Lysistrata by Aristophanes, a play about war and sex

Now that I have read the greatest plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, it’s natural to get to the comedian and fourth great playwright of ancient Greece: Aristophanes. According to my copy, Lysistrata was performed in 411 BC. 

1/ The premise is simple: there is a war dragging on between the Spartans and the Athenians, a war that doesn’t seem to stop, so Lysistrata decides to do something about it and holds a meeting with women from both sides. 

“LYSISTRATA All right, 

what we’re going to have to forgo is—penis.

ALL Oh no!”

Hahaha. A sex strike. 

The translation I read is by Paul Roche. The same lines in Alan H. Sommerstein’s prose translation are: 

“LYSISTRATA Very well then. We must renounce—sex. [Strong murmurs of approval, gestures of dissent, etc. Several of the company seem on the point of leaving.]…” 

Roche’s choice is funnier.  

2/ I first picked up The Acharnians, Aristophanes’s third play and the earliest among the ones that survive. It didn’t seem to go very well, so I switched to Lysistrata, one of his best plays. Compared to the tragedies, his plays are much harder to read, full of parody and references. 

In this play, Aristophanes mentions the whole trio. 

“LAMPITO What sort of oath are we going to swear?

LYSISTRATA What sort? One like Aeschylus’s, 

with the victim slaughtered over a shield.”

And: 

“LYSISTRATA Oh, what a low-down randy lot we are! 

No wonder we’re the subject of tragedies, 

like Poseidon and the Tub of Sophocles:

have fun with a god, then dump the brats.”

(That play doesn’t survive). 

“MEN’S LEADER Yes, I was fierce and that’s the way I dealt with this fellow. We camped before the gates in ranks of seventeen. And now will I simply stand and watch these brazen women, Enemies of Euripides and of heaven? Oh, I might as well wipe out the glories of Marathon.”

Now these references I enjoy, as I know the playwrights, but there are lots of references and jokes I don’t understand. 

“MEN’S LEADER Euripides got it right. “No beast’s so bloody as a woman,” he said.” 

Euripides appears as a character in 3 of Aristophanes’s 11 surviving plays, and is mentioned in some others—Aristophanes seems… obsessed? I have to read a few to see how weird it is. 

3/ Lysistrata is very funny. 

“LYSISTRATA I know, but some things are more pressing.

CALONICE Like what you’ve summoned us to hear? 

Well, I hope what’s pressing is something really big, 

Lysistrata dear.

LYSISTRATA It’s huge.

CALONICE And weighty?

LYSISTRATA God, it’s huge, and God, it’s weighty.

CALONICE Then why aren’t they all here?

LYSISTRATA Oh, it’s not that; if it were 

there’d be a stampede. No, 

it’s something that sticks in my mind hard as a shaft

and keeps me from sleeping, though I tease it and tease it 

night after night.

CALONICE By now the poor thing must be floppy.” 

Aristophanes is not above a cheap laugh, which is something he shares with Shakespeare.

But once in a while, he sneaks in a serious point: 

“LYSISTRATA […] when we are in our prime and ought to be enjoying life, 

we sleep alone because of the war. 

And I’m not just talking about 

us married ones. . . . It pains me even more 

to think of the young girls 

growing into lonely spinsters in their rooms.

MAGISTRATE Men grow old, too, don’t you know!

LYSISTRATA Hell’s bells! It’s not the same. 

When a man comes home, 

even if he’s old and gray, he can find a girl to marry in no time, 

but a woman enjoys a very short-lived prime, 

and once that’s gone, she won’t be wed by anyone. 

She mopes at home 

full of thwarted dreams.” 

He clearly does have sympathy for women, in such a male-dominated society. 

4/ The thing I like about Lysistrata is that the whole thing is ridiculous. 

“[SECOND WIFE runs out from the Acropolis.]

SECOND WIFE: Heavens above! I forgot to shuck my flax 

when I left the house.

LYSISTRATA: So you’re off to shuck your flax? Get back inside.

SECOND WIFE: By Our Lady of Light, I’ll return in a trice. 

All I want is a little f . . . I mean, shucking.” 

Both the women and the men are horny, and going nuts. 

“HERALD That there’s a Spartan cipher rod.

CINESIAS I’ve got a Spartan cipher rod as well.”

The whole thing is ridiculous and everyone is absurd—but aren’t we all? We shouldn’t take ourselves so seriously. 

5/ One thing that particularly intrigues me is how this play was staged at the time. It seems more complicated than the tragedies, yes? There are more characters and the chorus is split in two, the men’s side and the women’s side. But I’m more curious about how they dealt with the female characters acting sexy in see-through dresses—consider that the actors were all male—and the men exposing their “Spartan cipher rods”—what did they do?

I guess we’ll never know.

The Bacchae by Euripides

The first thing I’m going to say is that The Bacchae is said to be Euripides’s greatest play. The second thing is that it’s a play that requires multiple readings and I haven’t got an adequate grasp of the play. 

But I’m going to write a blog post about it anyway. 

1/ This is a gruesome play. Ancient Greek tragedies are often bleak: son kills father and marries mother, wife kills husband then gets killed by their children, mother kills children, stepmother fancies stepson and falsely accuses him of rape and causes his death, husband lets wife die instead of him, etc. All disturbing stuff (what’s wrong with the Greeks?). And yet The Bacchae is still more horrible and horrifying.

Part of it is the plot itself: the god Dionysus, son of Zeus and Semele, goes to Thebes to prove his power and punish the city, including his own aunts and his cousin Pentheus, for denying his divinity. All the women of the city run around in a frenzy caused by Dionysus, destroying all and ripping animals to shreds. 

“MESSENGER […] Great uddered kine then hadst thou seen 

Bellowing in sword-like hands that cleave and tear, 

A live steer riven asunder, and the air 

Tossed with rent ribs or limbs of cloven tread. 

And flesh upon the branches, and a red

Rain from the deep green pines. Yea, bulls of pride, 

Horns swift to rage, were fronted and aside 

Flung stumbling, by those multitudinous hands

Dragged pitilessly…” 

(translated by Gilbert Murray) 

Together with other crazed women, Agave tears apart the limbs of her own son Pentheus and holds his head as a trophy.

“CADMUS Thou bearest in thine arms an head—what head?

AGAVE (beginning to tremble, and not looking at what she carries) 

A lion’s—so they all said in the chase. 

CADMUS Turn to it now—’tis no longer toil—and gaze.

AGAVE Ah! What is this? What am I carrying here? 

CADMUS Look upon it full, till all be clear! 

AGAVE I see… most deadly pain! Oh, woe is me!” 

It is an unbearable scene. 

But The Bacchae is particularly gruesome and horrible because it makes us ask: what’s the point of all this? What are we to make of all this cruelty and violence? 

Kenneth McLeish for example says in A Guide to Greek Theatre and Drama: 

“How do mortals come to terms with the presence of God in their lives—particularly when God is, or seems to them to be, capricious, dangerous and uncompromising? In this play Dionysos demands submission in exchange for unimaginable ecstasy. But his cult, at least in human terms, is blood-crazed and outlandish.”

It is especially bizarre and disturbing when we consider that all these Greek plays were performed at the Dionysian Festival. 

2/ In a way, the play is about the war between two tyrants, but what can a mortal do against the power of a god? 

3/ Himadri pointed out: 

“Dionysus goes further, and persuades Pentheus – who had, at his first appearance, been so full of macho swagger – to dress as a woman, so he could blend in with the other members of the Dionysian cult. The reference here is clearly to Aristophanes’ play Women of Thesmophoria (a play in which Euripides himself appears as a character), in which a man dresses as a woman in order to infiltrate an all-female society; but where the effect there had been comic, here, it is grotesque. It is quite common for comedies to appropriate elements of tragic drama, and then to parody the tragic by depicting these borrowed elements in an absurd manner; but here, Euripides reverses the process: he borrows from a comedy to add to his tragedy an extra layer of horror. Pentheus, dressed absurdly as a woman, follows his own prurient inclinations towards his own grisly death. Dionysus merely helped facilitate the process.”

I didn’t know this, obviously, as I haven’t read Aristophanes. 

Both Tom (Wuthering Expectations blog) and Himadri (Argumentative Old Git blog) wrote about the meta-theatre aspect of the play. I can’t help noticing the parallels and contrasts between The Tempest, believed to be the last play Shakespeare wrote alone, and The Bacchae, Euripides’s last play and performed shortly after his death: Prospero and Dionysus start with a long speech explaining the past and their intentions; they are both akin to a playwright/ theatre director, moving things around, orchestrating the plot; but The Tempest is about reconciliation and seen as a farewell to the stage whereas The Bacchae is about the god of drama causing gruesome violence, in a cool, sociopathic way. 

“DIONYSUS Yet cravest thou such 

A sight as would much grieve thee?”

The same line, in John Davie’s translation, is “Would you really like to see what gives you pain?”. 

That’s an interesting question, is it not? Why do we watch awful things onstage (or onscreen)? 

I can’t say I understand Euripides’s play, but it’s gripping, powerful, and disturbing. 

The Greeks make me realise what Shakespeare doesn’t do

When I read Shakespeare’s contemporary playwrights in England, or Spanish Golden Age playwrights such as Lope de Vega, I think Shakespeare’s light years ahead of them all. But I don’t think that way when reading the ancient Greeks—I think they’re great in a different way.

Shakespeare’s works may feel richer as he has the advantage of having more actors and mixes the tragic and the comic—not to mention that he can do both tragedy and comedy, and other genres—but the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides are not any inferior to Shakespeare’s tragedies in terms of depth and tragic power. This is especially staggering when we consider that there’s a gap of 2000 years between them. 

More interestingly, the Greeks make me realise what Shakespeare doesn’t do. In King Oedipus by Sophocles for instance, the tension in the entire drama arises not because of what’s happening, but because of what has already happened. This is something I later see in Ibsen, but not in Shakespeare. Shakespeare’s plays also don’t question human agency. 

The Electra plays remind me again that Shakespeare doesn’t seem to take any interest in the mother-daughter relationship. He very often explores the father-daughter relationship (A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, The Merchant of Venice, Othello, King Lear, The Tempest, etc) and depicts some fascinating mother-son relationships (Hamlet and Coriolanus); the only mother-daughter relationship I can think of is Lady Capulet and Juliet, which is not particularly developed, and if we stretch it a bit, the Countess and Helena in All’s Well That Ends Well, but they’re not actually mother and daughter. 

He also doesn’t take much interest in the subject of incest. In Pericles, it’s only a small part at the beginning of the story, not explored, and that’s a late play that Shakespeare co-wrote with another playwright. 

Now that I’ve read Hippolytus and other versions of the same myth, I’ve also realised that Shakespeare doesn’t write about women who make false rape allegations. We know he’s fascinated by jealousy and slander, and writes multiple times about women being falsely accused of cheating (Much Ado About Nothing, Othello, Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale), but not about the other way around. 

Shakespeare also doesn’t adapt any of the classical plays. For his plays, he uses historical accounts, poems, Ovid, Chaucer, romances (such as Pandosto), and so on, but doesn’t rewrite or revisit any of the classical plays. Even if he didn’t know Greek, I believe there were Latin translations of the ancient Greek plays available. We don’t see him adapting the Roman plays either. 

This is fascinating stuff. 

Phèdre by Jean Racine and the Phaedra myth

1/ Wouldn’t you agree it’s a good idea that I, instead of going straight from Molière (1622–1673) to his contemporary Racine (1639–1699), read Racine’s greatest play now when I’m already acquainted with the versions by Euripides and Seneca (and they’re still fresh in my mind)? As with the Electra myth under the hands of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, it’s fascinating to watch great artists play with the same material (which is very different from the mind-numbing tedium of Hollywood pumping out sequels and remakes for easy money). 

I read the translation by Robert Bruce Boswell, who uses the names Phaedra, Hippolytus, Theseus, Aricia, Oenone, Theramenes, etc. instead of Phèdre, Hippolyte, Thésée, Aricie, Œnone, Théramène, etc.

Starting from the same myth about Phaedra fancying her stepson Hippolytus, Euripides simplifies the plot, in which Theseus is simply away; Seneca complicates it, emphasising Phaedra’s background and the image of the bull, having Theseus go to the underworld to help a friend abduct Persephone, and mentioning that Theseus killed Hippolytus’s mother Antiope; Racine complicates the plot even more by creating the character of Aricia, daughter and sole survivor of the royal house supplanted by Theseus and the woman with whom Hippolytus has fallen in love. I guess the French wouldn’t buy a character who is indifferent to love and women. Racine also has Theseus rumoured to be dead, which is believed to lead to a rivalry for the throne between Phaedra’s son, Hippolytus, and Aricia, but which actually causes Phaedra to act on her feelings for Hippolytus and Hippolytus to confess his feelings to Aricia. That sounds more French. 

2/ Racine’s version is closer to Seneca’s in terms of plot. In both plays, the gods are mentioned but don’t appear. In both plays, Phaedra tells Hippolytus her feelings. In both plays, the rape accusation—the idea of attacking first—comes from the nurse. In both plays, Phaedra is alive as she falsely accuses Hippolytus (though Racine’s Phaedra only insinuates, the nurse is the one making the accusation). In both plays, Phaedra kills herself in front of Theseus after Hippolytus’s death. However, like Euripides, Racine has Theseus confronting Hippolytus and the son trying to defend himself. 

The central difference between Racine and Seneca, however, is that Seneca’s characters are all base and repulsive, whereas Racine’s characters are nobler and more sympathetic. Phaedra, or Phèdre, struggles against her own passion. 

“PHAEDRA […] I look’d, alternately turn’d pale and blush’d

To see him, and my soul grew all distraught;

A mist obscured my vision, and my voice

Falter’d, my blood ran cold, then burn’d like fire;

Venus I felt in all my fever’d frame,

Whose fury had so many of my race

Pursued. 

[…] I fled his presence everywhere, but found him--

O crowning horror!—in his father’s features.” 

And when she confesses her feelings to Hippolytus (or Hippolyte), not knowing about Aricia: 

“PHAEDRA […] I love. But think not

That at the moment when I love you most

I do not feel my guilt; no weak compliance

Has fed the poison that infects my brain.

The ill-starr’d object of celestial vengeance,

I am not so detestable to you

As to myself.” 

She only yields to Oenone’s persuasions when she—everyone—thinks Theseus is dead. Later she gets a bad conscience as she, following Oenone, smears Hippolytus’s name to save her own honour.  

Now look at her when she realises that he loves someone else. 

“PHAEDRA […] Ye gods, when, deaf to all my sighs and tears,

He arm’d his eye with scorn, his brow with threats,

I deem’d his heart, impregnable to love,

Was fortified ’gainst all my sex alike.

And yet another has prevail’d to tame

His pride, another has secured his favour.” 

How could anyone not pity her? 

“PHAEDRA […] Alas! full freedom had they

To see each other. Heav’n approved their sighs;

They loved without the consciousness of guilt;

And every morning’s sun for them shone clear,

While I, an outcast from the face of Nature,

Shunn’d the bright day, and sought to hide myself.”

She is nobler, and more psychologically complex than Seneca’s character. Her suffering is a mixture of shame and guilt and heartbreak. 

Like Euripides, Racine also gives a sense of nobility to Hippolytus and Theseus—something Seneca doesn’t do—Hippolytus’s death in Racine’s play is heartbreaking, as he previously decided to remain silent about Phaedra’s sexual advances because “Let us trust to Heav’n/ My vindication, for the gods are just.” The irony! 

3/ Aricia, Racine’s added character, is dull, barely alive. But the character of the nurse is the most interesting one in the three plays, because of the relationship between her and Phaedra. 

When Phaedra, at the beginning of the play, wants to kill herself, Oenone tries to dissuade her, saying that her suicide would offend the gods and be a betrayal of Theseus and her children. When that doesn’t work, she says: 

“OENONE […] Think how in my arms you lay

New born. For you, my country and my children

I have forsaken. Do you thus repay

My faithful service?” 

Racine develops their relationship further and emphasises her devotion: Oenone is the one who tells Phaedra to stay alive; she is the one who persuades her to speak to Hippolytus after Theseus’s supposed death; and she is the one who comes up with the rape accusation. And yet: 

“PHAEDRA […] What hast thou done? Why did your wicked mouth

With blackest lies slander his blameless life?

Perhaps you’ve slain him, and the impious pray’r

Of an unfeeling father has been answer’d.

No, not another word! Go, hateful monster […]. 

OENONE (alone) O gods! to serve her what have I not done?

This is the due reward that I have won.”

I’m not telling you what happens in the end, but Racine turns her into a tragic character. Unlike Seneca, he gets you to understand and have pity for all the characters, even when they do wicked things. 

This is a great play. 

Phaedra (or Hippolytus) by Seneca

1/ I have always been intrigued by Seneca’s influence on Shakespeare and other Elizabethan playwrights, so my curiosity about other versions of the Hippolytus/ Phaedra myth is a good excuse to pick up Seneca. Hence the big jump from Greece of the 5th century BC to Rome of the 1st century. 

Funnily enough (at least to me), the time gap between Sophocles or Euripides and Seneca is slightly bigger than that between Shakespeare and us. 

2/ Seneca’s Phaedra and Euripides’s Hippolytus are quite different, though if I’m not mistaken, Seneca’s play might be closer to the Greek myth and Euripides is the one making changes to the story.

In Seneca’s play, Phaedra is responsible for her own actions, lusting after her stepson and confessing to him her feelings—Seneca removes both Aphrodite and Artemis (here Venus and Diana) from the story—Hippolytus is still devoted to Diana and vowing chastity, but she doesn’t appear. 

The nurse is instead the voice of reason and morality and there’s a long scene in which she chastises Phaedra: 

“NURSE […] Why, my poor mistress, why are you resolved

To heap fresh infamy upon your house,

With sin worse than your mother’s? Wilful sin

Is a worse evil than unnatural passion;

That comes by fate, but sin comes from our nature.

You think, because your husband’s eyes are closed

To all this upper world, that you are free

To sin without fear?” 

(translated by E. F. Watling) 

She is in the right, but in Seneca’s depiction she’s a tedious moralising character. One interesting bit is her denial of gods:  

“NURSE: That love is god

Is the vile fiction of unbridled lust

Which, for its licence, gives to lawless passion

The name of an imagined deity.

[…] Vain fancies

Conceived by crazy minds, they are all false!” 

An atheist in a play written in ancient Rome? 

The thing that saves her from being a two-dimensional character is that she’s the one to come up with the rape allegation: 

“NURSE Now all the evil is exposed. What then?

Shall resolution faint or fail? Not so.

We must prefer a counter charge against him,

Take up the case ourselves and prove him guilty

Of violation. Crime must cover crime.

The safest shield in danger is attack.

When the offence is private, who shall say

Which of us sinned and which was sinned against?” 

3/ The play is full of long speeches, full of rhetoric, which is clearly an influence on Elizabethan playwrights including Shakespeare. Just look at the scene between Phaedra’s nurse and Hippolytus for example. All rhetoric, which makes me realise that there’s not much of that in ancient Greek plays at all. 

“NURSE […] Why – if from our life

We banish Venus, who replenishes

And recreates our dwindling stock, the earth

Will soon become a desert, drear and ugly,

The sea a dead sea, where there are no fish,

The sky will have no birds, the woods no beasts,

The air will be a place where nothing moves

Except the passing winds…”

The nurse is persuading Hippolytus to leave his vows to Diana and “seize pleasure”, which makes me think of Shakespeare’s sonnets 1-17. 

Seneca expands on Hippolytus’s hostility towards women: 

“HIPPOLYTUS […] Mothers, defying nature’s law, destroyed

Their infants ere they lived. Stepmothers –

What can one say of them? – wild beasts

Have more compassion. Woman, say what you will,

Is the prime mover of all wickedness;

Expert in every evil art, woman

Lays siege to man; for her adulteries

Cities have burned, nation made war on nation,

Multitudes perished in the fall of kingdoms.” 

Not very likeable, is he? Euripides’s Hippolytus may be a bit irrational and self-righteous in his vows of chastity, but mostly comes across as indifferent to women and all the troubles that come with romance. Seneca’s Hippolytus is a misogynist. 

“HIPPOLYTUS I hate them all; I dread, I shun, I loathe them.

I choose – whether by reason, rage, or instinct –

I choose to hate them. Can you marry fire

To water? Can ships safely sail the quicksands?

Can Tethys make the sun rise in the west?

Can wild wolves smile on does? No more can I

Consent to have a tender thought for woman.”

Rhetoric. 

4/ Whereas Euripides creates a tragedy of three people (Phaedra, Hippolytus, Theseus), Seneca focuses on Phaedra, creating a scene of her offering herself to Hippolytus and getting rejected; removing the two scenes between Hippolytus and his father Theseus, including the one in which Theseus confronts Hippolytus and the accused tries to defend himself in vain; moving Phaedra’s suicide to the end, after Hippolytus’s awful death. In Euripides’s play, Phaedra’s suicide is about shame; in Seneca’s, about guilt. 

It is an interesting play. Some of you may prefer Seneca’s portrayal of Phaedra as a shameless, lustful, wicked woman, but all three characters are more unpleasant—if not downright repulsive—in his play, and I find Euripides’s play much more moving and tragic. 

Addendum: This is a good essay comparing treatment of character in the two plays. 

Hippolytus by Euripides [updated]

1/ I picked up the play thinking it’s about a woman desiring her stepson, which it is, but it’s also about a false rape accusation. 

The play begins with Aphrodite, feeling slighted and disrespected by Hippolytus, causing his stepmother Phaedra to fall in love with him. In this revised version of the play (the first of which only survives in fragments), Phaedra resists her desires but her nurse, seeing her despair, gets the secret out of her and tells Hippolytus (even a worse busybody than Emma Woodhouse). Repulsed by sexuality and even more by Phaedra’s passion for him, he gets angry and threatens to tell his father Theseus, only for her to hang herself and leave a note accusing Hippolytus of having raped her. Theseus banishes and curses his own son, despite Hippolytus’s protests, and in the end discovers the truth only too late. 

“HIPPOLYTUS Three lives by her one hand! ’Tis all clear now.” 

(translated by Gilbert Murray)

The play is not only about the titular character. If we look at Shakespeare’s plays, I think it would be fair to say that Hamlet is the tragedy of Hamlet; Macbeth is the tragedy of the Macbeths; King Lear is the tragedy of Lear (Gloucester only mirrors Lear); Othello is the tragedy of Othello (though you might also argue for Desdemona). But Hippolytus is the tragedy of Phaedra and Hippolytus and Theseus—all three are tragic characters—Euripides lets us see the downfall and suffering of all three. 

2/ This is another play about the cruelty of the gods. I had read some Greek mythology before but it was a long time ago—it’s rather curious to encounter the Greek gods when I’m only used to Buddha and the Christian God. 

The Greek gods have all the faults of human beings—they just have immortality, and power to mess with people’s lives—Aphrodite causes all this suffering, for what? But Artemis can’t stop her—all she can do is to take revenge on Aphrodite’s favourite—poor soul!  

3/ The nurse has some interesting lines: 

“NURSE […] Oh, pain were better than tending pain! 

For that were single, and this is twain, 

With grief of heart and labour of limb. 

Yet all man’s life is but ailing and dim, 

And rest upon earth comes never.” 

Is that why she wants to cause some drama? 

“NURSE […] And because thou lovest, wilt fall 

And die! And must all lovers die, then? All 

That are or shall be? A blithe law for them! 

[…] A straight and perfect life is not for man…”

She’s much more impulsive than Juliet’s nurse. 

Phaedra is a great tragic character: 

“PHAEDRA […] When the first stab came, and I knew I loved, 

I cast about how best to face mine ill. 

And the first thought that came, was to be still 

And hide the sickness.—For no trust there is 

In man’s tongue, that so well admonishes 

And counsels and betrays, and waxes fat  

With griefs of its own gathering!—After that 

I would my madness bravely bear, and try 

To conquer by mine own heart’s purity. 

My third mind, when these two availed me naught 

To quell love, was to die…” 

I’ve read that apparently in the earlier version of the play, Euripides depicts Phaedra as a lustful woman who shamelessly makes sexual advances at her stepson. Here instead is a tragic depiction of a woman who struggles against her own desires and suffers on her own; that she does the awful thing of falsely accusing Hippolytus of rape, out of shame and a wish to save her own honour and also out of anger, only makes her a more complex character, makes her more alive. 

4/ Hippolytus, at least at the beginning, is not a very likeable character: 

“HIPPOLYTUS O God, why hast Thou made this gleaming snare, 

Woman, to dog us on the happy earth? 

Was it Thy will to make Man, why his birth

Through Love and Woman? Could we not have rolled 

Our store of prayer and offerings, royal gold, 

Silver and weight of bronze before Thy feet, 

And bought of God new child-souls, as were meet 

For each man’s sacrifice, and dwelt in homes 

Free, where nor Love nor Woman goes and comes?” 

Not hard to see why Aphrodite dislikes him. Euripides however gets us to sympathise with Hippolytus in the two scenes with his father. 

“HIPPOLYTUS […] Oh, strange, false Curse! Was there some blood-stained head, 

Some father of my line, unpunished, 

Whose guilt lived in his kin, 

And passed, and slept, till after this long day 

In lights… Oh, why on me? Me, far away

And innocent of sin?

O words that cannot save! 

When will this breathing end in that last deep 

Pain that is painlessness? ’Tis sleep I crave. 

When wilt thou bring me sleep, 

Thou dark and midnight magic of the grave!” 

It is such a moving moment, as Theseus looks at his son in anguish, and anger at his own rashness, and the dying Hippolytus forgives his father. 

Structurally, Hippolytus is possibly the most perfect of Euripides’s plays, at least among the ones I’ve read. Now I’m also curious about the versions by Seneca and by Racine. 

Addendum: My friend Himadri wrote:

“In one way, we can view [the Greek gods] as personifications of human desires and impulses. Phaedra, a middle-aged woman, lusts after a younger man: that happens. Aphrodite is merely a personification of whatever inscrutable force it is that arouses the desire.

Euripides’ vision, it seems to me, is of humans driven to destruction by their own dark, inscrutable impulses. The gods seem to function as personifications of these impulses. And the gods - these impulses - are needlessly, inexplicably cruel.”

Alcestis by Euripides

1/ First, some context: my Penguin copy says that Alcestis is “the first surviving play by Euripides, but by this stage he was an experienced dramatist, seventeen years from his first competition.” 

More interestingly: 

“We happen to know, from a summary which precedes the play in our manuscripts, that the Alcestis was produced as the fourth of a tetralogy of plays, occupying the slot normally filled by the single ‘satyr-play’.” 

I read the prose translation by John Davie. 

2/ As I started this blog post, I thought I still struggled with Euripides, compared to Sophocles and Aeschylus. But as it happens, sometimes my mind changes as I write, and organise my thoughts—I’ve realised that Alcestis is an interesting and troubling play. 

The interesting thing about the play is that, as Euripides tackles the myth of Alcestis, he raises questions about what kind of man Admetus is that he’s happy to let his wife die in his place, and reproaches his parents for not offering to die so that he could live. 

“ALCESTIS […] And yet they betrayed you, the parents who gave you life, though they were of a good age to die and to save a son’s life—a glorious end to their days. […] We could then have gone on living, we two, for the rest of our years; you would not be grieving as now, a husband turned widower, a father with motherless children.” 

Alcestis chooses to sacrifice herself, but not without some bitterness.

“ADMETUS […] When it came to the test, you showed your true colours; I no longer regard myself as your son. What man on earth could match your cowardice? Though as old as you are, as close to life’s end, you lacked the will, the courage to die for your son, renouncing this privilege to the woman who lies here, whose blood is not ours!

[…] 

PHERES: […] I brought you into this world and raised you up to be the master of his house; I am under no obligation to die for you.” 

And he’s right. I wouldn’t expect my mum to volunteer to die in my place, why does Admetus expect so from his parents and condemn them when they don’t? 

After Alcestis’s death, he cries, he mourns, he talks about wanting to die himself, but still comes across as an egotist, worrying about “the kind of talk [he will] be subjected to.” Even when he cries about her loss, I don’t believe him:     

“ADMETUS […] The loneliness inside will drive me out, whenever I see our bed with no wife to share it and the chair she used to sit on and, throughout the house, the floor unswept.”  

Is that really Admetus mourning his wife’s death and realising the misery and pointlessness of life in her absence, or is that him regretting his promise to never marry anyone else? 

“ADMETUS […] Outside there will be Thessalian weddings and gatherings full of women to drive me indoors once more. I will not be able to bear the sight of them, my wife’s friends, all as young as her.” 

Heracles, pitying Alcestis and appreciating Admetus’s hospitality despite his grief, brings her back from the dead. In the final scene, he returns to the house with thanks and brings with him a veiled lady, asking Admetus to keep her safe till his return. Admetus says no: 

“ADMETUS […] Where would a young woman live in my house, anyway? She is young, as her clothes and jewellery indicate. Is she to live under the same roof as men, then? How will she keep her virginity if she consorts with young men? It is no easy thing, Heracles, to restrain a young man in his prime. It is your interests I am thinking of here. Or am I to admit her to my dead wife’s chamber and keep her there? How am I to allow her a place in that lady’s bed?”

Above is the translation by John Davie. Here is the same passage in Gilbert Murray’s translation: 

“ADMETUS […] Where in my castle could so young a maid

Be lodged—her veil and raiment show her young:

Here, in the men’s hall? I should fear some wrong.

’Tis not so easy, Prince, to keep controlled

My young men. And thy charge I fain would hold

Sacred.—If not, wouldst have me keep her in

The women’s chambers ... where my dead hath been?

How could I lay this woman where my bride

Once lay?” 

This is disturbing, is it not? Admetus says no multiple times, but the temptation is there—not long after his wife’s death—and then he yields. Fortunately for him, the veiled woman turns out to be Alcestis herself. 

3/ I find that my interpretation of the play is rather different from Kenneth McLeish’s: 

“The scene shows that Admetos has changed because of what has happened—that he has grown in moral stature and self-awareness and he is rewarded, against expectation, when his wife holds out her arms to him.” (A Guide to Greek Theatre and Drama) 

There are probably different ways of performing the play. I myself don’t think Admetus changes—too little time has passed for us to know how well he would keep his word—the play is troubling. 

A few people on Twitter mentioned to me the parallels between Alcestis and The Winter’s Tale. Now I can see for myself: the similarities aren’t enough for me to think that Euripides influenced Shakespeare’s play. One important difference is that in the end, Leontes has been tested, he has been loyal to Hermione and lived in penance for 16 years, and the final scene is not about Hermione’s “resurrection” as it’s about her restoration to him; the restoration of Alcestis from the dead, to me, is a reward to her, not to Admetus. 

Aias by Sophocles

Over the past few days, I was in Geneva (“again?” I can hear you say). I’m now (physically) back in London (and mentally back in ancient Greece). 

1/ Aias (better known as Ajax) is a great warrior in the Trojan war. After Achilles’s death, he thinks he deserves Achilles’s armour but Agamemnon and Menelaus decide to award it to Odysseus instead. Enraged, he decides to kill all three, but Athena intervenes by sending him into a fit of madness that makes him mistake some cattle for his enemies. He kills them all. Upon the restoration of sanity, Aias realises with horror and shame at what he has done, and kills himself. 

The rest of the play is other characters reacting to his death, and disagreeing about whether he should get a burial. 

That’s the plot. 

I find the play very interesting for a few reasons. First of all, ancient Greek plays, unlike 16th century and later plays, tend not to show people doing things but depict people reacting to things—fights, deaths, murders… happen offstage and get reported—but in this play, Aias appears to kill himself onstage (though I’m not sure how Sophocles staged Aias falling on his sword). 

Secondly, unless I’m mistaken, Aias has a soliloquy before his suicide—a feature we (well, I) associate mainly with Shakespeare—in other ancient Greek plays, characters may have monologues but in front of the Chorus, but in this scene, Aias is alone. 

2/ The play oddly begins and ends with Odysseus. 

He says to Athena:

“ODYSSEUS […] For my venturous course,

Past or to come, is governed by thy will.” 

(translated by Lewis Campbell) 

And when he speaks in defence of Aias: 

“ODYSSEUS […] But, though he hates me sore,

I pity him, poor mortal, thus chained fast

To a wild and cruel fate,—weighing not so much

His fortune as mine own. For now I feel

All we who live are but an empty show

And idle pageant of a shadowy dream.” 

Later Aias’s half-brother Teucer comes to say that a prophet has said Aias has to stay in the tent that day or he would die. But it’s too late—Tecmessa, Aias’s concubine, finds his dead body. 

The play raises disturbing questions about fate vs free will. At the same time, Sophocles depicts the gods as callous or at least biased.

“ATHENA Then, warned by what thou seest, be thou not rash

To vaunt high words toward Heaven, nor swell thy port

Too proudly, if in puissance of thy hand

Thou passest others, or in mines of wealth.

Since Time abases and uplifts again

All that is human, and the modest heart

Is loved by Heaven, who hates the intemperate will.”

Athena gloats in the delusion and humiliation of Aias.

Later we learn: 

“MESSENGER […] ‘Thus ever,’ said the prophet, ‘must he fall

Who in man’s mould hath thoughts beyond a man.

And Aias, ere he left his father’s door,

Made foolish answer to his prudent sire.

‘My son,’ said Telamon, ‘choose victory

Always, but victory with an aid from Heaven.’

How loftily, how madly, he replied!

‘Father, with heavenly help men nothing worth

May win success. But I am confident

Without the Gods to pluck this glory down.’

So huge the boast he vaunted! And again

When holy Pallas urged him with her voice

To hurl his deadly spear against the foe,

He turned on her with speech of awful sound:

‘Goddess, by other Greeks take thou thy stand;

Where I keep rank, the battle ne’er shall break.’

Such words of pride beyond the mortal scope

Have won him Pallas’ wrath, unlovely meed…” 

This is a heroic man, a great warrior, and Athena punishes him only because of his pride? How petty are the gods? Such a depiction of the gods I tend to associate with Euripides.

3/ One fascinating thing is that Aias isn’t a particularly sympathetic character, especially at the beginning. Not only does he want to kill Odysseus and the others, he wants to “stain [Odysseus’s] back with scourging till he die”—it’s no surprise that Menelaus and Agamemnon later don’t want to give him a burial. When the manic episode passes and Aias realises what he has done: 

“AIAS […] Behold what gory sea

Of storm-lashed agony

Doth round and round me flow!” 

For some time, Aias remains a hater: 

“AIAS […] But the invincible

Stern daughter of the Highest, with baneful eye,

Even as mine arm descended, baffled me,

And hurled upon my soul a frenzied plague,

To stain my hand with these dumb victims’ blood.

And those mine enemies exult in safety,—

Not with my will; but where a God misguides,

Strong arms are thwarted and the weakling lives.

Now, what remains? Heaven hates me, ’tis too clear:

The Grecian host abhor me: Troy, with all

This country round our camp, is my sworn foe…”  

And yet one feels for the shame, the humiliation Aias goes through, and Sophocles gives us some moving scenes between him and Tecmessa and their child Eurysakes. And when Aias dies, one feels pity for the downfall of such a great warrior. 

Philoctetes by Sophocles

1/ The premise is simple: in the Trojan war, Philoctetes gets bitten on the foot by a snake, which causes him constant agony and an awful smell; Odysseus and others forsake him on a desert island; however, after 10 years have passed, Odysseus hears from the seer Helenus that the Greeks need the archer Philoctetes and his bow, from Heracles, to win the war; and the entire play is about tricking or persuading Philoctetes to get on the ship with Odysseus. 

It is fascinating to see the differences between the ancient Greek plays and the Elizabethan/ Jacobean plays: the latter are full of incident and full of action, Shakespeare’s plays for instance often have multiple plot lines, in different locations, sometimes even different countries; the former keep to one action (Electra and Orestes killing their mother, Medea killing her children, etc). Philoctetes has an even simpler plot than some other ancient Greek plays—but isn’t that the challenge? To get the audience interested? And interested I was. 

Odysseus wants Neoptolemus (Achilles’s son) to bring Philoctetes back by trickery, which he initially does in spite of his own misgivings. 

“ODYSSEUS Son of a valiant sire, I, too, in youth,

Had once a slow tongue and an active hand.

But since I have proved the world, I clearly see

Words and not deeds give mastery over men.”

(translated by Lewis Campbell) 

The first conflict is between Odysseus and Neoptolemus. 

“NEOPTOLEMUS And is not lying shameful to thy soul?

ODYSSEUS Not if by lying I can save my soul.”

After the conversation between Neoptolemus and Philoctetes, the conflict is then between the two sides within Neoptolemus, then between him and Odysseus, and finally between Philoctetes and the other two. Neoptolemus yields to his own nobility and wins Philoctetes over by honesty and trust.

Neoptolemus is the one with complexity, the one who changes. 

2/ Lewis Campbell seems to embellish a bit: 

“PHILOCTETES […] Nor would fire come unbidden, but with flint

From flints striking dim sparks, I hammered forth

The struggling flame that keeps the life in me.

For houseroom with the single help of fire

Gives all I need, save healing for my sore.” 

These are the same lines, in James Scully’s translation: 

“PHILOKTETES […] No fire, none, but striking

stone on stone

I’d make the secret spark

leap up, out of darkness!

And this is what saved me.

A roof overhead, fire,

it’s all I need—except

release from this disease.” 

I did very much enjoy Lewis Campbell’s verse translation though. There are many great passages. 

“CHORUS I feel his misery.

With no companion eye,

Far from all human care,

He pines with fell disease;

Each want he hourly sees

Awakening new despair.

How can he bear it still?

O cruel Heavens! O pain

Of that afflicted mortal train

Whose life sharp sorrows fill!” 

Philoctetes is another picture of woe and resentment. Tormented by the wound “[made] by the cruel basilisk’s murderous tooth.” 

“PHILOCTETES How full of griefs am I, how Heaven-abhorred,

When of my piteous state no faintest sound

Hath reached my home, or any Grecian land!

But they, who pitilessly cast me forth,

Keep silence and are glad, while this my plague

Blooms ever, and is strengthened more and more.” 

He is however more likeable, more sympathetic than Oedipus (at Colonus) and Electra. Part of it, I suppose, is that he’s still capable of trust. 

3/ Philoctetes asks Neoptolemus about Thersites (whom I remember from Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida): is he dead? Neoptolemus says he’s alive. 

“PHILOCTETES He must be: for no evil yet was crushed.

The Heavens will ever shield it. ’Tis their sport

To turn back all things rancorous and malign

From going down to the grave, and send instead

The good and true. Oh, how shall we commend

Such dealings, how defend them? When I praise

Things god-like, I find evil in the Gods.” 

Contrast that with this speech, to Odysseus:  

“PHILOCTETES […] Perish!—So ye shall,

For the wrong done me, if the Heavens be just.

And that they are, I know…” 

I like that contrast. Makes Philoctetes more alive.  

He tries to persuade Neoptolemus: 

“PHILOCTETES […] Convey me home, and thou, in Scyros dwelling,

Leave to their evil doom those evil men.

So thou shalt win a twofold gratitude

From me and from my father, and not seem,

Helping vile men, to be as vile as they.”

And he’s right—why should he help the Greeks against Troy? 

“PHILOCTETES […] And do not linger to take thought of Troy.

Enough that name hath echoed in my groans.” 

What does it have to do with him? He wants to leave the desert island and go home. That is not an option however—not just an option for Philoctetes to take, but I also mean not an option for Sophocles to rewrite the myth—Heracles appears at the end, as deus ex machina, promising to heal the wound, but Philoctetes is still going to Troy.

Medea by Euripides

1/ When my friend Himadri joined Tom’s read-along of the ancient Greek plays in 2022, he noted a few times the big differences between the English translations, which was concerning. Now I can see that myself. 

This for example is from the prose translation by John Davie: 

“NURSE There you are, my poor little loves! Wasn’t I right? Your mother has a troubled heart, and an angry one, too! Inside the house with you quick and no delay! Don’t let her catch sight of you or approach her! Watch out for that savage temperament of hers, that stubborn will and unforgiving nature! Off with you right now, go in and quickly! It’s clear that this anger of hers will grow; soon enough her grief like a gathering cloud will be kindled by it and burst in storm. What action will she take then, that proud, impassioned soul, so ungovernable now that she has felt the sting of injustice?”

Compare the same lines translated by Gilbert Murray: 

“NURSE Ah, children, hark! She moves again 

Her frozen heart, her sleeping wrath. 

In, quick! And never cross her path, 

Nor rouse that dark eye in its pain. 

That fell sea-spirit, and the dire 

Spring of a will untaught, unbowed. 

Quick, now!—Methinks this weeping cloud 

Hath in its heart some thunder-fire, 

Slow gathering, that must flash ere long. 

I know not how, for ill or well, 

It turns, this uncontrollable 

Tempestuous spirit, blind with wrong.” 

Quite different, no? 

For Medea, I mainly read Gilbert Murray’s verse translation. 

2/ It’s interesting that Euripides begins the play with people who love and feel compassion for Medea. 

“NURSE There is no house! ’Tis gone. The lord 

Seeketh a prouder bed: and she 

Wastes in her chamber, nor one word 

Will hear of care or charity.” 

Then Medea appears, and gets our sympathy. 

“MEDEA […] O friends! He, even he, 

Whom to know well was all the world to me, 

The man I loved, hath proved most evil.—Oh, 

Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, 

A herb most bruised is woman. […]

Thou hast this city, and thy father’s home, 

And joy of friends, and hope in days to come: 

But I, being citiless, am cast aside 

By him that wedded me, a savage bride 

Won in far sea and left—no mother near, 

No brother, not one kinsman anywhere 

For harbour in this storm…” 

She has used magic to save and help Jason, she has abandoned her own home, they have had children together, and yet he leaves her for King Creon’s daughter. And she gets banished! The confrontation between Medea and Jason is a great scene. 

“MEDEA […] Is sworn faith so low 

And weak a thing? I understand it not. 

Are the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot, 

And new laws made? Since not my passioning, 

But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing 

Forsworn.”

How false, selfish, and callous Jason is! He says he would support the children and their lives would be better when their (future) half-brothers are kings, but does nothing, till Medea asks, about Creon’s banishment of his sons. 

(On a side note, I had heard of it before but it was still weird to come across the name Jason—a name that looked so modern—in an ancient Greek play). 

3/ Roughly, the mid-point of the play is Medea deciding to kill her own children, after killing the princess, to make Jason suffer. Before that is the build-up: wronged and forsaken, Medea considers various ways of revenge. Then the rest of the play is the carrying out of the revenge, and its aftermath. 

I can see why readers and theatregoers see Medea as a striking, unforgettable depiction of hate, vengeance, and savagery; I can see why critics have debated the character for thousands of years. But I don’t particularly like the play, perhaps the same way I don’t really like Elizabethan/ Jacobean revenge plays or Japanese/ South Korean revenge films. Why do I love Sophocles’s Electra but not Euripides’s Medea, when both are studies of hate and vengeance? I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s the way Medea oscillates between being a loving mother and a hateful woman willing to kill her own children. Perhaps it’s the four-page speech describing the deaths of Creon’s daughter and Creon. Perhaps it’s the sensational nature of the story. Perhaps it’s the ending. I don’t know, but for some reason I don’t find the play satisfying. 

One difference, I guess, is that in Medea, Euripides is interested in the revenge; in Electra, Sophocles is not, he’s interested in what years of hate and anger do to the human psyche, and that I find more interesting.

I still get along best with Sophocles. 

Electra (or Elektra) by Euripides and the Electra myth

As I read the play in Gilbert Murray’s translation, I will use his spellings (Latinised names such as Clytemnestra, rather than Greek transliterations such as Klytaimestra). 

1/ Among the ancient Greek plays that survive today about the killing of Clytemnestra (Klytaimestra), the first was Aeschylus’s Libation Bearers, part of the Oresteia, first performed in 458 BC. 

Sophocles and Euripides, from the same generation, both wrote a play named Electra, though it’s not certain which one came out first: the one by Euripides was written in the mid-410s BC, the one by Sophocles is dated around 420–414 BC (wouldn’t it have been funny though if they were first performed the same year?). 

These two Electra plays don’t seem to reference each other, but there’s one scene in which Euripides clearly mocks a scene in Libation Bearers: how could Electra recognise Orestes from some strand of hair, or footprints? Don’t be ridiculous, Aeschylus. 

2/ Like Sophocles, Euripides focuses on the character of Electra. 

“ELECTRA […] Brother, brother, on some far shore 

Hast thou a city, is there a door

That knows thy footfall, Wandering One? 

Who left me, left me, when all our pain 

Was bitter about us, a father slain, 

And a girl that wept in her room alone. 

Thou couldst break me this bondage sore, 

Only thou, who art far away, 

Loose our father, and wake once more…

Zeus, Zeus, dost hear me pray?... 

The sleeping blood and the shame and the doom! 

O feet that rest not, over the foam

Of distant seas, come home, come home!” 

Sophocles’s Electra is a larger-than-life character: striking, intense, deformed by hate. Euripides’s Electra appears more vulnerable and fragile. 

One of the changes Euripides makes is that Clytemnestra and Aegisthus (also known as Aigisthos) don’t imprison Electra, but marry her off to a poor peasant so that she doesn’t have the power to wage war against them. She’s stripped of the position of princess. The peasant however doesn’t sleep with her, out of respect for her and her father. We then have this interesting passage:  

“ORESTES How dark lies honour hid! And what turmoil 

In all things human: sons of mighty men 

Fallen to naught, and from ill seed again 

Good fruit: yea, famine in the rich man’s scroll 

Writ deep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul!

As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not 

With pride of house, uplifted, in a lot

Of unmarked life hath shown a prince’s grace…” 

Not hard to see why some people call Euripides modern. 

3/ In this play, Orestes is much weaker and more passive. The old man who rescued him as a child is now the one to come up with the plan to kill Aegisthus. The plan to kill Clytemnestra comes from Electra. 

Orestes hesitates. 

“ORESTES ’Tis my mother comes: my own

Mother, that bare me. 

[…]

ORESTES What would we with our mother? Didst thou say

Kill her? 

ELECTRA (turning on him) What? Is it pity? Dost thou fear 

To see thy mother’s shape? 

ORESTES ’Twas she that bare

My body into life. She gave me suck. 

How can I strike her?”

(The word “bare” is in my copy, shouldn’t it be “bore”?). 

“ORESTES I was a clean man once. Shall I be thrust 

From men’s sight, blotted with her blood? 

ELECTRA Thy blot 

Is black as death if him thou succour not!” 

Euripides humanises Orestes and removes Apollo—there is no command from the gods—it is Electra who pushes Orestes into it. 

Like Sophocles, he lets us see Electra’s point of view and then shows us Clytemnestra’s: not only did Agamemnon kill her daughter Iphigenia…

“CLYTEMNESTRA […] Nay, for long, 

I never would have killed him. But he came, 

At last, bringing that damsel, with the flame

Of God about her, mad and knowing all; 

And set her in my room; and in one wall 

Would hold two queens!...” 

In a way, Aeschylus sees and depicts the tragedy from a distance; Sophocles and Euripides come close to the characters and depict their clashing perspectives; both give us a confrontation between mother and daughter. 

4/ Sophocles’s play focuses on Electra’s state of mind that leads to the killing. Euripides’s play has the revenge, and also depicts the horror of Electra and Orestes when they realise what they have done. 

“ORESTES Saw’st thou her raiment there, 

Sister, there in the blood?

She drew it back as she stood, 

She opened her bosom bare, 

She bent her knees to the earth, 

The knees that bent in my birth…

And I… Oh, her hair, her hair…

(He breaks into inarticulate weeping)”

I would guess that Euripides’s Electra was after Sophocles’s. 

There are mentions of gods throughout the play and a god does appear at the end telling what Orestes and Electra have to do to pay for the murder of their mother, but I would say that the play is humanist, not mythic: unlike the characters in Aeschylus’s and Sophocles’s plays, Euripides’s Electra and Orestes choose to kill their mother themselves, without an oracle. A god only appears after the deed is done. Not only so, the killings are more brutal: Orestes kills Aegisthus after being welcomed as a guest to his feast; Electra lures Clytemnestra to the house and pretends to reconcile with her before having her killed. 

All three plays are wonderful, in different ways. 

The Oresteia by Aeschylus: Eumenides

1/ As the final part of the Oresteia, this is quite a strange play. After the murder of his mother Klytaimestra (better known as Clytemnestra), Orestes is pursued by the Furies.

“PRIESTESS […] But all around this man there slept 

a terrifying crowd of women resting on our seats. 

Not really women—they were more like Gorgons; 

but I cannot truly liken them to Gorgons

nor Harpies—for I saw a picture once 

of Harpies stealing Phineus’ feast, and they 

had wings; but these have none, and they are black 

and horrible in every way. They’re snoring, 

and the stench around them is unbearable. 

Disgusting streams of filth 

Pour from their eyes…” 

(translated by Michael Ewans) 

Horrifying stuff.

I note that the murder of Aigisthos (better known as Aegisthus) is fair game; even Klytaimestra’s murder of her husband Agamemnon, for the Furies, is not the worst; but matricide is the greatest evil. 

Haunted, Orestes asks for help from Apollo (the one who told him to kill his mother) and also asks Athena. She then sets up a trial for him in Athens, judged by 12 Athenian citizens. 

2/ The imagery in Aeschylus’s plays is interesting. 

“KLYTAIMESTRA You’re hunting in a dream! You’re barking like a sleeping dog 

that can’t forget its need to kill.” 

That’s the ghost of the dead woman, in case you’re wondering. 

“FURIES While I still slept, reproaches came in dreams

and struck me like a horseman with his whip 

in the belly, down below the liver. 

Here, the chill, the heavy chill, 

the dreadful whip-lash of the executioner!” 

3/ It is, however, a strange play because Apollo, a god, appears at the trial and argues in defence, and because the trial ends up not being about morality or justice but essentially boils down to the question “To which parent does the child owe more?”. 

“APOLLO […] The person called the mother is no real parent

of a child; she simply nurses foetuses once they’ve been sown. 

The parent is the man, who mounts; the woman is a hostess 

who preserves a stranger’s offspring—if they are not harmed by any god. 

Now I will show you living proof of what I say. 

A father can beget a child without a mother; see, right here

as witness stands the child of Zeus himself:

she was not nurtured in the dark depths of a womb, 

yet she is such an offspring as no goddess ever bore…” 

That is Athena. But isn’t this sophistry? The vote is split, Orestes is acquitted, the play ends with a triumphant tone, but this is nevertheless troubling.   

Michael Ewans points out: 

“In Agamemnon, [Apollo] punishes the girl who broke her pledge by a hideous death; in Libation Bearers he is ruthless once again, commanding matricide, warning of terrible penalties should Orestes try to evade it, and ordaining that Orestes must sink to treachery in order to achieve that end. Nor was his oracle, in real life, always above the charge of deviousness and trickery.” 

In a way, the acquittal of Orestes (probably) means the end of the cycle of violence, but at the same time I would guess that Aeschylus does mean the trial and Apollo’s interferences to be troubling. 

The Oresteia by Aeschylus: Libation Bearers

1/ As written in the previous blog post, this is the second part of the trilogy, and about the killing of Klytaimestra (also known as Clytemnestra). 

I read the translation by Michael Ewans, who uses transliterations from Greek. 

2/ Aeschylus’s plays are rich in metaphors and similes. 

“ELEKTRA […] We call upon the gods, who know 

that great waves toss us all around

like men at sea; but when we’re fated to survive, 

a small seed often grows into a great tree-root.” 

Some animal imagery: 

“ORESTES Zeus! Zeus! Look down and witness this! 

You see the orphaned offspring of the eagle who has died – 

a fearful serpent’s trapped him in its coils. They are bereft 

of father-love, and suffer pangs of hunger; they’re not strong enough 

to hunt food like their father, bring to the nest. 

[…] If you were to destroy the eagle’s brood, you could not send 

back any sign of hope to mortal men; 

and if this tree of kingship shrivels up and dies 

we will not be your ministers upon the festive days of sacrifice…” 

Mixed metaphors. 

Klytaimestra’s nightmare also has an interesting image: “she dreamt she gave birth to a snake” and “a clot of blood poured out into the milk.” 

Orestes later compares her to snakes: 

“ORESTES […] If she had been a seasnake, or a viper, she could make men’s flesh dissolve

without a bite, so great her daring 

and the power of her evil mind…” 

3/ This is an interesting passage: 

“LIBATION BEARERS The earth 

breeds terrifying beasts. 

In her embrace the sea 

encompasses a multitude 

of monsters that can kill a man. 

Up in the sky are comets, meteors—

like flying torches which descend 

to harm us. Then think of the hurricane, 

the anger of the stormwind. 

But who can find words to speak 

of the ever-daring mind of man

or woman’s love that dares all, 

wedded to disaster? 

When passion overcomes 

the female, it destroys 

the unions of animals, 

the marriages of men and women.” 

The play is full of such wonderful passages. I can see why my friend Himadri thinks the Oresteia is monumental. 

4/ It’s fascinating to see that Aeschylus and Sophocles tackle the same myth in completely different ways. 

In Liberation Bearers, Aeschylus does repeat the point about the cycle of violence, but presents Orestes’s killing of Klytaimestra and Aigisthos (better known as Aegisthus) as fulfilling the wish of many people, even a god: Orestes has doubts but Apollo tells him of “vile and frosty torments” and the pursuit of the Furies if he doesn’t avenge the murder of his father; the Libation Bearers or the female slaves of the house (the chorus) also egg him on, and take an active role in the revenge plot… 

In Elektra—I will stick to Greek transliterations for consistency—Sophocles does something different: he changes the circumstances of the sacrifice, thus making Artemis appear petty and Klytaimestra’s killing of Agamemnon more justified or at least less of a wanton act of violence; concentrates on Elektra and her state of mind; brings in the counter-voices of Elektra’s sister and the chorus, clashing with Elektra’s thirst for revenge; gets the audience to feel compassion for Elektra but also see something perverse in her love of her father and hatred of her mother, etc. 

However, Aeschylus adds some discordant notes towards the end of his play.

“ORESTES […] I’m like a charioteer who’s forced to drive 

outside the course; I am beaten, and cannot control 

my senses. Terror comes prepared to sing its song of hate 

beside my heart, and join the dance…” 

He is haunted. Did Apollo lie? Or did he warn Orestes of the father’s Furies if the murder’s not avenged, and not of the mother’s Furies if Orestes killed her?

“LIBATION BEARERS […] Where will it end? When will it be sated, 

lulled to sleep, the force of destruction?” 

5/ Another notable difference is that Sophocles reverses the order: Aeschylus has Orestes kill Aigisthos first and then Klytaimestra; Sophocles starts with, and focuses more on, Orestes’s killing of his mother Klytaimestra. 

In Libation Bearers, Elektra also seems to be dropped in the latter part of the play—Aeschylus focuses more on Orestes. 

6/ As my main frame of reference is Shakespeare, it’s hard to read these plays without wondering if Shakespeare knew them—just look at Libation Bearers, look at the confrontation between Orestes and his mother Klytaimestra—do you not think about Hamlet and Gertrude? For 400 years, people have debated the phrase “small Latin and less Greek” that Ben Jonson wrote about Shakespeare—most people seem to take it literally, though there is influence of Latin works on Shakespeare’s plays and scholars generally say Shakespeare may just have “small Latin and less Greek” compared to the learned Ben Jonson—I’ve recently read an essay in The Antigone Journal arguing that the sentence may have been misunderstood as “though” also has an archaic sense of “even if”. Do we know if Shakespeare knew these plays? If not in the original then perhaps in Latin translations? I need to look more into this.