Jouan’s Iphigenia at Aulis (1983) and the present volume finally conclude the Budé edition of the tragedies ascribed to Euripides, which was begun in the twenties of the last century and briefly resumed in the fifties; a few months ago the four-volume Budé edition of Euripides’ fragments was also finished, by Jouan (from now on J.) and H. Van Looy.
J.’s editorship marked a completely new trend in the Budé Euripides. In accordance with most of the other volumes published in this series over the last three decades, both the IA and the Rhesus (from now onwards, Rh.)have been outfitted with long and detailed notes and Introduction, features which, as a rule, were much briefer in the previous volumes. Such an apparatus makes the recent Budé titles quite useful in many cases, but in the case of the Rh., on which no detailed commentary has been provided in the last 170 years, apart from the intelligent but slender notes by Porter (1916 and 1929), and the dissertations by Klyve (1995, unpublished) and Feickert (2004), J.’s notes and Introduction turn out to be extremely useful.
J.’s preliminary “Notice” considers the history of the discussions about the authenticity of the Rh., the relation between it and Il. 10, its structure and action, characters, night setting, the historical background of the Athenian interests in Thrace that possibly underlies the play’s focus on a Thracian hero, the relevance of the military environment, forms of religiosity and the heroic cults that surface therein, “la condition humaine”, iconographical parallels, style, and the transmission of the text. All of these issues are presented with bibliographical competence, precision, and balanced judgement.
As for the bibliographical precision, however, two titles of mine have been confused and overlapped in n. 32 p. XIX (where Fantuzzi (1996) is relevant) and n. 79 p. XXXIX (where Fantuzzi (1990) ought to have been quoted); in n. 116 p. LVII “insegnamento” should be corrected to “inseguimento”, “spettacoli” to “spettacolo”, “Trente” to “Florence”; in n. 61 p. 19, instead of “J.M. Bremmer” read “J.M. Bremer”, and instead of ” Fate, Hope“, etc. read ” Faith, Hope“, etc. Barrett (2002), with a thoughtful chapter on the angelia by the charioteer in the Rh., is missing, though it is understandable if J. did not have time to take it into account.
J.’s judgement will provide students and general readers with clear and reasonable outlines of the literary aspects of the Rh., though it is perfectly understandable that not all the issues raised are explored with the same depth and that ‘technical’ issues are avoided. Though working under the constraints of brevity, J. does not miss the opportunity to make the best, at least in some cases, of the results of technical analyses. For instance, more than one reader will be temporarily dissatisfied with J.’s first statement about the non-Euripidean authorship of the Rh., which simply appeals to his “more than 50 years lasting familiarity” with Euripides (p. χ however, in the chapters concerned with the structure and action, the language and style, and the lyric sections (pp. λχιιι every reader will find — adumbrated in a few competent though essential hints — references to most of the ambiguous evidence (lexical, syntactical, and metrical) which has been alternatively exploited to prove or disprove the Euripidean authorship, e.g. by Ritchie (1964) or Fraenkel (1965). I found J.’s way of presenting the arguments against the Euripidean authorship quite satisfactory, though I would have liked to see something more, in positive terms, about the concrete poetics of the author of the Rh. Fraenkel’s suggestion (quoted by J., p. LXV) that the parallels between the Rh. and Euripides’ tragedies of his last two decades may be the subconscious reminiscences of a learned reader cannot account for their overwhelming number: if the author of the Rh. is not Euripides (as I also believe), he not only ‘comes after’ Euripides, but writes with the intention of seeming Euripidean, and with the result of producing a near-‘parody’ (in the ancient sense of the word) of Euripides’ (and sometimes Sophocles’) language. In any case, to draw the map of this manneristic re-writing goes far beyond the inevitable limits of a Budé volume’s ambitions, and can only be the target of a detailed line-by-line linguistic commentary.
Here and there the need for brevity, however, does lead J. to oversimplify the problems, or to present them only partially. At p. ιχ for instance, he refers to Dicaearchus as the author of one of the Hypotheseis to the Rh., in order to highlight early scholarly interest in the Rh. as an authentic work of Euripides, but neither here nor in the edition of the Hypotheseis at pp. 2-5 (see also p. 60) does J. remind the reader that in Hyp. III (= b Diggle) Δικαίαρχος, an emendation by Nauck ( δικαίαν VLP), has been challenged by Tuilier (1983) 21-2, and especially by Carrara (1992), with arguments in favour of the plausibility of the paradosis. It is true that Liapis (2001) 315-16 has forcefully criticized these arguments, thus showing that δικαίαν is hardly defensible — in any case, to prove that the transmitted δικαίαν is unacceptable does not definitely prove that the specific emendation δικαίαρχος should be accepted. At p. XVI J. plainly refers to the Iliadic trilogy of Aeschylus as consisting of Myrmidons, Nereids, and Phrygians or Hector’s Ransom (in this order), and does not mention the different reconstruction proposed by West (2000), even though West’s paper is quoted in the relevant n. 26. At p. XXX the legend of Dolon is said to have certainly had developments outside of the Iliad, “sans doute dans un autre poème cyclique”, but Fenik’s idea (1964) of a Cyclic, larger treatment of the myths of Rhesus and Dolon is completely hypothetical, in spite of the scholarly favour it has met and still meets with (cf. Fantuzzi (2004)). Other, non-cyclic developments ought to be envisioned as well: e.g. literary developments of both Dolon and Rhesus in Hipponax (frr. 23 Degani = 16 West and 72 D.=W.), or of Rhesus in Pindar (fr. 262 Maehler), to whom J. never refers; furthermore local cults of Thrace may have contributed to the background of the character Rhesus in the Rh. (after all they have been often and correctly invoked — by J. himself, pp. XLII and LIII-LIV — for some other features of the tragic Rhesus or for the character of the Muse). On p. XLVII, the lack of discipline that is acknowledged in some cases or feared in others (especially by Hector) is correctly interpreted by J. as conditioned by the military reality of the 4th century, a period when leaders are often described by historians (e.g. Aeneas Tacticus or Xenophon) as coping with troops who were of mediocre quality and too heterogeneous. I would add that the same reality might aid in explaining Hector’s extremely emphatic diffidence towards Rhesus, and above all Hector and Aeneas’ obsessive fear about the not-yet-Homeric military panic: indeed the unmotivated fear for the arousal of the soldiers’ nocturnal panic from the movements of the sentinels, which is featured at the beginning of the tragedy (cf. Fantuzzi (2006)), dramatizes a typical phenomenon of the hoplite armies of the late 5th and 4th century and receives a whole chapter (27) in Aeneas Tacticus’ Poliorcetics, where the arrangement of a good service of sentinels is advised as crucial for quelling panic (27.12).
As noted above, the translation and rich notes will likely be the contributions of the volume which the broad readership will enjoy most, though the limitations imposed by the series understandably leave little space for original remarks, and J.’s exegesis mainly conforms to the standard views. In any case, to criticize in detail J.’s hermeneutic choices would virtually involve writing a commentary of the play (which is precisely what I am doing, though of course not here). A single instance of my disagreement with J.’s proposed interpretation, as it may mislead the reader about the whole first part of the tragedy: σαίνει μ’ ἔννυχος φρυκτωρία, l. 55, is taken by J. as “ces signaux de feux nocturnes me réjouissent”. In my opinion such an interpretation — which can also be found in the scholia: σαίνει : εὐθυμεῖν με ποιεῖ — does not match the context. Hector’s speeches in ll. 52-75 and 100-4 do not express a banal joy about the war being over but rather his fear that the fires reveal that the Greeks are running away and his disappointment at not being able to massacre or enslave them as they deserve. Therefore I agree with Porter and Kovacs, and take the verb as meaning “to seek Hector’s attention” or “get through to him” (see on this meaning Jebb (1900) 214-15): the same metaphorical meaning, which can have painful connotations, is found in Aesch. PV 835 and Soph. Ant. 1214 as well — passages where, as in this one, the subject of the verb is a concrete object or view. The text established by J. is very close to Diggle’s recent and hardly challengeable edition for the Oxford Classical Texts (1994), from which it differs in fewer than three dozen cases. The Greek of the text and apparatus is usually reliable, though not without some typos (in l. 157 the omission of the semicolon between ἥξω and ‘πὶ; in l. 167 γένου instead of γενοῦ; in l. 626 θάσσειν instead of τάσσειν; and perhaps φύλακας in ll.18, 36; for the app. to l. 99, see below ad loc).
Here now follows a limited selection of discussions of textual choices by J. with which I will either agree or disagree in my own forthcoming commentary on the Rh. (I have tried to limit myself to those passages, mainly divergences from Diggle, about which I had some arguments to contribute, whether in favour or against).
Ll. 16-17. J. adopts the most popular solution before Diggle’s deletion of both lines. In accordance with Murray, Zanetto, and Kovacs, after Wecklein, he deletes the single response by the chorus in l. 17, οὐκ ἔστι LPQ, which gives a hypermetrical line, or οὐκέτι OV. οὐκέτι is metrically less impossible than οὐκ ἔστι (though anapaestic metra of the form — -uu are rare in tragedy: cf. Diggle (1981) 45 6), but semantically improbable, in the absence of any previous information concerning a danger or alarm about ambushes. As for οὐκ ἔστι, every proposal that accommodates this phrase to the metre by making it one syllable shorter then has to cope with an extra anapaestic foot through emendations in other lines which themselves seem sound. Therefore the only alternatives to longer or shorter atheteses are the corrections which introduce by conjecture another foot in our line. The proposal of Lindemann, which makes the most of both variants δόλος and λόχος — (Hector) MW=N TIS λόχος < H) δόλος > ἐκ νυκτῶν; (Chorus) οὔπω — restores a reasonable dimeter, where the hendiadys λόχος H) δόλος is not at all implausibly pleonastic, since a close parallel can be found in Polyaen. Strat. 8.37. It however presupposes the further emendation of οὐκέτι to οὔπω. More economical is the proposal by Jackson (1955) 12-13 οὐκ ἔσθ’, < Ἕκτορ. >, where the vocative Ἕκτορ may have perished before the designation of the next speaker, Ἕκ ( τωρ). In any case the line remains objectionable. Neither Dindorf’s, nor Lindemann’s, nor Jackson’s solution disposes of the odd division of the speakers between the two feet of the second metron, or of the further metrical difficulty consisting in a diaeresis between ἐκ and νυκτῶν following the first metron of l. 17. The difficulty has been emphasized by Ritchie (1964) 290 1, who suggested that the corruption of our passage may be much more extensive than once thought. Diggle’s drastic solution, which deletes the whole of ll. 16-17, is thus a quite reasonable option. We have, however, also to accept such an unusual antilabe at least at the beginning of IA 2-3, of no less doubtful paternity than the Rh. (a trait d’union ?). As for the diaeresis after a prepositive, it probably felt a less striking phenomenon than the complete overrunning of the diaeresis (the only instance of comparable overrunning that I could find is in comedy: Aristoph. Av. 523, which has, however, been quite often emended, lastly by Dunbar (1995): see p. 359 ad loc.). The iambic trimeters of Euripides, for instance, attest at least two sure cases of penthemimeral caesura after ἐν, ἐς / εἰς, ἐκ / ἐξ, or πρός (of the cases listed by Descroix (1934) 283, at least IT 1174 is sure, and Alc. 289 ought to be added). Both phenomena might be interpreted as forms of anomalous ‘interruptions’ intended to connote the midnight alarms and confusion of the situation (Taplin (1977) 126). For this reason, though not without a measure of doubt, I would myself favour the same text as printed by J.
L. 43. J. confirms the correction of διιπετῆ mss. and Σ to διειπετῆ, suggested by Elmsley, and unanimously accepted from Murray’s edition onwards. The same correction has also been adopted in Eur. Bacch. 1267 (P and testt.: διιπετέστερος), Emped. VS 31B100.9 (mss.: διιπετέος or δι’ εὐπετέοις), and Erotian. Lex.Hipp. 65.12 Nachmanson (mss.: διηπετής) ad Hippocr. Mul.morb. 1.24. This spelling is meant to be in tune with the orthography adopted by some of the ancients for this word when it has the meaning of διαυγής“translucent”: cf. Zenodotus (?) apud scholia to Hom. Od. 4.477 Ζηνόδοτος ( Ζηνόδωρος in one ms.) DE διιπετῆ TON DIAUGH= A)PODI/DWSI. διὰ τοῦτο καὶ γράφει διειπετέος διὰ τῆς ει διφθόγγου; this spelling is also supported by Hesych. Lex. δ 1535 Latte (but see δ 1784). Solmsen (1911) 162-3 defended Zenodotos/Zenodoros’ διειπ – as analogous to forms of such words as the common Attic anthroponym Διειτρέφης, where the original diphthong of the dat. was preserved and not replaced by the short iota of the locative, or Διείφιλος and Διείθεμις. But the paradosis of Empedocles’ source, of Bacchae, of Rh., and of Erotianus show that the diphthong-form maintained by Zenodotos/Zenodoros did not at all meet with a large consensus in the ancient world, while the divergence between δ 1535 and δ 1784 in Hesychius’ Lexicon, and Choerob. Orth. s.v. διπετής ( διιπετής suppl. H. Erbse ad Σ Hom. Il. 16.174): … διὰ τοῦ ι γράφεται ( Anecd.Oxon. II.192.30 Cramer) certainly prove that the διιπ – form was not without supporters. On the contrary the only available evidence for διειπετής are the papyrus of Eur. Hyps. I.iv.31 Bond = 133 Diggle, a papyrus of Philodemus’ De pietate, PHerc. 1428, fr. 16.5-6 Henrichs ((1975) 96) = Democr. VS 68A75, and a single manuscript (out of more than ten) of Hippocr. Morb.mul. 1.24. In the absence of more substantial evidence, or at least of solid linguistic certainties, in these three isolated cases the writing of διειπ – may have been due merely to iotacism, or to the effect of the grammarians’ debate about the orthography of this word. We should thus leave διιπετής untouched in our passage, as the editors do for Od. 4.477 and 581, 7.284, or for Il. 16.174, 17.263, 21.268 and 326: indeed I find it quite paradoxical that the form διειπ -, which is supposed to reflect the original diphthong of the dat., is never printed in editions of Homer — with whom, incidentally, the remark of Zenodotos/Zenodoros was concerned —, but accepted in the text of more recent authors such as Empedocles, Euripides, and Erotianus.
L. 54. J. follows the koine of the 20th century editions, which print the correction of αἴρεσθαι of the paradosis to ἀρεῖσθαι, suggested by Nauck and Wecklein. But the present should be retained, cf. Pace (2002) 454, Feickert (2004) 118, and myself, CPh 100, 2005, 268-9 n. 2.
L. 99. J. (with Zanetto and Murray) retains the plural χέρας mss. (J.’ app. is faulty in ascribing χέρα to λπ but χέρα Ald., adopted by Diggle and Kovacs, should not be avoided. The singular χέρα is used with ὁπλίζεσθαι at Rh. 23 and 84 (in the latter passage χέρας, only LPgB); see also, with a singular subject, Eur. Alc. 35 χέρα … ὁπλίσας and Or. 926 ὁπλίζεσθαι χέρα ( χέρας, V alone), but χέρας with a plural subject at Or. 1223 ὁπλιζώμεσθα … χέρας.
L. 115. J. (with Zanetto) adopts Schaefer’s text νικώμενος μὲν τήνδε μὴ οὐ μόληις πόλιν (with synizesis of μὴ ου), which has a dozen instances in Euripides); Murray, Diggle, and Kovacs, after Cobet and Reiske: νικώμενος μὲν οὔτι μὴ μόληις πάλιν. My favour goes to the former text, because it changes only the order of two words in the reading of LP νικώμενος μὲν τήνδ’ οὐ μὴ μόληις πόλιν, where οὐ is an inadmissible long syllable in the seventh short element. A plausible explanation for the text of LP (as suggested to me by D.J. Mastronarde per litteras) is that, as often, original μὴ ου) has been reduced to simply μὴ (e.g. because the scribes did not understand the crasis and thought there were too many syllables), but in collation οὐ was supplied in the margin or above the line, then absorbed in the line in the wrong position. (For this pattern of transposition of words from their proper place in a part of the paradosis, and omission of the same words in another part, cf. Diggle (1994) 266.) As for τήνδE μὴ VaQ and Triclinius’ correction in L ( τήνδ‘ E)μὴ O is a mistake from the same original), it lacks the negative which is needed by sense — unless we interpret the line not, as usually, “if defeated, (I fear you may) not come to this city”, but “(I fear you may) come defeated to this city”, as suggested by Vater; but see Hom. Il. 12.73-4 οὐκέτ’ ἔπειτ’ ὀίω οὐδ’ ἄγγελον ἀπονέεσθαι / ἄψορρον προτὶ ἄστυ, probably the main model for our passage, where the stress is on the idea of not coming back to the city. The demonstrative τήνδ ( ε) … πόλιν may seem odd, because ὅδε usually designates something close to the speaker, whereas Hector and Aeneas are speaking in the nocturnal camp of the Trojans, and this camp is outside the city and close to the Greek ships (I find it difficult to believe that the Trojan camp simply is equated with the city in our Rh. line, pace Klyve (1995) 155). This oddity may quite reasonably lead us to accept, with Diggle, the correction of τήνδ ( ε) ( οὐ) μή of the paradosis to οὔτι μή, and of πόλιν to πάλιν. However, the debate about deictics in drama has highlighted a series of tragic and comic passages in which ὅδε refers to a person or thing which, though not present on the stage, has either been quoted fairly recently in the drama (which is not our case), or is vividly present in the speaker’s thought — as is the case, e.g., of Eur. Alc. 881 and Soph. El. 540 where this deictic is used for dead people —, or is anyway conjured by the speaker in the eye of imagination for the sake of his/her audience. This latter is the case, e.g., in Aesch. Sept. 395, 424, 470, 631 (?), where the Messenger points at the Argive enemies standing at the gates, who are not actually present on the stage, “as a way for actualising the scene for an audience deprived of scenery” (Dale (1964) 166), and in Eur. Andr. 735, where this deictic is used to counteract the impression of vagueness regarding an unnamed city (cf. Stevens (1971) 184). I believe that Aeneas may have implied via this deictic τήνδε the gesture of pointing at his back, in the direction of Troy (the Trojan camp has to be thought as situated somewhere between the walls of the city and the Greek ships), in order to make the idea of his beloved city more vivid, and thus to make the fear of not returning to it more emotionally powerful.
L. 137. J. (with Murray and Zanetto) retains νικᾶτ’ mss., but the slight correction νικᾶις, suggested by Bothe and adopted by Diggle, fits the context better than the plural of the paradosis. If Hector addresses here with νικᾶτ’ both Aeneas and the chorus, who have just pronounced themselves to be in favour of Aeneas’ advice, or the chorus alone (for whom the plural number is usually adopted by the actors: cf. Kaimio (1970) 211-8), then the shift to the single Aeneas in κοίμα, l. 138 — with no vocative for him, and thus an unclear change of addressee — is rather difficult. On the other hand with νικᾶις we would have an easily understandable continuity with the preceding dialogue between Hector and Aeneas, interrupted by the chorus’ unanswered comment (ll. 131-6).
Ll. 161-2. J. (with Murray and Zanetto) accepts the progressive οὐκοῦν‘well’ of the paradosis, and punctuates the phrase as an affirmation. Diggle and Kovacs print the question mark after φέρεσθαι, and correct the accent to introduce the “livelier” interrogative adverb οὔκουν, which according to Denniston (1954) 436 seems to be more appropriate than the more ‘muted’ οὐκοῦν in several passages of tragedy where emotional style prevails. It may be debatable whether the emotional level of Dolon’s rhetorical question is high enough to make the correction to οὔκουν necessary in this case, but the phrase must be interrogative, because of the following ναί, l. 164: in more than 70 passages where phrases with οὐκοῦν or οὔκουν are followed more or less closely by replies beginning with ναί in classical authors (largely in Plato), οὐκοῦν is consistently interrogative, and only a couple of doubtful cases of οὐκοῦν -statements can be found.
L. 175. The preference of J. (and Diggle, and Kovacs) for Ὀιλέως LPQ does not seem justified enough, and the difficilior Ἰλέως V, usually printed in modern editions from Nauck to Zanetto, appears to be preferable, as I have already tried to show in Fantuzzi (2005) 272-3.
Ll. 428-9. J. (with Zanetto) retains εὐξένου … πόντου of the paradosis, whereas Diggle and Kovacs print Markland’s ἀξένου. The latter slight correction ought, in my opinion, to be accepted. The form εὔξενος, which is not rare for the adjective = “inhospitable”, or as an anthroponym, is nowhere else solidly attested in the mss. when it designates the Black Sea. Furthermore, the euphemism εὔξεινος, which became the standard name for the Black Sea, would be less suitable than the straightforwardly negative original ἄξενος found in the context of Rhesus’ speech, where the gravity of the expedition that had compelled him to delay his help to the hard-pressed Trojans of course needs to be stressed. In very similar terms, within the choral song extolling the greatness and graveness of Heracles’ labours in Euripides’ Heracles, for the Black Sea, which the hero crosses to fight the Amazons ( ἔβα δι’ ἄξεινον ο, l. 410), Markland’s ἄξεινον is preferable to εὔξεινον of the ms., “for the expedition was dangerous, and εὔξεινον, even if it is primarily a proper name “Euxine”, suggests the opposite” (as correctly stated by Bond (1981) ad loc., to be consulted also for the facility of the confusion between ευ – and α -).
L. 492. οὔκ ἔστ’ ἑκείνωι θοῦρον ἐντάξαι δόρυ. J. follows the modern editions (+ Stephanus’ TLG and LSJ) retaining ἐντάξαι, and interpreting it as ἀντιτάξαι (“Tu ne peux lui opposer ta pique…”). This meaning would then be attested only here: Paley, followed by Porter and Feickert (2004) 239, compared Soph. Aj. 104 ἐνστάτης, namely “enemy”, but this is quite a different case, because the meaning “enemy” is easily derived from the sense “one who stands in the way”, and is standard not only for this word, but also for ἐνίστασθαι, ἔνστασις and ἐνστατικός. Therefore, were this the only possible sense, Reiske’s correction to ἀντᾶραι, accepted by Diggle and Kovacs, would, in my opinion, be nearly obligatory. I suggest, however, that ἐντάξαι is defensible if it is taken in its technical-military meaning “to array (soldiers) in (between other ranks)”, which is attested at least by the later authors Arr. Tact. 26.6 and Ael. Tact. 31.3. Rhesus had asked Hector in l. 491 to τάξαι“array” him “to face Achilles and his contingent” ( τάξον μ’ Ἀχιλλέως καὶ στρατοῦ κατὰ στόμα). As a pragmatic leader of the Trojan front, Hector had already arranged in ll. 485-8 for the location of the night camp of Rhesus’ army in topographically precise terms, speaking of it as an ‘extra’ to be added to the pre-existing Trojan camp: “you may lean your shields and station your army on the left or right wing or in the middle of the allies”. In his answer to Rhesus’ wish to directly face Achilles, and once again as a pragmatic leader of the Trojan front, Hector’s ἐντάξαι coherently focuses on the topographical situation of the two armies in front of each other, and excludes the utility of “inserting” Rhesus “in” the space between the opposed ranks (the so called μεταίχμιον) in order to allow him to face Achilles.
L. 594. Nauck’s economical emendation εὖ δοίη τύχη (already suggested but refused by Vater) is hardly avoidable, and has been accepted by Diggle and Kovacs. Pace Feickert (2004) 269, δ’ εἴη of the mss., retained by Murray, Zanetto, and J., would give a completely unparalleled phrase with the final τύχη of Va or τυχεῖν of the other mss. On the contrary,phrases with εὖ διδόναι and the same or similar divine subjects are well attested in several passages of tragedy (three times in prayers, as here): cf. Soph. OT 1080-1, OC, Eur. Alc. 1003-4, Andr., Or. and also Suppl. 463-4.
L. 615. J. (with Diggle and Kovacs) prints Lenting’s emendation of νύξ paradosis to the accus. νύκτ’. With the nomin. we would have the image of the night which ‘gets in turn’ the light of the dawn (for this meaning of ἀμείβεσθαι cf. at least Aesch. Sept. 304 and Soph. Trach. 736). This image is certainly unusual (Feickert (2004) 274), but finds a close, though heretofore unacknowledged parallel in the adesp. TrGF F 692.14-15 ἵνα τε νὺξ δ [ ιαμε ] ίβεται (other proposed supplements are [ ἐσαμε ] ίβεται Snell, [ ἐπαμε ] ίβεται Page, [ ἀπαμε ] ίβεται Schubart: a middle form of the verb ἀμείβεσθαι in composition appears unavoidable), τὰ [ ν φαες / φορον αἴγλαν ἑῶιον [ ἀ ] ν’ αἰθέρα, whose tone sounds similar to Eur. Phaeth. 63-6 Diggle = TrGF (72)F773.19-22: during the night Helios is carried by the Hesperides (our fragment, ll. 12-13) from the West to the East, where his νεότροφος τροπά (ll. 13-14) takes place, and “the night gets in turn the light, etc.” (Merkelbach (1953) 126 translates ἵνα…αἴγλαν as “wo die Nacht sich wandelt in lichtbringenden Glanz”, but I could find no evidence for this neutral sense of ἀμείβεσθαι + simple accus.; on the contrary I agree with Diggle (1994) 293-4 that in our passage the verb expresses something of the reciprocal nature of the phenomenon of the succession day/night). The pap. transmitting this lyric piece is of the 3rd or 2nd century BC, and the piece itself probably comes from the 4th century, though a Hellenistic date or Euripidean authorship have also been suggested. This uncertainty makes it impossible to assess the relative chronology of the Rh.‘ phrase and of the adesp. fragment. In any case this parallel may lead to retain the nomin. νύξ of the paradosis.
L. 924. I agree with J. (and Murray, and Zanetto) about keeping κείνωι σοφιστῆι Θρηικί; Diggle and Kovacs adopt the correction κλείνωι, by Dobree. Compare Lucian, Toxar. 27 ὑπὸ τῶι Ῥοδίωι ἐκείνωι σοφιστῆι, where the name of the character is omitted completely (in the Rh. it is postponed to l. 925).
Scholars and, above all, students will be grateful to J. for a really good conclusion of the long story of the Budé Euripides.
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