Photo via Flickr
by Talia Neelis
As bright lights illuminate the stage of the Jericho Arts Center, an elderly woman wearing a pink dress and a pregnant belly emerges from the darkness. No laughter sounds from the audience. Rather, they listen intently as her canticum on voluptas fills the theater. Among other expressions of voluptas (pleasure), this canticum allows Alcumena to take possession of herself. She casts off her male counterparts’ overbearing fragile masculinity using her confidence. Audiences as early as those of Euripides have found Alcumena’s story relevant, and today her character continues to be reinterpreted for contemporary observers. New analyses are made possible by her lack of archetypal clarity, which allows her to become a figure of dissent to traditional authority. While the male characters of Amphitruo, Jupiter, Sosia, and Mercurius submerge themselves in utter delirium over her body, Alcumena prevails through the internal turmoil of the story by liberating herself from gender constraints. Her sensual passion invigorates her femininity, and her conception of Hercules with Jupiter is a source of regeneration rather than satirical parody. She maintains her dignity, identity, and virtue while the men of Amphitruo grapple with confusion and uncertainty. Their farce emerges from crude taunts masked as clever jabs, in turn setting up Alcumena’s superiority. Just as male strife bombards her sensuality and pregnancy in the play, varying male perspectives on her character prevail in academic discourse. Some scholars like David Christenson claim that these self-possessive elements denote her as a “vehicle for absurd humour” (244). Various masculine interpretations have shown Alcumena in this light, but her overt intimacy, pregnancy, and sophistication amplify her as a powerful heroine rather than a mere victim of satire. In her confidence, poise, and conviction, Alcumena defies gender mores of theatrical representation and turns perceptions of pious women on their heads.
Alcumena shatters normative representations of sensual women as her sexual agency reinforces her authority and morality. Her voluptas flourishes in her canticum:
Pleasure is the tiniest thing, isn’t it? …
Sadness is the friend who comes along
Following behind, right after Pleasure. …
I was given pleasure only briefly.
I had him once, and still I need him more. …
And the sickness, now he’s
gone is so much greater than the pleasure he gave me yesterday (Amph. 631-42).
Alcumena’s own expression of satisfaction disproves the notion that she acts as a wife bound to her marital duties. Her enthusiasm to lie with her husband is an empowering ideal in itself when she discloses that she is, “not averse, by Castor, to receive [Amphitruo] back again” (Amph. 663). Her eagerness and yearning when she discusses her sensuality enable her to wholly embody her femininity. To see parody in Alcumena’s canticum would be to denounce the breadth of female eroticism altogether.
Both Alcumena’s husband and modern scholarship extol Alcumena’s integrity. After her canticum on voluptas, Amphitruo hails her as the paradigm of Theban probitas (virtue):
Of the Theban women, all,
her husband judges her to be the best.
Citizens of Thebes all rumour
her to be so virtuous (Amph. 677-678).
Plautine scholars like Hanson, Segal, and Sedgwick claim that Alcumena is the greatest incarnation of pietas (piety) on the Roman stage as a virtuous Theban woman (Christenson 247). She is argued as either matronly or vulgar in a debate backed on both sides by men; she is rather a figure of female liberation. Christenson argues that these proponents of a tragic Alcumena have “tended to overlook a distinctive feature of Plautus’ representation of her: she is made to be sexually insatiable” (246). This is an ironic claim as he insinuates that because Alcumena is desirable, she is more satirical than Jupiter–a clowning god-turned-senex who follows her around like a dog. In the context of his buffoonery, Alcumena is anything but comedic. While her eagerness for intimacy may boost Jupiter’s ego, it also bolsters her moxie. The motif of satietas, to this point only relative to Jupiter, now shifts to Alcumena as the matrona (Christenson 250). While all-mighty Jupiter makes a fool of himself, Alcumena proves herself a threat to traditional authority by behaving in a dignified manner. While Alcumena remains respectable and sincere, Jupiter relentlessly pursues his urges to ensure that he is “safe and free to fondle her” (Amph. 465) in what Christenson calls “erotic business of the most ridiculous sort.” Alcumena liberates herself from gender and power constraints through expression of her sensuality to her listeners.
On the other hand, Jupiter’s urges and physicality strip him of his esteem and he becomes an object of comedy. Christenson’s claim that Alcumena’s cupido (lust) is “anything but restrained” (130) is certainly true. However, the god’s cupido is deplorable when Mercurius describes that Jupiter,
starts a secret lust, Alcumena
he took her body for himself to use…
and for their sake the night is lengthened out,
while he with her takes what delight he wants.
And he’s disguised, like he’s Amphitruo (Amph. 107/108, 113-115).
Jupiter’s desperation and amorality is clear. His audience perceives him as a clown who runs around the circus of the stage performing sexual tricks. Observers watch as he juggles the logistics of his “long night” disguised in his Amphitruonic get-up. Christenson argues that Alcumena’s cupido has “appointed comic purpose” (115), but Jupiter’s lust is much more farcical. Once again, the traditional hierarchy of prestige is contradicted as Jupiter, who usually commands respect, becomes a “caricatured figure of divine authority” (Christenson 259). The physicality of Jupiter and Mercurius pushes them down in the play’s hierarchy of dignity. The exaggerated caricature of Jupiter as “glib and lecherous” in the costume of a senex (an aged jealous man) cuts a “ridiculous figure on stage in indulging his all too human lusts” (Christenson 244-45). Similarly, Mercurius assumes the “grotesque acroutements” of a Plautine clever slave, outfitted in padded tights, elongated feet, a pot-belly, red wig, and a mask with distorted facial features (Gratwick 116-119). Depicted as such, he becomes the “literal embodiment of a carnival clown” (Gratwick 119). Alcumena’s pregnancy is not only reasonable and non-farcical, but empowering when contrasted with these clearly satirical costumes and characters.
The materialization of Alcumena’s undeniable pregnancy is a source of strife both in the events of the play and in academic discourse. As per tradition and Sosia’s comment that he “See[s] [Alcumena] by the door–she’s stuffed!” (Amph. 667), there is no doubt that padding would have been used to depict her pregnancy. While carrying both the demigod Hercules and her human son, Christenson argues that in Alcumena’s “bloated and caricatured form… [she] literally embodies… a vehicle for grotesque humour” (Christenson 244). He repeatedly refers to Alcumena as physically and sexually “caricatured,” (131, 244) thus pointing out that “On stage, the pregnant woman is an irresistibly comic figure, as nature has caught her out” (246). He supports his argument with the employment of Bakhtin’s concept of grotesque realism, whose essential principle is degradation. The term concerns itself with the lower stratum of the body and the reproductive organs, and therefore lowers all that is ideal and abstract to the material level (244). Even with the application of grotesque realism, Christenson fails to isolate what exactly is so comical about pregnant women. Does Alcumena’s pregnancy cause comedic effect because she does not know whether Amphitruo or Jupiter impregnated her, or is she farcical because she is ‘bloated’ and therefore ‘degraded’? Christenson’s argument is grounded on the assumption that audiences would “erupt with belly laughs” (246) at the sight of a natural female body, as he asserts that “Pregnancy is a vehicle for absurd and highly visual humor” (ibid). This claim is the academic product of a nearly wholly male-dominated discourse, and is not the case in Amphitruo. Apart from a portion of female-authored perspectives (Phillips), the prevailing Amphitruonic arguments are produced by male attitudes. Christenson’s argument that Alcumena’s body is a primary source of farce falls short due to lacking evidence and is in danger of imparting chauvinistic undertones.
Christenson closes evidentiary gaps by instituting his own disproportionate and prejudiced assumptions. He acknowledges that contemporary audiences
greatly rue the lack of visual evidence for early Roman theater, and so a precise picture of Alcumena’s costume, but it is at least easy to imagine the audience’s collective laughter [at the expense of] her distended stomach. (245)
Modern observers lack the evidence for a so very ‘bloated’ and ‘caricatured’ Alcumena, yet Christenson implements biased presumptions to imagine that her stomach must have been a comically and unrealistically emphasized “grotesquely padded figure” (245). He does not take into account that Alcumena is giving birth to twins, as Mercurius narrates at the beginning of the play: “she’s giving birth to twins today!/ One son’s Amphitruo’s, the other’s Jove’s” (Amph. 480-483). She carries two fetuses in her womb (one of whom exhibits superhuman strength and size), so even if she was “an exaggeratedly stuffed matrona” (245), a large belly would have accurately represented the twin-bearing woman’s physical state. Christenson also fails to acknowledge the full significance of grotesque realism in Amphitruo, where regeneration is a central theme. Involving itself with the reproductive organs, regeneration is an aspect of grotesque realism inexplicably tied to birth. Ultimately, Amphitruo celebrates human sexuality and procreation which culminates in the birth of one of the most honored demigods in Greco-Roman mythology. This pregnancy by divine intervention is received so highly by Amphitruo that he resolves to “sacrifice for peace/ to highest Jove for many gifts” (Amph. 1125) and asks his spectators to “give a hand/ for the sake of highest Jove” (Amph. 1145). If Alcumena’s pregnancy truly is a vehicle for absurd humor, her conception by divine intervention of Hercules would not resolve the play in such an honorable way. The “grotesque caricature” of pregnancy and sexuality that Christenson argues has a purely comedic effect actually sets Alcumena at the top of the play’s pecking order.
Now debased and at the bottom of the power hierarchy, the masculine figures of Amphitruo try to appease their insecurities by undermining Alcumena’s dignity. They ridicule her body because they fear what they do not know. Alcumena’s pregnancy throws her fellow Thebans into a confused frenzy which constructs one of the central conflicts of the play. They subject Alcumena to an excess of mockery because of the state of her body when Sosia draws a parallel between sexual satietas and the satiety of food:
Pregnant women should be given
palm-I-granted – pomegranate –
so that she can chew on it
if she starts with morning sickness (Amph. 722-723).
Additionally, her husband greets her by announcing, “Wonderful to see you so pregnant, and so full of… beauty,” (Amph. 681). He intensifies his mockery when he comments that Alcumena, “lent her body” (Amph. fr.10) and calls her a “treasure trove of shocking, shameful sex” (Amph. fr.16). Alcumena’s enjoyment of her ‘affair’ threatens Amphitruo’s masculinity, so he derides his wife’s sexuality in order to restore his confidence. The barrage of jokes centered around Alcumena’s pregnancy exemplifies Amphitruo and Sosia’s ill attempts to mask their discomfort.
Amphitruo and Sosia clumsily try to disguise their insecurities by claiming Alcumena is insane. Sosia begs, “Please, why don’t you demand that she be purified; she’s muy loca” (Amph. 775), and Amphitruo asks, “Woman, when did you first feel that/ these things were infecting you?” (Amph. 728). Sosia also tries to diminish Alcumena’s leverage by comparing her to a member of the Bacchic cult:
If you desire to go against a crazy cultist,
not just nuts, but nutzier she’ll go, and hit you all the more.
If you listen, she will settle for one punch (Amph. 702-704).
Sosia refers to the Bacchanalia Affair of 186 BC, which saw women abandon their chastity to join the Bacchic cult (Valerius Maximus 6.3.7-8). The cult performed nocturnal rituals that incited such fear in the Roman Senate that it was difficult to repress (Gruen 35). Alcumena is additionally linked to sorcery through the name of her attendant, Thessala, whose name evokes a region in Greece which is traditionally associated with magic and witchcraft (Christenson 259). The Bacchanalia Affair and the association with sorcery mirror Alcumena’s advantage over her male companions. They are afraid of her sexuality, her pregnancy, and her complexity to such an extreme that they use ridicule as an outlet for their unease. Their mockery and debasement of her humanity is a product of their fragility. However, these attempts at humiliation rather magnify Alcumena’s authority over them. Her wit epitomizes her liberation when she recalls the insult that she is “muy loca,” (Amph. 775) and throws his word back at Amphitruo and remarks that he is, “possessed or muy loco” (Amph. fr.8). Alcumena’s determination to uphold her integrity liberates her from the constraints which Amphitruo, Jupiter, and Sosia try to impose.
Amphitruo is diminished not only by Alcumena’s wit, but also by his own self-aggrandizement in the face of his crumbling pride. He completely assumes the miles gloriosus (braggart soldier) stock character when he recounts his victories in battle and stresses how excited his wife will be upon his arrival:
I believe when I come home
I’ll be quite welcome with my wife…
I was leading and in charge;
We vanquished them when first we met
She, awaiting my arrival,
Yearns for me; of this I’m sure (Amph. 654, 657-658)
After this grand prediction, he is left embarrassed by his bruised masculinity when Alcumena greets him “barely/ more than when she greets the dog” (Amph. 680). He tries to establish himself to the audience as a courageous, rigorous, and logical leader, but this description was already stolen by Jupiter when he assumed Amphitruo’s persona on the previous night. As he comes to doubt his own identity, the doubling of Amphitruo exploits more humorous confusion (Christenson 13). He is confounded, enraged, and humiliated when Alcumena narrates the intimate details of her evening with Jupiter, describing that he “dined with [her]/ and slept with [her] well” (Amph. 734), that she “gave [him] a kiss” (Amph. 800), and that she “reclined with [him]/… on the same recliner” (Amph. 803). Her account of the evening culminates when she reveals she slept “In [their] room./ In the same bed next to [him]” (Amph. 807). As she continues with content and placidity, Amphitruo grows in anger and shame. Alcumena’s sexual expression does not degrade her own integrity, but rather Amphitruo’s.
Amphitruo continually makes grievances which demonstrate his helplessness to Alcumena’s sensuality, Jupiter’s divinity, and his own lost sense of self. He acknowledges that “Every human mocks [him] freely” (Amph. 1047). His exasperation is especially ironic when the audience realizes that humans do not mock him freely, but gods do. Divine mocking is overtly apparent when he charges his own home with a “comic boast of impiety” (Christenson 182), but is prevented from entering by Jupiter’s thunderbolt (Amph. 1052). Eventually left a collapsed senex by Alcumena, Amphitruo is convinced that he is a cuckold and is less secure in his own identity than ever before. In Alcumena’s line, immo mecum, cenavisti et mecum cubuisti (Amph. 734), Hough argues that the threefold cu-sound symbolizes cuckoldry (Marshall 57). As the audience watches Amphitruo undergo humiliation after humiliation, they realize what he does not: Alcumena is not the play’s vehicle for absurd humor, but rather Amphitruo is.
Alcumena’s sexual appetite does not render her a farce or a tragic figure, but constructs a unique definition that is unsuitable for any single Roman stock character. Her lack of archetypal clarity strengthens her dissent to traditional representation. While scholars like Hunter argue that Plautus has emphasized Alcumena’s “tragic innocence” by turning her into the “epitome of the respected Roman matrona” (Hunter 211), she does not entirely fit the definition of this stock character. Her strong libido directly conflicts with the public persona of a matrona–who is traditionally idealized as chaste–but it does not denote her as a parody of female vulgarity either. When Alcumena contends that she brought “modesty, shame, [and] well-controlled desires” (Amph. 840) into her marriage, Christenson argues that there are unmistakable comic ironies as she appears a spokesperson for the values traditionally associated with the idealized matrona (109). However, he fails to acknowledge that during childbirth, Alcumena’s servant Bromia says that Alcumena’s “Hands were clean, her head was covered” (Amph. 1093). Alcumena embodies the true form of a matrona in her respect for tradition, but simultaneously represents other Roman stock characters not traditionally associated with older women. The meretrix–an archetype often conceived as a prostitute–is exotic, extravagent, and amoral rather than immoral (Gratwick 110). Alcumena invokes ideals of both matrona and meretrix:
She who’s done no wrong should be
Bold. she should speak for herself
forcefully and daringly. (Amph. 837)
She is amoral in that she does not know she has committed adultery, and she is moral in that she is loyal in her marriage (as far as she knows, since Jupiter is disguised as her husband). She is exotic and extravagant in her blatant expression of her sexuality. She is upright in her convictions of fidelity against her husband. Alcumena’s characterization is fluid between the matrona and meretrix, and even extends to the virgo. The virgo usually represents the ‘young maiden’ archetype. She is self-consistent, modesta, and given to docta dicta; “learned sayings” (Gratwick 110). While her male counterparts submerge into various unstable identities, confusion, and embarrassment, Alcumena consistently maintains her original identity–even if it is a complex one.
Amphitruo is not an isolated work in its presentation of fluid and sophisticated female characterization. Plautus infused stock character contradictions into other works, including Poenulus. In Poenulus, Adelphasium is dressed as a meretrix but in fact embodies a virgo. This variance allows her to behave as a meretrix, even though this archetype is incompatible with her role and involves stock variance (Gratwick 110). Plautus made conscious, nuanced decisions to construct dynamic and complex female characters. They are not stagnant or flat, and therefore can not be labeled as either tragic or comic figures. Their complexity and depth represent innovation in female characterization in order to preserve integrity, empowerment, and humanity.
Plautus saturated Amphitruo with a variety of different rhythms, speech patterns, and songs to communicate tones of female empowerment. One of his heroines (Matrona in Menaechmi) chooses iambic senarius– one of Plautus’ three main meters– to cue the audience that they should not feel sorry for her (Gratwick 111). Similarly, Alcumena speaks in senarii when she addresses the audience:
I can’t remain inside. Accused by him
of cheating, shameful sex, adultery.
He cries aloud that what’s not done was done,
says what’s not happened I am guilt of,
and trusts I’ll think this all beside the point.
I’ve done no wrong, by Pollux. I won’t bear
the shame of false indictment. Either he’ll
apologize or else I will leave him.
For I am blameless of what he’s alleged (Amph. 881-890).
While Amphitruo grapples with his wife’s apparent indifference to their marriage and attempts to improve his position by slandering her sexual appetite, Alcumena maintains her poise and does not cave to her husband’s insolence. Her confident lines spoken in senarii support Gratwick’s assertion that Alcumena is “presented powerfully as… a heroine” (109). The movement and weight of the verses in senarii are carefully engineered elements of meaning. It was no accident that Plautus chose to have Alcumena deliver her lines in this meter, as his whole body of work becomes a tapestry of metrical variety. This tapestry was “renowned in antiquity for the nature of its rhythms” (Marshall 7). Just as strategic metric use is present among Plautus’ other works, the playwright utilized rhythm to reinforce Alcumena’s confidence and power.
The language that is carried by these different meters is no less significant than the rhythms themselves. In contrast to common opinion, Gratwick illuminates that Plautus’ language is not at all vulgar. The playwright employs fantastic hyperbole throughout his work that does not always signify humor. He cites the example of lumbi, “bottom” occurring, but not culus, “arse” (112). Plautus draws a clear line between the audience’s reality and the reality of his play through his use of characterization, content, and language. When he wishes to express emotion, he does not do so in a way that would convey the reality of the audience’s daily experience, but rather uses “a bludgeoning prolixity, exuberance of imagery, verbal inventiveness, bizarre identifications, and elevation of the tone to that of tragic discourse” (Gratwick 112) to communicate the tone of the play. Christenson recognizes that Plautus’ hyperbole is saturated with clever puns, but is rarely obscene (131). Alcumena’s discussion on voluptas (Amph. 631-42) and witty puns on cuckoldery (Amph. 734) communicate more sophistication than vulgarity. Her meter and her sophisticated rhetoric refutes the argument that she is a humorous voluptuary. She assumes a role that is in no way farcical as she maintains her dignity while speaking in empowered rhythms and refined language. Plautus carefully constructs her language and meter to showcase her intellect and empowerment rather than her sexual humiliation.
The number and variety of Amphitruo adaptations throughout history attest to the richness, complexity, and strength that permit Alcumena’s character to transcend the original work. Sedgwick contends that “probably no play has had such a long and chequered history as the Amphitruo of Plautus” (6). The sophistication and multivalency which Plautus imbued Alcumena with is translated by the vast array of the play’s adaptations throughout ancient and modern history. Sedgwick calls it a “fair inference” that Plautus’ Amphitruo contains a parody of Euripides’ Alcmene (9). Alcumena’s story travels from the Ancient Greek environment of Euripides to the seventeenth-century Christian setting of Burmeister, where Alcumena becomes the Virgin Mary (Sedgwick 3). This history reflects that while the play has comedic effect, Alcumena is neither a comic or tragic figure. Molière’s seventeenth century rendering of Amphitruo features Jupiter as utterly smitten by Alcumène and resentful of the fact that he wins her affection only by impersonating her husband. In this piece, Alcmène loses all of her gentleness and pathos (Sedgwick 6). In George Kaiser’s 1944 Zweimal Amphitryon, Alcumena once again exerts control over Jupiter as her love dissuades him from obliterating the human world. Molière and Kaiser pick up on Plautus’ hints that the audience should not pity or laugh at Alcumena, but rather marvel in her dominance.
Giradoux’s Amphitryon 38 renders Jupiter as even more deferential to Alcumena than Molière does. His piece has an earthly and wise Alcmene completely in control of Jupiter. The god is “enamored of human love, seeming always to be at a nervous disadvantage in her presence” (Christenson 74). Jupiter’s insecurity is especially evident when he asks her to rate their love-making, to which she responds that only “conjugale” does the night justice. Ultimately, she persuades Jupiter that their relationship should be purely Platonic (ibid). The power hierarchy of Amphitruo is overt in Giradoux’s work. Alcumena is unattainable for Jupiter due to her dignity, power, and soundness in her femininity and sexuality. When Jupiter’s masculinity becomes too fragile, he fabricates that the affair was a figment of the past.
The United Players of Vancouver Theatre Company’s production of Amphitruo emphasized Alcumena’s multivalency to contemporary audiences. In Director Toph Marshall’s adaptation of Amphitruo, an elderly woman assumed the role of Alcumena (Vancouver 2021). The casting decision reinforced the dignity and elegance of a matrona and the divine nature of the female vessel. In his script, Marshall explains that Alcumena “enjoys sex [and] makes jokes, but also offers a paradigmatic articulation of the presumptive morality of a Republican Roman wife” (Marshall 4). This truly mature Alcumena displays the same sexual excitement as a young Alcumena would. Her magnetism transcends generations and renders her tenacious rather than objectified or farcical. Not only does Alcumena’s discourse on eroticism generally normalize female lust, but when an elder delivers sexually pointed lines, maturity as it relates to sexual ideals is de-stigmatized. Her evident pregnancy on stage further disrupts traditional conventions, as a young maiden has now materialized as aged and impregnated. Alcumena’s pregnancy reiterates her matrona-like aspects, resulting in a true amalgamation of many stock characters. This adaptation emboldens audiences to grapple with the character’s dynamism and confront their own biases around strong women.
Plautus’ original Alcumena embodies a conglomeration of stock character attributes, but Burmeister, Molière, Kaiser, Giradoux, and Marshall’s versions of Alcumena isolate and exaggerate each of these specific characteristics. Infinite variations illustrate that Alcumena’s multifariousness grants her strength, depth, and power amidst the turmoil and confusion of Amphitruo.
Alcumena remains a character who stands in stark contrast to all other figures of her Theban setting. Thrown against a background that brims with male embarrassment, anger, and disorientation, Alcumena emerges as the only poised and dignified character from a mass of turbulence. Her ability to navigate the frustration of her male associates with composure and wit attests to her rightful position as a woman of high societal and independent stature. Alcumena’s character does not serve as an infinite abyss from which others merely extract farcical comments about her body and sexuality. The mockers reveal their true inferiority when they express their insecurity through farcical jabs, and illuminate that the aspects for which Alcumena is mocked are the primary counterpoints of her strong sense of self, femininity, and respectability. Centuries ago, Alcumena called women to be bold and should speak for themselves “forcefully and daringly” (Amph. 837). As the curtain closes on adaptations of Amphitruo around the world, Alcumena leaves her audiences with the incentive to find liberation in self-expression, even when they are the objects of relentless derision.
Works Cited
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Gratwick, A.S. 1982. “Drama” in The Cambridge History of Classical Literature, vol. II
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Gruen, E. S. 1990. Studies in Greek Culture and Roman Policy. New York: Brill.
Hunter, Richard L. 1985. The New Comedy of Greece and Rome. Cambridge: CUP.
Phillips, Jane. 1985. “Alcumena in the Amphitruo of Plautus: a Pregnant Lady Joke,” Classical Journal 80: 121-26.
Plautus, Titus Maccius. tr. C.W. Marshall. 2021. Amphitruo. Vancouver: University of British
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—–. tr. Paul Nixon. 1950. Plautus: In Five Volumes. Cambridge: Harvard University
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Sedgwick, W.B. 1960. Plautus: Amphitruo. Manchester University Press.