<TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns:py="http://codespeak.net/lxml/objectify/pytype" py:pytype="TREE"><text><body><div type="translation" n="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg045.perseus-eng2" xml:lang="eng"><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg045.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="61"><p>
To sum it up, he will not be
ignorant of anything that is told by Homer and
Hesiod and the best poets, and above all by tragedy.






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</p><p>
These are a very few themes that I have selected
out of many, or rather out of an infinite number,
and set down as the more important, leaving the rest
for the poets to sing of, for the dancers themselves
to present, and for you to add, finding them by
their likeness to those already mentioned, all of
which must lie ready, provided and stored by the
dancer in advance to meet every occasion.

</p></div><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg045.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="62"><p>
Since he is imitative and undertakes to present
by means of movements all that is being sung, it
is essential for him, as for the orators, to cultivate
clearness, so that everything which he presents will
be intelligible, requiring no interpreter. No, in the
words of the Delphic oracle,<note xml:lang="eng" n="v.5.p.265.n.1"><p>That given to Croesus, Herod., I, 47; there was, of course, no reference to dancing in it. The maid of Pytho vaunted her knowledge of the number of the sands and the measure of the sea and her ability to understand the mute and hear the silent, before demonstrating her power by replying to the testquestion “What is Croesus now doing” with the answer that she could smell turtle and lamb boiling in a bronze pot with a lid of bronze. That response, we are told, hit the mark. </p></note> whosoever beholds
dancing must be able “to understand the mute
and hear the silent” dancer.
</p></div><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg045.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="63"><p>
That is just what happened, they say, in the case
of Demetrius the Cynic. He too was denouncing
the dance just as you do, saying that the dancer
was a mere adjunct to the flute and the pipes and the
stamping, himself contributing nothing to the
presentation but making absolutely meaningless,
idle movements with no sense in them at all; but
that people were duped by the accessories of the
business—the silk vestments, the beautiful mask,
the flute and its quavers, and the sweet voices of the
singers, by all of which the dancer’s business, itself
amounting to nothing at all, was embellished.
Thereupon the dancer at that time, under Nero,



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in high repute, who was no fool, they say, and
excelled, if ever a man did, in remembrance of
legends and beauty of movement,<note xml:lang="eng" n="v.5.p.267.n.1"><p>Probably the first of the several famous dancers who took Paris as their stage name, of whom the emperor, some said, was so jealous that he put him to death (Suetonius, Nero, 54). </p></note> made a request
of Demetrius that was very reasonable, I think—to
see him dancing and then accuse him; he promised,
indeed, to perform for him without flute or songs.
That is what he did; enjoining silence upon the
stampers and flute-players and upon the chorus
itself, quite unsupported, he danced the amours of
Aphrodite and Ares, Helius tattling, Hephaestus
laying his plot and trapping both of them with his
entangling bonds, the gods who came in on them,
portrayed individually, Aphrodite ashamed, Ares
seeking cover and begging for mercy, and everything
that belongs to this story,<note xml:lang="eng" n="v.5.p.267.n.2"><p>Homer, Odyssey, VIII, 266-320; cf. Lucian, Deor. Dial., 21 (17). </p></note> in such wise that Demetrius
was delighted beyond measure with what was taking
place and paid the highest possible tribute to the
dancer; he raised his voice and shouted at the top
of his lungs: ‘I hear the story that you are acting,
man, I do not just see it; you seem to me to be
talking with your very hands!”
</p></div><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg045.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="64"><p>
Since we are under Nero in fancy, I wish to tell
the remark of a barbarian concerning the same
dancer, which may be considered a very great tribute
to his art. One of the barbarians from Pontus, a
man of royal blood, came to Nero on some business
or other, and among other entertainments saw that
dancer perform so vividly that although he could
not follow what was being sung—he was but half
Hellenised, as it happened—he understood every-



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thing. So when it came to be time for him to go back
to his own country, Nero, in saying good-bye,
urged him to ask for anything that he wanted, and
promised to give it him. “If you give me the
dancer,’ said he, “you will please me mightily!”
When Nero asked, “What good would he be to you
there?”, he replied, “I have barbarian neighbours
who do not speak the same language, and it is not
easy to keep supplied with interpreters for them.
If I am in want of one, therefore, this man will
interpret everything for me by signs.” So deeply
had he been impressed by that disclosure of the distinctness and lucidity of the mimicry of the dance.
</p></div><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg045.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="65"><p>
The chief occupation and the aim of dancing, as I
have said, is impersonating, which is cultivated in
the same way by the rhetoricians, particularly those
who recite these pieces that they call “exercises”;
for in their case also there is nothing which we
commend more highly than their accommodating
themselves to the roles which they assume, so that
what they say is not inappropriate to the princes
or tyrant-slayers or poor people or farmers whom
they introduce, but in each of these what is individual
and distinctive is presented.
</p></div></div></body></text></TEI>