Surprise! I got my post on Agamemnon out when I intended to. How, you may ask? It’s a long story. I put it under the footnotes titled “A Lesson in Confirmation Bias” if you’re curious to read about it (I also put a gif in there, so I don’t know how that will look in the email).
Without further ado…
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It is the nature of all human kind to be unsatisfied with prosperity. From stately halls none bars it with warning voice that utters the words “Enter no more.” So the Blessed Ones have granted to our prince to capture Priam’s town; and, divinely-honored, he returns to his home. Yet if he now must pay the penalty for the blood shed by others before him, and by dying for the dead he is to bring to pass retribution of other deaths, what mortal man, on hearing this, can boast that he was born with scatheless destiny?
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1355-68; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Introduction
Agamemnon is the first play in Aeschylus’ Oresteia. The other two plays are The Libation Bearers and The Eumenides. The name is a nod to Orestes who is the real focus of the trilogy—even though he doesn’t appear in person in Agamemnon. If you’ve read the Iliad, or joined me on my journey through it, you already know who Agamemnon is. If you’ve read the Odyssey, or joined me on my through it, the basic outline of the story in the Oresteia will be familiar to you: Agamemnon’s murder at the hands of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, and Orestes coming back from exile to avenge his father’s murder.
However, the version of the story Aeschylus tells is very different from the version in the Odyssey. Homer’s version is very simple. Aegisthus was in love with Clytemnestra, the wife of Agamemnon, and managed to seduce her. When Agamemnon returns home from the Trojan War, Aegisthus invites him to a feast only to ambush and kill him. Clytemnestra kills Cassandra, the daughter of Priam (the former king of Troy) and Agamemnon’s prize from the war. Aegisthus and Clytemnestra rule Mycenae for about eight years until Orestes comes back from exile and kills Aegisthus. Clytemnestra is dead as well, but the only thing Homer says about her death is that Orestes held a funeral for her.
The version Aeschylus tells is far darker and far more convoluted. There are also details that are different between Aeschylus’ version and Homer’s version. I don’t know enough to know whether Aeschylus drew on a later tradition or if Homer sanitized the story for both the Iliad and the Odyssey. You learn some of the history between Aegisthus and Agamemnon in the play, but there is some of it that is only alluded to and has to be learned from other sources. I suppose you could go to Wikipedia or some other encyclopedia to find out more about those stories, but you can also read up on them in Bulfinch’s Mythology (Mythology by Thomas Bulfinch) which is in the public domain. I highly recommend it! Bulfinch uses the Latin names for the heroes and the gods, so keep that in mind.1
All quotes from Agamemnon are from the Herbert Weir Smyth translation which is in the public domain. This translation appeared in the Loeb Classical Library. I had to rely on the Robert Fagles translation for the line numbers, so they may not be 100% accurate.
Summary
A Watchman, who has been assigned to watch for a signal flame, catches sight of it. The signal is for announcing the fall of Troy and the victory of the Achaeans. It has been ten years since Agamemnon and Menelaus left with a great army to sack Troy and retrieve Helen, Menelaus' wife.
The Chorus, a group of old men, recounts to the audience that the Achaean army at one point was stuck on the island of Aulis because Artemis sent a strong wind to prevent the army from sailing to Troy. Agamemnon had to sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia in order to calm the winds and allow the army to sail out.
Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's wife, appears and shares the good news that the Achaeans have sacked Troy. When the Chorus asks for proof, she tells them about the network of signal flames she had set up to bring news of the Achaeans’ victory as soon as possible. The Chorus are still skeptical about Clytemnestra's news until a Herald shows up and confirms that the Achaeans were victorious and are on their way home now. Clytemnestra goes to prepare Agamemnon's welcome while the Herald explains to the Chorus that a storm had arisen on their way home which destroyed ships and scattered others. Menelaus' ship was one which was separated from the fleet while Agamemnon's ship was virtually unscathed.
Agamemnon enters with his newly captured prize Cassandra, a daughter of Priam and former princess of Troy, and is greeted by the Chorus and Clytemnestra. He is thankful for his victory over Troy and for being able to return home. Clytemnestra insists that Agamemnon walk back to his palace upon a purple tapestry she has laid down on the ground. Agamemnon initially refuses, thinking it would be too flashy before the people and too irreverent toward the gods. However, after more insistence by Clytemnestra, Agamemnon relents, though he walks on the tapestry barefoot.
After Agamemnon and Clytemnestra enter the palace, the chorus has an uneasy feeling that something wrong may happen. In fact, throughout the play, there have been allusions, first by the Watchman, and then by the Chorus, that something wasn't right, but both refused to say anything out loud.
Clytemnestra then comes back out and beckons Cassandra inside so she can assume her new life as a slave, but Cassandra is unresponsive. Clytemnestra gets exasperated and reenters the palace while the Chorus, sympathetic, try to reason with Cassandra and wonder whether she is in shock or perhaps needs an interpreter.
Suddenly Cassandra cries out to Apollo and begins to prophesy. She recounts the dark history of the household of Atreus and warns of more shedding of blood. The Chorus is at first baffled by what Cassandra is saying, but Cassandra goes on to prophesy her own death. When the Chorus questions her further on how she knows all of this, she recounts that Apollo pursued her as a lover. She went along at first, and Apollo gave her the gift of prophecy, but she went back on her promise to him. Angered, Apollo turned his gift into a curse: no one would believe any of Cassandra's prophecies. Cassandra then says plainly that Agamemnon is going to die at the hands of his wife. She concludes, though, that a descendant of Agamemnon will come and avenge their murders. Cassandra steps inside the house accepting her fate while the Chorus looks on.
Inside, Agamemnon cries out in pain as he is struck dead. While the Chorus deliberates about what to do, Clytemnestra opens the doors of the palace to reveal the dead bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra whom she has killed. When the Chorus confronts Clytemnestra on her actions, she declares she was getting revenge for Agamemnon sacrificing their daughter Iphigenia since no one else was going to punish Agamemnon for his actions.
While the Chorus argues with Clytemnestra, Aegisthus emerges from the house and triumphs over the body of Agamemnon. Aegisthus is the sole-surviving son of Thyestes, whom Agamemnon's father Atreus committed a grave evil against. With Agamemnon dead, his vengeance is also complete.
The Chorus taunts Aegisthus for not being man enough to kill Agamemnon himself and for defiling another man's bed while he was off fighting a war. When Aegisthus threatens to kill the Chorus and the Chorus prepares to fight to the death, Clytemnestra stops Aegisthus, tells the Chorus to go home, and leads Aegisthus inside the house.
For a list of the major characters, click here.
Something’s Wrong With Mycenae
Just like Homer, Aeschylus is great at creating tension within the story. However, he takes a different approach compared to Homer. Homer creates tension by outright telling the audience what’s going to happen and then slowly unfolds the story. For example, in the Iliad you’re told early on that Patroclus is fated to die at the hands of Hector. Then, later on, the story focuses on Patroclus. You find yourself saying “No! Don’t do it!” as Nestor convinces Patroclus to help out the war effort, then Patroclus begging Achilles to let him lead the Myrmidons into battle, and then Patroclus forgetting Achilles’ advice and pushing the Trojan army well past the perimeter of the Achaeans’ camp. At first, everything seems to be okay. Patroclus is killing Trojans left and right. He even kills Sarpedon, the son of Zeus, and one of the Trojans’ best warriors. And then suddenly, Patroclus’ doom is announced. In dramatic fashion, Patroclus is wounded and rendered vulnerable. When he tries to flee, Hector delivers the killing blow.
Aeschylus is far more subtle. He sets the tension immediately with the opening monologue and keeps it going for as long as possible. He even lulls the audience into a false of sense that everything’s going to be okay before tossing in another ominous line and making us doubt. Then, he takes a page out of Homer’s book by revealing what’s going to happen. The big difference is Aeschylus reveals what’s going to happen when it’s already too late to stop the tragedy from occurring.
Let’s look at how Aeschylus builds the tension.
First, as I mentioned, he sets it almost immediately with the opening monologue by the Watchman:
And whenever I care to sing or hum (and thus apply an antidote of song to ward off drowsiness), then my tears start forth, as I bewail the fortunes of this house of ours, not ordered for the best as in days gone by.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 19-22; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
So, things haven’t been well since Agamemnon left for the war? I suppose that’s to be expected when the king is away. When Agamemnon gets back, all will be made well again… right?
And then the Watchman says at the very end of his monologue:
Ah well, may the master of the house come home and may I clasp his welcome hand in mine! For the rest I stay silent; a great ox stands upon my tongue – yet the house itself, could it but speak, might tell a plain enough tale; since, for my part, by my own choice I have words for those who know, and to those who do not know, I’ve lost my memory.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 36-43; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Uh, okay…
So, something is definitely not right with Agamemnon’s palace. And for some reason, the Watchman does not want to say out loud exactly what it is, not even to himself. If you know, you know. If you don’t, well, then neither does he.
It doesn’t get any better from here.
The Chorus, a group of elderly men, appear and recall the events that led to Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia to the goddess Artemis. The Chorus can’t even finish the story:
What happened next I did not see and do not tell. The art of Calchas was not unfulfilled. Justice inclines her scales so that wisdom comes at the price of suffering. But the future, that you shall know when it occurs; till then, leave it be – it is just as someone weeping ahead of time. Clear it will come, together with the light of dawn.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 248-55; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Could this be the unspeakable thing the Watchman was referring to? Probably not, as the sacrifice took place outside the walls of the palace, whereas the palace itself has a story to tell. In any case, the Chorus doesn’t want to think about the what repercussions may be from this horrifying sacrifice.
The Chorus then lays out a third concern: the unrest the war caused among the people. Countless sons, brothers, and fathers died just to bring home one adulterous woman. The whole war is a cursed affair:
In anxious fear I wait to hear something shrouded still in gloom. The gods are not blind to men with blood upon their hands… May I not be a sacker of cities, and may I not myself be despoiled and live to see my own life in another’s power!
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 453-55, 463-66; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
What are the consequences of the war going to be?
While the Chorus doubts Clytemnestra’s words that the Achaeans have won the war, a Herald arrives and confirms the Achaean victory. Relief! Joy! The army, and it’s leader Agamemnon, are back home safe and victorious! And what’s more, Clytemnestra can’t wait for her husband to get home.
So, the army is home, the king is home, and the queen appears happy at the king’s homecoming. Everything is okay, now… right?
Something in the back of your mind tugs at you. Do you think Clytemnestra was emphasizing that she was loyal to Agamemnon a little too much? You think again about the sacrifice of Iphigenia.
The Herald and the Chorus both think she gave a great speech though, so maybe there’s nothing to worry about.
Agamemnon then makes his triumphant return and we’re now focused on him and his victory over the Trojans. Clytemnestra comes out of the palace and greets Agamemnon warmly. But there’s… something off about it. It’s a bit… exaggerated, maybe? Especially with the tapestry she wants Agamemnon to walk on. Isn’t that a bit over the top?
As you ponder this, and Clytemnestra’s emphasis on her loyalty earlier, Agamemnon enters the palace and Clytemnestra prays before entering herself:
O Zeus, Zeus, you who bring things to fulfilment, fulfill my prayers! May you see to that which you mean to fulfill!
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 975-76; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Well, that an ominous thing to pray. The Chorus agrees:
Why does this terror so persistently hover standing before my prophetic soul?
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 977-79; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Agamemnon and the army are back home, alive and triumphant against the Trojans,
Yet still my soul within me, self-inspired, intones the lyreless dirge of the avenging spirit, and cannot wholly win its customary confidence in hope. Not for nothing is my bosom disquieted as my heart throbs against my justly fearful breast in eddying tides that warn of some event.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 993-1001; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
The Chorus is afraid something terrible is about to happen. They feel an avenging spirit and it’s unsettling. Now, we, the audience, are suspecting that something terrible might happen to Agamemnon. We think again about the unspeakable story, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and our nagging doubts about Clytemnestra.
And then Cassandra takes the focus of the play. Cassandra is the daughter of Priam, a former princess of Troy, and Agamemnon’s new war prize and concubine. In the past, Apollo fell in love with her and gave her the gift of prophecy. She accepted Apollo at first, but then withdrew her affection. Angered, Apollo turned her prophetic gift into a curse: no one would believe her prophecies.
Cassandra is before the palace of Agamemnon and is hesitant to enter inside. When the Chorus tell her she is before the house of Agamemnon she responds:
No, no, rather to a god-hating house, a house that knows many a horrible butchery of kin, a slaughter-house of men and a floor swimming with blood.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1088-91; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
This is rather unsettling to hear, but there’s more:
Behold those babies bewailing their own butchery and their roasted flesh eaten by their father!
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1094-97; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Whoa whoa whoa. What?!
It’s at this point that we learn about the terrible past of this palace—the unspeakable story within its walls that the Watchman alluded to.
There were two brothers: Atreus (the father of Agamemnon and Menelaus) and Thyestes. Thyestes had an affair with Atreus’ wife. Atreus responded by killing Thyestes’ sons, cooking them, and serving them as a meal to Thyestes without him being aware.
That quite the dark history the house of Agamemnon has, but what does all of this have to do with Agamemnon himself?
Cassandra then says plainly:
I say you shall look upon Agamemnon dead.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1258-59; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
There’s no more subtlety now. We know for sure that Agamemnon is about to die—and Cassandra is heavily implying Clytemnestra will be the one to kill him! The second Agamemnon entered the palace, his fate was sealed.
We think about the sacrifice of Iphigenia. It would explain Clytemnestra’s over-the-top greeting: she wanted to lure Agamemnon into a trap!
However, we still don’t know what the butchery that took place in the past has to do with Agamemnon. Neither Agamemnon nor Clytemnestra have anything to do with what Atreus did to Thyestes.
Cassandra then says she’s going to die too and nothing can stop it:
This two-footed lioness, who mates with a wolf in the absence of the noble lion, will slay me, miserable as I am.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1272-75; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
So, Clytemnestra is going to kill Cassandra as well—but, what’s this about a “wolf?”
Cassandra accepts her fate and enters the palace. While the Chorus deliberates about what to do, Agamemnon cries out as he’s murdered. Clytemnestra opens the palace doors to reveal the bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra. She declares that her daughter Iphigenia has been avenged. The man who killed her, her own father, is now dead. The Chorus are shocked. We’re shocked, though maybe not as much.
And then Aegisthus makes his appearance.
Aegishtus, son of Thyestes. He was an infant when his brothers were murdered and his father was driven out. Now an adult, Aegisthus has come back and avenged his father and brothers. Plus, he was having an affair with Clytemnestra while Agamemnon was away.
It’s all come together now. The sacrifice of Iphigenia. Clytemnestra’s suspicious behavior. And now we know what Atreus’ heinous act of butchery had to do with Agamemnon. An avenger came for his son! Thyestes lost his sons. Now Atreus has lost one of his.
The ups and downs and niggling suspicions Aeschylus presents throughout the play keeps the audience entranced throughout the story. On the surface, everything appears to be fine. It’s just another story about a king’s triumphant homecoming from a war. Below the surface though, something isn’t right. Or, perhaps it’s our imagination. Or, perhaps it isn’t. On and on, Aeschylus keeps us going until the big reveal. And just as we’re getting over our shock, he makes an even bigger reveal.
And then he leaves the audience in suspense.
To be continued.2
The Circle of Death
The central theme of the Oresteia is the law of retribution. It has different names: an eye for an eye, lex talionis (Latin: law of retaliation), blood justice, revenge…
Aeschylus portrays it in the Oresteia as an endless cycle, a curse upon houses that can never be escaped. He shows many reasons throughout the trilogy exactly why it’s an endless cycle and why a person can’t simply choose to forgive and move on—even if they want to.
One of the critical things Aeschylus does in Agamemnon specifically is carry the law of retribution to its logical conclusion. The play starts out with the announcement that the Achaeans have sacked Troy. Later on, there is much rejoicing in this because it means Troy got its just desserts:
Someone said that the gods do not trouble themselves to remember mortals who trample underfoot the grace of things not to be touched. But that man was impious!
Now it stands revealed! The penalty for reckless crime is ruin when men breathe a spirit of pride above just measure…
Perverse Temptation, the overmastering child of designing Destruction, drives men on; and every remedy is futile. His evil is not hidden; it shines forth, a baleful gleam. Like base metal beneath the touchstone’s rub, when tested he shows the blackness of his grain and upon his people he brings a taint against which there is no defence. No god listens to his prayers. The man associated with such deeds, him they destroy in his unrighteousness.
And such was Paris, who came to the house of the sons of Atreus and dishonoured the hospitality of his host by stealing away a wedded wife.
Chorus; Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 374-80, 387-402; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Later on, the Chorus says about Paris’ and Helen’s crime:
To Ilium, its purpose fulfilling, Wrath brought a marriage rightly named a mourning, exacting in later time requital for the dishonour done to hospitality and to Zeus, the partaker of the hearth, upon those who with loud voice celebrated the song in honor of the bride, even the bridegroom’s kin to whom it fell that day to raise the marriage-hymn.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 698-706; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Paris committed an evil deed by exploiting the hospitality of another man, seducing his wife, and taking her back home. Worse, the Trojans, particularly Paris’ family, were complicit with this evil deed and even celebrated his wedding with him! Therefore, the city of Troy and Priam’s family got what it deserved. Justice was served. Everything is now made right.
And then the twist happens.
Agamemnon, triumphant hero of the Trojan War, bringer of justice, returns home and is subsequently murdered by his wife.
Why?
Because he murdered their daughter on the altar of Artemis. A “sacrifice” so Artemis could be appeased and the winds holding the Achaean army back from Troy would be lifted.
The Chorus, at first, strongly condemns Clytemnestra for her act. She’s a cold blooded murderer! She was his wife! How could she?! However, they are forced to concede when Clytemnestra points out their hypocrisy:
It’s now that you would doom me to exile from the land, to the hatred of my people and the execration of the public voice; though then you had nothing to urge against him that lies here. And yet he, valuing no more than if it had been a beast that perished – though sheep were plenty in his fleecy folds – he sacrificed his own child, she whom I bore with dearest travail, to charm the blasts of Thrace. Is it not he whom you should have banished from this land in requital for his polluting deed?
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1436-48; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Furthermore, Agamemnon was unfaithful to their marriage:
Here lies the man who did me wrong, plaything of each Chryseis at Ilium; and here [Cassandra] lies, his captive, and auguress, and concubine…(lines 1465-69)
Recall that Chryseis is the daughter of the priest of Apollo that was given to Agamemnon as a war prize, but had to give up to quell Apollo’s wrath against the Achaean army.3 Here’s what Agamemnon said about Chryseis:
“I have set my heart on keeping her in my own house, for I love her better even than my own wife Clytemnestra.”
Homer, Iliad, Book 1; Samuel Butler translation
Ouch. That statement came back to haunt him.
As we’re beginning to come to terms with Clytemnestra’s words, another twist happens: Aegisthus, son of Thyestes, shows up on the scene. He’s been having an affair with Clytemnestra and he also had a bone to pick with Agamemnon. Sort of.
As we already learned, Agamemnon’s father Atreus killed and cooked Thyestes’ sons and fed them to Thyestes without him knowing it was his sons. Aegisthus was an infant at the time and was not killed. As a result, Aegisthus became Thyestes’ avenger:
Hail gracious light of the day of retribution! At last the hour has come when I can say that the gods who avenge mortal men look down from on high upon the crimes of earth.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1605-08; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Agamemnon got what he deserved. Justice prevailed. The gods did not fail to punish a crime. It sounds pretty much like what the Chorus was saying about Paris and the city of Troy. The law of retribution delivers its punishments evenly.
Now that, to my joy, I behold this man lying here in a robe spun by the Avenging Spirits and making full payment for the deeds contrived in craft by his father’s hand.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1609-11; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
The cycle of retribution has now extended to relatives of those who committed a crime. Agamemnon has paid for his father’s sins.
On top of that, Aegisthus will now rule Agamemnon’s domain. And because his thirst for vengeance is so great, it won’t stop with Agamemnon’s murder. He’s going to tyrannize Agamemnon’s people as well.
With his gold I shall endeavor to control the people; and whoever is unruly, him I’ll yoke with a heavy collar, and in truth he shall be no well-fed trace horse!
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1670-73; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
If this is the true nature of the cycle of retribution, who could ever avoid it? Who could ever escape its clutches once ensnared?
There is someone, apparently. A hope for the future.
Earlier, the prophetess Cassandra, before her murder at the hands of Clytemnestra, prophesied that an avenger will come on her’s and Agamemnon’s behalf:
Yet, we shall not die unavenged by the gods; for there shall come in turn another, our avenger, a scion of the race, to slay his mother and exact requital for his sire…
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1300-04; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
We learn that this sire is, in fact, Orestes, the son of Agamemnon who is both too young to do anything right now and in exile thanks to Clytemnestra.
But is this hope? Look at Cassandra’s words again: to slay his mother. It would have been one thing to kill Aegisthus. You could argue that Orestes would have been justified in killing him since Agamemnon did not have anything to do with what happened to Thyestes and his sons. Plus, Aegisthus defiled his parents’ wedding bed.
It’s another thing, though, for Orestes to kill his own mother. To make the matter even more complicated, Clytemnestra was getting revenge for Agamemnon sacrificing Iphigenia. Clytemnestra was getting revenge for her daughter and Orestes’ sister. Should Orestes kill Clytemnestra for getting revenge for his sister’s murder?
Also: wouldn’t killing Aegisthus and Clytemnestra just continue the cycle of retribution? Wouldn’t someone then come and try to kill Orestes, who would then be hunted by Orestes’ avenger?
Here is the rest of Cassandra’s prophecy about Orestes:
He shall return to put the coping-stone upon these unspeakable iniquities of his house. (lines 1305-06)
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 1305-06; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Maybe there’s hope after all. Maybe the endless cycle can actually be broken and no one will have to be at its mercy ever again.
How will Orestes do this?
To be continued.
The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things…
One of the shocking moments of the play happens early on when we, the audience, find out Agamemnon sacrificed his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis in order to appease her and allow the Achaean fleet to sail to Troy.4 What stands out to me about Aeschylus’ retelling of the moment Iphigenia is sacrificed is how psychological it is.
When Agamemnon and Menelaus found out Iphigenia had to be sacrificed to move on, they were distraught. Agamemnon then said:
“It is a hard fate to refuse obedience, and hard, if I must slay my child, the glory of my home, and at the altar-side stain a father’s hand with streams of virgin’s blood. Which of these courses is not filled with evil? How can I become a deserter to my fleet and fail my allies in arms?”
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 205-13; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Agamemnon is conflicted between his role as a father and his role as the commander of the Achaean army. We could sympathize with Agamemnon for fearing a mutiny or destruction to his reputation. However, once those fears are weighed against the life of his daughter, what more is there to think about? What’s more important: some war to get your brother’s adulterous wife back or your daughter’s life?
“For that they should with all too impassioned passion crave a sacrifice to lull the winds – even a virgin’s blood – stands within their right. May all be for the best.”
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 214-16; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Agamemnon rationalized that his army was within their rights to demand that the sacrifice be carried out. It sounds completely absurd from our point of view. Again, who cares what the army wants when your daughter’s life is on the line? But again, Agamemnon was feeling the pressure of his role as the commander. How many of these soldiers were forced to leave their families, farms, and businesses to fight this war? All for a single woman? How many were promised fame and spoils should they be victorious? Plus, the army’s supplies were dwindling and the men were restless with nothing to do. Thousands of hungry and idle men are not a safe group to be around.
In Agamemnon’s position, what would you do? Would you be able to tell your army, “I’m not sacrificing my daughter” and accept the possibly fatal consequences for that decision?
The Chorus explains what happened next:
But when he had donned the yoke of Necessity, with veering of mind, impious, unholy, unsanctified, from that moment he changed his intention and began to conceive that deed of uttermost audacity. For wretched delusion, counsellor of ill, primal source of woe, makes mortals bold. So then he hardened his heart to sacrifice his daughter so that he might further a war waged to avenge a woman, and as an offering for the voyage of a fleet!
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 217-26; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
After Agamemnon came up with a rationalization for carrying on with the sacrifice, he deluded himself into thinking it’s the only course of action he could take. There are no other options. Once he believed there’s no other way, he hardened his resolve to carry out the evil deed.
Do you see the mental tricks Agamemnon played on himself? He went from being distraught, to questioning what would be the lesser evil, to rationalizing why the sacrifice would be the lesser evil, to believing the sacrifice was the only way out of the situation, and finally to resolving to carrying out the sacrifice for the sake of his army and his brother’s revenge.
This is what happened next:
For her supplications, her cries of “Father,” and her virgin life, the commanders in their eagerness for war cared nothing. Her father, after a prayer, bade his ministers lay hold of her as, enwrapped in her robes, she lay fallen forward, and with stout heart to raise her, as if she were a young goat, high above the altar; and with a gag upon her lovely mouth to hold back the shouted curses against her house – by the bit’s strong and stifling might.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, lines 227-37; Herbert Weir Smyth translation
Iphigenia’s cries to her father, begging for her life, are ignored by everyone. They simply go through the motions of preparing a sacrifice like they’ve done countless times before. However, Iphigenia is not a sacrificial animal. She’s a human being. Unlike animals, she can fight back, even if it’s just with her words. And so, she begins to shout curses. The men can’t have that, so they cover her mouth and remove any remaining ability to fight from her.
To me, the men gagging Iphigenia was a very telling decision. It’s almost like, on the one hand, they knew that what they were doing was wrong and didn’t want to be reminded of it. On the other hand, they didn’t want the repercussions of their actions. They didn’t want Iphigenia’s curses to manifest and come back to haunt them—whether that meant haunting their minds or whether it meant Iphigenia’s curses actually causing something to happen to them.
With many acts of evil, there is an element of cowardice.
Reading through that section reminded me a lot of two books, one of which I’ve read and one which I’ve read about. Those are The Gulag Archipelago, Volume 1 by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Ordinary Men by Christopher Browning. The first book is an account of the prison camp system during the Soviet Union and how it was even possible for it to exist, while the other book is about a group of police officers in 1930s Germany who go from doing what any other police officer does in their line of work to committing unspeakable acts of evil. With both books, you are presented with a very important question: what would it take for you to become the people in these accounts who committed these horrible acts? Under what circumstances would you report your neighbors, friends, and family to the State in order to have them arrested, tortured, and sent to a labor camp? Under what circumstances would you torture someone to get a false admission of guilt? Under what circumstances would you brutally execute the innocent and vulnerable?
It’s easy to angrily condemn acts like that. And they should be condemned. It’s easy to say “I would never do such a thing.” And I hope we never do. However, it’s not so easy to think of what rationalizations you would have to come up with that would cause you to commit those very acts. It’s not so easy to imagine a scenario where you would actually “do such a thing.”
I think that those who have never thought about what circumstances would compel them to violate their morals, harm other people, and support an evil system will be more susceptible to those circumstances if they arrive.
So, what should we do if we find ourselves before such circumstances? Here’s Solzhenitsyn’s advice:
So what is the answer? How can you stand your ground when you are weak and sensitive to pain, when people you love are still alive, when you are unprepared?
What do you need to make you stronger than the interrogator and the whole trap?
From the moment you go to prison you must put your cozy past firmly behind you. At the very threshold, you must say to yourself: “My life is over, a little early to be sure, but there’s nothing to be done about it. I shall never return to freedom. I am condemned to die – now or a little later. I no longer have any property whatsoever. For me those I love have died, and for them I have died. From today on, my body is useless and alien to me. Only my spirit and my conscience remain precious and important to me.”
Confronted by such a prisoner, the interrogation will tremble.
Only the man who has renounced everything can win that victory.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago, Vol. 1, 130; Harper Perennial Modern Classics
What do you think?
That’s all for Agamemnon by Aeschylus.
May your days be filled with grace.
-Andronikos
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Thumbnail: Clytemnestra by Pierre-Narcisse Guérin, 1817. Public domain.
1Read about Tantalus, Pelops, Atreus and Thyestes. If Tantalus sounds familiar, he was one of the men being punished in the land of the dead in Odyssey, Book 11. Fun fact: the word “tantalize” comes from his name. Basically, Agamemnon’s descendants are pretty messed up—though Agamemnon is not much better (as we saw in the Iliad and as we’ll see in the play).
2Thank you Aeschylus for giving TV producers bad ideas.
3I’m not sure exactly what Clytemnestra means by “each Chryseis.” Is she calling Cassandra a “Chryseis” (since both are war prizes)? Or, is Clytemnestra referring to Briseis, whom Agamemnon demanded from Achilles in compensation for losing Chryseis? I personally think it’s the latter (assuming there weren’t two actual Chryseis’ that Agamemnon had affairs with during the Trojan War).
4There are multiple variations of this episode. In other versions, the gods whisked Iphigenia away at the last second and replaced her with a sacrificial animal—although the mortals did not know this replacement happened. Also, where Aeschylus does not really give a reason why Artemis made such a shocking demand of Agamemnon, other accounts state Agamemnon killed an animal in one of her sacred groves and so she prevented the Achaean fleet from sailing to Troy unless Agamemnon sacrificed Iphigenia.
A Lesson in Confirmation Bias
Okay, so why did this post end up coming out today rather than next Sunday?
The short answer: I didn’t have to start over again with reading, note taking, and writing the post after all. Plus, I got a small victory over my confirmation bias!
The long answer? Well…
My problems started after I began writing the section on Aeschylus’ method of creating tension in the story. Basically, something wasn’t adding up. That aspect of the story was making less and less sense. It took quite a while (read: days) to figure out why, but after almost scrapping the whole section I found out what it was. One of the quotes was the culprit.
I’ll set the scene. A Herald comes back from the Trojan War confirming what Clytemnestra found out through her network of signal fires: the Achaeans won the war and they are coming back home. The Chorus and the Herald talk a bit and then Clytemnestra reappears to rub it in to her doubters and also gush about how much she misses Agamemnon and emphasizes how loyal she’s been to him this whole time before reentering the palace.
Then this exchange between the Herald and the Chorus happens:
[Herald]: A boast like this, loaded full with truth, does not shame the speech of a noble wife.
[Chorus]: Thus has she spoken for your schooling, but speciously for those that can interpret right.
And then the Chorus quickly changes the subject to Menelaus.
All of my troubles from here on out revolved around one word: specious.
Now, before I looked it up, I knew specious was a negative word and thought it conveyed that something wasn’t right. I look up the word and it means “misleading; appearing to be true on the surface, but actually false.”
Okay, so that means the Chorus thinks Clytemnestra is saying something misleading, right? If you could put the exchange in more modern terms, it would be something like:
[Herald]: Wow, that was a great speech! Clytemnestra is such a good wife.
[Chorus]: Oh, buddy, if only you knew.
Now, the Chorus appearing to be unwilling to elaborate on something uncomfortable happens at other times throughout the play. And another character, the Watchman, also remained silent on something uncomfortable. Plus, before this exchange, they just got done telling the audience about Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis so the winds stopping them from sailing to Troy go away.
However, the first thing that didn’t make sense was that the Herald didn’t comment on the Chorus’ cryptic statement. You know, something like:
[Herald]: That was rather cryptic. Care to elaborate?
[Chorus]: No, not really.
[Herald]: Umm, okay...
Oh, sorry, I was still in modern English mode. Let me try that again:
[Herald]: You shroud thy words in darkness. Could you light the way for my understanding?
[Chorus]: Nay, I dare not.
[Herald]: Alas, you relieve not my worries.
Or something like that.
Anyway, you could probably excuse the Herald for not saying anything since the Chorus sidetracked him by asking the bombshell question about Menelaus (who got lost at sea on his way home). However, you couldn’t excuse two other instances that made me question what was going on.
The first instance is when Agamemnon finally gets back home. The Chorus greet him, happy to see him. They confess to him that they questioned his leadership, but are glad everything turned out fine. They also warn Agamemnon that he’s going to find out who was loyal to him and who wasn’t. However, they say absolutely nothing to him about Clytemnestra.
What gives, Chorus? You’re obviously not afraid to be candid with him. All you have to do is say something like: “Hey, Agamemnon? We think your wife is actually pretty angry at you for sacrificing your daughter and may try something. Just be careful, okay?”
I don’t have the willpower to put that into older English.
The second instance is when Agamemnon gets murdered and Clytemnestra reveals she was the one who did it. The Chorus appear to be genuinely shocked that she did it.
Why would they be shocked if they questioned her loyalty in the first place?
There were other moments in the play that made the “specious comment” by the Chorus not make sense, but those were the big ones.
It didn’t help too that I started looking at other translations (like the Fagles translation) and some of them have the Chorus, rather than saying that Clytemnestra’s comments were misleading, were actually agreeing with the Herald that Clytemnestra gave a great speech!
What on earth is going on?!
It made me question the integrity of either the translation I was reading or the company who converted it to the electronic format (I’m reading these works on Kindle since public domain works are cheap to buy or can be found for free). I didn’t know what to do.
To put this into context, the Chorus’ “specious comment” was not only an important part of my section on how Aeschylus builds tension throughout the play, but I was going to have a whole section dedicated to it titled “The Consequences of Not Speaking Up.” The section was going to be hundreds of words long with lots of my usual moralizing. I would have felt really stupid if I wrote a whole section about something that wasn’t really happening in the play—especially since I kind of did that with the Odyssey (about whether Odysseus was making up the story of his voyage home) and wanted to be more careful in the future.
Anyway, that’s when I decided I was going to start all over again with another translation. It was going to be more difficult for me to read since it was a more poetic translation, but I was going to soldier through it and hopefully get used to how the translator writes. That was when I wrote to you saying my post might be delayed.
However, I couldn’t leave the issue alone. How could the translation of that quote be so off? This translation of Agamemnon, after all, appeared in the Loeb Classical Library! They wouldn’t be that careless, would they?
So, the day after I sent my “Bad News” Substack, I made another attempt to figure it out.
One website I really enjoy is thefreedictionary.com. It has a lot of words that are no longer in use and definitions of words that are no longer in use. It’s boon for reading older English works and translations. I had used The Free Dictionary before to look up specious, but I made one critical mistake:
I didn’t scroll down far enough.
From the Random House Kernerman Webster’s College Dictionary, “specious” can be defined as:
apparently true or right though lacking real merit; not genuine.
deceptively attractive
Obsolete. pleasing to the eye.
Obsolete. pleasing to the eye.
Obsolete. pleasing to the eye.
Obsolete. pleasing to the eye.
ARE YOU FLIPPING KIDDING ME?!
Of all the words the translator decided to use to describe a speech as “pleasing,” he had to use a word more known today for meaning “misleading” and “deceptive!”
In a play where the character being talked about IS ACTUALLY MISLEADING AND DECEPTIVE!@#$
I just… I don’t…
Sigh.
One important lesson I learned from this experience, aside from how rewarding perseverance is, is how much confirmation bias can color how I read something.
I knew this story quite well before I started writing this blog. I read the Oresteia in high school in the early 2000s. I read it multiple times during college and multiple times after college.
In other words, as I began reading Agamemnon again, I already knew that Clytemnestra was deceiving everyone and that she was going to kill Agamemnon. I knew about her affair with Aegisthus. I knew she was angry about her daughter’s murder.
And I let that influence how I read the text. So, it was no surprise to me that the Chorus used the word “specious” to refer to Clytemnestra’s speech. I had already made up my mind about what I thought the Chorus said. I began to uncritically write about the Chorus’ comment. I thought I had something incredible to write about that would get people to think. That would show how much I contemplate moral issues.
I probably never would have questioned the word “specious” had I not been writing this blog. Which people read. Whom I don’t want to mislead.
Because of that, I didn’t ignore the doubts that began to form. I began to lean into them instead to see whether those doubts had any substance.
And in the end, I learned a valuable lesson.
Because of this experience, I gained a small victory over my confirmation bias.
May I keep a hold of this lesson going forward as I continue to read through the Great Books.