How far are the attitudes towards, and presentations of, women in Euripides’ Medea and Hippolytus concordant with those of Aristophanes’ women-centric comedies?
Introduction
The recurring presence of Euripides as a subject for satire throughout Aristophanes’ extant dramas[1] arguably culminates with Frogs in 405BC; however, it is in Thesmophoriazusae that Euripides plays his most central role, in which his reputation as a misogynist is exploited heavily by Aristophanes – indeed, this “Euripides”[2] becomes not just a character on one side of an agon, as in Frogs, but an agent in his own right and the play’s “initiator of action”[3]. However, the accusation made about “Euripides” by the eponymous festivalgoers (namely, that he has slandered womankind) is certainly not representative of a uniquely Aristophanic view – as A. H. Sommerstein points out, “a single word suffices to allude to [this reputation]” in Lysistrata[4]. For the entirety of the play, this apparently commonplace view remains unchallenged – “Euripides” seeks not so much to refute the charges brought against him, but to convince the festivalgoers not to kill him for his crimes.
The blurring of lines between oikos and polis instigated by Euripides’ tragedies seems to have been a particular point of contention for Aristophanes, who criticises his contemporary harshly for it throughout the play[5]. However, we must ask ourselves whether Aristophanes demonstrates a certain level of hypocrisy in making this judgement, taking into consideration his own portrayals, albeit comedic, of oikos life (in which he paints with a different palette the same pictures of female transgression as his tragic counterpart) as well as the attitudes of both, as presented in their plays, towards women and the female condition more generally.
To answer this question, I shall use the examples of Medea and Hippolytus from Euripides and Aristophanes’ three women-centric comedies (Lysistrata, Thesmophoriazusae and Ecclesiazusae) – whilst the Aristophanes selection is relatively self-explanatory, the choice of which Euripidean tragedies to incorporate is far harder. Whilst Medea reveals the affairs of the oikos in full and horrific view to the polis, Hippolytus could be seen as an “apology play” (of sorts) by Euripides for his first treatment of the myth, in which incestuous passion consumes Phaedra voluntarily, taking centre-stage. However, both portray their central women in very ambiguous fashion, whilst also featuring particularly strong examples of misogynistic characters; it is for these reasons, as well as their prominence among Euripides’ extant plays (as partly evidenced by their recognition at the Dionysia[6]), that I have selected them in preference to his other works.
A typical woman: approaches to virtue
In his Politics, Aristotle quotes Sophocles’ Ajax in his claim that “silence graces woman”, a phrase noted by the tragedian to be a “trite jingle”[7], alluding to the widespread nature of an attitude which holds the woman who lives, in the words of Helene Foley, with “silence, invisibility and moral dependence”[8] to be virtuous, a sentiment shared also by Hippolytus (641-44). One can also find such an outlook elsewhere in Politics; in one section, Aristotle remarks that woman is “by nature inferior”[9] and therefore predisposed to be not a ruler but a subject. Indeed, this view was not only held by philosophers and tragic heroes but enshrined in law – Attic law forbade women from making significant decisions independently in most situations[10], cementing their place within the societal structures of classical Athens.
One can think of this society, in simplistic terms, as being divided between the realms of oikos and polis; a woman’s place was at home, ensuring the smooth running of the oikos and begetting children to serve the polis (functions which the Thesmophoria celebrated, with womankind at the centre as “guarantors of the continuity of oikos and polis”[11]). This oikos/polis divide can be found not only at the centre of society but also at the centre of tragedy; the skene can be seen as a representation of the oikos, silent and invisible, its door symbolic of the “boundary between the two zones”[12]. The presence of women on stage, therefore, is just as abnormal as the presence of women in the polis (for, excluding for the purpose of attending a religious festival, a woman’s presence outside the oikos was a rare occurrence), becoming – in tragedy – a “sign of the disorder within”[13].
Atypical woman: approaches to transgression
If tragedy is supposed to concern the polis, why then does Euripides so often put oikos affairs at the heart of his œuvre? Aristophanes puts this question in the mouths of the festivalgoers, who complain that they can “no longer do anything the way [they] used to before” (398-9), since their husbands, imagining their own wives to mirror those in Euripides’ plays, keep “giving them suspicious looks and searching the house for a hidden lover” (396-7). If this, however, is Aristophanes’ chief concern (namely that Euripidean portrayals of women and the oikos have instilled an undue sense of fear amongst Athenian husbands), then one must consider whether he too instils similar sentiment through his comedic depictions of the oikos.
The Kinsman’s speech (466ff.) in Thesmophoriazusae is partially modelled on one from Euripides’ Telephus, but, unlike Phaedra in her adulteress-denouncing monologue (373ff.) in Hippolytus, which treats similar themes, he exposes to the audience his supposed adulterous life; if one is to extract from Thesmophoriazusae, as A. M. Bowie does, the conclusion that “comedy has…purged and defeated tragedy”[14] in its ability to provide the audience with a more complete image of reality (or, at least, reality as it appears on stage), it is thus possible to make the case that Aristophanes’ comedy has more power to instil such a fear than Euripides’ tragedy could ever achieve. The text seems to affirm this conclusion strongly; whilst Phaedra remarks that she hates “women who are chaste in word but in secret possess an ignoble daring” (413-4) without going into further detail of how this could outwardly present, the Kinsman not only points to the “myriad misdeeds” (475*) of womankind but illustrates them fully – even giving away the tricks of the trade, as it were, such as “chew[ing] garlic in the morning” (494) or “pretend[ing] to be in labour” (502).
This power of comedic description is no less apparent in Lysistrata or Ecclesiazusae; however, in these plays, more prominent than adultery is the onstage transformation of polis into oikos. Whilst in Thesmophoriazusae the women have assumed power legally, the other two plays represent an acquisition of power by comparatively nefarious means; in Lysistrata, the women assume command by occupation of the Acropolis, implementing a temporary gynaecocracy, and in Ecclesiazusae, the replacement of men by women (pretending to be men) at the assembly leads to the establishment of a more long-lasting form of gynocentric government. For any authentic gynaecocracy, this oikos-based management is the natural progression away from polis life[15]; Praxagora’s communism, therefore, can be seen as the inevitable consequence of combining the individual households of the polis into one big oikos – indeed, both Lysistrata and Praxagora remark that, since women handle the household finances already, they ought to be well-adapted to perform the same function on behalf of the state[16]. Such a transformation of polis into oikos constitutes an infringement upon male space – therefore, since this style of government is idiosyncratically feminine, its results are inextricably linked not only to these women in charge but to all transgressive women.
How similarly, then, do Aristophanes’ two more political plays mirror Medea and Hippolytus in terms of their outcomes (and the processes which led to them)? Three of these plays begin with women on stage (the exception being a goddess – Aphrodite – in Hippolytus), establishing a pattern of transgression onto male space into which the rest of the play can fall. Whilst Hippolytus and Thesmophoriazusae have their own models of transgression, they concern different issues; in the case of Hippolytus, Hippolytus’ transgressive arrogance leads to a punishment inflicted upon him by Aphrodite via Phaedra, and in the case of Thesmophoriazusae, the transgression is upon female space by men. For the other three plays, transgression falls into one of two categories – that of ideology and that of action. In a majority of instances, such as Lysistrata’s seizure of the Acropolis, the two are directly linked, but, in each case, it is a flawed ideology that, in some way or another, causes failure, destruction or disruption to be the outcome of an action.
Medea’s assertion that women are “unable to perform noble deeds, but [are the] most skilful architects of every sort of harm” (408-9) is one that the play unpacks and examines thoroughly; since women are “ideally not supposed to take action for themselves”[17], there is only a masculine ideological paradigm to guide their action – a paradigm which is consistently misinterpreted (unwittingly or otherwise) by Medea, in imitation of her oppressors[18]. The chorus’ response following this declaration by Medea (coming at the end of a speech in which she “plots and contrives” (402) against Jason) is fascinating – in response to her scheming, they declare that “men’s thoughts have become deceitful” (412). Medea, therefore, in her deceit, is transformed into a man (paralleling in ideological terms the deceitful physical transformations present in Ecclesiazusae and, to some extent, Thesmophoriazusae, albeit in reverse) – the chorus appears to allude to this further as well, declaring that “time in its long expanse can say many things of men’s lot as well as of women’s” (429-30).
The first interaction between Medea and Jason (446ff.) concludes with Medea making several thinly veiled threats toward her husband after his “unjust” (578*) abandonment of her for a new bride. The chorus’ response to this is equally perplexing – they call for “moderation” (sophrosyne, 638), ostensibly on Jason’s part, mentioning, among other things, “love for a stranger’s bed” (640). However, in the context of the preceding conversation, it is Medea, not Jason, who lacks sophrosyne; the “excess” (629) and “contentious wrath” (639) that the chorus links with Jason’s love for his new bride can equally be ascribed to Medea. Medea’s monologue (1021ff.) picks up this theme again, with her final remark (1078-80) providing a focal point for discussion about her capacity for sophrosyne. As Foley suggests, thanks to the ambiguities of the language, providing a wholly satisfactory translation of line 1079 is nigh-on impossible[19] – however, I propose that any translation of the line alludes to a conflict between the feminine inclination towards destruction and the masculine capacity for sophrosyne[20]. In this way, one can say that Medea has sought to act for herself, according to a masculine paradigm, without the necessary sophrosyne that should accompany it; in doing this, she confirms the audience’s “worst fears of what will happen when a woman takes action”[21], and reinforces the popular view that taking action as a woman, by merit of being a woman, is inclined towards destruction (either of the self or of others) and doomed to failure.
If this is so, how far is this sentiment reflected in Lysistrata and Ecclesiazusae, neither of which come with comparably tragic consequences? I propose that Aristophanes, through his own transformation of the polis into an oikos, presents and reaffirms the same norms as Euripides in Medea. Firstly, Lysistrata shares many similarities to the Lemnian myth, as Bowie points out[22]; this can only serve as a reminder of what these women could be capable of at their worst. For example, during the confrontation between the leaders of the men and women at the Acropolis, the women extinguish the fire (370ff.); not only is this comparable to the Lemnian myth but it also signifies a shift away from the “normal job” of women, namely to “tend the fire of the hearth”[23]. By demonstrating the disruption to oikos life of transgression, Aristophanes has thus reinforced the notion that a woman’s place should always be within the oikos (i.e., not acting independently), as, in acting for themselves, women can be seen as disruptive to this fundamental cornerstone of society – after all, Medea too destroys her own oikos through her pursuit of immoderate masculine revenge.
In Ecclesiazusae, Praxagora implements a gynaecocracy with the intention that “no one will be doing anything as a result of poverty, because everyone will have all the necessities” (605), establishing a sort of oikos-communism in which “everyone own[s] everything in common” (590), sharing “one and the same standard of life” (594). However, as with Medea, Praxagora’s action results in a kind of destruction, albeit not as explicitly as in tragedy – to assess this, one must concentrate on the effects this gynaecocracy has had on “nutritional and sexual matters”[24]. The effect on food is the lesser of the two, but there is one particular issue with it – the “mot-repas”[25], as labelled by Suzanne Saïd, which describes the feast laid out for dinner at the play’s conclusion. Here, the chaotic “salmigondis”[26] of the banquet can be seen as a reflection of the way events have transpired elsewhere in the city.
This same mess is, in fact, represented in terms of effect on sexual matters – the natural order of things has been disrupted, and “ugliness” is now the “basis for success”[27], sexually speaking. There is a stark contrast between Epigenes’ remark that he’s “triply damned if [he has] to screw a putrid old hag all hours of the day and night” (1098-9*) and the description of Blepyrus by a maid as “triply lucky” (1129*), since he gets to go to the feast; clearly, there is a dichotomy between perceived and actual success – Praxagora’s assurance to her husband that he, as an older man, should “never fear” (621) is not even explored by Aristophanes, who instead shows in this grotesque scene how the law disadvantages young men, forcing them to sleep first with “apparition[s] of damnation” (1052). In this way, Praxagora is at risk of falling into the same trap as Medea; her democratisation of sexual activity can be seen as an extreme result of creating one and the same standard for all – perhaps not only a “ferocious caricature of democratic equality”[28], but also an illustration of Praxagora’s misinterpretation, entirely lacking in sophrosyne, of a quintessentially masculine, polis-oriented concept, which “only serves to worsen the woes it was supposed to alleviate”[29].
The making of a woman: approaches to the female condition
We have already seen that both Euripides and Aristophanes propagate the view that women, when they transgress, demonstrate a lack of sophrosyne and an inclination towards destruction. Even the supposedly honourable Phaedra of this Hippolytus is not immune from this, since her obsession with honour and “externally-based morality”[30] is one which could be seen as lacking due sophrosyne, leading to wholly unnecessary destruction (thanks to the equally damaging action of the Nurse) by her accusation against Hippolytus of rape; ironically, she, through this act, expresses a wish that “by sharing with [her] in this malady, he will learn moderation” (730-1), whilst bringing into question her own. The female condition as a whole, however, is multifaceted, and both playwrights identify and illustrate several other key traits in their presentation of women –duality, duplicity, and discrimination.
The duality of the female condition is primarily represented through “self-division”[31] among characters and groups, as well as its associated linguistic and behavioural inconsistency; after all, a woman’s nature, as Froma Zeitlin notes, is a “discordia concors”[32]. Throughout Hippolytus and Thesmophoriazusae, this duality is illustrated through examples of incongruity and ambiguity; this is also true of Medea, whose heroine’s use of dual-termination adjectives[33] serves to create a very tangible example of discordia concors, uneasily reconciling her masculine and feminine halves.
However, the conflation of maternal and sexual feelings, as in Hippolytus, proves more problematic, at least conceptually, than Medea’s self-division along gender lines; here, the discordia concors centres around Artemis’ role in “both virginity and childbirth”[34], which seemingly ensures the separation of the maternal and sexual spheres. However, this in itself is awkward too, and cannot be done without confronting the issue of a sexually-driven mother like Phaedra, for whom chaste maternity should conquer sexuality, but doesn’t – however, the consequence of combining the two is illustrated most prominently through Hippolytus’ death, in which language relating to the female body, especially childbirth,[35] is grotesquely repurposed, in the messenger-speech and elsewhere, to tell a completely different story. The same sense of division, this time between the pious and the ridiculous, is present in Thesmophoriazusae, where women are “humorous figures” and yet also “devotional figures”[36] – at times, they duly pray and sing the paean (300ff.) but, at other times, lapse into gratuitous Aristophanic farce (634ff.).
However, these examples deal with incongruity, rather than ambiguity; this second key component of female duality occurs most prominently in Hippolytus, where ambiguity is of a similar kind to that of Medea’s deliberation monologue. This duality is most clearly illustrated in phrases which may mean one thing to one character and an entirely different thing to another; for example, the use of the word sophrosyne (or linked terms) by Phaedra, and the Nurse varies significantly – for the Nurse, guided by her outcome-driven morality, admitting to Phaedra that she did not display sophrosyne in disclosing her love for Hippolytus to him merely serves as pragmatic acknowledgement that she “went too far” (704), yet for Phaedra, the result of a lack of sophrosyne is suicide[37]. Indeed, the speech of the Nurse (herself an exemplification of “Euripides’ tendency to domesticate tragedy”[38]) elsewhere is replete with ambiguity too; for example, the phrase “tolma d’erôsa” (476) can be translated both as “dare to love” and “endure your love”, demonstrating that it is not just women’s actions that can display duality, but their usage of language as well. In Thesmophoriazusae, ambiguity manifests itself through a confusion of grammatical gender, illustrating the real fragility of portraying women, without the use of actual women, on stage. The Kinsman provides the focal point for this illustration – for example, in the Helen parody, he, portraying a woman, refers to himself in the feminine, playing along with Euripides, but Critylla, unamused, refuses to “buy into” this drama, referring to him unrelentingly in the masculine[39].
In this way, the duplicity of the female condition, as it appears on stage, is illustrated too; however, such deception is not purely metatheatrical, but an integral part of these playwrights’ treatment of women, where examples of the deceit displayed by women are ubiquitous. In fact, not one central female character in the other four plays remains inculpable of deceptive behaviour – not Phaedra, who “wrote a false letter and destroyed [Theseus’] son by guile” (1311-2), nor Medea, who maintained such a façade of harmlessness for such a time, nor Lysistrata, who clandestinely organised a war for peace, nor Praxagora, who infiltrated the assembly and duped her husband. There is significant precedent for the incorporation of this trait into portrayals of a woman’s nature, which Hippolytus himself alludes to, calling women “a bane to cheat mankind” (616), saying that “wickedness” (642*) resides in any intelligent woman; in these statements, he echoes Hesiod in Works and Days, who says that women possess, by their very femininity, “a shameless mind and a deceitful nature” (67), and that within women reside “lies and crafty words” (78). Whilst Euripides’ propagation of these views might be congruent with his reputation for misogyny, Aristophanes portrays deceit no differently himself, as evidenced particularly strongly by his catalogue of womanly deception in Thesmophoriazusae (466ff., see above).
Therefore, we can consider the portrayal of duplicity as closely linked to misogynistic discrimination, owing to its depiction of women as dangerously deceptive and “essentially destructive of male society”[40]. However, misogyny (of any kind) is not just confined to the playwrights themselves; Euripides’ portrayal of misogynistic characters is particularly interesting, especially Hippolytus, whose uniquely violent condemnation of the entire female sex is unparalleled in other texts (where such thought is usually delivered far more calmly). Nonetheless, even if not matched in delivery, there are significant correspondences of language and theme between Hippolytus’ woman-condemning tirade (616ff.) and the prejudice against women (even propagated by female characters) exhibited in Medea and Aristophanes’ women-centric comedies.
Between the two tragedies, there is a clear link between Jason, Creon, and Hippolytus, in that they mirror the sentiments of each other – Creon’s statement that “a hot-tempered woman…is easier to guard against than a clever woman who keeps her own counsel” (319-20) is reflected in Hippolytus’ wish that there might “never be in [his] house a woman with more intelligence than befits a woman” (640-1). Likewise, Jason’s view that “mortals ought to beget children from some other source, and [that] there should be no female sex” (573-5) has its parallel in Hippolytus’ invective too, where he complains that “if [Zeus] wished to propagate the human race, it was not from women that [he] should have provided this” (618-9), suggesting that men should “then dwell in houses free from the female sex” (623-4).
However, it is between Hippolytus’ tirade and Aristophanes’ comedies that the most interesting comparisons lie – whilst there is, of course, significant misogynistic behaviour in Thesmophoriazusae (see above) and, to a lesser extent, Ecclesiazusae[41], the men of Lysistrata exhibit the most obvious misogyny, in comparison with the other two plays. In the play, the Magistrate and the Coryphaeus most closely emulate the kind of misogyny displayed by Hippolytus, certainly in their unwillingness to deviate from their position; the Magistrate’s declaration that “men must never, ever be inferior to women” (450-1) shows the same dogmatism as Hippolytus, who says that “[he] shall never take [his] fill of hating women” (664-5) – in fact, the Coryphaeus, mirroring Hippolytus almost word for word, says that he too “will never stop hating women” (1018). Even the women of Lysistrata acknowledge “what a low and horny race [they] are” (137), and that it is “no wonder [that] tragedies get written about [them]” (138); in addition, Lysistrata’s conversation with the Coryphaea (706-14) bears striking resemblance to certain passages involving Phaedra and the Nurse in Hippolytus[42], further exposing the links between these men and Hippolytus in their criticism of women via Lysistrata and Phaedra.
Conclusion
Through exploration of these texts, it appears that the grievance Aristophanes raises about the inappropriacy of Euripides’ thematic material for a tragic setting is legitimate – Euripides indeed seems to have a tendency, far more than Sophocles[43], not only to put women on stage, but also to endow them with sufficient intelligence to act (destructively and without sophrosyne) of their own accord. However, it is clear to see that, in these plays, Aristophanes does not portray women in any more favourable a light than Euripides – admittedly, accusing Aristophanes of slandering womankind as well is not the equivalent of exonerating Euripides; having said that, Aristophanes’ general criticism of Euripidean misogyny can indeed be seen as hypocritical, since his own extant women-oriented comedies perpetuate the same stereotypes and fears that Euripides’ tragedies do, perhaps even on a more extensive scale – it is, therefore, fair to say that the attitudes towards, and presentations of, women in Medea and Hippolytus are highly concordant with those of Aristophanes’ women-centric comedies.
Aristophanes. Birds; Lysistrata; Women at the Thesmophoria. Ed. & trans. by Jeffrey Henderson, Harvard University Press, 2000.
Aristophanes. Ecclesiazusae, edited by R. G. Ussher, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1973, pp. ix–xlvii.
Aristophanes. Frogs; Assemblywomen; Wealth. Ed. & trans. by Jeffrey Henderson, Harvard University Press, 2002.
Aristophanes. The Acharnians of Aristophanes. Edited by W. J. M. Starkie, Macmillan, 1909.
Aristophanes. Thesmophoriazusae, edited by Alan H. Sommerstein, Aris & Phillips, Warminster, 1994, pp. 1–12.
Bowie, A. Aristophanes: Myth, Ritual and Comedy. Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Euripides. Children of Heracles; Hippolytus; Andromache; Hecuba. Ed. & trans. by David Kovacs, Harvard University Press, 1995.
Euripides. Cyclops; Alcestis; Medea. Ed. & trans. by David Kovacs, Harvard University Press, 1994.
Foley, Helene P. Female Acts in Greek Tragedy. Princeton University Press, 2001.
Harriott, R. M. “The Function of the Euripides Scene in Aristophanes’ ‘Acharnians.’” Greece & Rome, vol. 29, no. 1, 1982, pp. 35–41. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/642928. Accessed 26 Aug. 2023.
Mills, Sophie. Euripides: Hippolytus. Duckworth, 2002.
Saïd, Suzanne. “L’Assemblée Des Femmes: Les Femmes, l’économie et La Politique.” Aristophane: Les Femmes et La Cité, E.N.S., Fontenay Aux Roses, 1979, pp. 33–69.
Silk, M. S. Aristophanes and the Definition of Comedy. Oxford University Press, 2004.
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Wycherley, R. E. “Aristophanes and Euripides.” Greece & Rome, vol. 15, no. 45, 1946, pp. 98–107. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/641345. Accessed 26 Aug. 2023.
Zeitlin, Froma I. “The Power of Aphrodite: Eros and the Boundaries of the Self in Euripides’ Hippolytos.” Playing the Other: Gender and Society in Classical Greek Literature, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1996, pp. 219–284.
Zeitlin, Froma I. “Travesties of Gender and Genre in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae.” Playing the Other: Gender and Society in Classical Greek Literature, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1996, pp. 375–416.
Euripides appears as a subject for satire in no fewer than seven extant plays by Aristophanes, including a scene in Acharnians (393-489) described by W. J. M. Starkie as “perhaps the most successful piece of Aristophanic burlesque in existence”. ↑
Here, it is necessary to make a distinction between Euripides the poet and “Euripides” the character, particularly if we are to interpret the latter as an allegory for any misogynistic poet (a position which I have not taken in this essay, however). ↑
I have borrowed this term from M. S. Silk (Silk 2000: 230ff.) to differentiate between Euripides, the central character, and the Kinsman, the typically Aristophanic “everyman” comic hero. Unlike Silk, I have chosen not to refer to the latter as Mnesilochus, since no name is actually given to him in the script. ↑
Sommerstein 1994: 4. Upon seeing their insolence, the Coryphaeus refers to the women of Lysistrata as “enemies of all the gods and of Euripides” (283). ↑
The women complain that Euripides (who, as a “household spy” (426), has denounced women with “a whole gamut of slurs” (388), such as their being “the bane of men’s lives” (394, cf. Eur. Hipp. 616-7)) has sowed such suspicion in their husbands’ minds that they “can no longer do anything the way [they] used to do before” (398-9). ↑
Euripides came third with Medea in 431BC; he won with Hippolytus in 428. ↑
Soph. Aj. 293, quoted by Aristotle in Pol. 1.1260a. ↑
Foley 2001: 111. ↑
Aristot. Pol. 1.1254b. ↑
See Foley 2001: 110-1 for further exploration of this topic. ↑
Bowie 1993: 206. ↑
Zeitlin 1996: 243. ↑
Bowie 1993: 182. ↑
Bowie 1993: 227. ↑
See Ussher 1973 for a defence of this position. ↑
Lys. 494-6, cf. Eccl. 211-2. ↑
Foley 2001: 119. ↑
Foley 2001: 264. ↑
See Foley 2001: 250ff. ↑
This interpretation does not rely on a specific decision to translate bouleumata as one thing or another (i.e., as either “rational plans to save the children” or “revenge plans”); in both cases, the feminine bent towards destruction wins the conflict through the suppression of sophrosyne (if the choice of exercising said sophrosyne is even possible for Medea in the first place). ↑
Foley 2001: 263. ↑
See Bowie 1993: 186ff. for an outline of these. ↑
Bowie 1993: 192. ↑
Bowie 1993: 264. ↑
Saïd 1979: 55; the “word-feast” in question refers to the sesquipedalian monstrosity which consumes nearly seven lines (1169-75) of the play. ↑
Saïd 1979: 55; “salmigondis” is equivalent to the English “hodgepodge”. ↑
Saïd 1979: 59. ↑
Saïd 1979: 56. ↑
Saïd 1979: 60. ↑
Mills 2002: 60. ↑
Foley 2001: 257ff. ↑
That is, an “inharmonious harmony”; the Greek equivalent of the phrase (i.e., dystropos harmonia) is present in the text, referring crucially to the female body itself (161-4) – for further discussion of this passage and its implications, see Zeitlin 1996: 237. ↑
See 392, 1032 etc. ↑
Zeitlin 1996: 238. ↑
See Zeitlin 1996: 247-8 for a further exploration of this; cf. Med. 1029-31. ↑
Silk 2000: 208. ↑
Since Phaedra cannot “overcom[e her madness] by means of sophrosyne” (399), she has no option but to commit suicide, which she terms “the best of plans” (402); her apparent motivation for this is her extreme unwillingness to be “convicted of bringing shame to [her] husband or to the children [she] gave birth to” (420-1). ↑
Mills 2002: 61. ↑
For a full list of examples, see Sommerstein 1994: 7. ↑
Mills 2002: 12. ↑
For example, Blepyrus mentions that those who “made deep rumbles” (433a) at the prospect of gynaecocracy are the only men still “using their brains” (433b), indicating his own views on the suitability of women for government. ↑
I refer here to the extended passage from 223 to 430; although the conversation between Lysistrata and the Coryphaeus is highly condensed in comparison, elements present within the passage (e.g., Hipp. 413-4, cf. Lys. 708-9; Hipp. 246-8, cf. Lys. 713) correspond strongly to these mock-tragic lines in Lysistrata. ↑
See Sommerstein 1994: 5. ↑