The poets’ choice of tragic themes from traditional mythology does not mean that their material was rigid and intractable. They enjoyed entire freedom to revamp the old tales, by invention, alteration, or suppression, in order to suit their own purposes. Here again the practice of the mediaeval playwrights, though more restricted to minor matters, affords the best clue. On the other hand, the fact that most spectators knew at least the general outline of his plot in advance allowed the ancient dramatist to introduce numerous subtleties that are quite beyond the reach of modern playwrights (see pp. 315 f., below). It is true, as Aristotle[233] warns us, that “even the known stories were known only to a few.” Nevertheless, the more intelligent in the audience would always be well informed, and of the oft-repeated tragic themes even the most stupid could hardly remain in ignorance. In the case of satyric drama the situation was naturally somewhat different. Whatever the relationship between the dithyramb, satyr-play, and tragedy, the fact remains that the satyr-play was placed in the program of the City Dionysia largely as a concession to the Dionysiac element. Consequently, Bacchic themes were retained in the satyric drama long after they had been abandoned by tragedy. Even so, it did not take long to develop a secondary stage in which the Dionysiac element is practically restricted to the appearance of Bacchus’ attendant sprites, the chorus of satyrs, who are harshly superimposed upon some non-Dionysiac subject. Until recently our direct information concerning the satyr-play was derived solely from Euripides’ _Cyclops_, the only extant representative of this genre, but now the major portion of another, _The Trackers (Ichneutae)_ by Sophocles, has been revealed to us.[234] Both in the _Cyclops_ and now in the _Trackers_ the Bacchic element is restricted to Silenus and the chorus of satyrs, and Dionysus himself figures only as he is appealed to or mentioned in the choral odes or episodes. How generally Bacchus was omitted from his own special brand of play we have no means of knowing, but it was inevitable that this should not be a rare occurrence. The myths in which the wine-god could appropriately appear in person must soon have been exhausted; and the playwrights, more concerned in producing an interesting performance than in maintaining an outworn custom, would yearn to exercise in this field the same freedom that they had already won for themselves in the composition of tragedies. Even in the two plays now before us the new wine is fairly bursting the seams of the old wineskins. In the _Cyclops_, Silenus and his children are joined to the story of Odysseus’ adventures in Polyphemus’ cave, in which neither earlier mythology nor rhyme or adequate reason had vouchsafed them a place. Their presence is explained by the statement that they had set sail in search of Dionysus, after