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Revenge and Mythopoiesis in Euripides’ Medea 155

Revenge and Mythopoiesis in Euripides’

Medea *

marianne hopman

Northwestern University

Transactions of the American Philological Association 138 (2008) 155–

summary: In the first stasimon of Medea, the chorus of Corinthian women exalts Medea’s revenge as a palinode that will put an end to the misogynist tra- dition and bring them honor. This article analyzes Euripides’ tragedy as a meta- poetic reflection on Medea’s voice, its relation to the earlier poetic tradition, its power and limitations, and its generic definition. While Medea’s revenge meta- phorically and symbolically unfolds as a revision of the Argo saga and thus un- dermines one of the most famous androcentric epics of the Greek song culture, I argue that mythical constraints ultimately prevent Medea from generating a new, gynocentric epic. Rather, the intertextuality of the final scenes increasingly departs from the Iliadic model and firmly anchors Medea’s revenge in the tragic genre. Metapoetically, Medea’s palinode thus defines tragedy, by contrast to epic, as a genre that is congenial to female voices but does not bring them kleos.

¶rxetai timå gunaike´ivi g°nei Honor is coming to the female race!

the chorus of corinthian women enthusiastically sings these words (E. Med. 417–18) as they hear Medea describe how she will avenge her honor by killing Jason, his new bride, and the bride’s father Creon (374–85). For one fleeting moment, Jason’s unsettling breech of his oaths is envisaged as hav- ing one positive consequence. It will allow for a twist in the spoken tradition (str°cousi fçmai, 414–16) that will bestow praise on women and put an end to the old misogynist discourse castigating the “female race” (gunaikeivi´ g°nei, 417–18).

• I wish to thank Daniel Garrison, Jonas Grethlein, and the two anonymous TAPA readers for their helpful suggestions on earlier drafts. This article is dedicated to the memory of my grandmothers, Johanna Jansen and Marguerite Lassier.

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Argonauts that was celebrated in an important body of now lost epic poetry^3 and is the subject matter of Pindar’s fourth Pythian Ode. Medea’s attachment to her honor and reputation engages the model of Homeric and Sophoclean heroes, as Bernard Knox (1977: 196–206) and Elizabeth Bongie (1977) have brilliantly demonstrated. 4 Laura McClure (1999: 379–93) has shown that Medea’s speeches appropriate and twist the language of praise and blame about women epitomized in the epics of Hesiod and the iambic poetry of Archilochus and Hipponax. References to lyric diction also cast Medea as an athlete emulating the victors celebrated by Pindar.^5 Finally, the modalities of her revenge, including the princess’s entanglement in a poisoned robe and the murder of blood relatives, echo the tragic plot of Aeschylus’s Oresteia and possibly—depending on the relative chronology of the plays—Sophocles’ Trachiniae.^6 Clearly, Medea’s revenge engages the “Muses of the singers of old” mentioned by the chorus. As such, it can be analyzed as an ancient pre- cursor of the modern concept of mythopoiesis, which describes the revision of prevailing myths or discourses by minoritarian (often female) speakers. 7 The question arises, then, whether Medea fulfills the chorus’s hopes by suc- cessfully twisting the earlier poetic tradition and generating a new story that will bring glory to women.

(^3) The idea that stories about the Argo saga formed a body of epic poetry on a par with the Trojan cycle was first raised by Meuli 1921 and more recently developed by Dräger 1993 and West 2005. (^4) Bongie’s study is a striking example of the results and limitations of a methodology based on the search for parallels and sources. Her analysis of Medea as “a heroic play of Sophoclean type” stresses several illuminating resemblances with Ajax and Antigone , but fails to note the differences among the plays. My own approach is based on the structural premise that meaning emerges by contrast and thus, once a paradigm has been established, departures need to be analyzed as carefully as similarities. (^5) The adjective kall´inikoi (765) “gloriously triumphant” that Medea applies to herself after her encounter with Aegeus often occurs in Pindar to refer to athletic victors ( I. 1.12; I. 5(4).54; P. 1.32). The evaluation of the length of the princess’s agony with reference to a race (1181–84) further characterizes Medea’s revenge as an athletic triumph. (^6) The distinctively tragic character of those deaths, as well as Medea’s quasi-authorial status, has been recognized by Nancy Rabinowitz, who describes Medea as “the drama- turge behind the messenger speech” and “the playwright orchestrating the deaths from a distance,” Rabinowitz 1992: 49; Rabinowitz 1993: 145. About the date of Sophocles’ Trachiniae , see Easterling 1982: 19–23, who emphasizes the lack of external and internal evidence and concludes that “any date between 457 and, say, 430 would not be implau- sible.” (^7) About the tension between patriarchal mythos and feminist mythopoiesis, see Rétif and Niethammer 2005.

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This paper addresses that question by comparing Medea’s revenge to the poetic paradigms that it addresses and revises. The first two parts emphasize Medea’s mythopoietic and dramaturgic abilities. Drawing on studies of tragic space, I first show that the language and movements of the actors diffract the Corinthian setting of the tragedy and create a new, imaginary space that focuses on the Argo journey and the passage through the Symplegades (I). Beyond the Corinthian setting, that imaginary space provides a context for Medea to enact a symbolic revision of the Argo story that nullifies the old saga, annihilates her marriage, and deprives Jason of his heroic glory (II). Yet the increasing gap between Medea’s revenge and the plot of the Iliad , as well as her progressive alienation from the internal audience, suggests that her palinode will not bring her the glory (kl°ow) associated with communal performances of epic (III). The last scenes of the tragedy firmly anchor the revenge in the tragic genre, a genre that Medea fully controls but which will not bring honor to her or her fellow women (IV).

scenic and metaphorical spaces

Plainly put, Medea stages the revenge of a woman whose husband has aban- doned her for a new bride. The theme of marriage thus stands at the core of the tragedy, and much of the tension between Medea and Jason derives from the incompatibility of their views on their relationship. As the prologue unfolds, the nurse makes it clear that, as far as Medea is concerned, Jason’s recent engagement to the Corinthian princess amounts to a nullification of their ties. The philia , the reciprocal friendship that used to bind them, has been replaced by enmity (16), a view later reiterated by the tutor, another member of Medea’s household (76–77). The discrepancy between that and Jason’s viewpoint is forcefully conveyed in the ag¯on. While Jason insists that his new marriage does not impinge on his obligations to Medea and their children and still speaks of them as his philoi (559–65, 609–15), Medea considers him an enemy (¶xyistow, 467) who is doing evil to his friends (f´ilouw kak«w drãsant’, 470). From her perspective, the charis that she expected in return for her help in Colchis has been annihilated (506–19).^8 Jason’s engagement to the Corinthian princess breaks away from their common past. Given the prominence of the marriage theme, the drama fittingly takes place in front of Medea’s and Jason’s house in Corinth—a suitable image of the household (o‰kow) that is being disrupted and destroyed. Yet that scenic space is not the only space that the spectators are invited to visualize. While most Greek tragedies open on deictic pointers to their setting, the first lines

(^8) About the themes of xãriw and reciprocity in the ag¯on, see Mueller 2001: 473–86.

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as an alternative space that constantly interacts with the scenic space of the Corinthian setting.^10 Just as the crossroad where Oedipus and Laius met in the past of the plot lies at the core of the dramatic development of the Oedipus Tyrannus , the crossing of the Symplegades provides Medea with a spatial focus constantly re-invoked and revisited by the participants in the drama. Thematic reasons for the spatial and performative prominence of the Symplegades are many and involve various referential levels. First, the pas- sage through the rocks metonymically stands for the journey of the Argo and, by extension, for the marriage initiated by that journey. In the prologue, the nurse’s contrary-to-fact wish that the Argo had never crossed the Symple- gades (1–6) is followed by the no less counterfactual statement that Medea would then not have sailed to Iolcus and Corinth (6–13). The Symplegades epitomize the journey of the Argo that itself symbolizes Medea’s marriage. The latter equivalence literally expresses the metaphor of marriage as a sea journey that appears elsewhere in Greek tragedy^11 and which Medea invokes in her first speech to promote a sense of community between the Corinthian women and herself. 12 Through that series of equivalences, the Symplegades come to stand metonymically for Medea’s marriage. The transgression of cosmic order to which their passage amounted (3–4) ominously foreshadows the destruction of the relation between Medea and Jason. The choral odes further elaborate on the symbolic relation between the Symplegades and the marriage by metaphorically connecting the rocks to key moments of it including the wedding procession, the wedding night, and the birth of children. In the first stasimon, the chorus describes the sea journey in terms of leaving the father’s house (o‡kvn patr´ivn, 432) for a foreign land (j°nai...xyon´i, 435–36). In that context, the Symplegades are envisioned as the double doors (didÊmouw... p°traw, 433–35) that delineate the threshold crossed (ır´isasa, 433–34) by the bride to go to the house of the groom, an analogy visually enforced by Medea’s simultaneous entrance through the doors of the house that she used to share with Jason. 13 More distinctively

(^10) Burnett 1973: 16 already intuited the performative and visual importance of the myth of the Argonauts, which she describes as “[hanging] like a great painted scene behind this play.” (^11) Seaford 2005: 115n5 lists among other examples Eur. Hipp. 732 ff., A. Niobe fr. 154a Radt, and S. OT 420–23. (^12) Cf. Med. 238–40, where Medea describes the troubles of the bride—any bride—forced to discover new “customs and ways” (≥yh ka‹ nÒmouw, 238). By doing so, Medea manages to cast her foreign status as a paradigm for the female condition and hence to secure the unconditional support of the Corinthian women. (^13) On the juxtaposition of the words and movements of the actors at that moment, see above.

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sexual connotations are conjured up in the parodos, when the passage through the straits is described as a night event (nÊxion, 211–12) and the Bosphorus referred to as the “key” (kl∞id’, 213) of the Black Sea. The passage closely follows a reference to Jason as the “evil bridegroom betrayer of [Medea’s] bed” (tÚn §n l°xei prodÒtan kakÒnumfon, 206), and key imagery is used elsewhere in Euripides and Aristophanes to refer to defloration; it is thus tempting to follow Rush Rehm in his reading of the lines as a metaphor for the wedding night.^14 Finally, in the fifth stasimon, the chorus juxtaposes an evocation of Medea’s vain labor pains (1261–64) to the last mention of her passage through the Symplegades. Here, as Rehm suggests, the straits seem to be linked to Medea’s body and to offer a metaphor for childbirth.^15 The association between the Argo journey and the marriage of Jason and Medea goes far beyond chronological coincidence. Not only is the marriage met- onymically equated to the sea journey, but its most important components are metaphorically tied to the passage through the Symplegades. Medea’s mar- riage to Jason chronologically, metonymically, and metaphorically coincides with the journey of the Argo.

a symbolic revision of the journey of the argo

The symbolic equation of the marriage and the passage through the Sym- plegades bears important implications for the logic of Medea’s revenge. I mentioned earlier that, in Medea’s view, Jason’s new marriage amounts to a destruction of their bond. Her revenge, especially the infanticide, precisely enacts that view. As Christopher Gill (1996: 168–69) has emphasized, by kill- ing the children, Medea destroys the tangible proof of her relationship with Jason; by causing their death, she acts out in the most literal and irreversible manner the vanity of his oaths (496–98) and, ultimately, of their shared past. Yet the revenge involves a second spatial and referential level. Since the mar- riage chronologically, metonymically, and metaphorically coincides with the journey of the Argo , the revenge unfolds as a new journey, a revised version

(^14) Rehm 2002: 254, who quotes Eur. Hipp. 538–40 and Ar. Thesm. 976. In the former passage, Eros is referred to as “the holder of the keys (klhidoËxon) to the beloved chambers (yalãmvn) of Aphrodite.” The allusion to defloration is reinforced by the fact that, as Barrett 1966 points out ad loc., the word yãlamoi hints at the use of the term to refer to a bridal chamber. Ar. Thesm. 976 praises Hera “who holds the keys of marriage” (kl∞idaw gãmou fulãttei). On Aristophanes’ sexual use of gates and passageways, see Henderson 1991: 137–38. (^15) Rehm 2002: 254. Those lines describe the crossing of the straits more violently than its previous evocations. The violence implicit in the word §sbolãn (from efisbãllv, “throw into, invade”) may mirror both Medea’s pains in childbirth and her brutal an- nihilation of their outcome.

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for Ithaca in the Odyssey , Jason receives the assistance of Aphrodite in his quest for the Golden Fleece. His version of it comes close to that of Pindar’s fourth Pythian Ode , which too emphasizes the help that Aphrodite gave to Jason and presents Medea as a victim of the spells of love (Pi. P. 4.213–19). Medea, on the other hand, offers a version of the journey that jeopardizes Jason’s heroic status and emphasizes the help that she brought him (475–87). First-person verbs pile up as she argues that she saved him from the bulls (¶svsa, 476), killed the dragon (kte´inas’, 482), betrayed the house of her father (prodoËs’, 483), came to Iolcus (flkÒmhn, 484), killed Pelias (ép°ktein’, 486), and ruined his whole house (§je›lon, 487). If mentioned at all, Jason only occurs as a passive object of her actions (pemfy°nta, 478; speroËnta, 479). In that version of the Argo journey, Jason’s agency is displaced; the heroic role is filled by Medea. Indeed, Jason fully senses the implications of the speech, its performative power, and the danger that it raises for his heroic reputation. Before launching into his own version of the story, he metaphori- cally casts himself as a steersman (ofiakostrÒfon, 523) who had better use the very fringes of his sail (êkroisi laifouw krasp°doiw´ , 524) to escape from Medea’s lashing tongue (Ípekdrame›n tØn sØn stÒmargon... glvssalg´ian, 524–25). The relevance of the image goes far beyond the commonness of seafaring metaphors with reference to political leadership (so Mastronarde, 2002 ad 523). Instead, it fully acknowledges the implications of Medea’s speech and the danger raised by her voice. In contrast with the tale that had praised Jason’s glorious sea-voyage and return to Iolcus, Medea has started to present a version that metaphorically puts him into dangerous waters, surrounded by sea-creatures ready to devour him. (3) The next scene with Aegeus yields one further element in the prepa- ration of the vengeful journey staged by Medea. Coming back from Delphi where he interrogated the oracle about his sterility, the Athenian king agrees to grant asylum to Medea and to protect her against Jason and Creon in all circumstances (719–45). As such, the scene is an indispensable element of the plot since it counteracts Medea’s earlier isolation and the exile decreed by Creon.^17 Yet its implications go beyond that practical element. As Roger Dunkle (1969: 99–101) emphasizes, Aegeus functions as a precise comple- ment to Jason. The relation that Medea builds with him closely enacts the conception of marriage that she has just developed in the ag¯on : a reciprocal relation of xenia , complete with oaths that make up for those broken by Jason (731–55) and a promise that Aegeus will sire children (714–18), but deprived of the erotic attraction that Jason had emphasized in his own version of the

(^17) About the structural function of the Aegeus scene, see Grethlein 2003: 335–45.

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story. Accordingly, Aegeus is a key element in Medea’s revised version of the journey, since he will be the harbor (limÆn, 769) to which she will attach her stern-cable (prumnÆthn kãlvn, 770). Finally, Aegeus’s willingness to utter solemn oaths, complete with self-directed curses, reasserts the performative value of language jeopardized by Jason’s broken oaths. From then on, Medea’s revised version of the Argo saga rises to a new level, and the verbal metaphors become acted out in symbolic deeds. (4) Once Aegeus’s protection is secured, Medea can fully deploy her revenge which, as she informs the chorus (772–93), now involves killing Jason’s bride, anyone who touches the princess, and her own children. 18 As Medea describes it, the triple murder is geared toward preserving her honor and hurting Jason to the full by destroying his house, his present children, and the hope that he may sire new ones (803–06). Yet the murder of the princess also symbolically revisits the story of the Golden Fleece and the first moments of the relation- ship of Medea and Jason. The princess dies poisoned by gifts—a delicate robe and a wreath of beaten gold (leptÒn te p°plon ka‹ plÒkon xrusÆlaton, 786)—that Medea has the children deliver to her, allegedly to win over the princess and have her convince Creon to revoke the boys’ exile (942–51). The gift-giving process and the gifts themselves bear close resemblance to Medea’s version of the events in Colchis. Once again, Jason will reach his goals—the revocation of the children’s exile—thanks to the help of women—the princess, and ultimately Medea. His tranquil confidence in his ability to convince the prin- cess “if she is indeed a woman like the rest” (945) ironically acknowledges that the events about to unfold reiterate past experiences. His begging for a “favor” (xãrin, 1155) from the princess mirrors the favor (xãrin, 508) that Medea claims to have done for him. The gifts themselves are reminiscent of the Golden Fleece. Like the Fleece, they come from Medea’s paternal house (ÜHliow patrÚw patÆr, 954–55); moreover, as Louis Gernet (1981: 131–40) and Melissa Mueller (2001: 490) have noted, the juxtaposition of the golden crown (786, [949], 978, 984, 1160) and a cloth object mirrors the composite nature of the Golden Fleece. By accepting the gifts, Jason unwittingly lets Medea reiterate her gift of the Golden Fleece and enact her—as opposed to his own—version of the events in Colchis. While the gift process confirms Medea’s version of the Argo saga, its outcome—the death of the princess—dramatically revisits the wedding that followed the capture of the Golden Fleece. Aside from resembling the Fleece, the gifts are also a dowry, “wedding gifts” (fernãw, 956). Accordingly, the princess’s donning of the crown and robe is described as a perverted wedding

(^18) About the motivation for Medea’s change of plans, see part III below.

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same verb plÆssv “strike” as the toponym Symplegades (Sumplhgãdew), whose occurrence in the prologue of Medea is its first extant attestation. The ring composition thus casts the death foreseen by Medea as a suitable though delayed response of the Crashing Rocks to Jason’s initial transgression. 21 Jason too senses that the outcome of the drama counteracts the Argo expedition. Not only does he regret having brought Medea from Colchis (1329–32), but in his two final lines (which may be the final lines of the play if 1415–19 are indeed spurious)^22 he wishes that he had never begotten the children rather than witness their murder. The grammatical structure of his contrary-to-fact wish (oÓw mÆpot’ §g∆ fÊsaw ˆfelon, 1413) closely parallels the nurse’s initial wish that the Argo had never crossed the Symplegades (E‡y’ vfelÖ ’ ’ArgoËw mØ diaptãsyai skãfow, 1) and provides a suitable closure to the tragic plot. Medea’s revenge has fulfilled the nurse’s wish and symbolically negated the Argo journey. The violent exchange between Medea and Jason contains one further detail that brings that new version of the story even closer to an utter revision of the past. After singling out Medea as the most hateful woman of all, Jason de- scribes her as “having a nature more savage than Tyrrhenian Scylla” (1342–43). Shortly after (if the lines are not spurious), Medea coolly acknowledges the comparison and argues that her deeds are a legitimate retaliation for the way Jason treated her (1358–59). 23 The two references to Scylla are short and in- clude little characterization except for her savagery (égrivt°ran, 1343) and location in the Tyrrhenian sea. The poetic pedigree of the monster, however, indicates that it participates in Medea’s revision of the Argo journey. Like the Symplegades, Scylla and her counterpart Charybdis delineate sea nar- rows, an attribute apparent as early as the Odyssey and emphasized here by the epithet Turshniw´, coined after the sea that spans the north of Sicily and west of Italy, and ends at the Straits of Messina. Moreover, the rocks crossed

(^21) As Mastronarde 2002: 55 notes, the motif of Jason’s deadly stroke by a remnant of the Argo parallels a tale transmitted by Diodorus Siculus, according to which a hunter is killed in his sleep by the head of a boar that he has suspended from a tree as an impious dedication to himself (D.S. 4.22.3). Just as the boar is the hunter’s source of pride and glory, so is the Argo the guarantor of Jason’s fame. The fact that he dies struck by a remnant of the ship matches the inglorious version of the Argo saga staged by Medea. (^22) For a discussion of the authenticity of the lines, see Mastronarde 2002 ad loc. (^23) Aesthetic considerations about the “flatness” of the relative clause ∂ TurshnÚn vikhsen p°donÖ and the “impropriety” of the word p°don to describe Scylla’s habitat, have led Arthur Verrall, followed by James Diggle, to excise line 1359 and take the ka´i of 1358 as adverbial. While the aesthetic judgement of modern editors may not be a sufficient argument to excise the line, my argument does not depend on its authenticity.

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by Jason whether they are called Symplegades, Cyaneae, or Planctae and the straits of Charybdis and Scylla are often featured as structural alternatives. In the Odyssey , Circe describes the Planctae, on the one hand, and Charyb- dis and Scylla, on the other, as two possible routes that Odysseus could take after passing the island of the Sirens ( Od. 12.55–126).^24 Two centuries after Euripides, Apollonius of Rhodes places the Symplegades against Charybdis, Scylla, and the Planctae in mirroring positions on the Argonauts’ way to and from Colchis (Vian and Delage 2002: III, 41). In the context of the nautical “meta-space” of Euripides’ tragedy, Medea’s assimilation to Scylla amounts to a replacement of the Symplegades with a new set of straits. That assimilation, moreover, does not occur only at the linguistic level. As Wiles (1997: 122) suggests, Medea’s final position in a dragon-driven chariot, overlooking Jason from the top of the sk¯en¯e , and holding two corpses in her arms, provides a visual counterpart for the comparison.^25 The verbal image is fully enacted on stage: the dragons are reminiscent of the fish or snake tails characteristic of Scylla in visual arts, while Medea’s lofty position and the bodies that she holds parallel the monster’s location in a high cliff and the sailors that she snatches in the Odyssey ( Od. 12.73–84 and 12.245–57). 26 By the end of the play, Medea has indeed become a Scylla and Jason stands below as a helpless Odysseus whom she has bitten (dÆjetai, 1370) to the quick. The implications of Medea’s transformation are twofold. First, it con- tributes to the challenge that her appropriation of heroic values raises for Jason’s own heroism. The two sets of straits convey opposite connotations. The Symplegades or Planctae are a locus of heroic glory, one of the most famous moments of the Argo journey. In the Odyssey, after Circe singles out the Argo as the only ship ever able to sail past the Planctae, she calls her “who is in all men’s minds” (pçsi m°lousa, Od. 12.70), an expression reminiscent of the phrase pçsi... ényr≈poisi m°lv ( Od. 9.19–20) that Odysseus uses in conjunction with a reference to his heaven-reaching glory (kl°ow, Od. 9.20) at

(^24) The structural equivalence of the Planctae on the one hand and Charybdis and Scylla on the other, are further emphasized by verbal and narratological similarities in Circe’s description, on which see Hopman 2005: 62. (^25) The evidence for dragons or serpents pulling the chariot comes from the B scholium to Med. 1320 and from the iconography of South Italian vase-painting, where the theme of Medea’s escape on the chariot of the Sun first occurs (and becomes popular) after 430 b.c.e. See Cunningham 1954: 152 for a discussion of the scholia and Sourvinou- Inwood 1997 for a careful evaluation of the visual evidence to reconstruct the staging of the tragedy. (^26) For Scylla’s representation in the visual arts, see Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae s.v. Scylla.

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an aborted epic

Medea’s revised version of the Argo saga at least partly fulfills the hopes expressed by the chorus in the first stasimon. The poetic tradition, indeed, has been reconfigured—str°cousi fçmai. Yet that palinode may not be enough to bring a “life of good fame” (eÎkleian... biotãn, 415–16) and “honor” (timã, 417–18) to the “female race.” As Gregory Nagy (1999: 16– and passim) has shown, the notion of glory (kl°ow) is intrinsically con- nected to the genre of epic poetry in ancient Greek culture. That connection is exemplified in the first stasimon , whose meter, dialect, and intertext make it clear that the chorus thinks of Medea’s glory in terms of epic poetry. 29 The dactylo-epitrites of the first stanza are reminiscent of dactylic hexameters (Page 1938: 183–85); the Ionic contraction of the infinitive ÍmneËsai (423) may refer to the dialect of the misogynist poetry of Archilochos, Hipponax, and Semonides that the chorus hopes to see put to an end (Page 1938 ad 423), but it also connotes Homeric diction; the phrase y°spin éoidãn (425) echoes the diction of the Odyssey , where it refers to the “divine song” performed by Phemios ( Od. 1.328) and to the “divine gift of singing” of Demodokos ( Od. 8.498). If Medea’s revenge is to bring honor to women, it needs to initiate an epic tradition in her praise. While tragedy can of course not morph into epic, it may include some proleptic references to epic songs to be performed in praise of its main char- acters. That capacity is exemplified in Euripides’ Alcestis. Alcestis’s willingness to die in lieu of her husband is described as a female equivalent for what Jean-Pierre Vernant (1991) has called the “beautiful death” of epic warriors. Just as Sarpedon and other Iliadic heroes fall in their prime like trees to the ground ( Il. 16.482–84), so Alcestis dies in bloom, at the peak of her “flower- ing youth” ( Alc. 471–72). As Achilles, Agamemnon and their ilk compete to win honor and become the “best of the Achaeans” ( Il. 1.91, 2.768, etc.), so does Alcestis’s death make her worthy of “honor” (tim∞w, Alc. 434) and the title of “best woman” (guna›k’ ér´istan, Alc. 442). Accordingly, the chorus suggests that just like Achilles, Alcestis will become the subject of epic songs. In the second stasimon that immediately follows her death, they announce that poets will “sing her kleos ” (kl°ontew, 447) both “to the seven-stringed lyre and in hymns without the lyre” (446–47)—that is, in both lyric and epic songs. Moreover, those songs will involve the participation of a large audi- ence, including the Athenian spectators, since they will be performed both

(^29) See Boedeker 1991: 108n53 for a brief analysis of the songs envisaged in the first stasimon as epic poetry.

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in Sparta and in “rich and blessed Athens” (452). According to the chorus, Alcestis’s death will leave behind epic and lyric songs for singers to perform (453–54) and for the whole Greek community to echo and embrace. The hopes enthusiastically voiced by the Corinthian women after they hear Medea’s initial plan to kill Jason seem to rely on a similar scenario to the one described in the second stasimon of Alcestis. That plan, indeed, seems most suitable to initiate an epic tradition since it shares many similarities with the deployment of Achilles’ wrath in the Iliad. As Ruby Blondell (1999: 163–64) has pointed out, the nurse’s opening description of Medea recalls many features of Achilles’ grief at Patroclus’s death. Medea does not eat (24; cf. Il. 19.205–14); she lies prostrate on the ground (27–28; cf. Il. 18.26–27); she retreats from her friends (27–33); and she raises the fear that she might kill herself (43; cf. Il. 18.32–34). In the words of the nurse, Medea’s insen- sibility to the advice of her friends assimilates her to “a rock or the surging sea” (…w d¢ p°trow μ yalãssiow / klÊdvn, 28–29), a comparison reaching back through literary history to Patroclus’s complaint about Achilles’ harsh- ness ( Il. 16.33–35) (Mastronarde 2002 ad 28–29). As Gill (1996: 154–74) has noted, Medea’s acts and choices later in the play confirm her psychological resemblance to Achilles. Like Achilles, Medea makes the choice of a difficult but honorable life, rather than a prosperous and easy one (598–99; cf. Il. 9.410–16); she refuses material compensation for the offense to her honor (616–18; cf. Il. 9.378–87); she passionately debates with her thumos over what she should do (1056; cf. Il. 9.644–48); and she is willing to choose a mode of revenge that implies her own death, if not a physical death like Achilles ( Il. 18.95–96 and 114–16), at least an emotional one (1028 and 1036–37). Until the infanticide, Medea’s revenge has much in common with the development of Achilles’ wrath, thus justifying the chorus’s hope that she may become the subject of an epic tradition. The infanticide brings that possibility to an abrupt ending. Such a deed does not fit into the subject matter of epic. Achilles kills, but does not shed his kindred’s blood. As Richard Seaford (1994: 11–13) has emphasized, the Iliad and the Odyssey depict a society characterized by the solidarity of the house- hold and therefore tend to exclude stories of intra-familial killing. Homeric accounts of the death of Agamemnon and its aftermath, for instance, downplay Clytemnestra’s role and do not mention Orestes’ matricide. 30 The non-Ho- meric character of Medea’s infanticide is fully revealed in the exodos, whose

(^30) About the Odyssean accounts of the return of Agamemnon and their contextual specificities, see Garvie 1986: x and Heubeck et al. 1988: 16–17, with further bibliography on the Atreidae-paradigm in the Odyssey.

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of the wooden horse and the sack of Troy (two episodes where he played a major role), Odysseus weeps uncontrollably and identifies with his own victims ( Od. 8.521–34). The phrase y°spin éoidãn thus conjures a passage deeply rooted in literary history that bases epic performance on the close emotional connection between bard and audience. In contrast, the evolution of Medea’s internal audience makes it clear that the infanticide leaves her bereft of potential listeners to her praise. As the plot of the revenge departs from the Homeric model, so does the initial sympathy of the internal audience move towards alienation. Initially, Medea enjoys a full, unconditional support from the Corinthian women, who affirm that she will “justly pay back” (§nd´ikvw går §kte´ishi, 267) Jason for his offence, chastise his guile (410–14), and effectively curse him (659–62). Their attitude changes radically after the disclosure of Medea’s revised plan (772–810). After a vain attempt to dissuade her (811–13), the chorus launches into an ode that extends their own moral estrangement to the implied Athenian audi- ence. 32 As Mastronarde (2002 ad 824–65) has shown, the praise of Athenian wisdom (sof´ian, 828–29) and moderate Eros (835–45) implies a systematic contrast with Medea’s dangerous cleverness (sofÆ, 305) and destructive desires (627–62). While Alcestis is praised by the chorus and notionally the whole Greek world, Medea finds herself alienated from both the chorus and the implied Athenian audience. Musical images confirm that Medea’s moral alienation from her internal and implied audience voids the possibility of an epic tradition celebrating her. While Alcestis leaves a song for all the Greeks to hear and hum, Medea’s pali- node explicitly becomes out of tune with her audience. The musical harmony mentioned in the third stasimon as a distinctive feature of Athens (832–34) implicitly suggests that the song left by Medea will not blend into the local tradition. As the revenge proceeds, that discordance becomes increasingly apparent. As the tutor points out, Medea’s scream of anguish upon hearing that her sons’ exile has been revoked “does not sing” (oÈ junvidã, 1008) with his news. Later, her response to the report of the princess’s death, which she finds a “most beautiful tale” (kãlliston... mËyon, 1127) that she enjoys hearing (xa´ireiw klÊousa, 1131), arises the indignation of the messenger. Whether she cries at good news or rejoices at bad, Medea’s interaction with her internal audience contrasts with the emotional and musical connection between the epic bard and his listeners. That departure is confirmed a contrario

(^32) The notion of “implied audience” mirrors that of “implied author” and was devel- oped by Wayne Booth (1983) to refer to the fictional audience described and constructed by the play.

Revenge and Mythopoiesis in Euripides’ Medea 173

by the chorus’s final mention of “the bed of women, cause of many suffer- ings” (1291–92). Simultaneously a direct reference to and re-enactment of the misogynic tradition deplored in the first stasimon, the chorus’ expression sanctions the end of the hope to see the poetry of Hesiod, Archilochus, and Hipponax replaced by an epic tradition in praise of women. The increasing distance between Medea’s palinode and the genre of epic reaches its climax in the final laments embedded in the tragedy. Tradition- ally, laments are a type of publicly performed songs closely tied to praise poetry (Alexiou 2002: 182). At the end of the Iliad , the laments for Hector simultaneously assert the community of the living, grant eternal kleos to the dead, and announce the epic tradition that will rise in his honor. The three solo songs performed by Andromache (24.725–45), Hecuba (24.748–59), and Helen (24.762–75) are followed by antiphonal response from the community (24.746; 24.760; 24.776) and thematically resemble the women’s greetings to Hector in the homecoming of Book 6 (Richardson 1993 ad Il. 24.718–76). The laments embedded in Iliad 24 point toward the future performance of the epic itself.^33 In contrast, the laments at the end of Medea are isolated ut- terances, bereft of the community that would bring everlasting honor to the dead. While Medea’s farewell to her children (1021–40) includes traditional lament themes, it nevertheless perverts the genre, since it is performed be- fore the death by the future murderer and is devoid of antiphonal responses (Mastronarde 2002 ad 1030). That same isolation characterizes the laments and dirges performed by Creon (yrÆnvn, 1211), Medea (yrÆnei, 1249), and Jason (yrhne›w, 1396; yrhn«, 1409), as well as the funerals and hero cult that Medea plans for her children. Unlike the aetiologies for the cult of Alcestis ( Alc. 445–54) or Hippolytus ( Hipp. 1423–30), Medea’s prophecy does not mention songs to be performed in honor of the children, an omission all the more striking as the actual cult seems to have included dirges and laments.^34 In its tragic stylization, the cult for the children is featured as a silent ritual. Medea’s revenge arouses not praise but mournful silence from her internal audience. The infanticide and the manner of the children’s burial irremedi-

(^33) The generic relation of lament and epic was first emphasized in 1974 by Alexiou (re-edited in Alexiou 2002), and has recently received much attention. For a stimulating survey of the scholarship on the question, see Dué 2006: 30–56. Comparative evidence on the fluidity of the boundaries between the genres of lament and epic poetry has recently been adduced by Aida Vidan 2003 in her analysis of South Slavic traditions. (^34) For recent work on the cult of Medea’s children, see Pache 2004: 9–48. Evidence for the songs performed in that context include Philostratus’s mention of a “mystical and inspired lament” ( Her. 53.4) and the scholium to Medea 1379, which refers to a “mournful festival.”