Our reading of Aristotle’s Poetics passes to chapters
VI–XII. We were told in chapter
I that we were going to talk about, among other things,

πῶς δεῖ συνίστασθαι	|	how one must compose
τοὺς μύθους	|	the mythoi
εἰ μέλλει	|	if [it] is going
καλῶς ἕξειν	|	to hold [together] well
ἡ ποίησις	|	– [“it” being] the poetry.

In my attempt at verbatim translation, I am just
transliterating the key word μύθος, in its plural form μύθοι. The plural
ending here already appears in English in such terms as hoi
polloi.

In the quoted passage, Aristotle doesn’t use the form μύθοι, he uses
μύθους. The former is in the nominative case, used for
subjects; the latter, accusative, for direct
objects.

In Greek, Latin, and for that matter Turkish, the singular nominative
case of a noun has been selected as the lemma or
dictionary-form. Another number or case could have been used for this
purpose. A reason for doing that would be that the nominative case may
lack a sound that appears in other cases.

Already, another case is usually given in addition. Thus for
example the (ancient) Greek for water is found under ὕδωρ, but then one
is told that the genitive case is ὕδατος. The entry could have been
alphabetized according to the latter case, so as to be nearer such
related words as the adjective ὑδατώδης “watery.”

I do not mean that as a serious scholarly proposal. Nonetheless, it
is interesting that French nouns tend to be based on Latin
accusatives, as I understand from the “Présentation du
dictionnaire” at the head of Dictionnaire d’étymologie
(Larousse: Paris, 2001; I bought this book about twenty years ago from
L’Institut français, near Taksim in Istanbul; I was living in Ankara at
the time):

Les étymons latins sont donnés sous la forme du nominatif, suivi du
génitif lorsque celui-ci se révèle nécessaire pour la compréhension de
son évolution phonétique. C’est une convention pratique, car on sait que
le mot français est issu, dans la quasi-totalité des cas, de l’accusatif
latin.

Thus for example the dictionary traces aiguillon
to the vulgar Latin aculeo, -onis.

Before returning to the Poetics, I recall one of William
Blake’s “Proverbs of Hell”:

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.

This is not always true, as George Eliot points out in
Middlemarch. It happened with alchemy, but it may not happen in
linguistics:

Doubtless a vigorous error vigorously pursued has kept the embryos of
truth a-breathing: the quest of gold being at the same time a
questioning of substances, the body of chemistry is prepared for its
soul, and Lavoisier is born. But Mr. Casaubon’s theory of the elements
which made the seed of all tradition was not likely to bruise itself
unawares against discoveries: it floated among flexible conjectures no
more solid than those etymologies which seemed strong because of
likeness in sound until it was shown that likeness in sound made them
impossible …

That is from chapter XLVIII. Mr Causaubon was trying to produce a
Key to All Mythologies.

I have now finished chapter LXIV of Middlemarch, for the
eleventh weekly meeting of fourteen in another Catherine
Project group, in addition to the Aristotle one. I read all of
Middlemarch twenty years ago, but have forgotten much of
it.

Middlemarch is a test for what Aristotle says at the
beginning of chapter VIII of the
Poetics:

μῦθος δ᾽ ἐστὶν εἷς οὐχ	|	Mythos is one not
ὥσπερ τινὲς οἴονται	|	– as some suppose –
ἐὰν περὶ ἕνα ᾖ.	|	if about one it be.

Thus Homer was wise to include not every known fact about
Odysseus in the Odyssey,

ἀλλὰ περὶ μίαν πρᾶξιν	|	but about one deed,
οἵαν λέγομεν	|	– such as we say –
τὴν Ὀδύσσειαν	|	the Odyssey
συνέστησεν.	|	he composed.

Middlemarch could have been called the Dorotheiad,
but the whole point would be the lack of “one deed” for the
title character:

Who that cares much to know the history of man … has not dwelt … on
the life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with some gentleness at the
thought of the little girl walking forth one morning hand-in-hand with
her still smaller brother, to go and seek martyrdom in the country of
the Moors? … That child-pilgrimage was a fit beginning. Theresa’s
passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life …

… Many Theresas have been born who found for themselves no epic life
wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant action; perhaps
only a life of mistakes … perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred
poet and sank unwept into oblivion …

… Here and there is born a Saint Theresa, foundress of nothing, whose
loving heart-beats and sobs after an unattained goodness tremble off and
are dispersed among hindrances, instead of centring in some
long-recognizable deed.

My selections there are from

• the beginning of the first paragraph,
• the middle of the second, and
• the end of the third and last paragraph

of the Prelude of Eliot’s novel. As Aristotle says in chapter VII of
the Poetics,

ὅλον δέ ἐστιν τὸ ἔχον	|	Whole is what has
ἀρχὴν καὶ	|	beginning,
μέσον καὶ	|	middle, and
τελευτήν.	|	end.

However, as one life does not always mean one mythos, so not
every sequence of beginning, middle, and end makes a whole.

ὃ γὰρ	|	For, what
προσὸν ἢ	|	being present or
μὴ προσὸν	|	not present
μηδὲν ποιεῖ ἐπίδηλον,	|	makes no clear [difference]
οὐδὲν μόριον τοῦ ὅλου ἐστίν.	|	is no part of a whole.

This passage from the end of chapter VIII is translated by Butcher
and Fyfe respectively as,

For a thing whose presence or absence makes no visible difference, is
not an organic part of the whole.

For if the presence or absence of a thing makes no visible
difference, then it is not an integral part of the whole.

Aristotle’s μύθος is translated as “plot.” Apparently that word can
be traced back to Old English, as complot to Old French; but no
further. Why use it for μύθος, instead of just “story”?

The word mythos is used in English too, as for example in
“Satanic
Panics and the Death of Mythos” (Current Affairs, February
2021), by Aisling McCrea, who says of it,

I will be using the term … to refer to all non-literal or
non-rational parts of our understanding of what is true: rituals,
customs, superstition, storytelling, art, and transcendent
experiences …

If you are … thinking you’re not really a mythos kind of
person – because you are not religious and have never had a supernatural
experience – you are incorrect …

… In fact, the denial of mythos is everywhere in our
culture, and it can partially explain why so much of our approach to
everything artistic, challenging, or mysterious seems reductive, dull,
and unimaginative.

An example of this “denial of mythos” might be seen in a
recent news
report:

The company behind ChatGPT has revealed it has developed an
artificial intelligence model that is “good at creative writing” …

[Sam] Altman
posted an example of the model’s output on X, after giving it the
prompt: “Please write a metafictional literary short story about AI and
grief” …

Altman said the response had captured the tone of metafiction
perfectly. “It got the vibe of metafiction so right.”

Wikipedia
currently defines metafiction as

a form of fiction that emphasizes its own narrative structure in a
way that inherently reminds the audience that they are reading or
viewing a fictional work.

The form is traced back to the Canterbury
Tales and Part Two of Don Quixote. I’m not sure why
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is not on the list. I could
add also The Razor’s Edge, which begins:

I have never begun a novel with more misgiving. If I call it a novel
it is only because I don’t know what else to call it. I have little
story to tell and I end neither with a death nor a marriage. Death ends
all things and so is the comprehensive conclusion of a story, but
marriage finishes it very properly too and the sophisticated are
ill-advised to sneer at what is by convention termed a happy ending.

In the middle (more precisely, three-quarters of the way through), we
hear,

I did not quite know what to say and so remained silent.

“Paul Barton was in to see me just before you came,” Elliott said
suddenly.

I cannot expect the reader to remember who this was, since I had to
look back myself to see what name I had given him. Paul Barton was the
young American whom Elliott had introduced into London society and who
had aroused his hatred by dropping him when he no longer had any use for
him. He had been somewhat in the public eye of late …

Near the end of the novel, Maugham tells us,

as I was finishing this book, uneasily conscious that I must leave my
reader in the air and seeing no way to avoid it, I looked back with my
mind’s eye on my long narrative to see if there was any way in which I
could devise a more satisfactory ending; and to my intense surprise it
dawned upon me that without in the least intending to I had written
nothing more nor less than a success story.

I don’t know how seriously to take Maugham here. It seems unlikely
that he would have written most of the novel, as we know it now, without
having anticipated the ending. However, I really don’t know how one
writes a novel in the first place.

Neither, I suppose, does Sam Altman.

I wish I could write a novel; at least, I admire those who
can do it. I don’t know how George Eliot kept all of her characters
straight. She tests Aristotle’s argument that a work of art should be a
whole. Strictly, he was talking about tragedy; but then, it seems tragic
that the world has no place for a woman such as Dorothea Brooke.

For Aristotle, a tragedy must first of all be serious; at
least, that is one way to translate the adjective σπουδαίος. Dorothea is
serious. What is the point of introducing her husband’s servant, when he
appears only in the following passages?

… seeing his old acquaintance the butler in the hall, [Ladislaw]
said, “Don’t mention that I am here, Pratt; I will wait
till luncheon; I know Mr. Casaubon does not like to be disturbed when he
is in the library.”

“Master is out, sir; there’s only Mrs. Casaubon in the library. I’d
better tell her you’re here, sir,” said Pratt, a
red-cheeked man given to lively converse with Tantripp, and often
agreeing with her that it must be dull for Madam.

---

“I wish every book in that library was built into a caticom for your
master,” said Tantripp to Pratt, the butler, finding
him in the breakfast-room. She had been at Rome, and visited the
antiquities, as we know; and she always declined to call Mr. Casaubon
anything but “your master,” when speaking to the other servants.

Pratt laughed. He liked his master very well, but he
liked Tantripp better.

---

… when Pratt showed Will Ladislaw into it the window
was open; and a winged visitor, buzzing in and out now and then without
minding the furniture, made the room look less formal and
uninhabited.

“Glad to see you here again, sir,” said Pratt,
lingering to adjust a blind.

“I am only come to say good-by, Pratt,” said Will,
who wished even the butler to know that he was too proud to hang about
Mrs. Casaubon now she was a rich widow.

“Very sorry to hear it, sir,” said Pratt, retiring.
Of course, as a servant who was to be told nothing, he knew the fact of
which Ladislaw was still ignorant, and had drawn his inferences; indeed,
had not differed from his betrothed Tantripp when she said, “Your master
was as jealous as a fiend – and no reason. Madam would look higher than
Mr. Ladislaw, else I don’t know her. Mrs. Cadwallader’s maid says
there’s a lord coming who is to marry her when the mourning’s over.”

---

“I have not given up doing as I like, but I can very seldom do it,”
said Will. He was standing two yards from her with his mind full of
contradictory desires and resolves – desiring some unmistakable proof
that she loved him, and yet dreading the position into which such a
proof might bring him. “The thing one most longs for may be surrounded
with conditions that would be intolerable.”

At this moment Pratt entered and said, “Sir James
Chettam is in the library, madam.”

Sir James was not the suitor Mrs Cadwallader had in mind; he
had been a suitor, but was rejected, and then he married
Dorothea’s younger sister. Tantripp had long been the sisters’ maid.

Eliot shows us that there are stories everywhere; she draws out only
a few of them, and some more than others. Tantripp and Pratt could be
the subject of Middlemarch fan fiction.

Perhaps it is no surprise that there is an “AI-Driven
Fan Fiction Generator” at the ChatGPT website. However, I go back to
the article I looked at earlier, “ChatGPT
firm reveals AI model that is ‘good at creative writing’” (The
Guardian, March 12, 2025). After quoting Sam Altman as saying his
program “got the vibe of metafiction so right,” Sam Milmo points
out,

Last year, OpenAI admitted it would be impossible to train products
such as ChatGPT without using copyright-protected material.

OpenAI could presumably “train” exclusively on nineteenth-century
literature and write the story of Tantripp and Pratt in Eliot’s style.
It seems to me more worthwhile to think about how the union of Dorothea
Brooke and Edward Casaubon may have been disastrous for the principals,
or at least for Dorothea, but at least it brought their servants
together. AI is no help here, though what other humans say will be
interesting.

If your response to a work of art is, “I’m going to try that out
myself,” then maybe you are getting into the spirit. My old art teacher
at St Albans School got into the spirit without meaning to, when (by his
account) he and a friend created some kind of parody of Duchamp’s Fountain
(a urinal laid on its back). Dean Stambaugh had overt contempt for
nonrepresentational art, and this was a reason why we sometimes did not
get along. He was remembered after his death by a former colleague:

The Day-Glo period of American art did not exist in his life except
as one more tawdry instance of cultural depravity well beneath even a
sniff of contempt. His own such sniff roared – the paradox of a man of
all-consuming gentleness …

“There are no immediate survivors,” the obituary noted. Indeed, there
are not. He was a lifelong bachelor: no one could have lived with him,
nor he with anyone else.

Thus Howard Means, “A
Life That Was Art at St. Albans” (Washington Post, May 3,
1987), in a memoir appearing also on a site
with many memoirs of Mr Stambaugh, including my own from this
blog.

If you see art and say, “I’m going to write a program to do that,”
then I don’t think you understand what art is for. Maybe you think you
are still at school, trying to produce something for somebody else’s
approval.

I found among my files a long article by Vi Hart, “Changing my
Mind about AI, Universal Basic Income, and the Value of Data.” Dated
May 30, 2019, it is “still” relevant:

Content moderation is a complex task. A pure computer program alone
cannot reliably identify whether a post is hate speech or not. Language
is subtle and fluid; as posts get flagged people change the way they
talk both naturally and purposefully to get around the automated system.
People are continually inventing new symbols, metaphors, images, and
code words that can only be flagged by an AI if that AI gets new data
from human beings who can provide labeled examples of how things have
changed. And because this has to be done in real time in order for
social media giants to stay family friendly, the very architecture
includes asking human beings what to do. An engineer is paid a lot to
create a system that allows an unpaid user to flag content,
automatically sending it to someone else who makes below minimum wage to
make a judgement call.

During the Reagan administration in Washington, the Greaseman on DC101
would use code words such as “involuntary fudgepack” – as I recall from
a story in the Washington Post; if I was in town, I wasn’t
listening to that station anymore.

In those years I first read The Razor’s Edge, quoted from
above. For a long time I misread the first clause of the third sentence
as, “I have a little story to tell.” By inserting the
one-letter indefinite article, I changed the meaning of the sentence
almost to its opposite.

I suppose now that when Maugham says, “I have little story
to tell,” what he means is that his novel has little of what Aristotle
calls mythos.

Another of my favorite novels starts with the same word that The
Razor’s Edge does:

I can see by my watch, without taking my hand from the left grip of
the cycle, that it is eight-thirty in the morning. The wind, even at
sixty miles an hour, is warm and humid. When it’s this hot and muggy at
eight-thirty, I’m wondering what it’s going to be like in the
afternoon.

Maybe the label of “metafiction” applies also to Zen and the Art
of Motorcycle Maintenance. Referring to himself in the third
person, Robert Pirsig says in chapter 28,

To understand how he arrived at his condemnation of the Classic
Greeks it’s necessary to review in summary form the “mythos over logos”
argument …

The term logos, the root word of “logic,” refers to the sum
total of our rational understanding of the world. Mythos is the
sum total of the early historic and prehistoric myths which preceded the
logos. The mythos includes not only the Greek myths but the Old
Testament, the Vedic Hymns and the early legends of all cultures which
have contributed to our present world understanding. The
mythos-over-logos argument states that our rationality is shaped by
these legends …

Thus, in cultures whose ancestry includes ancient Greece, one
invariably finds a strong subject-object differentiation because the
grammar of the old Greek mythos presumed a sharp natural division of
subjects and predicates. In cultures such as the Chinese, where
subject-predicate relationships are not rigidly defined by grammar, one
finds a corresponding absence of rigid subject-object philosophy. One
finds that in the Judeo-Christian culture in which the Old Testament
“Word” had an intrinsic sacredness of its own, men are willing to
sacrifice and live by and die for words. In this culture, a court of law
can ask a witness to tell “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but
the truth, so help me God,” and expect the truth to be told. But one can
transport this court to India, as did the British, with no real success
on the matter of perjury because the Indian mythos is different and this
sacredness of words is not felt in the same way.

This is all very interesting. I cannot say it is what Aristotle is
talking about; still, it is also interesting that, by his
account, both mythos and logos are components of
tragedy.

My title, “Purity Obscurity,” alludes to how tragedy is supposed to
effect catharsis, that is, purification, although little
further explanation is given in this reading. There are more
notes about Aristotle below.

Contents and Summary

• VI. TRAGEDY.
  • § 1. Later will be taken up
    • hexameters,
    • comedy.
  • § 2. Tragedy is imitation of
    • an action that is
      • serious,
      • complete,
      • sizable;
    • with language embellished
    • differently in different parts;
    • acted, not narrated;
    • effecting purification of emotions through
      • pity and
      • fear.
  • §§ 3–6. Further analysis:
    • § 3. Language embellished severally.
    • § 4. Spectacle, song, and diction.
    • § 5. Action needs actors, who have
      • character,
      • thought.
    • § 6. Imitation of action is mythos:
      • mythos is the composition of the acts;
      • character is the sort the actors are;
      • thought is that whereby they
        • demonstrate something or
        • explain their understanding.
  • §§ 7, 8. Tragedy has six parts, in three groups:
    • “By what” (οἷς):
      • Diction.
      • Song.
    • “How” (ὡς):
      • Spectacle.
    • “What” (ἃ):
      • Mythos.
      • Character.
      • Thought.
  • §§ 9–15. The composition of the deeds
    (mythos) is the most important.
    • § 9. Tragedy is imitation,
      • not of men,
      • but of action.
    • §§ 10–12. Character is less important.
    • § 13. The greatest psychagogic elements, namely
      peripety and discovery, are part of the mythos.
    • §§ 14. Novices get diction and character down
      before composition of the action. So the order of importance is:
      1. Mythos (the soul of tragedy, as it were).
      2. Character.
    • §§ 15. Colors : outline :: character :
      mythos.
  • §§ 16–19. Next in importance:
    3. Thought.
    4. Diction.
    5. Song.
    6. Spectacle.
• VII (7 §§). The composition should have
  • wholeness (with beginning, middle, and end);
  • magnitude (not too short or long).
• VIII (4 §§). The oneness of mythos is
  not that of a man, as Homer knew, either by nature or art.
• IX (12 §§).
  • §§ 1–9. Differences:
    • Poetry is about what may or must happen; it is universal, hence
      philosophical.
    • History is about what does happen.
  • § 10. Episodic plots are the worst.
  • §§ 11, 12. Imitation of fearsome, piteous actions best achieved when
    they are
    • by surprise (παρὰ τὴν δόξαν), and yet
    • through one another (δι’ ἄλληλα), that is,
      not by accident (ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου καὶ τῆς τύχης).
• X (3 §§). Kinds of mythos:
  • simple (without peripety or anagnorisis),
  • complex.
• XI (6 §§).
  • peripety (reversal),
  • anagnorisis (recognition).
• XII (3 §§). The divisions of tragedy according to
  “how much”:
  • prologue,
  • episode,
  • exode,
  • chorus, including
    • parode,
    • stasimon,
    • commus.

Text

[1449b]

VI

§ VI.1

• περὶ μὲν οὖν τῆς ἐν ἑξαμέτροις μιμητικῆς καὶ
• περὶ κωμῳδίας

ὕστερον ἐροῦμεν·

περὶ δὲ τραγῳδίας λέγωμεν
ἀναλαβόντες αὐτῆς
ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων
τὸν γινόμενον ὅρον τῆς οὐσίας.

§ VI.2

ἔστιν οὖν τραγῳδία μίμησις

• πράξεως
  • σπουδαίας [25] καὶ
  • τελείας
  • μέγεθος ἐχούσης,
• ἡδυσμένῳ λόγῳ
• χωρὶς ἑκάστῳ τῶν εἰδῶν ἐν τοῖς μορίοις,
• δρώντων καὶ οὐ δι᾽ ἀπαγγελίας,
• δι᾽
  • ἐλέου καὶ
  • φόβου

  περαίνουσα τὴν τῶν τοιούτων παθημάτων κάθαρσιν.

§ VI.3

λέγω δὲ

• ἡδυσμένον μὲν λόγον
  τὸν ἔχοντα ῥυθμὸν καὶ ἁρμονίαν [καὶ μέλος],
• τὸ δὲ χωρὶς τοῖς [30] εἴδεσι
  • τὸ διὰ μέτρων ἔνια μόνον περαίνεσθαι καὶ πάλιν
  • ἕτερα διὰ μέλους.

§ VI.4

ἐπεὶ δὲ πράττοντες ποιοῦνται τὴν μίμησιν,
πρῶτον μὲν ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἂν εἴη τι μόριον τραγῳδίας

• ὁ τῆς ὄψεως κόσμος· εἶτα
• μελοποιία καὶ
• λέξις,

ἐν τούτοις γὰρ ποιοῦνται τὴν μίμησιν.

λέγω δὲ

• λέξιν μὲν αὐτὴν τὴν τῶν [35] μέτρων σύνθεσιν,
• μελοποιίαν δὲ ὃ τὴν δύναμιν φανερὰν ἔχει
  πᾶσαν.

§ VI.5

ἐπεὶ δὲ πράξεώς ἐστι μίμησις,
πράττεται δὲ ὑπὸ τινῶν πραττόντων,
οὓς ἀνάγκη ποιούς τινας εἶναι κατά τε

• τὸ ἦθος καὶ
• τὴν διάνοιαν

(διὰ γὰρ τούτων καὶ τὰς πράξεις εἶναί φαμεν ποιάς τινας, [1450a]
[πέφυκεν αἴτια δύο τῶν πράξεων εἶναι,

• διάνοια καὶ
• ἦθος]

καὶ κατὰ ταύτας καὶ

• τυγχάνουσι καὶ
• ἀποτυγχάνουσι

πάντες),

§ VI.6

ἔστιν δὲ τῆς μὲν πράξεως ὁ μῦθος ἡ μίμησις,
λέγω γὰρ

• μῦθον τοῦτον τὴν [5] σύνθεσιν τῶν πραγμάτων,
• τὰ δὲ ἤθη, καθ᾽ ὃ
  ποιούς τινας εἶναί φαμεν τοὺς πράττοντας,
• διάνοιαν δέ, ἐν ὅσοις λέγοντες
  • ἀποδεικνύασίν τι ἢ καὶ
  • ἀποφαίνονται γνώμην.

§ VI.7

ἀνάγκη οὖν πάσης τῆς τραγῳδίας μέρη εἶναι ἕξ,
καθ᾽ ὃ ποιά τις ἐστὶν ἡ τραγῳδία·

ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐστὶ

1. μῦθος καὶ
2. ἤθη καὶ
3. λέξις καὶ [10]
4. διάνοια καὶ
5. ὄψις καὶ
6. μελοποιία.

• οἷς μὲν γὰρ μιμοῦνται,
  δύο μέρη ἐστίν,
• ὡς δὲ μιμοῦνται,
  ἕν,
• ἃ δὲ μιμοῦνται,
  τρία, καὶ
• παρὰ ταῦτα οὐδέν.

§ VI.8

τούτοις μὲν οὖν †οὐκ ὀλίγοι αὐτῶν† ὡς εἰπεῖν κέχρηνται τοῖς
εἴδεσιν·

καὶ γὰρ

• †ὄψις ἔχει πᾶν† καὶ
• ἦθος καὶ
• μῦθον καὶ
• λέξιν καὶ
• μέλος καὶ
• διάνοιαν ὡσαύτως. [15]

§ VI.9

μέγιστον δὲ τούτων ἐστὶν ἡ τῶν πραγμάτων
σύστασις.

ἡ γὰρ τραγῳδία μίμησίς ἐστιν

• οὐκ ἀνθρώπων
• ἀλλὰ
  • πράξεων καὶ
  • βίου

[καὶ

• εὐδαιμονία καὶ
• κακοδαιμονία

ἐν πράξει ἐστίν,
καὶ τὸ τέλος

• πρᾶξίς τις ἐστίν,
• οὐ ποιότης·

§ VI.10

εἰσὶν δὲ

• κατὰ μὲν τὰ ἤθη ποιοί τινες,
• κατὰ δὲ τὰς [20] πράξεις
  • εὐδαίμονες
  • ἢ τοὐναντίον]·

• οὔκουν ὅπως τὰ ἤθη μιμήσωνται πράττουσιν,
• ἀλλὰ τὰ ἤθη συμπεριλαμβάνουσιν διὰ τὰς πράξεις·

ὥστε

• τὰ πράγματα καὶ
• ὁ μῦθος

τέλος τῆς τραγῳδίας,
τὸ δὲ τέλος μέγιστον ἁπάντων.

§ VI.11

ἔτι

• ἄνευ μὲν πράξεως οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο τραγῳδία,
• ἄνευ δὲ ἠθῶν γέ [25] νοιτ᾽ ἄν·

αἱ γὰρ τῶν νέων τῶν πλείστων ἀήθεις τραγῳδίαι εἰσίν,
καὶ ὅλως ποιηταὶ πολλοὶ τοιοῦτοι,

οἷον καὶ τῶν γραφέων Ζεῦξις πρὸς Πολύγνωτον πέπονθεν·

• ὁ μὲν γὰρ Πολύγνωτος ἀγαθὸς ἠθογράφος,
• ἡ δὲ Ζεύξιδος γραφὴ οὐδὲν ἔχει ἦθος.

§ VI.12

ἔτι ἐάν τις ἐφεξῆς θῇ ῥήσεις

• ἠθικὰς
• καὶ
  • λέξει [30] καὶ
  • διανοίᾳ

  εὖ πεποιημένας,

• οὐ ποιήσει ὃ ἦν τῆς τραγῳδίας ἔργον,
• ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἡ καταδεεστέροις τούτοις κεχρημένη τραγῳδία,
  ἔχουσα δὲ
  • μῦθον καὶ
  • σύστασιν πραγμάτων.

§ VI.13

πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὰ μέγιστα οἷς ψυχαγωγεῖ ἡ τραγῳδία τοῦ μύθου μέρη
ἐστίν, αἵ τε

• περιπέτειαι καὶ [35]
• ἀναγνωρίσεις.

§ VI.14

ἔτι σημεῖον ὅτι καὶ οἱ ἐγχειροῦντες ποιεῖν

• πρότερον δύνανται
  • τῇ λέξει καὶ
  • τοῖς ἤθεσιν

  ἀκριβοῦν

• ἢ τὰ πράγματα συνίστασθαι,

οἷον καὶ οἱ πρῶτοι ποιηταὶ σχεδὸν ἅπαντες.

ἀρχὴ μὲν οὖν καὶ οἷον ψυχὴ ὁ μῦθος τῆς
τραγῳδίας,

δεύτερον δὲ τὰ ἤθη

§ VI.15

(παραπλήσιον γάρ ἐστιν καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς γραφικῆς· [1450b]

εἰ γάρ τις ἐναλείψειε τοῖς καλλίστοις φαρμάκοις χύδην,
οὐκ ἂν ὁμοίως εὐφράνειεν καὶ λευκογραφήσας εἰκόνα)·

ἔστιν τε μίμησις πράξεως καὶ διὰ ταύτην μάλιστα τῶν πραττόντων.

§ VI.16

τρίτον δὲ ἡ διάνοια·

τοῦτο δέ [5] ἐστιν τὸ λέγειν δύνασθαι τὰ ἐνόντα καὶ τὰ
ἁρμόττοντα,
ὅπερ ἐπὶ τῶν λόγων τῆς

• πολιτικῆς καὶ
• ῥητορικῆς

ἔργον ἐστίν·

• οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀρχαῖοι πολιτικῶς ἐποίουν λέγοντας,
• οἱ δὲ νῦν ῥητορικῶς.

§ VI.17

ἔστιν δὲ

• ἦθος μὲν τὸ τοιοῦτον ὃ δηλοῖ τὴν
  προαίρεσιν,
  ὁποία τις [ἐν οἷς οὐκ ἔστι δῆλον
  • ἢ [10] προαιρεῖται
  • ἢ φεύγει]

  διόπερ οὐκ ἔχουσιν ἦθος τῶν λόγων ἐν [10α] οἷς
  μηδ᾽ ὅλως ἔστιν ὅ τι

  • προαιρεῖται ἢ
  • φεύγει

  ὁ λέγων·

• διάνοια δὲ ἐν οἷς
  • ἀποδεικνύουσί τι
    • ὡς ἔστιν ἢ
    • ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν ἢ
  • καθόλου τι ἀποφαίνονται.

§ VI.18

τέταρτον δὲ †τῶν μὲν λόγων† ἡ λέξις·

λέγω δέ,
ὥσπερ πρότερον εἴρηται,
λέξιν εἶναι
τὴν διὰ τῆς ὀνομασίας ἑρμηνείαν,
ὃ καὶ

• ἐπὶ τῶν ἐμμέτρων καὶ [15]
• ἐπὶ τῶν λόγων

ἔχει τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν.

§ VI.19

τῶν δὲ λοιπῶν

• ἡ μελοποιία μέγιστον τῶν ἡδυσμάτων,
• ἡ δὲ ὄψις
  • ψυχαγωγικὸν μέν,
  • ἀτεχνότατον δὲ καὶ
  • ἥκιστα οἰκεῖον τῆς ποιητικῆς·

ἡ γὰρ τῆς τραγῳδίας δύναμις
καὶ ἄνευ ἀγῶνος καὶ ὑποκριτῶν ἔστιν,
ἔτι δὲ κυριωτέρα περὶ τὴν ἀπεργασίαν [20] τῶν ὄψεων
ἡ τοῦ σκευοποιοῦ τέχνη
τῆς τῶν ποιητῶν ἐστιν.

VII

§ VII.1

διωρισμένων δὲ τούτων,
λέγωμεν μετὰ ταῦτα ποίαν τινὰ δεῖ τὴν σύστασιν εἶναι τῶν
πραγμάτων,
ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο καὶ

• πρῶτον καὶ
• μέγιστον

τῆς τραγῳδίας ἐστίν.

§ VII.2

κεῖται δὴ ἡμῖν τὴν τραγῳδίαν

• τελείας καὶ
• ὅλης πράξεως εἶναι [25] μίμησιν
• ἐχούσης τι μέγεθος·

§ VII.3

ἔστιν γὰρ ὅλον καὶ μηδὲν ἔχον μέγεθος.

ὅλον δέ ἐστιν τὸ ἔχον

• ἀρχὴν καὶ
• μέσον καὶ
• τελευτήν.

ἀρχὴ δέ ἐστιν ὃ

• αὐτὸ μὲν μὴ ἐξ ἀνάγκης μετ᾽ ἄλλο ἐστίν,
• μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνο δ᾽ ἕτερον πέφυκεν
  • εἶναι ἢ
  • γίνεσθαι·

τελευτὴ δὲ τοὐναντίον ὃ

• αὐτὸ μὲν μετ᾽ ἄλλο πέφυκεν εἶναι
  • ἢ [30] ἐξ ἀνάγκης
  • ἢ ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ,
• μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο ἄλλο οὐδέν·

μέσον δὲ ὃ καὶ

• αὐτὸ μετ᾽ ἄλλο καὶ
• μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνο ἕτερον.

δεῖ ἄρα τοὺς συνεστῶτας εὖ μύθους

• μήθ᾽ ὁπόθεν ἔτυχεν ἄρχεσθαι
• μήθ᾽ ὅπου ἔτυχε τελευτᾶν,

ἀλλὰ κεχρῆσθαι ταῖς εἰρημέναις ἰδέαις.

§ VII.4

ἔτι δ᾽ ἐπεὶ τὸ καλὸν

• καὶ ζῷον
• καὶ ἅπαν [35] πρᾶγμα ὃ συνέστηκεν ἐκ τινῶν

• οὐ μόνον ταῦτα τεταγμένα δεῖ ἔχειν
• ἀλλὰ καὶ μέγεθος ὑπάρχειν μὴ τὸ τυχόν·

τὸ γὰρ καλὸν ἐν

• μεγέθει καὶ
• τάξει

ἐστίν, διὸ

• οὔτε πάμμικρον ἄν τι γένοιτο καλὸν ζῷον
  (συγχεῖται γὰρ ἡ θεωρία ἐγγὺς τοῦ ἀναισθήτου χρόνου γινομένη)
• οὔτε παμμέγεθες [1451a]
  • (οὐ γὰρ ἅμα ἡ θεωρία γίνεται
  • ἀλλ᾽ οἴχεται τοῖς θεωροῦσι τὸ ἓν καὶ τὸ ὅλον ἐκ τῆς θεωρίας)

  οἷον εἰ μυρίων σταδίων εἴη ζῷον·

§ VII.5

ὥστε δεῖ

• καθάπερ
  • ἐπὶ τῶν σωμάτων καὶ
  • ἐπὶ τῶν ζῴων
  • ἔχειν μὲν μέγεθος,
  • τοῦτο δὲ εὐσύνοπτον εἶναι,
• οὕτω [5] καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν μύθων
  • ἔχειν μὲν μῆκος,
  • τοῦτο δὲ εὐμνημόνευτον εἶναι.

§ VII.6

τοῦ δὲ μήκους ὅρος μὲν πρὸς

• τοὺς ἀγῶνας καὶ
• τὴν αἴσθησιν

οὐ τῆς τέχνης ἐστίν·

εἰ γὰρ ἔδει ἑκατὸν τραγῳδίας ἀγωνίζεσθαι,
πρὸς κλεψύδρας ἂν ἠγωνίζοντο,
†ὥσπερ ποτὲ καὶ ἄλλοτέ φασιν†.

§ VII.7

ὁ δὲ κατ᾽ αὐτὴν τὴν [10] φύσιν τοῦ πράγματος ὅρος,
ἀεὶ μὲν ὁ μείζων μέχρι τοῦ σύνδηλος εἶναι καλλίων ἐστὶ κατὰ τὸ
μέγεθος·

ὡς δὲ ἁπλῶς διορίσαντας εἰπεῖν,
ἐν ὅσῳ μεγέθει κατὰ

• τὸ εἰκὸς ἢ
• τὸ ἀναγκαῖον

ἐφεξῆς γιγνομένων συμβαίνει

• εἰς εὐτυχίαν ἐκ δυστυχίας ἢ
• ἐξ εὐτυχίας εἰς δυστυχίαν

μεταβάλλειν,
ἱκανὸς [15] ὅρος ἐστὶν τοῦ μεγέθους.

VIII

§ VIII.1

μῦθος δ᾽ ἐστὶν εἷς οὐχ
ὥσπερ τινὲς οἴονται
ἐὰν περὶ ἕνα ᾖ·

• πολλὰ γὰρ καὶ
• ἄπειρα

τῷ ἑνὶ συμβαίνει,
ἐξ ὧν ἐνίων οὐδέν ἐστιν ἕν·

οὕτως δὲ καὶ πράξεις ἑνὸς πολλαί εἰσιν,
ἐξ ὧν μία οὐδεμία γίνεται πρᾶξις.

§ VIII.2

διὸ πάντες ἐοίκασιν [20] ἁμαρτάνειν
ὅσοι τῶν ποιητῶν

• Ἡρακληίδα
• Θησηίδα καὶ
• τὰ τοιαῦτα ποιήματα

πεποιήκασιν·

οἴονται γάρ,
ἐπεὶ εἷς ἦν ὁ Ἡρακλῆς,
ἕνα καὶ τὸν μῦθον εἶναι προσήκειν.

§ VIII.3

ὁ δ᾽ Ὅμηρος
ὥσπερ καὶ τὰ ἄλλα διαφέρει
καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔοικεν καλῶς ἰδεῖν,

• ἤτοι διὰ τέχνην
• ἢ διὰ φύσιν·

Ὀδύσσειαν [25] γὰρ ποιῶν

• οὐκ ἐποίησεν ἅπαντα ὅσα αὐτῷ συνέβη,
  οἷον
  • πληγῆναι μὲν ἐν τῷ Παρνασσῷ,
  • μανῆναι δὲ προσποιήσασθαι ἐν τῷ ἀγερμῷ,

  ὧν οὐδὲν θατέρου γενομένου ἀναγκαῖον ἦν ἢ εἰκὸς θάτερον γενέσθαι,

• ἀλλὰ περὶ μίαν πρᾶξιν οἵαν λέγομεν τὴν Ὀδύσσειαν συνέστησεν,

ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τὴν [30] Ἰλιάδα.

§ VIII.4

χρὴ οὖν,

• καθάπερ καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις μιμητικαῖς
  ἡ μία μίμησις ἑνός ἐστιν,
• οὕτω καὶ τὸν μῦθον,
  ἐπεὶ πράξεως μίμησίς ἐστι,
  μιᾶς τε εἶναι καὶ ταύτης ὅλης,

καὶ τὰ μέρη συνεστάναι τῶν πραγμάτων οὕτως ὥστε

• μετατιθεμένου τινὸς μέρους ἢ
• ἀφαιρουμένου

• διαφέρεσθαι καὶ
• κινεῖσθαι

τὸ ὅλον·

ὃ γὰρ

• προσὸν [35] ἢ
• μὴ προσὸν

μηδὲν ποιεῖ ἐπίδηλον,
οὐδὲν μόριον τοῦ ὅλου ἐστίν.

IX

§ IX.1

φανερὸν δὲ ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων καὶ ὅτι

• οὐ τὸ τὰ γενόμενα λέγειν,
  τοῦτο ποιητοῦ ἔργον ἐστίν,
• ἀλλ᾽ οἷα
  • ἂν γένοιτο καὶ
  • τὰ δυνατὰ

  κατὰ

  • τὸ εἰκὸς ἢ
  • τὸ ἀναγκαῖον.

§ IX.2

• ὁ γὰρ ἱστορικὸς καὶ
• ὁ ποιητὴς

• οὐ τῷ
  • ἢ ἔμμετρα λέγειν
  • ἢ ἄμετρα διαφέρουσιν [1451b]
    (εἴη γὰρ ἂν τὰ Ἡροδότου εἰς μέτρα τεθῆναι καὶ
    οὐδὲν ἧττον ἂν εἴη ἱστορία τις
  • μετὰ μέτρου ἢ
  • ἄνευ μέτρων)·
• ἀλλὰ τούτῳ διαφέρει, τῷ
  • τὸν μὲν τὰ γενόμενα [5] λέγειν,
  • τὸν δὲ οἷα ἂν γένοιτο.

§ IX.3

διὸ

• καὶ φιλοσοφώτερον
• καὶ σπουδαιότερον

ποίησις ἱστορίας ἐστίν·

• ἡ μὲν γὰρ ποίησις μᾶλλον τὰ καθόλου,
• ἡ δ᾽ ἱστορία τὰ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον λέγει.

§ IX.4

ἔστιν δὲ

• καθόλου μέν,
  τῷ ποίῳ τὰ ποῖα ἄττα συμβαίνει
  • λέγειν ἢ
  • πράττειν

  κατὰ

  • τὸ εἰκὸς ἢ
  • τὸ ἀναγκαῖον,

  οὗ [10] στοχάζεται ἡ ποίησις ὀνόματα ἐπιτιθεμένη·

• τὸ δὲ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον,
  • τί Ἀλκιβιάδης ἔπραξεν ἢ
  • τί ἔπαθεν.

§ IX.5

ἐπὶ μὲν οὖν τῆς κωμῳδίας ἤδη τοῦτο δῆλον γέγονεν·

συστήσαντες γὰρ τὸν μῦθον διὰ τῶν εἰκότων οὕτω
τὰ τυχόντα ὀνόματα ὑποτιθέασιν,
καὶ οὐχ ὥσπερ
οἱ ἰαμβοποιοὶ
περὶ τὸν καθ᾽ ἕκαστον [15] ποιοῦσιν.

§ IX.6

ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς τραγῳδίας τῶν γενομένων ὀνομάτων ἀντέχονται.

αἴτιον δ᾽ ὅτι πιθανόν ἐστι τὸ δυνατόν·

• τὰ μὲν οὖν μὴ γενόμενα
  οὔπω πιστεύομεν εἶναι δυνατά,

• τὰ δὲ γενόμενα
  φανερὸν ὅτι δυνατά·

  οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐγένετο,
  εἰ ἦν ἀδύνατα.

§ IX.7

οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν ταῖς τραγῳδίαις

• ἐν ἐνίαις μὲν
  • ἓν [20] ἢ δύο τῶν γνωρίμων ἐστὶν ὀνομάτων,
  • τὰ δὲ ἄλλα πεποιημένα,
• ἐν ἐνίαις δὲ οὐθέν,

οἷον ἐν τῷ Ἀγάθωνος Ἀνθεῖ·

ὁμοίως γὰρ ἐν τούτῳ

• τά τε πράγματα καὶ
• τὰ ὀνόματα

πεποίηται, καὶ
οὐδὲν ἧττον εὐφραίνει.

§ IX.8

ὥστ᾽ οὐ πάντως εἶναι ζητητέον τῶν παραδεδομένων μύθων,
περὶ οὓς αἱ τραγῳδίαι εἰσίν,
[25] ἀντέχεσθαι.

καὶ γὰρ γελοῖον τοῦτο ζητεῖν,
ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ γνώριμα ὀλίγοις γνώριμά ἐστιν,
ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως εὐφραίνει πάντας.

§ IX.9

δῆλον οὖν ἐκ τούτων ὅτι τὸν ποιητὴν

• μᾶλλον τῶν μύθων εἶναι δεῖ ποιητὴν
• ἢ τῶν μέτρων,

ὅσῳ

• ποιητὴς κατὰ τὴν μίμησίν ἐστιν,
• μιμεῖται δὲ τὰς πράξεις.

κἂν ἄρα συμβῇ [30] γενόμενα ποιεῖν,
οὐθὲν ἧττον ποιητής ἐστι·

τῶν γὰρ γενομένων ἔνια οὐδὲν κωλύει τοιαῦτα εἶναι οἷα ἂν

• εἰκὸς γενέσθαι [καὶ
• δυνατὰ γενέσθαι],

καθ᾽ ὃ ἐκεῖνος αὐτῶν ποιητής ἐστιν.

§ IX.10

τῶν δὲ ἁπλῶν

• μύθων καὶ
• πράξεων

αἱ ἐπεισοδιώδεις εἰσὶν χείρισται·

λέγω δ᾽ ἐπεισοδιώδη μῦθον ἐν ᾧ
τὰ [35] ἐπεισόδια μετ᾽ ἄλληλα

• οὔτ᾽ εἰκὸς
• οὔτ᾽ ἀνάγκη εἶναι.

τοιαῦται δὲ ποιοῦνται

• ὑπὸ μὲν τῶν φαύλων ποιητῶν δι᾽ αὐτούς,
• ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν ἀγαθῶν διὰ τοὺς ὑποκριτάς·

ἀγωνίσματα γὰρ ποιοῦντες καὶ
παρὰ τὴν δύναμιν παρατείνοντες τὸν μῦθον
πολλάκις διαστρέφειν ἀναγκάζονται τὸ ἐφεξῆς. [1452a]

§ IX.11

ἐπεὶ δὲ

• οὐ [2] μόνον τελείας ἐστὶ πράξεως ἡ μίμησις
• ἀλλὰ καὶ φοβερῶν καὶ ἐλεεινῶν,

ταῦτα δὲ γίνεται καὶ μάλιστα [καὶ μᾶλλον]
ὅταν γένηται

• παρὰ τὴν δόξαν
• δι᾽ ἄλληλα·

§ IX.12

τὸ γὰρ θαυ- [5] μαστὸν οὕτως ἕξει
μᾶλλον ἢ εἰ ἀπὸ

• τοῦ αὐτομάτου καὶ
• τῆς τύχης,

ἐπεὶ καὶ τῶν ἀπὸ τύχης ταῦτα θαυμασιώτατα δοκεῖ
ὅσα ὥσπερ ἐπίτηδες φαίνεται γεγονέναι,

οἷον ὡς ὁ ἀνδριὰς ὁ τοῦ Μίτυος ἐν Ἄργει ἀπέκτεινεν τὸν αἴτιον τοῦ
θανάτου τῷ Μίτυι,
θεωροῦντι ἐμπεσών·

ἔοικε γὰρ τὰ τοιαῦτα [10] οὐκ εἰκῇ γίνεσθαι·

ὥστε ἀνάγκη τοὺς τοιούτους εἶναι καλλίους μύθους.

X

§ X.1

εἰσὶ δὲ τῶν μύθων

• οἱ μὲν ἁπλοῖ
• οἱ δὲ πεπλεγμένοι·

καὶ γὰρ αἱ πράξεις ὧν μιμήσεις οἱ μῦθοί εἰσιν ὑπάρχουσιν εὐθὺς οὖσαι
τοιαῦται.

§ X.2

λέγω δὲ

• ἁπλῆν μὲν πρᾶξιν ἧς [15] γινομένης ὥσπερ ὥρισται
  • συνεχοῦς καὶ
  • μιᾶς

  ἄνευ

  • περιπετείας ἢ
  • ἀναγνωρισμοῦ

  ἡ μετάβασις γίνεται,

• πεπλεγμένην δὲ ἐξ ἧς μετὰ
  • ἀναγνωρισμοῦ ἢ
  • περιπετείας ἢ
  • ἀμφοῖν

  ἡ μετάβασίς ἐστιν.

§ X.3

ταῦτα δὲ δεῖ γίνεσθαι ἐξ αὐτῆς τῆς συστάσεως τοῦ μύθου,
ὥστε ἐκ τῶν προγεγενημένων συμβαίνειν [20]

• ἢ ἐξ ἀνάγκης
• ἢ κατὰ τὸ εἰκὸς

γίγνεσθαι ταῦτα·

διαφέρει γὰρ πολὺ τὸ γίγνεσθαι τάδε

• διὰ τάδε ἢ
• μετὰ τάδε.

XI

§ XI.1

ἔστι δὲ περιπέτεια μὲν
ἡ εἰς τὸ ἐναντίον τῶν πραττομένων μεταβολὴ καθάπερ εἴρηται,
καὶ τοῦτο δὲ ὥσπερ λέγομεν κατὰ

• τὸ εἰκὸς ἢ
• ἀναγκαῖον,

οἷον ἐν τῴ [25] Οἰδιποδι ἐλθὼν ὡς

• εὐφρανῶν τὸν Οἰδίπουν καὶ
• ἀπαλλάξων τοῦ πρὸς τὴν μητέρα φόβου,

δηλώσας ὃς ἦν,
τοὐναντίον ἐποίησεν·

καὶ ἐν τῷ Λυγκεῖ

• ὁ μὲν ἀγόμενος ὡς ἀποθανούμενος,
• ὁ δὲ Δαναὸς ἀκολουθῶν ὡς ἀποκτενῶν,

• τὸν μὲν συνέβη ἐκ τῶν πεπραγμένων ἀποθανεῖν,
• τὸν δὲ σωθῆναι.

§ XI.2

ἀναγνώρισις [30] δέ,
ὥσπερ καὶ τοὔνομα σημαίνει,
ἐξ ἀγνοίας εἰς γνῶσιν μεταβολή,

• ἢ εἰς φιλίαν
• ἢ εἰς ἔχθραν,

τῶν πρὸς

• εὐτυχίαν ἢ
• δυστυχίαν

ὡρισμένων·

καλλίστη δὲ ἀναγνώρισις,
ὅταν ἅμα περιπετείᾳ γένηται,
οἷον ἔχει ἡ ἐν τῷ Οἰδίποδι.

§ XI.3

εἰσὶν μὲν οὖν καὶ ἄλλαι ἀναγνωρίσεις·

• καὶ γὰρ πρὸς
  • ἄψυχα καὶ [35]
  • τὰ τυχόντα

  †ἐστὶν ὥσπερ εἴρηται συμβαίνει†

• καὶ εἰ
  • πέπραγέ τις ἢ
  • μὴ πέπραγεν

  ἔστιν ἀναγνωρίσαι.

ἀλλ᾽

• ἡ μάλιστα τοῦ μύθου καὶ
• ἡ μάλιστα τῆς πράξεως

ἡ εἰρημένη ἐστίν·

§ XI.4

ἡ γὰρ τοιαύτη

• ἀναγνώρισις καὶ
• περιπέτεια

• ἢ ἔλεον ἕξει
• ἢ φόβον [1452b]

(οἵων πράξεων ἡ τραγῳδία μίμησις ὑπόκειται),
ἐπειδὴ καὶ

• τὸ ἀτυχεῖν καὶ
• τὸ εὐτυχεῖν

ἐπὶ τῶν τοιούτων συμβήσεται.

§ XI.5

ἐπεὶ δὴ ἡ ἀναγνώρισις τινῶν ἐστιν ἀναγνώρισις,

• αἱ μέν εἰσι θατέρου πρὸς τὸν ἕτερον μόνον,
  ὅταν ᾖ δῆλος ἅτερος [5] τίς ἐστιν,

• ὁτὲ δὲ ἀμφοτέρους δεῖ ἀναγνωρίσαι,

οἷον ἡ μὲν Ἰφιγένεια τῷ Ὀρέστῃ ἀνεγνωρίσθη ἐκ τῆς πέμψεως τῆς
ἐπιστολῆς,
ἐκείνου δὲ πρὸς τὴν Ἰφιγένειαν ἄλλης ἔδει ἀναγνωρίσεως.

§ XI.6

• δύο μὲν οὖν τοῦ μύθου μέρη ταῦτ᾽ ἐστί,
  • περιπέτεια [10] καὶ
  • ἀναγνώρισις·
• τρίτον δὲ πάθος.

τούτων δὲ

• περιπέτεια μὲν καὶ
• ἀναγνώρισις

εἴρηται,

• πάθος δέ ἐστι πρᾶξις
  • φθαρτικὴ ἢ
  • ὀδυνηρά,

οἷον

• οἵ τε ἐν τῷ φανερῷ θάνατοι καὶ
• αἱ περιωδυνίαι καὶ τρώσεις καὶ
• ὅσα τοιαῦτα.

XII

§ XII.1

μέρη δὲ τραγῳδίας

• οἷς μὲν ὡς εἴδεσι δεῖ χρῆσθαι [15] πρότερον εἴπομεν,
• κατὰ δὲ τὸ ποσὸν καὶ εἰς ἃ διαιρεῖται κεχωρισμένα τάδε ἐστίν,
  • πρόλογος
  • ἐπεισόδιον
  • ἔξοδος
  • χορικόν, καὶ
    τούτου
    • τὸ μὲν πάροδος
    • τὸ δὲ στάσιμον,
  • κοινὰ μὲν ἁπάντων ταῦτα,
  • ἴδια δὲ τὰ ἀπὸ τῆς
    • σκηνῆς καὶ
    • κομμοί.

§ XII.2

ἔστιν δὲ

• πρόλογος μὲν μέρος ὅλον τραγῳδίας τὸ πρὸ χοροῦ [20]
  παρόδου,
• ἐπεισόδιον δὲ μέρος ὅλον τραγῳδίας τὸ μεταξὺ ὅλων
  χορικῶν μελῶν,
• ἔξοδος δὲ μέρος ὅλον τραγῳδίας μεθ᾽ ὃ οὐκ ἔστι
  χοροῦ μέλος·

χορικοῦ δὲ

• πάροδος μὲν ἡ πρώτη λέξις ὅλη χοροῦ,
• στάσιμον δὲ μέλος χοροῦ τὸ ἄνευ ἀναπαίστου καὶ
  τροχαίου,
• κομμὸς δὲ θρῆνος κοινὸς χοροῦ καὶ [25] ἀπὸ
  σκηνῆς.

§ XII.3

μέρη δὲ τραγῳδίας

• οἷς μὲν δεῖ χρῆσθαι πρότερον εἴπαμεν,
• κατὰ δὲ τὸ ποσὸν καὶ εἰς ἃ διαιρεῖται κεχωρισμένα ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν.