaken his voice (extenuare vocem) if he wants to imitate the feminine blanditia. Tacitus implies that some features of style are associated with female softness when

198

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

Cicero refers to blanditia as an attitude that mars interactions between men; in so doing, he puts the representations of women in comedy in a new light. Apparently, by first-century bce standards, Roman comedy’s portrayal of women as given to flattery would have exposed their moral incompetence. Emotional exhibitionism While the excerpts from the Laelius seem to reveal the effect of the speaker’s neglect of the responsibilities of intimacy, the second book of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations hints at the antithesis of this sin. This text (which I discussed in Chapter 3) describes what happens when one voices one’s own pain, opening up to include others in discourses that should properly remain private. Though Cicero is concerned here with the inarticulate expression of grief, his reflections on sound seem to have been made on the same premise as Donatus’ comments on the (more articulate) querellae (esp. Ad Ad. 291. 4) would be five hundred years later. Cicero writes that, in order not to act like slaves and women (2. 21. 55), (elite) men must first reject the scream of pain. This ability to endure quietly (like the ability to be aptus) was thought to be a specific attribute of the Roman citizen: given that even Greeks and barbarians can at times withstand pain, a Roman male should be all the more able to suffer in silence rather than emit a womanish scream (2. 20. 46). On the margins of his discussion, Cicero does, however, note that this is not always the case: when uttered by men in battle or athletic competition, screams can even be honourable. It is therefore not the noise itself that he objects to but rather ‘the weakness of the effeminate mind’ (‘imbecillitas animi effeminati’) that would allegedly permit a howl of lamentation. 24 Sermo aptus Cicero’s sermo aptus is a language that respects boundaries and proportions. As stated, the speakers’ prerogatives depend on both their respective status and the degree of intimacy between them. Our he affirms that the letters Otho wrote to Vitellius were contaminated with womanly blandishments (Hist. 1. 74: ‘muliebribus blandimentis infectae’). 24 On honourable screams, see Tusc. 2. 23. 56–2. 24. 57; the feminine weakness of mind is described in 4. 28. 60–1.

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

199

excerpts from Cicero suggest that the rules of proper interaction can be violated from at least three different vantage points. The inward transgression consists in encroaching upon another’s symbolic territory (as described in Crassus’ discussion of ineptia). By contrast, the outward transgression consists in not taking the liberty of expressing one’s honest opinions to intimates. Finally, the interlocutor’s right to protection against the speaker’s private feelings is violated in discourses of pain that thrust unsolicited intimacy on others. (Unlike the inward trespasser, the exhibitionist does not seek to invade the other’s symbolic territory, but rather to force the other to enter his own.) If we apply these categories to the feminine discourses of Roman comedy, we will find that, at least by Ciceronian standards, the theatrical ‘women’s’ particular incompetence would have inhered in their inability to handle relationships, especially intimate relationships. ‘Women’ tend to violate the symbolic space between themselves and others. Through their presumed garrulity, they impose on their interlocutors, metaphorically invading their territories. In bouts of self-pity ‘women’ figuratively expose themselves, forcing others to look closely at their private wounds; perversely, when admitted as intimates, they resort to empty flattery. Cicero’s insights on the relational aspects of speaking conflate moral and conversational competence, thus confirming the ethical dimension we suspected earlier in our reading of Donatus’ aesthetics of proprietas. The respective views of Cicero and Donatus, though set apart by five hundred years, seem to be informed by a similar perception of the sermo of intimate exchanges. Both writers assume that there are limits to the amount of personal information one may reveal to the other and the amount of such information about the other one should absorb. But there is also an interesting dissimilarity between the two discourses. Cicero’s writings bring out the universal nature of the ‘transgressions’ that Donatus associates more resolutely (though not exclusively) with feminine speech. Cicero condemns tactlessness, flattery, and descriptions of pain as typical of several kinds of others, including foreigners and morally deficient men. His criticism appears to define the Roman ideal of ‘the man himself ’ as removed from the various categories of the other. In this system, the feminine is only one of the masks the other wears. This fact again raises the question of the status of feminine discourse among the other non-standard variants

200

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

of Latin. Did the earlier theoreticians of language perceive women as more radically other than foreigners or slaves? The best sources for investigating the relationships between these registers of Latin and the language of ‘the man himself ’ are those textbooks of rhetoric that discuss prosopopoiia. Before I turn to these sources, however, I must confront an important objection. My claim that the classical texts construe feminine speech as anomalous would seem to contradict the conventional view of women’s verbal conservatism. I will attempt now to briefly treat this topic. Ut pater eius, ut maiores (an interlude) Ancient men of letters hardly ever mention female speech without reproach, but on the rare occasions when they do, it is invariably to praise its conservatism. Plato’s comment on pronunciation in the Cratylus (418c), in which he points out that women ‘are most devoted to preserving the old forms of articulation’ (Ï‹ÎÈÛÙ· ÙcÌ IÒ˜·fl·Ì ˆ˘ÌcÌ Û©˛ÊÔıÛÈ) is the locus classicus for the notion of female conservatism. 25 In Crassus’ lecture on the best Latin pronunciation in De oratore, Cicero echoes Plato’s claim that women preserve the purity of language: Equidem cum audio socrum meam Laeliam—facilius enim mulieres incorruptam antiquitatem conservant, quod multorum sermonis expertes ea tenent semper quae prima didicerunt—sed eam sic audio ut Plautum mihi aut Naevium videar audire: sono ipso vocis ita recto et simplici est ut nihil ostentationis aut imitationis afferre videatur; ex quo sic locutum esse eius patrem iudico, sic maiores, non aspere . . . non vaste, non rustice, non hiulce, sed presse, et aequabiliter, et leniter. (De orat. 3. 12. 45) Indeed, when I hear my mother-in-law, Laelia—for women preserve ancient features intact more easily, because, sheltered from exchanges with the multitude, they retain the things that they have learned first—but when I listen to her I have the impression of listening to Plautus or Naevius: the very sound of her voice is so pure and so correct that it seems to contain no trace of affectation or artificiality. On this basis, I infer that her father and her ancestors must have spoken like this, not harshly . . . not in drawling tones, 25 On the context of this remark, see Riley’s analysis of Socrates’ discussion that demonstrates that phonetic changes have no effect on meaning (2005: 92–101). Women’s habit of preserving traditional pronunciation is thus of little importance.

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

201

not with rustic accents, not with hiatus, but in a subdued tone, evenly, and gently.

Crassus does indeed affirm that, when he hears his mother-in-law speak, her pronunciation reminds him of ‘pristine Latinity’. 26 Like Plato’s Greek verb Û©˛ÊÔıÛÈ, Cicero’s Latin expressions, conservant and tenent, style women as the keepers of ancestral speech. 27 This function is the privilege of women who live in seclusion, sheltered from exchanges with the outside world. Laelia’s old-fashioned diction would have been thought of as evidence that she had spent her life inside the domus, tending to her father’s or husband’s property, children, and language. Her glory lies in the fact that she has kept her ‘father tongue’, sermo patrius, unspoilt. 28 This standard Latin phrase for ‘mother tongue’, reflecting a belief in a patrilinear transmission of language, informs Cicero’s further explanation that Laelia is remarkable because she speaks the way men used to (but do not anymore). She is thus praised to the extent that she sounds like a man. 29 It is worth noting that Cicero uses the praise of Laelia’s linguistic chastity to illustrate his discussion of sound and pronunciation. Crassus apparently likes hearing Laelia’s voice, but he does not necessarily listen to her. It is the echo of her father’s voice, rather than her own voice, that Crassus finds enjoyable. The topos of feminine conservatism therefore does not contradict the view that the linguistic norm is coextensive with masculinity; in fact, Crassus’ eulogy of Laelia’s pure speech only reinforces this association. The ideal woman 26 By ‘Plautus and Naevius’ Cicero means ‘the Classics’, i.e. the contemporary canon; see Brut. 73 and Tusc. 1. 1. 3. In fact, by Terence’s time, the phrase seems to have already acquired the connotation ‘authorities, classics’ (An. 19). 27 Such a function would in fact correspond to the traditional division of male and female roles (cf. Arist. Oec. 1343b–44a, Xenoph. Oec. 7. 30). 28 On sermo patrius, see e.g. Cic. De fin. 1. 4; Hor. Ars 57; Lucr. 1. 832, 3. 260; Plin. Nat. Hist. 8. 1; Tac. Ann. 2. 60; Verg. A. 12. 384. On lingua patria, see also Fögen (2004: 218; 2000: 51–6). Farrell (2001: 52–8) takes Lucretius’ phrase ‘patrii sermonis egestas’ (poverty of paternal speech) as a point of departure for his analysis of the ‘discursive construction that regards Latin as the language of men’ (p. 58). In the entire Latin corpus, mater appears only once in combination with sermo, in Cicero’s praise of Cornelia, the mother of Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus (Cic. Brut. 211. 3), but even this passage explains that the speech of Cornelia, the daughter of Cornelius, was tinted (tincta) by the refinement of her father’s language. 29 ‘presse et aequabiliter et leniter.’

202

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

would thus seem to be a sort of vessel in which language, like a child, can be stored and through which it passes without being altered. 30

First century ce: Quintilian on the dangers of otherness The aesthetics of ancient prose required that speeches written for others convey the nature of the speaking persona (say, a defendant in court) rather than of the author. This ideal of suitability, termed Ò›ÔÌ in Greek, was a commonplace of Hellenistic literary theory. 31 This stylistic ideal, perceived as akin to the aesthetics of drama, 32 can be traced back to Aristotle’s influential discussion in the Rhetoric (1404b 1–15; 1408a 10), to which I will turn soon. For the moment, however, I propose to stay with the Romans. Roman theorists often stressed the importance of appropriateness: Cicero (Orat. 21. 70) termed it ‘decorum’, listing it as one of the cardinal virtues of not just speech writing, but of literary style in general. 33 Quintilian (Inst. 11. 1. 1) insisted that ‘suitability’ of diction (ut dicamus apte) was absolutely indispensable to a good speaker and declared (Inst. 8. 3. 42–3), quoting Cicero’s opinion (Part. 6. 19), that a speech need not even be particularly elaborate or polished, so long as it was plausible, that is, appropriate for ‘the opinions and characters of the people involved’. 30 For woman represented as a jar in medical writings, see e.g. Hanson (1992: 38–9); see duBois (1988: 47–8) for the argument that Greeks thought of vessels as symbolically feminine. 31 The 2nd-cent. ce theoretician, Hermogenes of Tarsus, divided imitations into simple and complex, and commented on the necessity to adjust language to the speaker’s age and background (Prog. 9). For Dionysius of Halicarnassus, propriety was coextensive with ‘imitation of nature and truth’, which made Ò›ÔÌ the most important of all the virtues of style (De Lys. 9. 1). In particular he praised the ability of the logographer Lysias to differentiate ‘between the young, the old, the high-born, and the humble’ (De Lys. 9). 32 Dionysius of Halicarnassus (De imit. 31. 2. 11) openly encouraged the orator to imitate the stylistic qualities of comic writers, especially the virtue of being ‘ethical’; on Dionysius’ ethopoiia, see Hidber (1996: 62–3). Other theoreticians quote examples from drama to illustrate aptness of style. Aristotle quotes from Cleophon to illustrate what is meant by suitability of style (Rhet. 1408. 10); Quintilian quotes Terence (Eu. 155–7) when explaining how to use words to mimic other people’s behaviour (Inst. 9. 2. 58). 33 Cicero’s four requisites of style for oratory also include congruence between the speaker’s style and purpose: ‘ut latine, ut plane, ut ornate, ut ad id quodcumque agetur apte congruenterque dicamus’ (De orat. 3. 10. 37).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

203

A standard weapon in an orator’s strategic arsenal was a figure of thought exploiting the creative potential of linguistic (im)propriety, known as ÒÔÛ˘ÔÔÈé· (also called ï¸ÌÔÈ· or ÏflÏÁÛÈÚ in Greek and figuratio or sermocinatio in Latin). 34 In court, a trained speaker could not only manipulate language to present himself as a trustworthy character, 35 but by imitating someone else’s manner of speaking, he was also able to conjure up a contemporary, historical, or mythological figure, or he could even create a new fictitious persona to speak in favour of his cause. It is the latter skill that is of particular interest for us here: Quintilian insists on the difficulty of creating entirely new characters, pointing out (Inst. 11. 1. 38–40) that lawyers, who frequently speak through a stranger’s lips (ore alieno), should be exceptionally vigilant in rendering the character of the person whose voice they appropriate. They must remember, he explains, that, for instance, Appius Claudius’ manner of speaking should differ markedly from Clodius Pulcher’s. Although these figures would by no means have been substandard speakers, this example from Cicero’s Pro Caelio is instructive for us. 36 Both members of the aristocratic gens Claudia condemn their female relative, but their reasons could hardly be more disparate. 37 Appius Claudius judges her by the excessively severe moral standards of the early republic, whereby a woman should not interact with men to whom she is not related (33. 5). 38 Conversely, Clodius, whose habit of sleeping in his sister’s bed Cicero tauntingly exploits in his speech, suggests that his sister needs to spend more time with strangers and forget Caelius. The distinction that, according to Quintilian, is so difficult yet important to make lies, therefore, in the moral standards of the various personae the speaker has to imitate. 34

A repertory of all Greek and Roman terms can be found in Martin (1974: 291–2, esp. 291 nn. 203–8). See also Leeman (1963: 40, 305). 35 Kennedy (1972: 41, 57, 65, 78, 143) notes that Roman orators had a special predilection for this type of argumentation ‘based on character’. 36 This speech is remarkable for its quasi-theatrical qualities; see Austin’s comment on the exordium, 1960: 41–2. 37 Ibid. ad loc. 91–5. 38 Pro Cael. 33: ‘austero more ac modo’; see also the description of Appius as a ‘harsh and almost rustic old man’, ‘senem durum ac paene agrestem’ (ibid. 36), which perhaps needs to be read with a touch of irony: the venerable Appius would appear rustic to his degenerate descendants, but the audience is not necessarily expected to share this view.

204

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

If imitating another elite man and projecting his mores into speech were not already difficult enough, certain circumstances intensified the challenge for the Roman speaker. Quintilian warns his students that the true test is to mimic ‘the feelings of children, women, foreigners, and even inanimate objects’ (Inst. 11. 1. 41). This means that, since the orator’s own style would be fit for a male and a citizen (‘the man himself ’), it would be especially hard for him to manipulate his words to imitate one who is not an adult, is neither man nor Roman, and is perhaps not even a person. The distance between the speaker and the particular persona through whose mouth he speaks is then an important consideration. Mimesis apparently involves the ability to handle different categories and varying degrees of otherness, and as the degree of otherness increases, so does the challenge inherent in imitation. According to Quintilian, all the categories of the other are measured against that invisible yet omnipresent self of the educated Roman citizen. By these standards, the female personae in ancient drama would have to be considered as further removed from the authorial voice than the male personae. Quintilian’s need to renounce, in the name of an ideal speech writer, the ownership of language composed for feminine and other fictional figures raises the important question of who, if not the author, should take the responsibility and credit for such language. This question will come into clearer focus in the Epilogue to this chapter; meanwhile, I propose to continue the survey of classical views on stylistic decorum.

The Greeks First century ce: Plutarch’s judgement While Quintilian (35–99 ce) warned his readers about the difficulties involved in producing the various shades of otherness, his Greek contemporary Plutarch (50–120 ce) fantasized about a language of near-sameness pleasing to the ‘well-bred man’. The notion of Ò›ÔÌ is prominent in his famous essay comparing the styles of Aristophanes and Menander. In this piece, Plutarch faults the former for failing to differentiate characters linguistically, and then immediately

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

205

proceeds to praise the latter for having created a language that can suit all characters and emotions and yet remain homogeneous. No one among the renowned artisans, says Plutarch, has ever been able to manufacture a shoe, a mask, or a robe that would be ‘suitable for a man, a woman and a youth, an old man, and a slave’. 39 Yet Menander, he continues, blended speech in such a way that it kept measure with any nature, disposition, or age. Plutarch identifies a uniform style as Menander’s greatest poetic asset. We are thus led to suppose that, in the creations of the average craftsman of new comedy, each kind of character would have been expected to speak in his or her distinctive manner—and that this diversity would have been displeasing to ‘the well-bred man’.

Aristotle’s taxonomy: fourth century bce The central figure in Aristotle’s discussion of propriety (Ò›ÔÌ) in the Rhetoric is ‘the man’. The philosopher stipulates that a proper diction should suit not only the topic and the literary genre, but also—more relevant to us—the speaker (Rhet. 1404b1–15; 1408a10). The style must not only correlate with the speaker’s current emotions and the circumstances at hand, but must also be in harmony with a more permanent constellation of his (or her) personal characteristics. Aristotle terms a stretch of speech that fulfils the latter condition— that is, diction attuned to who the speaker is rather than to the immediate circumstances of speaking—ΛÓÈÚ MËÈÍfi or ‘ethical diction’ (Rhet. 1408a25–30). 40 With his usual precision, he adds that such diction depends on both the speaker’s disposition (qËÔÚ) and his or her position within a classification of human beings („›ÌÔÚ). Gender— our chief point of interest here—is an important consideration in 39

Iudicium 853e l–f 1. I assume here that ΛÓÈÚ MËÈÍfi means ‘diction reflecting the speaker’s character’. Such an interpretation is encouraged by Grimaldi’s discussion of qËÔÚ (1988: 183–9). Grimaldi (p. 184) assumes that qËÔÚ carries the basic meaning of ‘the character of a person’ throughout the text of the Rhetoric. Aristotle’s concept of character in this text includes both a disposition formed under the direction of reason and certain innate qualities of character (1988: 187). We can therefore assume that ΛÓÈÚ MËÈÍfi would imply imitating the speaker’s moral virtues and intellectual abilities, including goodwill, practical wisdom, and knowledge. See Smith (2004: 14–15) on the ontological dimensions of qËÔÚ. 40

206

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

classifying speakers. In his discussion of proof based on the credibility of characters, Aristotle spells out this human taxonomy for us: 41 Í·d MËÈÍc ‰b ·oÙÁ ô KÍ ÙHÌ ÛÁÏÂfl˘Ì ‰ÂEÓÈÚ, ¨Ù IÍÔÎÔıËÂE ô ãÒϸÙÙÔıÛ· õÍ‹ÛÙ©˘ „›ÌÂÈ Í·d åÓÂÈ. Λ„˘ ‰b „›ÌÔÚ ÏbÌ Í·Ë’ ôÎÈÍfl·Ì, ÔxÔÌ ·EÚ j IÌcÒ j „›Ò˘Ì, Í·d „ıÌc j IÌfiÒ, Í·d À‹Í˘Ì j »ÂÙٷθڷ (Rhet. 1408a 25–9) 42 A proof based on character relies on signs, inasmuch as appropriate proof comes with each class [of human beings] and acquired habits. I define class as depending on age, such as whether the speaker is a child, a man, or an old man, a man or woman, Lacedaemonian or Thessalian.

Aristotle’s typology, which classifies people by age, gender, and ethnicity, is at first glance unobjectionable. Upon closer scrutiny, however, an interesting pattern of thought reveals itself. The mature man is the central figure in the threefold division of age (child, man, and old man). ‘Woman’ is then briefly mentioned as yet another deviation from the implicit standard of the middle-aged Athenian man. Additionally, masculine gender is used to represent regional variations (À‹Í˘Ì j »ÂÙٷθÚ). 43 Thus in the Aristotelian view on linguistic diversity, the different variants of spoken Greek represent not a series of parallel registers, but rather a set of deviations from a golden mean. ⁄ÌfiÒ is unequivocally the standard against which others and their speech patterns 41 A very useful distinction between qËÔÚ, character in general, and ‘ethos’, the speaker’s character used as a means of persuasion, has been proposed by Wisse (1989: 4–8). He maintains that, whereas in the EN qËÔÚ denotes a person’s moral qualities as opposed to their thinking faculty (‰È·ÌÔfl·), in the Rhetoric Aristotle uses qËÔÚ as a term comprising both moral and intellectual qualities (1989: 30). This interpretation allows him to define ‘ethical’ diction as portraying character (1989: 48), a meaning that is implied in Rhet. 1408a. For a discussion of the role of the speaker’s qËÔÚ in Aristotle’s psychology of rhetorical persuasion, see Hyde (2004: pp. xiv–xxii). 42 He continues his discussion of ‘ethical speech’, explaining the concept of habit (Rhet. 1408a 29–30), which, though not directly relevant to our discussion of types of human beings, should be mentioned here lest Aristotle’s concept of character become oversimplified: åÓÂÈÚ ‰›, Í·Ë’ LÚ ÔÈ¸Ú ÙÈÚ Ù©H ‚fl©˘ · ÔP „aÒ Í·Ë’ ±·Û·Ì åÓÈÌ Ô¶ ‚flÔÈ ÔÈÔfl ÙÈÌÂÚ. KaÌ ÔsÌ Í·d Ùa O̸Ϸٷ ÔNÍÂE· Λ„©Á Ù© ÁÑ åÓÂÈ, ÔÈfiÛÂÈ Ùe qËÔÚ· (As for habits, I define them in reference to the person’s life, for not all types of habits determine the lifestyle. If then anyone uses the language appropriate to acquired habits, he will represent the character.) 43 Female characters in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata reflect ethnic stereotypes. For a note on Lampito’s use of the Lakonian dialect, the most obvious linguistic example of an ethnic characterization of women in Greek comedy, see Henderson (1987: 77).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

207

are measured. In this system, ‘man’ is not merely part of a binary opposition set against the category of ‘woman’, but also the point of intersection of the three classifications of age, ethnicity, and gender. 44 However, the distinction between men and women has a special significance: while the conditions underlying the other two registers are transient (age) or merely circumstantial (regionalisms), femaleness, for Aristotle, constitutes a permanent and pervasive disability. Raw words In Aristotle’s cosmological theory, forms are created when vital heat masters wetness. 45 This heat is not only the necessary condition of material cohesion, but also the cause of intelligence and divinity. In this philosopher’s theory of generation, the birth of a female child is a miscarriage caused by a deficiency of this ‘informing’ heat. 46 The result is an incomplete human being, one that is ‘disabled’ and ‘infertile’—in short, ‘a monstrosity’. 47 This malformed creature has a constitution of moist flesh and soft bones that necessarily affects her voice. 48 What is more, the original teratogenic lack of warmth and divinity has also had an impact on this creature’s soul, which is (allegedly) as raw and soft as her flesh. 49 In the Politics (1260a), Aristotle homes in on the spiritual symptoms of this deficiency of vital heat: although women are not deprived of the part of the soul that is responsible for deliberation (Ùe ‚ÔıÎÂıÙÈ͸Ì), in them this ability is ‘without authority’, àÍıÒÔÌ. The 44 On the generalized tendency to conflate various categories of the other in Greek culture, see Heath (2005: 172–3). 45 On informing power, see Met. 1040b 8–10 and on the creation of bodies, see Meteor. 379a 1. Mayhew (2004: 92–106) surveys Aristotle’s views on women’s cognition and natural virtue. 46 See Tuana’s incisive and clear analysis and her references (1992: 23–31). 47 See GA 737a 28: Ùe „aÒ ËBÎı uÛÂÒ àÒÒÂÌ KÛÙd ÂÁÒ˘Ï›ÌÔÌ (the female is a sort of defrauded male); 728a 17–18: Í·d äÛÙÈÌ ô „ıÌc uÛÂÒ àÒÒÂÌ à„ÔÌÔÌ (and the woman is a sort of infertile male); 767b 13: Ù›Ò·Ú (malformed creature). 48 GA 766b 17–18; hence woman was affected by an inherent lack of strength (Met. 1046a 29–30). By contrast, the male body is firm, smooth, and efficient (Physio. 806b 33–5). A man’s voice is an emblem of his sound body and mind, and any change to its deep tone is the most obvious symptom of an effeminate nature (Physio. 813a 35–813b 1). On Greek presumptions about the gender and sound, see Carson (1995: 119–37). See also McClure (1999: 32–8) and Heath on Greek perceptions of female speech as soundless (2005: 185–92). 49 Physio. 809a32, 810b36, 810a13–14.

208

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

philosopher here describes the ‘bouleutic’ or deliberative capacity of the human soul, as that which enables one to reflect upon the means of achieving a predetermined end rather than the end itself. 50 This is a distinction he reiterates in the Nicomachean Ethics in which he states that one deliberates not about the goals themselves, but rather about the means to achieve them. 51 So, while Aristotle grants to woman that part of the soul that is devoted to finding the means to accomplish her ends, without a proper master, it (and, therefore, she) cannot set the right goals. Given that the ultimate Aristotelian ethical goal of a human being is happiness, understood as acting according to virtue, ‚ÔıÎÂıÙÈÍeÌ àÍıÒÔÌ would imply that while a woman can be resourceful enough to achieve what she wants, she is not wise enough to want what is truly desirable. If a woman’s speech is to reflect this undisciplined intellectual power, no matter how vigorous, inventive, and full of clever arguments it may be, it must reflect moral incompetence. Such incompetence is a direct function of the feminine constitution; it is determined in the womb and no amount of education can overcome it. In Aristotelian terms, then, the inferiority of female speech would have been a symptom of a lifelong disability, 52 one that defines ‘woman’ as a lesser rather than a different human being. In the last ten years, many critics responding to the earlier denunciations of the inherent misogyny of Aristotle’s thought have pointed out the similarities between his ethics of virtue and the contemporary feminist ethics of care. 53 Indeed, both systems oppose a morality based on disembodied rules in favour of one based on relationships. Such interpretations are valuable in that they allow contemporary readers of Aristotle to appreciate and appropriate this particular 50 On the bouleutic capacity, see Guthrie (1981: vi. 351); on the feminine deficiency in particular, see e.g. Tuana (1992: 28–9), Modrak (1994: 210–13), Senack (1994: 229–32), and Homiak (2002: 86–7). While it is clear that Aristotle considers women incapable of rational goal-setting, his theory of virtue, as Homiak has deftly argued (2002: 88–94), does not devalue some activities of the soul of which women are fully capable. Among these are emotions, which, as Konstan observed (2006: 58), Aristotle considered ‘natural and necessary’. 51 NE 1113b 3–4, 1112b 11–12. 52 On the absence of difference between genders in Aristotle’s ontology, see Modrak (1998: 108–11) and Deslauriers (1998: 141–54). 53 See e.g. Hirshman (1998: 201–47) and Nussbaum (1998: 248–59).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

209

aspect of the philosopher’s thought. This sympathetic reading cannot, however, make null and void the misogynist logic that is an integral part of Aristotelian doctrine. According to this logic, women’s words, like their bodies and souls, would have had to be unformed. If the gendered disparities of speech parallel those of bodies and souls, the linguistic differences would then affect the coherence and purposefulness of women’s speech. Consequently, to imitate a woman, a man would simply need to pretend to use speech to obtain immoral ends. The Aristotelian paradigm of ‘aborted intelligence’ has a parallel in the Plautine notion of feminine malitia (cf. Chapters 2 and 3) and might constitute a useful reference point, enhancing the absurd humour of women’s discussions of virtue and moderation (cf. Chapter 4). Yet Aristotle’s comments do not advance our search for understanding of the relationship between a writer’s own identity and the language he composed for fictional characters. Unlike Quintilian and Plutarch, the author of the Rhetoric does not seem interested in the process of creating words for women (or other substandard speakers). This does not mean, however, that the process of writing alien discourses did not interest thinkers active before the first century ce. In fact, the complex relationship between speeches and speakers was central to Plato’s thinking on language and creativity.

Plato’s creatures: fifth–fourth century bce On right and wrong images According to Plato’s famous theory of representation in the Republic (10. 595–606), 54 the imitating subject (ÏÈÏÁÙcÚ, 597e) contemplates the object of imitation (ÏÈÏÔ˝ÏÂÌÔÌ, 604e) and then fashions its replica or image (ÏflÏÁÏ·, 599b). 55 To Plato, words are just such 54 On the complexities of the ancient (and modern) notions of ÏflÏÁÛÈÚ, see Halliwell’s seminal discussion (2002); Halliwell discusses Platonic formulations of ÏflÏÁÛÈÚ in the Cratylus, Republic 2–3, and Republic 10 (2002: 43–61). 55 Plato also has a term for the object being contemplated before the act of mimesis, cf. 599a: ÏÈÏÁËÁÛ¸ÏÂÌÔÌ. The replica, ÏflÏÁÏ·, has a strange appeal for the irrational part of the soul (604d–e). See Else (1986: 38–42). Its power seems akin to that of magical figurines made of wax, which people placed under the thresholds that Plato speaks of in Leges 933b2.

210

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

images—ÏÈÏfiÏ·Ù·. 56 Most commonly, these images reproduce what the speaker has seen or heard, and so simply imitate the perceptible world. Such at least is the position articulated by Critias in the dialogue that bears his name (107b5–7). 57 Thus, when a man imitates other men (or women), his words can only be reflecting images. But there is also another type of discourse, first described by Timaios in the Critias and then echoed in his creative speech in the Timaeus. 58 Discourses of this type convey images the speaker finds in his mind, producing words that are not imitations of things perceived but of eternal truth. (This second kind of speaking will be the subject of the next section.) Imitative discourses are the focus of Socrates’ discussion of mimesis in the third book of the Republic, in which he explains which kinds of imitation are detrimental and which are useful to the audiences of Plato’s ideal state. Such audiences would have included the guardians, whom Plato here describes as ‘good men’, although he later claims that women could also have been members of this elite caste (e.g. 5. 456a–d). 59 Since, in this context, the imitating subjects (and listeners) are assumed to be ‘good men’, and the chief criterion for goodness (of images) is the quality of the object they reproduce, the subjects are encouraged to create images similar to or better than themselves. To elucidate the contrast between good speakers and demeaning images, Plato chooses drama as the prime example of mimesis. 60 As drama involves not only composing words for someone else, but also performing as someone else, it most effectively illustrates the threat imitation can pose to the imitator. Since the performer creates a likeness of another using himself as a medium, 61 Plato can posit that such an act involves a loss of identity 56

Cratylus 424d–425a and 433b4–10; Sophistes 243b, 264b5. See also Nightingale’s discussion of the Phaedrus, contrasting ‘alien’ discourses that depend on the authority of others with ‘proper’ discourses, at the truth of which the speaker has arrived through dialectical examination (1995: 133–71). 58 See Osborne’s incisive discussion of these two ‘levels of discourse’ in the Critias (1996: 185–91) as well as her analysis of the world-making discourse of the Timaeus (1996: 194–208). 59 We can perhaps imagine that women-guardians, having acquired man-like minds through imitating good examples, are subsumed in the category of ‘good men’. 60 The term ‘dramatic’ comprises both theatrical and rhapsodic performances. 61 3. 393c5: œPÍÔFÌ Ù¸ „ ≠ÏÔÈÔFÌ õ·ıÙeÌ àÎΩ˘ j Í·Ùa ˆ˘ÌcÌ j Í·Ùa Û˜BÏ· ÏÈÏÂEÛË·fl KÛÙÈÌ KÍÂEÌÔÌ ©z àÌ ÙÈÚ ≠ÏÔÈÔE. (isn’t making oneself similar to someone else 57

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

211

that, if repeated frequently enough, could turn out to be irreversible. Possibly, in order to emphasize just how sinister the results of such a practice may be, Socrates invites Plato’s reader to imagine men imitating women: —j ÔPÍ © XÛËÁÛ·È, ¨ÙÈ ·¶ ÏÈÏfiÛÂÈÚ, KaÌ KÍ Ì›˘Ì ¸ÒÒ˘ ‰È·ÙÂÎ›Û˘ÛÈÌ, ÂNÚ äËÁ Ù ͷd ˆ˝ÛÈÌ Í·ËflÛÙ·ÌÙ·È Í·d Í·Ùa ÛHÏ· Í·d ˆ˘ÌaÚ Í·d Í·Ùa ÙcÌ ‰È‹ÌÔÈ·Ì; —Í·d ϋη, q ‰
¨Ú. —ÔP ‰c KÈÙÒ›¯ÔÏÂÌ, qÌ ‰
K„˛, zÌ ˆ·ÏbÌ Ífi‰ÂÛË·È Í·d ‰ÂEÌ ·PÙÔfÚ àÌ‰Ò·Ú I„·ËÔfÚ „ÂÌ›ÛË·È, „ıÌ·EÍ· ÏÈÏÂEÛË·È àÌ‰Ò·Ú ZÌÙ·Ú, j Ì›·Ì j ÒÂÛ‚ıÙ›Ò·Ì, j ỈÒd ÎÔȉÔÒÔıÏ›ÌÁÌ j ÒeÚ ËÂÔfÚ KÒflÊÔıÛ‹Ì Ù ͷd Ï„·Î·ı˜ÔıÏ›ÌÁÌ, ÔNÔÏ›ÌÁÌ ÂP‰·flÏÔÌ· ÂrÌ·È, j KÌ ÛıψÔÒ·EÚ Ù ͷd ›ÌËÂÛÈÌ Í·d ËÒfiÌÔÈÚ K˜ÔÏ›ÌÁÌ: Í‹ÏÌÔıÛ·Ì ‰b j KÒHÛ·Ì j T‰flÌÔıÛ·Ì, ÔÎÎÔF Í·d ‰ÂfiÛÔÏÂÌ. ·ÌÙ‹·ÛÈ ÏbÌ ÔsÌ, q‰’¨Ú (395d–e) Or have you not observed that imitations, if they are practised from a young age on, turn into character and nature, and establish themselves in the body, voice, and thought? —Yes, indeed, he said. —Then, I said, the men for whom we say we care and who we say are to become good men will not be allowed to imitate a woman, being men, no matter if she is young or old, insulting her husband, challenging the gods and boasting, persuaded that she is fortunate, or in trouble and possessed by grief and lamentation—even less one who is sick, in love, or in labour. —Most certainly not, he said.

In Plato’s view, then, femininity constitutes an essential difference that allows no exceptions. He thus wants the perfect men of his ideal state to distance themselves from women of all ages and dispositions. Images of the bodies, voices, and thoughts of women, whether young or old, bold or frightened, must be kept away from the bodies, voices, and even the thoughts of the perfect male citizens. Perhaps not surprisingly, the images of woman put forward as the most repulsive are those stressing her physicality manifest in disease, desire, and giving birth. 62 either in speech or in body [the same as] reproducing the person with whom one likens oneself?) 62 Halliwell (2002: 54) holds that this passage reveals Plato’s ‘anxiety about the heightened states of mind’ involved in dramatic imitation, downplaying the emphasis on habit and repetition (rather than a special mindset) in the passage; cf. Konstan (2004: 302–3).

212

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

Plato goes on to condemn representations of male objects of low status (slaves and labourers) or reprehensible behaviour (drunk, mad, or making animal noises) (396a–b), before turning his attention to desirable objects of imitation. The perfect discourse, it emerges, is the model speech (Âr‰ÔÚ Î›Ó¢Ú) of the perfect man (Í·ÎeÚ ÍI„·Ë¸Ú). 63 A judicious man (Ï›ÙÒÈÔÚ IÌfiÒ) can safely imitate the latter kind of speech because, by conveying the actions and speech of a good man, he can speak as though he himself were speaking—ΩÚ ·PÙeÚ JÌ KÍÂEÌÔÚ (396c). Since the only righteous speech is the speech of a righteous man mirroring himself, 64 by Plato’s definition, the speech of all comic characters, but especially that of women, would qualify as an imitation of undeserving objects, and so would be inherently dangerous for playwrights, actors, and audiences. Fathering word-creatures In the Phaedrus, Plato sheds light on the relationship between speeches and their authors, describing discourses as living bodies created by speechwriters. 65 This description can be found in the metaphorical account of literary composition given by Socrates in the dialogue. 66 ‘All discourse (θ„ÔÚ)’, says Socrates, ‘needs to be put together like a living creature (Ê©HÔÌ) having a body of its own’ (264c). A speaker, we are told, assembles his discourse piece by piece, choosing its head, trunk, and limbs (264c). 67 Then the notion of 63 396b–c: ≈N àÒ·, qÌ ‰ö K„˛, Ï·ÌË‹Ì˘ L Ûf Λ„ÂÈÚ, äÛÙÈÌ ÙÈ Âr‰ÔÚ Î›ÓÂ˛Ú Ù ͷd ‰ÈÁ„fiÛÂ˘Ú KÌ ©z iÌ ‰ÈÁ„ÔEÙÔ ≠ Ù©H ZÌÙÈ Í·ÎeÚ ÍI„·Ë¸Ú, ≠¸Ù ÙÈ ‰›ÔÈ ·PÙeÌ Î›„ÂÈÌ, Í·d åÙÂÒÔÌ ·s I̸ÏÔÈÔÌ ÙÔ˝Ù©˘ Âr‰ÔÚ. (Then, I said, if I understand you correctly, there is a certain ideal of speech and discourse that a truly accomplished man would employ in speaking, whenever there was a need for him to say something. There is also another kind, quite unlike the first.) 64 See Bassi (1998: 12–22) and her analysis of Plato’s views as enforcing the masculine subject as citizen and spectator. 65 See Morgan (2000: 229–34) for a cogent reading of Plato’s discussion of the rhetoric in the Phaedrus. 66 264c: ¡ ’ ÎÎa Ù¸‰Â „ ÔrÏ·fl Û ˆ‹Ì·È àÌ, ‰ÂEÌ ‹ÌÙ· θ„ÔÌ uÛÂÒ Ê©HÔÌ ÛıÌÂÛÙ‹Ì·È ÛHÏ‹ ÙÈ ä˜ÔÌÙ· ·PÙeÌ ·ïÙÔF, uÛÙ ÏfiÙ IÍ›ˆ·ÎÔÌ ÂrÌ·È ÏfiÙ àÔıÌ, IÎÎa ϛ۷ Ù ä˜ÂÈÌ Í·d àÍÒ·, Ò›ÔÌÙ· IÎÎfiÎÔÈÚ Í·d Ù©H ¨Î©˘ „„ҷÏϛ̷. (Won’t you agree that every speech needs to be composed like a living creature having a body of its own? And therefore it cannot be deprived of a head or feet, but needs to have a trunk and limbs written as fitting each other and the whole.) 67 Interpreters usually read the passage as postulating unity of discourse: Rowe 1986: 106–27; 1989: 175–88. Nightingale (1995: 156–7) interprets it as stressing the

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

213

speech-as-body temporarily disappears from the surface of Plato’s text, but lingers on in the subtext of the portrayal of ‘the great man of Chalcedon’. When Socrates states that this orator, whose name he withholds, ‘has become the master of the art of the dragged-about words (õÎÍÔÏ›Ì˘Ì Î¸„˘Ì) of people complaining about old age or poverty’ (267d), he uses a striking expression that turns words into human bodies. The Greek verb ‘to drag’, åÎ͢, calls to mind images of literary (especially epic) bodies: the dead bodies of warriors torn apart by dogs (Il. 17. 558, 22. 336, etc.), female bodies abducted (Il. 22. 62) or raped (Od. 11. 580). By insinuating that the Chalcedonian master drags about the words/bodies of his speeches, Plato brings to the reader’s mind such bodies and, through these, evokes their master, thus performing a second act of embodiment. While ‘the great man of Chalcedon’ is not named, this pompous periphrasis, embedded in Plato’s rhythmic sentence heavy with nouns, parodies the flowery style of Thrasymachus of Chalcedon. 68 Finally, the allusion to pityarousing speeches leaves no doubt as to the identity of ‘the great man’ as it recalls the title of Thrasymachus’ treatise On Best Modes of Exciting Compassion. The man is thus present in his words, and by imitating them Plato can drag him before his audience/reader for judgement. By doing so, Plato demonstrates that speeches are symbolic beings that an orator can conjure and abuse at will, yet through this creative process he becomes himself invested in and associated with his own creatures. Like a demiurge, the author of logoi can be seen in his own creation. The final image Plato uses to illustrate the relationship between the speaker and his verbal creations is that of parenting. This image conveys the idealized authorship of authentic discourses that the speaker has produced through the complex process of inner dialectics. It occupies a privileged position in the concluding speech of the Phaedrus, 69 in which Socrates states that ideal discourses, ‘lessons in justice, honour, and goodness’, are composed to instruct (not need for a reasoning principle that guides speech beyond the binary logic (suggested by limbs). 68 On Plato’s imitation of Thrasymachus’ style, see Rowe (1988: 150–1). 69 On the process of inner persuasion, see Nightingale (1995: 157–71); see also Carson’s comparison of Plato’s Phaedrus with the tradition of erotic poetry (1986: 143–57).

214

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

to manipulate) and are ‘written in the soul of the listener’ rather than merely spoken (278a). Such speeches, he continues, must be counted as ‘legitimate sons’ of the man himself, as they originate in his soul (278a–b). 70 Speeches inspired by such spiritual writing, but originating in the souls of other men, are the (male) cousins and brothers of such (male) children (278b). True to the principle of sameness formulated in the discussion of imitative speeches, Plato’s Socrates posits that discourses coming ‘from the soul’ are particularly valuable to the extent that they project the speaker’s inner landscape. Speaking, at least at this ideal level, is thus a family affair involving the transmission of knowledge from fathers to sons. Plato’s Phaedrus construes all discourses as beings, and the most artfully designed of these as human beings. These word-creatures may be either abused (as the victims dragged about by Thrasymachus) or cherished (as the sons of the ideal orator) by their father/creator. Notably, this discussion says little regarding female beings. The speeches and children of Plato’s ideal orator are all styled as male, though we can perhaps imagine that some pitiful daughterspeeches were numbered among Thrasymachus’ literary offspring. This is in fact the logical consequence of the aesthetics of sameness formulated in the Republic (396c); the principle ΩÚ ·PÙeÚ JÌ KÍÂEÌÔÚ postulates a literature that mirrors its creator, leaving no room for daughter-speeches. To understand why, we must first consider Plato’s views on the ontology of the feminine and so turn to the Timaeus. The third The exposé on the origin and nature of the physical world in Plato’s Timaeus (48e–53c) describes creation as an act of ÏflÏÁÛÈÚ. Plato’s creator fashioned the first human images while contemplating the eternal model, so that they were as close as possible to this ideal. 71 Consequently, the first people were all male. Only later, some of them ‘turned out to be worthless and spent their [first] lives on

70 278a–b: ‰b ÙÔfÚ ÙÔÈÔ˝ÙÔıÚ Î¸„ÔıÚ ·ïÙÔF . . . ÔxÔÌ ïÂEÚ „ÌÁÛflÔıÚ ÂrÌ·È (that such speeches are like his true sons). 71 See e.g. Tuana on the Timaeus and Republic (1992: 14–15) and Lloyd (1993: 4–5).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

215

wrongdoing’; such men became women in their next lives. 72 Plato’s view that femininity was a result of moral degeneration is reflected in his account of the creative process put forth by Timaios in the middle of the dialogue. Unlike the earlier explanations (17–48), which involve two kinds of entities—the eternal model (·Ò·‰Âfl„Ï·ÙÔÚ Âr‰ÔÚ) and replicas (ÏÈÏfiÏ·Ù·)—this account introduces a third. This ‘third’ is a universal nature that receives all bodies (48e–49a), a space between the paradigm and its replicas. This reference to the ‘place in which’ is followed by an anthropomorphic simile identifying the model with the father, the place-in-which with the mother or nurse (note that his ‘either–or’ construction in itself suggests that mothers can easily be replaced), and their combination with the child (50e). Plato begins his attempt to explain ‘the third’ by describing substances that can take on perceptible shapes or smells, such as gold (49a–50a) and oil used as a base for fragrances (50d). Hence ‘the third’ is matter as well as mother. When Plato recapitulates, he defines the three entities as ‘that which is generated, that in which the generation takes place, and that upon which the generated is modelled’ (ibid.). The reader then comes across another synopsis of the argument, this one stressing that the three elements are apprehended through diverse forms of reasoning. The eternal and unchanging form can be the object of thought and true knowledge. The temporary and material world is accessible to opinion. The third element can neither be understood (like ideas) nor seen (like the visible world) and can only be glimpsed through its own type of half-legitimate reasoning capacity: ÙÒflÙÔÌ ‰b ·s „›ÌÔÚ kÌ Ùe ÙBÚ ˜˛Ò·Ú IÂfl, ˆËÔÒaÌ ÔP ÒÔۉ˜¸ÏÂÌÔÌ, å‰Ò·Ì ‰b ·Ò›˜ÔÌ ¨Û· ä˜ÂÈ „›ÌÂÛÈÌ AÛÈÌ, ·PÙe ‰b ÏÂÙ
IÌ·ÈÛËÁÛfl·Ú ãÙeÌ ÎÔ„ÈÛÏ©H ÙÈÌÈ Ì¸Ë©˘, ϸ„ÈÚ ÈÛÙ¸Ì, ÒeÚ n ‰c Í·d OÌÂÈÒÔÔÎÔFÏÂÌ ‚ΛÔÌÙÂÚ Í·fl ˆ·ÏÂÌ IÌ·„Í·EÔÌ ÂrÌ·fl Ôı Ùe kÌ ±·Ì äÌ ÙÈÌÈ Ù¸©˘ Í·d Í·Ù›˜ÔÌ ˜˛Ò·Ì ÙÈÌ‹, Ùe ‰b ÏfiÙ
KÌ „© ÁÑ ÏfiÙÂ Ôı Í·Ù
ÔPÒ·ÌeÌ ÔP‰bÌ ÂrÌ·È. (52a–b) And there is a third kind, an eternal part of space that is immune to destruction, and that provides a site for all things that are born, which is itself tangible—though without aid of sensible perception—through a kind of 72 90e–91: ÙHÌ „ÂÌÔÏ›Ì˘Ì ỈÒHÌ ¨ÛÔÈ ‰ÂÈÎÔd Í·d ÙeÌ ‚flÔÌ I‰flÍ˘Ú ‰ÈBÎËÔÌ, Í·Ùa θ„ÔÌ ÙeÌ ÂN͸ٷ „ıÌ·EÍÂÚ ÏÂÙˆ˝ÔÌÙÔ KÌ Ù© ÁÑ ‰ÂıÙ›Ò©· „ÂÌ›ÛÂÈ.

216

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

illegitimate power of reasoning, hardly believable. Having glanced at this [eternal part of space], we dream about it and say that all that exists must be somewhere in a place and must be occupying some space, but that this entity is nothing on earth or in heaven.

By insisting that only ideas and their replicas have names, Plato implies that ‘the third’ may not even be accessible through language. This paralinguistic status of the receptacle would explain why it is also beyond verbal description. Plato warns his reader that the metarational capacity that allows us to glance over the maternal receptacle is ̸ËÔÚ, ‘illegitimate’, 73 suggesting that such a cognitive strategy would provide an interface between reasoning and language associated with the paternal entity and visual perception associated with replicas. Plato now represents the third element—previously called ‘receptacle’, ‘mother or nurse’, and ‘the one in which’ and compared to malleable substances—as the eternal part of space or chôra. This Greek noun ˜˛Ò· is related to the preposition ˜˘ÒflÚ, meaning ‘apart, without, separated from’. 74 Possibly a cognate of the Greek word for widow ˜fiÒ·, 75 chôra is then a space between the body and the void, which figuratively represents the transition between presence and absence, between what is and what is not. More important to us, Plato connotes this space as feminine at the same time as he dissociates it from meaning and language.

The Greeks, the Romans, and the Third My survey of Roman and Greek conceptions of feminine speech has revealed a striking consistency in the attitudes of the theoreticians. 73 This adjective could have evoked for his Athenian readers ‘that which has a citizen (legitimate) father and an alien (illegitimate) mother and the reverse’, but those well versed in philosophy might have thought of Democritus’ distinction between legitimate („ÌÁÛflÁ) and illegitimate (ÛÍÔÙflÁ) knowledge (DK 68B11). 74 So Chantraine 1968–80. The Stoic philosopher Zeno of Kitium (335–263 bce) narrows down the meaning of the Greek ˜˛Ò· by contrasting it with two other words that denote space in Greek: Ù¸ÔÚ, ‘place’, and Í›ÌÔÌ, ‘void’, defining ‘void’ as empty of body (KÒÁÏfl· Û˛Ï·ÙÔÚ), ‘place’ as occupied by a body, and ˜˛Ò· as partially occupied by a body. Zeno positioned the void outside of the ordered kosmos and identified it with the boundless (àÂÈÒÔÌ); cf. Stob. Ecl. 1. 18; Pearson fr. 69. 75 So Frisk 1960–72: ii. 1095.

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

217

Canonical texts of philosophy and rhetoric, it turns out, symbolically sever the connection between mother and tongue. The basic assumption that the perfect discourse is reserved for the man himself and that feminine speech is removed from this ideal informs classical thought about language from Plato to Donatus. Can such texts, which tend to marginalize feminine speech, help us read the feminine between the lines of Plautus’ and Terence’s scripts? The importance of such texts lies, I believe, in the opportunity they afford us to study the modalities of marginalization. For example, we have seen that Donatus places the speech of Terence’s women at a different level of linguistic alterity than, say, the speech of slaves. Quintilian includes women on his list of disturbing objects of imitation. Aristotle’s Rhetoric situates gender next to place of origin and age on a continuum of otherness, at the same time that his philosophy establishes it as the most profound of differences. Nevertheless, it is Plato’s near-description of ‘the third thing’ that offers the most promising mode for reflection on the gap between logos and the feminine. All the classical theories I have examined so far define woman by her alleged deficiencies. After all, it is the lack of divine heat that prevents Aristotle’s woman from developing fully, that is, into a man. In a similar vein, Plato’s reference in the Timaeus implies that the feminine condition is a result of moral degeneration and so depends on a lack of moral competence. Both philosophers imagine the feminine as formed by a centrifugal motion away from ‘the man himself ’ towards the margins of being. Plato’s account of the chôra differs from the other descriptions of the feminine (including those earlier in the Timaeus) in that it accentuates the gap between the central figure of the man himself and the margins of his universe, drawing our attention to the nature of this divide. The chôra does not signify an absolute void, but rather a space marked by the shadow of a presence. The female figures proposed for ‘the third’ by Plato—the mother or nurse whom a man leaves behind when he has outgrown her care, but who is thence free to benefit others—convey the notion that the shadowy chôra is a shared space into which and out of which beings move. Though Plato positions ‘the third’ beyond language (understood as a web of names), I will propose that the strange intellectual effort

218

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

by which we attempt to glimpse the space between ideas and replicas does in fact recall speaking to the other. Situated between being and non-being, intellectual and sensible perception, this space of transition and half-presence could be appropriated as a metaphor for communication. To attempt such an appropriation, I will now reexamine the chôra in the light of the insights of modern interpreters. The identity of the ‘third’ has intrigued readers of Plato from Aristotle (who accused his former teacher of an error in logic 76 ) through Kant and Schelling, to Luce Irigaray. 77 Bertrand Russell found the complexities of the chôra exasperating, 78 while Martin Heidegger viewed it as essential to the development of Western thought (1954: 175). Kristeva (1974/1984), Irigaray (1974/1985a), and Derrida (1987/1993) all proposed, as we will see, compelling yet mutually incompatible readings of Plato’s malleable ‘third’ as essential to language and/or femaleness. 79 I will propose that, through these modern interpretations, we can find a way of reappropriating not only the Platonic chôra, but also other spaces of silence that underlie classical texts, including, and most important to us here, the scripts of Roman comedy.

IN SEARCH OF A MOTHER TONGUE: THE FORTH-STORY

Between Exclusion and Participation Jacques Derrida’s essay Khôra (1987/1993) is rooted in Heidegger’s interpretation of Plato’s mysterious ‘third’ as a discourse. 80 Heidegger 76

Phys. 2.209b11–13. On Kant’s and Schelling’s respective attempts to appropriate the term chôra, see Sallis and his references (1999: 154–62). Irigaray’s position was first formulated in the Speculum, esp. in ‘Plato’s Hystera’ (1974/1985a). 78 Russell’s comment about Plato’s description of ‘the third’ in the History of Western Philosophy reads: ‘This is a very difficult passage, which I do not pretend to understand at all fully’ (1945: 146). 79 For an exhaustive discussion of ancient interpretations by Aristotle and Plutarch, see Scheffel (1976: 1–21). Miller (2003: 20–32) summarizes the views proposed by modern interpreters of the chôra: receptacle as matter, receptacle as space, receptacle as both space and matter, receptacle as neither space nor matter. 80 The text published in 1993 is a revised version of an essay that appeared in 1987 in Poikilia: Études offertes à Jean-Pierre Vernant. 77

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

219

claimed that the concept of chôra called attention to the passage from insignificant being to significant Being—a space where duality can exist beyond division. 81 In an essay composed in response to Jean-Pierre Vernant’s call for an alternative to the philosophical logic of non-contradiction (1974: 250), Derrida took Heidegger’s line of reasoning further, underscoring the epistemological potential of an inner landscape free from exclusive choices. Derrida postulated that the Platonic chôra embodied just such an alternative mode of thinking. He proposed (1993: 19) that chôra stood for a discourse oscillating between the two extremes of participation (both . . . and . . . ) and exclusion (neither . . . nor . . . ). To Derrida, the chôra was a mode of thought and expression alternative to the logos—the para-logical discourse of dream and myth. In this kind of dream-like reasoning, the past–present time and good–evil figures of myth can finally be embraced. This ingenious solution, conflating ‘bastard’ understanding (which allows us to grasp the chôra only halfway) with the chôra itself, makes the chôra a handy metaphor for theatrical space in general and for the palliata with its complex interplay of discourses in particular. In this mode of thinking that transcends definitive choices, the inherent tension between the histrio and his role becomes tolerable, even natural. He may well be both male and female, both slave and free, both Roman and Greek, all at the same time. Feminine words in Plautus and Terence, spoken, as it were, by ‘both women and men’, would thus conform to the rules of Derrida’s paradoxical ‘chôric’ syntax. I nevertheless find it difficult to espouse the equality implied in this ‘aesthetics of hesitation’ as a historically plausible interpretation of Plato. To follow Derrida’s line of thinking, we would have to ignore two sets of facts. First, we would have to disregard the gendered spaces (‘receptacle’ and ‘place in which’) and the figures of nurses or mothers—not tutors or fathers—that Plato uses to explain ‘the third’ 81 The term ‘Being’ would stand for the paradigm and ‘being’ for mimêma. Heidegger 1954: 174: ‘Wenn wir vom Seienden zum Sein übergehen, dann durchstreiten wir im Übergang die Zwiefalt beider. Der Übergang läßt jedoch niemals die Zwiefalt erst entstehen. Die Zwiefalt ist bereits im Gebrauch. Sie ist in allem Sagen und Vorstellen, Tun und Lassen das Gebrauchteste und darum das Gebrauchliche schlechthin.’ (When we pass from being to Being, we go through the passage of duality on both sides. The passage itself, however, never causes the duality. The duality is already in use. It is there in all we say and represent, in all we do and let happen; it is the most used, and therefore the most usual thing.)

220

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

to the reader of the Timaeus. Second, and more important, we would have to discount the historical context of Plato’s thought, namely, the tradition of gendering indefiniteness as feminine, which would have prompted him in the first place to evoke feminine entities. The assumption that ‘male’ is defined and limited while ‘female’ is not pervades many a text of Western philosophy and also correlates with canonical perceptions of sexed bodies. 82 Chôra, we must conclude— against a Derridean reading—is rather more feminine than masculine, though it cannot definitively be either. Indeed for Plato, the feminine proclivity of the chôra would not have barred indeterminacy, but, on the contrary, would have resulted from it.

The Mother’s Pulse Derrida’s denial of the femininity of the chôra was a response to earlier readings of Plato by Julia Kristeva (1974/1984) and Luce Irigaray (1974/1985a), both of whom appropriated Plato’s ‘third’ and read it as a feminine space. Kristeva quotes the Freudian theory of drives developed by Melanie Klein in order to claim that all primary semiotic movements link and direct the subject towards the body of the mother (1974: 26). She employs the term chôra to denote the space or mode in which drives and primary processes, such as displacement and condensation, enter language. 83 To her, the chôra is the articulation of the rhythmic discharges that run throughout the body of the subject (to be) and are determined by the structures and strictures of family and society (1974: 23). This mode of expression precedes and underlies all figuration (including the linguistic sign), connecting 82 On the symbolic association of maleness and determination in Greek thought, see Lloyd (1993: 2–3). The relationship between the physical characteristics of bodies and the symbolic ordering of masculinity and femininity would have been far more complex than that between model and representation, but was more likely to involve a mutual influence. What Patricia Huntington wrote while rereading Heidegger could easily apply to the classical assumption that limits and boundaries are male: ‘variations in metaphysical conceptualizations of Being . . . are modeled after the morphological marks of the male body. Metaphysical depictions that reify Being as a transcendent principle, first cause, absolute spirit, or powerful God evince a consistent privileging of phallic attributes’ (1998: 48). 83 In recording this rhythm, she thus pursues the research into the motivation of linguistic phenomena conducted by Freudian psychoanalysts (1974: 19).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

221

the subject-to-be to the figure of a mother, thus assuring that every discourse moves both with and against the chôra. Kristeva terms the imprint of the chôra on language its ‘semiotic’ aspect. She contrasts ‘the semiotic’ with the process of signifying she terms ‘symbolic’. 84 She perceives such a psychoanalytic reading of Plato as an act of liberation: We will have to restore to this motility [of the chôra] its play of gesture and voice (to mention only what interests us with respect to language) on the socialized body, in order to liberate the motility from the ontological and amorphous state in which Plato imprisons it, taking it away from the Democritean rhythm [i.e. rhythms assumed by atoms]. 85

Kristeva wants to reconnect the Platonic concept of that which is immobilized as the ‘place where’ with the flesh that is the necessary substratum of any living language; she then imagines the mother’s body as the original centre of the movements of the chôra. 86 But her association of chôra with the feminine ends there. According to Kristeva, the semiotic and its movements towards the mother affect the speech of every person, regardless of gender. It is tangible in every state of poetic inspiration that challenges the symbolic order of language in the name of other pre-verbal impulses. 87 Kristeva argued against the exclusive association of the semiotic with the feminine, 84 See Kristeva 1974: 22–3, esp. 23: ‘articulation incertaine et indéterminée, d’une disposition qui relève déjà de la représentation et qui se prête à l’intuition phénoménologique spatiale pour donner lieu à une géométrie’ (a hesitant and indefinite articulation of a disposition that already draws upon representation, that lends itself to phenomenological and spatial interpretation, leading to geometry). Cf. ibid. 41–2. 85 ‘Il faudra redonner à cette motilité son jeu gestuel et vocalique (pour ne mentionner que celui-là, qui nous intéresse au regard du langage) sur le registre du corps socialisé pour l’extraire de l’ontologie et de l’amorphe où l’enferme Platon, en le dérobant, semble-t-il, au rhythme de Démocrite’ (1974: 24–5). 86 Kristeva returned to the notion of chôra in her later work, but without changing it significantly. For example, in Pouvoirs de l’horreur, she uses it to explain narcissism; she claims that the movements of the chôra strive to make the ego the centre of a system of objects (1980: 21–2). In Soleil noir she uses it to discuss emotions as semiotic articulations (1987: 32–3). 87 In Kristeva’s terms the chôra operates in a manner similar to poetic inspiration as described in Plato’s Ion (354a–355d). This passage forcefully contrasts the state of mind of those who ‘are in their senses’ (äψÒÔÌÂÚ) with ‘those who act like the priests of Kybele’ (ÍÔÒı‚·ÌÙÈ˘ÌÙÂÚ). ˜ It is interesting to note that the passage is full of feminine

222

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

ascribing the view that linguistic precision, understanding, and logic are masculine and that the domain of the tacit and the vague is feminine 88 to ‘certain feminists in France’. 89 Kristeva’s own perspective, that the maternal body is the invisible cause of the semiotic tides that we sense in all texts, no matter what the author’s gender, is an attractive one. Efrossini Spentzou drew upon it in her compelling appraisal of the feminine voice in Ovid’s Heroides as disrupting and disputing the symbolic accounts of classical narratives. 90 A Kristevan reading of the chôra would allow us, for example, to trace Plautus’ masterful alliterations and repetitions to a maternal and feminine source. Nevertheless, although it allows us to conceive of the semiotic aspects of the scripts of Plautus and Terence as ‘maternal’, Kristeva’s chôra does not account for the (quantitative and qualitative) differences between masculine and feminine discourses that I have observed in Roman comedy. It is the position Kristeva criticized that will allow us to account for such differences.

Par-les-Femmes Prominent among the ‘feminists in France’ who postulated that men and women use language in different ways is the philosopher and linguist Luce Irigaray, whose concept of parler-femme provoked much criticism in the 1980s. 91 In her early work, particularly in Spéculum imagery. The paradigms for enthusiasm are men identifying themselves with feminine deities (Kybele and the Muses) and women (bacchantes) drawing milk. 88 Ibid. 382. See also Judith Butler’s criticism of Kristeva’s ready acceptance of the collapse of the chôra and the maternal (1993: 41–2). 89 See Kristeva’s interview with Elaine Hoffman Baruch, tr. Brom Anderson and Margaret Waller (1984) and reprinted in Oliver (2002: 371–82). 90 Cf. Spentzou (2002: 99–104); on heroines’ feminine voice and Cixous’s disruptive écriture féminine, ibid. 105–22. 91 Whitford (1991: 49–52) convincingly interprets parler-femme as a pun on parles-femmes and proposes to translate it as ‘speaking (as) woman’, which phrase renders Irigaray’s intention to valorize speaking as a feminine subject. For accounts of the early criticism of Irigaray’s essentialist position, see e.g. Stone (2006: 21–5) and her references; Stone furthermore critiques later readings of Irigaray’s essentialism as politically justified (2006: 25–33). The proponents of political essentialism, such as Grosz (1989), Braidotti (1998, 2002), and Deutscher (2002), hold that one needs to speak of gender as essential in order to confront the essentialist thought embedded in the symbolic structures that dominate the public discourse.

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

223

de l’autre femme, published in the same year as Kristeva’s Révolution du langage poétique, Irigaray associated the feminine receptacle with matter and mother. 92 She disallowed the chôra even the link with pre-language that was postulated by Kristeva, and so rejected the humanity of the ‘mother’ of Platonic creation. ‘As for the mother, let there be no mistake about it, she has no eyes, or so they say, she has no gaze, no soul. No consciousness, no memory. No language’ (1985a: 340). Irigaray suggested that the aporia surrounding this split between the intelligible and the sensible bears witness to the triumph of matter that transcends figuration, but that, despite Plato’s best efforts, matter cannot be successfully erased. Plato’s own thought, she points out, is impossible outside the ‘old dwelling’ (Rep. 514a), be it mother, womb, or cave. Irigaray, then, not only accepted the disfiguration of the chôra, but also glorified its nature precisely because it frustrated the efforts of Plato and his Demiurge to schematize ‘the third’. This approach is of particular interest to us here, since Plato’s attempt to imagine creativity without woman and its failure parallel the conventions of the Greek and Roman theatre; after all, these conventions excluded woman and her physicality only to imprint feminine features on the actors’ male bodies. Irigaray’s position came under criticism from Judith Butler, who argued that, like Plato’s narrative, Irigaray’s tenet that the feminine exceeds its figuration excluded ‘woman’ from meaningful discourse. 93 Butler’s criticism is justified so long as we read it within the symbolic ordering in which form dominates matter. 94 If, however, as Irigaray advocates in her more recent writings, we reject this imaginary order, it is conceivable that the chôra could turn out to be the starting point for a new conception of language that does not exclude woman—or anyone else, for that matter. 92

See ‘Une mère de glace’ (1974/1985a: 170–9). Butler 1993: 36–55, esp. 52. Irigaray and Butler have profoundly different notions of gender; the difference between Irigaray’s concept of the duality of naturally determined genders and Butler’s insistence on the multiplicity of genders produced by cultures appears particularly important. Yet it is not irreconcilable; see Stone’s lucid analysis of Butler’s critique of Irigaray (2006: 55–65), which leads Stone towards her own theory of self-differentiating bodies (Irigaray) with multiple genders (Butler). 94 Judith Butler’s theory of the primacy of culture over nature can, in fact, be considered as an appropriation of this attitude by a feminist thinker. 93

224

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

Speaking to the Other Irigaray’s later texts propose a philosophy of ‘being together’ that aspires to heal the rift between matter and spirit, which she perceives as pervasive in Western thought. 95 She looks to non-Western traditions, offering as models ‘cultures where the body is cultivated as body . . . cultivated to become both more spiritual and more carnal at the same time’ (1992: 24). Thus understood, matter has a prominent place in Irigaray’s later work. The Way of Love, for example, advocates an ethics of being-with-the-other, 96 of which language, defined as speaking between embodied subjects, is the essential mode. Always in the present tense, an expectation of becoming, this speech is very different from logos, language defined as a code (2002c: 17). Irigaray asserts that the kind of speaking that aims to touch by means of words is only possible thanks to a mysterious interval, a medium that she identifies with nature itself (2002c: 19). 97 This interval has no pre-established dimensions (2002c: 20). Like the Platonic chôra, it cannot be named. ‘No word can name it once and for all . . . nor be totally foreign to it’. It is a transcendental openness existing ‘in a split of a word’ whose meaning is sensed, but cannot be 95

See esp. Irigaray (1999/2002b). One of the main points of Irigaray’s Speculum (1974/1985a) is what she calls ‘specular economy’, which represents the world as mirroring the male experience. Irigaray illustrates her tenet with readings of Plato, Aristotle, Nietzsche, and Heidegger, among others. Many feminist philosophers commented on the persistence of the association of ‘man’ and ‘reason’ in the 1980s and early 1990s; see e.g. Lloyd (1993) or the collected essays edited by Bar On (1994). In the late 1990s critics focused their efforts on discovering the weak points of such a monolithic interpretation of ‘Western philosophy’. This tendency is epitomized by the interpretations of Aristotle quoted above, collected by Cynthia Freeland (1998); see also Holland and Huntington (2001) on Heidegger, and Nesbitt Oppel on Nietzsche (2005). In the light of this recent attempt to appropriate Aristotle, the position of Irigaray in the Speculum appears problematic; Freeland e.g. criticizes her interpretations as essentualizing sexual difference (1998: 59–92, esp. 85–6); cf. Deutscher (2002: 111) and Stone (2006: 104–13) defending Irigaray’s point of view. 96 ‘But the word is also what is able to incarnate the body and the flesh that one wants to say to the other. Or the flesh in which to exchange with him, or her. Not a part of the body, but the flesh that goes beyond the body without destroying it, amputating it . . . Words give flesh before entering into corporeal or carnal exchanges: kinds of annunciation in which the flesh of whoever proposes to approach can be heard’ (2002c: 15–16). 97 Likewise, in the essay ‘Why Cultivate Difference?’ Irigaray postulates that communication can only take place within ‘the third’, the natural world. She defines it as ‘a place of life, both natural and spiritual, and a place of intimacy’ (2002d: 83).

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

225

captured in a single word (ibid. 22). Unlike the chôra of the Speculum, this nameless, indeterminate space that is at the centre of Irigaray’s new theory of language is not left outside speech, but included within it, as the condition of speaking to the other without appropriating the other and transforming him or her into self. 98 Irigaray posits that when we speak of ourselves as subjects we always speak towards the other, but our speech, inevitably, fails. Once uttered, speech ‘comes back’, like an echo, to the speaker. It is only in mapping the chasms not crossed by our speech that we can locate the basic relational meaning of words. Thus, according to Irigaray’s theory of speaking between subjects, meaning—relational meaning— resides in these intervals. The most vital task in speaking, then, is to leave room in the form of openings for the other. Irigaray goes into some grammatical detail in explaining how to create just such meaningful apertures. 99 Yet the idea of ‘speaking to the other’ she proposes remains an ideal mode of communication that has yet to be developed. In order to make this future speaking possible, we first need, Irigaray believes, to acknowledge the differences between diverse subjects, particularly the paradigmatic difference between female and male subjects. In answer to the question of how and why these differences occur, Irigaray cites the theory of ‘sexuate’ difference that is an integral part of her understanding of nature. In the essay ‘Why Cultivate Difference’ she writes: How can we explain the differences of subjectivity between male and female? We can say, for example, that it is not the same to be born a girl from a woman—that is, from the person of the same sex—or to be born from a 98 ‘Speech is always turned toward the other in order to communicate and turns back to oneself without having been able to say what it had to say. If this was not so, the other would no longer remain other, and the subject would lose an autonomous status. In its turning back to the one who said it, speech attends to what it has learned from the other but also—if it listens—to that which it failed to communicate’ (2002c: 23). 99 ‘Substantives, for example, leave little space for change; they fossilize what they name’. Verbs are far more flexible, capable of embracing time, person, and (under some circumstances) gender; they also partake in constructions that allow the speaker to include the other, such as that of the indirect object. She offers the title of her J’aime à toi/I love to you (1992/1996) as an attempt to speak the new language, which she sees as a remedy for the present practice of ‘gendered bilingualism’ (Irigaray 2002: 60).

226

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

person of a sex that is different, as it is the case for a boy. Neither is it equivalent to be able or not to be able to engender as a mother. Or even to engender in oneself or outside of oneself. (2002d: 82) 100

The relational difference between subjects is thus rooted in bodies (and their relationship with other bodies), but grows into ‘worlds’ or ‘cultures’. I understand these cultures as open structures that one can adopt, adapt, and transform. Such structures do not need to be in binary opposition. Following Stone’s reading of Irigaray’s concept of bodies as active and self-expressive (2006: 40–2) and her correction (inspired by Butler’s thought) that there are therefore more than just two types of bodies and possible sexualities (2006: 42–51), one can assume that there are more than two ‘worlds’ and ‘cultures’. The cultures of the woman, having begun with the horizontal relationship of a girl with her mother, tend to be more inclined to accept the other as a subject equal to oneself. But woman is not alone in living in these cultures. Irigaray has published a number of works that demonstrate how male and female subjects project themselves into their speech. Her method consisted in collecting large bodies of data composed of utterances of speakers of several languages. Based on these data, Irigaray and her colleagues concluded that men (and boys) and women (and girls) tend to differ in the way they use speech to construct relationships. 101 While men often focused on their relations 100

See also 2001: passim. That girls and boys develop differently in the Preoedipal and subsequent phases because mothers perceive girls as similar to and boys as different from themselves was one of the most important tenets of Nancy Chodorow’s psychoanalytical theory of family dynamics (1978; on the Preoedipal phase, ibid. 108–10). In her definition of early development, Chodorow built on the insights of Freud’s disciples, such as Jeanne Lampl-de Groot, Melanie Klein, Helen Deutsch, and others (Chodorow 1994: 9–11). 101 Irigaray has published extensively on male and female discourses as expressions of distinct subjectivities, and summarizes this work in Key Writings (2004: 35–9). Her thesis on the language of dementia (1973) established that the utterances of men were incomplete with regard to the ‘you’ of the addressee, while those of women were incomplete with regard to the ‘I’. She then went on to collect a corpus of spontaneously produced utterances, as well as of utterances produced during controlled linguistic tests. A search of this corpus demonstrated that men and women from diverse sociocultural backgrounds showed differences similar to those observed in psychiatric patients (1985b/2002a). Irigaray’s most recent linguistic undertaking (1990) involved a series of interviews with Italian schoolchildren. She interpreted their responses to simple requests such as ‘please form a sentence with the pronouns “I” and “you” ’

Father Tongue, Mother Tongue

227

with the objects (including immaterial objects, such as ethical ideals and prestige), women’s utterances frequently focused on their relationships with other people. 102 Whereas ancient theories described what the speech of others lacked when compared to the perfect language of ‘the man himself ’, Irigaray defines women’s and men’s speaking by what it is. And women’s speaking is, according to her, concerned with being-with-the-other. As we have seen, Roman comedy dismisses the latter way of relating to the world as typical of women and fools.

as suggesting that boys and girls express themselves in different ways from an early age, the girls being particularly concerned with their relations with others. On the importance of Irigaray’s scientific work in linguistics, see Hass 2000: passim. 102 See Hass (2000: 64–5) for a list of seminal publications corroborating Irigaray’s findings.

Epilogue We have travelled far in order to be able to stand back and look at Roman comedy and its representations of feminine speech from a considerable distance. I believe, however, that the effort has been worthwhile. Having looked at the difference between male and female speech through the various lenses of ancient and modern perceptions, we can now view the imaginary space in which theatrical genders operate as a space of communication and relationship. The theatre is a transitional space. This was especially true for ancient Greek drama, which was composed and acted by men, yet was strongly connected to the feminine. Scholars such as Karen Bassi, Helen Foley, Lauren Taaffe, and Froma Zeitlin have effectively demonstrated that Greek theatre allowed the masculine self to explore the feminine. 1 Nevertheless, given the complex interplay of discourses I have identified, I think that the comoedia palliata (particularly in its Plautine form) summons up the larger theoretical issues of gender, speech, and relationship with the other with singular urgency.

1 See Zeitlin and her argument that, in Greek theatre, the society’s principal self ‘is to be identified with the male, while the woman is assigned the role of the radical other’ (1985: 66). Zeitlin (1985: passim) made the case that Greek tragedies were, by Greek standards, overwhelmingly feminine, pointing to the tragedy’s emphasis on the body, its use of deceit, and its focus on the intersection between outside and inside. Taaffe concluded that the convention of male actors playing female roles contributed to the portrayal of women as deceptive and, therefore, quintessentially theatrical (1993: 138–9). See also Zeitlin (1981: 170–81) on Aristophanes’ manipulation of the customary theatrical transvestitism in the Thesmophoriazousai, used for the purpose of criticizing the ‘feminine character’ of the Euripidean theatre. See further Bassi 2001: 105–10.

Epilogue

229

My reading of Plautus and Terence has revealed a keen perception of the difference between genders as linked to the relational aspects of speaking. The playwrights do represent female speakers as attending (or feigning attention) to their interlocutors’ emotional and physical needs and expressing sympathy for themselves. But this portrayal of feminine subjectivity as indulgent is by no means uniform. Recall the Poenulus and Adelphasium’s vision of herself as an object, Alcumena’s hymn to manliness in the Amphitruo, Virgo’s lecture on moderation in the Persa, or even Cleustrata’s concern that the Casina should end on time. These are all examples of women appropriating postures that, by the principle of modus muliebris nullus est, would have to be considered typical of men. There are also male characters who adopt allegedly feminine strategies, resorting to blanditiae in attempts to seduce sexual partners or lamenting profusely when denied access to desired objects. For example, at various points of the plot in Casina, Lysidamus tries to charm almost every single member of his household; Argyrippus in the Asinaria fawns on his slaves; in the Aulularia, the old miser sheds tears over the loss of his beloved pot of gold. The scene in which Pistoclerus receives a lesson on how to play the part of adulescens amans from Bacchis is symbolic of the process of echoing another’s way of speaking that is so vital to the representations of gender in Roman comedy. This mimetic discourse reflects the same logic as other conventions of the palliata, a genre in which not only did male authors and actors imitate women, but also slaves played citizens, citizens played slaves, and Romans played Greeks. ‘Playing the other’ is thus at the heart of the aesthetics of Roman comedy. Let us now consider how this ‘other’ is constructed through language. If we applied the notion of ‘sexuate difference’ proposed by Irigaray to Roman conversations, 2 we would have to conclude that such daily exchanges reflected the subjectivities of diverse male and female speakers. However, since theatrical personae are not true subjects, the differences I have observed cannot represent individual subjectivities. Instead, the Roman playwright would have been composing a monologue in many voices, including one that he has styled as that of woman. To do so, the ventriloquist playwright would have 2

Assuming, however, with Stone that sexualities are multiple, rather than binary.

230

Epilogue

echoed, condensed, and distorted various utterances from women and the literary personae of women. These model utterances would have in turn been shaped by the patterns of speech and the languagegame in which Roman women participated. In Chapter 5 I traced one thread in this complex fabric of exchanges, the classical theories dissociating women from ‘proper language’. These theoretical approaches marginalizing feminine speech parallel the attitudes expressed in the Roman plays I have examined, but do not account for the distinctive features of this speech—its peculiar mannerisms of vocabulary and discourse structure, and its persistent attention to the other. Feminine discourses in Roman comedy cannot, therefore, be dismissed just as an exercise in rhetorical ethopoeia, but must have another source. In order to imitate a voice, it stands to reason that one must first listen to that voice. The playwright’s ventriloquist efforts would, therefore, have begun with the interval that Irigaray describes as the precondition for speaking with the other. We can imagine then that the writer preparing to compose words for a woman, or the actor preparing to play the role of a woman, would have first contemplated the differences between himself and (what Plato would have called) the object of his imitation. In other words, the poet in his writing and the performer in his acting would both have reproduced their perceptions of women’s speaking. The man would thus have briefly become the woman’s mirror, and even though this would have been a distorting mirror, for a moment he was a surface that reflected her. In keeping with ancient remarks on impersonation, this gesture on the part of both the writer and the performer would have involved the risk of self-effacement. Recall that Plato warned that men performing as women jeopardized their identity as males. Aristophanes, in a famous scene of the Thesmophoriazousai, mercilessly ridiculed the unmanly, yet not entirely feminine, condition of poor Agathon (130–45) who strove to ‘write feminine plays’ (150). In Plautus’ Amphitruo we find a joke implying that an actor, even if he happened to be playing a victorious general, was ‘neither a man nor a woman’ (810–14). Likewise, about four hundred years later, the satirist Juvenal, when describing with utmost disgust a performer with a falsetto,

Epilogue

231

insinuated that such a creature had no genitals at all. 3 I discussed Plautine references to men in women’s clothing, styled as bacchae, in Chapter 4 and argued that such similes testify to the presence of the ‘woman-like man’ in the chorus of gendered voices in Roman comedy. It seems, then, that distorted though it is, the feminine discourse of Roman comedy can be read as the resonance of a woman’s voice in a man’s. The enactment of feminine speech on stage by the ambivalent histrio in his many roles can be considered a fleeting moment of rapprochement between the two voices. The notion of a chôric split would aptly describe the interval between the actor’s identity and his female role, the space between ‘his’ body and ‘her’ words. It is in this ambivalent space, oscillating between the masculine and the feminine (but leaning towards the latter), that the ‘feminine’ discourses of comedy seem to operate. We could deplore this ambiguous space as symbolizing the absence of women playwrights and actresses, but we could just as easily acknowledge it as an opening. Through the space created by ‘woman’, woman enters the literary discourse speaking in the first person. Although the voice in which she speaks is not her own, it is not the voice of ‘the man himself ’ either. ‘The third’ is thus a tool we can use to analyse those intersections where the playwright’s monologue touches upon the feminine. By conceptualizing the interval between the author and his feminine style as a space of contiguity as well as separation, we can hear in these theatrical ‘women’ distant echoes of women speaking.

3 3. 95–7: ‘Mulier nempe ipsa videtur, | non persona, loqui: vacua et plana omnia dicas | infra ventriculum’ (A real woman seems to be speaking, not merely a female persona; you would say that everything under his cute little tummy is empty and flat.) Notice that Juvenal did not suggest that a castrato was playing the woman’s role, but merely that the actor’s voice was so feminine that one could think that he was a eunuch.

Bibliography Adams, James N. 1982. The Latin Sexual Vocabulary (London). 1984. ‘Female Speech in Latin Comedy’, Antichthon, 18: 43–77. Aicher, Peter. 1989. ‘Ennius’ Dream of Homer’, AJP 110/2: 227–32. Alexiou, Margaret. 2002. The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition (New York; 1st edn. 1974). Anderson, Robert Thomas and Scott Anderson. 1994. ‘Culture and Pain’, in The Puzzle of Pain (East Roseville, Australia), 120–38. Anderson, William S. 1972. Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Norman, Okla.). Arcellaschi, André. 1982. ‘Amphitryon 187’, R.é.l. 60: 128–38. 1990. ‘Les Bacchides de Plaute et l’affaire de Bacchanales’, in Jürgen Blänsdorf (ed.), Theater und Gesellschaft im Imperium Romanum/Théâtre et société dans l’empire romain (Tübingen), 35–44. Arnott, W. G. 1970. ‘Phormio Parasitus: A Study in Dramatic Methods of Characterization’, G&R 17: 32–57. 1972. ‘Targets, Techniques, and Tradition in Plautus’ Stichus’, BISC 19: 54–79. 1996. Alexis: The Fragments (Cambridge). Asmundson, Gordon J. G., and Kristi D. Wright. 2004. ‘Biopsychosocial Approaches to Pain’, in Thomas Hadjistavropoulos and Kenneth D. Craig (eds.), Pain: Psychological Perspectives (Mahwah, NJ), 35–57. Astbury, Raymond. 1985. M. Terentii Varronis Saturarum Menippearum Fragmenta (Leipzig). Atkins, E. M. 1990. ‘Domina et Regina Virtutum: Justice and Societas in De Officiis’, Phronesis, 35/3: 258–89. Austin, L. J. 1962. How to Do Things with Words, ed. J. O. Urmson and M. Sbisà (Cambridge). Austin, R. G. 1960. Tulli Ciceronis Pro M. Caelio oratio, 3rd edn. (Oxford). Bagordo, Andreas. 2001. Beobachtungen zur Sprache des Terenz: mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der umgangssprachlichen Elemente (Hypomnemata, 132; Göttingen). Bailey, C. 1963. Titi Lucreti Cari De Rerum Natura Libri Sex (Oxford; 1st edn. 1947). Bain, David. 1984. ‘Female Speech in Menander’, Antichthon, 18: 24–41. Baltes, Matthias. 1972. Timaios Lokros: Über die Natur des Kosmos und der Seele (Leiden).

Bibliography

233

Barigazzi, A. 1955. ‘Studi Menandrei’, Athenaeum, 33: 267–326. Bar Or, Bat-Ami (ed.) 1994. Engendering Origins: Critical Feminist Readings in Plato and Aristotle (Albany, NY). Barsby, John. 1986. Plautus: Bacchides (Warminster). 2004. ‘Some Aspects of the Language of Cistellaria’, in Rolf Hartkamp and Florian Hurka (eds.), Studien zu Plautus’ Cistellaria (ScriptOralia, 128: 335–45; Tübingen). Basaglia, Roberta. 1991. ‘Il suicidio per burla nella comedia plautina’, Studi Urbinati B3 linguistica, letteratura, arte, 64: 277–92. Bassi, Karen. 2001. Acting like Men: Gender, Drama and Nostalgia in Ancient Greece (Ann Arbor; 1st publ. 1998). Bauman, R. A. 1992. Women and Politics in Ancient Rome (London). Beacham, Richard C. 1991. The Roman Theatre and its Audience (Cambridge). Beard, Mary, John North, and Simon Price. 1998. Religions of Rome, 2 vols. (Cambridge). Beare, William. 1950. The Roman Stage (London). Bennett, Charles E. 1910–14/1966. Syntax of Early Latin (Hildesheim and New York). Bergren, Ann L. T. 1981. ‘Helen’s Good Drug, Odyssey IV 1–305’, in Stephanus Kresic (ed.), Contemporary Literary Hermeneutics and the Interpretation of Classical Texts (Ottawa), 201–14. 1983. ‘Language and the Female in Early Greek Thought’, Arethusa, 16: 69–95. Bittrich, Ursula. 2005. Aphrodite und Eros in der Antiken Tragödie: Mit Ausblicken auf motivgeschichtlich vervandte Dichtungen (Berlin). Blackman, D. J. 1969. ‘Plautus and Greek Topography’, TAPA 100: 11–22. Blondell, Ruby, Mary-Kay Gamel, Nancy Sorkin Rabinowitz, and Bella Zweig. 1999. Women on the Edge: Four Plays by Euripides (London). Boscherini, Silvano. 1970. Lingua e scienza greca nel ‘De agri cultura’ di Catone (Rome). Boyancé, Pierre. 1955. ‘Fulvius Nobilior et le Dieu ineffable’, RPh 29: 172–92. Bracher, Mark. (ed.) 1994. Lacanian Theory of Discourse: Subject, Structure, and Society (New York). Braidotti, Rosi. 1998. ‘Sexual Difference Theory’, in Alison M. Jaggar and Iris Marion Young (eds.), A Companion to Feminist Philosophy (Malden, Mass.), 298–306. 2002. Metamorphoses: Towards a Materialist Theory of Becoming (Cambridge). Brink, C. O. 1982. Horace on Poetry (Cambridge). Briscoe, John. 1981. A Commentary on Livy Books 34–37 (Oxford).

234

Bibliography

Broedel, Hans Peter. 2003. The Malleus Maleficarum and the Construction of Witchcraft (Manchester). Brown, Penelope, and Stephen C. Levinson. 1987. Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage (Cambridge; 1st edn. 1978). Brown, Peter G. M. 2002. ‘Actors and Actor-Managers at Rome in the Time of Plautus and Terence’, in Pat Easterling and Edith Hall (eds.), Greek and Roman Actors: Aspects of an Ancient Profession (Cambridge), 225–37. Bruhl, Adrien. 1953. Liber Pater: Origine et expansion du culte dionysiaque à Rome et dans le monde romain (Paris). Buffon, Georges Louis Leclerc. 1905. Discours sur le style (Paris). Burkert, Walter. 1961. ‘Hellenistische Pseudopythagorica’, Philologus, 105/1–2: 16–43. 1972a. Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism (Cambridge, Mass.). 1972b. ‘Zur geistesgeschichtlichen Einordnung einiger Pseudopythagorica’, Entretiens Hardt, 18: 23–56. 1977. ‘Orphism and Bacchic Mysteries: New Evidence and Old Problems of Interpretation’, in W. Weullner (ed.), Protocol of the Twenty-eighth Colloquy of the Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture (Berkeley, Calif.), 1–8. Burton, Deirdre. 1980. Dialogue and Discourse: A Sociolinguistic Approach to Modern Drama and Naturally Occurring Conversation (London). Buschor, Ernst. 1944. Die Musen der Jenseits (Munich). Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London and New York). 1993. Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of ‘Sex’ (London and New York). Callaghan, Dympna. 2000. Shakespeare Without Women: Representing Gender and Race on the Renaissance Stage (London and New York). Cameron, Deborah. 1992. Feminism and Linguistic Theory (New York). 1995. ‘Rethinking Language and Gender Studies: Some Issues for the 1990s’, in Sara Mills (ed.), Language and Gender: Interdisciplinary Perspectives (London and New York), 31–44. F. McAlinden, and K. O’Leary. 1989. ‘Lakoff in Context: The Social and Linguistic Functions of Tag Questions’, in Jennifer Coates and Deborah Cameron (eds.), Women in their Speech Communities: New Perspectives on Language and Sex (London), 74–93. Canary, Daniel J., and Jodi Wahba. 2006. ‘Do Women Work Harder than Men at Maintaining Relationships?’, in Kathryn Dindia and Daniel J. Canary (eds.), Sex Differences and Similarities in Communication (Mahwah, NJ), 359–79.

Bibliography

235

Capizzi, Antonio. 1990. The Cosmic Republic: Notes for a Non-Peripatetic History of the Birth of Philosophy in Greece (Amsterdam). Carson, Anne. 1986. Eros the Bittersweet (Princeton). 1995. ‘The Gender of Sound’, in Glass, Irony, and God (New York), 139–99. Cazanove, Olivier. 1986. ‘Le Thiase et son double: Images, statuts, fonctions du cortège divin de Dionysos en Italie centrale’, in L’association dionysiaque dans les sociétés anciennes: Actes de la table ronde organisée par l’École française de Rome (Rome 24–25 May 1984), 177–97. Centrone, Bruno. 1996. Introduzione a i Pitagorici (Rome). Chantraine, Pierre. 1968–80. Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque: Histoire des mots (Paris). Chapman, C. Richard. 2004. ‘Pain Perception, Affective Mechanisms, and Pain Experience’, in T. Hadjistavropoulos and K. D. Craig (eds.), Pain: Psychological Perspectives (Mahwah, NJ), 59–85. Chodorow, Nancy. 1978. The Reproduction of Mothering: Psychoanalysis and the Sociology of Gender (Berkeley, Calif.). 1989. Feminism and Psychoanalytic Theory (New Haven). 1994. Femininities, Masculinities, Sexualities: Freud and Beyond (Lexington, Ky.). Christenson, David. 2000. Plautus: Amphitruo (Cambridge). Clark, Gillian. 1988. Review of A History of Women Philosophers, i. Ancient Women Philosophers 600 B.C.–A.D. 500, CR 38/2: 429–30. Clayton, Barbara. 2004. A Penelopean Poetics: Reweaving of the Feminine in Homer’s Odyssey (Lanham, Md.). Coates, Jennifer, and Deborah Cameron (eds.) 1989. Women in their Speech Communities: New Perspectives on Language and Sex (London and New York). Cohen, Rip. 1994. ‘Speech-Acts and the Plays of Plautus’, in Irene J. F. de Jong and J. P. Sullivan (eds.), Modern Critical Theory and Classical Literature (=Mnemosyne, suppl. 130; Leiden and New York), 171–205. Coleman-Norton, P. R. 1936. ‘Philosophical Aspects of Early Roman Drama’, CP 31/4: 320–37. Colletta, Lisa. 2003. Dark Humor and Social Satire in the Modern British Novel (New York). Cope, Eduard M. 1867. An Introduction to Aristotle’s Rhetoric (London). Corbeill, Anthony. 1996. Controlling Laughter: Political Humor in the Roman Republic (Princeton). 2004. Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome (Princeton). Cornford, F. M. 1939. Plato and Parmenides (London).

236

Bibliography

Cousin, Jean. 1967. Études sur Quintilien (Paris and Amsterdam; 1st publ. 1936). Crawford, Mary. 1995. Talking Difference: On Gender and Language (London and Thousand Oaks, Calif.). Csapo, Eric, and William J. Slater. 1994. The Context of Ancient Drama (Ann Arbor). Cugusi, Paolo, and M. T. Sblendorio Cugusi. 2001. Opere di Marco Porcio Catone (Turin). Currie, Sarah. 1998. ‘Poisonous Women and Unnatural History in Roman Culture’, in Maria Wyke (ed.), Parchments of Gender: Deciphering the Bodies of Antiquity (Oxford), 147–67. Damon, Cynthia. 1997. ‘From Source to Sermo: Narrative Technique in Livy 34.54.4–8’, AJP 118/2: 251–66. Davis, Gregson. 2004. ‘Consolation in the Bucolic Mode: The Epicurean Cadence of Vergil’s First Eclogue’, in David Armstrong, Jeffery Fish, Patricia A. Johnston, and Marilyn B. Skinner (eds.), Vergil, Philodemus, and the Augustans (Austin, Tex.), 63–74. Dean-Jones, Lesley. 1994. Women’s Bodies in Classical Greek Science (New York). Delcourt, Marie. 1961. Hermaphrodite: Myths and Rites of the Bisexual Figure in Classical Antiquity, tr. J. Nicholson (London). Degrassi, Atilius. 1963. Inscriptiones Latinae Liberae Rei Publicae (Florence). Derderian, Katharine. 2001. Leaving Words to Remember: Greek Mourning and the Advent of Literacy (Mnemosyne Suppl. 209; Leiden). Derrida, Jacques. 1972. La Dissemination (Paris). 1981. Dissemination, tr. Barbara Johnson (Chicago). 1993. Khôra (Paris). Descartes, René. 1896. Œuvres, xi, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery (Paris). Deslauriers, Marguerite. 1998. ‘Sex and Essence in Aristotle’s Metaphysics and Biology’, in Cynthia A. Freeland (ed.), Feminist Interpretations of Aristotle (University Park, Pa.), 138–70. Detienne, Marcel, and Jean-Pierre Vernant. 1974. Les Ruses de l’intelligence: La Mètis des Grecs (Paris). 1978. Cunning Intelligence in Greek Culture and Society, tr. Janet Lloyd (Hassocks, Sussex, and Atlantic Highlands, NJ). Deutscher, Penelope. 2002. A Politics of Impossible Difference: The Later Work of Luce Irigaray (Ithaca, NY). De Vogel, Cornelia J. 1966. Pythagoras and Early Pythagoreanism: An Interpretation of Neglected Evidence on the Philosopher Pythagoras (Assen).

Bibliography

237

Dickey, Eleanor. 2002. Latin Forms of Address: From Plautus to Apuleius (Oxford). Douglas, Mary. 2002. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London; 1st edn. 1966). Downes, William. 1998. Language and Society (Cambridge). duBois, Page. 1982. Centaurs and Amazons: Women and the Prehistory of the Great Chain of Being (Ann Arbor). 1988. Sowing the Body: Psychoanalysis and Ancient Representations of Women (Chicago and London). 2001. Trojan Horses: Saving the Classics from Conservatives (New York). Duckworth, G. E. 1952. The Nature of Roman Comedy: A Study in Popular Entertainment (Princeton). Dué, Cassey. 2006. The Captive Woman’s Lament in Greek Tragedy (Austin, Tex.). Dumézil, Georges. 1966. La Religion romaine archaïque, suivi d’un appendice sur la religion des Étrusques (Paris). Dumont, Jean-Christian. 1983. ‘Les Gens de théâtre originaires des municipes’, in Les Bourgeoisies municipales italiennes aux II et I siècles av. J.C. Centre Jean-Bérard, Institut français de Naples, 7–10 décembre 1981 (Paris), 333–45. 1987. Servus: Rome et l’esclavage sous la République (Rome). Duncan, Anne. 2006. ‘Infamous Performers: Comic Actors and Female Prostitutes in Rome’, in Laura K. McClure and Christopher A. Faraone (eds.), Prostitutes and Courtesans in the Ancient World (Madison, Wis.), 252–73. Dutsch, Dorota. 2004. ‘Female Furniture: A Reading of Plautus’ Poenulus 1141–6’, CQ 54/2: 625–30. 2005. ‘Roman Pharmacology: Plautus’ Blanda Venena’, G&R 52/2: 205–20. 2007. ‘Gestures in the Manuscripts of Terence and Late Revivals of Classical Drama’, Gesture, 7/1: 39–70. 2008. ‘Nenia: Gender, Genre, and Lament in Ancient Rome’, in Ann Suter (ed.), Lament Traditions in the Mediterranean (New York), 258–79. Edgecombe, David. 1995. Theatrical Training during the Age of Shakespeare (Lewiston, NY). Edwards, Catharine. 1997. ‘Unspeakable Professions: Public Performance and Prostitution in Ancient Rome’, in Judith P. Hallett and Marilyn B. Skinner (eds.), Roman Sexualities (Princeton), 66–95. Eisenhut, Werner. 1973. ‘Virtus romana’: Ihre Stellung im römischen Wertsystem (Munich). Else, Gerald. 1986. Plato and Aristotle on Poetry (Chapel Hill, NC).

238

Bibliography

Engberg-Pedersen, Troels. 1996. ‘Plutarch to Prince Philopappus on How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend’, in John T. Fitzgerald (ed.), Friendship, Flattery and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World (Leiden), 61–79. Enk, P. J. 1953. Plautus: Truculentus (Leiden). Ernout, Alfred. 1932–40. Plaute, 7 vols. (Paris). Ernout, A., and A. Meillet. 2001. Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue latine, histoire de mots (4th edn. with additions by Jacques André; Paris). Fairclough, Norman. 1995. Media Discourse (London). 2003. Analysing Discourse (London and New York). Fantham, Elaine. 1975. ‘Sex, Status, and Survival in Hellenistic Athens’, Phoenix, 29: 44–74. 1999. ‘The Role of Lament in the Growth and Death of Roman Epic’, in Margaret Bessinger, Jane Tylus, and Susanne Wofford (eds.), Epic Traditions in the Contemporary World: The Poetics of Community (Berkeley, Calif.), 221–32. 2000. ‘Domina-Tricks, or How to Construct a Good Whore from a Bad One’, in Ekkehard Stärk and Georg Vogt-Spira (eds.), Dramatische Wäldchen: Festschrift für E. Lefèvre (Zürich), 287–99. 2004. ‘Women in the Demi-Monde and Sisterly Solidarity in the Cistellaria’, in Rolf Hartkamp and Florian Hurka (eds.), Studien zu Plautus Cistellaria (Tübingen), 221–38. Faraone, C. A. 1991. ‘The Agonistic Context of Early Greek Binding Spells’, in C. A. Faraone and D. Obink (eds.), Magica Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (Oxford), 3–32. Farrell, Joseph. 2001. Latin Language and Latin Culture: From Ancient to Modern Times (Cambridge). Fedeli, Paolo (ed.) 1994. Q. Orazio Flacco. Le opere, ii (Rome). Ferrero, Leonardo. 1955. Storia del Pitagorismo nel mondo romano (dalle origini alla fine della republica) (Turin). Ferris, Lesley. 1989. Acting Women: Images of Women in Theatre (New York). Fillingim, Roger B. 2000. Sex, Gender, and Pain (Seattle, Wash.). Fitch, Kristine L., and Robert E. Sanders (eds.) 2005. Handbook of Language and Social Interaction (Mahwah, NJ). Fitzgerald, John T. (ed.) 1996. Friendship, Flattery and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World (Leiden). Flower, Harriet I. 2000. ‘Fabula de Bacchanalibus: The Bacchanalian Cult of the Second Century bc and Roman Drama’, in Gesine Manuwald (ed.), Identität und Alterität in der frührömischen Tragödie (Würzburg). Flury, Peter. 1968. Liebe und Liebessprache bei Menander, Plautus und Terenz (Heidelberg).

Bibliography

239

Fögen, Thorsten. 2000. ‘Patrii sermonis egestas’: Einstellungen lateinischer Autoren zu ihrer Muttersprache. Ein Beitrag zum Sprachbewustßein in der römischen Antike (Munich). 2004. ‘Gender Specific Communication in Graeco-Roman Antiquity’, Historiographia Linguistica, 2/3: 199–276. Foley, Helene. 1981. ‘The Conception of Women in Athenian Drama’, in H. Foley (ed.), Reflections of Women in Antiquity (New York), 127–68. 1992. ‘The Politics of Tragic Lamentation’, in Alan H. Sommerstein, Stephen Halliwell, Jeffrey Henderson, and Bernhard Zimmermann (eds.), Tragedy, Comedy, and the Polis (Bari), 101–43. 2001. Female Acts in Greek Tragedy (Princeton). Fordyce, Wilbert E. 1986. ‘Learning Processes in Pain’, in R. A. Sternbach (ed.), Psychology of Pain (New York; 1st edn. 1978), 49–65. Foucault, Michel. 1972. The Archaeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on Language, tr. A. M. Sheridan Smith (New York). Fowler, R. L. 1987. ‘The Rhetoric of Desperation’, HSCP 91: 5–38. Fox, Matthew. 1997/8. ‘The Constrained Man’, in Lin Foxhall and John Salmon (eds.), Thinking Men: Masculinity and Self-Representation in the Classical Tradition (London), 6–22. Fraenkel, Eduard. 1932. ‘Senatus consultum de Bacchanalibus’, Hermes, 67: 369–96. 1960. Elementi Plautini in Plauto (Florence). 2007. Plautine Elements in Plautus (Oxford). Frank, Tenney. 1927. ‘The Bacchanalian Cult of 186 B.C.’, CQ 21: 128–32. Franko, George. 1995. ‘Incest and Ridicule in the Poenulus of Plautus’, AJP 45/1: 425–52. Fraser, Nancy. 1989. Unruly Practice: Power, Discourse, and Gender in Contemporary Social Theory (Minneapolis). Freed, A. 1996. ‘Language and Gender Research in Experimental Settings’, in Victoria Bergvall, Janet M. Bing, and Alice F. Freed (eds.), Rethinking Language and Gender Research: Theory and Practice (Singapore), 54–76. Freeland, Cynthia A. (ed.) 1998. Feminist Interpretations of Aristotle (University Park, Pa.). Freud, Sigmund. 1952–5. Gesammelte Werke, chronologisch geordnet, ed. Anna Freud, 18 vols. (London). 1953–74. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, tr. J. Strachey, 24 vols. (London). Friedrich, Otto. 1964. Publilii Syri Sententiae (Hildesheim; 1st publ. in 1880). Frisk, Hjalmar. 1960–72. Griechisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch (Heidelberg). Furneaux, Henry. 1982. The Annals of Tacitus (Oxford; 1st edn. 1883).

240

Bibliography

Gagnér, Anders. 1920. De hercle mehercle ceterisque id genus particulis priscae poesis latinae scenicae (Greifswald). Gaiser, Konrad. 1967. ‘Menander und der Peripatos’, A&A 13: 8–40. 1970. ‘Die Plautinischen Bacchides und Menanders Dis exapaton’, Philologus, 114: 51–87. 1972. ‘Zur Eigenart der römischen Komödie: Plautus und Terenz gegenüber ihren griechischen Vorbildern’, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt, i/2 (Berlin), 1027–113. Gamel, Mary-Kay. 2002. ‘Introduction’, AJP 123/3: 319–28. Garland, Robert S. J. 1985. The Greek Way of Death (Ithaca, NY and London). 1994. ‘Mockery of the Deformed and Disabled in Graeco-Roman Culture’, in Siegfried Jäkel and Asko Timonen (eds.), Laughter Down the Centuries (Turku), i. 71–84. Garrison, Elise P. 1991. ‘Attitudes toward Suicide in Ancient Greece’, TAPA 121: 1–34. Garton, Charles. 1972. Personal Aspects of the Roman Theatre (Toronto). Genette, Gérard. 1982. Palimpsestes: La Littérature au second degré (Paris). 2002. Figures V (Paris). Genova, Judith. 1994. ‘Feminist Dialectics: Plato and Dualism’, in Bat-Ami Bar On (ed.), Engendering Origins: Critical Feminist Readings in Plato and Aristotle (Albany, NY), 41–52. Giacomelli, Anne. 1980. ‘Aphrodite and After’, Phoenix, 34: 1–19. Gibson, Roy K. 2003. Ovid Ars Amatoria Book 3 (Cambridge). 2007. Excess and Restraint: Propertius, Horace, and Ovid’s Ars Amatoria (London). Gilleland, M. E. 1979. ‘Linguistic Differentiation of Character Type and Sex’, University of Virginia, Ph.D. dissertation. 1980. ‘Female Speech in Greek and Latin’, AJP 101/2: 180–3. Gilligan, Carol. 1982. In a Different Voice (Cambridge). Gilula, Dwora. 1980. ‘Terence’s Hecyra: A Delicate Balance of Suspense and Dramatic Irony’, SCI 5: 137–57. ‘The Concept of Bona Meretrix: A Study of Terence’s Courtesans’, RFIC 108: 142–65. Goetz, Georg. 1923. De glossariorum latinorum origine et fatis (Leipzig). Goffman, Erving. 1967. Interaction Ritual: Essays in Face to Face Behavior (Chicago). Gold, Barbara K. 1997. ‘Cross-Dressing in Roman Comedy’, in Siegfried Jäkel and Asko Timonen (eds.), Laughter Down the Centuries (Turku), iii. 99– 108. Goldberg, S. M. 1978. ‘Plautus’ Epidicus and the Case of the Missing Original’, TAPA 108: 81–91.

Bibliography

241

1983. ‘Terence, Cato, and the Rhetorical Prologue’, CP 78: 198–211. 1986. Understanding Terence (Princeton). 1990. ‘Act to Action in Plautus’ Bacchides’, CP 85: 191–201. 1998. ‘Plautus on the Palatine’, JRS 88: 1–20. Gomme, A. W., and F. H. Sandbach. 1973. Menander: A Commentary (Oxford). Görgemanns, Herwig. 1983. ‘œNÍÂfl˘ÛÈÚ in Arius Didymus’, in William Fortenbaugh (ed.), On Stoic and Peripatetic Ethics: The Work of Arius Didymus (New Brunswick, NJ), 165–89. Gow, A. S. F. 1952. Theocritus (Cambridge). Graf, Fritz. 1997. Magic in the Ancient World, tr. Franklin Phillip (Cambridge, Mass.). Gratwick, A. S. 1982. ‘Light Drama’, in E. J. Kenney (ed.), The Cambridge History of Classical Literature (Cambridge), 77–137. 1993. Plautus: Menaechmi (Cambridge). Gresseth, G. K. 1970. ‘The Homeric Sirens’, TAPA 101: 203–18. Griffe, Michel. 1989. ‘Linguistique et analyse du texte théâtral: La Stratégie interrogative dans les scènes d’exposition des comédies de Plaute’, Cahiers du Groupe Interdisciplinaire du Théâtre Antique, 5: 127–61. Griffin, Miriam. 1986a. ‘Philosophy, Cato, and Roman Suicide: I’, G&R 33/1: 64–77. 1986b. ‘Philosophy, Cato, and Roman Suicide: II’, G&R 33/2: 192–202. Grimaldi, W. M. 1988. Aristotle, Rhetoric II: A Commentary (New York). Grisé, Yolande. 1982. Le Suicide dans la Rome antique (Montreal). Grosz, Elizabeth. 1989. Sexual Subversions: Three French Feminists (Sydney). Grottanelli, Cristiano. 1996. ‘Il gioco e la sorte: sulla filastrocca del re in Roma antica’, SMSR 20/1–2: 237–46. Gruen, Erik. 1990. Studies in Greek Culture and Roman Policy (Leiden and New York). Gunderson, Erik. 2000. Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World (Ann Arbor). Guthrie, W. K. C. 1962–81. A History of Greek Philosophy, 6 vols. (Cambridge). Habinek, Thomas. 2005. The World of Roman Song: From Ritualized Speech to Social Order (Baltimore and London). Hadjistavropoulos, Thomas, Kenneth D. Craig, and Shannon FuchsLacelle. 2004. ‘Social Influences and the Communication of Pain’, in T. Hadjistavropoulos and K. D. Craig (eds.), Pain: Psychological Perspectives (Mahwah, NJ and London), 87–112. Halkin, Leon. 1948. ‘La Parodie d’une demande de triomphe dans l’Amphitryon de Plaute’, AC 17: 297–304.

242

Bibliography

Hall, Edith. 2002. ‘The Singing Actors of Antiquity’, in Edith Hall and Pat Easterling (eds.), Greek and Roman Actors: Aspects of an Ancient Profession (Cambridge), 3–38. Hallett, Judith P. 1973. ‘The Role of Women in Roman Elegy: CounterCultural Feminism’, Arethusa, 6: 103–24. 1984. Fathers and Daughters in Roman Society: Women and the Elite Family (Princeton). 1989. ‘Women as Same and Other in Classical Roman Elite’, Helios, 16/1: 59–78. Halliwell, Stephen. 2002. The Aesthetics of Mimesis: Ancient Texts and Modern Problems (Princeton). Halporn, James. 1993. ‘Roman Comedy and Greek Models’, in Ruth Scodel (ed.), Theater and Society in the Classical World (Ann Arbor), 191–213. Hammond, Mason, Arthur M. Mack, and Walter Moskalew. 1970. T. Macci Plauti Miles Gloriosus (Cambridge, Mass.). Handley, Eric W. 1970. ‘The Conventions of the Comic Stage and their Exploitation by Menander’, in ‘Ménandre. Sept exposés suivis de discussions’, Entretiens Fondation Hardt, 3–42. 1987. ‘Acts and Scenes in the Comedy of Menander’, Dioniso, 57: 299–312. Hanson, Ann. 1990. ‘The Medical Writers’ Woman’, in David W. Halperin, John Winkler, and Froma Zeitlin (eds.), Before Sexuality: The Construction of Erotic Experience in the Ancient Greek World (Princeton), 309–38. 1992. ‘Conception, Gestation, and the Origin of Female Nature in the Corpus Hippocraticum’, Helios, 19/1/2: 31–71. Hass, Marjorie. 2000. ‘The Style of the Speaking Subject: Irigaray’s Empirical Studies of Language Production’, Hypatia, 15/1: 64–89. Hawley, Richard. 1998. ‘The Male Body as Spectacle in Attic Drama’, in Lin Foxhall and John Salmon (eds.), Thinking Men: Masculinity and SelfRepresentation in the Classical Tradition (London), 83–99. Heath, John. 2005. The Talking Greeks: Speech, Animals, and the Other in Homer, Aeschylus, and Plato (Cambridge). Heath, Malcolm. 1989. ‘The Unity of Plato’s Phaedrus’, OSAPh 7: 151–73. Heidegger, Martin. 1954. Was Heißt Denken? (Tübingen). Heinze, Richard. 1921. Q. Horatius Flaccus Satiren (Leipzig). Helms, Lorraine. 1994. ‘Acts of Resistance’, in Dympna Callaghan and Lorraine Helms (eds.), The Wayward Sisters: Shakespeare and Feminist Politics (Oxford), 102–56. Henderson, Jeffrey. 1987. Aristophanes’ Lysistrata (Oxford). 1991. Maculate Muse: Obscene Language in Attic Comedy, 2nd edn. (Oxford).

Bibliography

243

Henderson, John. 1999. Writing down Rome: Satire, Comedy, and Other Offences in Latin Poetry (Oxford). 2006. Asinaria: The One about the Asses (Madison, Wis.). Hengel, Martin. 1977. Crucifixion in the Ancient World and the Folly of the Message of the Cross (London). Henry. M. M. 1985. Menander’s Courtesans and the Greek Comic Tradition (Frankfurt am Main and New York). Heubeck, Alfred, Stephanie West, and J. B. Hainsworth. 1988. A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey, i (Oxford). Hidber, Thomas. 1996. Das Klassizistische Manifest des Dionys von Halikarnass: Die Praefatio zu ‘De oratoribus veteribus’ (Stuttgart). Hirshman, Linda Redlick. 1998. ‘The Book of “A” ’, in Cynthia A. Freeland (ed.), Feminist Interpretations of Aristotle (University Park, Pa.), 201– 47. Hooff, A. J. L. van. 1990. From Autothanasia to Suicide: Self-killing in Classical Antiquity (London). Hoffmann, Maria E. 1983. ‘Conversation Openings in the Comedies of Plautus’, in Harm Pinkster (ed.), Latin Linguistics and Linguistic Theory (Amsterdam), 217–28. Hoffman Baruch, Elaine, and Perry Meisel. 1984. ‘Two Interviews with Julia Kristeva’, tr. Brom Anderson and Margaret Waller, Partisan Review, 51/1: 120–32. Hofmann, J. B. 1950. Lateinische Umgangssprache (Heidelberg; 1st edn. 1926). Hofmann, Walter. 1977. ‘Zur Charaktergestaltung in der Aulularia des Plautus’, Klio, 59/2: 349–58. 2001. Plautus Truculentus (Darmstadt). Hokenson, Jan Walsh. 2006. The Idea of Comedy: History, Theory, and Critique (Madison, Wis.). Holland, Nancy J., and Patricia Huntington (eds.) 2001. Feminist Interpretations of Martin Heidegger (University Park, Pa.). Homiak, Marcia L. 2002. ‘Feminism and Aristotle’s Rational Ideal’, in Genevieve Lloyd (ed.), Feminism and History of Philosophy (Oxford), 80–102. Hunter, Richard Lawrence. 1985. The New Comedy of Greece and Rome (Cambridge). Huntington, Patricia. 1998. Ecstatic Subjects, Utopia, and Recognition: Kristeva, Heidegger, and Irigaray (Albany, NY). Hutchinson, G. O. 1998. Cicero’s Correspondence: A Literary Study (Oxford). Hyde, Michael J. (ed.) 2004. The Ethos of Rhetoric (Columbia, SC). Irigaray, Luce. 1973. Le Langage des déments (The Hague).

244

Bibliography

Irigaray, Luce. 1974. Spéculum de l’autre femme (Paris). 1985a. Speculum of the Other Woman, tr. Gillian C. Gill (Ithaca, NY). 1985b. Parler n’est jamais neutre (Paris). 1992. J’aime à toi: Esquisse d’une félicité dans l’histoire (Paris). 1996. I Love to You: Sketch for a Felicity within History, tr. Alison Martin (New York). 1999. Entre Orient et Occident: De la singularité à la communauté (Paris). 2001. Le Partage de la parole (European Humanities Research Centre University of Oxford, Legenda, Special Lecture Series, 4; Oxford). 2002a. To Speak is Never Neutral, tr. Gail Schwab (London). 2002b. Between East and West: From Singularity to Community, tr. Stephen Pluháˇcek (New York). 2002c . The Way of Love, tr. Heidi Bostic and Stephen Pluháˇcek (London). 2002d. ‘Why Cultivate Difference’, in Luce Irigaray Presents International, Intercultural, Intergenerational Dialogues around her Work (Edinburgh), 79–90. 2004. Key Writings (London). Irigaray Groupe de recherche 1990. Sexes et genres à travers les langues: Éléments de communication sexuée. Français, anglais, italien (Paris). Jakobi, Rainer. 1996. Die Kunst der Exegese im Terenzkommentar des Donat (Berlin and New York). Jäkel, S. 1964. Menandri sententiae (Leipzig), 33–83. James, Sharon L. 2003. ‘Her Turn to Cry: The Politics of Weeping in Roman Love Elegy’, TAPA 133/1: 99–122. 2005. ‘Effeminate Elegy, Comic Women, and the Gender of Language: Recovering a Female Voice in Latin’, paper contributed to APA Seminar, ‘The Gender of Latin’, Boston, Jan. 2007. ‘Revisiting Women’s Speech in Roman Comedy: The Case of the Mother’, paper presented at the University of Toronto, 2 Mar. Janko, Richard. 1984. Aristotle on Comedy: Towards a Reconstruction of Poetics II (London). Jespersen, Otto. 1922. Language, its Nature, Development and Origins (New York). Johns, Catharine. 1982. Sex or Symbol: Erotic Images of Greece and Rome (London). Johnston, Patricia A. 1980. ‘Poenulus I, 2 and Roman Women’, TAPA 110: 143–59. Jory, E. J. 1970. ‘Associations of Actors in Rome’, Hermes, 98: 224–53.

Bibliography

245

Kahn, Charles H. 2001. Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans: A Brief History (Indianapolis and Cambridge). Karakasis, Evangelos. 2005. Terence and the Language of Roman Comedy (Cambridge). Kassel, Rudolf. 1958. Untersuchungen zur griechischen und römischen Konsolations-literatur (Munich). and Colin Austin (eds.) 1983. Poetae Comici Graeci, 7 vols. (Berlin and New York). Kaster, Robert A. 2005. Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome (Oxford). Katsouris, A. G. 1975. Linguistic and Stylistic Characterisation: Tragedy and Menander (Ioannina). 1976. ‘The Suicide Motif in Ancient Drama’, Dioniso, 47: 5–36. Kauer, Robert, and W. M. Lindsay (eds.) 1902. P. Terenti Afri Comoediae (Oxford). Keith, Alison. 2000. Engendering Rome: Women in Latin Epic (Cambridge). Kennedy, G. A. 1963. The Art of Persuasion in Greece (Princeton). 1972. The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World (Princeton). Kerbrat-Orecchioni, C. 1990–4. Les Interactions verbales, 3 vols. (Paris). King, Helen. 1998. Hippocrates’ Woman: Reading the Female Body in Ancient Greece (London and New York). Kirk, G. S., J. E. Raven, and M. Schofield. 1983. The Presocratic Philosophers: A Critical History with a Selection of Texts (Cambridge and New York). Klaerr, Robert, André Philippon, and Jean Sirinelli (eds.) 1989. Plutarque, Œuvres Morales 1. 2 (Paris). Konstan, David. 1977. ‘The Social Themes in Plautus’ Aulularia’, Arethusa, 10: 307–20 (revised as ‘Aulularia: City-State and Individual’, in Erich Segal (ed.), Oxford Readings in Menander, Plautus, and Terence (2001), 138–48. 1983. Roman Comedy (Ithaca, NY, and London). 1987. ‘ “Between Courtesan and Wife”: Menader’s Perikeiromene’, Phoenix, 41/2: 122–39. 1994. Sexual Symmetry: Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres (Princeton). 1995. Greek Comedy and Ideology (New York and Oxford). 1996. ‘Friendship, Frankness, and Flattery’, in John T. Fitzgerald (ed.), Friendship, Flattery and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World (Leiden), 7–19. 1997. Friendship in the Classical World (Cambridge). 1999. ‘Pity and Self-Pity’, Electronic Antiquity, 5/2 .

246

Bibliography

Konstan, David. 2001. Pity Transformed (London). 2004. ‘The Two Faces of Mimesis’, PQ 54 (215): 301–8. 2006. The Emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature (Toronto). Kramer, C. 1974. ‘Folklinguistics’, Psychology Today, 8 (June): 82–5. Kress, Gunter. 1985. Linguistic Processes in Sociocultural Practice (Victoria). Kretschmer, Paul. 1954–5. ‘Das sardonische Lachen’, Glotta, 34: 1–9. Kristeva, Julia. 1974. La Révolution du langage poétique; l’avant-garde à la fin du XIXe siècle, Lautreamont et Mallarmé (Paris). 1977. ‘Un nouveau type d’intellectuel’, Tel Quel, 74: 3–8. 1980. Pouvoirs de l’horreur: Essai sur abjection (Paris). 1984. Revolution in Poetic Language, tr. Margaret Waller (New York). 1987. Soleil noir: Dépression et mélancholie (Paris). Kroll, W. 1919. ‘EÌ XËÂÈ’, Philologus, 75: 68–75. Labov, William. 1966. The Social Stratification of English in New York City (Washington, DC). Lakoff, Robin. 1973. ‘The Logic of Politeness; Or Minding your p’s and q’s’, Papers from the Ninth Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society (Chicago), 292–305. 1975. Language and a Woman’s Place (New York; 1st pub. 1973, Language in Society 2/1: 45–80). 1977. ‘Women’s Language’, Language and Style, 10/4: 222–47. Langlands, Rebecca. 2004. ‘A Woman’s Influence on a Roman Text: Marcia and Seneca’, in Fiona McHardy and Eireann Marshal (eds.), Women’s Influence on Classical Civilization (London and New York), 115–26. Laronde, André. 1987. Cyrène et la Libye Hellénistique: Libykai Historiai de l’époque républicaine au principat d’Auguste (Paris). Lateiner, Donald. 1995. Sardonic Smile: Nonverbal Behaviour in Homeric Epic (Ann Arbor). Latte, Kurt. 1960. Römische Religionsgeschichte (Munich=Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft, 5/4). Leach, Eleanore Winsor. 1969. ‘Meam quom formam noscito. Language and Characterization in Menaechmi’, Arethusa, 2: 30–45. Leeman, A. D. 1986. Orationis Ratio: The Stylistic Theories and Practice of the Roman Orators, Historians and Philosophers (Amsterdam; 1st edn. 1963). Lefèvre, Eckard. 1999. ‘Plautus’ Amphitruo zwischen Tragödie und Stegreifspiel’, in Thomas Baier (ed.), Studien zu Plautus’ Amphitruo (Tübingen), 11–50. Le Guen, Brigitte. 2001. Les Associations de Téchnites Dionysiaques à l’époque hellénistique, 2 vols. (Paris).

Bibliography

247

Leky, Max. 1967. Plato als Sprachphilosoph: Würdigung des Platonischen Kratylus (Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums, 10/3; New York; 1st publ. 1919). Lenz, F. W. 1965. Ovid. Die Liebeselegien (Berlin). Leo, Friedrich. 1895. Plautinische Forschungen (Berlin; repr. 1966, Darmstadt). Léopold, H. M. R. 1921. ‘La Basilique souterraine de la P. Maggiore’, Mélanges d’archéol. et d’hist. 39: 165–92. Levine, Laura. 1994. Men in Women’s Clothing: Antitheatricality and Effeminization 1579–1642 (Cambridge). Lévy-Bruhl, Lucien. 1966. The Soul of the Primitive, tr. Lilian A. Clare (New York). Lilja, Saara. 1965. Terms of Abuse in Roman Comedy (Helsinki). 1983. Homosexuality in Republican and Augustan Rome, Societas Scientiarum Fennica: Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum, 74/225 (Helsinki). Lincoln, Bruce. 1997. ‘Competing Discourses: Rethinking the Prehistory of Mythos and Logos’, Arethusa, 30/3: 341–68. Lindsay, W. M. 1904. T. Macci Plauti Comoediae (Oxford). 1913/1965. Sextus Pompeius Festus De verborum significatu quae supersunt (Leipzig and Hildesheim). Livrea, Enrico. 1998. ‘A New Pythagorean Fragment and Homer’s Tears in Ennius’, CQ 48/2: 559–61. Lloyd, Genevieve. 1993. The Man of Reason: ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ in Western Philosophy (Minneapolis; 1st edn. 1984). (ed.) 2002. Feminism and History of Philosophy (Oxford). Lodge, Gonzalez. 1904–38/1962. Lexicon Plautinum (Leipzig and Hildesheim). Long, A. A., and D. N. Sedley. 1987/8. The Hellenistic Philosophers, 2 vols. (Cambridge). Loraux, Nicole. 1987. Tragic Ways of Killing a Woman, tr. Anthony Forster (Cambridge). 1990. Les Mères en deuil (Paris). 1995. The Experiences of Tiresias: The Feminine and the Greek Man, tr. Paula Wissing (Princeton). Lowe, J. C. B. 1983. ‘The Eunuchus. Terence and Menander’, CQ 33: 428– 44. 1989. ‘The Virgo Callida in Plautus’ Persa’, CQ 39/2: 390–9. 1992. ‘Aspects of Plautus’ Originality in the Asinaria’, CQ 42/1: 152–75. McCarthy, Kathleen. 2000. Slaves, Masters, and the Art of Authority in Plautine Comedy (Princeton).

248

Bibliography

MacCary, W. T. 1975. ‘The Bacchae in Plautus’ Casina’, Hermes, 103: 459–63. and M. M. Willcock. 1976. Plautus: Casina (Cambridge). McClure, Laura. 1999. Spoken Like a Woman: Speech and Gender in Athenian Drama (Princeton). McDonnell, Myles. 1983. ‘Divorce Initiated by Women in Rome’, AJAH 8: 54–80. 2006. Roman Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic (Cambridge). McElhinny, Bonnie S. 1998. ‘ “I Don’t Smile Much any More”: Affect, Gender and the Discourse of Pittsburgh Officers’, in J. Coates (ed.), Language and Gender: A Reader (Oxford), 309–37. McGinn, Thomas A. 2004. The Economy of Prostitution in the Roman World (Ann Arbor). Mack, A. M. 1966. ‘Mulieres Comicae’, dissertation, Harvard. Mackay, Christopher S. (ed.) 2006. Malleus maleficarum (Cambridge). McKeown, J. C. 1989. Ovid Amores (Leeds). Macris, Constantinos. 2002. ‘Jamblique et la littérature pseudopythagoricienne’, in Simon C. Mimouni (ed.), Apocryphité: Histoire d’un concept transversal aux religions du livre. En Hommage à Pierre Geoltrain (Turnhout), 77–129. Madelaine, Richard. 2003. ‘Material Boys: Apprenticeship and the Actors’ Shakespearian Roles’, in Lloyd Davies (ed.), Shakespeare Matters: History, Teaching, Performance (Newark, NJ, and London), 225–38. Malinowski, Bronislaw. 1935. Coral Gardens and their Magic, 2 vols. (New York). Maltby, Robert. 1985. ‘Distribution of Greek Loan-Words in Terence’, CQ 35/1: 110–23. 1979. ‘Linguistic Characterisation of Old Men in Terence’, CP 74: 136–7. Manning, C. E. 1981. On Seneca’s Ad Marciam (Leiden). Manuwald, Gesine. 2003. Pacuvius Summus Tragicus Poeta (Munich and Leipzig). Marshall, C. W. 2006. The Stagecraft and Performance of Roman Comedy (Cambridge). Marti, Heinrich. 1974. ‘Zeugnisse zur Nachwirkung des Dichters Terenz im Altertum’, in U. Reinhardt and K. Sallmann (eds.), Musa Iocosa: Arbeiten über Humor und Witz, Komic und Komödie der Antike, Andreas Thierfleder zum 70. Geburtstag (Hildesheim and New York), 158–78. Martin, Josef. 1974. Antike Rhetorik: Technik und Methode in Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft, 2/3 (Munich). Martin, Richard. 1989. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad (Ithaca, NY).

Bibliography

249

Martina, Mario. 1981. ‘Aedes Herculis Musarum’, Dialoghi de Archeologia, 3: 49–68. Marx, Friedrich. 1959. Plautus Rudens (Amsterdam; 1st edn. Leipzig, 1928). Maurach, Gregor. 1975. Plauti Poenulus (Heidelberg). 1988. Der Poenulus des Plautus (Heidelberg). Mayhew, Robert. 2004. The Female in Aristotle’s Biology: Reason or Rationalization (Chicago). Meinhardt, Paul. 1892. De forma et usu iuramentorum, quae inveniuntur in comicorum Graecorum et Platonis, Xenophontis, Luciani sermone (Jena). Melzack, Ronald, and Joel Katz. 2004. ‘The Gate Control Theory: Reaching for the Brain’, in T. Hadjistavropoulos and K. D. Craig (eds.), Pain: Psychological Perspectives (Mahwah, NJ, and London), 13–34. Merskey, H. 1986. ‘Psychiatry of Pain’, in Richard A. Sternbach (ed.), The Psychology of Pain (New York; 1st edn. 1978), 97–120. Miller, Dana R. 2003. The Third Kind in Plato’s Timaeus (Göttingen). Miller, Jacques Alain. 1994. ‘Extimité’, in Mark Bracher, Marshall Alcorn, Ronald Corthell, and François Massardier-Kenney (eds.), Lacanian Theory of Discourse: Subject, Structure, and Society (New York), 74–87. Mills, Sara. 2003. Gender and Politeness (Cambridge). Minois, Georges. 2000. Histoire du rire et de la dérision (Paris). Modrak, Deborah K. W. 1994. ‘Aristotle: Women, Deliberation, and Nature’, in Bat-Ami Bar On (ed.), Engendering Origins: Critical Feminist Readings in Plato and Aristotle (Albany, NY), 207–22. 1998. ‘Aristotle’s Theory of Knowledge and Feminist Epistemology’, in Cynthia A. Freeland (ed.), Feminist Interpretations of Aristotle (University Park, Pa.), 93–127. Moore, Timothy. 1998. The Theater of Plautus: Playing to the Audience (Austin, Tex.). 2007. ‘Roman Comedy: Dance Drama’, abstract available at . Moraux, Paul. 1984. Der Aristotelismus bei den Griechen von Andronikos bis Alexander von Aphrodisias, ii. Aristotelismus in I. und II. Jh. N. Chr. (Berlin and New York). Morgan, Kathryn A. 2000. Myth and Philosophy from the Pre-Socratics to Plato (Cambridge). Munari, Franco. 1959. P. Ovidi Nasonis Amores (Florence). Murnaghan, Sheila. 1999. ‘The Poetics of Loss in Greek Epic’, in Margaret Bessinger, Jane Tylus, and Susanne Wofford (eds.), Epic Traditions in the Contemporary World: The Poetics of Community (Berkeley, Calif.), 203–20.

250

Bibliography

Nasio, Junan-David. 2004. The Book of Love and Pain: Thinking at the Limit with Freud and Lacan (Albany, NY). Nesbitt Oppel, Frances. 2005. Nietzsche on Gender: Beyond Man and Woman (Charlottesville, Va.). Nicolson, Frank W. 1893. ‘The Use of hercle (mehercle), edepol (pol), ecastor (mecastor) by Plautus and Terence’, HSCP 4: 99–103. Nilsson, Martin. 1949. A History of Greek Religion, tr. F. J. Fielden (New York). Nightingale, Andrea Wilson. 1995. Genres in Dialogue: Plato and the Construct of Philosophy (Cambridge). Noy, David. 2000. Foreigners at Rome: Citizens and Strangers (London). Nussbaum, Martha C. 1998. ‘Aristotle, Feminism, and Needs for Functioning’, in Cynthia A. Freeland (ed.), Feminist Interpretations of Aristotle (University Park, Pa.). Ochs, Donovan J. 1993. Consolatory Rhetoric: Grief, Symbol, and Ritual in the Graeco-Roman Era (Columbia, SC). O’Hara, James. 1996. True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay (Ann Arbor). Oliver, Kelly (ed.) 2002. Portable Kristeva (New York). Onians, Richard B. 1951. The Origins of European Thought about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time and Fate (Cambridge). Osborne, Catherine. 1996. ‘Space, Time, and Direction: Creative Discourse in the Timaeus’, in Christopher Gill and Margaret McCabe (eds.), Form and Argument in Late Plato (Oxford), 179–211. Owens, William. 2001. ‘Plautus’ Satire of Roman Ideals’, in Elizabeth Tylawsky and Charles Weiss (eds.), Essays in Honor of Gordon Williams: Twenty-Five Years at Yale (New Haven), 213–27. Packman, Z. M. 1999. ‘Feminine Role Designations in the Comedies of Plautus,’ AJP 120/2: 245–58. Pailler, Jean-Marie. 1988. Bacchanalia: La répression de 186 av. J. C. à Rome et en Italie. Vestiges, images, tradition (Paris). 1998. ‘Les Bacchanales, dix ans après: Réflexions autour de Dionysos’, Pallas, 48: 67–81. Palmer, R. E. A. 1974. Roman Religion and Roman Empire: Five Essays (Philadelphia). Parker, Holt N. 1989. ‘Curcially Funny or Tranio on the Couch: ‘The Servus callidus and Jokes about Torture’, TAPA 119: 233–46. Parker, Robert. 1983. Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion (Oxford). Paschovsky, Ines. 1966. Die Kunst der Reden in der 4. und 5. Dekade des Livius. Dissertation, Kiel.

Bibliography

251

Pearson Smith, Louise. 1994. ‘Audience Response to Rape: Chaerea in Terence’s Eunuch’, Helios, 21/1: 21–38. Perelli, Luciano. 1983. ‘L’Alcmena plautina, personaggio serio o parodico?’, Civiltà classica e cristiana, 4: 383–94. Petrone, Gianna. 1989. ‘Ridere in silenzio: Tradizione misogina e trionfo dell’intelligenza femminile nella commedia plautina’, in Renato Uglione (ed.), Atti del ii convegno nazionale di studi su La donna nel mondo antico, Torino 18–19–20 aprile 1988 (Turin), 87–103. Phillips, Jane E. 1985. ‘Alcumena in the Amphitruo of Plautus: A Pregnant Lady Joke’, CJ 80: 121–6. Plant, I. M. (ed.) 2001. Women Writers of Ancient Greece and Rome: An Anthology (Norman, Okla.). Plaza, Maria. 2006. The Function of Humour in Roman Verse Satire: Laughing and Lying (Oxford). Ploss, Heinrich, and Max Bartel. 1885. Das Weib in Der Natur- und Völkerkunde: Anthropologische Studien (Leipzig). Pohlenz, Max. 1940. ‘Grundfragen der Stoischen Philosophie’, Abh. d. Ges. d. Wiss. Gott. phil. hist. Kl. 3/26 (Göttingen). 1943. ‘Menander und Epikur’, Hermes, 78: 270–5. Pollard, J. R. T. 1952. ‘Muses and Sirens’, CR 96: 60–3. Pomerantz, Anita, and Jenny Mandelbaum. 2005. ‘Conversation: Analytic Approaches to the Relevance and Uses of Relationship Categories in Interaction’, in Kristine L. Fitch and Robert E. Sanders (eds.), Handbook of Language and Social Interaction (Mahwah, NJ), 149–71. Pomeroy, Sarah B. 1999. Plutarch’s ‘Advice to the Bride and Groom’ and ‘A Consolation to his Wife’ (Oxford). Pucci, Pietro. 1979. ‘The Song of the Sirens’, Arethusa, 12/2: 121–32. Rademaker, Adriaan. 2005. Sophrosyne and the Rhetoric of Self-Restraint: Polysemy and Persuasive Use of an Ancient Greek Value Term (Leiden). Rabinowitz, Nancy S. 1986. ‘Female Speech and Female Sexuality: Euripides’ Hippolytos as Model’, in Marilyn Skinner (ed.), Rescuing Creusa: New Methodological Approaches to Women in Antiquity=Helios, 13/2: 127–40. Rawson, Elisabeth. 1985. Intellectual Life in the Late Roman Republic (London). Reich, Vally. 1933. ‘Sprachliche Charakteristik bei Terenz (Studien zum Kommentar des Donat)’, WS 51: 72–94. Rey, Roselyne. 1995. The History of Pain, tr. Louise Elliott Wallace, J. A. Cadden, and S. W. Cadden (Cambridge, Mass.). Ribbeck, Otto. 1871/1962. Scaenicae Romanorum Poesis Fragmenta, 2 vols. (Leipzig and Hildesheim).

252

Bibliography

Richardson, Lawrence. 1992. A New Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome (Baltimore). Richlin, Amy. 1983. The Garden of Priapus: Sexuality and Aggression in Roman Humor (New Haven). 1984. Review of Catherine Johns, Sex and Symbol: Erotic Images of Greece and Rome. CW 77: 256–7. 1997. ‘Pliny’s Brassiere’, in J. P. Hallett and M. B. Skinner (eds.), Roman Sexualities (Princeton), 197–220. 2001. ‘Emotional Work: Lamenting the Dead’, in Elizabeth Tylawsky and Charles Weiss (eds.), Essays in Honor of Gordon Williams: Twenty-Five Years at Yale (New Haven), 229–48. 2005. Rome and the Mysterious Orient: Three Plays by Plautus (Berkeley, Calif.). Richter, Paul. 1890/1972. ‘De Usu Particularum Exclamativarum apud Priscos Scriptores Latinos’, in W. Studemund (ed.), Studien auf dem Gebiete des archaischen Lateins, i (Berlin and Hildesheim), 389–642. Rijlaarsdam, Jetske. 1978. Platon über die Sprache: Ein Kommentar zum Kratylos (Bonn). Riley, Michael W. 2005. Plato’s Cratylus: Argument, Form, and Structure (Amsterdam). Roccaro, Cataldo. 1974. ‘Il pianto in Plauto. Flere e isuoi composti’, Pan, 2: 27–41. Rollman, Gary B. 2004. ‘Ethnocultural Variations in the Experience of Pain’, in T. Hadjistavropoulos and K. D. Craig (eds.), Pain: Psychological Perspectives (Mahwah, NJ, and London), 155–78. Rosenmeyer, Patricia. 1995. ‘Enacting the Law: Plautus’ Use of the Divorce Formula on Stage’, Phoenix, 49/3: 201–17. Rosivach, Vincent. 1998. When a Young Man Falls in Love: The Sexual Exploitation of Women in New Comedy (London). Rousselle, Robert. 1987. ‘Liber-Dionysus in Early Roman Drama’, CJ 82/3: 193–8. Rowe, C. J. 1986. ‘The Argument and Structure of Plato’s Phaedrus’, PCSP 32: 106–25. 1988. Plato: Phaedrus (Warminster). 1989. ‘The Unity of the Phaedrus: A Reply to Heath’, OSAPh 7: 175–88. Russell, Bertrand. 1945. History of Western Philosophy (New York). Sachs, Harvey, Emmanuel Schegloff, and Gail Jefferson. 1974. ‘A Simplest Systematics for the Organization of Turn-Taking for Conversation’, Language, 50/4/1: 696–735. Sallis, John. 1999. Chorology: On Beginning in Plato’s Timaeus (Bloomington, Ind.).

Bibliography

253

Sandbach, F. H. 1975. ‘Menander and the Three-Actor Rule’, in Jean Bingen, Guy Cambier, and Georges Nachtergael (eds.), Le Monde Grec: Pensée, Littératures, Histoire, Documents: Hommages à Claire Préaux (Brussels), 197–204. Santorio L’Hoir, Francesca. 1992. The Rhetoric of Gender Terms: Man, Woman, and the Portrayal of Character in Latin Prose (Mnemosyne Supplement; Leiden). Sartre, Jean-Paul. 1943. L’Être et le néant (Paris). Scarry, Elaine. 1987. The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World (New York and Oxford; 1st. edn. 1985). Schaaf, L. 1977. Der Miles Gloriosus des Plautus und sein Griechisches Original (Munich). Scheffel, Wolfgang. 1976. Aspekte der Platonischen Kosmologie: Untersuchungen zum Dialog Timaios (Leiden). Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1968. ‘Sequencing in Conversational Openings’, American Anthropologist, 70/6: 1075–95. Schmidt, Mauricius. 1862/1965. Hesychii Alexandrini Lexicon (Halle and Amsterdam). Schuhmann, Elisabeth. 1977. ‘Der Typ der Uxor Dotata in den Komödien des Plautus’, Philologus, 121/1: 45–65. Schofield, Malcolm. 1995. ‘Cicero’s Definition of Res Publica’, in J. G. F. Powell (ed.), Cicero the Philosopher (Oxford), 63–84. Sciarrino, Enrica. 2004. ‘Putting Cato the Censor’s Origines in its Place’, CA 23/2: 323–57. Scullard. H. H. 1973. Roman Politics 220–150 B.C. (Oxford). Sedgwick, W. B. 1960. Plautus’ Amphitruo (Manchester). Segal, Erich. 1968. Roman Laughter (Cambridge). Senack, Christine M. 1994. ‘Aristotle on the Woman’s Soul’, in Bat-Ami Bar On (ed.), Engendering Origins: Critical Feminist Readings in Plato and Aristotle (Albany, NY), 223–36. Shapiro, Michael. 1997. Gender in Play on the Shakespearean Stage: Boy Heroines and Female Pages (Ann Arbor). Sharrock, Alison. 1994. Seduction and Repetition in Ovid’s Ars Amatoria 2 (Oxford). 1996. ‘The Art of Deceit: Pseudolus and the Nature of Reading’, CQ 46/1: 152–74. 2002. ‘Looking at Looking: Can you Resist a Reading?’, in David Fredrick (ed.), The Roman Gaze: Vision, Power and the Body (Baltimore and London), 265–95. Silk, M. S. 2000. Aristophanes and the Definition of Comedy (Oxford). Simon, Erika. 1990. Die Götter der Römer (Munich).

254

Bibliography

Simon, Richard Keller. 1985. The Labyrinth of the Comic: Theory and Practice from Fielding to Freud (Tallahassee). Skinner, Marilyn B. 1997. ‘Introduction: Quod multo fit aliter in Graecia’, in M. B. Skinner and Judith P. Hallett (eds.), Roman Sexualities (Princeton), 3–25. Skutsch, Otto. (ed.) 1985. The Annals of Quintus Ennius (Oxford). Slater, Niall W. 1985. Plautus in Performance: The Theater of the Mind (Princeton). 1988. ‘The Fictions of Patriarchy in Terence’s Hecyra’, CW 81: 249–60. 1992. ‘Plautine Negotiations: The Poenulus Prologue Unpacked’, YClS 29: 131–46. Smith, Craig R. 2004. ‘Ethos Dwells Pervasively: A Hermeneutic Reading of Aristotle on Credibility’, in Michael J. Hyde (ed.), The Ethos of Rhetoric (Columbia, SC), 1–19. Solmsen, Friedrich. 1961. ‘Greek Philosophy and the Discovery of the Nerves’, Museum Helveticum, 18/3–4: 150–68 and 169–97. Sommerstein, Alan H. 1995. ‘The Language of Athenian Women’, in Francesco De Martino and Alan H. Sommerstein (eds.), Lo spettacolo delle voci (Bari), ii. 61–85. Spengel, Andreas. 1868. Plauti Truculentus (Göttingen). Spentzou, Effrosini. 2003. Readers and Writers in Ovid’s Heroides. Transgressions of Genre and Gender (New York). Spranger, Peter P. 1984. Historische Untersuchungen zu den Sklavenfiguren des Plautus und Terenz, 2nd edn. (Stuttgart). Städele, Alfons. 1980. Die Briefe des Pythagoras und der Pythagoreer (Mansheim). Staples, Adrianne. 1998. From Good Goddesses to Vestal Virgins: Sex and Category in Roman Religion (London and New York). Stärk, Ekkehard. 1990. ‘Plautus’ uxores dotatae im Spannungsfeld literarischer Fiktion und gesellschaftlicher Realität’, in Jürgen Blänsdorf (ed.), Theater und Gesellschaft im Imperium Romanum (Tübingen), 69–79. Stella, Massimo. 2000. ‘Rire de la mort: Le philosophe, la cité et le savoir’, in Marie-Laurence Desclos (ed.), Le Rire des Grecs: Anthropologie du rire en Grèce ancienne (Grenoble), 459–67. Sternbach, Richard A. (ed.) 1986. The Psychology of Pain (New York). Stewart, Zeff. 2000. ‘Plautus’ Amphitruo: Three Problems’, HSCP 100: 293–9. Still, Judith. (ed.) 2002. Luce Irigaray Presents International, Intercultural, Intergenerational Dialogues around her Work (Edinburgh). Stockert, Walter. 1982. ‘Zur Sprachlichen Charakterisierung der Personen in Plautus’ Aulularia’, Gymnasium, 89: 4–14.

Bibliography

255

2004. ‘Schwören auch Frauen by Herkules? Bemerkungen zu Cist. 52 und anderen Plautus-Stellen’, in Rolf Hartkamp and Florian Hurka (eds.), Studien zu Plautus’ Cistellaria. ScriptOralia, 128: 363–9. Stone, Alison. 2006. Luce Irigaray and the Philosophy of Sexual Difference (Cambridge). Stubbs, Michael. 1983. Discourse Analysis (Oxford). Suter, Ann. 2003. ‘Lament in Euripides’ Trojan Women’, Mnemosyne, 4/56/1: 1–28. Szlezak, Thomas A. 1972. Pseudo-Archytas über die Kategorien (Berlin and New York). Taaffe, Lauren K. 1993. Aristophanes and Women (London and New York). Talbot, Mary M. 1998. Language and Gender: An Introduction (Cambridge). Tambiah, S. J. 1990. Magic, Science, Religion, and the Scope of Reality (Cambridge). Thesleff, Holger. 1961. An Introduction to the Pythagorean Writings of the Hellenistic Period (Abo). 1965. The Pythagorean Texts of the Hellenistic Period (Abo). 1972. ‘On the Problem of Doric Pseudo-Pythagorica: An Alternative Theory of Date and Purpose’, Pseudepigrapha Entretiens Hardt, 18: 57–102. Thein, Karel. 2000. ‘Entre àÌÔÈ· et à„ÌÔÈ·: La Nature humaine et la comédie dans les dialogues de Platon’, in Marie-Laurence Desclos (ed.), Le Rire des Grecs: Anthropologie du rire en Grèce ancienne (Grenoble), 169–80. Thom, Johan C. 1995. The Pythagorean Golden Verses: With Introduction and Commentary (Leiden and New York). Thomadaki, Marika. 1989. ‘La Mise en scène du théâtre de Térence dans les commentaires de Donat’, Dioniso, 59/2: 365–72. Treggiari, Susan. 1993. Roman Marriage: Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Oxford; 1st edn. 1991). 1998. ‘Home and Forum: Cicero between Public and Private’, TAPA 128: 1–23. Trudgill, Peter. 1972. ‘Sex, Covert Prestige, and Linguistic Change in the Urban British English of Norwich’, Language in Society, i. 179–95. 1975. Language and Sex: Difference and Dominance (Rowley, Mass.). Tuana, Nancy. 1992. Woman and the History of Philosophy (New York). Turner, Victor. 1982. From Ritual to Theater: The Human Seriousness of Play (New York). Uhlfelder, M. L. 1954. De proprietate sermonum vel rerum: A Study and Critical Edition of a Set of Verbal Distinctions (Rome). Ullman, B. L. 1943–4. ‘By Castor and Pollux’, CW 37: 87–9. Van Dijk, T. 1988. News as Discourse (Hillsdale, NJ).

256

Bibliography

Van Wees, Hans. 1998. ‘A Brief History of Tears: Gender Differentiation in Archaic Greece’, in Lin Foxhall and John Salmon (eds.), When Men were Men: Masculinity, Power, and Identity in Classical Antiquity (London and New York), 10–53. Vernant, Jean-Pierre. 1974. Mythe et société en Grèce ancienne (Paris). Versnel, H. S. 1994. Transition and Reversal in Myth and Ritual (Leiden and New York). Von Staden, Heinrich. 1989. Herophilus: The Art of Medicine in Early Alexandria (Cambridge). 1992. ‘Women and Dirt’, Helios, 19/1: 7–30. Vons, J. 2000. L’Image de la femme dans l’œuvre de Pline L’Ancien (Collection Latomus, 253; Brussels). Waithe, Mary Ellen. 1987/1992. A History of Women Philosophers, i. Ancient Women Philosophers, 600 B.C.–500 A.D. (Dordrecht and Boston). Walde, Alois. 1910. Lateinisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch (Heidelberg). Walsh, P. G. 1996. ‘Making a Drama out of a Crisis: Livy on the Bacchanalia’, G&R 43/2: 188–203. (ed.) 1999. Titi Livy Ab Urbe Condita, vol. vi, books 36–40 (Oxford). Walters, Jonathan. 1997. ‘Invading the Roman Body: Manliness and Impenetrability in Roman Thought’, in Judith P. Hallett and Marilyn B. Skinner (eds.), Roman Sexualities (Princeton), 29–43. Webster, T. B. L. 1950. Studies in Menander (Manchester and New York). Wehrli, Fritz. 1969. ‘Menander und die Philosophie’, Entretiens Hardt, 14: 147–52. Weir, Alison. 1996. Sacrificial Logics: Feminist Theory and the Critique of Identity (New York). Wessner, Paul. 1963. Aeli Donati Commentum Terenti (Stuttgart). Whitford, Margaret. 1991. Luce Irigaray: Philosophy in the Feminine (London). Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Ulrich. 1881. Antigonos von Karystos, Philologische Untersuchungen, 4. 1925. Menander, Das Schiedsgericht (Berlin). Wiles, David. 1991/2004. The Masks of Menander: Sign and Meaning in Greek and Roman Performance (Cambridge). 2000. Greek Theatre in Performance: An Introduction (Cambridge). Willi, Andreas. 1998. ‘Numa’s Dangerous Books: The Exegetic History of Roman Forgery’, MH 55/3: 139–72. 2003. The Languages of Aristophanes: Aspects of Linguistic Variation in Classical Attic Greek (Oxford). Wisse, Jakob. 1989. Ethos and Pathos from Aristotle to Cicero (Amsterdam).

Bibliography

257

Wittgenstein, Ludvig. 1958. Philosophical Investigations, tr. G. E. M. Anscombe, 2nd edn. (Oxford). Wodak, Ruth, and Gertraud Benke. 1998. ‘Gender as a Sociolinguistic Variable: New Perspectives on Variation Study’, in Florian Coulmas (ed.), The Handbook of Sociolinguistics (Oxford), 127–50. Woolf, Virginia. 2002. On Being Ill (Ashfield, Mass.). Wright, John. 1974. Dancing in Chains: The Stylistic Unity of Comoedia Palliata (Rome). Zagagi, Netta. 1980. Tradition and Originality in Plautus: Studies of the Amatory Motifs in Plautine Comedy (Hypomnemata, 62; Göttingen). Zehnacker, Hubert. 1994. ‘La Ruse de Bacchis et le Chant de Rossignol (Plaute, Bacchides 37–38)’, ICS 19: 151–9. Zeitlin, Froma. 1981. ‘Travesties of Gender and Genre in Aristophanes’ Thesomphoriasousai’, in Helene Foley (ed.), Reflections of Women in Antiquity (New York), 169–211. 1985. ‘Playing the Other: Theatre, Theatricality, and the Feminine in Greek Drama’, Representations, ii (Summer), 63–94. 1990. ‘Playing the Other: Theater, Theatricality, and the Feminine in Greek Drama’, in John Winkler and Froma Zeitlin (eds.), Nothing to do with Dionysus: Athenian Drama in its Social Context (Princeton), 63–96. 1996. Playing the Other: Gender and Society in Classical Greek Literature (Chicago). Zimmermann, Don H. 1988. ‘On Conversation: The Conversation Analytic Perspective’, Communication Yearbook, 11: 406–32.

General Index Adams on female speech in palliata 10–12 mea 102 n. 32 use of miser 108–9, 110 n. 61 adoption, secret 103 n. 36, 114–16 adulescens: and moderation 150 and money 52–3, 71–2 cross-dressing 177–9 in distress 101–3, 106 n. 52, 136–7 manipulation of 61, 72–3, 76–7 use of blanditia 75–9 adultery 80, 119, 153–6 I„ÌÔfl· 93 Alexis 162–3 Anaxilas 157 ancilla: compared with male slave 120 n. 75 in distress 119–22 and hysteria 122–4 au 103 misera 192 n. 17 styled as extension of mistress 116, 118–20, 174–5 anus: advice of 160 n. 28 and drink 151 and gallows humour 124 n. 89 as pejorative term 6 n. 16 lena 112, 151, 160 and blanditia 65, 66 nutrix 21–3 IÔÒfl·, see intellect Aristophanes: linguistic patterns in 39–40 Lysistrata 206 n. 43 on women 39 n. 74, 114 suicide in 137 n. 115 see also Index locorum Aristotle: feminist readings of 224 n. 95 Λ˜ÈÚ MËÈÍc 205–7

Ï·ÍÒÔÎÔ„fl· 191 n. 14 on bouleutic capacity 208 on comedy 93–4 on friendship 196 n. 21 on grief 105 n. 42 on moderation 162 on the Pythagorean Table 163 n. 44 on women’s nature 123, 207–9, 217–18 Ò›ÔÌ 202 see also Index locorum Austin 14 n. 39 bacchanalia: echoed in Plautus 172–81 suppression of: in Livy’s account 168–72 in tablet of Tiriolo 170–1 Bacchus 167–8, 172–3, 185 blanda dicta 57 blanditia: and age 61 and elite men 85–90 and immutatio 74–8 and intimacy 56 and matrons 79–81 and nomenclatio 88–9 and prostitutes, see meretrix and stickiness 62 and the amator 76–9 and veneficium 63 concluding remarks on 90–1 in Cicero 197–8 in Donatus 20, 24, 49–50 in Latin literature 56–7 in Plautus 58–60 in Roman elections 87–8 Bona dea 167 boundaries: and gender in the palliata 149, 185–6 in feminine speech 41 and ideology of modus 150–1

General Index and space 166–8 Greek perceptions of 162–3 in Livy’s account of the bacchanalia 168–70 in tablet of Tiriolo 170–1 Butler: critique of Irigaray 223 on gender as performative 2, 47 on multiple sexualities 226 Caenis/Caenus 180 Cato the Elder: and modus 161, 164–6, 181–2 and Oppian Law 80–1, 160 and Pythagoreanism 164 see also Index locorum Cato the Younger 88 Celsus 123 Charisius 5 Cicero: and Tullia’s death 140–2 definition of humour 94 endearments in 9 n. 24, 53, 87 on actors 178, 183 on conversational transgressions 194–200 on manly endurance 92, 142–6 on modus 166 on sermo aptus 198–200 see also Index locorum Chodorow 226 chôra: and mimesis 228–31 and speaking to the other 224–7 as discourse 217–18 in Derrida 218–20 in Heidegger 218–19, 224 n. 95 in Irrigaray 223 in Kristeva 220–2 in Plato 215–16 cinaedus 178–9 critical discourse analysis 14 cross-dressing 4 n. 8, 17, 167, 173, 175–9 cruciare, cruciatus 105–8 Cyrene 127, 130 n. 103, 132 damsel in distress 126–32, 134–6 decorum 202

259

depression: and pain threshold 105 aporia 129–32 in Kristeva 96 post-partum 116 solitudo in Cicero 140–2 in Rudens 129–30 Dido 23, 30, 180 n. 89 differentiae 188–90 discourse: and the chôra 214–16, 217–27 as child, in Plato 213–14 defined 12–14 difficulties in identifying 15–17 embodied 212–13 of connectedness 18–21, 24–7 and ancilla 118–19 and mother 112–18 coextensive with blanditia 56 defined in scholarship 57 of seduction 58 n. 28, 58–63, 65–7 in Greek literature 69–71 of self-pity 21–4, 28–30, 108–9 dolere, dolor: in comedy 105–8, 122 n. 79 distinguished from cruciatus 105–6 in the Niptrae 144–5 of mourning in Cicero 140–1, 140 n. 125, 141 n. 131, 143 dolores 107 Donatus: and earlier criticism 5–6, 196, 198 concept of style in 188–94, 193 n. 18, 199 Ad Andriam: interjection au in 103 n. 35 speech of adulescens amans 191 n. 15 Ad Adelphos: blanditia in 49 n. 1 miser in 108 n. 58 Ad Eunuchum: blandimenta in 20 n. 56 soldier’s speech in 191 Thais’ mannerisms in 58 n. 29, 154 n. 16

260

General Index

Donatus: (cont.) Ad Hecyram: blanditia in 20 nn. 57 and 58 linguistic differentiation in 189 n. 6, 191–2 senex blandus in 6 n. 16 Ad Phormionem: linguistic differentiation in 191 the speech of slave in 193 n. 19 see also Index locorum on speech patterns in general: blanditia 6 n. 15, 49–50, 77 n. 70, 193 female self-pity 22–4, 192 n. 17 interjection au 103, 108 tardiloquium 6 n. 17, 191 on differentiae: and conversation in 190 and vocabulary 190 n. 9 on female performers 3 n. 6 on Terence surpassing his models 4 Ennius: and Pythagoreanism 163–4 Medea’s aporia 130 n. 104 Fairclough 14 n. 41, 15 nn. 42 and 43 father: and discourse: logos 214–16 sermo 200–2 bereft, Cicero as 140 disapproves of son’s relationship 65, 66 fails to protect daughter 104 n. 39, 152 flirts with daughters 79 identifies with son 52, 65 rivals son 174 views child as matter of prestige 115–17 female speech: amabo Adams on 10 Hofmann on 8 in Plautus 51–3, Table 2.2 in Terence 51, Table 2.2 origin 50–1

and ethnography of gender 7–9 and quantitative model 10–12 diminutives: compared with Greek drama 40 n. 78 Gilleland on 10 Hofmann on 8, 9 n. 24, 15 n. 44 in Plautus’ Asinaria 63 n. 37 Donatus on 6, 49 n. 1, 103, 193 Greek words 10 history of scholarship 4–12 in the scholia 5 interjections 8, 10 loquacity: in Greek sources 39 in the Aulularia 24–7 jokes about 42, 43, 151–2 tardiloquium 6 mi/mea: Adams on 10–12 and context Table 2.3 general remarks 53 Hofmann on 8 in the Adelphoe 22–3 in the Hecyra 18–19 semantic functions 54–5 miser 10–12, 108–11 and self-pity 108–9 repeated 109–10 oaths 8, 10 see also ancilla, anus, meretrix, mulier, and uxor fletus, see weeping Foucault 13 n. 37, 14 Fraenkel 4, 16 n. 47, 171 n. 67 Freud: theory of drives 99 n. 24, 220, 226 theory of humour 94–5, 116, 125–6 friendship: in Plautus 30–9 female characters 31–2, 34–5, 37–9 male characters 32–4, 36–7 see also Aristotle gallows humour 95–6, 125 gender: and boundaries 149–52, 166–7 and gaze 156, 178, 183–4 and mourning 141–3, 147

General Index definition of 2 in palliata 3, 149–50, 152, 156 see also language and gender Gilligan 57 Heidegger, see chôra Hippocratic corpus: on hysteria 123–4 on suicide 124, 135 on tissue density 123 see also Index locorum Hofmann 8–9, 10, 12, 15 n. 44 hysteria 123–4, see also pain, discourse of immutatio 73–9 and the meretrix 74 effects on the lover 76–9 ineptia 194–6 intellect: and IÔÒfl· 129–30 and divine intervention 126–8 and divinity, in Aristotle 207 in distress: in Cicero 142–5 in Plautine torture jokes 126 in the Rudens 128–32, 132–4 intimacy, see discourse of connectedness Irigaray: on chôra 218, 220, 223 on difference 2 n. 3, 13, 222 n. 91 criticized by Butler 223 on language 1, 222, 224–7 Jespersen 8 jokes: exploiting defects 94 in the palliata: misogynistic 42, 45, 111 regarding actor’s gender 179–80 regarding Alcumena’s belly 3 n. 7, 153 regarding breasts 151 n. 4 regarding pain and torture 124–6, 133–4 regarding prostitute’s appetite 58–9, 157 regarding wives 33–4, 82, see also uxor

261

Freud’s theory of 95 see also gallows humour Kristeva 220–2 on chôra 218, 220–2 see also depression Labov 9 lacrumae, see weeping Lakoff 11 lament: as speech genre 14, 40 n. 79 in Cicero 141–6 in palliata: male 99, 110, 125 female 28–9, 34, 127 n. 97 ritual 99 nn. 16 and 17 language: and differentiation 204–5 differentiae 189–91 in Donatus 188–9 and discourse 14–15 and gender theories: Aristotle 205–9 Cicero 198–9, 200–2 Donatus 192–4 Irigaray 222–7 Jespersen 7–8 Kristeva 220–2 Labov 9–19 Lakoff 11 Plato 212, 214, 216 see also woman and identity 1–4 outskirts of 56–7, 96 reflecting transgression 171 and pain: as incompatible 96–9 as difficult to translate 104 n. 41 in hysteria 122–3 and relationships 37 ideal speech: conflated with moral rectitude 199, 211–12 identified as male 204 in Cicero 199, 202 in Donatus 190, 192 in Plato 210–14 in textbooks of rhetoric 204

262

General Index

language: (cont.) in Aristotle 206–9 in Donatus 193–4 in palliata 16–17 and duplicity 62, 65 and individualization 5 n. 10 as poison 68–9 perceived as colloquial 8 perceived as uniform 4 see also female speech and male speech innovation and preservation of 7, 200–1 laughter: and lack of knowledge 93 and pain 93–4 and pleasure 95 and social identity 45 in Aristotle 93–4 in Freud 94–5 in Plato 93 undesirability of female 45–6 lena see anus, lena leno see senex, leno Livy: and language: long-winded style of 191 n. 14 on blanditia 49 n. 3, 197 n. 23 on sermo 188 n. 2 as source 160, 168 on Cato 80–1, 160–1 and 165 n. 50 on Lucretia 138 on the bacchanalia as blurring boundaries 169–70, 182, 185 as undermining masculinity 170–2 on the suppression of the cult 168–70 on theatre building 181 see also Index locorum maid, see ancilla maiden, see virgo male speech: changing with age 206 distinct from female 10 n. 27, 11 n. 32, 15 emphasis on prestige 115

Greek and Latin oaths 5, 7, 8, 10, 39 n. 78 Greek words 10 humour in 33–4, 125, 133 interjections 102–3 inventiveness 7 tardiloquium 6 echoing female: blanditia 6, 8, 52–6, 78–9, 90–1 self-pity and weeping 98–9 see also adulescens, senex, and slave Malleus Maleficarum V man: affected by female sound 44, 142, 151 and competition 36–7 and cross-dressing 4 n. 8, 167, 177–81 and friendship 30, 32–3, 196–7 coaxing his slaves 3, 48 in female roles 3, 18 McClure 13–14, 39–40, 207 n. 48 Menander: act division in 21 n. 59 and philosophy 161 n. 34, 162 n. 35, 163 and Roman comedy 16 n. 47, 71–3 on speech as pharmakon 68 on women 70–1, 157 n. 22 rape in 169 n. 63 speech patterns in 9 n. 26, 10 n. 28 differentiation of 188 female discourse 39–40, 40 n. 80 uniformity of 204–5 suicide in 137 n. 115 see also Index locorum meretrix: and Greek models 16 n. 47 and nomenclatio 88–9 and suicide 136 blanda 73–9 devoted 154, 160 n. 28 in Greek comedy 70–1 in Roman comedy 58–9, 67 n. 47, 71–5 on pudor 159–61 puerpera 113–16 speech patterns of 58–62, 191 weeping 97 n. 19 mimesis 209–12

General Index moderation, see modus modus: Greek background of 161–7 in Cato and Ennius 164–6 in palliata and men 149–151 and women 151–3 Pythagorean antecedents 162–4 monster, woman as, see woman morigera 155 mother: and child’s gender 2 n. 3, 226 and intimacy 91 as pimp, in comedy 38, 112 n. 65 as role played by women 112–14 as threat to boundaries 117–18 discourse of: childbirth 113–17 connectedness 18–21 self-pity 21–2, 28–9, 112 in Kristeva: and chôra 220–1 as abject 118 in Irigaray: included in speaking 225–6 outside language 223–4 in Plato: as matter 215 identified with chôra 216 not self-reliant 84 n. 89 prostitute as 113–16 separated from language 217 mourning see lament mulier: and modus 151–9 and weeping 97–8 as generic stock type 16, 23, 29 expressing a man’s point of view 25–6, 41–2, 156–7 see also female speech Mutinus Titinus 167 naming: and control 1, 70, 89 as nomenclatio 88–90 in De petitione 87 in Ovid 89 in Plautus 88 in the Odyssey 67–8

263

old man, see senex old woman, see anus other: and orientation towards world 57 and pain 108, 111, 118 and sermo aptus 199–200 appropriation of 90 in Irigaray 224–7 in rhetorical theory 203–4 reading towards: attempted 18–30 defined 12–13 woman as, in Aristotle 207–9 woman as, in palliata 90 Pacuvius’ Niptrae 144–7 see also Index locorum pain: affecting woman’s body 111 and gallows humour 95, 125–6 and intellectual abilities, see intellect and knowledge 145–7 and sound 94–104 inarticulate 96–101 interjections 101–4 discourse of: and ancilla 119–21 and male slave 124–6 and mother 112–14 in medical writings 122–4 in theories of laughter 92–6, see also laughter Latin vocabulary of 105–8, Tables 3.4 and 3.5 of body and mind 104–5 palliata: and Greek comedy 71–3 gender in 149, 219, see also adulescens, mulier, and senex language in: and ambiguity 217, 219, 222 and cultural practice 16–17 research on 7–11 subversive 2–3, 16 see also female speech and male speech performer: and cult of Bacchus 172 gender of, questioned 179–81

264

General Index

performer: (cont.) Greek vs. Roman 182–3 histrio exempt from military service 171–2 figure between genders 219 in female roles in the palliata V 3, 16, 42 tibicen 171 versatility of 181–3 vulnerability of 183–4 pharmaka 67–71 and Helen 67 Derrida on 68 words as 68–70 Philemon 92 Plato: ÏflÏÁÛÈÚ 209–10 on chôra 215–16 on comedy 93, 111, 119, 140 on discourse 112–14 on gender 214–16 on women’s conservatism 200–1 Phaedrus 112–14 Philebus 119 Republic 109–12 Timaeus 214–16 see also Index locorum Plautus: and Greek models 11, 16, 29 n. 65, see also Bacchides Amphitruo: Alcumena as baccha 173 n. 78 Bromia 107, 118, 122 n. 79, 138 costume of Alcumena 3 n. 7 immutatio in 73–4 Iupiter as blandus 78 n. 74 Sosia 110 n. 63, 126 n. 23 virtus in 153–6, 161 Asinaria: Artemona 82, 158 blanditia in 55, 58 n. 28, 59, 62 homosexual game 3, 52–3 lena in 58 n. 28, 59, 62, 151 Aulularia: Eunomia 24–8 linguistic characterization in 5 n. 10, 46

Megadorus 86, 87 n. 94 miser’s lament 102 n. 35, 110, 147 Bacchides: Bacchis sisters and seduction 60–1, 121–2 compared with Dis Exapaton 21 n. 59, 72–6 old men’s complaints in 110 n. 61 Casina: and bacchanalia 176–9 Chalinus/Casina 17, 175, 179 Cleustrata 80–2, 152 coaxing speech in 78–81 cross-dressing in 174–9 female friends in 31–2, 36, 38 Lysidamus 54 n. 16, 78 n. 71, 171 n. 69, 174 modus in 152 Pardalisca 120–3, 139 n. 121, 148 Captivi 102, 125 Cistellaria: ancilla’s speech 29 n. 66 female friends in 38 girl in love in 97 n. 18, 98 n. 19, 110–11, 122 n. 79 lena in 43, 112 n. 65 linguistic characterization in 5 suicidal youth in 137 n. 111 terms of endearment in 51 Curculio: Planesium 46 n. 89, 98 n. 19, 136 n. 110 slaves in 120 n. 75, 160 n. 30, 195 n. 20 Epidicus: and suicide 137 n. 111 gallows humour in 12 persuasive speech in 57 n. 23, 65 senex in 97 language of and Roman women 217, 219, 222 research on 7–11 vs. discourse 16–17 see also female speech and male speech Menaechmi: blanditia in 58–9, 62, 88 cross-dressing in 171 n. 70, 177–9

General Index gallows humor in 125 inquisitive wife in 82–5 Menaechmus 1 and 2 5 n. 10, 177–9 Mercator: crying in 97 n. 19, 119 love’s side-effects in 122, 150 wife in 82, 85 Miles: and bacchanalia 174, 177 senex blandus in 17, 106 n. 50 veneficium in 63–4 weeping in 98, 101 n. 29 Mostellaria: blanditia in 65, 66, 74 n. 65 male speakers in 119 n. 74, 122 veneficium in 65 Persa: modus in 152 slave as lover in 52, 171 n. 69 Virgo 51, 97 nn. 18 and 19, 104 n. 39, 152 Poenulus: female identities considered in 42–6, 156–60 Karchdonios as source for 163 mulierosus in 77 six actors needed for 3 n. 5 slave and mockery in 120 n. 75, 125 terms of endearment in 55 weeping in 99, 137 n. 112 Pseudolus: compassion represented in 120 n. 75, 125 senex blandus in 77 n. 70 suicide in 137 weeping in 46 n. 89, 98–101 reception in antiquity 188–9 Rudens: as tragicomedy 127 female discourse of distress in 128–32 male discourse of distress in 99 n. 25, 102 n. 35, 132–3 reunions in 34–8 suicide and gender in 134–6 self-reflexive comments in 48

265

Stichus: blanditia in 79 modus in 152 wives contrasted in 5 n. 10, 131 n. 105 subversive 2 n. 2 Trinummus: amor blandus mocked in 76–7, 150 male friends in 32–4, 36 peripatetic ethics in 161 n. 33 Truculentus: blanditia as immutatio in 74–5 connectedness, discourse of 119 ideal lena defined in 59 motherhood mocked in 113–16 see also Index locorum Plutarch: on Aristophanes and Menander 204–5 on Cato the Elder 165 on chôra 218 n. 79 on flatterer 197 n. 22 on grief 142–3 poison, see pharmaka and venena Postumius: consul 186 BCE 168, 170 Postumius Albinus 172 Priapus 167 private versus public: inappropriate sharing of privacy: in Cicero 198–9 in De petitione 87–8 perceived as suspect in Aulularia 86–7 women and the boundaries of the house: blanditia desired within 80–1 leaving, synonymous with transgression 82–3 proprietas, in Donatus 189–94, 199 prosopopoiia 203, see also Quintilian prostitute, see meretrix Pythagoreans: Golden Verses 162 in Rome 163–4 on women 160 n. 29 Melissa 163 n. 42 Table of opposites 163 n. 44

266

General Index

Quintilian: on actors 182 on prosopopoiia 202–4 on Terence 189 see also Index locorum rape: and festivals 169 and Roman law 146 n. 144 in Eunuchus 119 Roman women: and literature 47 discursive practices of 28, 229–30 in the audience 44–5 self-pity: and miser- 108–9 and mother 112 criticised 141–2, 144–7 deemed invasive 185 defined 108 described as feminine 6, 24 in Donatus 23–4 in Plautus 29, 92 Semonides 82 senex: amator 78, 176 and modus 150 as baccha 173 blandus: challenging conventions 229 Donatus on 6, 49 n. 2, 77 n. 70 in Aulularia 86–7 leno: and weeping women 97 n. 16, 98 former slave 126 n. 93 hypochondriac 106 n. 53, 122 n. 80 shipwrecked 35–6, 132–4 weeping: for lost property 137; easily comforted 133–4 long-winded 191 n. 14 slow-moving 36 speech patterns 36, 182 unwilling to marry 106 n. 50 voice of 182 weeping 110 sermo aptus 194–200 as dialogue 188–9 patrius 201

slave: and connectedness 119–20 and cross-dressing 174 and gallows humour 95 and interjection au 103 and modus 150, 152–3 and tears 101 and torture jokes 124–6, 147 as master’s sexual partner 58, 171, 174 behaves like a citizen 160 ethnic background of 160 n. 31 in role reversal: sexually exploits master 3, 52–3 threatens to punish master 106 n. 53 woos master’s girlfriend 55 in the audience 44 played by dominus gregis 3 n. 6 speech of, substandard 191, 193 sirens 69–70, 73 n. 62, 89 solitudo, see depression Sophocles: Antigone and Ismene 131 n. 105 compared with Pacuvius 144–5 on Odysseus as dog in the Ajax 132 n. 106 staticuli 177, 182 suicide: Greek references to 137 in De virginum morbis 124 in Latin sources 136–7 in palliata: female 134–6 male 136 Terence: Adelphoe: labour pains in 107 n. 54 nurse in 103 n. 37 Sostrata 22–4, 28–30 see also Donatus Ad Adelphos and Donatus see Donatus Andria: distress in 106 suicide in 136 n. 110, 137 n. 111 see also Donatus Ad Andriam

General Index compared with Plautus: blandimenta 50–8 dolere and cruciare 105–8 female speech 27, 30, 46 gallows humour 124 n. 89 interjections 102–3 unscripted sounds 96–7 suicide 137 n. 111 Eunuchus: and audience reception 24 n. 62 blanditia in 51 use of mea in 55 n. 19 see also Donatus Ad Eunuchum Heauton timoroumenos: matron’s integrity questioned in 103 n. 37 woman’s nature defined in 152 n. 11 Hecyra: courtesan’s self-pity 192 Sostrata 18–20, 27, 28, 47 see also Donatus Ad Hecyram Phormio 3 n. 6, 5 n. 10 see also Donatus Ad Phormionem see also index locorum on Menander 188 n. 3 prologues 160 n. 32 Terminus 167 Tiriolo, tablet of, see bacchanalia Trudgil 11 uxor: and blanditia 79–81 and ÍıÒfl· ÔNÍfl·Ú 85 as customs inspector 83 as dog 81–2, 83–4 death of, desired 32–3 dotata: and Roman society 85 n. 91 exemplified by Matrona 85

267

feared by husband 82 mocked 42–3 venena: blanda 60–3 in Ovid 66 women’s ability to produce 64–5 ventriloquism 159, 229–31 Venus and veneficium 63 n. 39, 65 n. 43 virgo 97 n. 18, 112, 152 virtus and vir 143 in Alcumena’s song 153–6 as dowry 155 voluptas 154, 169 weeping: and the slave 100–1 eiulare 97 fletus 96–7, 98 n. 19 and men 101 and mourning 141–2, 145–7 gendered in palliata 99–101 lacrumae 96 n. 15, 96–7, 100 off stage 97 n. 17 on stage 96–8 plorare 96–7 woman: and dirt 158–9 and grooming 158 and lack of limits 158–9 and linguistic conservationism 200–2 as anthropophagic monster, in Roman comedy 59–60, 70 as malformed, in Aristotle 207, 209 as mythical creature 69–71 compared to ship 156 in Greek drama 39–40 in Roman comedy 40 see also female speech

Index locorum AESCHYLUS Fr. 470 (Radt): 39 n. 74 Septem contra Thebas 78–180: 98 n. 21 Supplices 800–35: 98 n. 21 ALCIPHRON 4.19.14: 161 n. 34 ALEXIS Fr. 96 (K-A): 39 n. 74 ANAXILAS Circe Fr. 12 (K-A): 75 Neotis fr. 22 (K-A): 70, 71 Incerta fr. 34 (K-A): 157 n. 22 ARETAEUS OF CAPPADOCIA De causis 2.11.4–6: 123 ARISTOTLE De generatione animalium 728a17–18: 207 n. 47 737a28: 207 n. 47 766b17–18: 123 n. 85, 207 n. 48 767b13: 207 n. 47 Ethica Nicomachea 1112b11–12: 208 1113b3–4: 208 1156b: 196 n. 21 1161a1: 85 n. 92 1166a1: 196 n. 21 1166a5–10: 196 n. 21 1166a30: 196 n. 21 1173b30: 197 n. 22 Metaphysica 986a23–7: 163 n. 44 1040b8–10: 207 n. 45 1046a29–30: 207 n. 48 Meteorologica 379a1: 207 n. 45 Oeconomicus 1343b–44: 201 n. 27

1344b1–5: 84 n. 89 Poetica 1449a32–7: 93 Politica 1260a: 207 Physiognomica 806b33–5: 207 n. 48 809a32: 207 n. 49 810a13–14: 207 n. 49 810b36: 207 n. 49 813a35–813b1: 207 n. 48 Rhetorica 1404b1–15: 205 1408a10: 205 1408a25–30: 205–6 1418c25: 191 n. 14 ARISTOPHANES Ecclesiazousai 120: 39 n. 74 148–60: 39 189–92: 39 Plutos 302–8: 75 n. 67 Thesmophoriazousai 130–50: 230 393: 39 n. 74 500–16: 114 AULUS GELLIUS Noctes Atticae 11.6.1: 5 13.23: 115 n. 70 CATO THE ELDER De agri cultura 156.6–7: 164 Orationes 22.81: 165–6 22.85: 182 CATULLUS 62.36: 145 n. 140 63.62: 145 n. 140 CELSUS 7.18.10: 164

Index locorum CHARISIUS Institutio Grammatica 2.13: 5 CICERO Brutus 73: 201 n. 26 211.3: 201 n. 28 De finibus 1.4: 201 n. 28 De inventione 2.78–9: 146 n. 144 1.109.12: 146 n. 142 De legibus 2.55: 146 n. 143 De natura deorum 1.42: 146 De officiis 1.93: 166 1.129.9: 184 De oratore 1.112.3: 87 2.236: 94 2.4.17–18: 194–5 3.10.37: 202 n. 33 3.12.45: 200–1 3.83.4: 182 Epistulae ad Atticum 8.11.1: 12 n. 34 12.13: 140 12.14: 140 n. 125 12.15: 140–1 12.18: 140 n. 125 12.28: 140 n. 125 Epistulae ad familiares 4.5: 141 In Vatinium 4: 140 n. 127 In Verrem 1.12.40: 146 n. 141 2.1.30: 146 n. 141 2.2.64: 146 n. 141 Laelius 80–1: 196 n. 21 88: 196 89: 196 91: 196–7 100: 196 Orator 21.70: 202

269

Partitiones Oratoriae 6.19: 202 Pro Caelio 33.5: 203 Pro Murena 1.55: 146 n. 141 Pro Quinctio 59.10: 146 n. 141 Pro Sestio 3.3: 146 n. 141 Tusculanae disputationes 1.1.3: 201 n. 26 2.20.46: 198 2.21.55: 198 2.23.56: 151 n. 4 2.35: 143 2.43: 143 2.47.10: 143 n. 135 2.48.1: 143 n. 136 2.48–50: 143–5 2.50: 144–5 2.52: 142 2.58: 142 3.7: 12 n. 34 4.60: 142 DE PETITIONE 42: 87 DIGESTA (JUSTINIANI) 2.2.5: 184 DIOGENES LAERTIUS 1.41.4: 162 n. 38 5.36: 161 n. 34 5.47: 197 n. 22 5.79: 161 n. 34 DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS De Lysia 9.1: 202 n. 31 De imiatatione 31.2.11: 202 n. 32 DONATUS Ad Andriam 3.3: 190 n. 11 28.1: 191 n. 15 267.5: 191 n. 15 286.2: 49 n. 1 685.1: 49 n. 1, 192 n. 17 751: 103 n. 35 Ad Adelphos

270

Index locorum

68.3: 191, 193 n. 19 81.2: 4 n. 9 88.2: 191 n. 15 284: 191 n. 12 288.4: 49 n. 1 289.1: 49 n. 1 291.4: 6 n. 14, 30, 49 n. 1, 192 291.4.2: 77 n. 70, 108 n. 58 313: 191 n. 12 353.2: 49 n. 1 396: 191 n. 12 492: 191 n. 12 646.2: 191 n. 14, 193 n. 19 798: 191 n. 12 958: 191 n. 12 Ad Eunuchum 151.1: 20 n. 56 223.1: 191 n. 15 338.1: 191 n. 15 405.2: 191 412.3: 191 454.1: 189 462.2: 20 n. 56, 50 n. 4 463.1: 20 n. 56, 58 n. 29, 193 n. 18 656.1: 6 n. 15, 50 n. 4 680: 103 n. 35 746.1: 190 n. 9 871: 50 n. 4 899: 103 n. 36 Ad Hecyram 68: 49 n. 2 87.2: 192 n. 17 201.1: 191 n. 15 231: 77 n. 70 323.2: 191 n. 15 325.1: 191 n. 15 440.3: 4 n. 9 585.3: 49 n. 1 585.9.1: 20 n. 57 585.9.2: 20 n. 58 596: 189 n. 6 741.15: 6 n. 17 744: 6 n. 16, 77 n. 70 744.7: 49 n. 2 824: 49 n. 1 861: 49 n. 2 Ad Phormionem

41.4: 191 n. 15 60.1: 191 n. 15 70: 191 n. 12 186.6: 191 n. 15 212.2: 189 n. 6 249.2: 191 n. 15 252: 49 n. 2 303: 191 n. 12 318.2: 191 n. 15 327: 193 n. 19 339: 191 n. 15 647: 4 n. 9 ENNIUS Annales 11. fr. 7 (Sk.): 106 n. 48 342 (Sk.): 132 n. 106 362 (Sk.): 165 n. 50 Medea Exul 231 (Rib.): 130 n. 104 Satirae 1: 164 fr. 69 (Rib.): 88 n. 96 EUANTHIUS De fabula 3.8: 189 n. 7 EURIPIDES Andromache 930–53: 69 n. 57 Cyclops 82: 45 n. 87 624: 45 n. 87 Hippolytus 265: 162 n. 38 Orestes 1022–4: 45 n. 88 Troiades 1012–14: 136 n. 109 Supplices 1012–28: 136 n. 110 GALEN De usu 14.6: 123 n. 85 HIPPOCRATIC CORPUS De glandis 16: 123 n. 85

Index locorum De mulierum affectibus 1.1: 123 n. 85 De virginum morbis 8.466.4 (L.): 124 8.466–8 (L.): 123–4 8.466.8–9 (L.): 123 HERMOGENES OF TARUS Prog. 9: 202 n. 31 HOMER Illiad 17.558: 213 19.301–2: 119 n. 73 22.62: 213 22.336: 213 Odyssey 4.22: 67 n. 51 10.394: 75 n. 66 11.139–54: 67 n. 50 11.580: 213 HORACE Ars 57: 201 n. 28 Carmina 4.1.8: 56 n. 21 Epodes 5.37–8: 59 n. 31 Sermones 1.1.25: 56 n. 22 1.2.31–6: 165 1.2.126–34: 119 1.3.45: 55 n. 18 JUVENAL 3.95–7: 231 n. 3 LIVY Ab urbe condita 1.9.16: 49 n. 3 1.55.3–4: 167 n. 56 1.58.10–12: 138 2.40.9: 146 n. 144 5.40.3: 146 n. 144 22.13.9: 106 n. 48 22.57.2: 138 n. 119 27.15.11–12: 49 n. 3 32.40.11: 49 n. 3 34.2.9–10: 80

34.4.4: 160 34.4.7–8: 165 n. 51 34.4.8: 165 34.4.18: 165 39.8.1: 168 39.8.6–7: 169 39.8–18: 168 39.9.1: 170 n. 65 39.13.10: 169 n. 64 39.13.13: 168 39.14.11: 171 39.14–15: 171 39.17: 138 n. 119 39.18.4: 168 Epitomae 49: 181 LUCRETIUS De rerum natura 1.832: 201 n. 28 3.260: 201 n. 28 4.711: 151 n. 4 5.230: 56 n. 22 6.1244–6: 56 n. 22 MACROBIUS Saturnalia 3.14.19: 182 7.1.18: 68 n. 54 MENANDER Dis exapaton 18–30: 72 n. 61 19–112: 72 n. 61 21–9: 72–3 47–63: 72 n. 61 64–90: 72 n. 61 Epitrepones 860–72: 40 Fragmenta 4.1 (Meineke): 85 n. 92 4.1.3 (Meineke): 157 n. 22 4.2 (Meineke): 85 n. 92 4.2.2 (Meineke): 84 n. 89 4.6.9 (Meineke): 68 n. 56 4.84 (Meineke): 68 n. 55 Sententiae e codicibus Byzantinis 46: 68 n. 55 84: 68 n. 55

271

272 437: 68 n. 55 439: 68 n. 55 476: 68 n. 55 Perikeiromene 504: 137 n. 115 977: 137 n. 115 NAEVIUS Lycurgus 57: 173 NEPOS Iphicrates 1.4: 164 Praefatio 5: 183 OVID Ars Amatoria 1.99: 183 n. 96 1.455: 56 n. 21 1.468: 56 n. 21 2.251–4: 89 Amores 1.8.103–4: 66 3.1.46: 56 n. 21 3.7.58: 56 n. 21 Fasti 2.667–76: 167 n. 56 Metamorphoses 8.738–878: 104 n. 39 12.466–73: 180 n. 89 PACUVIUS Niptrae 263–4: 144 265–7: 144 268–9: 145 fragmenta tragica (Rib.) 195: 49 n. 3 PAUSANIAS Periegesis 10.24.1: 162 n. 38 PLATO Critias 107b 5–7: 210 Cratylus 424d-425a: 210 n. 56 433b4–10: 210 n. 56

Index locorum Phaedrus 264c: 212 267d: 213 274e: 68 n. 53 278a-b: 214 Philebus 47e-50a: 93 48b: 93 Respublica 3.395d–e: 211 3.396a–b: 212 3.396c: 214 5.456a–d: 210 10.595–606: 209 10.597eL 209 10.599b: 209 Sophistes 228e3: 162 n. 38 243b: 210 n. 56 264b: 210 n. 56 Timaeus 17–48: 215 45e1: 162 n. 38 48e–49a: 215 48e–53c: 214 50d: 215 50e: 215 52a–b: 215 PLAUTUS Amphitruo 25–31: 180 n. 88 228: 151 n. 4 245: 151 n. 4 256: 97 n. 17 446: 126 n. 94 456: 73 499–550: 78 n. 74 506–7: 78 n. 74 512–14: 154 526: 127 n. 97 638–9: 154 641a–53: 154 648–53: 154 703–4: 173 n. 78 812–13: 179–80 845–6: 73 1043–4: 74 n. 64 1053–61: 118

Index locorum 1053–75: 29 n. 67 1057: 123 n. 87, 138 1058: 123 n. 87 1059: 107 1059–60: 122 n. 79 1066: 138 n. 120 1079: 127 n. 97 Asinaria 32–5: 97 n. 17 60: 82 n. 86 62: 82 n. 86 167–8: 151 178–80: 59 217: 62, 75 220–4: 59 221–3: 62 222: 43, 75, 78 n. 73 276: 125 504–44: 112 n. 65 591–2: 154 n. 15 666–8: 55 693: 62 n. 35 706: 52 707–18: 78 n. 73 709: 106 n. 53 711: 52, 53 731: 78 n. 77 875–6: 82 900: 82 n. 86 928: 158 Aulularia 50–1: 136 n. 110 76–8: 126 n. 95 77–8: 136 n. 110 120–51: 27 121: 51 124–6: 43 124–7: 42 182–5: 86 190: 145 n. 139 308: 97 n. 17 317–18: 97 n. 17 409: 110 n. 63 411: 110 n. 63 462–4: 110 n. 62 475–86: 87 n. 94 691: 107 n. 54 713–26: 145 n. 139

721: 102 n. 35, 110 727–8: 145 n. 139 Bacchides: 21–5: 73 n. 62 38: 73 n. 62 41: 60 44: 60 47–9: 60–1 50–2: 61 53: 174 n. 79 68–72: 61, 75 81–4: 61 83–4: 76 106: 127 n. 97 371–2: 174 n. 79 416–18: 150 n. 2 435: 106 n. 52 494–562: 72 n. 61 500–25: 72 n. 61 515–20: 72 517: 73 614: 150 853: 110 n. 63 974: 151 n. 4 1159: 121 1172–3: 121 n. 78 1174: 74 Casina: 11–12: 137 n. 111 138: 55 n. 18, 62 n. 35 143–6: 178 144–6: 82 149–55: 31 171–83a: 31 172–3: 51 203–8/9: 32 228–9: 78 235–50: 82 n. 84 236: 51 239: 82 n. 84, 150 276: 106 n. 51 317–20: 81 337: 125 449–75: 78 454: 78 459: 78 466: 78 584–6: 79

273

274 621–30: 29 n. 66, 120 621–719: 120 622: 123 623: 139 n. 121 625: 139 n. 121 630: 127 n. 97 632: 127 n. 97 636–8: 121 641: 106 n. 47 642–4: 121 646: 54 n. 16 705–12: 121 814: 17 n. 49, 175 875–96: 176 n. 82 881–936: 17 n. 49 883: 78 n. 79 906a–916: 78 907–14: 175 931: 78 933: 78 977–80: 176 982: 7 n. 20 988: 175 1006: 152 Captivi 139: 99 n. 25 152: 102 n. 35 650: 125 945: 102 n. 34 995: 102 Cistellaria 1–3: 38 n. 72 40–119: 112 n. 65 52: 7 n. 20 59: 123 n. 87 59–60: 110 60: 107, 122 n. 79, 123 n. 87 67–8: 111 120–2: 43 122: 152 n. 9 123: 97 n. 18 132: 97 n. 18 192: 97 n. 18 206: 106 n. 51 206–28: 122 n. 81 249: 78 n. 72 302: 78 n. 72 567: 97 n. 17

Index locorum 639–41: 137 n. 111 671–94: 29 n. 66 703: 125 n. 89 728: 51 Curculio 1–95: 120 n. 75 58: 122 n. 80 110: 151 136: 99 173–4: 136 n. 110 216–50: 122 n. 80 237: 106 n. 53 288–300: 160, 195 n. 20 487–532: 98 520: 46 n. 89, 98 n. 19 649: 127 n. 97 Epidicus 61: 127 111: 150 147: 107 158–9: 57 n. 23 219–21: 65 320–1: 57 n. 23 337–81: 120 n. 75 348: 125 362–3: 137 n. 111 526: 109 526–32: 28–9 530–1: 139 533: 29, 127 n. 97 546: 43 554–6: 116 556–7: 117 558: 117 601: 46, 97 Menaechmi: 110–11: 83 114–16: 83 143–82: 17 n. 49 182–215: 16 n. 46 193–5: 58–9 195–8: 86 226–50: 120 n. 75 261–2: 88 n. 97 275: 125 342: 62 512–13: 178 605–74: 83

Index locorum 626–7: 78 n. 71 659–60: 171 n. 70 675–700: 16 n. 46 707: 82 710–52: 179 714–17: 84 808–11: 179 815: 83 832: 179 835: 179 838: 84 Mercator 54: 150 274–5: 82 n. 85 305: 150 388: 122 487–9: 137 n. 111 512–13: 42 623: 99 667–9: 82 681–2: 97 n. 19 681: 119 701: 102 n. 32 770: 102 n. 32 982: 150 Miles 125: 145 n. 139 185a–194: 63–4 685–704: 17 n. 49 687: 106 n. 45 719–20: 106 n. 50 1016: 174 1137: 82 1292: 152 1311: 97 n. 18, 98 1312–19: 98 1321–4: 98 1342–3: 101 n. 28 Mostellaria: 71–2: 150 n. 1 125–30: 74 n. 65 149: 122 156–312: 160 n. 28 193: 106 n. 45 218: 65 218–19: 66 221: 66 346: 55 n. 19

348–9: 120 n. 75 389: 57 n. 23 395: 57 n. 23 1041: 127 n. 97 Persa 152: 97 n. 18 237: 7 n. 20 336: 51 346: 152 622: 97 n. 18 656: 97 n. 19 765: 52 Poenulus: 3 n. 5 96: 99 129–209: 120 n. 75 138–9: 125 205–9L 156 210–330: 131 n. 105 230–2: 158 241–7: 158 284–8: 159 n. 26 301–2: 159 n. 27 304–7: 159 377: 97 n. 17 397: 126 n. 93 794–5: 137 n. 112 1109: 99 n. 25 1146: 151 n. 4 1298: 99 n. 25 Pseudolus 1–131: 120 n. 75 74–84: 100 576: 127 n. 97 1036: 98 n. 19 1038: 46 n. 89 1041: 97 n. 18, 98 n. 19 1290: 77 n. 70 1325: 125 Rudens 12: 127 n. 98 16: 127 n. 98 75: 127 n. 97 162–80: 128 n. 99 174–5: 128 176: 128 185–6: 128 187–8: 128

275

276 188: 127 n. 97 189–200: 130 n. 102 204–6a: 129 207: 129 n. 101 207–15: 130 220–8: 131 229–58: 133 232: 127: n. 97 233–47: 34–5 348–50: 127 n. 97 366: 127 n. 97 409: 127 n. 97 485–6: 133 491–500: 36 491: 133 492–558: 133 510–11: 133 512: 102 n. 34 527: 133 554: 133 n. 107 557: 99 n. 25 559–61: 127 n. 97 560: 98 n. 19 577–8: 134 613: 151 n. 4 664–8: 134 674–6: 135 680–1a: 135 684: 136 904–5: 82 n. 88 1000: 126 1015: 126 n. 96 1114: 151 n. 7 1189–90: 137 n. 113 Stichus 1–57: 131 n. 105 58–154: 79 90: 79 91: 51, 79 96–8: 79 129–31: 152 259–60: 104 631–40: 137 n. 114 692: 150 n. 1 Trinummus 48–59: 33, 161 n. 33 223–75: 76 237–41: 77

Index locorum 243–6: 76 313–16: 150 324: 150 Truculentus 78: 74 79: 74–5 119: 108 n. 56 195–6: 119 224–6: 59 244–6: 67 n. 47 256–321: 74 270: 74 273: 74 276–80: 74 286: 74 287–8: 74 317–18: 74 322–5: 158 n. 25 378: 158 401–11: 113 448–57: 113 448–81: 113 450: 106 n. 50 482–550: 113 515–26: 115 523–4: 115 526–8: 114 527–50: 117 551–644: 113 762–3: 65 PLINY Naturalis historia 8.1: 201 n. 28 8.21.7: 146 n. 143 PLUTARCH Cato Maior 4.3–4: 165 Cato Minor 8.2: 88 Iudicium 853e 1–f 1: 205 n. 39 Moralia 48e–74e: 197 n. 22 52b: 197 n. 22 59c9: 197 n. 22 116d 11: 162 n. 38 281b. 1: 71 n. 59 614b: 68 n. 54

Index locorum PORPHYRY Ad Horatii Carmina 1.20.1.2: 164 n. 48 QUINTILIAN Institutio oratoria 1.10.31: 182 8.3.42–3: 202 8.3.53: 191 n. 14 9.2.58: 189, 202 n. 32 11.1.1: 202 11.1.38–40: 203 11.1.40: 189 11.1.41: 204 11.3.91: 101 n. 28, 182 RHETORICA AD HERENNIUM 2.50: 146 n. 144 SENECA YOUNGER Dialogi 12.3.2: 146 n. 143 Phaedra 851–3: 146 n. 143 SOPHOCLES Ajax 5: 132 n. 106 8: 132 n. 106 37: 132 n. 106 293: 39 n. 74 Antigone 1–100: 131 n. 105 806–80: 136 n. 109 STOBAEUS Eclogae 1.18: 216 n. 74 SUETONIUS Calligula 13: 55 n. 18 De poetis fr. 11.94–100: 189 n. 5 Nero 21.3.3: 182 n. 94 TACITUS Annales 2.60: 201 n. 28 12.47: 146 n. 144

13.13: 49 n. 3 14.2: 49 n. 3 14.14.15: 183 n. 98 Historiae 1.74: 49 n. 3, 198 n. 23 TERENCE Andria 11–12: 188 n. 3 19: 201 n. 26 55–60: 190 129: 97 n. 16 129–31: 136 n. 110 136: 97 n. 16 210: 137 n. 111 322: 137 n. 111 646: 102 n. 35 751: 103 n. 35 781: 103 n. 37 851: 106 Adelphoe 288–96: 21–2 289: 55 n. 19, 107 n. 54 336: 103 n. 37 Eunuchus: 57–8: 150 65–6: 137 n. 111 93: 107 150: 51 155–7: 202 n. 32 643: 119 656: 103 n. 38 664: 55 n. 19 680: 103 n. 38 899: 103 n. 38 Heautontimoroumenos 239–40: 152 n. 11 755: 150 1015: 103 n. 36 Hecyra 68: 49 n. 2 87: 192 n. 16 274–5: 47 310–12: 152 349: 107 n. 54 516–17: 112 n. 67 577–88: 18–19 860–2: 49 n. 2 861: 49 n. 2

277

278

Index locorum

Phormio: 35–47: 3 n. 6 201–2: 137 n. 111 252: 49 n. 2 521–2: 97 n. 16 803: 103 n. 36

VALERIUS MAXIMUS Memorabilia 4.1.12: 146 n. 143 9.12.6: 92 n. 1 VARRO Menippeae 399: 189 n. 4

VERGIL Aeneis 12.384: 201 n. 28 Georgica 3.185: 56 n. 22

XENOPHON Oeconomicus 7.30: 84 n. 89 ZENO fr. 69 (Pearson): 216 n. 74