The Dance (26-30)

Again, it seems to me that when you praise comedy and tragedy, you have forgotten that in each of them there is a special form of dance; that is to say, the tragic is the Emmeleia and the comic the Cordax, though sometimes a third form, the Sicinnis, is included also.[*] But since at the outset you gave greater honour to tragedy and comedy and cyclic fluteplayers and singing with the lyre than to the dance, calling these competitive and therefore grand— come, let us now compare each one of them with the dance. And yet, suppose we omit the flute, if you do not mind, and the lyre, since they are parts of the dancer’s paraphernalia.

As far as tragedy is concerned, let us form our first opinion of its character from its outward semblance. What a repulsive and at the same time frightful spectacle is a man tricked out to disproportionate stature, mounted upon high clogs, wearing a mask that reaches up above his head, with a mouth that is set in a vast yawn as if he meant to swallow up the spectators! I forbear to speak of pads for

And by the way, the charge you were bringing against the dance, that men imitate women, would be a common charge against both tragedy and comedy. Indeed, in them the female parts outnumber the male!

Moreover, comedy accounts the ridiculousness of the masks themselves as part of what is pleasing in her; for example, the masks of Davuses and Tibiuses,[*] and of cooks.

On the other hand, that the appearance of the dancer is seemly and becoming needs no assertion on my part, for it is patent to all who are not blind. His mask itself is most beautiful, and suited to the drama that forms the theme; its mouth is not wide open, as with tragedy and comedy, but closed, for he has many people who do the shouting in his stead.

In the past, to be sure, they themselves both danced and sang; but afterwards, since the