Lucian Quomodo historia conscribenda sit 1

[1] They say, my dear Philo, that in the reign of King Lysimachus the people of Abdera were smitten by an epidemic. These were its symptoms: at first every one of them fell ill of a fever, violent and obstinate right from the start; about the seventh day it was broken, in some cases by a copious flow of blood from the nostrils, in others by heavy sweating; but their minds were left in a ridiculous state; they all went mad with tragedy, shouting iambics and creating a din; and they mostly sang solos from Euripides’ “Andromeda,” ¹ rendering Perseus’ speech in song; the city was full of these seventh-day tragedians, all pale and thin, roaring, and the rest in a loud voice, hour after hour, day after day, until winter and a severe cold spell stopped their noise. Archelaus the actor seems to me to blame for such goings on. He was popular then, and in the middle of summer in the blazing heat had played the “Andromeda” for them, so that most of them brought their fever away from the theatre with them, and later when they left their beds relapsed into tragedy; the “Andromeda” kept haunting their memory, and his Perseus with Medusa’s head still flitted round everyone’s brain.

[1] My dear Philo,

There is a story of a curious epidemic at Abdera, just after the accession of King Lysimachus. It began with the whole population’s exhibiting feverish symptoms, strongly marked and unintermittent from the very first attack. About the seventh day, the fever was relieved, in some cases by a violent flow of blood from the nose, in others by perspiration not less violent. The mental effects, however, were most ridiculous; they were all stage-struck, mouthing blank verse and ranting at the top of their voices. Their favourite recitation was the Andromeda of Euripides; one after another would go through the great speech of Perseus; the whole place was full of pale ghosts, who were our seventh-day tragedians vociferating, and the rest of it, This continued for some time, till the coming of winter put an end to their madness with a sharp frost. I find the explanation of the form it took in this fact: Archelaus was then the great tragic actor, and in the middle of the summer, during some very hot weather, he had played the Andromeda there; most of them took the fever in the theatre, and convalescence was followed by a relapse—into tragedy, the Andromeda haunting their memories, and Perseus hovering, Gorgon’s head in hand, before the mind’s eye.