NOTES ON THE AGAMEMNON OF AESCHYLUS

by R. P. Winnington-Ingram

Agantemnoii 203 It.’

1 hesitate to add to the literature about this passage, particularly a s , on one major
issue, I take broadly the same view as several recent writers.* That i s to say, I
believe that Agamemnon was confronted with alternatives between which he was free
to choose.

The alternatives are set out i n the first half of the stanza, balanced with k E ? a
plv, fbpE?aEk, leading to the comment: ~i ~ 6 ~&vaw6 ’ KaK6v; It might seem that up
to this point the balance i s held even. But is this true of the balance of the poetry?
The first alternative is given in a single noun-phrase: ~b p i viehd3ai. the second in
twelve words: E\ T ~ K V O VSdico, S6pwv &yahpa, piaivov mapOwoyiyoiuiv b E i e p t s
ma-r&ous xkpq mkhas pOvo3. “Harsh terms”, says Page (of Saicw, beiepois), “deli-
berately chosen”. This seems almost an under-statement, so vivid and revolting i s
the description, so discordant the clash between words of sacrifice and words of family-
relationship. It is revolting to us; to Greeks, accustomed to the sight of a sacrificial
animal held above the altar, of the blood streaming down when i t s throat was cut, it
must have been more revolting still. Do we then react to the poetry (up to this point)
by saying: “Yes. a difficult choice indeed”, or by asking ourselves what Agamemnon
can possibly put in the balance to weigh against his own all too eloquent words? 3
It is at this point. however, that the real difficulties of the stanza begin.

nJs hin6vaus ykvovai, Suppqias &UCX~T&V; That is Agamemnon’s answer and the
basis of his decision. Two words of war. But what do the words mean? Swppqias.
dpap-rdv would most naturally be taken to mean “having lost my alliance (my allies)”;
and it i s clear from the preceding narrative that, if the wind does not drop, there will
soon be no fleet to sail.‘ Should we then take Ai1~6vavspassively to mean “abandoned
by my ships”? hirro-compounds at this date are normally active (though there are one
or two c a s e s of an apparently passive sense)’, but Aeschylus sometimes takes a bold
line with language. Nevertheless, it seems most probable that himbvuu~,in a context
of war, conveys the idea of ‘desertion’, on the analogy of AtlrompaTia and similar
words,6 in which case cwpuqias &.tapT&v should be taken, l e s s naturally, in the sense

3
of ‘having failed my allies’. (It is a standing temptation for interpreters o f Acschylus
to have recourse to a hypothesis of ambiguity, but 1 am reluctant to suppose that here
he wished to convey both notions simultaneously: desertion by, and of. the fleet.)

Both Fraenkel and Page, who, for different reasons. prefer to leave Agamemnon
without real choice, lay great s t r e s s upon the heinousness of the crime of desertion and
the horror with which it would strike a fifth-century audience. Page writes: “ I t should
be obvious that the question i n 212 is purely rhetorical: i t has o n l y to be stated i n this
harsh manner for the impossibility of such action to be apparent. Neither Aescliylus
nor his audience supposes that the criminal act in question is. for Agamemnon. a real
alternative.” We will come back to this. Page adds that “it is certain that Agamcninon’s
desertion would not save the life of Iphigeneia”, but this brings u s to the last - and
perhaps the worst - difficulty in the stanza, the final sentence.

“For it is right and proper”. says Agamemnon, “passionately t o desire a (the)

sacrifice to stay the wind and a (the) maiden’s blood.“ Bipis ( s c . i d ) is used as 6 i ~ q
Em; i s often used in this sense, but perhaps with an added religious overtone.’ Rut
who is right to desire it? The XlSS (Triclinius’ air64 apart) have bpy? n~piopy3s.and
scholars are not agreed whether this is tolerablc Aeschylean Greek. Fraenkel says
yes, Page says no; I can only refer to their discussions and express a strong personal
conviction that Page i s right (and Fraenkel’s ‘parallels’ far from helpful). In which
c a s e we must have recourse to the simplest of emendations and read with Bamherger:
mtp16pyqaq’, the pronoun referring (so i t i s assumed) t o the oGppqoi understood out
of @Jpuqias. And it makes sense. Whether we suppose (with Page) that the allies
are in ultimate control and will sacrifice lphigeneia if Agamemnon does not, or whether
we s e e an Agamemnon bowing before, or sheltering behind. public opinion. i t gives a
reason (ydrp) for the decision he has already taken in his own mind. There is. h o w v c r .
another possibility which deserves to be considered.

There is a Triclinian gloss which (on the basis of the purudosis) gives Artemis a s
the subject of hiBuptiv. “We may dismiss at once Artemis, ” writes Fraenkel. who
also accepts the paradosis. But perhaps, reading apt, we should not dismiss her too
lightly.8 The name of the goddess resounds at the cnd of the last stanza (vpoqhpwv
”Apitpiv, 202); the goddess who has created the situation must he in Agamemnon’s
mind, a t least at 206 ( i b p i nietoeal), for it is the goddess not the prophet that he is
to obey. A return to Artemis a t the end of the stanza would be virtually a c a s e o f that
ring-composition which i s so pervasive in the play. On examination some of the language
may appear highly appropriate to Artemis. 6pye mpi6pyq. if taken of the chieftains
(or of Agamemnon himself), means something other than ‘anger’: i t refers to ‘passionate
emotion’, and that i s perfectly good Greek. But i n this play (and trilogy) so full of
wrath divine and human one would prefer it if the sense of wrath could be preserved.
And we know that Artemis was angry. The c a s e seems quite strong, but we m u s t l o o k
to i t s weaknesses. Among these 1 would not count the stress on nauaavipou. for.
although the stilling of the wind i s a special concern of the Greeks, it was in return
for stilling the wind that Artemis demanded the sacrifice of a virgin. But should we
attribute to Agamemnon such knowledge of the feelings of Artemis that he can say:
BCpis uq’ ’ElriBupAv? Yes, if he has listened, a s we have done, to the words of Calchas:
he too has heard o~rau6op~va Buoiav. “For stopping the wind she has every right in
her exceeding wrath to set her heart on the blood of a virgin shed in sacrifice.” The
real difficulty - and it i s not negligible - concerns the force of ydrp (214). which is

4
fairly straightforward, if the subject of 6rriOvpAv is either Agamemnon or the chieftains
(or both), but, if the subject i s Artemis, it is somewhat elliptical. “For Artemis must
be appeased with this sacrifice, if the expedition is to sail (.rravuav8~ou)- and the
expedition must sail or else I am him6vaus.” Each reader must decide for himself
whether this is tolerable.

Uncertainties of text and interpretation in crucial passages dog the study of Aeschylus
like Furies. It is with these uncertainties in mind that we must return to the alternatives
between which Agamemnon had to choose. Fraenkel and Page agree that, when he sees
a refusal to sacrifice Iphigeneia in the light of a ‘desertion’, his choice is a foregone
conclusion - hardly a choice at all. Page carries matters farther by his insistence on
the role of “the confederate chiefs”, who will act if Agamemnon does not. But perhaps
there i s an anachronistic element in both their positions: Page, at any rate, seems to
me to have plunged headlong into a Euripidean-type anachr oni~ m. ~In the course of
the play, naturally enough, we hear little about the relationship between the other Greek
leaders and Agamemnon (and Menelausf. Later, Agamemnon will enter a s the great
rrrohdpeqs, using language which suggests that he sees the war as a contest between
dynasts,1° but complaining incidentally of the disloyalty of his friends, except 0dysseus.ll
It is only in the parodos that we hear much - and not very much - about the other Greeks.
There i s the debated passage now under consideration. A little later we hear of ?LA&
v q o i Bpo53?s (230), an expression which will include the Atridae but not exclude the
other Greek chieftains, who enter the picture again at 240 G K ~ OBuTipov).
V A picture
surely not unlike the vase-painting12 of the sacrifice of Polyxena in which Neoptolemus
cuts the throat of the victim in the presence of Nestor, Diomede and others. The Greek
chieftains are there: they are there as the friends of the Atridae summoned by the p0i
to support them in their personal quarrel - they are the crrporridTiS drpoydr (47).13 It
i s a quarrel, not a crusade. What reason have we to suppose that, if the aggrieved
parties think the price of vengeance too high, their friends will prosecute the quarrel
without them? To suppose so is to abandon the heroic situation so carefully delineated
at the outset of the narrative - to abandon it, as Euripides was happy to do.

Agamemnon was confronted with a hard choice. In one pan of the balance was the
blood of his daughter, in the other a fleet and an alliance, a war.14 He chooses war,
whether his motive was revenge, ambition or the shame of desertion. “It has only to
be stated in this harsh manner for the impossibility of such action to be apparent.’’
But the argument i s reversible. ~i TLKVOV 6aiEo KTA. It has only to be stated in this
harsh manner - “harsh words, deliberately chosen” and carrying the poetic weight of
the stanza - for the impossibility of such action to be apparent.

The motivation of Agamemnon has become for recent interpreters a highly charged
subject, into which I do not wish now to be drawn.” For whatever reasons, he made
his choice; and Aeschylus saw it as a mad decision and a primal source of woe. At
the beginning of the next stanza, the Chorus sings: krrd 6’ 6vdryKaS 26u ALrraGvov . . .,
T6eEV ~b - I T C X V T ~ T O ~ ~ppovAv
OV ~ t b v w . The temporal clause refers to the moment of
decision and is picked up by T&v, the point of time being strongly marked thereby.
It is by his decision that he takes on the yoke-strap of necessity and loses the freedom
he had when he chose. From that point onward his mind learns a new daring which
has no limits: in effect, having chosen to sacrifice his daughter, the man who wept
at 204 acquires the reckless cruelty needed to play his part in the scene which the poet
now describes. kAa 6 ’ 0 6 ~eu-rfip yevkoeai 8uyorrp6s. This hardness in mortals - this

5
disregard of moral and religious obligations (or .however we define d h p a and Bpbuo~)-
is the product of a madness (rrapatcorrdr) which is qualified a s aiqp6uqTtS and T ~ O T O -
rrjpov. The madness did not set in after the decision but showed itself in the decision:
it was the decision and not the sacrifice (still less the ,preliminaries to the sacrifice)
which was the beginning of woe ( I T P W T O T T ~ ~ O V ) . The design which the madness - the
infatuation - counsels is a i q p 6 v .

This is a word the implications of which we, with our modern morality, are liable
to miss. One of the alternatives confronting Agamemnon was the abandonment of his
expedition, which would have meant foregoing vengeance, losing the glory of conquest,
incurring the shame of desertion - some or all of these things, to all of which the epithet
d q p 6 v would be appropriate: it is applied to the alternative of child-sacrifice.16 There
are other adjectives in the context. qp~vbsT&WV GuoaEpii Tporraiav &vqvov 6nriEpov
(219 f.).” The change of wind in Agamemnon’s heart i s called impious, impure and
unholy, because the act on which he was bent disregarded one of the most sacred of ties.
Agamemnon had to choose between two courses of action, one of them in breach of a
powerful religious sanction, the other involving no divine sanction at all. Is this a hard
saying? Had not Artemis required the sacrifice? Yes, but conditionally, as the price
for lifting the wind (rrava6N~uosBuaia), a price which has to be paid if the favourable
side of the omen is to be fulfilled. As to the assumption that Agamemnon had received
a specific command from Zeus to go against Troy, this has been adequately criticized
by others.’* Aeschylus has made it abundantly clear at the outset of the porodos that
Agamemnon went in pursuance of a private quarrel, to requite a wrong. The fact that,
in requiting this wrong, he is also carrying out the justice of Zeus tells us something
about the nature of that justice, but nothing which mitigates the responsibility of Aga-
memnon for acts done.

Finally, to return to 219 f. The present participle ~ V E ‘ O V expresses an action con-

temporary with the indicative &. Tenses should not be pressed too hard, it is true,
but here T68Ev marks a strong break between protasis and apodosis. When did the wind
back? Between 211 and 212; between the agonized expression of Agamemnon’s horror
at child-sacrifice and what Page so rightly calls a “rhetorical question” - a question
to which the father had already in his mind given the answer. War wins out over the
child.

Agarnernnon 385 f.

(i) I should be the last to deny that Aeschylus saw a parallel between the situations
of Paris and Agamemnon (to whom the thoughts of the Chorus work round in the course
of the Stasimon) or that language used of Paris in the earlier stanzas may have relevance
also to the history and state of Aga1nemn0n.l~ The fact remains that, in these opening
stanzas (up to 4021, the subject i s Paris and the language used must be understood
primarily of Paris, must make sense in relation to him.

(ii) pidirai 6’h TMaiva llrieh. An oxymoron, obviously (comparable to Pindar’s

Pyth. 4.219). Both Fraenkel and Page are obsessed with the notion
pdlcr-ri~IlEieoCls at
that Peitho here must have something to do with persuasive speech. “Peitho over-
powers a man. ..and at the same time talks him out of his resistance” (Fraenkel).
“Persuasion compels him: he talks himself, or i s talked by others, into action against

6
his better judgement” (Page). Persuasive speech i s indeed one of the earliest conno-
tations of the word.20 But Pindar did not call the temple-prostitutes at Corinth h ~ ~ q i n o h o ~
llEiOoG5 (fr. 122, 1 f. Sn3), because they were good at chatting up their clients; nor for
that matter did he say that wise Peitho held the keys of holy love-makings (Pyth. 9.39)
because of anything the bridegroom said to the bride or the bride to the bridegroom. I
take my examples from Pindar rather than Aeschylus, not‘wishing to assume an interpre-
tation of the Danaid trilogy which I have advanced elsewhere.21 Note, however, that
at suppl. 1038-40 Peitho, who like Pothos is the child of Cypris, i s given the epithet
6ihKiop: “enchanting”. It i s the persuasive, the enchanting, power of sexual attraction
of which we should think in our passage. Nothing could be more relevant to the c a s e
of Paris, on whom the beauty of Helen (so strikingly evoked below)22 worked with the
force of violence towards violent consequences.

(iii) If l%t6& i s the power of sexual attraction embodied in Helen, why then i s i t
described as npo@6hou ma75 &~EPTOS*Aia5? For “the powers of evil genealogically
connected” Fraenkel cites a number of parallels from Solon, Aeschylus and others.
He also refers to Persae 97 ff., which describes the process - essentially seductive -
by which Ate “carries out her a c t s of napaoaivEiv and nap&yEiv on man”. One can,
then, say that, if Cypris, who works seductively, i s the ‘mother’ of Peitho, no less may
be true of a seductive Ate. This could well be the correct explanation - that Peitho
i s an attendant spirit presented poetically a s child of the major force which i t serves,
but perhaps i t i s not totally satisfactory. In what did the & i q of Paris consist? In
his capitulation to the attractions of Helen? Then it was not until the persuasive force
of those attractions was brought to bear upon him that his infatuation arose. But, if
Peitho i s the child of Ate, Ate should be not only logically but temporally prior to Peitho.
Page, in a long note (on 386 ff.), faces this problem more frankly than any other critic
and works out a solution of characteristic clarity. Paris i s not himself responsible;
the wrath of heaven has been aroused by the earlier sins of a Troy grown too wealthy
and too proud; his sin i s not a cause but an effect; he i s “the symbol and scapegoat”
of the corruption of his fathers; the fault i s that of “the society which produced him”.
Page refers, naturally, to the preceding stanza; and one should indeed seek to find a
relationship between the process described in 385 f. and the references to wealth which
precede. Wealth for Aeschylus i s dangerous but, a s we learn later, not necessarily
fatal. It i s dangerous, because - and this is traditional morality - e x c e s s of wealth
tends to lead men into outrageous b e h a ~ i o u r . ~ ~

Page’s argument contains an important truth, but he presses it a little too hard, and
the picture of Paris as a more or less innocent victim driven “against [his] will and
judgement” to commit a sin i s overdrawn. If Trojan society was corrupt, Paris was a
corrupt member of it. Page speaks of “certain wretched victims, who are no more res-
ponsible than anyone e l s e - perhaps not responsible at all”. But i s this Aeschylean?
Is there any clear instance in which an Aeschylean sinner, whatever the influence of a
fatal past may be, does not collaborate with this fatality by reason of his own impulses
and motives? One thing Paris did, in the story a s widely known: he chose between
three goddesses, and he chose Aphrodite.

(iv) “It must be regarded”, writes Fraenkel (p. 971, “as an established and indeed
a guiding principle for any interpretation of Aeschylus that the poet does not want u s
to take into account any feature of a tradition which he does not mention.” But, like
most general principles, this needs to be applied with a judicious consideration of the

7
individual case. Fraenkel was not in fact writing about this particular issue; and later,
on 698 (p. 3341,he writes as follows. “The idea of the goddess of Strife standing behind
.
the rape of Helen. ., and therefore also facilitating her landing in T r o a ~ , ’is
~ natural
in itself and may have made the stronger appeal to Aeschylus because it was ‘€PIS in the
. .
Cypria . who caused the quarrel of the goddesses and consequently the judgement of
Paris.” With this possible exception, there is no reference in Agamemnon to the story.
How likely was it that it would come into a spectator’s mind at this point?25

The story was certainly known in the mid-7th century, though whether the works of
art which show it ante-date the Cypria i s not clear. The Cypria, which will have been
familiar to Aeschylus and to some of his audience, contained it, but also contained a
number of features which Aeschylus did exclude or modify. Was the story known to
Homer? The ate of Paris was so known: ’ A A E ~ & v ~ ~~ oEu K &rqs
’ occurs three times in
the Iliad and can perhaps rate as a formula,26 but at 3.100 and 6.356 it is naturally taken
to refer to nothing other than Paris’ infatuated act in seducing Helen. 11. 24.27 ff. is
more interesting, since the same formula is used, but followed by: %s V ~ K E U M BE&, ~ T E
oi ~~ocrcxvhov V 4vqcr’ 4 d rr6p~
k o v T o , / T ~ 6’ pqho&vqv C ~ ~ ~ E Y E ~ V The
T ! ~ . whole passage
(23-30) was athetized by Aristarchus, wrongly according to Reinhardt,27 who held that
the lliad presupposes the story of the Judgment. The question has been much debated,
but Stinton is probably right to claim that the burden of proof now lies on those who say
Homer did not know the story. It might be rash either to deny or to take for granted
that these lines formed part of the Iliad which was known to Aeschylus and his audience.
But if they did know these lines, light could perhaps be thrown on the thought of Agam.
385 f.

(v) The advantage of assuming a reference to the Judgment here is that it makes
the initial ate of Paris prior to the Rape of Helen - and it makes it consist in a wrong
decidon. Of course, in a sense, Paris had to ‘decide’ whether he would or would not
‘rape’ Helen: in the Judgment he had to decide between the gifts offered by the three
goddesses, between power, wisdom and sexual prowess. And he chose sex, perhaps
because his wealthy background made him prone to luxury. (We shall see the ‘values’
of Trojan society in a later ode.28) This choice once made (whether or not the goddess
had made the specific offer of Helen), his capitulation to her sexual attraction is inevit-
able. Ate is in full control, her child Peitho is irresistible ( & ~ E P T O ~ . Finally, why
is Ate rrp6@uhw? The word is rare in classical Greek literature, and this i s its first
occurrence.29 Fraenkel thought it obvious that this ‘political’ word carried the sugges-
tion of a rrpo@\jhaw,a, a first or preliminary decision which needs carrying into effect:
“the rrpo@&wa which [Ate] authorizes is then passed on to Peitho, who in her turn
takes the necessary measures for its execution.” Thus on the divine level; at the
level of Paris’ infatuated mind, the wrong decision in principle i s ratified in action.

Agamemnon 410 if.

The play is about Agamemnon, not about Menelaus. The Atridae, however, are intro-
-
duced into the play as a pair, closely linked but also separated. It may be interesting
to study how this linkage and separation are handled by the poet.

Unlike the author of Cypria, Aeschylus presents Agamemnon and Menelaus as living
together in Argos in one palace, ruling jointly (though Agamemnon i s the senior). One
reason for this is that it makes Paris’ breach of hospitality an offence against both
(cf. 3!39-402).30 Their association i s strongly stressed at the outset of the parodos,

8
except in one small point of language. They are described as “the strong yoked pair
of the Atridae, of two-throned and two-sceptred honour from Zeus” (6tep6vou A i 6 h Kai
6 i u ~ j m ~ p o~ui p i j s6xupbv @yes ’A-rp~iGTrv,43 f.). Jointly they dispatch the fleet,
jointly they are compared to vultures, jointly they are sent (as the Chorus sees it)
against Paris by Zeus Xenios. Yet in the opening sentence Menelaus alone is described
as the &VT)ISIKO~ of Priam (llpidrpou p i y s & v T ~ ~ I K o ~ )The
. distinction can only be based,
not on the breach of hospitality, not on the offended ~ i p f i but , on the fact that it was
Menelaus’ wife who was stolen. Aeschylus need not have phrased it in this way.
Perhaps no significance should be attached to this brief, but initial, exclusion of Aga-
memnon from the legal metaphor, this stressing of Menelaus as the legal adversary, but
there i s a similar linguistic phenomenon in the next passage to be considered.

The Atridae have been strongly linked; they are now to be separated. They are
separated in the omen of the eagles, but not at first. The omen sends on their way 31
Giepovov ~pdrros,‘EhA6605 4i3as @pqpova ~aydrv(109 f.); and this is followed by the
plural WihEGui VEGV,but first comes the singular 8obpios b p v i s . . . O’IWVGVpcroihs6~.
‘The balance oiovGv @uihE& - pauihEGui V E ~ is V highly artificial” (Page) - and there-
fore presumably deliberate. Not Agamemnon, but Agamemnon’s eagle, i s singled out,
Menelaus’ bird trailing at the end of the sentence, when the one bird becomes two. As
the one antidikos became two, so the bird of war becomes two, but the second seems to
be disparaged in terms of militancy.” In the prophet’s interpretation, however we take
the text,33 a distinction between the two brothers i s marked with great insistence (122 ff.).
Henceforward Agamemnon takes control. In the Aulis-story, if the Atridae weep at 203,
if Menelaus is among the qiA6pqoi b q s at 230 and the OuTijpES at 240, he is not
singled out. Agamemnon - naturally, since he is the father of Iphigeneia - takes the
leading role, makes the decision, performs the sacrifice. f i y ~ p & vb m p b p u ~at 184 is
picked up by &a( b mpbj3us at 205.

We do not hear of Menelaus again until 410 ff.34 Helen has departed, and we listen
to the ‘spokesmen’ of the house. I& ’ I&
’ 6Gpa 6Gpa K a i mp6poi: but with the words i&
Akxos ~d mi@i 9 t A c i v o p ~they
~ ~ ~turn to Menelaus, whose reaction is described in a
passage even more remarkable perhaps than it has always been seen to be. There are
many difficulties of interpretation and a crucial sentence is corrupt (412 f.), but the
general tenor of the description is unaffected. The sensitive reaction of Menelaus is
so sympathetic to modern feeling that we tend to lose sight of how astonishing it is in
the context of the heroic world. In the corrupt sentence, uiybs &~ipousis fairly certain
and either Moi66poq orMoib6pos. Contrast the opening of the parodos, where the
Atridae, injured in their Zeus-given ~ i p (43 j f.), raise the cry of war (48) and gather
their friends about them as a U T ~ U T I ~ T I&pay&
S to avenge the injury - behave, that is,
like heroes. And now we see Menelaus sitting in a silence that aggravates his loss of
honour, without any expression of heroic r e ~ e n t m e n t . ~He
~ sees Helen in a waking
dream (for that is, surely, what q&upa means at 415);37 and in his sleep Helen comes
to him only to slip insubstantial from his grasp.

It is a wonderful evocation of the power of Helen’s beauty, but it is also the final
withdrawal of Menelaus a s a factor, as an impulse, in the play.38 Of course he took
part in mustering the expedition; of course he went to Troy and played his Iliadic role,
but so far as the poetry of the play goes he remains in a waking and a sleeping dream. 39
It is Agamemnon’s war.

9
Agamemnon 637
xwpis fi~ i C l i (8EC;)v. A minor but fascinating problem. There are, essentially, three
interpretations in the field. (i) E.g. Stanley, Verrall. “The religious province is
distinct” (in the two cases). The phrase fi ~ i p 8E6v i is taken together, despite the
absence of an article with 8EGv (on which see below). Quite apart from this difficulty,
the mode of expression seems impossibly obscure, ~ i p freferring
i to two contrasted r i p a i ,
8EGv embracing two contrasted sets of gods. It i s not surprising that Headlam and
Fraenkel prefer a radically different interpretation.

(ii) 8EGv is taken with xwpis, the whole sentence being equivalent to xwpi5 8E6v ~ T I V
4 ~ i p f i . The normal position of the article i s preserved, but, as Page remarks, the
expression remains obscure, “especially in respect of the sense assigned to fi ~1pfi“.
(That is of course the objection, not to the idea of upper and nether gods having separate
Tipai.) How can the phrase K a K a y y i h q y h b u q piaivsiv imply a ~ i p f?i For that matter,
when the Herald speaks of ~ i p f andi 8Eoi in the same breath, what can he mean by ~ i p f i
other than the honours which are being paid to the gods for the good news, the grace
(x&pis) of the victory over Troy? We should bear in mind 581 : xhpi5 TipfiuETai hi& ~ 6 6 ’
hcrrph{aua. Is the Herald at this point associating the bad news with gods at all, let
alone drawing a clear-headed and sophisticated distinction between two sets of gods?
It was the Coryphaeus that said Saip6vov K ~ T V(635).

(iii) So we are forced round to Page’s view. “The honour of the gods stands aloof
from, is kept distinct from, inauspicious utterance of the kind.” (The reaction of the
Chorus to Cassandra’s cries is very similar, cf. 1074 f., 1078 f.) The position of the
article in relation to the dependent genitive is rare, but not quite unparalleled. We must
suppose that ~ i p T8Ekv
) coalesces into a single notion for which one article suffices .
But this i s not quite the end of the matter. The Coryphaeus has just said Gaiv6vov
K ~ T V(without specific gods in mind?), the Herald does say TILIT) 8EGv ; and this might
suggest to an audience a SaipovEs/BEoi contrast. When the Herald gets to 644 f., having
-
given us his vivid characterization of his bad news, then and not till then - he comes
out with the “blasphemous paradox” of Tat&’ ’Epivhov (645, cf. Cho. 151: n a i b a TOG
8av6vTos). That i s the sort of paean they must expect, if they insist on hearing his bad
news: in fact not a paean but a dirge. (Again, compare the opening of the Cassandra-
~ c e n e . 1 ~ ’ He then echoes their 6aip6vov K ~ T G with
J O ~ ~K P ~ ~ V I T 8EGv
OV (or whatever
the right text may be at 649).41 The separation of upper and nether gods, of gods and
demons, is as artificial a s the separation of songs. If there i s any insistent theme in
the earlier part of the trilogy, it i s this, despite the desperate efforts of Chorus and charac-
ters to establish such a ~ e p a r a t i o n . ~ ~

Agamemnon 681 ff. (The Second Stasimon)

It has always been recognized that much of the play is taken up with the exposition of
past happenings given largely but not exclusively in choral odes. Taking one passage
with another, it would be possible to compile a narrative in strict chronological order,
though this was the last thing Aeschylus wished to do. The earlier Argos-story is given
partly by Cassandra, partly by Aegisthus: apart from certain hints,q3 Aeschylus reserves
inherited guilt until he has firmly established the personal responsibility of Agamemnon.

10
Chorus, Clytemnestra and Herald all contribute to convey not the incidents so much a s
the character of the Trojan War, i t s quality as an act of retaliatory justice, involving
the innocent with the guilty,44 Particularly obvious and striking i s the use of the
parodos to narrate the departure of the expedition, briefly a t 45-8, then the omen which
sent the Atridae on their way,45 then Aulis and the sacrifice of Iphigeneia (104 ff.,
184 ff.). But the story i s amplified in later choruses. Paris came to the house of the
Atridae and seduced Helen (399-402), prior to which we hear of the wealth of Troy (with
a possible hint at the Judgment of Paris).46 Then we are taken to the moment of Helen’s
flight and told of its immediate effects in Argos, of the unheroic reaction of a sensitive
M e n e l a ~ s . ~ ’ Thus we are taken back behind the parodos, behind the ~ - r p a ~ i G - r i ~
&pay&, the omen and the sacrifice of Iphigeneia.

The First Stasimon, after the first two stanzas, after the flight of Heten, is concerned
with Argos; of Troy i t is merely said that she brought to Ilium destruction as her dowry
(406). But there i s a story of Helen’s coming to Troy, which i s reserved for the Second
Stasimon. We revert to 403 ff., to make a fresh start with a Helen whose very name i s
ominous of the destruction she causes. Now we have her sailing eastward across the
Aegean: [q6pov yiyav-ros aGpq (693). Can we fail to remember that this was the wind
denied to the Creeks by Artemis and that pursuit by the huntsmen (694 f.) was long
delayed? Helen and Paris were well away; there was time. Time for them to make
landfall on the leafy banks of Simois; time for marriage and a m a r r i a g e - ~ o n g . ~ ~

We are told something we have not heard before - how Paris and Helen were received
by the Trojans. They were welcomed with a marriage-song, sung “loudly” (or perhaps
“in words of good”)49 by the “bridegroom’s” kinsmen. Note the sequence: Criipwcriv,
vupqxhipov, iiovias - which i s deliberate. We can now look back to the first stanza
of the First Stasimon, in which the offence of Paris i s related to the wealth of Troy.
I have already referred5’ to Page’s suggestion that Paris was the representative of a
society corrupted by wealth. Now we see the values of that society. T o them the
dishonouring of the guest-table protected by Zeus i s nothing in comparison with the
acquisition by their young prince of the most beautiful woman in the world, whom they
honour in a marriage-song.

The arrival of the couple at the banks of Simois is, like everything connected with
Helen, given a touch of beauty by the epithet h~~iqdAAous, which i s immediately blasted
by that astonishing 81’ ‘Epiv a‘ipai6Eaoav (698). It was an evil spirit, personified Strife
(perhaps the spirit that presided over the Judgment of Paris), that brought them there.
It was an evil spirit, personified Wrath, that brought bride and bridegroom to Ilium. The
word for marriage-tie i s as ill-omened as the name of Helen; the marriage-song must be
re-learnt in the form of a dirge.

On the fable which follows, despite certain difficulties, I propose to say nothing,51 but
turn instead to the much-debated stanza (737-49) in which it i s applied. On this stanza
there are two things which can be said without fear of contradiction: that it must be
descriptive of the Helen/Troy relationship, and that i t must contain two phases - joy
and destruction. And there are two particular problems: the structure and reference of
737-43, the identity of the Erinys. Most interpreters have assumed that 737-43 are
descriptive of Helen (which, directly or indirectly, they certainly are), and that Helen
in the end i s equated with an Erinys. That i s the crucial problem.

11
 Page,52 finding the equation illogical, argues that the connexion between fable and
application is looser than has been supposed and states flatly that “it is certain that
the Erinys here is the Erinys”, i.e. the Fiend of Wrath, who was sent by Zeus Xenios
in pursuit of Helen, not a personification of her. L l ~ y d - J o n e s ,in~ ~an ingenious and
at first sight attractive interpretation, argues that 741-3 are descriptive of Eros rather
than of Helen herself, and that Eros, first acting as numpheutria and putting the lovers
to bed (rrapmAivaua), then proves to be an Erinys and brings about a bitter end to the
wedding.

We should perhaps concentrate on three points. And first on TTOVTTQAtbs &viou. .-

’EpivGs (747 f.), which clearly recalls the statement at 60-62 that Zeus Xenios sent the
sons of Atreus against Alexandros. This followed the passage which tells how a god
sends a Gm~p6rroivov ’EpivGv against those who robbed the vultures’ nest. Whether
we say that the Atridae embody an Erinys or perform the function of an Erinys, the asso-
ciation is inescapable. Can the Erinys at 749 be, in effect, the Atridae and their expe-
dition? Yes, so far a s the expression ou&va npiugifjaioiv goes, since they were a
hostile attacking power. But this Erinys i s called GGu~fjpos~d Guu61.11Aos; and these
terms are inappropriate to the Atridae, but closely linked to the fable, where it is an
inmate of the house (such as Helen has become) that changes from a source of pleasure
into a priest of ruin (iqxGs TIS has).

Next for rrapadlvaua. Lloyd-Jones’s interpretation suffers not so much from the
fact that parallels for ~ ~ ~ X X K A ~ V in
E I Vthis sense are rather late a s from the difficulty of
understanding the word in that sense without an object expressed or clearly implied (and
737 ff. do not clearly imply the twofold object required). And can one be wrong to feel
that rrapadivaua i s a hinge-word (like uEiauav6frvouua at 709), marking the transition
from delight to d i ~ a s t e r ? ’ ~Something or somebody has changed d i r e c t i ~ n . ~But
~ what
or who? Surely we must ask ourselves what a nominative feminine participle at this
point was likely to have suggested to a hearer of the ode. What would he have expected
the subject to be? There is no feminine noun in the preceding lines to which it could
refer. Did the hearer say: “I am sure Aeschylus has a suitable noun up his sleeve;
I must be patient, even if I have to wait for half-adozen lines”? He has just heard of
something or somebody that came to Troy; and, whether the lines specifically describe
Helen or not, Helen’s beauty has been evoked. Is he not likely to think of Helen as the
subject, as so many readers have done? But then he begins to be puzzled. The lan-
guage i s that of an authority QTT~KPCNEV) and of a hostile power (uuclEva). He waits and
discovers an Erinys, but Helen i s still in the forefront of his mind.

Finally, muEva. An aorist participle. When did it happen? When did the Erinys
move to the attack, sent by Zeus Xenios? Perhaps one should not try to be too precise
about the time-reference of an aorist participle. It could be contemporaneous with the
other participle, rrapaKAivaua, in which case the assault awaits the Argive forces. But,
equally, it could be prior, referring to the time when Helen first came to Troy, when this
disastrous force, so rightly named, sailed across the Aegean with a west wind, only to
be pursued by the Argive hunters. The two voyages are parallel and complementary.

-
Is i t not, however, illogical and even ridiculous - to suppose that the voyage of
Paris and Helen was made T T O ~ I TAtbs
~ [ ~ v i o u: “by the sending or escorting of the deity
most offended by her going thither” (Page on 744 ff.)? We seem to be confronted with
~ what I can only regard as a
a dilemma, because, in view of 6 6 0 ~ 6 p qKai G u u ~ t h oand
clear reference back to the fable in these words (and for that matter in rrapadivaoa), it

12
 seems equally inappropriate to associate rropmq Albs Qviou here, specifically, with the
voyage of the avengers. Yet, in interpreting an ode so much concerned with the two
voyages, it is unwelcome, to say the least, to separate the Zeus-sending of the Erinys
from both of them. It i s perhaps ridiculous to say that Paris qua offender was sent
across the Aegean by Zeus: i s it so ridiculous to say that Helen was?

We conle back to the fundamental question. Is it or is it not admissible to regard

Helen as being, if not the embodiment of an Erinys, so closely associated with one as
to make no matter? To regard Helen as daemonic? Later in the play (1455 ff.), the
Chorus sing of Helen as having destroyed many lives beneath the walls of Troy: they
sing of a spirit of Strife. Clytemnestra is indignant that they should turn their wrath
against Helen as the sole slayer of many men; and they go on to sing of the daimon
who attacks the house and the twin-natured Tantalids - a daimon that wields power
through women.56 At that stage in the play the emphasis is upon the inherited curse
of the house working upon the two brothers through their wives. The brothers differ
in character, and so do their wives: the ambitious warrior Agamemnon is victimized
by the man-woman Clytemnestra, the uxorious Menelaus by a Helen who i s the quint-
essence of femininity, both serving the triumph of the daimon. In the earlier phase of
the play, however, Helen brings ruin on Paris and his fellow-Trojans; and it is through
her and her attraction, the ostensible reward of their crime, that the crime is punished.
The initial crime was committed at Argos. Can it not be said that, by taking Helen
( ‘ E ~ ~ T ~ T o ~with
I s ) them, Paris and his friends were taking their own destruction, since
she was bound to be pursued and the crime avenged? (Helen herself was never punished!)
Paris and Helen made their landfall on the banks of Simois, and it was because of Eris;
a bridal ceremony took place, and it was brought about by Menis; an Erinys was sent
with them on the voyage by Zeus Xenios. The Erinys is hardly distinguishable from
the seductions of Helen’s beauty. An Erinys can take the form not only of armed force
but also of the seductions of love. Ptb-rai rrEt8d.

Let us return briefly to 737-43. What came to Troy? Helen came: the Chorus has
sung about her coming and the joy with which she was received. On any showing this
passage is a wonderful evocation of Helen’s charm and b e a ~ t y , ~but ’ its grammatical
structure and the precise reference of its evocative phrases i s far from certain. There
are four phrases, the last three in asyndeton, but in 741 we must, for the sake of metre,
read T ’ or 6’. This i s in itself a serious objection to taking all four phrases on the
same grammatical level as descriptive of Helen. First, then, what does qpbvqpa vqvkclou
yddrvas mean? “Spirit of windless calm” sounds good in English, but ‘spirit’ is mis-
leading. qpbvqpa means a state of mind. Whose mind? Helen’s? Does it refer to
her own insouciance? (We might compare 407.) But I think Lloyd-Jones is probably
right to see it as the state of mind of the Trojans when they received her (which has been
an important feature of the ode). Then read 6’,answering the pkv of 739, answering it
with three figures which I should take to be descriptive of Helen. It was precisely as
an Ziydpa W ~ O ~ T Othat
W the wealthy Trojans saw and welcomed her. (She is an Ziyahpa
for their wealthy city just as the virgin Iphigeneia was an &yahpafor the house of Aga-
memnon.) The first Helen-phrase thus looks back to, and (with the help of drKaoKaTov)
links up with, the preceding plv-clause. It is followed by a double chiastic paradox:
paABaKbv b p p h w v Pkhos, 6 q ~ i e ~ p oZ ~vU T O S t’dos. “Love is darted from the eyes of the
beloved to those of the lover.” So Lloyd-Jones, rightly (citing Barrett on Euripides
HiPp. 525 f. and 530-34). The eyes are those of Helen: the glance is soft, but it is
a weapon. It i s Helen that is the flower ( i p o ~ gbeing not a defining but a possessive

13
or associative genitive), but a flower that wounds. (3ihq and Gqcieupov look forward
- -
to and prepare the devastating change at 744.58

7 Ladywell Court,
East Heath Road, London N.W.3

NOTES

1 On this, and on other passages discussed in these notes, I am indebted to the stimulus of
a graduate seminar which I conducted in the University of Texas at Austin in the spring of
1973.

2 E.g., E. R. Dodds, f C P S n.s.6 (1960) 19-31. esp. 27-29; N. G. L. Hammond, JHS 85 (1965)
42-55, sap. 4 6 4 8 ; cf. and contr. A. Leaky. JHS 86 (1966) 78-85, esp. 80-83. See now
Brian Vickers, Towards Greek tragedy, 351 ff., whose interpretation of the passage under
discussion is not dissimilar to mine.

3 It should hardly be necessary to remind the reader that this is oratio recta, that this i s
Apmcmnon’s first speech in the play, and it cannot be assumed that what he says or implies
by his words is acceptable to the Chorus which sings them or to Aeschylus who wrote them.

4 This is brought out in the preceding stanza. The winds are unsparing of ships and tackle,
so that the fleet will not much longer be seaworthy. B p o ~ & Mai (194) is debated, but i s
perhaps most likely to refer to the dispersal of crews, in search of food (cf. d p ~ i 6 or
~3
through indiscipline (cf. Fraenkel ad loc.). But Uai, in this sense, in apposition to nuoai.
is (pace Fraenkel) very difficult. Housman, J f h 16 (1887) 290, suggested that the noun iihq
here i s connected not with &dai but with &iu; and E. K. Borthwick, in an unpublished
paper which I have seen, refers to this suggestion and relates it to the metaphor of tp@q
Kmk~aiuou(with which he i s primarily concerned). There may be, he writes. “a consistent
train of thought in which the ‘wearing away’ of men, ships and equipment is expressed with
allusions first to the grinding of meal, then to the scouring and carding of cloth”.

5 E.g.. Pindar, fr. 94a, 16 Sn3 ( A ~ T T ~ T ECrates

K u ~comicus.
); fr.22 (Aiaorroyouid.

6 See the notes of Fraenkel and Page.

7 Cf. Homer, Iliad 2.73. Fraenkel goes so far as to say: “He knows that the task he has in
hand may be necessary, but cannot possibly be 86pis.” This is perhaps too specific.

8 I owe this view to Dr Michael Ewans. now at the University of Newcastle, NSW. whose
unpublished dissertation on Aeschylean inevitability I had the advantage of reading. He
tells me that his argument, together with an interpretation of the whole passage, will be
published in R m u s vo1.4 no. 1. Meanwhile I have his agreement to discuss it here.

9 Page’s view is followed by John Jones, On Aristotle and Greek tragedy 76 n. 1. Lesky,
op. cit. 81, refers briefly to the situation in Euripides’ / A , “where in the rapid shift of scenes
at the beginning Agamemnon and Menelaus one after the other seriously consider discontinuing
the campaign and are willing to dismiss the fleet”, but (me may add) dare not do so in view
of the strong feeling of their allies. It is not infrequently the case that a Euripidean situa-
tion i s virtual evidence that the situation envisaged by his predecessors was different. In
- -
IA the expedition i s at least at times seen as a crusade against the barbarians, with
obvious reference to Greek-Persian relations in the late 5th century, but that i s not how it is
presented in Agamemnon. Cf. also J. J . Peradotto, “The omen of the eagles and the f i 8 q
of Agamemnon”. Phoenix 23 (1969) 237-63. esp. 246.

14
10 Not to be stressed too much perhaps. But why, at 827 1.. i s he made t o say that the ravening
lion has licked i t s fill of tyrant blood? (The symbol of the Pelopid house has now replaced
the ‘Apy~lov6 & ~ q the. host of spearmen. A. Lebeck. The Orestsia 181 n.6. finds a play of
words between k&s,825, and A h v , 827; and she may be right, but the latter may be more
than ‘‘a figurative complement” of the former.) Why Priam and his sons, when we know that
so much blood of Greeks and Trojans has been shed a t Troy?* 827 f. end the first section
of the speech. so that one might see ring-composition here, driwrg ~ u p a v v returning
~ ~ o ~ upon
sr6htv/Ilp1&t.10~(812 f.). Which i s a normal way of referring to Troy (cf. 267); and the isola-
tion of a word at the beginning of a line followed by a strong stop can, but need not, give
emphasis. But perhaps Agamemnon is impressed by the fact that he has won a victory over
this great dynast. And perhaps this leads up to that vital point in the dialogue between
Clytemnestra and Agamcmnon, when she asks: T\ 6’ Ev 8 o d UOI Ilp\aws, E‘I T&’ ~ W U E V
(935) - an argument which, after 919 f.. he should have rejected but allows to pass.

11 841 ff. It i s not so easy to s a y why Odysseus i s introduced. There is. however, one very
peculiar feature in the language which I have not seen discussed. Odysseus alone was
unwilling to sail, but, when he was “yoked” (&&is), he was a willing “trace-horse”
(uripoop6po3. But the thing about a mipcq6pq i s precisely that it was not yoked, cf. 1639-41
(with Page’s note). The metaphors, although so closely related, are used independently
(the former being found again in Sophocles, Phil. 1025). which seems’strangely clumsy.
Where does Agamemnon fit in? Is he charioteer OT @ y i q ? Are we being reminded that,
before he sailed, he had of his own volition assumed the yoke-strap of necessity?

12 Adduced by P. Maas, CQ n.s. 1 (1951) 94; now illustrated in A. Birchall and P. E. Corbett,
Greek gods and heroes. p1.68.

13 According to a common version of the legend, the former suitors of Helen were bound by an
oath t o come to her husband’s help, if he was wronged. There seems to be no hint of this
feature in the Oresteia. For the m. s e e Fraenkel on 48 (p.30). On 47 he rightly s a y s
that, in &pay& a t 46, “we have both the military conception and the idea of a lawsuit; the
expedition i s at the same time a demand for legal redress.” It was the only form of “legal
redress” available. The word recurs, in the same grammatical construction, a t 226. The
righting of Menelaus’ wrong needed the gathering of a host of warriors; it needed the sacri-
fice of a young girl by her father.

14 Cf. vqivoy (1241, whether it i s taken of the eagles a the Atridae; tpih&qoi (230).

15 And do not therefore extract implications from this examination of the poetry. But cf. Hammond.
op. cit. passim, and Peradotto, op. cit. 256 f. I find it curious that some of those who are
prepared to s e e an ambitious Agamemnon at 810 ff. should not admit the possibility that his
decision a t Aulis was prompted by ambition; equally curious that his later decision “to
tread upon purples” should be regarded a s “a necessary consequence of the decision reached
a t Aulis” (cf. Lebeck, op. cit. 40. 74 ff.). They are decisions of the same man. The reIuc-
tance of some critics to find ‘psychology’ in Aeschylus i s almost obsessive.

16 The use of aiqpo- here i s discussed by A. W. H. Adkins. Merit and responsibility 181.

17 K.’J. Dover, JHS 93 (1973) 58-69. explains the language used by the Chorus in 219-23 in
terms of natural human reaction to a repulsive event. “They a l s o call Agamemnon’s state
of mind ‘impious. impure, unholy. . .’
because Greek emotive language exploited to the full
the assumption that what i s offensive to the speaker, or to man in general, i s also offensive
to the gods.” I feel the intellectual content i s rather more specific than that. In his
extremely interesting and closely reasoned article Dover s a y s many things about war and
commanders which are true and would have been recognized by Aeschylus to be true. but I
remain uncmvinced that these are the truths in terms of which he interpreted the action, and
wrote the poetry, of the play. Dover ends his article with an admirably balanced account
of the place of psychology and psychological consistency in the interpretation of Aeschylus.

18 Cf. e.g. Hammond, op. cit. 46 n. 12, Peradotto, op. cit. 250 f.; see also n. 31 below. Contr.,
John Jones, op. cit. 78, who speaks of Agamemnon facing “Zeus’s displeasure” and, by
abandoning the expedition, bringing down “Zeus’s wrath on his head”. I cannot help

15
 regarding this as one of the most serious misunderstandings that has ever bedevilled the
interpretation of Aeschylus.

19 Cf. Lebeck, o p . cit. 37 ff., who goes too far. however, in saying (p. 38) that, in between 366
and 399, “there flow one from another a series of reflections having little to do with Troy and
Paris, everything to do with the destiny of Agamemnon.”

20 And of course persuasive s p e e c h plays its role in the Aeschylean exploitation of the peitho-bia
antithesis: Clytemnestra persuading Agamemnon, failing to persuade Cassandra; Athena
persuading the Furies, ctc., etc., It can indeed enter into the sexual context (cf. 3. de Romilly,
JHS 93 (1973) 161 n. 35). At Homer, Iliad 14.216 f., the armoury of attractions which Aphrodite
lends to Hera, in the form of a girdle, includes, along with (yiA6-rqS and ippos, 6apicrrk rr&uiS
KTA. At h.Aphrod. 7, however, TEVI&?V does not imply speech; and it may be noted that, a t
Hesiod, WD 70 ff., cunning words were given to Pandora by Hermes, whereas the gifts of the
Charites and of rr6-rvia nci96 were golden necklaces.

21 JHS 81 (1961) 141-52, cf. BICS 16 (1969) 9-15. In Pindar, Pyth. 4.184 ff. is an example of
..
non-verbal persuasion associated with a noncrotic emotion: -rbv S& m q m ~~ i A~ U K ~ .~ 6 9 0 0 ~
.. .v& ‘Apyoiis. Pyth. 4.219 (cited above) i s more complex: it was desire for Hellas that struck
the b m i n g heart of Medea &rriyi n~igoEs,but she longs for Hellas because it i s the home of
Jason. Verbal persuasion enters in here, because her emotion results partly from the Airai
h.rraoiSa\ taught to Jason by the Cyprus-born.

22 SCCp. 13 b l o w .
23 Cf. Agam. 381 ff.

24 See p. 11 below,

25 In what immediately follows I am much indebted to T. C. W. Stinton, Euripides and the Judge-
ment of Paris 1 4 .

26 I take the variant &pxqs to be an aberration.

27 Das Parisurteil (1938). One of the objections raised against the passage has been that d a w m
implies an abuse of Hera and Athena by Paris which does not form part of any known version
of the story. This objection seems satisfactorily disposed of by A. W. H. Adkins. JHS 89 (1969)
20 (who i s not, however, maintaining the authenticity of the lines). It i s unnecessary to suppose
that (in Stinton’s words) there may have been a version in which Paris added insult to injury.
Failing this supposition, it seems rather unlikely that an interpolator of late date would have
used v ~ h u o zin what Adkins shows to be a truly Homeric sense. Not a great deal of weight
need perhaps be placed on the fact that p q h o d v q is normally used of female lust.

28 See p. 11 below.

29 For the facts s e e Fraenkel ad loc.

30 Cf. B. Daube. Zu den Rechtsproblemen in Aischylos’ Agamemnon 24 n. 53; Fraenkel p. 210 n. 2.

31 &mi (111) picks up rrbprrei (61). -

Thus and only thus - does Zeus ‘send’ the Atridae, not
by a prophetic command (clearly no such thing i s in Agamemnon’s mind a t the crucial moment
of decision), but by the ominous behaviour of his own “winged hounds” (135) -
the king of
birds, which i s Zeus’ bird, appearing t o the human kings and giving them an omen which, like
the operation of Zeus’ justice, i s blended of good and evil (145).

32 Cf. Fraenkel p.70 (on 115); Page p. 80 (on 122 ff.. ad fin.).

33 See discussions in Fraenkel and Page. Cf. a lso Lebeck, op. c i t . 12.

34 The house of the Atridae i s mentioned at 310 and 400.

35 Neither Fraenkel nor Page will have it that m i b i refers to the p i n t of Helen upon the bed.

16
 “The m$%i qihdrvopq in association with hbxq therefore mean the s t e p s with which the loving
wife approaches the bed of her husband” (Fraenkel). Really? “There i s no special connexion
between mipoi and A & q here” (Page). Can we be so sure? True that UT$OI normally means
‘paths’ or ‘steps’ or ‘footmarks’, but Aeschylus often extends the uses of language. In view
of u i i R , a l s o from UTE\@, meaning a kind of bed or mattress (e.g. in Herodotus, Euripides),
in view of such a phrase a s uiirrit) quM& (Sophocles, Phil. 33). i s it out of the question that
mipoi qnA&vops does here refer, so much more evocatively, to what has been described a s
“the wifely print of Helen’s form”?

36 “No abuse against his wife” (Lebeck 45). Perhaps, but abuse of the seducer i s more probably
me ant.

37 So e.g. Fraenkel ad loc., who adds: “This, the simplest and most obvious explanation, has
always been followed by men with a sensitive feeling for poetry.” Pointing out the extreme
improbability that &pa could be used, without qualifying word, to describe a mere ghost of a
ruler, he rightly draws attention to the similarity of thought and language a t 420 f., where Helen
appears in a dream. If J. -P. Vernant, in his important discussion of the passage (Mythe el
penske chez l e s grecs 256 f.), i s right in his interpretation of the reference to Kohouuoi (416-191,
the argument becomes even stronger. Page finds difficulty in both the explanations which
have been given. “Helen’s ghost cannot well be said to rule the house.” But i s it too diffi-
cult (even if we do not wish to find the suggestion of a Helen dominating by her charm a s
Clytenmestra by her force) to take h b E i v , with Fraenkel, in the s e n s e of “to be 6vcwcra in”?
P a s e holds that, if the q&pa i s Helen, the subject of B 6 @ i must be Menelaus: “he will think.”
This could be right. though his objection in point of idiom to taking q k p a as subject i s l e s s
than conclusive, since brrEprrov6q can depend on q&rw or be taken h r
b K O I V O ~ with both
v68y and qbcra. The tense of 6 6 < ~i1s slightly disconcerting on any hypothesis: “uncom- -
fortable among the present tenses” (Page). This raises a question we tend to ask. but which
Aeschylus, who did not use inverted commas, does not need to answer, namely a t what point
the oratio recta of the rrpp?iiai (whoever they were) ends. If we must answer it, the best
answer i s perhaps “at 426” (see Fraenkel’s discussion ad loc., with p. 223 n. 1). It would
seem that a t some point imagination takes over from observation. At 420 ff.. are these dreams
that Menelaus will have told the npotpfiiai (and asked them to interpret)? Hatdly. Imagination
for imagination. it i s perhaps more likely to be that of the Chorus. One might say that the
.
people of the household observe Menelaus in his immediate reaction (n&pwcrTi. .’iBBv), then
speculate in the future tense; and that the following present tenses, with their greater vivid-
ness, are a sign that the Chorus has taken over, but I should still hesitate to pin Aeschylus
down by placing inverted commas a t the end of 415.

38 I doubt, therefore. whether we should say, with Lebeck,(op. cit. 45) (despite the relationship
between mieb and rrbeq to which she calls attention in her n. 23) that the n68q of Menelaus
i s represented as driving him into action. Menelaus returns to the play a t 617 and 674 ff.
only to clarify the situation. to prepare the satyr-play, and (most important) to lead into the
Second Stasimon.

E S 274, bvaipwv q h u p a ~ ~brrifl).

39 At 420, I would press strongly for Housman’s T ~ E I € ~ ‘ ~ ~ O V (cf. ’
the merits of which convinced Headlam and others and are admitted by Fraenkel. I find the
latter’s defence of TTEV%~OVES laboured. Page, with characteristic honesty, s e e s that some-
thing better i s required: the sorrow is Helen’s, appearing in Menelaus’ dream a s he would
have her, “returning in tears to her lost husband and home”. But surely, if any emotions
are relevant, they are those of Menelaus, and for him the dream was a seductive but illusory
joy. Housman’s emendation i s palmary.

40 On paean and dirge (and other musical themes in the Oresteia) s e e J. A. Haldane, J H S 85 (1965)
37 ff.

4 1 Which I can only regard, with Page, a s an unsolved problem. The line must, however, contain
the notions of ‘gods’ and ‘wrath’ in some combination.

42 Cf. JHS 74 (1954) 16-24, esp. 22.

43 Cf. Lebeck, op. c i f . 176 n. 19.

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44 63-67 (briefly), 320-47. 429-55. 551-79, 636-80.

45 Where did the omen appear? It i s generally supposed that, like the corresponding but distinct
omen mentioned at Iliad 2.301 ff.. it appeared a t Aulis: there have been references to the fleet
and to “the youth of Hellas”, and the a ~ p a d p a v i i iss already in post. But. a s Fraenkel
points out. Aeschylus does not ‘place’ the incident by precise topographical detail, whereas
the sequel to the omen is specifically located (190 f.) a t Aulis. He also points out that the
pkx6pa of 116 could, a s in the IA of Euripides, refer to the quarters of the Atridae a t Aulis.
I should be inclined to suggest, however, that, by his very vagueness, Aeschylus has left it
open t o the hearer to take ~ A & p w v(which i s followed by O!KOIS i3autAEioi~a t 157) of the actual
palace so central to the drama and to believe that the omen which, unlike the Homeric omen,
so intimately concerned the persons of the Atridae was given to them a s they were, with their
own forces, leaving their own house. There should be a time-gap between the omen and the
first stage in the fulfilment of the prophet’s interpretation of it. This is secured, in dramatic
time, by the interposition of the Hymn to Zeus. Could it not a lso represent the transition
from Argos to Aulis?

46 See p. 8.

47 , S e e p. 9.

48 It i s always welcome if an interpretation can help with a textual problem. Looked a t in this
way, in terms of two eastward voyages separated by a long interval of time, it is clear that
a t 696 ~ ~ h a d n t i w(codd.)
v i s to be preferred. The Greeks are on the track, but of those who
had long made their landfall. It makes little difference whether we take ~~hodnriwavs a
genitive absolute or a s dependent on i x v q . Since there i s a parallelism between the two
voyages, it i s not too difficult t o understand ‘hrhrwav out of h r k u m v : Helen sailed, so did
the Oreek trackers, but their prey had already landed. Is it merely a subjective impression
that, if we read khmrv ik, the Greeks are made to land prematurely? Is it not Helen’s
landing that i s due to Eris, as her wedlock with Paris i s due to Menis?

49 At 706 ;~&q, though unexampled, makes sense. But in view of the constant (and one might
say structural) use of €3 and €6- compounds in the trilogy one cannot but be attracted by
Karsten’s r w o c ;
.It is characteristic of marriage-songs to use bona uerba, of which ~ h c - r p q
might be M example. When the marriage-song turns into a dirge, we find Paris described as
a \ d k K T P O V (712).

50 See above, p. 7.

51 Not do I wish to go into the question whether, and how far, the details of this elaborate se t-
piece refer beyond the immediate context of Helen and Troy. Cf. B. W. M. Knox, “The lion
in the house”, CPh 47 (1952) 17 ff.. who points out the self-contained character of the passage
(marked by the repetition ;epqov, mpoue8p&q&$, the stre ss on the notions of ipod and O X K ~ ,
the likelihood that lions were a badge a symbol of the Pelopidae. It seems not improbable
that there i s a chain of suggestions and ~ r o s s - r e f e r e n ~ elinking
s the passage to the horrors of
the house of Atreus. and perhaps especially to the child Orestes. (Cf. a lso Lebeck, op. cit.
SO f.) Just as the theological reflections to which the Chorus i s led by the Troy-story a t 750 ff.
become a preparation for Agamemnon’s entry, so the Erinys-aspect of Helen (see below),
pictured through the fable, may be a preparation for the a c t of Clytemnestra.

52 On 744 ff.

53 HSCP 73 (1968) 99-104.

54 At the caresponding place in the antistrophe, after a strong stop there i s a strong contrary
movement of thought.

55 There i s no clear parallel for intransitive m pnc hiv~iv,but verbs of physical movement run to
intransitive u s es (cf. KUhner-Gcrth 191). If &moKhivoiv,(cf.e.g. Soph. OT 11921, why not
lrapaKh;vtlv ?

18
56 On this passage see JHS 68 (1948) 136. Cf. Fraenkel p.347 (on 749) for the daemonic
character of both Helen and Clytemnestra.

57 Cf. the eloquent w a d s of Fraenkel on his p.357.

58 (749)
V U C ~ ~ ~ K ~ C X V Ti s~ as difficult to interpret a s any epithet in Aeschylus. Fraenkel in his
careful note maintains that a verbal adjective of this type could only be understood in the
sense of “wept for by a bride (or brides)” or “weeping for a bride (m brides)”. (He phrases
it slightly differently.) He therefore favours Blomfield’s “sponsis deflenda” or Headlam’s
“bringing tears to brides”. Since brides did lose their husbands through the operation of the
Erinys, this cannot be said to be grossly inappropriate. But, a s Fraenkel says, “it a t first
seems strange that ‘bride’ here does not refer to Helen”; and his first instinct to relate
r q to vu&-ripov a t 705 i s one which many must share. Could we look a t it
v u ~ ~ A a n r here
this way? When the bride i s seen in all her beauty and charm, she i s honoured; later she i s
bewailed as a source of disaster. There i s a reversion to the theme of dirge following
marriage-song (see n.49 above). The weeping is not, however, done by the Erinys or by Helen
herself. We can only say, then, that this may be one of those c a se s in which Aeschylus has
put a considerable strain upon language. calling the Ekinys “one of bride-bewailing”. The
matter remains very doubtful.

19