Читать книгу A Companion to Greek Lyric - Группа авторов - Страница 14

Unlike the modern world’s specialization and professionalization, Greek poets composed the words, the melodies, and trained the choruses who were by and large amateurs drawn from the citizen body. Although our evidence is scant, it indicates that poets trained choruses at least in their own cities. We have seen that recent scholarship has entertained the possibility of Sappho as a choral poet. This view, which as we shall see has ancient authority, gains further support from the recently discovered fuller version of the Tithonus poem (fragment 58):

(several words missing) the violet-rich Muses’ fine gifts, children, (several words missing) the clear-voiced song-loving lyre: (several words missing) skin once was soft is withered now, (several words missing) hair has turned white which once was black, my heart has been weighed down, my knees, which once were swift to dance like young fawns, fail me. How often I lament these things. But what can you do? No being that is human can escape old age. For people used to think that Dawn with rosy arms (several words uncertain) Tithonus fine and young to the edges of the earth; yet still grey old age in time did seize him, though he had a deathless wife.²⁴

The speaker talks to young people about the gifts of the Muses and a song-loving lyre, she complains about the marks old age has left on her complexion, her hair, her mood, and her agility. She can no longer dance like a young fawn, because her knees do not support her. Our speaker is clearly a choreut, in all likelihood female, who experiences problems because she is getting on in years. A number of scholars identify the speaker of this fragment with Sappho herself.²⁵ If the identification is right, our speaker is Sappho in her role of chorodidaskalos, which she is no longer able adequately to fulfill, if we take the statement at face value, because of her old age.²⁶

I suggest that Philostratus the Elder had this and other poems of Sappho in mind in his description of a painting featuring a choral performance in the precinct of Aphrodite (Imag. 2. 1, ὑμνήτριαι). For our purposes it makes little difference if Philostratus does not describe an actual painting, but reconstructs a rehearsal of a choral performance on the basis of his own contemporary experience, Sappho’s poetry, and possibly other sources.²⁷

What Philostratus describes is a performance of young women in a sanctuary of Aphrodite. The chorus leader is skilled, beautiful, and still young, but a wrinkle heralds old age. The statue of Aphrodite is lifelike, too. At this point the speaker apostrophizes his readers, asking if they want to pour a libation of words on the altar, for the altar has already enough frankincense and cinnamon and myrrh, it has a fragrance of Sappho. Once again, the painter is praised for the vividness of the painting which enables the viewers to hear the young choreuts singing. One of them is off-tune. The chorodidaskalos frowns at her, claps her hands, and ably brings her back into tune. A description of the appearance of the young choreuts follows: they are barefoot, they wear close-fitting girdles and colorful garments, their chitons are loose so as to not constrict their movement. They are beautiful. Paris or any other judge would have a hard time to choose the best, because they rival one another in looks and “honeyed voice” (μελίφωνοι). The speaker hastens to add that this is Sappho’s expression. The envisaged hypothetical contest is not based on looks only, but on looks, movement, and voice. The emphasis on the sound is further strengthened by the assertion that Eros is playing along with them and producing harmonious notes by striking his bow. The description of the painting ends with the subject of the song-dance. The eroticized choreuts sing and dance the birth of the goddess of love. The Philostratean ekphrasis goes far beyond a vivid description of a choral performance. It is a successful attempt to reproduce the irresistible visual, aural, and olfactory appeal of choreia, Sappho-style. The Philostratean image of Sappho as a chorodidaskalos gains further support from an epigram in the Palatine Anthology (9.189) that depicts the poet as chorus leader (3–4) and to a reference in Aulus Gellius to choruses of boys and girls performing Sappho’s and Anacreon’s poetry.²⁸

Sappho was not the only poet to express the frustration of the aging chorodidaskalos. Antigonus of Carystus (Mir. 23 [27] p. 8 Keller) quotes some lines from one of Alcman’s songs and asserts that the aging speaker who complains about his heavy knees that no longer support him is Alcman himself.²⁹ In contrast to Sappho, however, who laments the inevitability of old age, Alcman expresses the wish that he were a bird:

No longer, honey-toned, strong-voiced (or holy-voiced) girls can my limbs carry me. If only, if only I were a cerylus, who flies along with the halcyons over the flower of the wave with resolute heart, strong (or holy) sea-blue bird.³⁰

How seriously these statements are to be taken is unclear. It is possible that they are hyperbolic, meant to elicit compliments for the fitness of chorodidaskaloi past their prime.

An agonistic epigram usually dated to the Hellenistic period extolls the fitness of Simonides at the age of 80 and turns the image of the aging chorodidaskalos’ feebleness upside down (XXVIII Page):

Adeimantus was archon in Athens when the Antiochid tribe won the intricately-made tripod; one Aristides, son of Xenophilus, was choregos of the chorus of fifty men who had learned well; and for their training glory (κῦδος) came the way of Simonides, son of Leoprepes, at the age of eighty. (ὀγδωκονταέτει παιδὶ Λεωπρεπέος)

Simonides may have been an exception, of course, but his age was not perceived as a problem by the members of the Antiochid tribe, who trusted him to compose and train a chorus for a dithyrambic contest.³¹ The epigram offers us a valuable glimpse into choral training privileging the outcome: Simonides’ disciples are said to have learnt well.

In a charming epinician, the Fourteenth Olympian Ode, Pindar lets the male choreuts speak of their training (13–20):

O queen Aglaia, and you Euphrosyne, lover of song-dance, children of the mightiest of the gods, hear me now – and may you, Thalia, lover of song-dance, look with favour upon this lightly stepping revel-group that celebrates kindly fortune. For having practiced (ἐν μελέταις) I have come to sing of Asopichus in Lydian mode, since the land of the Minyae is victorious at Olympia because of you.³²

The honorand Asopichus competed in the category of boys. The choreuts celebrating his victory were probably also boys of his age. They designate themselves as a komos, they draw attention to their light step and to the practice they have done in order to come and celebrate their friend’s Olympic victory.³³ This charming song, a cross between a hymn and an epinician, conjures up the ancient sanctuary of the Charites in Orchomenos where the chorus of boys perform in the goddesses’ presence.³⁴ Despite the reference to choral practice, it is worth noting that Pindar chose not to mention a chorodidaskalos in this instance.

In contrast, in the Sixth Olympian, an epinician for the Syracusan Hagesias, Pindar mentions Aeneas, a chorodidaskalos whom he compliments for his skills (87–91):

Now, Aeneas, urge your companions first to celebrate Hera the Maiden, and then to know if by our truthful words we escape the age-old taunt of “Boeotian pig,” for you are a true messenger, a message stick of the fair-haired Muses, a sweet mixing bowl of loudly ringing songs.

Space considerations do not allow a detailed account of several important issues raised by Pindar’s request to Aeneas, so I shall limit myself to the ancient scholiasts’ explanation:

For this Aeneas was the chorodidaskalos, whom Pindar used because he was weak-voiced and could not lead the choruses by himself in public, which most of the poets and especially those who had strong voices used to do when they participated in contests, teaching the choruses themselves. (Σ ad Olymp. 6. 148a)³⁵

The scholiasts had no way to know if Pindar was weak-voiced nor do they cite their authority. They probably deduced this conclusion from Pindar’s compliment to Aeneas that he is a “mixing bowl of loud ringing songs” (γλυκὺς κρατὴρ ἀγαφθέγκτων ἀοιδᾶν). If there was any grain of truth in this contention, we would expect Pindar to address the chorodidaskaloi he used more often. As it happens, the request is extremely rare, if not unique.³⁶ Besides, it is hard to believe that Pindar would have such success in the dithyrambic contests in Athens if he was unable to teach choruses. Delegation of chorodidaskalia must have been common practice for poets of Panhellenic stature. Poets in high demand must have traveled a lot, but even so it would be impossible to train all choruses in all cities which had commissioned song-dances.

Pindar must have trusted Aeneas whom he praises for being a faithful messenger, a message stick of the lovely-haired Muses. Turned on its head Pindar’s compliment reveals the anxiety that poets must have felt when they sent their songs to be performed under the supervision of people they did not know. This is why it is hard to imagine that poets like Pindar and Simonides would risk competition by proxy in prestigious contests. Simonides’ decision to train the Antiochid tribe at an advanced age shows that he was not prepared to delegate this task to somebody else and risk his success at a prestigious contest.³⁷

Our evidence shows that more often than not the roles of chorodidaskalos and chorus leader (choragos) were distinct. In Athens, for instance, in the dithyrambic and dramatic contests the chorus leader was called the coryphaeus, whereas the term chorēgos was used of the producer of the show.³⁸ Beyond Athens our evidence is scant. In Alcman’s Louvre partheneion the chorus leader is Hagesichora. In all likelihood she, her second in command Agido, and the other members of the parthenaic chorus were trained by Alcman. In the archaic period choral instruction had a pedagogical dimension that went far beyond preparation for a certain performance.³⁹ The pedagogical dimension of choreia was later succinctly formulated by Plato’s: ὁ … ἀπαίδευτος ἀχόρευτος, “the uneducated man is one without choral training,” (Laws 654a).

Was Pindar the chorodidaskalos of the fragment 94b, the partheneion he composed for the Theban festival of Daphnephoria? The leader of the procession, which can be reconstructed to some extent thanks to Proclus’ testimony, was probably the boy Agasicles, the daphnēphoros, escorted by his father Pagondas. The chorus leader was female, perhaps Damaena, Pagondas’ daughter, according to Luigi Lehnus’ widely accepted reconstruction.⁴⁰ Another female, Andaisistrota, is said to have trained either the chorus leader or some other female choreut (66–75):

Δαμαίνας π̣α[. .]ρ̣ . . […]ωι νῦν μοι ποδὶ

στείχων ἁγ̣έο·̣ […] [τ]ὶ̣ν γὰρ̣ ε̣[ὔ]φρων ἕ̣ψεται

πρώτα θυγάτηρ [ὁ]δοῦ

δάφνας εὐπετάλου σχεδ[ό]ν

βαίνοισα πεδίλο̣ις,

Ἀνδαισιστρότα ἃν ἐπά-

σκησ̣ε μήδεσ[ι.] . [.]τ̣[.]. . []

ἁ δ’ ἔρ[γμ]ασι̣ [– –

μυρίων ε[… … … .]α̣ις

ζευξα[υ υ–

of Damaena, stepping forth now with a … foot, lead the way for me, since the first to follow you on the way will be your kindly daughter, who beside the branch of leafy bay walks on sandals, whom Andaisistrota has trained in skills … and she, with works of innumerable and ( . . . ) having yoked.⁴¹

The text is too lacunose to allow certainty concerning the kind of training Andaisistrota offered, but the participle ζευξα[ (perhaps yoking the chariot of song?) as well as the immediate and broader context points to music and poetry. Before the text breaks off in another self-referential statement the chorus mentions nectar (μὴ νῦν νέκτα[ρ … … …]νας ἐ̣μᾶς, 76). Whatever the familial relations between the choreuts’ relations were, it looks as if Pindar offered a glimpse into choral education of young Theban girls by female teachers. The choreuts of Alcman’s Louvre partheneion mention a certain Aenesimbrota who could also have been a chorodidaskalos, but the diction is far more vague than in the Pindaric daphnēphorikon.⁴²

What Alcman’s Louvre partheneion and Pindar’s daphnēphorikon have in common is the gender of the choreuts, for the occasions for which they were composed and consequently their contents are very different. Claude Calame’s reconstruction of the occasion of Alcman’s partheneion has stood the test of time despite challenges to it, i.e., a ritual celebration in song and dance of the transition of the choreuts to female maturity. Pindar’s partheneion, on the other hand, honors Apollo and the members of a prominent family whose male members are praised for their athletic victories, the care they take of foreigners (proxenia), and their devotion to justice (38–65), whereas the female members, some of which are taking part in the song-dance, are praised for their musical gifts.⁴³

It is worth noting, however, that despite their different circumstances both choruses compare their singing to the enchanting singing of the Sirens. In Alcman’s partheneion it is Hagesichora who is compared with the Sirens (96–97). The text is frustratingly lacunose, but in what survives the chorus seem to say that Hagesichora cannot sing better than the Sirens, because they are goddesses, but she can sing as well as a mortal can. In the daphnēphorikon the Theban choreuts assert that with the accompaniment of auloi made of lotus they will imitate with their songs the Sirens’ boast (σειρῆ̣να δὲ κόμπον αὐλίσκ̣ων ὑπὸ λωτίνων μιμήσομ̣’ ἀοιδαῖς, 13–15) whose power is such that it silences the swift blasts of the West wind (Zephyrus) and “whenever with the strength of winter chilling Boreas rages swiftly over the sea … stirs up the blast …” (trans. Race). At this point our text becomes lacunose, but the Hesiodic intertext (fr. 27–28 M.-W) according to which the Sirens enchanted the winds (τοὺς ἀνέμους θέλγειν) indicates a similar boast. Like the song of the Sirens that can conquer the raging North wind, the song that the Theban choreuts are about to reenact in the here and now will prove comparably enchanting. The specification of the material of the auloi as lotus wood intensifies the Odyssean intertext of irresistible enchantment.⁴⁴ Pindar was well aware of the irresistible power of song. In the Eighth Paean he sang of the wondrous artifact of Hephaestus and Athena, the Kēlēdones, whom the two gods decided to destroy, when they realized the effect their song had on mortals who, unable to resist them and depart, stayed and died in Delphi.⁴⁵ The Odyssey offered a more viable model of handling enchantment, since Odysseus was able both to enjoy the intense pleasure of the performance of the Sirens and survive it.

In another fragment Alcman identifies the Muse with the Siren (ἁ Μῶσα κέκλαγ’ ἁ λίγηα Σηρήν, “the Muse cries out, that clear-voiced Siren,” 30 PMGF). Anastasia-Erasmia Peponi has drawn attention to Aelius Aristides’ reception of the identification and has offered a very attractive interpretation. We may first look at the interpretation of Aelius Aristides, who evidently had access either to the whole poem or to a substantial quotation (28.51):

And you hear the Spartan saying to himself and the choir:

The Muse cries out, that clear-voiced Siren.

… Add this point too, that the poet, having in the first place requested the Muse herself, so that he might become active under her influence, goes on to say as though he has changed his mind that the choir itself instead of the Muse has become what he says.

(trans. D. Campbell)

According to Peponi “the identification of the Muses with the Sirens is not random from the leading figure’s point of view. If he imagines the voice of the chorus as that of Sirens and in turn identifies these with the Muses, he can be considered as both attracted to and inspired by the chorus that he leads. Or, to put this another way, the poet/choral leader acts out a position that is at once active and passive. He is made to yearn for the voices he hears while drawing from them the power to compose and sing.”⁴⁶

The choruses’ irresistible appeal to poets/chorodidaskaloi, proposed by this interpretation, underlies a number of Pindaric self-referential choral statements in which the speaker claims a special relationship with the Muses and other deities associated with music. In Pindar’s Fourth Paean, for instance, the male chorus of Ceans makes the following statement (21–24):

ἤτοι καὶ ἐγὼ σ[κόπ]ελον ναίων δια-

γινώσκομαι μὲν ἀρεταῖς ἀέθλων

Ἑλλανίσιν, γινώσκ[ο]μα̣[ι] δ̣ὲ καὶ

μοῖσαν παρέχων̣ ἅλις·

Truly, I too, who dwell on a rock am renowned for Hellenic excellence in games on the one hand and on the other I am also known for my abundant contribution to music.

William Race, who translates μοῖσαν as poetry, thinks that the “reference can be to the amount of poetry their [i.e., Cean athletes’) victories have occasioned or to the Cean poets Simonides and Bacchylides (whose first two odes celebrate Cean victors).”⁴⁷ Whereas the expression is general enough to include the inspiration that Cean athletic victories offered to Simonides and Bacchylides, textual and contextual indications suggest that the reference cannot be so restrictive.

The μὲν-δὲ construction indicates that the chorus boasts of the athletic excellence of Ceans on the one hand and of their contribution to music on the other. What does the chorus’ contribution consist of? It consists of beautiful singing and dancing. Pindar has not supplied an indirect object of the participle παρέχων, but it is not hard to imagine the recipients: first and foremost the chorus sing and dance for Apollo. They also sing and dance for the human audience of the paean, but an important beneficiary of their musical talents is the composer of the paean, Pindar, who could be the chorodidaskalos.⁴⁸ By making the chorus draw attention to their musical contribution, Pindar paid a compliment to the Cean performers of his paean, along the lines “You sing and dance splendidly! You inspire me.” The clever combination of an adverb denoting abundance (ἅλις) with an iterative present participle (παρέχων) and a direct object denoting the totality of music (μοῖσαν), namely words, melody, and dance, points to the countless occasions that Cean choruses performed in the past, and presumably would perform in the future. As we shall see in the next section, instruction of choruses has a divine paradigm. In teaching and leading choruses, poets enacted in the here and now the instruction gods offered mortal choreuts once upon a time, and shared in the pleasure mortals offered to the gods. Sometimes the pleasure was so intense that poets thought of their choruses as Sirens.