The Agamemnon of Aeschylus

[P. 23, l. 530, Happy among men.]—The crown of his triumph! Early Greek thought was always asking the question, What is human happiness? To the Herald Agamemnon has achieved happiness if any one ever did. Cf. the well-known story of Croesus asking Solon who was the happiest man in the world (Herodotus, I. 30-33). [P. 24, ll. 551 ff., Herald’s second speech.]—The connexion of thought is: “After all, why should either of us wish to die? All has ended well.” This vivid description of the actualities of war can be better appreciated now than it could in 1913. [P. 25, l. 577, These spoils.]—Spoils purporting to come from the Trojan War were extant in Greek temples in Aeschylus’ day and later. [P. 26, l. 595, Our women’s joy-cry.]—There seems to have been in Argos an old popular festival, celebrating with joy or mockery the supposed death of a man and a woman. Homer (Od. iii. 309 f.) derives it from a rejoicing by Orestes over Aigisthos and Clytemnestra; cf. below, ll. 1316 ff., p. 59; Aeschylus here and Sophocles in the _Electra_, from a celebration by Clytemnestra of the deaths of Agamemnon and Cassandra. Probably it was really some ordinary New Year and Old Year celebration to which the poets give a tragic touch. It seems to have had a woman’s “Ololugmos” in it, perhaps uttered by men. See Kaibel’s note, Soph. _Electra_ 277-281. [P. 26, l. 612, Bronze be dyed like wool.]—Impossible in the literal sense, but there is after all a way of dying a sword red! [P. 27, l. 617, Menelaus.]—This digression about Menelaus is due, as similar digressions generally are when they occur in Greek plays, to the poet feeling bound to follow the tradition. Homer begins his longest account of the slaying of Agamemnon by asking “Where was Menelaus?” (Od. iii. 249). Agamemnon could be safely attacked because he was alone. Menelaus was away, wrecked or wind-bound. [P. 28, l. 642, Two-fold scourge.]—Ares works his will when spear crosses spear, when man meets man. Hence “two-fold.” [P. 29, CHORUS. The name HELENA.]—There was a controversy in Aeschylus’ day whether language, including names, was a matter of Convention or of Nature. Was it mere accident, and could you change the name of anything at will? Or was language a thing rooted in nature and fixed by God from of old? Aeschylus adopts the latter view: Why was this being called Helena? If one had understood God’s purpose one would have seen it was because she really _was_ “Helenâs”—_Ship-destroyer_. (The Herald’s story of the shipwreck has suggested this particular idea.) Similarly, if a hero was called Aias, and came to great sorrow, one could see that he was so called from ‘Aiai,’ “Alas!”—The antistrophe seems to find a meaning in the name Paris or Alexandras, where the etymology is not so clear. [Pp. 33 ff.]—Entrance of Agamemnon. The metre of the Chorus indicates marching; so that apparently the procession takes some time to move across the orchestra and get into position. Cassandra would be dressed, as a prophetess, in a robe of white reaching to the feet, covered by an _agrênon_, or net of wool with large meshes; she would have a staff and certain fillets or crowns. The Leader welcomes the King: he explains that, though he was against the war ten years ago, and has not changed his opinion, he is a faithful servant of the King … and that not all are equally so. He gave a similar hint to the Herald above, ll. 546-550, p. 24. [P. 35, Agamemnon.]—A hard, cold speech, full of pride in the earlier part, and turning to ominous threats at the end. Those who have dared to be false shall be broken.—At the end comes a note of fear, like the fear in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. He is so full of triumph and success; he must be very careful not to provoke a fall.—Victory, Nike, was to the Greeks a very vivid and infectious thing. It clung to you or it deserted you. And one who was really charged with Victory, like Agamemnon, was very valuable to his friends and people. Hence they made statues of Victory wingless—so that she should not fly away. See _Four Stages of Greek Religion_, p. 138 note. [P. 36, Clytemnestra.]—A wonderful speech. It seems to me that Aeschylus’ imagination realized all the confused passions in Clytemnestra’s mind, but that his art was not yet sufficiently developed to make them all clear and explicit. She is in suspense; does Agamemnon know her guilt or not? At least, if she is to die, she wants to say something to justify or excuse herself in the eyes of the world. A touch of hysteria creeps in; why could he not have been killed in all these years? Why must he rise, like some monster from the grave, unkillable? Gradually she recovers her calm, explains clearly the suspicious point of Orestes’ absence, and heaps up her words and gestures of welcome to an almost oriental fullness (which Agamemnon rebukes, ll. 918 ff., p. 39). Again, at the end, when she finds that for the time she is safe, her real feelings almost break out. [P. 38.]—What is the motive of the Crimson Tapestries? I think the tangling robe must have been in the tradition, as the murder in the bath certainly was. One motive, of course, is obvious: Clytemnestra is tempting Agamemnon to sin or “go too far.” He tries to resist, but the splendour of an oriental homecoming seduces him and he yields. But is that enough to account for such a curious trait in the story, and one so strongly emphasized? We are told afterwards that Clytemnestra threw over her victim an “endless web,” long and rich (p. 63), to prevent his seeing or using his arms. And I cannot help suspecting that this endless web was the same as the crimson pall. If one tries to conjecture the origin of this curious story, it is perhaps a clue to realize that the word _droitê_ means both a bath and a sarcophagus, or rather that the thing called droitê, a narrow stone or marble vessel about seven feet long, was in pre-classical and post-classical times used as a sarcophagus, but in classical times chiefly or solely as a bath. If among the prehistoric graves at Mycenae some later peasants discovered a royal mummy or skeleton in a sarcophagus, wrapped in a robe of royal crimson, and showing signs of violent death—such as Schliemann believed that he discovered—would they not say: “We found the body of a King murdered in a bath, and wrapped round and round in a great robe?” [P. 39 f.]—Agamemnon is going through the process of temptation. He protests rather too often and yields. [P. 39, l. 931, Tell me but this.]—This little dialogue is very characteristic of Aeschylus. Euripides would have done it at three times the length and made all the points clear. In Aeschylus the subtlety is there, but it is not easy to follow. [P. 40, l. 945, These bound slaves.]—i.e. his shoes. The metaphor shows the trend of his unconscious mind. [P. 41, l. 950, This princess.]—This is the first time that the attention of the audience is drawn to Cassandra. She too is one of Aeschylus’ silent figures. I imagine her pale, staring in front of her, almost as if in a trance, until terror seizes her at Clytemnestra’s greeting in l. 1035, p. 45. [P. 41, l. 964, The cry.]—i.e. the cry of the possessed prophetess which rang from the inner sanctuary at Delphi and was interpreted by the priests.—The last two lines of the speech are plain in their meaning but hard to translate. Literally: “when the full, or fulfilled, man walketh his home,—O Zeus the Fulfiller, fulfil my prayers.” [P. 42, l. 976.]—The victim has been drawn into the house; the Chorus sing a low boding song: every audience at a Greek tragedy would expect next to hear a death cry from within, or to see a horrified messenger rush out. Instead of which the door opens and there is Clytemnestra: what does she want? “Come thou also!” One victim is not enough.—In the next scene we must understand the cause of Clytemnestra’s impatience. If she stays too long outside, some one will warn Agamemnon; if she leaves Cassandra, she with her second sight will warn the Chorus. If Cassandra could only be got inside all would be safe! [P. 44, l. 1022, “One there was of old.”]—Asklêpios, the physician, restored Hippolytus to life, and Zeus blasted him for so oversetting the laws of nature. [P. 45, l. 1040, Alcmêna’s son.]—Heracles was made a slave to Omphalê, Queen of Lydia. His grumbles at his insufficient food were a theme of comedy. [P. 45, l. 1049, Belike thou canst not yet.]—Cf. below, ll. 1066 ff. The Elder speaks in sympathy. “Very likely you cannot yet bring yourself to submit.” [P. 46, l. 1061, Thou show her.]—It seems odd to think that this passage has for centuries been translated as if it was all addressed to Cassandra: “But if you do not understand what I say, please indicate the same with your barbarous hand!”—What makes Cassandra at last speak? I think that the Elder probably touches her, and the touch as it were breaks the spell. [P. 47, l. 1072, Cassandra.]—“Otototoi” really takes the place of a stage direction: she utters a long low sob.—The exclamation which I have translated “Dreams!” seems to occur when people see ghosts or visions. _Alcestis_, 261; _Prometheus_, 567. Cf. _Phoenissae_ 1296.—“Mine enemy!” The name “Apollon” suggested “_apollyon,”_ Destroying … the form which is actually used in the Book of Revelation (Rev. ix. 11). Observe how, during the lyric scene, Cassandra’s vision grows steadily more definite: First vague horror of the House: then the sobbing of children, slain long ago: then, a new deed of blood coming; a woman in it: a wife: then, with a great effort, an attempt to describe the actual slaying in the bath. Lastly, the sight of herself among the slain. (This last point is greatly developed by Euripides, _Trojan Women_, ll. 445 ff., pp. 33 f.). The story of the Children of Thyestes is given below, ll. 1590 ff., p. 73. Procnê (or Philomêla) was an Attic princess who, in fury against her Thracian husband, Tereus, killed their child Itys, or Itylus, and was changed into a nightingale, to weep for him for ever. [P. 52, ll. 1178 ff.]—Dialogue. During the lyrics Cassandra has been “possessed” or “entranced”: the turn to dialogue marks a conscious attempt to control herself and state plainly her message of warning. In order to prove her power, she first tells the Elders of deeds done in the past which are known to them but cannot have been known to her. When once they are convinced of her true seercraft, she will be able to warn them of what is coming!—The short ‘stichom[^y]thia’[**TR: This is a y with a circumflex, not a superscript.] (line for line dialogue), dealing in awed whispers with things which can hardly be spoken, leaves the story of Cassandra still a mystery. Then her self-control breaks and the power of the God sweeps irresistibly upon her; cf. below, ll. 1256 ff.; where it comes at her like a visible shape of fire, a thing not uncommon with modern clairvoyants. [P. 56, l. 1252, Thou art indeed fallen far astray]—Because they had said “what _man_” [P. 56, l. 1265, These wreathed bands, this staff of prophesy.]—Cf. _Trojan Women_, ll. 451 ff., p. 34. [P. 60, ll. 1343 ff., The death cry; the hesitation of the Elders.]—This scene is often condemned or even ridiculed; I think, through misunderstanding. We knew the Old Men were helpless, like “dreams wandering in the day.” It is essential to the story that when the crisis comes they shall be found wanting. But they are neither foolish nor cowardly; each utterance in itself is natural and