(Reading for Context)
I read a translation of Lucian’s A Feast of Lapithae, his spoof version of the famous Attic Greek text The Symposium by Plato. Lucian must have been well-read in the written Greek tradition, and shows both his knowledge and capacity for critique of such works. He composed this parody of The Symposium artfully, taking a similar context and the same dialogue structure and spinning the themes of the story towards comedy. He begins with the same sort of conversation that introduces The Symposium. One man, in this story Philo, asks the main narrator of this story Lycinus about the feast that occurred last night and all of the subsequent events. Lycinus is hesitant, reprimanding Philo for his enthusiasm to hear the most “vile” secret happenings of a feast full of sophisticated thinkers – he refuses to disclose any information. Philo, however, goads Lycinus saying that he is even more eager to tell the story than Philo is to hear it, and pretends to walk off without hearing any of the juicy details. Lycinus cannot resist–he immediately calls Philo back and begins his tale. I appreciated seeing this classic comedic structure in Lucian’s writing as it brought to mind about five modern instances where the same dynamic is used.
After this bit of introduction, we are introduced to the subjects of Aristaenetus’ dinner party, his daughter Cleanthis and her future husband Chaereas. Lycinus also lays out the main guests, some of whom have nicknames including ‘Labyrinth’ and ‘Cleaver.’ A small argument starts right away over seating and whether age should be prioritized or nobility. This is defused quickly, however, giving only a little taste of the ridiculous conflicts to come. As the dinner is beginning, a man by the name of Alcidamas bursts in the doors and is met with some confusion and apprehension by the guests. Our host is gracious and offers the man a chair, which he refuses as it is far too “womanly” and he will be better off eating while standing. He bumbles around the room, following servants and making disparaging comments at the overly-extravagant table set. Other mishaps and small comedies continue to build up, including a wrestling match between the jester and Alcimadas, a scandal concerning a young servant boy and one of the older men, and the arrival of a doctor. All of these lead to the eventual entrance of a messenger, carrying the catalyst for the impending fight. Hetoemocles, our host’s neighbor, regrets that he was not invited to the banquet and reveals a bit of a dirty rumor about Diphilus and Aristaenetus’ son Zeno, whom he tutored, which is confirmed by their reaction to the accusation. The tension in the room is palpable and Cleodemus, reportedly “looking for a fight,” begins to chastise the room. All of the men in the room pile on, choosing sides and throwing words, until wine starts to be thrown instead. Aristaenetus, ever the mediator, lies down between two of the men in an attempt to quell their anger, but the buffer is ineffectual. By the time the main course is brought out, a truce has been called, but it is short-lived. A tug-of-war breaks out over uneven food portions, and the fight begins in earnest. Goblets are thrown, heads bleed, and Alcidamas is a tornado of destruction as he attacks everything in arm’s reach. Somewhere in the battle the lamp is knocked over and the room is plunged into darkness. This event dampens the spark of the fighters, and the party comes to an end. One of the guests Hermon sneaks one last jab at the Stoics, jeering that Zenothimus should consider his pain.
I found this piece extremely humorous, and was interested to see which comedic tactics Lucian employed. He enjoyed contradictions and hypocrisies as well as some linguistic intricacies. The last line of the story was especially telling, describing the event as a “feast of reason” when in fact neither feasting nor reason were ever completed.
