Hostname: page-component-78c5997874-8bhkd Total loading time: 0 Render date: 2024-10-30T03:40:36.980Z Has data issue: false hasContentIssue false

Aristophanes’ Frogs and reading culture in Athens

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  27 September 2023

Thomas A. Schmitz*
Affiliation:
Bonn University
Rights & Permissions [Opens in a new window]

Abstract

Aristophanes’ Frogs, first performed in 405 BCE, is an important milestone in Greek cultural history. The play is evidence of the beginnings of the establishment of a literary canon in Athens. The paper shows that the deaths of Euripides and Sophocles, in combination with the emergence of a reading culture, marked a break in the ways in which tragedy was perceived in Athens. It makes use of Jan Assmann’s concept of a transition from ritual to textual continuity to explore this capital step in the process of the canonization of ‘classical’ tragedy that would arrive at its fulfilment in the course of the fourth century BCE.

Type
Research Article
Creative Commons
Creative Common License - CCCreative Common License - BYCreative Common License - SA
This is an Open Access article, distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike licence (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/), which permits re-use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the same Creative Commons licence is used to distribute the re-used or adapted article and the original article is properly cited.
Copyright
© The Author(s), 2023. Published by Cambridge University Press on behalf of The Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies

I. Introduction

The dramatic action in Aristophanes’ Frogs is triggered by a reader, one of the first readers of a literary text in Western history. As Dionysus explains to Herakles, reading Euripides’ Andromeda made him yearn for the poet, who had died a few months earlier:

καὶ δῆτ’ ἐπὶ τῆς νϵὼς ἀναγιγνώσκοντί μοι

τὴν Ἀνδρομέδαν πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν ἐξαίφνης πόθος

τὴν καρδίαν ἐπάταξϵ πῶς οἴϵι σφόδρα.Footnote 1

And anyway, on the ship I was reading Andromeda to myself, and suddenly, my heart was struck with a longing, you can’t imagine how hard. (Ran. 52–54)

Some interpreters have argued that Aristophanes’ depiction of Dionysus in the guise of an Athenian sailor, reading a book roll during a lull in the military action, was meant to surprise and amuse the audience. Leonard Woodbury thinks that reading aboard a ship is ‘as little appropriate as the combination of a lion-skin with a saffron dress’;Footnote 2 no Athenian could have dreamed of reading a tragedy because ‘there is little evidence elsewhere that encourages us to believe in a practice of literacy that is so refined or so widespread’.Footnote 3

Several scholars have expressed their agreement with Woodbury’s argument.Footnote 4 However, I will argue that it flies in the face of the text of Frogs and of what we know about reading in fifth-century Athens. I started this article with a reference to Woodbury’s view not because of some ill-conceived pleasure in showing up a respected colleague. Rather, I want to point out that his misinterpretation can be seen as a failure to grasp just how important reading and book culture are for our understanding of Aristophanes’ play and that the full extent of this aspect has not yet been appreciated. In this article, I want to pursue the implications of an emerging reading culture for our understanding of the Frogs. In order to explore the ramifications of reading for interpreting the play, I will make use of Jan Assmann’s model of ‘cultural memory’,Footnote 5 which helps us understand processes of canonization and memorization.

In his study, Assmann explores the ‘connection between [the] themes of memory (or reference to the past), identity (or political imagination), and cultural continuity (or the formation of tradition)’.Footnote 6 Drawing on the work of predecessors such as Maurice Halbwachs, Assmann emphasizes that cultural memory ‘is a matter of institutionalized mnemotechnics’.Footnote 7 As such, it relies on specific actors and social groups, on media and ‘mythomotors’, on rituals and texts for creating shared memories and thus social identity. One moment in history that is particularly important for the emergence of such shared memories is the transition from ‘ritual to textual continuity’, which for Assmann is intimately connected with processes of canonization, the establishment of a (classical) tradition and the development of methodologies for editing, preserving and interpreting these canonical texts. Assmann studies four specific historical cases to substantiate his hypotheses about the development of cultural memory: written culture in ancient Egypt, the ‘invention of religion’ in Israel, the ‘theologization’ of history and justice in Mesopotamia and the consequences of literacy in Greece. The periods in the intellectual history of Greece that Assmann examines most closely are the establishment of a Panhellenic memory in the Homeric epics and the canonization of the Homeric texts in the library of Alexandria. Assmann also looks (briefly) at Plato’s famous critique of writing in the Phaedrus,Footnote 8 but Athens in the fifth and fourth centuries BCE is not the focus of his chapter on Greece. In this contribution, I will make use of Assmann’s methodology to explore important aspects of this period.

In particular, I will argue that Aristophanes’ comedy is an important witness for a pivotal moment in Greek intellectual history. I will begin by providing a brief recapitulation of the importance of reading and writing within Frogs itself (section II) and of the spread of literacy and the emergence of a book market towards the end of the fifth century BCE (section III). I will argue that the deaths of Sophocles and Euripides within a few months of each other were perceived as marking an important turning point for the development of Athenian tragedy and thus contributed to a sense of nostalgia elicited by the war; this in turn encouraged contemporaries to look back at the recent past as a ‘golden age’ and the work of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides as the classical period of tragedy (section V). In order to understand the significance of these developments for Aristophanes’ Frogs, we must first take a brief look at some potential issues in the performance and composition of the play and the earliest stages of its textual transmission (section VI). Section VII explores the importance of written texts for the establishment of the canon of what was to become classical tragedy; section VIII brings these strands together and demonstrates that Assmann’s concepts and methodology help us understand the important place Aristophanes’ play holds in this process of canonization.

II. Readings and readers in the Frogs

The first argument against Woodbury’s interpretation is the observation that ll. 52–53 is not the only passage in the Frogs in which books, reading and writing are prominent. Taken together, the following passages demonstrate that reading literature (in particular, tragedy) and writing were concepts familiar to the audience of Aristophanes’ comedy and would not have appeared incongruous or surprising:Footnote 9

  1. (1) In ll. 1109–14, the chorus addresses Euripides and Aeschylus: they should not be afraid that the audience might lack the necessary sophistication to follow the finer points of literary criticism; ‘they’re old campaigners, and every one of them has a book’ (ἐστρατϵυμένοι γάρ ϵἰσι, | βιβλίον τ’ ἔχων ἕκαστος, 1114–15). It is not quite clear which sort of book every member of the audience is supposed to have, and the line has been variously interpreted.Footnote 10 The wording seems deliberately vague, and Alan H. Sommerstein is probably right in his note on the passage: ‘the chorus are saying, with two doses of comic exaggeration, that (i) every Athenian now owns at least one book and (ii) it follows that every Athenian is now intellectually sophisticated’.Footnote 11 The line cannot be taken as evidence that the living room of each Athenian household held an impressive collection of classical texts,Footnote 12 but even if we allow for comic exaggeration, it demonstrates books becoming common by the time of the performance of our play.

  2. (2) The connection of books with intellectual sophistication is also maintained in the long ‘weighing scene’ (1364–1410), in which Aeschylus consistently adduces lines that are ‘weightier’ than the ones spoken by Euripides. At the end of the scene, Aeschylus contemptuously provokes his opponent: ‘Let him climb on to the scales and sit there: himself, his children, his wife, Cephisophon, and he can take his books with him too’ (ἀλλ’ ϵἰς τὸν σταθμὸν | αὐτός, τὰ παιδί’, ἡ γυνή, Κηφισοφῶν, | ἐμβὰς καθήσθω, ξυλλαβὼν τὰ βιβλία, 1407–09). In the competition between the two poets, Aeschylus is consistently depicted as manly, majestic and aloof, as opposed to the crafty, subtle and ‘democratic’ Euripides. Owning an entire library of books (βιβλία) is part of the depiction of Euripides as being too clever for his own good; the character Euripides himself proudly mentions that he dosed the Athenian public ‘with chatter-juice strained off from books’ (χυλὸν … στωμυλμάτων ἀπὸ βιβλίων ἀπηθῶν, 943). This bookishness is thus part of the characterization of Euripides as a sophisticated, ‘modern’ poet.Footnote 13

  3. (3) In ll. 145–51, Herakles provides a description of the path to Hades: after a number of monstrous and frightening beasts, Dionysus will come upon ‘a vast sea of mud and ever-flowing dung’, in which particularly heinous sinners are being punished. In a comic climax, the worst offenders are named last: everybody who ‘copied out a speech by Morsimus’ (ἢ Μορσίμου τις ῥῆσιν ἐξϵγράψατο, 151). The tragedian Morsimus is the butt of several Aristophanic jokes (cf. Eq. 400–1; Pax 802). The reference here must be to (hypothetical) admirersFootnote 14 who copy passages from his mediocre tragedies for their private consumption and learn them by heart for declamation at occasions such as symposia.Footnote 15 We would like to know more about the specifics of this literary note-taking:Footnote 16 should the audience imagine the anonymous admirer copying passages from the official manuscript in the city archive? Is he sitting in a rehearsal or performance, furiously scribbling away as the actors declaim? Or does he go to Morsimus’ house and ask to see the poet’s own manuscript (much as Dicaeopolis asks Euripides for props at Ach. 393–479)? Again, Aristophanes expects his public to supply these details; whatever the situation, having excerpts of poetry for one’s personal use must have been familiar to the audience.Footnote 17 Moreover, the description shows that tragic texts had received a certain degree of autonomy from their original performance in the theatre of Dionysus: some people might now prefer to enjoy them on private occasions.Footnote 18

III. The emergence of reading culture in the fifth century BCE

This brief summary has shown not only that reading and writing can be assumed to be household activities for Aristophanes’ audience, but that Aristophanes saw them as connected with ‘modernist’ tendencies in Athenian culture. Dionysus reading the text of a tragedy is just one of a number of manifestations of the phenomenon in the text of the play. We obtain an even clearer picture of the growing importance of reading and writing in late fifth-century Athens when we look at the wider cultural context. This is not the place for a thorough and lengthy account of reading and writing in fifth-century Greece; I will merely remind readers of a few facts to demonstrate that between the Persian Wars and the first performance of the Frogs, reading and writing had spread with surprising speed.

The iconographic record is unequivocal:Footnote 19 from the beginning of the fifth century, we find numerous images of school scenes, readers and writers on vases. Two events, from the very beginning and the very end of the century, confirm that schools in which children learned to read and write had become ubiquitous even in smaller Greek communities. In his account of the Ionian Revolt, Herodotus relates that the island of Chios was struck by a number of tragic disasters, which he interprets as (possible) divine portents. One of them involves a school:

ἐν τῇ πόλι τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον χρόνον, ὀλίγον πρὸ τῆς ναυμαχίης, παισὶ γράμματα διδασκομένοισι ἐνέπϵσϵ ἡ στέγη, ὥστϵ ἀπ’ ἑκατὸν καὶ ϵἴκοσι παίδων ϵἷς μοῦνος ἀπέφυγϵ.

[I]n their city about the same time, that is shortly before the sea-fight, as some children were being taught in school the roof fell in upon them, so that of a hundred and twenty children only one escaped. (Hdt. 6.27.1; tr. G.C. Macaulay)

Chios was a rich island; nevertheless, that 120 children were being taught to read and write (γράμματα διδασκομένοισι) is remarkable: this must have been a big school, and literacy must have been unexceptional in Chios at this point in time.Footnote 20 There is a similar account by a contemporary historiographer at the end of the century: in 413 BCE, a battalion of 1,300 Thracian mercenaries arrives in Athens. They are meant to sail to Sicily, with the Athenian general Demosthenes, as reinforcements for the Athenian army, but they arrive too late: Demosthenes has already left. Hence, they are sent back; the Athenian commander Diitrephes is told to inflict damage on enemy territory in passing, if possible, and he leads the mercenaries to the small town of Mycalessus, where they butcher not only women, men and children, but even cattle and draft animals, in a truly barbaric frenzy. Again, disaster strikes a school:

καὶ ἐπιπϵσόντϵς διδασκαλϵίῳ παίδων, ὅπϵρ μέγιστον ἦν αὐτόθι καὶ ἄρτι ἔτυχον οἱ παῖδϵς ἐσϵληλυθότϵς, κατέκοψαν πάντας· καὶ ξυμφορὰ τῇ πόλϵι πάσῃ οὐδϵμιᾶς ἥσσων μᾶλλον ἑτέρας ἀδόκητός τϵ ἐπέπϵσϵν αὕτη καὶ δϵινή.

[I]n particular they fell upon a boys’ school, the largest in the town, which the children had just entered, and cut down all of them. And this was a calamity inferior to none that had ever fallen upon a whole city, and beyond any other unexpected and terrible. (Thuc. 7.29.5; tr. C.F. Smith, Loeb)

Thucydides does not provide the number of children who were killed in this massacre, but it is clear that it must have been a sizeable percentage of the boys in this rather small town. If this was the largest school in town, it follows that there must have been at least one more (two more, if we press the use of the superlative: if there had been only two, Thucydides would have used μϵῖζον). By the end of the fifth century BCE, even a backwater such as Mycalessus could be expected to provide an education for a large part of its (male) children.Footnote 21

The very genre of historiography is connected with the advent of writing. As is well known, Hecataeus of Miletus mixes verbs denoting oral utterance and writing in the first sentence of his work (Ἑκαταῖος Μιλήσιος ὧδϵ μυθϵῖται· τάδϵ γράφω, ὥς μοι δοκϵῖ ἀληθέα ϵἶναι, 1 F 1a FGrH).Footnote 22 Herodotus also uses both verbs of speaking and writing when he refers to his own work. Yet it is clear that the text itself was written and that Herodotus expected it to be read; as Wolfgang Rösler states: ‘Herodotus composed the Histories for future readers, with a clear-cut concept and in a continuous process of writing’.Footnote 23 Thucydides inserts references to his writing process into his historical account at regular intervals.

I do not intend to discuss in depth the worn-out topic of the number and percentage of Athenians who were literate. If we want to stay in the theatre of Dionysus: a number of passages presuppose at least some degree of literacy among its spectators. Scenes in (lost) tragedies of Euripides (from his Theseus, fr. 382), Agathon (Telephus, fr. 4) and Theodectes (fr. 6) show illiterate characters describing the shapes of letters; they depend on the audience’s ability to recognize these letters and reconstruct the written words.Footnote 24 References to written documents (such as letters, collections of oracles or testaments)Footnote 25 and metaphors taken from writingFootnote 26 are ubiquitous both in tragedy and comedy and also presuppose familiarity with these types of objects. The scene Thesm. 765–84, which has Euripides’ In-law write on stage and complain about the difficulty of tracing the letter rho, only makes sense if most of the public know what this letter looks like.

The problem of whether legal and democratic proceedings in Athens presupposed literacy at all, and if so, whether we can ascertain the level of literacy needed to function as a citizen, is a vexed question. Recent studies seem to suggest that the demands on citizens became more and more pronounced over the course of the fifth century; by the time of the first performance of the Frogs, average citizens could be expected to have more than mere basic literacy.Footnote 27 The last decades of the fifth century also saw the emergence of professional speechwriters (λογογράφοι): clients would receive written copies of these speeches and learn them by heart.Footnote 28 The practice had become so prevalent that in the first half of the fourth century BCE the sophist Alcidamas emphasizes that speechwriters are most successful when they avoid the impression of written texts (fr. 15.13: τότϵ κάλλιστα γράφϵιν δοκοῦσιν, ὅταν ἥκιστα γϵγραμμένοις ὁμοίους πορίσωνται λόγους): jurors were aware that many litigants had paid a speechwriter and were in fact declaiming written texts, hence avoiding this suspicion would make their pleas appear more spontaneous and authentic.Footnote 29

It is certainly true that the clients of these speechwriters tended to be wealthy individuals: they were more often involved in litigation; they had the means to pay a professional for a persuasive speech. It would thus be unwise to use the emergence of professional speechwriting as evidence that every Athenian citizen or even a large majority was able to read fluently. Nevertheless, we have enough documents demonstrating that literacy was not restricted to a tiny social elite. A particularly striking example is the ostrakon from the Athenian Agora, dated to the middle of the sixth century BCE, in which an unknown (probably Megarian) writer asks an Athenian named Thamneus (if this restoration of the name is correct) to ‘put the saw under the threshold of the garden gate’.Footnote 30 These are not members of an aristocratic elite, but simple citizens, farmers or craftsmen who used writing in their everyday business without hesitation.Footnote 31

As more and more people were able to read, it will come as no surprise that a book market developed. Our evidence is mainly Athenian, but as we will see, books were also exported to other parts of the Greek world. Our earliest testimonies are found in the comic poets. The word βιβλιοπώλης ‘book-seller’ occurs first in comic fragments.Footnote 32 In one of his plays, Eupolis (who died around five years before the first performance of the Frogs) mentions a place ‘where books are sold’ (οὗ τὰ βυβλί’ ὤνια, fr. 327).Footnote 33 This must have been a special section of the marketplace, as is confirmed by the famous passage in Plato’s Apology, set in 399 BCE, in which Socrates mentions that one can buy Anaxagoras’ book ‘for one drachma in the orchestra’ (ἔξϵστιν ἐνίοτϵ ϵἰ πάνυ πολλοῦ δραχμῆς ἐκ τῆς ὀρχήστρας πριαμένοις Σωκράτους καταγϵλᾶν, 26d–e). As we see, Plato considers it safe to assume that all jurors are literate: to imagine that they know nothing about books (οἴϵι αὐτοὺς ἀπϵίρους γραμμάτων) would be a sign of ‘contempt’ (καταφρονϵῖς τῶνδϵ).Footnote 34 I see no reason for assuming that reading a (short) philosophical treatise should be more commonplace than reading a tragedy.

At around the same time, Xenophon provides a fascinating testimony about the book trade: when he and the Greek mercenaries march home after their unsuccessful campaign against the Persian king, they reach Salmydessus on the southwest corner of the Black Sea. The area is infamous for its violent storms.Footnote 35 Thracian wreckers have divided up the coast and plunder the ships that run ashore, but the Greeks find numerous items on the beach, which we may assume the Thracians found to be of no use and had thus left behind:

ἐνταῦθα ηὑρίσκοντο πολλαὶ μὲν κλῖναι, πολλὰ δὲ κιβώτια, πολλαὶ δὲ βίβλοι γϵγραμμέναι, καὶ τἆλλα πολλὰ ὅσα ἐν ξυλίνοις τϵύχϵσι ναύκληροι ἄγουσιν.

Here there were found great numbers of beds and boxes, quantities of written books, and an abundance of all the other articles that shipowners carry in wooden chests. (Xen. An. 7.5.14; tr. C.L. Brownson and J. Dillery, Loeb)

The Greeks reached this part of their itinerary in the winter of 400/399 BCE. A great number of Greek merchant ships sailed this part of the Black Sea to fetch grains and ore. We may assume that to make these trips more lucrative, ship owners looked for goods that they could export to the Black Sea area, most probably to the Greek colonies in this part of the world. The items that Xenophon mentions are typical luxury goods that required specialized craftsmen; they were manufactured in Athens and then shipped to remoter Greek settlements that lacked the capacity to produce such merchandise. As Leighton Reynolds and Nigel Wilson write: ‘the inference seems inescapable that books were an article exported (from Athens?) to the cities of the Euxine coast as early as the year 399 B.C.’.Footnote 36

Xenophon’s description can also help resolve doubts about the nature of the books sold on the Athenian market. It seems possible that Athenian booksellers would not have taken the risky decision to have ready-made books available.Footnote 37 Instead, customers would request that specific texts be copied for them. The word βυβλί(α) in Eupolis fr. 327 (quoted above) can simply mean ‘papyrus roll’ and would not contradict this interpretation. However, Xenophon emphasizes that the rolls in the beached boxes are ‘written books’ (βίβλοι γϵγραμμέναι). Unless we accept an ancient version of ‘print-on-demand publishing’, with readers in the Black Sea area placing orders for certain books, which were then copied in Athens and shipped to them, we must assume that the Athenian βιβλιοπῶλαι simply shipped copies of what they hoped would be interesting for potential customers (maybe Euripides’ Andromeda was a bestseller?).Footnote 38 If this is the case, it is simpler to assume that the same mechanism was at work in their home market in Athens, where they probably had a good grasp of what the public wanted to buy and read. They were thus indeed ‘booksellers’ and not literary agents or brokers who had books copied on demand.

We have little knowledge about the nature of books that Athenian readers might have found attractive. The passage from Plato’s Apology mentions a philosophical treatise by Anaxagoras; as Dionysus shows in the Frogs, Euripides’ tragedies were available as well. The story that the Athenians confiscated and burnt all books written by ProtagorasFootnote 39 (who died around 420 BCE) may be apocryphal, but Plato refers several times to his books (Tht. 152a; 162a, 162e; 166c, 171a; Soph. 232d–e), so they must have been available in Athens. Other sophists, such as Prodicus and Gorgias, and philosophers such as Zeno of Elea also circulated written texts of their works.Footnote 40 Plato Comicus (in his Phaon, performed 13 years after the Frogs) mentions a ‘cookbook by Philoxenus’ (Φιλοξένου … ὀψαρτυσία, fr. 189.4) that the speaker wants to ‘read for himself’ (διϵλθϵῖν … πρὸς ἐμαυτόν). In what is probably our earliest reference to the recreational reading of literature, the chorus in Euripides’ Erectheus (first performed in the late 420s) imagines retirement from the toils of war spent ‘unfolding the voice of the tablets through which the wise are renowned’ (δέλτων τ’ ἀναπτύσσοιμι γῆρυν | ἃν σοφοὶ κλέονται, fr. 369.6–7), which is a metaphorical way of saying that they want to read the wisdom of ancient poets.Footnote 41 In Euripides’ Hippolytus, when the nurse refers to the mythical and poetical tradition, she calls it ‘the writings of the ancients’ (ὅσοι μὲν οὖν γραφάς τϵ τῶν παλαιτέρων | ἔχουσιν αὐτοί τ’ ϵἰσὶν ἐν μούσαις ἀϵί, 451–52);Footnote 42 in l. 954 of the same play, Theseus refers to Orphic books. This evidence does not amount to much, but it shows that a variety of texts must have been available on the book market at the end of the fifth century BCE.Footnote 43

IV. Reperforming and rewriting the Frogs?

The evidence we have seen so far demonstrates that Aristophanes and his audience were very much aware of cultural developments produced by the emergence of literacy and the availability of written texts. Not only does this show that the depiction of Dionysus reading a tragedy in the form of a book roll would have been compatible with their cultural expectations; it also means that for the playwright and his spectators, tragedy was undergoing momentous changes. These changes became especially clear when Euripides and Sophocles both died within a few months in 406/5. Their disappearance coincided with the availability of written texts and thus with a continuous presence of their works in the minds of Athenian audiences. There is certainly no necessary connection between these two events, but their coincidence made them more consequential. Aristophanes’ Frogs can be read as a reaction to these important events. Unfortunately, some nagging questions about the composition of the play and the earliest stages of its textual transmission cast some doubt on this understanding of the Frogs. It will be necessary to provide a very brief summary of these problems.

The first issue concerns the unusual success of the Frogs: hypothesis I.3 informs us that ‘the play was so admired because of its parabasis that it was reperformed, according to Dicaearchus’ (οὕτω δὲ ἐθαυμάσθη τὸ δρᾶμα διὰ τὴν ἐν αὐτῷ παράβασιν, ὥστϵ καὶ ἀνϵδιδάχθη, ὥς φησι Δικαίαρχος); the Life of Aristophanes (T 1.35–9 Kassel–Austin) adds that the poet was ‘crowned with a wreath of sacred olive’ (ἐστϵφανώθη θαλλῷ τῆς ἱϵρᾶς ἐλαίας). Sommerstein reminds us that these are not two independent testimonies, but can be traced back to the same source, Dicaearchus’ book about musical competitions.Footnote 44 Scholars disagree about the date when this reperformance took place: some think that it ‘received its second performance under the administration of the Lenaia of 405, before the same audience and the same judges’;Footnote 45 others see a more considerable lapse of time before the reperformance and maintain that it must have occurred after democracy had been re-established, at the Dionysia of 400.Footnote 46 The most recent contributions to the debate opt for the year 404.Footnote 47 The date is relevant for our interpretation: if the play was reperformed right away, it is reasonable to assume that the text was unchanged. If, on the other hand, months or even years went by before this second performance, Aristophanes might have had time to rethink his text and introduce modifications reflecting a new political, social and even cultural situation. It is unlikely that the years between 405 and 400 would have brought about profound changes in Aristophanes’ view of contemporary tragedy, but events since the first performance (the catastrophic end of the Peloponnesian War, the drastic changes in the political landscape under the Thirty, the ensuing civil war and the eventual re-establishment of democracy) may have reinforced the impression that Athens was undergoing a cultural revolution.

However, there are no clear indications that the text of the play was modified after its first performance. One scene that scholars have often identified as the most likely candidate for introducing second thoughts after the end of the war is the ‘political’ advice provided by Aeschylus and Euripides in ll. 1417–66. The passage was often felt to be lacking in coherence, hence critics assumed that two versions, both written by Aristophanes for the two performances, had become intertwined.Footnote 48 None of the suggested rearrangements has carried conviction.Footnote 49 The passage as a whole seems to be characterized by a pointed absurdity that renders futile all attempts to introduce logical coherence. Hence, some recent contributions have provided arguments to accept the transmitted text,Footnote 50 and I tend to agree: there is no clear indication that the text of the Frogs has been rewritten or edited for this supposed second performance. Both the parabasis and the advice given by Aeschylus and Euripides contain numerous items that would have been irrelevant or obsolete or even unattractive after 405. Occam’s razor thus suggests that the transmitted text of the play is the text of the first performance in (more or less) its original state. The attitude towards reading and literacy is thus characteristic of the date of the first performance in 405 BCE.

The second issue is more important to my argument, and may be even more difficult to decide: is the death of Sophocles an integral part of the Frogs’ plan, or did Aristophanes begin to write his play before he learned about his passing and have to adapt his text as he went? As is well known, Sophocles is mentioned three times in the Frogs: in ll. 76–82, Dionysus answers Herakles’ question as to why he does not fetch Sophocles rather than Euripides from Hades; in ll. 786–94, a slave of Pluto explains what happened to the ‘chair of tragedy’, occupied by Aeschylus, when Sophocles arrived in Hades;Footnote 51 in ll. 1515–19, the parting Aeschylus entrusts the chair to Sophocles, whom he considers ‘second in art’ (σοφίᾳ κρίνω δϵύτϵρον). Many modern readers have felt that these references do not do justice to Sophocles’ successful career; in the 19th century, scholars first explained this surprising reticence by looking into Aristophanes’ writing process:Footnote 52 they speculated that, when Sophocles died in 406, Aristophanes had already written most of the text of the Frogs. He had no time to rewrite the entire comedy; what he could do was insert a few lines here and there mentioning Sophocles. This would be an important limitation to my argument: if Aristophanes had indeed (all but) finished a first version of the Frogs before Sophocles passed away, my view that the deaths of Euripides and Sophocles were perceived as an important turning point in the development of Athenian tragedy and that this perception played a momentous role for the composition and the reception of the Frogs becomes less compelling.

However, scholars who advocate this view have failed to provide a convincing picture of what the structure of the play would have been before Aristophanes made the alleged changes in the late stages of composition. Despite claims that in many cases it is possible to determine exactly which lines have been added to the (almost) finished script, interpreters disagree on the place and extent of such insertions.Footnote 53 Their divergent speculations demonstrate that being inconsistent should not be explained by later insertions and rewriting, but should rather be understood as a regular prerogative of Aristophanean comedy.Footnote 54 Finding ‘imperfect fits’ between ‘line n’ and ‘line n + 1’Footnote 55 and thus discovering potential layers of Aristophanes’ writing process may be an entertaining parlour game, but it will not provide reliable results. If Aristophanes was really surprised by the death, in times of war and hardship, of a poet who was no less than 90 years old, and if he had to adapt his script when this ‘unexpected’ event took place, this adaptation was not a matter of merely adding a few lines here and a couple of remarks there.Footnote 56 The exact date of Sophocles’ death is far from certain;Footnote 57 we have no clear idea of when Aristophanes would have finished and submitted his script of Frogs to have it rehearsed by the chorus and the actors and when he would have had time and opportunity to make changes to it.

It makes more sense, then, to assume that Aristophanes took Sophocles’ death into account from the very beginning of his writing process.Footnote 58 This assumption gains in probability when we consider that the reason for Dionysus’ journey into Hades is his feeling that there are no good tragic writers left (ll. 72, 96–97). Would Aristophanes have made this claim if he expected Sophocles to be alive at the time of the performance, perhaps sitting in the theatre of Dionysus? The plot of the Frogs is set up in a way that presupposes a radical change in Athenian tragedy: the contest between Euripides and Aeschylus revolves not only around questions of aesthetics and dramatic technique, but also around civic values, morals, political expediency and poetic fertility.Footnote 59 The impression that tragedy was undergoing these fundamental changes was reinforced, perhaps created, by the almost simultaneous disappearances of Euripides and Sophocles. The decisive factor for relegating Sophocles to the background was comic effectiveness: Aristophanes found the contrast between Euripides and Aeschylus much easier to exploit.Footnote 60 But Sophocles’ invisibility is not a mere afterthought; it is the main reason for Dionysus’ journey to Hades because the tragic scene in Athens can indeed be perceived as abandoned, ‘for some [poets] are gone, and those that live are bad’ (οἱ μὲν γὰρ οὐκέτ’ ϵἰσίν, οἱ δ’ ὄντϵς κακοί, 73).Footnote 61

We have to be careful here: of course, Aristophanes had no access to a history of Greek literature which declared that 405 was the end of classical tragedy. Aeschylus, Euripides and Sophocles had passed away, but for all he knew, another genius might submit a superb tragic trilogy next year; tragedies continued to be written and performed in the fourth century BCE.Footnote 62 Even if he was pessimistic about the future, Aristophanes probably could not imagine that one year on from the first performance of the Frogs, Athens would have lost the Peloponnesian War and be headed for a regime change and ensuing civil war, political upheavals that did indeed mark the end of the world as he knew it.

V. Nostalgia in the late fifth century BCE

And yet, we have evidence indicating that the Athenians were (or would soon become) aware that the deaths of these three extraordinary playwrights was an important break. First, there is the note in the Life of Aeschylus (Test. A 12) and some other testimoniesFootnote 63 that the Athenians allowed reperformance of his tragedies ‘after his death’ (μϵτὰ <τὸν> θάνατον αὐτοῦ). Unfortunately, the text does not tell us when exactly after Aeschylus’ death this was, and recent scholarship has been increasingly sceptical about Aeschylean reperformance.Footnote 64 We are on safer ground with an inscription mentioning that in 386 BCE an ‘old drama’ (παλαιὸν δρᾶμα) was reperformed for the first time: not even 20 years after the first performance of the Frogs, the impression that a classical past had to be preserved and revived became official policy.Footnote 65 Patricia Easterling is certainly right to call this ‘the single most important date in the history of fourth-century tragedy’:Footnote 66 from now on, the glorious past, the peerless creations of the great playwrights of the preceding century became a permanent part of the landscape of tragic theatre, which had previously been (almost) exclusively based on novel creations.

We can speculate that defeat in the war and the ensuing turmoil, the loss of the empire and the fleet, that great instrument of Athenian power, made Athenians especially aware that the famous 50 years between Salamis and the beginning of the Peloponnesian War had indeed been a golden age in Athenian life. This nostalgia is already visible during the war itself: when Eupolis, in his Demes (around 412), has the greatest politicians of the past come back to life and right everything that is wrong in contemporary Athens, the yearning for past greatness is clearly visible. Reperforming and reading ‘classical’ tragedy was part of this yearning for a glorified past, as became evident some time later, in the middle of the fourth century, when Lycurgus instituted what we may call a ‘cultural policy’ that included setting up statues of the three ‘classical’ tragedians in the theatre of Dionysus and establishing official versions of the texts:Footnote 67 tragedy was part of the great past of which Athens was proud and which it sought to resurrect.

It is no exaggeration, then, to claim that an apprehension of this break and a foretaste of this nostalgia was in the air in 405. After the catastrophic failure of the Sicilian Expedition, a series of military disasters and the ensuing political upheavals (such as the failed oligarchic coup of 411), spectators must have been pessimistic about the city’s future. Sophocles and Euripides had been rivals and staples of the theatre for several decades; they had won the competition numerous times, and their tragedies were remembered, quoted and discussed. When both passed away, in a period when Athens was fighting for its very existence, this must have been perceived as a blow by both intellectuals and ordinary Athenians.Footnote 68 The theatre might recover, Athens might still win the war and be secure and rich once again, but a great period was irrevocably over. Aristophanes’ Frogs thus presented a vivid expression of what many members of the audience must have felt.

VI. Reperformances of Aeschylus?

Even before Lycurgus’ move to establish public control over the written texts of Athenian tragedy, the nostalgia for and resurrection of ‘classical’ tragedy relied on writing; reperformances would not have been possible without written copies of these plays. We have seen that reading and writing are mentioned several times in the Frogs. Moreover, many interpreters have argued that Aristophanes’ citations of Aeschylean plays, most notably in the Frogs, but also in other comedies, are clear indications that the texts of these tragedies were available to him.Footnote 69 However, some scholars have claimed that Aristophanes’ citations can be traced back to reperformances of Aeschylus (see section IV); whenever he refers to a tragedy by Aeschylus (who, we should remember, left Athens and died several years before Aristophanes was born), it means that he and his audience had recently witnessed such a reperformance.Footnote 70 A number of arguments (many of them collected by Zachary Biles)Footnote 71 make this assumption quite improbable; here are some of the most important ones: (1) if we take every reference, quotation and parody of Aeschylean tragedies as pointing to reperformance, we have to assume 23 such reperformances during the 20 years between 425 and 405 (reperformances, we should remember, for which there is not a shred of evidence); (2) the sheer number and the verbatim precision of citations in Frogs cannot be explained by the memory of reperformed plays;Footnote 72 (3) given the availability and diffusion of written texts, there is no reason to assume that Aristophanes was unable to make use of them. If people could ‘copy out’ passages from Morsimus (and go to hell for it), there is no reason to deny the possibility that Aristophanes could do the same for the more popular Aeschylus. Moreover, I would add that the passage Acharnians 9–11,Footnote 73 in which Dicaeopolis narrates that he was shocked when a tragedy of Theognis was staged while he was ‘expecting Aeschylus’ (προσδοκῶν τὸν Αἰσχύλον, 9–11), is not a straightforward testimony for reperformance and has been explained in several ways.Footnote 74

VII. The Frogs as an example of canonization

I will now show that the changes and developments we have seen so far should be understood in the light of Assmann’s ideas about the emergence of cultural memory. While the focus of his study is on earlier (the Homeric epics) and later (philology in Alexandria) periods of Greek culture, Athens at the turn of the fifth century BCE offers a clear example of the momentous cultural changes that characterize processes of canonization and the establishment of a great ‘classical’ past. I want to summarize the areas in which Frogs can be understood as an early example of Greek canonization in five points:

  1. (1) We have seen that Aristophanes emphasizes the gap between Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides on the one hand, and in contrast to the lesser tragedians who are still active: ‘They’re small fry, chatterboxes, they twitter like swallows and ruin the art …; they’re gone right away after one piss against tragedy’ (ἐπιφυλλίδϵς ταῦτ’ ἐστὶ καὶ στωμύλματα, | χϵλιδόνων μουσϵῖα, λωβηταὶ τέχνης, | ἃ φροῦδα θᾶττον, ἢν μόνον χορὸν λάβῃ, | ἅπαξ προσουρήσαντα τῇ τραγῳδίᾳ, 92–95). While the art of the three great playwrights lives on and can still be enjoyed, these epigones are ephemeral and will be forgotten (they will soon be ‘out’, φροῦδα). The fourth century would confirm what Aristophanes and his audience intuited: these three writers were indeed exceptional and unlike later tragic poets. Their extraordinary quality and the sense of the tragic stage’s emptiness after their disappearance contributed to creating the conviction that they constituted the great classical past of tragedy. As Assmann puts it: ‘The emergence of the classics altered the tense of culture. The “festive” distinction between primal time and the present was now joined by another division—that between past and present, the ancient and the modern. The past was the time of the “classics”’.Footnote 75 Later developments in the fourth centuryFootnote 76 will bring this process to completion: when Heraclides Ponticus writes a work called On the three tragic poets (Πϵρὶ τῶν τριῶν τραγῳδοποιῶν), it is clear that Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides are now seen as a group that embodies the very essence of tragedy. In Assmann’s words: ‘The most important step toward canonization is the act of “closure.” This draws a definitive line between the canonical and the apocryphal, and between the primary and the secondary’.Footnote 77 An impressive example of this act of closure can be seen in an epigram that the tragic poet Astydamas is said to have composed around the middle of the fourth century BCE in which he expresses his wish to compete with these masters (ἐκρίθην … παράμιλλος), a wish that will never be fulfilled because they belong to the past (χρόνῳ προέχουσ[ι]).Footnote 78 This is a sense of belatedness typical of post-classical writers, when the canon has been established and newcomers have the impression of being left out. Dionysus in Aristophanes’ Frogs is a precursor of this classical closure when he declares that all living tragic poets are worthless.

  2. (2) Another point that is typical of this classical closure is the care and attention that are expended on establishing, securing and interpreting the text of the great poets. We have seen that the tragedians’ texts began circulating at the end of the fifth century. Lycurgus’ reforms were aimed at protecting the authenticity of the tragic texts by forbidding any deviation from the official Athenian copy in public performances.Footnote 79 As far as we know, serious scholarly work on the texts of the tragedians did not begin until the third century, in the Alexandrian Library, where scholars such as Aristophanes of Byzantium, Aristarchus and later Didymus discussed questions of their establishment and interpretation. Assmann’s description of Jewish culture according to Josephus is certainly valid for the work of these Alexandrian philologists: ‘continuous exegesis fulfills the function of institutionalizing cultural continuity that in the pagan world is fulfilled by ritual repetition’.Footnote 80 This is not yet the case in Aristophanes’ Athens: there is certainly a considerable distance between, on the one hand, someone copying out ‘passages from Morsimus’ or Aristophanes using manuscripts of Aeschylus and Euripides to write the competition scene between his characters, and, on the other hand, the work of these ancient philologists, but the importance of written texts for personal reading had begun to develop at the end of the fifth century.

  3. (3) Biles has pointed out that the competition scene in Hades can be described as an enactment of the tragic agōn, a ‘theater of the dead’.Footnote 81 It is thus an example of what Assmann calls the transition ‘from ritual to textual continuity’.Footnote 82 Tragedy had, for the greater part of the fifth century, existed as a performance embedded in a ritual, the Dionysiac festivals. Audiences had to wait every year for the arrival of these ritual occasions to see tragedies, and of course these were new tragedies written by living poets. As this ritual repetition is complemented (and eventually replaced) by textual ‘presentification’, the time structure of cultural memory undergoes important changes:Footnote 83 ‘To reconnect with the meaning of written cultural texts, you do not have to wait for the next performance; you simply have to read them’.Footnote 84 The Frogs shows an early stage of this change: Dionysus is not content with simply reading Euripides, he yearns to see his tragedies presented on stage, and he wants more tragedies by his favourite writer, not just to reread the available ones. Reperformances of classical tragedies after 386 show the same mixture of textual continuity and ritual re-enactment (as does, arguably, the fact that even today theatres stage these classical texts, including Aristophanes). But the fact that the competition in Frogs quotes from numerous tragedies and that Aeschylus and Euripides present their ‘collected works’ shows that the transition towards textual continuity has begun. It is thus right on target when Nick Lowe points out that the intellectual relevance of the Frogs is due to ‘the historical moment when an author becomes his books, and the wider question of what use the books of dead authors are to the living’.Footnote 85 And, of course, these reperformances would not have been possible if there had not been authoritative texts of the classics.

  4. (4) One crucial element of the extended comparison between Aeschylus and Euripides is the fact that they are very different poets, or, to be more precise: that Euripides has introduced fundamental changes into the established genre of tragedy; his character repeatedly emphasizes that he has made Athenian audiences ‘cleverer’ and ‘more alert’ (see 957–58: νοϵῖν, ὁρᾶν, ξυνιέναι, στρέφϵιν ἐρᾶν, τϵχνάζϵιν, | κάχ’ ὑποτοπϵῖσθαι, πϵρινοϵῖν ἅπαντα) while Aeschylus’ spectators were ‘fools’ (μώρους, 910) and ‘naive’ (ἠλίθιος, 917); Euripides claims that he has put tragedy on a diet to make it ‘leaner’ (ἴσχνανα μὲν πρώτιστον αὐτὴν καὶ τὸ βάρος ἀφϵῖλον, 941). Poetry had certainly changed and developed in Greece before the fifth century, but the annual dramatic competition in Athens had led audiences more than ever to expect innovation. Poets were no longer content to repeat what had been transmitted to them, but were looking for new approaches and new angles on the mythological stories they brought to the stage (the fairly limited number of myths that were transformed into tragedies entailed that poets would often bring the same stories to the stage; this must have heightened the audience’s expectation of and attention to innovative features in their respective treatments of the stories). The availability of written texts must have exacerbated this pressure on poets: when hundreds of plays could be read and compared, every new piece was in competition not just with its direct rivals at the festival, but with a huge number of texts that were present in the minds (and on the book shelves?) of at least some members of the audience. This new situation is depicted when Euripides is said to possess books (above, section II): a ‘modern’ poet has to work with constant regard for the literary tradition in the form of written books and to engage in an intertextual dialogue with his predecessors and rivals.Footnote 86 We have seen that Aristophanes himself is ‘modern’ in this sense (see n.72 above). Assmann describes this process (in a somewhat simplified manner) as follows: ‘The writing poet … saw it [tradition] as something external; he felt the need inside to express himself in opposition to what had come down to him’.Footnote 87

  5. (5) My final point concerns the wider social function of this process of canonization. Recent scholarship has repeatedly pointed out that Lycurgus’ attention to the text of the tragedians and his plans for making the theatre of Dionysus more monumental were more than personal hobby horses: they were political decisions, aimed at emphasizing the greatness of Athens’ past and its control of these texts.Footnote 88 Classical tragedy was thus an important part of Athenian collective identity; in a difficult political environment, it allowed citizens to feel proud of their city. Establishing the tragic canon became an important part of civic identity, a process that Assmann describes for the canon in Jewish culture.Footnote 89 As is well known, the Museion in Alexandria had a similar function with its library of all the Greek texts the Ptolemies could lay their hands on.Footnote 90 Again, we see that this process has begun in Frogs: what started out as a personal quest to restore Dionysus’ favourite poet turns into a public endeavour; what counts in the end is the moral and political utility of tragedy for contemporary Athens.Footnote 91

VIII. Conclusion

As I hope to have shown, Aristophanes’ Frogs can be read as a document illustrating the process of canonization and classical closure that has been analysed by Assmann. We have to be precise here: these are small details in a larger story. Assmann is certainly right to focus on what he calls ‘the hypoleptic process as an institutionalization of authority and criticism’,Footnote 92 which he sees exemplified in the work of the Alexandrian philologists. This process was a change that took a long time to reach its conclusion, and Aristophanes’ Frogs demonstrates that some of its elements can be observed at the end of the fifth century BCE. And I would go even further: some specifics of the historical, political and cultural environment of the Frogs were significant influences on the beginning of Greek canonization.

To sum up the most important of these factors, we can first point to the serendipitous fact that Athens produced three outstanding tragedians in a relatively brief time span. The vicissitudes of textual transmission do not allow us today to compare them to their less successful colleagues, but we have seen that soon after their deaths, contemporaries regarded them as exceptional. The deaths of two of those great playwrights came at a time when Athenians had reason to look back at this period with some nostalgia: their political and military situation did not offer much cause for optimism, and many Athenians may have feared and felt that Athens’ best days lay in the past. This nostalgia coincided with the availability, for the first time in the history of Greek culture, of a large archive of written texts that allowed comparison and resurrection of this great past, be it in private readings or in reperformances. Both roads for a classical revival were taken: reperformance may have had a more palpable impact in the fourth century to keep classical tragedy alive and to drive home its importance for Athenian collective identity; in the long term, it was the textual tradition that was to prove more effectual for ensuring the long-term reception of Athenian tragedy (as is already hinted at in Aristotle’s famous remark that the quality of a tragedy can be appreciated in reading: Poet. 1462a12–13 διὰ γὰρ τοῦ ἀναγινώσκϵιν φανϵρὰ ὁποία τίς ἐστιν).

Another important yet contingent factor for the beginning of canonization is the metatheatrical aspect of comedy. While references to the stage and to other texts are the exception in tragedy, comedy displays its status as theatrical performance and refers to numerous other texts, especially to tragedies;Footnote 93 moreover, comic poets also referred to their own works and to each other in what Biles has called ‘intertextual biography’.Footnote 94 This metatheatrical element is strong in the Frogs, where the first two lines refer to the ‘usual jokes’ (of rivals) and to the ‘spectators’ (τι τῶν ϵἰωθότων … οἱ θϵώμϵνοι). This aspect of comedy helped create a space where thinking and talking about tragedy (and poetry in general) were accepted and important activities; this opened up a world of literature where poets and texts, whether contemporary or past, entered into an extended dialogue.Footnote 95 This (meta)theatrical space in which tragedies that had been performed on separate occasions were put in dialogue with each other and were constantly parodied and mocked, but also quoted, brought to life and evaluated, was not only a playful world of intertextuality, but also a venue where poetry’s value for political ideas and civic identity could be discussed.

Scholars have repeatedly warned that our view of the history of tragedy may be ‘distorted’ by Aristophanes’ Frogs,Footnote 96 and there is certainly some truth to this warning: the play is a comic snapshot of cultural life in Athens, and we should not take all of its claims at face value. Yet in many ways it offers us important insights into the process of canonization, the transition from ritual to textual continuity and the establishment of collective memory in Greece. Dionysus the reader of Euripides’ Andromeda is thus not an incongruous anachronism, but rather a key witness of important changes in media and culture and of the creation of a specific form of cultural memory.

Acknowledgements

This article has had a long life, starting as a talk that I presented at Basel, Berlin, Freiburg, Eichstätt, Leeds, Utrecht and Stanford; I am grateful for the feedback and the questions I received on these occasions. Jan Assmann read a draft and approved of my conclusions. I want to thank Peter von Möllendorff, who read an earlier draft and made me rethink a number of points. My thanks also go to the anonymous readers for JHS, who provided substantial and helpful comments.

Footnotes

1 Aristophanes’ text is quoted from the OCT by N.G. Wilson (Reference Wilson2007); translations are from Sommerstein (Reference Sommerstein1996).

4 See, for example, Burns (Reference Burns1981) 380–81; Thomas (Reference Thomas1989) 19–20; Slater (Reference Slater and Worthington1996) 103–04. Ford (Reference Ford and Yunis2003) 30–34 is carefully balanced; Harriott (Reference Harriott1962) appears to argue along similar lines to Woodbury. I should note that Woodbury presents a more nuanced view in Woodbury (Reference Woodbury, Cropp, Fantham and Scully1986) = (Reference Woodbury1991) 454–71.

5 See Assmann (Reference Assmann2011); the original German version was published in 1992.

6 Assman (Reference Assmann2011) 2.

7 Assman (Reference Assmann2011) 37.

8 Assman (Reference Assmann2011) 240.

10 Rogers (Reference Rogers1919) gives a selection of older interpretations; Dover (Reference Dover1993) 34 n.68 provides a systematic overview of what the words could possibly mean. Certainty is impossible to obtain.

11 Sommerstein (Reference Sommerstein1996) 256.

12 See Dover (Reference Dover1993) 34: the line says ‘a “book”, not “a library”’.

13 Obryk (Reference Obryk2014) 111 claims that ‘Aristophanes presents a clash between two generations of poets who are members of two traditions: the oral and the literate one’. I would not go quite as far (as will become clear further on, Aeschylus is by no means seen as exclusively ‘oral’), but overall, the observation is accurate. See also section III below for references to books of poetry in Euripides’ tragedies.

14 Plato Com. fr. 136 could be spoken by an admirer of Morsimus, but the context is insufficient to be certain: ‘Touch Morsimus just once with even the tip <of your finger>, and I will trample right back all over your Sthenelus’ (ἅψαι μόνον σὺ κἂν ἄκρῳ τοῦ Μορσίμου, | ἵνα σου πατήσω τὸν Σθένϵλον μάλ’ αὐτίκα); translation by I.C. Storey.

15 Dover (Reference Dover1993) ad loc. refers to Pheidippides’ recital at Nub. 1369–72 and Ephippus fr. 16.1–3 (several decades after Aristophanes’ Frogs), where the speaker mentions learning tragedies and speeches (ῥήσϵις) by heart. The middle ἐξϵγράψατο does not imply the use of a specialized writer, as Sommerstein’s translation ‘had someone copy out’ suggests (Henderson’s Loeb also translates ‘had someone copy out a speech by Morsimus’), but should rather be understood as meaning ‘copied out for himself’, as Tucker (Reference Tucker1906) ad loc. points out; cf. Av. 982 ἐξϵγραψάμην with Dunbar (Reference Dunbar1995) ad loc. and Pl. Tht. 143a–b ἐγραψάμην (Eucleides ‘writes down for himself’ the conversation between Socrates, Theaetetus and Theodorus). In the logic of Herakles’ list, it is certainly better to envisage these ‘sinners’ as doing something themselves (like the ones striking their parents or cheating a prostitute) than having it done by somebody else.

17 On the practice of taking excerpts, see Nieddu (Reference Nieddu2004) 351–56.

18 Wallace (Reference Wallace and Eder1995) focuses on the fourth century BCE, but has some good remarks on the beginning of this process in the latter half of the fifth century.

19 See Immerwahr (Reference Immerwahr and Henderson1964) and Immerwahr (Reference Immerwahr1973); on the Douris vase and the school scene depicted on it, see most recently Sider (Reference Sider2010).

20 The mistrust of these accounts shown by Harris (Reference Harris1989) 57–59 seems unjustified to me and is only a form of special pleading against evidence that does not support his argument.

21 As is still the case today, the combination of school children and natural or man-made disaster elicits a strong reaction in most readers. The two accounts mentioned above have the advantage of being provided by contemporaries. I add here a very brief summary of two similar narratives in later writers, which can always be suspected of seeing fifth-century Greece through the lens of their own culture, thus possibly giving a misleading impression. Plutarch, in Themistocles 10.5, commends the Troizenians who took in the wives and children of the Athenians when they had to leave their city in 480 BCE, before the battle of Salamis, for not only providing food and shelter, but also covering the wages for their teachers (ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν διδασκάλοις τϵλϵῖν μισθούς). At the beginning of the fifth century BCE, the Olympic boxer Cleomedes lost his mind because he was deprived of victory by a referee’s decision, destroyed a school in Astypalaea and killed 60 children in it (Paus. 6.9.6; Plut. Rom. 28.5–6).

22 There is thorough discussion of the relation between literacy and the beginnings of historiography in Bertelli (Reference Bertelli and Luraghi2001) and Fowler (Reference Fowler and Luraghi2001).

24 See Blanck (Reference Blanck1992) 25–26 and Slater (Reference Slater, Worthington and Foley2002). I add, somewhat hesitantly, Callias’ Letter Tragedy. We do not know enough about the text, its genre, its date or its mechanism to move beyond speculation, but it may have been a comedy that introduced similar playful descriptions of letters; see Rosen (Reference Rosen1999); Ruijgh (Reference Ruijgh2001) and Smith (Reference Smith2003) (who is sceptical about the conclusions we can infer from the evidence).

25 Written documents play central roles in Sophocles’ Trach. or Euripides’ Hipp. and IT, to mention only a few examples; on writing in the tragedians, see Easterling (Reference Easterling1985) 3–6. For comedy, see, for example, the extended joke on written collections of oracles with the repeated punchline λαβὲ τὸ βυβλίον in Birds 974–89.

26 For examples, see Aeschylus, Supp. 179 with Johansen and Whittle (Reference Johansen and Whittle1980) ad loc.; for Near Eastern antecedents, cf. West (Reference West1997) 560–62.

27 See Pébarthe (Reference Pébarthe2006) and Missiou (Reference Missiou2011); Hedrick (Reference Hedrick, Osborne and Hornblower1994) and Thomas (Reference Thomas, Johnson and Parker2009) are more sceptical. The evidence collected in Morgan (Reference Morgan1999) mostly concerns the earlier half of the fourth century BCE.

28 See Edwards (Reference Edwards2000) for convincing arguments that Antiphon started this line of business in the 430s or 420s. On logographers and writing, see further Todd (Reference Todd1993) 95 and Usher (Reference Usher1976).

29 On this passage in Alcidamas, see Gagarin (Reference Gagarin and Worthington1994) 60–62.

30 See Lang (Reference Lang1974) 8–9.

31 When Aristophanes, in his Knights of 424, depicts the sausage-seller as an abhorrently vulgar character, he makes him say that he has no higher education, just rudimentary knowledge of reading and writing (οὐδὲ μουσικὴν ἐπίσταμαι | πλὴν γραμμάτων, καὶ ταῦτα μέντοι κακὰ κακῶς, 188–89). Eupolis, in his Maricas of 422, appears to have made a similar (or even identical) joke about Hyperbolus (fr. 208; cf. the reference to writing in fr. 192.14–19).

32 Aristomenes fr. 10; Nicophon fr. 19. Both poets are younger contemporaries of Aristophanes.

33 Cf. Olson (Reference Olson2014) 17 on this passage, with further references.

34 The speaker of Cratinus fr. 128 (from his Laws) emphasizes that he does not know how to read and write. Is the audience supposed to laugh at this simpleton? Lack of context does not allow for any firm conclusions, but I would very tentatively suggest that this is the case, in the light of passages such as those quoted in n.31 above.

35 Cf. Hipponax fr. 115.5–8 W; Strabo 1.3.4; Stronk (Reference Stronk1986–1987).

36 Reynolds and Wilson (Reference Reynolds and Wilson1990) 244.

37 I thank my colleagues who suggested this in discussions of this paper.

38 But, on Black Sea trade and traders, see Lamont Reference Lamont2023; the evidence of letters suggests that sometimes merchants took orders for specific items.

39 Diog. Laert. 9.52 = DK 80 A1; Cic. Nat. D. 1.63 = DK 80 A23; Hesychius in schol. on Pl. Resp. 600c = DK 80 A3.

40 The evidence is collected and discussed in Thomas (Reference Thomas and Yunis2003) 164–73. It may be significant that in Aristophanes fr. 506, ‘Prodicus’ and ‘a book’ appear to be almost interchangeable (τοῦτον τὸν ἄνδρ’ ἢ βιβλίον διέφθορϵν | ἢ Πρόδικος).

42 Barrett (Reference Barrett1964) ad loc. shows that books, not paintings, are meant.

43 See Thomas (Reference Thomas and Yunis2003) 170: ‘Written texts were evidently available in increasing numbers by all kinds of intellectuals, poets, sophists, and philosophers’.

45 Russo (Reference Russo1994) 203; cf. van Leeuwen (Reference Leeuwen1896) viii.

46 Allen (Reference Allen1932).

47 Salviat (Reference Salviat, Étienne, Le Dinahet and Yon1989); Dover (Reference Dover1993) 73–75; Sommerstein (Reference Sommerstein, Sommerstein, Halliwell, Henderson and Zimmermann1993) ∼ Sommerstein (Reference Sommerstein1996) 21–22; MacDowell (Reference MacDowell1995) 297–99. On the difficult question of potential political implications of the decree (was Aristophanes an unwilling or even willing accessory to the destruction of democracy?), see Salviat (Reference Salviat, Étienne, Le Dinahet and Yon1989), Arnott (Reference Arnott1991) and Hose (Reference Hose1995) 173–81; but cf. Rosen (Reference Rosen2015), who is sceptical about the purported political reasons for this reperformance.

48 The bibliography is immense; the table of scholarly suggestions at von Möllendorff (Reference Möllendorff1996–1997) 142–43 gives a clear impression of the divergent opinions. Even the most recent editor of Aristophanes sounds somewhat dejected when he analyses the situation: Wilson (Reference Wilson2007) 183.

49 Erbse (Reference Erbse1975) 57–58 rightly criticizes some proposals for combining rearrangements and the assumption of lacunae, pointing out that they go beyond what is methodologically sound.

50 See especially von Möllendorff (Reference Möllendorff1996–1997) 142–49, Willi (Reference Willi2002) 17–18.

51 Our understanding of the passage is bedevilled by the difficulty of determining the referent of ἐκϵῖνος in line 788; see the exchange of arguments in Stevens (Reference Stevens1955), Kells (Reference Kells1964) and Stevens (Reference Stevens1966). Wilson (Reference Wilson2007) 172 is pessimistic: ‘I doubt if it is possible to solve this puzzle’.

52 See Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (Reference Wilamowitz-Moellendorff1895) 1.2–3 and van Leeuwen (Reference Leeuwen1896) vi–vii.

53 See the latest contributions, Weißenberger (Reference Weißenberger2008) and Sommerstein (Reference Sommerstein and Marshall2012) 115–16; there is a good summary of scholarly contributions up to 1960 in Russo (Reference Russo1961) 97–99.

54 See the classical treatment in Süss (Reference Süss1954) and Dover (Reference Dover1993) 8–9.

55 Sommerstein (Reference Sommerstein and Marshall2012) 115–16.

56 This becomes clear when one looks at the attempt to distinguish between two plans for the Frogs in Drexler (Reference Drexler1927): almost every part of the text remains untouched; in the end, it becomes clear that the hypothetical rewriting of an earlier version encompassed almost every aspect of the drama.

57 See Müller (Reference Müller1995); Weißenberger (Reference Weißenberger2008) 52–54.

58 As, for example, is argued by Rademacher (Reference Rademacher1967) 254–56 and Schwinge (Reference Schwinge and Ercolani2002) 28–29.

59 On this last aspect, whose importance is easily overlooked, see Dickerson (Reference Dickerson1974) 186–88.

60 This point has been made repeatedly; see Rademacher (Reference Rademacher1967) 254; Dover (Reference Dover1993) 9; MacDowell (Reference MacDowell1995) 288. On the extended relationship between Aristophanes and Euripides, see Schwinge (Reference Schwinge and Ercolani2002).

61 A quotation of Euripides’ Oeneus (fr. 565.2).

62 Easterling (Reference Easterling, Sommerstein, Halliwell, Henderson and Zimmermann1993) is a forceful reminder of the continuity of tragic performances.

63 See below, n.73.

64 See the careful analysis of the available evidence in Biles (Reference Biles2006–2007); his view is accepted by Hanink and Uhlig (Reference Hanink, Uhlig and Constantinidis2017) 65. Reperformance of Aeschylean tragedies is a point to which I will come back; see below, n.70.

65 IG II2 2318.1009–11 = DID A 1.201 TrGF; see Nervegna (Reference Nervegna2007) 15–18; Ceccarelli (Reference Ceccarelli, Gildenhard and Revermann2010) 113–14, with additional bibliography given at n.43; for its cultural impact, cf. Hanink (Reference Hanink, Hunter and Uhlig2017).

67 See Papastamati-von Moock (Reference Papastamati-von Moock2007); Hanink (Reference Hanink2014), especially 60–68.

68 Biles (Reference Biles2011) 211. I note in passing that Taplin (Reference Taplin, Csapo, Goette, Green and Wilson2014) 141, in a paper that is otherwise arguing for a re-evaluation of our negative judgement of fourth-century tragedy, agrees that the event may have been perceived as significant: ‘The death of Euripides, followed closely by Sophocles, supplies the [Frogs] “Death of Tragedy” scenario—and indeed it may well have seemed somewhat like that at the time’.

69 See, for example, Lowe (Reference Lowe1993) (a brilliant and important paper, published in a somewhat obscure place); Nieddu (Reference Nieddu2004); Zogg (Reference Zogg2014); (Reference Zogg2017); and n.72; below.

70 This is especially the case in Radt’s editions of the fragments of Aeschylus in TrGF 3.56–57; see also Cantarella (Reference Cantarella1965); Newiger (Reference Newiger1961) 427–29. Lech (Reference Lech2008), Lamari (Reference Lamari2015) and Rosenbloom (Reference Rosenbloom and Kennedy2018) 62–64 cautiously accept Aeschylean reperformance, albeit on a more modest scale. Nervegna (Reference Nervegna, Csapo, Goette, Green and Wilson2014) 166–72 looks at Aeschylus in the fourth century; she assumes that reperformance took place, but points out that there is no uncontroversial evidence for it.

72 This is demonstrated by Gelzer (Reference Gelzer, Kolde, Lukinovich and Rey2005). Henderson (Reference Henderson, Lamari, Montanari and Novokhatko2020) 42 mentions some (potential) ‘cases of originals inaccurately cited in comedy’, but neglects the more numerous cases where originals are cited accurately and verbatim: it seems unlikely that this could have been achieved from oral memory alone.

73 A scholion on this passage is one of the key witnesses for Aeschylean reperformance; for a careful discussion of its implications, see Lamari (Reference Lamari2015) 195–97. We have no way of assessing the value of Quintilian’s (10.1.66) claim that later poets staged ‘corrected versions’ of Aeschylus’ tragedies (correctas eius fabulas); cf. Nervegna (Reference Nervegna, Csapo, Goette, Green and Wilson2014) 167.

74 See Biles (Reference Biles2006–2007) 221–27.

75 Assmann (Reference Assmann2011) 77.

76 See above, section IV, with nn.67 and 68.

77 Assman (Reference Assmann2011) 78.

78 Fr. 60 T 2a TrGF = Page, FGE 33–34. Page is certainly right in arguing that this epigram must refer to Astydamas the Younger. On the statue of Astydamas, the epigram and the anecdote that it was rejected by the council (perhaps because of its boastfulness), see Papastamati-von Moock (Reference Papastamati-von Moock, Csapo, Goette, Green and Wilson2014) 23–35.

79 On Lycurgus’ law and its implications, see Finglass (Reference Finglass and Ormand2012) 11; Hanink (Reference Hanink2014) 60–69.

80 Assmann (Reference Assmann2011) 76.

81 Biles (Reference Biles2011) 220–22; the quotation is on p. 220. This plot element was probably used in several comedies of the late fifth century BCE; see Griffith (Reference Griffith2013) 165–66.

82 Assmann (Reference Assmann2011) 70–86.

83 See also above, n.18.

84 Biles (Reference Biles2011) 74–75.

85 Lowe (Reference Lowe1993) 74.

86 See Torrance (Reference Torrance2013).

87 Assmann (Reference Assmann2011) 83.

88 See Hanink (Reference Hanink2014), especially 67: ‘This move to preserve the texts of classical tragedy marked an attempt on the part of men such as Lycurgus to publicise the three great tragedians as unique products of Athens and to affirm that, as such, both the poets and their poetry were inseparable from Athenian institutions and history’.

89 Assmann (Reference Assmann2011), especially 106–08.

90 There is a wealth of scholarly treatments; I refer readers to Erskine (Reference Erskine1995) and Asper (Reference Asper2001).

91 See Arnott (Reference Arnott1991); Hose (Reference Hose1995) 170–82; von Möllendorff (Reference Möllendorff1996–1997); Schmidt (Reference Schmidt1998).

92 Assmann (Reference Assmann2011) 260.

94 See Biles (Reference Biles2002).

95 Griffith (Reference Griffith2013) 84–86 has some good remarks on this feature in comedy.

96 Easterling (Reference Easterling, Sommerstein, Halliwell, Henderson and Zimmermann1993) 568: ‘our view of things has been distorted by Aristophanes’ persuasive story in Frogs, and … the death of Sophocles in 405 did not after all mark the point when tragedy ceased to be a highly creative medium’.

References

Allen, J.T. (1932) ‘On Suidas’ biography of Aristophanes and the date of the second performance of the Frogs ’, University of California Publications in Classical Philology 11, 143–51Google Scholar
Arnott, W.G. (1991) ‘A lesson from the Frogs ’, G&R 38, 1823 Google Scholar
Asper, M. (2001) ‘Gruppen und Dichter: zu Programmatik und Adressatenbezug bei Kallimachos’, A&A 47, 84116 Google Scholar
Assmann, J. (2011) Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination (Cambridge)Google Scholar
Barrett, W.S. (1964) Euripides: Hippolytus (Oxford)Google Scholar
Bertelli, L. (2001) ‘Hecataeus: from genealogy to historiography’, in Luraghi, N. (ed.), The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus (Oxford) 6794 Google Scholar
Biles, Z. (2002) ‘Intertextual biography in the rivalry of Cratinus and Aristophanes’, AJPh 123, 169204 Google Scholar
Biles, Z. (2006–2007) ‘Aeschylus’ afterlife: reperformance by decree in 5th C. Athens?’, ICS 31–32, 206–42Google Scholar
Biles, Z. (2011) Aristophanes and the Poetics of Competition (Cambridge)Google Scholar
Blanck, H. (1992) Das Buch in der Antike (Munich)Google Scholar
Burns, A. (1981) ‘Athenian literacy in the fifth century B.C.’, JHI 42, 371–87Google Scholar
Cantarella, R. (1965) ‘Aristoph., Plut. 422–425 e le riprese eschilee’, RAL 20, 363–81Google Scholar
Ceccarelli, P. (2010) ‘Changing contexts: tragedy in the civic and cultural life of Hellenistic city-states’, in Gildenhard, I. and Revermann, M. (eds), Beyond the Fifth Century: Interactions with Greek Tragedy from the Fourth Century BCE to the Middle Ages (Berlin) 99150 Google Scholar
Dickerson, G.W. (1974) ‘Aristophanes’ Ranae 862: a note on the anatomy of Euripidean tragedy’, HSPh 78, 177–88Google Scholar
Dover, K.J. (1993) Aristophanes: Frogs. Edited with Introduction and Commentary (Oxford)Google Scholar
Drexler, H. (1927) ‘Die Komposition der Frösche des Aristophanes,’ Jahres-Bericht der Schlesischen Gesellschaft für vaterländische Cultur 100, 132–75Google Scholar
Dunbar, N. (1995) Aristophanes: Birds. Edited with Introduction and Commentary (Oxford)Google Scholar
Easterling, P.E. (1985) ‘Anachronism in Greek tragedy’, JHS 105, 110 Google Scholar
Easterling, P.E. (1993) ‘The end of an era? Tragedy in the early fourth century’, in Sommerstein, A.H., Halliwell, S., Henderson, J. and Zimmermann, B. (eds), Tragedy, Comedy and the Polis (Bari) 559–69Google Scholar
Easterling, P.E. (1997) ‘From repertoire to canon’, in Easterling, P.E. (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Greek Tragedy (Cambridge) 211–27Google Scholar
Edwards, M.J. (2000) ‘Antiphon and the beginnings of Athenian literary oratory’, Rhetorica 18, 227–43Google Scholar
Erbse, H. (1975) ‘Dionysos’ Schiedsspruch in den Fröschen des Aristophanes’, in ΔΩΡΗΜΑ: Hans Diller zum 70. Geburtstag: Dauer und Überleben des antiken Geistes (Athens) 4560 Google Scholar
Erskine, A. (1995) ‘Culture and power in Ptolemaic Egypt: the museum and library of Alexandria’, G&R 42, 3848 Google Scholar
Farmer, M.C. (2017) Tragedy on the Comic Stage (New York)Google Scholar
Finglass, P.J. (2012) ‘The textual transmission of Sophocles’ dramas’, in Ormand, K. (ed.), A Companion to Sophocles (Chichester) 924 Google Scholar
Ford, A. (2003) ‘From letters to literature: reading the “song culture” of classical Greece’, in Yunis, H. (ed.), Written Texts and the Rise of Literate Culture in Ancient Greece (Cambridge) 1537 Google Scholar
Fowler, R.L. (2001) ‘Early historiē and literacy’, in Luraghi, N. (ed.), The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus (Oxford) 95115 Google Scholar
Gagarin, M. (1994) ‘Probability and persuasion: Plato and early Greek rhetoric’, in Worthington, I. (ed.), Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Action (London) 4668 Google Scholar
Gelzer, T. (2005) Frösche 1119–1410. Aristophanes der fleissige Spötter’, in Kolde, A., Lukinovich, A. and Rey, A.-L. (eds), Κορυφαίῳ ἀνδρί. Mélanges offerts à André Hurst (Geneva) 97105 Google Scholar
Griffith, M. (2013) Aristophanes’ Frogs (Oxford).Google Scholar
Hanink, J. (2014) Lycurgan Athens and the Making of Classical Tragedy (Cambridge)Google Scholar
Hanink, J. (2017) ‘Archives, repertoires, bodies, and bones: thoughts on reperformance for classicists’, in Hunter, R.L. and Uhlig, A. (eds), Imagining Reperformance (Cambridge) 2141 Google Scholar
Hanink, J. and Uhlig, A.S. (2017) ‘Aeschylus and his afterlife in the classical period: “My poetry did not die with me”’, in Constantinidis, S.E. (ed.), The Reception of Aeschylus’ Plays through Shifting Models and Frontiers (Leiden) 5179 Google Scholar
Harriott, R. (1962) ‘Aristophanes’ audience and the plays of Euripides’, BICS 9, 18 Google Scholar
Harris, W.V. (1989) Ancient Literacy (Cambridge MA)Google Scholar
Hartwig, A. (2014) ‘The evolution of comedy in the fourth century’, in Csapo, E., Goette, H.R., Green, J.R. and Wilson, P. (eds), Greek Theatre in the Fourth Century B.C. (Berlin) 207–27Google Scholar
Hedrick, C.W. (1994) ‘Writing, reading, and democracy’, in Osborne, R. and Hornblower, S. (eds), Athenian Democratic Accounts Presented to David Lewis (Oxford) 157–74Google Scholar
Henderson, J. (2020) ‘Old comic citation of tragedy as such’, in Lamari, A.A., Montanari, F. and Novokhatko, A. (eds), Fragmentation in Ancient Greek Drama (Berlin) 3948 Google Scholar
Hose, M. (1995) Drama und Gesellschaft: Studien zur dramatischen Produktion in Athen am Ende des 5. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart)Google Scholar
Immerwahr, H.R. (1964) ‘Book rolls on Attic vases’, in Henderson, C. (ed.), Classical, Mediaeval, and Renaissance Studies in Honor of Berthold Louis Ullman (Rome) 1748 Google Scholar
Immerwahr, H.R. (1973) ‘More book rolls on Attic vases’, AK 16, 143–47Google Scholar
Johansen, H.F. and Whittle, E.W. (1980) Aeschylus, The Suppliants (Copenhagen)Google Scholar
Kells, J.H. (1964) ‘Aristophanes, Frogs 788–92’, CR 14, 232–35Google Scholar
Kuch, H. (1993) ‘Continuity and change in Greek tragedy under postclassical conditions’, in Sommerstein, A.H., Halliwell, S., Henderson, J. and Zimmermann, B. (eds), Tragedy, Comedy and the Polis (Bari) 545–57Google Scholar
Lamari, A.A. (2015) ‘Aeschylus and the beginning of tragic reperformances’, Trends in Classics 7, 189206 Google Scholar
Lamont, J. (2023) ‘Trade, literacy and documentary histories of the northern Black Sea’, JHS 143, 123.Google Scholar
Lang, M. (ed.) (1974) Graffiti in the Athenian Agora (Princeton)Google Scholar
Lech, M.L. (2008) ‘A possible date of the revival of Aeschylus’ The Seven against Thebes, CQ 58, 661–64Google Scholar
Leeuwen, J. van (1896) Aristophanis Ranae cum prolegomenis et commentariis (Leiden)Google Scholar
Lowe, N.J. (1993) ‘Aristophanes’ books’, Annals of Scholarship 10, 6383 Google Scholar
MacDowell, D.N. (1995) Aristophanes and Athens: An Introduction to the Plays (Oxford)Google Scholar
Missiou, A. (2011) Literacy and Democracy in Fifth-Century Athens (Cambridge)Google Scholar
Möllendorff, P. von (1996–1997) ‘Αἰσχύλον δ’ αἱρήσομαι. Der “neue Aischylos” in den Fröschen des Aristophanes’, WJA 21, 129–51Google Scholar
Morgan, T.J. (1999) ‘Literate education in classical Athens’, CQ 49, 4661 Google Scholar
Müller, C.W. (1995) ‘Der Tod des Sophokles: Datierung und Folgerungen’, RhM 138, 97114 Google Scholar
Nelson, S. (2016) Aristophanes and His Tragic Muse: Comedy, Tragedy and the Polis in 5th Century Athens (Leiden)Google Scholar
Nervegna, S. (2007) ‘Staging scenes or plays? Theatrical revivals of “old” Greek drama in antiquity’, ZPE 162, 1442 Google Scholar
Nervegna, S. (2014) ‘Performing classics: the tragic canon in the fourth century and beyond’, in Csapo, E., Goette, H.R., Green, J.R. and Wilson, P. (eds), Greek Theatre in the Fourth Century B.C. (Berlin) 157–87Google Scholar
Newiger, H.-J. (1961) ‘Elektra in Aristophanes’ Wolken ’, Hermes 89, 422–30Google Scholar
Nieddu, G.F. (2004) ‘A poet at work: the parody of Helen in the Thesmophoriazusae ’, GRBS 44, 331–60Google Scholar
Obryk, M. (2014) ‘Reflections on language in Aristophanes’ Frogs, JAC 29, 102–11Google Scholar
Olson, S.D. (2014) Eupolis frr. 326–497. Translation and Commentary (Heidelberg).Google Scholar
Papastamati-von Moock, C. (2007) ‘Menander und die Tragikergruppe. Neue Forschungen zu den Ehrenmonumenten im Dionysostheater von Athen’, MDAI(A) 122, 273327 Google Scholar
Papastamati-von Moock, C. (2014) ‘The theatre of Dionysus Eleuthereus in Athens: new data and observations on its “Lycurgan” phase’, in Csapo, E., Goette, H.R., Green, J.R. and Wilson, P. (eds), Greek Theatre in the Fourth Century B.C. (Berlin) 1576 Google Scholar
Pébarthe, C. (2006) Cité, démocratie et écriture. Histoire de l’alphabétisation d’Athènes à l’époque classique (Paris)Google Scholar
Rademacher, L. (1967) Aristophanes’ Frösche. Einleitung, Text und Kommentar (Graz)Google Scholar
Reynolds, L.D. and Wilson, N.G. (1990) Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature (Oxford)Google Scholar
Rogers, B.B. (1919) The Frogs of Aristophanes Acted at Athens at the Lenaean Festival B.C. 405. The Greek Text Revised with a Translation into Corresponding Metres, Introduction and Commentary (London)Google Scholar
Rosen, R.M. (1999) ‘Comedy and confusion in Callias’ Letter Tragedy, CPh 94, 147–67Google Scholar
Rosen, R.M. (2015) ‘Reconsidering the reperformance of Aristophanes’ Frogs ’, Trends in Classics 7, 237–56Google Scholar
Rosenbloom, D. (2018) ‘The comedians’ Aeschylus’, in Kennedy, R.F. (ed.), Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Aeschylus (Leiden) 5487 Google Scholar
Rösler, W. (2002) ‘The Histories and writing’, in Bakker, E.J., de Jong, I.J.F. and van Wees, H. (eds), Brill’s Companion to Herodotus (Leiden) 7994 10.1163/9789004217584_005CrossRefGoogle Scholar
Ruijgh, C.J. (2001) ‘Le Spectacle des lettres, comédie de Callias’, Mnemosyne 54, 261339 Google Scholar
Russo, C.F. (1961) Storia delle Rane di Aristofane (Padua)Google Scholar
Russo, C.F. (1994) Aristophanes: An Author for the Stage (London)Google Scholar
Salviat, F. (1989) ‘La deuxième représentation des Grenouilles: la faute d’Adeimantos, Cléophon et le deuil de l’hirondelle’, in Étienne, R., Le Dinahet, M.-T. and Yon, M. (eds), Architecture et poésie dans le monde grec. Hommage à Georges Roux (Paris) 171–83Google Scholar
Schmidt, J.-U. (1998) ‘Die Einheit der Frösche des Aristophanes: demokratische Erziehung und moderne Dichtung in der Kritik’, WJA 22, 73100 Google Scholar
Schwinge, E.-R. (2002) ‘Aristophanes und Euripides’, in Ercolani, A. (ed.), Spoudaiogeloion: Form und Funktion der Verspottung in der aristophanischen Komödie (Stuttgart) 343 Google Scholar
Sider, D. (2010) ‘Greek verse on a vase by Douris’, Hesperia 79, 541–54Google Scholar
Slater, N.W. (1996) ‘Literacy and Old Comedy’, in Worthington, I. (ed.), Voice into Text: Orality and Literacy in Ancient Greece (Leiden) 99112.10.1163/9789004329836_007CrossRefGoogle Scholar
Slater, N.W. (2002) ‘Dancing the alphabet: performative literacy on the Attic stage’, in Worthington, I. and Foley, J.M. (eds), Epea and Grammata: Oral and Written Communication in Ancient Greece (Leiden) 117–29Google Scholar
Smith, J.A. (2003) ‘Clearing up some confusion in Callias’ Alphabet Tragedy: how to read Sophocles Oedipus Tyrannus 332–33 et al.’, CPh 98, 313–29Google Scholar
Sommerstein, A.H. (1993) ‘Kleophon and the re-staging of Frogs, in Sommerstein, A.H., Halliwell, S., Henderson, J. and Zimmermann, B. (eds), Tragedy, Comedy, and the Polis (Levante) 461–76Google Scholar
Sommerstein, A.H. (1996) The Comedies of Aristophanes, Vol. 9: Frogs (Warminster)Google Scholar
Sommerstein, A.H. (2012) ‘Notes on Aristophanes’ Frogs, in Marshall, C.W. (ed.), No Laughing Matter (London) 115–26Google Scholar
Stevens, P.T. (1955) ‘Aristophanes, Frogs 788–794’, CR 5, 235–37Google Scholar
Stevens, P.T. (1966) ‘Aristophanes, Frogs 788–92’, CR 16, 24.Google Scholar
Stronk, J.P. (1986–1987) ‘Wreckage at Salmydessos’, Talanta 18, 6375 Google Scholar
Süss, W. (1954) ‘Scheinbare und wirkliche Inkongruenzen in den Dramen des Aristophanes’, RhM 97, 115–59, 229–54, 289–316Google Scholar
Taplin, O. (1986) ‘Fifth-century tragedy and comedy’, JHS 106, 163–74Google Scholar
Taplin, O. (2014) ‘How pots and papyri might prompt a re-evaluation of fourth-century tragedy’, in Csapo, E., Goette, H.R., Green, J.R. and Wilson, P. (eds), Greek Theatre in the Fourth Century B.C. (Berlin) 141–55Google Scholar
Thomas, R. (1989) Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens (Oxford)10.1017/CBO9780511597404CrossRefGoogle Scholar
Thomas, R. (2003) ‘Prose performance texts: epideixis and written publication in the late fifth and early fourth centuries’, in Yunis, H. (ed.), Written Texts and the Rise of Literate Culture in Ancient Greece (Cambridge) 162–88Google Scholar
Thomas, R. (2009) ‘Writing, reading, public and private “literacies”: functional literacy and democratic literacy in Greece’, in Johnson, W.A. and Parker, H.N. (eds), Ancient Literacies (Oxford) 1345 Google Scholar
Todd, S.C. (1993) The Shape of Athenian Law (Oxford)Google Scholar
Torrance, I. (2013) Metapoetry in Euripides (Oxford)Google Scholar
Tucker, T.G. (1906) Ἀριστοφάνους βάτραχοι: The Frogs of Aristophanes. Edited with Introduction, Commentary and Critical Notes (London)Google Scholar
Usher, S. (1976) ‘Lysias and his clients’, GRBS 17, 3140 Google Scholar
Wallace, R.W. (1995) ‘Speech, song and text, public and private: evolutions in communications media and fora in fourth-century Athens’, in Eder, W. (ed.), Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr.: Vollendung oder Verfall einer Verfassungsform? (Stuttgart) 199217 Google Scholar
Weißenberger, M. (2008) ‘Und Sophokles? Überlegungen zur Konzipierung der Frösche ’, RhM 151, 4960 Google Scholar
West, M.L. (1997) The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth (Oxford)Google Scholar
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von (1895) Euripides Herakles (Berlin)Google Scholar
Willi, A. (2002) ‘Aischylos als Kriegsprofiteur: zum Sieg des Aischylos in den Fröschen des Aristophanes’, Hermes 130, 1327 Google Scholar
Wilson, N.G. (2007) Aristophanea: Studies on the Text of Aristophanes (Oxford)Google Scholar
Woodbury, L.E. (1976) ‘Aristophanes Frogs and Athenian literacy: Ran. 52–53, 114’, TAPhA 106, 349–57Google Scholar
Woodbury, L.E. (1986) ‘The judgment of Dionysus: books, taste, and teaching in the Frogs, in Cropp, M., Fantham, E., and Scully, S.E. (eds), Greek Tragedy and Its Legacy: Essays Presented to D.J. Conacher (Calgary) 241–57Google Scholar
Woodbury, L.E. (1991) Collected Writings (Atlanta)Google Scholar
Zogg, F. (2014) Lust am Lesen. Literarische Anspielungen im ‘Frieden’ des Aristophanes (Munich)Google Scholar
Zogg, F. (2017) ‘Aristophanes’ Komödien als Lesetexte’, Philologus 161, 118 Google Scholar