Appendix
In this appendix, I explain in more detail my criteria for excluding cases from the data sets analysed in Chapters 2 and 3. As I explained in Chapter 2, Section 2.1.1.2, the point of trimming the data is to create a focused comparison between the present for preterite and its main competitor, which is the narrative aorist. This minimises the influence of extraneous factors on measured correlations between tense usage and variables of interest.
The first section of this appendix is concerned with criteria relating to discourse relations and the character of the assertion (Section A.1). The greater part of this appendix will deal with the relationship between the present for preterite and aspect and actionality (Section A.2; see also Introduction, Section I.4).
The following does not constitute a ‘codebook’. The material is simply too complex to allow for clear-cut definitions of such criteria as narrativity. The selection of the data has therefore been necessarily arbitrary to some degree, but this is unavoidable and the alternative – a completely heterogeneous data set – is intolerable. All I can do is try to illustrate how I proceeded in trimming the data; the reader may judge to what extent it is likely that my selection criteria biased the results.
A.1 Discourse and the Assertion
I have aimed to include only narrative assertions that are independent and are not modified by a negation or similar means. The criterion of narrativity pertains to the principle of sequential order (Section A.1.1) and the distinction between narrative proper and commentary (Section A.1.2; compare, e.g., Allan’s [Reference Allan, Bakker and Wakker2009] distinction between the diegetic mode and the discursive mode). The criterion of independence is related to clause type (Section A.1.3) and information structure (Sections A.1.4 and A.1.5). Negation and other modifications of the assertion are discussed in Section A.1.6. Finally, I add a note on iterative statements (Section A.1.7).
A.1.1 Sequential Order
I have excluded assertions that violate the principle of sequential order, that is, where the designated event temporally precedes, rather than follows upon, the event described by the previous narrative assertion (compare Chapter 2, Section 2.4). For example, in Xenophon, Expedition of Cyrus 1.7.14, we are told how Cyrus’ army arrived at a trench. After a description of the trench, Xenophon notes (1.7.16): ταύτην δὲ τὴν τάφρον βασιλεὺς ποιεῖ μέγας ἀντὶ ἐρύματος, ἐπειδὴ πυνθάνεται Κῦρον προσελαύνοντα (‘the great King makes that trench as a means of defense, when he hears of Cyrus’ march against him’). The digging of the trench precedes the time of Cyrus’ arrival at the trench.
Typical cases are explanatory assertions introduced by the particle γάρ (‘for’). In Euripides, Hippolytus 1173–5, the messenger begins his narrative by telling how he and others were tending to Hippolytus’ horses, crying. He goes on to explain (1175–7): ἦλθε γάρ τις ἄγγελος λέγων | ὡς οὐκέτ’ ἐν γῇ τῇδ’ ἀναστρέψοι πόδα | Ἱππόλυτος, ἐκ σοῦ τλήμονας φυγὰς ἔχων (‘for a messenger came, saying that Hippolytus would no longer be dwelling in this country, having been banished in a wretched way by you’). The arrival of the messenger precedes the situation in which Hippolytus’ servants are crying.
A.1.2 Narratorial Comments
Narratorial comments are assertions that do not contribute to the development of the story but serve as evaluations of the events in the narrative proper. These are not too common in the selected corpora and can typically be excluded on the basis of other criteria listed here (violations of the principle of sequential order and repeated or presupposed information, see Sections A.1.1 and A.1.4, respectively). One aspect I want to draw attention to here is the use of expressions that clearly reveal the narrator’s ex eventu knowledge. Consider the case of Thucydides, Histories 1.55.2 αἰτία δὲ αὕτη πρώτη ἐγένετο τοῦ πολέμου τοῖς Κορινθίοις ἐς τοὺς Ἀθηναίους, ὅτι σφίσιν ἐν σπονδαῖς μετὰ Κερκυραίων ἐναυμάχουν (‘that became the first cause for the Corinthians to go to war with the Athenians: the fact that they had fought against them in the sea battle along with the Corcyreans, during a truce’). This evaluative statement follows upon the narrative of the sea battle that is referred to. The phrase αἰτία … πρώτη (‘the first cause’) implies an overview of the entire war.
Similarly, I excluded after-the-event summaries. An example is Thucydides, Histories 7.24.2 ἄνθρωποι δ᾽ ἐν τῶν τειχῶν τῇ ἁλώσει ἀπέθανον καὶ ἐζωγρήθησαν πολλοί, καὶ χρήματα πολλὰ τὰ ξύμπαντα ἑάλω (‘many men were killed and caught alive during the taking of the fortification, and much property was taken in all’). The narrative of the battle for the forts in Plemmyrium was closed off at 7.24.1: οἱ δὲ Συρακόσιοι κατὰ μὲν τὴν ναυμαχίαν οὕτως ἐπεπράγεσαν, τὰ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ Πλημμυρίῳ τείχη εἶχον, καὶ τροπαῖα ἔστησαν αὐτῶν τρία (‘the Syracusians had fared thus in the sea-battle, and they held the forts in Plemmyrium, and they set up three victory monuments’). The assertions in 7.24.2 are thus retrospective comments.
A.1.3 Clause Type
Most types of subordinate clauses present the information conveyed by them as presupposed rather than as asserted. I have excluded, first, temporal subordinate clauses introduced by ἐπεί (‘when’), ὡς (‘as’) and ὅτε (‘when’).Footnote 1 In my entire prose corpus, I have found only 25 instances of the present for preterite in temporal subordinate clauses.Footnote 2 While I cannot determine the exact number of subordinate clauses with a preterite in this corpus, it will be clear that this number must be vastly larger, so that the odds of the present being used in this context stand in no proportion to the odds of the present being used in main clauses. In drama, the use of the present for preterite in temporal subordinate clauses is mostly confined to the phrase ὡς ὁρᾷ (‘as [s]he sees’; for the present for preterite with verbs of ‘seeing’, see Chapter 2, Section 2.2.1; see also Section A.2.1).Footnote 3
I have also excluded restrictive relative clauses. These are relative clauses that identify a referent. For example: Sarah showed me the book that she had written. The clause that she had written serves to identify the book referred to in the main clause. If the relative clause is left out, it is unclear which book is meant. Such clauses are non-assertive (the speaker in the example just given takes it for granted that Sarah wrote a book). The use of the present for preterite here is exceptional. An example is Demosthenes, Against Leochares (44) 40 ὃ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα διοικεῖται Λεώστρατος οὑτοσί, τοῦτο πάντων δεινότατόν ἐστιν (‘[the thing] that Leostratus here manages after that – that is the most terrible thing of all’).Footnote 4
I did include non-restrictive relative clauses, of the type My brother Jeremy, who is an engineer, is going to Thailand. The relative clause who is an engineer does nothing to identify the referent: there is only one person on the planet who is my brother and is named Jeremy. Rather, the relative clause provides additional information about the referent: it makes the assertion that Jeremy is an engineer. The present seems to be freely used in non-restrictive relative clauses when the relative clause introduces the next event in the narrative main line, as in Lysias, On the murder of Eratosthenes (12) 8 καὶ ἐμὲ μὲν ξένους ἑστιῶντα κατέλαβον, οὓς ἐξελάσαντες Πείσωνί με παραδιδόασιν (lit. ‘and they found me entertaining strangers, whom having expelled they hand me over to Piso’).
I also retained subordinate clauses specifying an endpoint or result, introduced by ἔστε/ἐς ὅ/ἕως/μέχρι (οὗ)/πρίν (‘until’) or ὥστε (‘[so] that’). Technically, these clauses do not contain independent assertions, but in practice they do serve to introduce the next event on the narrative main line. For example, Herodotus, Histories 6.75 οὐ βουλομένου δὲ τὰ πρῶτα τοῦ φυλάκου διδόναι, ἀπείλεε τά μιν λυθεὶς ποιήσει, ἐς ὃ δείσας τὰς ἀπειλὰς ὁ φύλακος (ἦν γὰρ τῶν τις εἱλωτέων) διδοῖ οἱ μάχαιραν (‘when the guard at first would not give [him a knife], he threatened what he would do to him when released, until the guard, frightened by the threats – for he was one of the Helots – gives him a knife’).Footnote 5
A.1.4 Repeated or Presupposed Information
I have aimed to include only narrative assertions that describe events that are new to the discourse. I have therefore excluded the following types of assertions.
First, repetitions. For example, in Thucydides, Histories 1.46.3 we are told that the Corinthians anchor at Chimerium (present ὁρμίζονται [‘anchor’]). After a geographical description of the location, Thucydides picks up the narrative as follows (1.46.5): οἱ μὲν οὖν Κορίνθιοι τῆς ἠπείρου ἐνταῦθα ὁρμίζονταί τε καὶ στρατόπεδον ἐποιήσαντο (‘so the Corinthians anchor at that point of the mainland, and they made a camp’). The first of these two assertions merely repeats what has already been narrated and was thus excluded.
Second, end-of-speech formulae of the type ‘thus they spoke’. An example is Euripides, Hecuba 542 τοσαῦτ’ ἔλεξε (‘that much he said’).
Third, summarising statements at the end of narrative episodes. For example, Xenophon, Hellenic affairs 3.1.1 ἡ μὲν δὴ Ἀθήνησι στάσις οὕτως ἐτελεύτησεν (‘so, the civil strife in Athens ended in that way’).
Fourth, assertions that provide the background to an event that has already been narrated (compare Section A.1.2). For example, in Xenophon, Hellenic affairs 3.2.6, we are told of the arrival of some Spartan officials to Lampsacus, where Dercylidas held command of the armed forces. Xenophon continues: οὗτοι δ’ ἦλθον ἐπισκεψόμενοι τά τε ἄλλα ὅπως ἔχοι τὰ ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ, καὶ Δερκυλίδᾳ ἐροῦντες μένοντι ἄρχειν καὶ τὸν ἐπιόντα ἐνιαυτόν (‘they came to inspect the state of affairs in Asia and to tell Dercylidas that he should stay and maintain command for the next year as well’). At this point, the event designated by the verb is presupposed information. We already know that the Spartans came to Lampsacus; now we are told the motivation for this visit.
This final point also applies to cases where the designated event can be readily inferred from the immediately preceding assertion, even when a different verb is used. For example, in Thucydides, Histories 2.2.1, we are told how a number of Theban soldiers secretly entered the city of Plataea (aorist ἐσῆλθον [‘entered’]). Then we are provided with background information (2.2.2): ἐπηγάγοντο δὲ καὶ ἀνέῳξαν τὰς πύλας Πλαταιῶν ἄνδρες, Ναυκλείδης τε καὶ οἱ μετ’ αὐτοῦ (‘Plataean men brought them over and opened the doors – Nausiclides and his companions’). The fact that some people must have brought over the Thebans and opened the doors for them is presented as inferrable from the preceding assertion that the Thebans entered the city. In the original Greek, this is shown by the placement of the verbs at the initial position. The effect is conveyed better in translation by a cleft construction: ‘It was Plataean men who brought them over.’ In any case, as we have already been told that the Thebans successfully entered the city, the following assertions do not move the narrative forward.
A.1.5 Closely Connected Verbs
Sometimes two verbs are so closely connected that it makes more sense to take them as a single unit than as two separate assertions. A clear case is Euripides, Heracles 998–9 ὁ δ’ ὡς ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς δὴ Κυκλωπίοισιν ὢν | σκάπτει μοχλεύει θύρετρα (‘he, thinking that he was at the Cyclopian walls, digs up, wrenches open the door’). The two present tense verbs are connected by asyndeton (i.e., without connective particle) and have the exact same argument structure (they presuppose the same subject and both govern the object θύρετρα [‘the door’]). In such cases, I only counted the first of the two verbs.
I applied the same principle to instances where the assertions are connected only by the particle καί (‘and’), as in Xenophon, Expedition of Cyrus 1.10.5 … ἔνθα δὴ βασιλεὺς μὲν ἁθροίζει τε τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ καὶ συντάττεται (‘at that point the King gathers together his troops and arranges [them]’). The second assertion consists only of a verb and information inherited from the previous assertion (the subject and the object). Again, I included only the first of the two assertions in the data set in such cases (even when, as in the example just given, the meaning of the two verbs is substantially different).Footnote 6
A.1.6 Negation and Other Modifications of the Assertion
I have excluded instances where the validity of the assertion is modified, either by a negation, by an expression meaning ‘almost’ (μικροῦ or ὀλίγου), or by an expression of degree (μᾶλλον [‘more’], ἧσσον [‘less’]).Footnote 7
In the case of negations, I have excluded all instances where any part of the assertion is negated. See, for example, Thucydides, Histories 1.95.6 καὶ ἐκεῖνον μὲν οὐκέτι ἐκπέμπουσιν ἄρχοντα, Δόρκιν δὲ καὶ ἄλλους τινὰς μετ’ αὐτοῦ στρατιὰν ἔχοντας οὐ πολλήν (‘and him they no longer send out as commander, but Dorcis and some others with him, with a small force’). Here the negation does not have scope over the entire assertion but only over the object (‘not him [Pausanias], but Dorcis’). I have excluded it nevertheless.
According to Rijksbaron (Reference Rijksbaron, de Jong and Rijksbaron2006: 131; 2011a: 8) the present for preterite can only be used in a negative assertion when it is balanced by a positive assertion, as in Herodotus, Histories 1.117 ὁ δὲ Ἅρπαγος, ὡς εἶδε τὸν βουκόλον ἔνδον ἐόντα, οὐ τρέπεται ἐπὶ ψευδέα ὁδόν, ἵνα μὴ ἐλεγχόμενος ἁλίσκηται, ἀλλὰ λέγει τάδε (‘Harpagus, when he saw that the shepherd was inside, does not turn to deceit, lest he be subjected to scrutiny and caught, but says the following’). Here the two clauses basically constitute a single assertion (‘he did not lie but told the truth’). This is not a rule, however (as was observed by Koller [Reference Koller1951: 67]): compare in 6.88 μετὰ ταῦτα καταλαμβάνει μὲν κατὰ συνεθήκατο Ἀθηναίοισι ὁ Νικόδρομος τὴν παλαιὴν καλεομένην πόλιν, Ἀθηναῖοι δὲ οὐ παραγίνονται ἐς δέον (‘after that, Nicodromus takes possession of the city, according to his agreement with the Athenians, but the Athenians do not show up at the necessary moment’). Here the assertion of the non-arrival of the Athenians is self-contained.Footnote 8 Nevertheless, such instances are rare enough to justify the exclusion of negative assertions from my data sets.
A.1.7 Repeated Occurrences (Iterativity)
I have excluded some very few instances where it is made explicitly clear that the assertion refers to repeated occurrences of the event designated by the verb phrase. For example, Euripides, Alcestis 187–8 καὶ πολλὰ θαλάμων ἐξιοῦσ’ ἐπεστράφη | κἄρριψεν αὑτὴν αὖθις ἐς κοίτην πάλιν (‘and exiting her bedchamber many times, she turned back and threw herself to her bed again’).
A.2 Aspect and Actionality
I have touched upon the relationship between the present for preterite and aspect and actionality in Section I.4 of the Introduction. I have also briefly explained my criteria for exclusion of data from the datasets pertaining to these parameters in Chapter 2, Section 2.1.1.2. Here I will provide some more data concerning the use of the present for preterite with certain actional classes (Section A.2.1), addressing, in particular, the controversy between Boter (Reference Boter2012) and Rijksbaron (Reference Rijksbaron2015) on the use of the present for preterite with stative verb phrases. I will also present a detailed account of the cases I have excised from the data based on actionality and aspectual construal (Section A.2.2).
A.2.1 Actionality
There are a number of incidental cases of the present for preterite of verb phrases designating activities in the corpus.Footnote 9 Most typically, the verb phrase designates movement. For example, the verb διώκω (‘pursue’) is found a number of times with the present for preterite, as in the following instance:
οἱ δὲ διερευνηταὶ ὡς εἶδον ταῦτα, αὐτοί τε ἐδίωκον καὶ τῷ Γαδάτᾳ κατέσειον· καὶ ὃς ἐξαπατηθεὶς διώκει ἀνὰ κράτος.
When the scouts saw that, they pursued them and beckoned Gatadas [to follow their example]; and he {was deceived} and pursues them vigorously.
‘To pursue’ is an activity, as a pursuit can be extended indefinitely without changing the inherent quality of the event.Footnote 10
The compatibility of the present for preterite with stative verb phrases is more problematic. The issue extends beyond Classical scholarship. The main problem is this: when the present tense refers to a state within the context of a narrative, but that state still persists in the actual present, it is hard to rule out a present time interpretation of the verb. Consider the following example (from Park et al. [Reference Park, St-Laurent, McAndrews and Moscovitch2011: 1173]): I talked to this girl. Her name is Alice. In this case, the present verb is does not unambiguously designate a state in the past. After all, the girl’s name is still Alice, and the statement could be explained as a comment about the actual present rather than as part of the narrative proper.
However, a past time interpretation of a present tense form may be inescapable. I have found an example in Classical Greek where this is the case. This example comes from comedy (a genre that has been left out of consideration by Boter [Reference Boter2012] and Rijksbaron [Reference Rijksbaron2015]). The context is as follows. The Athenian women have left their homes early, disguising themselves as men, in order to take over the assembly. In the present passage, one of the Athenian men, Blepyrus, arrives on stage, wearing his wife’s clothes:
The translation ‘have been lying’ actually renders a present tense form, κατάκειμαι (‘am lying’), which, together with the adverb πάλαι (‘for a long time’), signals that the designated situation has been going on for some time at the temporal point of reference. Now, there is no device by which the present κατάκειμαι (‘am lying’) can be construed as referring to the actual present. Evidently, Blepyrus is no longer in bed, because he is standing on the stage. Moreover, the surrounding discourse clearly embeds the event in a past context. As Blepyrus was lying in bed, he was searching (participle ζητῶν [‘searching’]) for his clothes; and when he could not find them, and his bowels where pressing him (imperfect forms ἐδυνάμην [‘could’], ἐπεῖχε [‘was pressing’]), he took his wife’s clothes (present forms λαμβάνω [‘take’], ὑφέλκομαι [‘put on’]). He is now wearing them. We have here, then, a solid case of the present for preterite with a stative verb – but it is, admittedly, highly exceptional.Footnote 11
Most potential instances of the present for preterite with stative verbs refer to states that are still actual in the present of the speaker. Here we encounter a fundamental difficulty: it is generally impossible, in my view, to absolutely rule out present time reference in such cases. Let us take a representative instance cited by Boter (Reference Boter2012: 229–30), which is found near the end of the messenger speech in Euripides’ Helen. Menelaus and Helen have obtained a ship from the barbarian king Theoclymenus, ostensibly to perform funeral rites for Menelaus (whom Theoclymenus believes to be deceased). When the ship is at some distance from the shore, Menelaus and his comrades take over the ship, slaying its crew, so that they can flee the country:
The perfect βεβᾶσι (‘have gone’) designates a state.Footnote 12 Boter argues that this is a ‘historical perfect’ because it is embedded in the narrative. According to him, it would be intolerable to have the narrative flow interrupted, that is, to assume a switch from a narrative about past events to a comment on the present situation, and then back again, without an explicit indication of these switches (Boter Reference Boter2012: 218). So, while it is true that the designated state still holds in the actual present of the speaker (Helen and Menelaus are still gone), Boter feels this is irrelevant to the narrative. Based on such arguments, Boter identifies a number of stative ‘historical present’ forms in tragedy. He is, however, heavily criticised by Rijksbaron (Reference Rijksbaron2015), who argues that all such ambiguous present forms should be taken to refer to the actual present.
In my view, Boter’s argument, that a present time interpretation of the present tense is unnatural in such cases because it interrupts the narrative flow, is too subjective. It is not at all clear that there is a rule against such implicit shifts in discourse mode. To begin with, it is not unusual for there to be a seamless transition from past to present time reference at the end of a messenger narrative (compare Rijksbaron [Reference Rijksbaron2015: 237–8]). For example, the messenger speech in Euripides’ Electra ends in the following manner:
Orestes has just killed Aegisthus. When the servants recognise the long-lost son of Agamemnon, they garland him, cheering his victory. The form στέφουσι (‘garland’) is a present for preterite: the crowning of Orestes was completed in the past. The present form ἔρχεται (‘he is coming’), by contrast, designates an event that has not yet been completed: Orestes is still underway. To my mind, it is clear that the narrator makes a transition here from past to present time reference, and with that, from narrative to discursive mode, even if there is no explicit indication of this – there is simply a connective particle, δέ (‘and’).Footnote 13 It would be unnatural to interpret ἔρχεται (‘comes’) as an atelic present for preterite, meaning ‘he was coming’, with the fact that this is still going on at the present being merely implied.
However, the case of βεβᾶσι (‘they have gone’) in Helen 1613 is more complex. If we take the perfect as referring to the actual present, there is not one shift but two, for the messenger switches back to the narrative mode to tell what ultimately happened to himself. The following example shows that this is possible as well:
ἀλλ’ ἐπεὶ ἀνέλαβον τὰ ὅπλα, αὐτὸς μὲν ὥσπερ ὑπὸ μοίρας τινὸς ἀγόμενος ἐκπηδήσας πρῶτος ἐμπεσὼν τοῖς πολεμίοις ἀποθνῄσκει, καὶ τέθαπται ἐν τῇ διαβάσει τοῦ Κηφισοῦ· οἱ δ’ ἄλλοι ἐνίκων καὶ κατεδίωξαν μέχρι τοῦ ὁμαλοῦ.
But when they had taken up their arms, [the seer] himself {jumped out} first of all, as if led by some kind of fate, {fell upon} the enemy, and dies, and he is buried at the ford of Cephisus. The others were victorious and pursued the enemy to the level ground.
According to Boter’s logic, it would be a rude interruption of the narrative flow to take the perfect τέθαπται (‘he is buried’) as referring to the actual present. But it is obviously impossible to take the perfect as being embedded in the narrative: the seer can hardly have been buried during the battle. So the perfect refers to the author’s present. This shows that an author does not need to make such shifts between discourse modes and temporal domains explicit.Footnote 14
Even when the present refers to an ambiguous state, a past time interpretation may, I think, be ruled out on the basis of pragmatic considerations. Let me discuss another example adduced by Boter (Reference Boter2012: 228). Iocasta is speaking:
Iocasta tells the audience how her sons Polyneices and Eteocles locked up their father Oedipus in the house after the family had learned of the terrible misfortune that had befallen them. Then follows the sentence ‘And he is (ἔστι) alive in the house’, after which we are told how Oedipus cursed his children. Again, Boter (2012: 228) regards ἔστι (‘is’) as a present for preterite based on the argument that on the alternative reading, the narrative flow is interrupted. He adds: ‘Moreover, the fact that Oedipus is alive in the palace at the moment at which Iocaste is speaking is irrelevant in the narrative.’ But this presupposes that Iocasta is making a narrative assertion. For those who take ζῶν ἔστι (‘is alive’) to refer to the actual present, the question is not whether this information is important to the narrative but whether it is relevant with respect to the present situation.
Now, if the phrase ζῶν ἔστι (‘is alive’) refers to the actual present, then the point of the assertion is clear: it is relevant for the audience of the play to know what the current situation is. Now they know Oedipus is still alive, so they may expect him to play a role at some point in the drama. It is unclear, however, what the import of the assertion would be in the context of the narrative. Why do we need to be told that, at this point in the narrative, Oedipus was alive? Obviously, if his children locked him up, and after a while he cursed them, then Oedipus must have been alive in the meantime. If we take ζῶν ἔστι (‘is alive’) as a present for preterite, the statement becomes completely pointless, while under a present interpretation its relevance is patently clear. This is an important consideration in general, for many of Boter’s supposed stative present for preterite forms make for a useful summary of the present situation that forms the background of the drama (compare Rijksbaron [Reference Rijksbaron2015] on this point).
A final point concerns Boter’s view of the function of the present tense in these cases. Why, for example, should Iocasta mark the state of Oedipus living in the house with a present for preterite ζῶν ἔστι (‘is alive’) instead of with the regular past tense? In two cases, Boter (Reference Boter2012: 214–16) opts for a ‘pivotal’, ‘transition-marking’ interpretation of the present tense, but this does not work everywhere, and in most cases Boter remains silent on this point. We find what seems to be Boter’s general statement on the value of the present in contrast with the imperfect in a footnote on the form δοκεῖ (‘he thinks’) in Euripides, Helen 35. In this passage, Helen tells the audience that she did not in fact accompany Paris to Troy but that Hera gave Paris an image of her. Then she says (35–6): καὶ δοκεῖ μ’ ἔχειν, | κενὴν δόκησιν, οὐκ ἔχων (‘and he thinks he has me – a vain thought, for he does not’). Boter regards the present here as standing for the preterite.Footnote 15 Commenting on the difference with the imperfect, he says the following:
As to the contents the imperfect would imply that Helen believes that Paris is no longer convinced to have the real Helen at the moment of speaking, which conflicts with her absolute lack of knowledge concerning the present state of affairs at Troy. In general terms: the imperfect refers to a state of affairs in the past; therefore, the historical present is the only way to indicate a state of affairs in the past which continues at the moment of speaking (unless, of course, an imperfect is used with the explicit addition that the state of affairs is still valid at the moment of speaking, e.g. ‘they were then carrying the corpse and they are still doing so now’).
According to this argument, the present is used because the imperfect would be infelicitous on account of its pragmatic implications. But if replacing a present tense form with a past tense form comes at the expense of changing the felicity conditions of the utterance, then by my definition it is not a present for preterite. The claim that the present can ‘indicate a state of affairs in the past which continues at the moment of speaking’ seems tantamount to the admission that the present is used because of its present time semantics. If the present tense is used to indicate continuance at the moment of speaking, then this means it refers to the present.
I conclude that the argument that the integrity of the narrative flow forces us to take present forms designating ambiguous states to refer to the past is invalid. Of course, we may well ask the question how the audience knows when a discourse shift is taking place if the author is not explicit about this. The most important considerations are real-world knowledge (example [5], τέθαπται [‘he is buried’]: we know a burial takes place after a battle), relevance (example [6], ζῶν ἔστι [‘is alive’]: pointless in the context of the narrative), the generic expectation that at some point the narrator will move from past narrative to present situation (example [3], βεβᾶσι [‘they have gone’]: it is clear that this is final) and, yes, the actionality of the verb, as we know that in general a stative present is much more likely to refer to the actual present than to the past. This final point may be corroborated by the cross-linguistic observation that in languages that lack grammatical tense marking, present time reference is the default interpretation with atelic verbs (e.g., Wu [Reference Wu2002] on Mandarin Chinese).
To summarise, the use of the present for preterite with activity verb phrases is relatively uncommon and its use with stative verbs is exceedingly rare. The extreme scantiness of positive evidence for the stative use suggests that, in ambiguous cases, the default interpretation should be to have the present tense refer to the actual present. It may still be a matter of judgement to what extent this interpretation should be considered pragmatically more felicitous than an interpretation of the present as standing for the preterite.Footnote 16 But we cannot confidently include such cases in quantitative analyses (even if we could, I would have excluded them on the basis of the implicit imperfective construal).
A final issue pertaining to states is the phenomenon of the ‘ingressive’ aorist. As noted in Section I.4.5 of the Introduction, a perfective aspectual construal can turn a state into an achievement, signalling the moment of entry into the designated state. In some cases, such usages develop a distinct meaning. For example, the verb γιγνώσκω (‘know’) has an aorist ἔγνων that can mean ‘come to know’, ‘realise’, but also ‘arrive at the opinion’, hence ‘decide’, ‘judge’. The question is whether the present for preterite can be used instead of such ingressive aorists.
To put it briefly, the answer is that it can but only rarely. Present for preterite forms of certain typical ingressive aorists are remarkably absent from the corpus. The verb γιγνώσκω (‘know’) with the aoristic meaning ‘decide’ would have been a good candidate for present for preterite usage from a narratological point of view, as decisions are often crucial events in a story (compare Chapter 3, Section 3.4); however, we only find the aorist ἔγνων (‘decided’). Similarly, the impersonal expression δοκεῖ (‘it seems’) has an ingressive aorist ἔδοξε (‘it was decided’), which is also never replaced by the present in narrative (here perhaps the impersonal construction is another factor).
The case of ἔχω (‘have’), with aorist ἔσχον (‘acquire’), is a little more interesting. The present tense of this verb is never used instead of the preterite. However, there is a reduplicated form of this verb, ἴσχω, which normally means ‘hold’. It is relatively rare, while ἔχω (‘have’) is pervasive. What is interesting here is that one of the main uses of reduplicated ἴσχω (‘hold’) is as a present for preterite. An example is the following:
In my view, the reduplicated present ἴσχει (‘takes hold of’) is here used as a substitute for simple ἔχει, which is apparently unacceptable as a present for preterite with ingressive meaning (see also Koller [Reference Koller1951: 74–5]).
Apart from these verbs, I have found less than a handful of straightforward instances of the present standing for the ingressive aorist. It is instructive to compare the following example with example (7):
Κροῖσος δὲ τούτων ἀκούων τόν τε Ἄδρηστον κατοικτίρει, καίπερ ἐὼν ἐν κακῷ οἰκηίῳ τοσούτῳ.
Croesus, hearing this, takes pity on Adrastus, even though he was dealing with so great a personal loss.
The use of the present κατοικτίρει with ingressive value, ‘takes pity on’, is, from an actional point of view, parallel to the phrase οἶκτός τις ἴσχει (‘a certain feeling of pity takes hold of’) in example (7).Footnote 17
The rarity of ingressive present for preterite forms may be due to a strong association between morphology and semantics in these cases. The use of the present for preterite comes with the loss of overt aspectual distinctions. This may have been felt to be problematic when aspect determines meaning, as in the case of imperfective γιγνώσκω (‘know’) versus aoristic ἔγνων (‘decide’, ‘judge’).
I should mention here that verbs of perception, in particular ὁράω (‘see’), are freely used in the present for preterite (see Chapter 2, Section 2.2.1). This use might be taken to imply an ingressive construal (‘see’ becomes ‘catch sight of’), in which case these instances violate the general rule formulated here. However, it is also possible to regard the actionality of these verbs as inherently ambiguous. For example, in English the verb ‘see’ can be used in a telic sense: in He came in and saw what had happened, the verb saw designates a moment of transition from a state of not seeing to a state of seeing. With other verbs, such an interpretation requires a different verb phrase (e.g., atelic ‘be angry’ versus telic ‘get angry’). Whatever the case may be for Classical Greek, I retained instances of verbs of perception in the data sets because there are no restrictions on their use as present for preterite.
A.2.2 Trimming the Data
I will now specify in detail which cases I have excluded from the two data sets analysed in this study based on considerations of aspect and actionality. As I explained in Chapter 2, Section 2.1.1.2, the main purpose of excluding cases from my data sets is to ensure a focused comparison between the present for preterite and its main competitor. Given the uncertainty surrounding the compatibility of the present for preterite with atelic verb phrases and/or imperfective aspectual construal, it is to be expected that the rules governing tense-switching in these cases are different than in cases where the verb phrase is telic and the aspectual construal is perfective. To safeguard the homogeneity of the data in the two categories (present and preterite) as much as possible, I have adopted the following principles:
(a) Optimally, atelic verb phrases should be avoided. It turned out to be difficult, however, to designate a clear boundary separating telic verb phrases from atelic ones. For the corpus of narrative in drama (Chapter 2), I found this difficulty insurmountable because many cases were of doubtful actionality. I have therefore retained atelic verb phrases here. In the case of historiography (Chapter 3), the divide is clearer, and here I did exclude verb phrases based on actionality.
(b) Forms with imperfective aspectual construal were excluded. With regard to the preterite, this entailed, obviously, excluding imperfect forms. In the case of the present for preterite, the aspectual construal is implicit and has to be determined by the semantics of the verb and the discourse context (Introduction, Section I.4.2).
(c) Morphologically ambiguous forms (ambiguous between the aorist and imperfect or the present and imperfect) were excluded when the aspectual construal could not be determined as perfective with reasonable certainty.
I will now specify which cases I have excluded from each of the datasets.
A.2.2.1 Narrative in Drama (Chapter 2)
(a) Imperfect forms; morphological ambiguity. Imperfect forms were excluded. The following forms that are ambiguous between the present and the imperfect without the past-tense marking prefix (‘augment’) were excluded as well (Introduction, Section I.4.3). A. Pers. 363 προφωνεῖ (‘announces’; my translations follow the editor’s accentuation); Ar. Th. 513 θεῖ (‘runs’); E. Alc. 183 κυνεῖ (‘kisses’); Med. 1141 κυνεῖ (‘kisses’), 1169 χωρεῖ (‘moves’), 1207 κυνεῖ (‘kisses’); Hipp. 1212 χωρεῖ (‘moves’); Andr. 1089 τ’ ἐχώρει (τε χώρει) (‘moved’), 1096 τοῦδ’ ἐχώρει (τοῦδε χώρει) (‘moved’), 1120 χωρεῖ (‘moves’), 1140 χωρεῖ (‘moves’); Supp. 696 χωρεῖ (‘moves’); El. 777 κυρεῖ (‘happens to be’), 779 ἀυτεῖ (‘calls’), 822 ἀπωθεῖ (‘pushes away’), 830 ἀνιστορεῖ (‘asks’); HF 969 ὠθεῖ (‘pushes’), 995 χωρεῖ (‘moves’); IT 1395 ὠθεῖ (‘pushes’); Ion 1217 θεῖ (‘runs’); Ph. 1401 χωρεῖ (‘moves’); Ba. 728 κυρεῖ (‘happens to be’), 1048 ἵζομεν (‘sit down’), 1144 χωρεῖ (‘moves’; perhaps an actual present); Rh. 291 ἵεμεν (‘rush/rushed’); S. OT 1245 καλεῖ (‘calls’); Ant. 411 καθήμεθ(α) (‘sit/sat’), 432 ἱέμεσθα (‘rush/rushed’), 1227 χωρεῖ (‘moves’), 1227 καλεῖ (‘calls’); Tr. 698 ῥεῖ (‘streams’), 760 ταυροκτονεῖ (‘sacrifices’), 796 καλεῖ (‘calls’); Ph. 371 κυρεῖ (‘happens to be’); OC 1626 καλεῖ (‘calls’).
I retained three cases where I believe we can be reasonably sure that the aspectual construal is perfective, so that the form must be present for preterite: E. IT 334 κομίζομεν (‘take’); Ph. 1458 ὠθεῖ (‘pushes’); S. Ant. 433 θηρώμεθ(α) (‘catch’).
The aspectuality of forms that are morphologically ambiguous between the aorist and the imperfect is generally relatively easy to determine. I have found it more economical here to list the forms I retained as being genuine aorists: E. Supp. 704 ἔκλινε (‘caused to turn’); El. 824 ἐξέδειρεν (‘flayed’; the Ionic imperfective stem has an iota as well); HF 1159 διεπάλυνε (‘grinded to powder’); Ph. 1421 ἐξέτεινε (‘extended’); S. Ant. 1262 ἔκλινε (‘caused to bend’). Examples of rejected forms are E. HF 949 ἔθεινε (‘struck’); Or. 915 ἔτεινε (‘presented’).
(b) Imperfective aspectual construal. I have excluded the following present forms as probably having implicit imperfective construal: A. Pers. 381 πλέουσι (‘sail’), 463 παίουσι κρεοκοποῦσι (‘strike [and] cut into pieces’); Eu. 39 ἕρπω (‘creep’; uncertain); Ar. Nu. 1373 ἀράττω (‘strike’); Av. 498 μέλλω (‘am about to’); Th. 482 καταβαίνω (‘go down’); Ec. 313 κατάκειμαι (‘am lying [in bed]’); E. Alc. 186 στείχει (‘marches’); Med. 1163 διέρχεται (‘walks through’), 1190 φεύγει (‘flees’); Hipp. 1221 ἕλκει (‘pulls’), 1224 φέρουσιν (‘carry’), 1237 ἕλκεται (‘is dragged’); Andr. 1117 προσεύχεται (‘prays’); Supp. 706 φεύγει (‘flees’); HF 1001 ἱππεύει (‘gallops’); Ion 1213 ἐρευνᾷ (‘searches after’); IT 298 παίει (‘hits’); Ba. 628 ἵεται (‘rushes’), 748 χωροῦσι (‘move’; uncertain), 1142 φέρει (‘carries’; uncertain); Rh. 772 μετρῶ (‘measure’); S. El. 725 φέρουσιν (‘carry’), 732 ἀνοκωχεύει (‘holds back’), 738 διώκει (‘pursues’), 897 περισκοπῶ (‘look around’); OT 1255 φοιτᾷ (‘resorts to’); Tr. 698 κατέψηκται (‘lies crumbled’), 701 κεῖται (‘lies’; if these final two are indeed present for preterite forms; see Section A.2.1).
(c) Actionality. I did not generally exclude verb phrases on the basis of actionality in this data set because in many cases I found it difficult to determine actionality with certainty. Many difficult cases involved sound production. For example, ἀλαλάζω (‘cry alalai’) is an activity verb, I believe, but what about the composite ἀναλαλάζω (‘raise the cry alalai’)? To what extent does aspect affect actionality – for example, is στέναζω (‘groan’) atelic in the imperfective but telic in the perfective (‘let out a single groan’)? The verb βοάω (‘shout’) seems telic and is found a number of times in the present for preterite, but κλάζω and κράζω (‘cry’) are always preterite in the selected corpus; does this imply they may be atelic?Footnote 18 I have, however, excluded preterite forms belonging to the verbs ἔχω (‘have’) and composites,Footnote 19 δοκέω (‘seem’) and γιγνώσκω (‘know’); see Section A.2.1.
The inclusion of instances that are atelic or of doubtful actionality (about 60 of the total 424 aorists) is not expected to heighten the probability of finding false correlations between certain variables and tense usage, because there is no a priori reason to assume that these aorists behave markedly differently with respect to the variables investigated here (e.g., sentence complexity, particle usage) than the other aorists.
A.2.2.2 Historiography (Chapter 3)
(a) Imperfect forms; morphological ambiguity. Imperfect forms were excluded. In prose there is no morphological ambiguity between the present tense and the imperfect, because here the prefix marking the past tense is obligatory. As for ambiguity between the aorist and the imperfect, this is hardly ever an issue. The only noteworthy case is that of the verb (ἀπ)έκτεινε (‘killed’), but all instances of this verb in the selected corpus seem certainly perfective.
(b) Imperfective aspectual construal. I have excluded the following present forms as probably having implicit imperfective construal: X. An. 1.5.12 ἀφιππεύει (‘rides’), 1.8.24 ἐλαύνει (‘rides’), 3.4.49 παίουσι (‘hit’), βάλλουσι (‘throw things at’), λοιδοροῦσι (‘revile’), 4.3.21 φεύγουσιν (‘flee’), 4.6.26 φεύγουσι (‘flee’), 4.7.11 χωρεῖ (‘moves’), παρέρχεται (‘moves past’), 4.7.25 φέρουσι (‘carry’; uncertain), 5.2.30 φεύγει (‘flees’), 6.2.17 πλέουσιν (‘sail’), 6.5.12 παρεγγυῶσι (‘pass along’), 6.5.13 ἐλαύνει (‘rides’), 6.5.31 πορεύονται (‘march’), φεύγουσι (‘flee’), 7.1.15 θέουσι (‘run’), 7.1.18 φεύγουσιν (‘flee’); HG 3.4.26 ἔρχεται (‘goes’), 5.2.29 ἡγεῖται (‘leads’), 3.2.27 ποιοῦσι (‘make’; uncertain).Footnote 20
On a more incidental note, I excluded cases of the verb τυγχάνω (‘happen to’) construed with the present participle and συμβαίνω (‘happen to’) with the present infinitive (these were all preterites).
(c) Actionality. In the historiographical corpus, I found a clearer divide between telic and atelic verb phrases than in the case of narrative in drama. This does not mean that the procedure of excluding atelic verb phrases was entirely unproblematic. First, the complements of the verb may influence actionality. For example, the verb ‘eat’ is telic with a specific object (‘eat an apple’) but atelic with an unspecific object (‘eat apples’). However, in certain cases where the object is unspecific, an atelic determination does not seem quite right. Consider Xenophon, Hellenic affairs 3.1.27 ὁ δ’ ἐπεὶ εἶδε πάντα, κατέκλεισεν αὐτὰ καὶ κατεσημήνατο καὶ φύλακας κατέστησεν (‘when he had seen it all, he shut it up, sealed it, and installed guards’). Technically, the verb phrase ‘install guards’ can be regarded as designating an activity, for it is possible to keep installing guards ad libitum, and this will not change the event structure designated by the phrase. However, what is designated in this context is a single act of installing a definite (but unspecified) number of guards at a specific location. To exclude such cases from the data does not seem reasonable. To avoid having to make judgement calls, I have ignored the nature of the object when determining actionality. This also means that I included all cases of ποιέω (‘make’) with an object, even when the object is an action noun designating an activity (θόρυβον [‘noise’]).
Verbs of movement are atelic when a complement is lacking (a prepositional phrase or directional adverb). This does not apply to composite verbs with a ‘separative’ prefix (ἀπ-, ἐξ- [‘away from’]). For example, I regard πλέω (‘sail’) without complement as an activity verb but ἐκπλέω (‘sail out’) as an accomplishment verb.
With regard to the verbs ἔχω (‘have’), δοκέω (‘seem’) and γιγνώσκω (‘know’) (Section A.2.1), I have adopted the following procedure. With ἔχω, I have included instances where it means ‘gain control of’ and instances where it has intransitive meaning (‘put in’, of ships). We find the present for preterite of the intensive form ἴσχω with these meanings at Thucydides, Histories 2.68.6 (ἴσχουσι) and 7.33.4 (κατίσχουσιν), respectively. I also included the present ὑπισχνέομαι (‘promise’) with the corresponding aorist ὑπεσχόμην (‘promised’). Instances of the verb δοκέω (‘seem’) with aorist ἔδοξε (‘it was decided’) were excluded altogether. Instances of the verb γιγνώσκω (‘know’) with aorist ἔγνων (‘decided’) were excluded, except for composite ἀναγιγνώσκω (‘read aloud’) with definite object.Footnote 21
The following present forms were excluded as belonging to atelic verbs (note that this does not include cases that were already excluded on the basis of aspectual construal, so that very few remain): X. An. 1.1.4 βουλεύεται (‘deliberates’); HG 4.4.11 βοηθοῦσιν (‘come to aid’; I regarded this as atelic when used without a prepositional phrase or directional adverb), 7.4.20 στρατεύεται (‘makes a military expedition’; again, atelic without a complement). Other verbs I have excluded which yielded only or mostly aorist forms are αὐλίζομαι (‘camp’; somewhat uncertain), διατρίβω (‘spend time’), ἐάω (‘leave’), ἔδεισα (‘fear’), ἡσυχάζω (‘remain silent’), θορυβέω (‘make noise’), κοιμάομαι (‘sleep’), ναυμαχέω (‘fight a naval battle’), νομίζω (‘think’), οἰκέω (‘live’), ὀκνέω (‘hesitate’), πλανάομαι (‘wander’), πλέω (‘sail’, without complement), πολιορκέω (‘besiege’), ὑποπτεύω (‘suspect’), χράομαι (‘use’), χρηματίζω (‘have dealings’), χωρέω (‘move’, without complement).
1 Technically speaking, only the conjunction ὅτε (‘when’) has a strictly temporal value. The other two are underspecified with respect to the real world relationship between the event designated in the subordinate clause and the event designated in the main clause. See Buijs (2005: 13–15).
2 Followed by a present form in the main clause: Isoc. 17.9 προσπέμπω (‘send’); Is. 5.13 δύναται (‘is able’); D. 23.154 γίγνεται (‘becomes’), 47.56 ἐπεισπηδῶσιν (‘jump into’), καταλαμβάνουσιν (‘catch’), 59.37 γίγνεται (‘happens’); Hdt. 6.5 γίνεται (‘becomes’); Th. 5.10.5 ὁρᾷ (‘sees’), 7.84.3 γίγνονται (‘are’); X. An. 1.7.16 πυνθάνεται (‘hears’), 4.7.11 ὁρᾷ (‘sees’), 4.7.12 ὁρᾷ (‘sees’), 7.1.17 ὁρῶσι (‘see’); Cyr. 8.5.17 γίγνονται (‘are’; there is a variant reading ἐγίγνοντο). Followed by a preterite in the main clause: Lys. 1.6 γίγνεται (‘is born’); D. 23.158 τυγχάνει (‘receives’), 35.30 εὑρίσκομεν (‘find’), 47.36 ἀφικνεῖται (‘arrives’), 47.53 διαφεύγουσιν (‘escape’); Hdt. 5.55 κτείνουσι (‘kill’), 9.2 γίνεται (‘is’); Th. 1.63.1 ὁρᾷ (‘sees’); X. Cyr. 5.4.3 ἀφικνεῖται (‘arrives’), 5.4.51 ἀφικνεῖται (‘arrives’). In Hdt. 9.26, the form ἱζόμεθα (‘sit’) is morphologically ambiguous between a present and an imperfect. In X. An. 1.8.1, we find προφαίνεται (‘appears’) in an exceptional case of the cum inversum construction (of the type It was night and everyone was sleeping, when suddenly someone entered the house). I did include this instance in the data set because the designated event constitutes the next event on the narrative main line. Compare below on subordinate clauses specifying an endpoint or result.
4 Compare D. 18.156 πέμπει (‘sends’), 19.47 δίδωσι (‘gives’), 24.15 τίθησι (‘enacts’), 32.26 λαγχάνει (‘files’); Hdt. 5.56 τελευτᾷ (‘dies’); Th. 8.95.6 καταφεύγουσι (‘flee’), ἀφικνοῦνται (‘arrive’); E. Ba. 1139 τυγχάνει (‘happens to’).
5 I excluded the exceptional case of the present for preterite in an indirect question: S. OT 1251 χὤπως μὲν ἐκ τῶνδ’ οὐκέτ’ οἶδ’ ἀπόλλυται, lit. (‘and how from this point on she dies, I don’t know’). This is no doubt admissible because of the grammatical character of the phrase οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅπως (‘I don’t know how’): the idea is basically ‘and then she dies in a way unknown to me’.
6 I should note that it is possible for tense-switching to occur in such contexts; see, e.g., X. HG 2.1.15 αἱρεῖ καὶ ἐξηνδραπόδισεν (‘takes [the city] and enslaved [it]’).
7 Examples: Th. 5.38.3 οἱ δ’ ἐν ταῖς βουλαῖς τῶν Βοιωτῶν ὄντες οὐ προσδέχονται τὸν λόγον, δεδιότες μὴ ἐναντία Λακεδαιμονίοις ποιήσωσι, τοῖς ἐκείνων ἀφεστῶσι Κορινθίοις ξυνομνύντες (‘the members of the Boeotian councils do not accept the proposal, fearing that they would be acting against the interests of the Lacedaemonians, making common cause with the Corinthians who had revolted from them’); 8.35.3 καὶ προσβαλόντες τῇ πόλει ἀτειχίστῳ οὔσῃ ὀλίγου εἷλον (‘and attacking the city, which did not have a wall, they almost took it’); E. Ba. 1075 ὤφθη δὲ μᾶλλον ἢ κατεῖδε μαινάδας (lit. ‘he was seen [by the maenads] more than he saw them’).
8 Compare D. 34.8 οὐκ ἀποδίδωσιν (‘does not give back’), 59.51 οὐκ ἀποδίδωσιν (‘does not give back’); Th. 1.136.4 οὐκ ἀξιοῖ (lit. ‘does not deem just’, i.e., ‘asks not to’), 5.38.3 οὐ προσδέχονται (‘do not accept’).
9 E.g., Din. Dem. 5 ζητεῖ (‘searches’); X. An. 1.1.4 βουλεύεται (‘deliberates’); HG 3.2.27 σφαγὰς ποιοῦσι (lit. ‘make slaughters’, i.e., ‘slaughter people’), 3.4.10 διαλέγεται (‘converses’); Th. 4.66.3 ποιοῦνται λόγους (lit. ‘make speeches’, i.e., ‘have a dialogue with’); see also 5.27.2, 5.36.1; A. Supp. 578–9 δακρύων δ’ ἀπο- | στάζει πένθιμον αἰδῶ (lit. ‘she causes sorrowful shame to drip from her eyes’, i.e., ‘cries’), Eu. 12 σεβίζουσιν (‘worship’; there may be an intentional ambiguity with an actual present time interpretation, as the event lived on in a present-day Athenian custom; see Sommerstein [1989] ad loc.); Ar. Nu. 1373 ἀράττω (‘strike’): πολλοῖς κακοῖς καἰσχροῖσι (‘with many bad and ugly words’) clearly implies this is an activity; Pax 754 μάχομαι (‘battle’); E. Hipp. 1237 ἕλκεται (‘is dragged’); Ion 49 τρέφει (‘rears’; the verb is atelic, pace Rijksbaron [2015: 236]), 822 παιδεύεται (‘is reared’); S. El. 897 περισκοπῶ (‘look around’).
10 Compare X. An. 4.6.24 διώκουσιν (‘pursue’); S. El. 738 διώκει (‘pursues’). Compare the verb φεύγω (‘flee’), e.g., D. 32.6; X. An. 7.4.17; E. Supp. 706. Other comparable uses are, e.g., X. An. 4.7.11 χωρεῖ (‘moves’), 6.5.31 πορεύονται (‘march’); Cyr. 7.3.15 ἵεται (‘rushes’).
11 Note that metre does not play a role here: the imperfect κατεκείμην would have been metrically equivalent. There are no variant readings. Other scattered instances: Hyp. fr. 70 Jensen (1917) ἠγανάκτηνται (‘are grieved’; perfect instead of the pluperfect); X. Cyr. 4.2.18 μένει (‘stays’). In both cases, the passage is full of present for preterite forms, so it might be argued that these uses are due to some kind of ‘contamination’. Also, they are paleographically less certain than we would like. In the case of ἠγανάκτηνται (‘are grieved’), it would have been easy for an ending in -το (pluperfect) to have been changed in -ται, especially because of the following particle τε, which became at some point homophonous with -ται. (Incidentally, Jensen’s critical apparatus reports that Blass ‘prefers’ [malit] the imperfect ἠγανάκτουν [‘were grieved’].) The verb μένει (‘stays’) is preceded by the particle μέν, and some confusion may have resulted from the juxtaposition of syllables in an original μὲν ἔμενε (imperfect) or μὲν ἔμεινε (aorist).
12 I have boldfaced and underlined present forms the time reference of which may be considered ambiguous.
13 Boter (2012: 222) himself allows for this in the case of κεῖται (‘lies’) at S. Ant. 1240. Compare also, e.g., E. Andr. 31 ἐλαύνομαι (‘am being driven’); Heracl. 862 ἥκει (‘comes’); HF 32 ἄρχει (‘rules’), 1013 εὕδει (‘is sleeping’).
14 See also E. IT 958–9, a discursive comment interrupting the narrative, introduced with nothing but the connective particle δέ (‘and’).
15 Boter (2012: 228) also argues that the forms κέκρυπται (‘is hidden’, i.e., ‘is buried’, [62]) and θηρᾷ (‘seeks’, [63]) further on in the prologue must refer to the past because of the following present for preterite προσπίτνω (‘I throw myself [at the gravestone] as a suppliant’, [64]). However, it seems that the semantics of the verb προσπίτνω can be extended to include the state of being a suppliant or the activity of supplicating. See, e.g., E. Supp. 8–11 ἐς τάσδε γὰρ βλέψασ’ ἐπηυξάμην τάδε | γραῦς, αἳ λιποῦσαι δώματ’ Ἀργείας χθονὸς | ἱκτῆρι θαλλῷ προσπίτνουσ’ ἐμὸν γόνυ, | πάθος παθοῦσαι δεινόν (‘I uttered this prayer looking at these old women who, having left their house in the Argive land, supplicate my knee with a branch of supplication, having suffered a terrible misfortune’). So in Hel. 64 I would take Helen to say, basically, ‘I am lying at the gravestone as a suppliant’.
16 I think stative κεῖται (‘lies’) in the sentence τοιόνδε κεῖται προπετές (‘in this way it lies, fallen’) in S. Tr. 701 is a good candidate for being a legitimate present for preterite form (Boter [2012: 215–16]). The fact that the fragments of the flock of wool are still lying on the ground is hardly relevant at the moment of speaking. As part of the narrative proper, by contrast, the assertion has the function of focusing attention on the situation in the story world, heightening the tension before the next miraculous event occurs. Another difficult case is κεῖται (‘lies’) in E. Ph. 1459. Boter (2012: 214) excludes the possibility of a present time interpretation on the ground that ‘the sequel of the passage makes it perfectly clear that dead Iocaste is no longer lying on the bodies of her dead sons’. In this interpretation, the state designated by the verb must be assigned unambiguously to the past. Rijksbaron (2015: 230) counters: ‘As for κεῖται, this can very well be taken as an actual present, for, as Evert van Emde Boas pointed out to me, upon hearing κεῖται the addressees, and the audience, will assume that Iocaste is still lying where she killed herself, until further notice, so to speak, this notice coming at φέρουσιν (1477).’ This is rather sophistical. The audience may not know at the point the messenger says κεῖται (‘she lies [dead]’) that Iocasta is no longer lying there, but the messenger does. We must make sense of the utterance not just from the point of view of the audience but also from the point of view of the speaker. If the messenger uses the present to designate a state that he knows to belong to the past, then we cannot escape the conclusion that the present stands for the preterite. The essential question, however, which is overlooked by both Rijksbaron and Boter, is the following: has the state designated by κεῖται (‘she lies [dead]’) really ceased to exist with the removal of the bodies? To my mind, this is not necessarily the case. As an interim summary of the narrative, the point of the statement would be that Iocasta ‘lies dead’ together with her loved ones. Iocasta is still dead at the present of the speaker, and her body is conveyed to the palace together with that of her sons (1481–4). So in some sense, she still ‘lies dead among her loved ones’ when the messenger makes this utterance.
17 The preverb κατά in κατ-οικτίρω might be thought to make the verb telic in and of itself (‘take pity on’), but see S. OT 13 and E. Heracl. 445 for the stative use of this verb. Another likely example is E. El. 830 σκυθράζει (‘becomes angry’, from a stative meaning ‘be angry’). Allan (2009: 192), departing from the assumption that the present for preterite never occurs with stative verbs, argues that the verb must designate an inherently telic event (‘become angry’), but I do not think this is necessarily the case.
19 This does not pertain to ὑπισχνέομαι (‘promise’) with aorist ὑπεσχόμην.
20 The only relevant instance in Thucydides is already excluded because of the negation: 1.136.4 οὐκ ἀξιοῖ (lit. ‘does not deem just’, i.e., ‘asks not to’).
21 Aorist in Th. 7.10.1; for the present for preterite, see D. 37.40.
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