Greek Tragedy, a First Reading: Selections from the Electra plays of Euripides and Sophocles (Focus Classical Commentary) 9781585103713, 9781585108688, 1585103713

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FOCUS CLASSICAL COMMENTARY

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading Selections from the Electra plays of Euripides and Sophocles

Nicholas Baechle

Greek Tragedy a First Reading

Selections from the Electra plays of Euripides and Sophocles

Greek Tragedy a First Reading

Selections from the Electra plays of Euripides and Sophocles

Nicholas Baechle Hanover College

Focus

  an imprint of          Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.          Indianapolis/Cambridge

Thanks are due to Anne Mahoney, for her advice and her help in editing, and to Stephen Colvin, who was generous with both his time and his expertise. Last but certainly not least, thanks are due, once again, to Victor Bers. However imperfect the result, I hope this book is some return for his teaching, and for the teaching of Tom Cole. Greek Tragedy, a First Reading: Selections from the Electra plays of Euripides and Sophocles © 2014 Nicholas Baechle Previously published by Focus Publishing/R. Pullins Company

Focus an imprint of

  Hackett Publishing Company www.hackettpublishing.com P.O. Box 44937 Indianapolis, Indiana 46244-0937 All rights are reserved. Printed in the United States of America 17 16 15 14

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Baechle, Nicholas, author. Greek tragedy, a first reading : selections from the Electra plays of Euripides and Sophocles / Nicholas Baechle. pages cm ISBN 978-1-58510-371-3 1. Euripides. Electra. 2. Sophocles. Electra. I. Euripides. II. Sophocles. III. Title. PA3136.B34 2014 882'.0109—dc23 2014011323

Adobe PDF ebook ISBN: 978-1-58510-868-8

Table of Contents Preface ix General introduction: The performance of poetry in 5th century Athens  xiii Scope and focus of this textbook  xiii; The culture of poetic performance in Athens  xv; Questions that result for modern readers  xxiii Introduction to the myths, art languages, and meter  1 The myths  1; Art languages, I: poetic vocabulary, dialect coloring, and syntax  2; Iambic trimeter, I: quantitative meter and scansion  4 Reading One: Euripides, Electra: lines 1-10; background, Aeschylus, Libation Bearers, lines 1-305  9; First examples of poetic vocabulary and synonyms  9; Trimeter: getting used to scansion  9; Basic forms to review  10; Notes on the format for the vocabulary, with some suggestions  10; Text, notes, and commentary  11 Introduction for the opening monologue  15 What did the audience see? What did the theater and actors look like?  15; What did the audience hear? Telling vs. showing  17 Reading Two: Euripides, lines 11-53  19 Further examples of poetic vocabulary and synonyms: the household and the house  19; Simplex verbs: dying, perishing, and killing  20; Poetic syntax, I: poetic plurals  20; Trimeter; more practice with scansion  21; Basic forms to review  21; Some basic syntax, also for review  22; Case usage: introductory notes  22; Text, notes, and commentary  23 Introduction for the rest of the prologue  33 Actors and acting, I: the distribution of roles  33; Costume and visual effects  34; Electra’s costume and visual effects in this play: telling and showing, again  36 Reading Three: Euripides, lines 54-111  39 Poetic vocabulary: hard work, suffering, and wretchedness ; two poetic verbs for “coming,” “going,” etc.  39; Poetic syntax, II: non-expression of the article  39; Trimeter, II: resolution  42; Basic forms to review  43; Case usage  43; Text, notes, and commentary  44 Sophocles’ prologue: the tragedians’ use of myth, the audience’s expectations, and the shaping of a dramatic realization  55 Reading Four: Sophocles, Electra, lines 1-85  61 More poetic vocabulary  61; Art Languages, II: dialect mixture in trimeter  61; Trimeter, III: rhythm and phrasing at line-end  65; Review of the system of principal parts  66; Further forms to review  67; More basic syntax  67; Case usage  67; Text, notes, and commentary  68

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Euripides: Introduction to Electra’s song and the entrance song of the Chorus  85 What happens in this part of the play? What do we know about this kind of performance?  85 ; What new possibilities do monody and choral song allow?  88 Reading Five: Euripides, lines 112-66; lines 167-212 read in translation  91 Poetic vocabulary: lament, wretchedness, etc.; words for the body and parts of the body  91; Art Languages, III: choral language  91; Further forms to review  93; Text, notes, and commentary  93 Sophocles: Introduction for the anapaestic section and for the following parodos 101 The performance of Electra’s solo: recited anapaests  101; The re-presentation of myth: character in relation to action and theme  102 Reading Six: Sophocles, lines 86-152; lines 153-250 read in translation  105 Poetic vocabulary: lament and suffering (yet again); light, day, the cosmos, etc.  105; Further forms to review  105; Text, notes, and commentary  105 Introduction to the first dialogue scene in Euripides  117 Actors and acting, II: the style and resources of tragic acting  117; The larger picture: staging, visual effects, and the importance of words, once again  119; Construction of dialogue scenes: stichomythia and rhesis 120 Reading Seven: Euripides, lines 213-338  123 Poetic Vocabulary: some common poetic verbs and words for “tomb” and “mortal”  123; Further forms to review  123; Text, notes, and commentary  123 Introduction to the first dialogue scene in Sophocles  141 Construction of dialogue scenes continued: rhesis  141; Action and justification of action: the Electras’ speeches  141 Reading Eight: Sophocles, lines 251-323  143 Poetic Vocabulary: some common poetic adjectives  143; Further forms to review  143; Common irregular verbs  143; Text, notes, and commentary  143 The Chorus  155 The voices of choral performance and their dramatic possibilities  155; Communal judgment and authority  157; Telling myths: more on choral commentary  158; Emotional involvement and the Chorus as internal commentator  159 Reading Nine: Sophocles, lines 472-515; lines 324-471 and Euripides, lines 339-486 read in translation  161 Further forms to review  161; Common irregular verbs  161; Text, notes, and commentary 161 The recognition scene: Euripides’ play with a conventional structural element  167 Reading Ten: Euripides, lines 487-584; background, (review of) Libation Bearers, lines 164-263 171



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Further forms to review  171; Common irregular verbs  171; Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts  171; Text, notes, and commentary  171 The agon: the debate between Sophocles’ Electra and Clytemnestra  185 Reading Eleven: Sophocles, lines 516-633  189 Poetic vocabulary  189; Further forms to review  189; Common irregular verbs  189; Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts  189; Text, notes, and commentary  190 The narrative of Euripides’ messenger  207 Violence and telling vs. showing, again  207; Words, immediacy, and dramatic effect 209 Reading Twelve, Euripides, lines 774-858; lines 585-773 and 859-961 read in translation 211 Poetic vocabulary  211; Further forms to review  211; Common irregular verbs  211; Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts  212; Text, notes, and commentary  212 Sophocles’ use of the messenger’s narrative and the motif of the lock of hair: craftsmanship and thematic originality  223 Reading Thirteen: Sophocles, lines 871-937; lines 634-870 read in translation  227 Common irregular verbs  227; Text, notes, and commentary  227 Euripides’ use of the agon in the second part of the revenge plot  237 Reading Fourteen: Euripides, lines 998-1122; lines 962-97 and 1123-359 read in translation; background, Libation Bearers, lines 837-934 and 973-1076  241 Poetic vocabulary  241; Some further syntax  241; Further forms to review  241; Common irregular verbs  242; Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts  242; Text, notes, and commentary  242 Sophocles’ recognition scene: the matricide, the construction of the later part of the play, and Electra’s characterization  259 Reading Fifteen: Sophocles, lines 1098-1231; lines 938-1097 and 1232-1510 read in translation 263 Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts  263; Text, notes, and commentary 263 Glossary of common words  281 Principal parts for common irregular verbs  285

Preface The discussion and notes throughout draw on the scholarship and ideas of others. In particular, the commentaries of Denniston and Cropp, for Euripides, and of Jebb, Kamerbeek, and Finglass, for Sophocles, have been indispensable. It is assumed that students will be able to consult H. Smyth, Greek Grammar (Harvard, 1956). References are given mostly to scholarly sources useful to students: Barker, A. Greek Musical Writings. Volume I: The Musician and his Art (Cambridge, 1984) Budelmann, F., ed. The Cambridge Companion to Greek Lyric (Cambridge, 2009) Buxton, R. Imaginary Greece. The Contexts of Mythology (Cambridge, 1994) Colvin, S. A Historical Greek Reader (Oxford, 2007) Cropp, M. Euripides. Electra (Aris & Phillips, 1988) Csapo, E. and Slater, W. The Context of Ancient Drama (Michigan, 1995) Denniston, J. Euripides. Electra (Oxford, 1939) Easterling, P., ed. The Cambridge Companion to Greek Tragedy (Cambridge, 1995) Finglass, P. Sophocles. Electra (Cambridge, 2007) Goldhill, S. Reading Greek Tragedy (Cambridge, 1986) Gould, J. Cambridge History of Classical Literature, I.2, Greek Drama (Cambridge,1985) Gregory, J., ed. A Companion to Greek Tragedy (Blackwell, 2005) Hart, M., ed. The Art of Ancient Greek Theater (Getty, 2010) Herington, J. Poetry into Drama. Early Tragedy and the Greek Poetic Tradition (California, 1985). Horrocks, G. Greek. A History of the Language and its Speakers (Blackwell, 2nd ed. 2010) Jebb, R. Sophocles: Plays. Electra (Cambridge, 1894; Bristol Classical Press, 2004) Kamerbeek, J. The Plays of Sophocles. Part V. The Electra (Brill, 1974) March, J. Sophocles. Electra. (Aris & Phillips, 2001) McDonald, M. and Walton, J., eds. The Cambridge Companion to Greek and Roman Theatre (Cambridge, 2007) Murray, P. Plato on Poetry (Cambridge, 1997) Pickard-Cambridge, A. The Dramatic Festivals of Athens (2nd ed., Oxford, 1989) Schmitz, T. Modern Literary Theory and Ancient Texts. An Introduction (Blackwell, 2007) Simon, E. The Ancient Theatre (Methuen, 1982) Sommerstein, A. Greek Drama and Dramatists (Routledge, 2002) Taplin, O. Greek Tragedy in Action (Routledge, 2003) Thomas, R. Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Cambridge, 1992) West, M. Greek Metre (Oxford, 1982) -----. Ancient Greek Music (Oxford, 1992) Wyles, R. Costume in Greek Tragedy (Bristol Classical Press, 2011)

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Note on the Text

The selections used are from the current Oxford Classical Texts of the plays.1

Note for Instructors The material included in the introductions to individual readings is meant to give students a wide range of useful information and, it is hoped, some food for thought. The intent was not to restrict choice as to how or whether the material should be taught. Similarly, the sequence of readings and the readings in translation are not mandated, though the system for learning vocabulary, verb forms, and principal parts works more smoothly if the readings in Greek are read in sequence (pp. 10-1), and the introductions do sometimes assume familiarity with the readings in translation. Below is a schematic description of the plays and the place of the readings, in bold, in them. To see the readings in translation intended to accompany some of these, see the Table of Contents. Euripides: Sophocles: 1-53—prologue (I-II) 1-85—prologue and introductory scene (IV) 54-111—introductory scene (III) 86-152— Electra’s anapaests and first lyric 112-66—Electra’s monody (V) exchange (VI) 167-212—parodos/amoibaion 153-250—rest of parodos/amoibaion Episode I Episode I 213-338—Electra with Orestes; begins 251-323—Electra with Chorus (VIII) with long stichomythia (VII) 324-471—with Chrysothemis 339-431—with Farmer/husband Stasimon I Stasimon I 432-86—Achilles and Troy 472-515—coming vengeance (IX) Episode II Episode II 487-584—recognition scene (X) 516-633—agon, with Clytemnestra (XI) 585-95—choral reaction 634-59—Clytemnestra’s prayer 596-698—planning and prayer 660-822—messenger speech and deception Stasimon II Amoibaion 699-746—Atreus, Thyestes, and the 823-70—Electra and Chorus mourning golden lamb Orestes and consequences for Electra Episode III Episode III 747-73—scene through Messenger’s 871-937—false report by Chrysothemis (XIII) announcement of death 774-858—Messenger on Aegisthus’ 938-1057—argument with Chrysothemis death (XII) over trying to take vengeance 1 Euripidis Fabulae, vol. 2, ed. J. Diggle (Oxford, 1981) and Sophoclis Fabulae, eds. H. Lloyd-

Jones and N. Wilson (Oxford, 1990). Used by permission of Oxford University Press.

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Choral response Stasimon II 859-79—triumph at Orestes’ victory 1058-97—Chorus sings in praise of Electra Episode IV Episode IV 880-987—Electra reproaches Aegisthus; 1098-1231—recognition up to Electra’s debate over matricide and consequences outbursts (XV) 988-97—choral introduction of 1232-1325—rest of recognition Clytemnestra 1326-83—scene from entrance of 998-1122—agon, with Electra (XIV) Paidogogus 1123-46—Clytemnestra lured into house Chorus/Amoibaion/murder Chorus/Amoibaion/murder 1147-1232 1384-1441 Episode V and exodos Episode V and exodos 1233-91—Castor’s intervention 1442-1510—Aegisthus and murder 1292-1359—response of Electra and Orestes

General Introduction: The Performance of Poetry in 5th century Athens Scope and focus of this textbook People who spend their time reading and thinking about Athenian tragedy would give almost anything to find themselves transported to Athens and sitting in the Theater of Dionysus on a sunny day in the last quarter of the 5th century B.C.E. for a performance of Euripides’ or Sophocles’ Electra.2 Even for professional scholars, a sentence beginning “Imagine yourself sitting …” has a powerful appeal. For any reader, in fact, the urge to ask the question, “What would it have been like to sit in that audience?” is a natural one. The question that immediately follows is, “What kinds of knowledge and argument do you need in order to come up with plausible answers to that question?” And, immediately after that, “What kinds of evidence could you use to gain that knowledge and make those arguments?” It might seem natural that our own experiences of theater give us a basis for reasoning about what Athenian tragedies were like; what we take to be the basic features of drama as such would be a place to start. It is true that in reading Athenian tragedy we often find that it conforms to our own assumptions about dramatic performance. And it is important not to undervalue the fact that we can respond to it with empathetic imagination; our own intuitive and emotional sense of connection to Athenian tragedy is valid, and significant. But the longer and more carefully we read, the more the differences, between what we expect and what we infer, become important and absorbing. As a result, it becomes clearer that we need to deal with two problems that are tangled up together: first, we need to try to understand better the distinctive nature of the performance in the context of the time and culture that gave it substance. This is what, in a preliminary way, this introduction aims at. Second, we need to develop our understanding of tragedy as a distinctive kind of theatre by paying very close attention to tragic texts. This is what classical scholars have been doing for a very long time, and students who are just beginning to read tragic Greek can do the same kind of thinking and exploration; and that will be the aim of the textbook as a whole. It is intended to give students with little or no experience of reading tragedy in Greek a chance to do that kind of exploration, and to get a better sense of the richness and variety of tragic theater by reading and comparing selections in Greek from two tragedies treating the same myth (the rest of the plays being read in translation). Focusing on the question, “What was it like to sit in the audience?”—and other questions that follow from it3—will help in getting the most out of reading slowly. That is, 2 The date of Sophocles’ play, and whether it precedes or follows Euripides’ version, is an open question. Euripides’ Electra can be dated with fair certainty to about 420 B.C.E. (See pp. 42-3.) Sophocles’ play is usually thought to belong to the end of his career, sometime after 430, but is hard to be any more definite. (See Finglass, Sophocles. Electra (Cambridge, 2007), 1-4.) 3 One obvious question will not be addressed here: Who sat in the audience? In particular, were women as well as men there? This is a vexed and, it seems, unanswerable question. See, for example, S. Goldhill, “The Audience of Athenian Tragedy,” in The Cambridge Companion to Greek Tragedy, ed. P. Easterling (Cam-

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translation can become, at its best, a process of exploration in itself, and the pace of reading will answer to how much can be gotten from the text. Reading carefully and thoughtfully is a good answer to a further problem, being left with “only” a text. As the introduction will make clearer, we have the bare scripts for the performances of tragedy; direct evidence for the music, dance, acting, communal involvement, etc. has almost all vanished. But all of that—everything that made the original experience so rich—has not vanished without a trace; a tragic text can still give us insights into its performance, and into its own nature as a specimen of Athenian tragedy. The text itself is rich; with patience a modern reader can begin to find her/his way toward coming up with answers to the kinds of questions that have just been broached. That means the aims of this book are deliberately focused. It does not try to help in generating answers to many other questions that should be, and in fact are, asked by thoughtful readers of tragedy. Much recent scholarship has focused on tragedy as a performance within a particular social, political, and religious context, the world of the Athenian audience member. To put it baldly, discussion of tragedy often takes the plays as occasions in the life and thought of an historically and culturally distant city: the city performs, through tragedy, ways of thinking and feeling about what it means to be Athenian, or about the conflicts and ambiguities inherent in being an Athenian. Even though the plays are still interpreted as texts and understood in relation to theatrical performance, the larger circle of discussion is often Athenian culture and politics. In fact, you might think about “translating” plays in terms of concentric circles that define the kinds of thinking needed to appreciate the text: first, there is a poetic text, rich in ideas, questions, images, etc., which demands “close reading” and interpretation; second, there is a theatrical event, insofar as we can try to reconstruct the performance; third, there are the responses of the audience, habituated to involving itself in and appreciating a culturally specific form of theatre; finally, there are larger social, religious, and political conversations, always in process and changing. All of these circles (and others) are spaces within which there is ongoing scholarly debate. In practice, however, none of these ways of understanding can or should be kept apart. And the visual analogy breaks down, because the location of these circles is a projection; scholarship itself creates these spaces for debate, debate shaped by problems of evidence, by our own historical and socio-political situation, by our critical and theoretical assumptions about what makes for adequate, or relevant, interpretation of the text, and so on.4 Moreover, there is always the need to understand the problems defined within each circle historically; the projection is not flat but three-dimensional, because each question we can ask has an historical dimension also. In any case, the analogy of the concentric circles helps to define the focus of the textbook. In the classroom, and in your own thinking, many other questions are bound to come up. In your initial reading of the text, though, and in rereading (it is hoped), the textbook will help in working inside the second and third circles—defined by questions about what kind of performance this was and how the audience responded to it. These questions specify the question we began with: “What was it like to sit in that audience?” In order to start in on some informed thinking, we have to ask a preliminary, more general, question about the bridge, 1995). 4 For a useful survey of modern critical approaches and theory, see T. Schmitz, Modern Literary Theory and Ancient Texts. An Introduction (Blackwell, 2007).



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cultural context: What was it like to be an audience member who responded to and had grown up with multiple forms of performed poetry? The culture of poetic performance in Athens On the face of it, Athenian tragedy seems familiar, even though two and a half millenia separate our culture from the Athenians’. Retrospectively, we can see it as a point of origin, which should imply a family resemblance; it is an ancestor of drama that we know. But that genealogical connection, and even the wonderful fact that drama as we know it, drama in the European tradition at least, begins for us in the Theater of Dionysus in Athens—none of that is enough to understand the text in a way that does justice to its specificity, even its peculiarity. The most obvious pitfall that comes with looking at Athenian tragedy retrospectively is to assume that it is a primitive, or defective, drama that does not yet match up with our own expectations. But even if that pitfall is avoided, it may be hard to advance further in understanding this form of drama on its own terms. Here is a formulation to start from: Tragedy is a retelling of myth5 that takes the form of poetry performed in a familiar and recurring public and religious setting. And there were many other forms of poetic performance to which it was related. That, for us, it is locatable as a point of historic origin, or even that it is the most familiar of these poetic performances that we would label as dramatic—those two facts that seem so important historically are not as helpful in starting to think about tragedy as keeping an eye on continuities among various kinds of poetic performance.6 It is hard for us to give due weight to those continuities, first of all because of the historical importance of tragedy. Second, those other performances are much less visible to us; we have whole texts of tragedy but get only brief glimpses of related forms, through fragments of lost poems, mentions in ancient texts, or pictures on Athenian pots. An exception that proves the rule are the vivid snippets in Plato’s dialogue Ion about the performances of rhapsodes. Socrates meets, talks to, and argues with Ion, who is a professional reciter of Homer, and of other poetry.7 Rhapsodes like Ion were celebrities who performed all over Greece in competitive contests. He has come to Athens to compete at the Great Panathenaea, an expanded version of a yearly festival in honor of Athena, patron goddess of the city; every four years, as at many religious festivals, there was competition, in poetic and musical performance as well as athletics. That anyone could become a celebrity by reciting poetry might seem odd, or bizarre, but Socrates and Ion take it for granted. And for Plato, Ion and, through him, the whole institution of rhapsodizing were worth putting to the question in large part because the appeal and cultural weight of this kind of poetic recitation were so obvious. One section of the dialogue in particular (535b2-d5) makes this clear to us. Socrates is, throughout, calling into question the authority of the rhapsodes and questioning whether they possess the kind of intellectual grounding that should guarantee the cultural privilege granted to their recitations. He concentrates on their emotionalism and on the audience’s empathetic response: 5 With occasional exceptions, like the Persians of Aeschylus. 6 A very good starting point is J. Herington, Poetry into Drama. Early Tragedy and the Greek Poetic Tradition (California, 1985). 7 For an introduction to this dialogue, and to the whole topic of poetry in Athenian culture, as seen from Plato’s point of view, see P. Murray, Plato on Poetry (Cambridge, 1997). (See, esp., 14-24 of her introduction.)

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Think about times when you are reciting epic lines well, and you seize the spectators’ emotions. You are chanting the story of Odysseus as he jumps onto the threshold, is revealed to the suitors, and pours his arrows out at his feet; or Achilles rushing at Hector; or one of the pitiful parts, about Andromache, or Hecuba, or Priam. Are you then in your senses …? Ion, in effect, agrees with that criticism: “How vivid you make your proof, Socrates! I will tell you honestly that when I recite something pitiful, my eyes are full of tears, and when I tell something fearful or awful, my hair stands on end and my heart pounds.” And, shortly afterward, he describes the audience’s response in a way that also helps Socrates make his argument: “ Every time, when I look down at them from the rostrum, I see them, weeping, looking stricken, amazed at what is being told.” In the middle of that exposition of Plato’s point of view, however, Socrates gives us a rare and vivid picture of a rhapsodic performance: So, Ion, should we say that this man is then in his right mind? A man dressed elaborately, wearing golden wreaths, and at a festival celebration, yet he weeps, though he has lost nothing from his fine outfit. Or he is fearful, standing among more than twenty thousand friendly people, though nobody is trying to steal his clothes or doing him harm. Plato has his own philosophical agenda; the passage is polemical and even satirical. But it still has to be plausible descriptively, or the argument would not be effective. Most obviously, it shows the enormous interest in this kind of poetic event—the size of the crowd, the sense of occasion—all that makes vivid for us an entirely different cultural sensibility. It also shows, of course, largely because of Plato’s opposed point of view, the degree to which an audience could enter into this kind of public performance. One point that needs emphasis is the response of Athenians to poetry as such; it is something that we can understand in the abstract but probably do not experience to the same degree and in the same ways. We will come back repeatedly to the central importance of poetry, and poetry in multiple forms, in Athenian culture. Another point may be easier to grasp intuitively: performers like Ion did not simply declaim poetry but made it come alive, entering into it and allowing the audience to do so also. The rhapsodes made the poetry dramatic, and the Athenians themselves noted similarities between the techniques of rhapsodes and actors.8 What the techniques of both had in common, and how far we can go in drawing conclusions about the methods and style of tragic actors as such, are questions to which we will return (see pp. 117-9), but it is worth noting that the fact that poetic recitation is not theatrical—there are speeches in epic but also narrative—does not mean that the experience of the poetry was any less powerful emotionally. We might assume, because of our own cultural presuppositions, that dramatic illusion is essential for being absorbed in a story in the way that Plato describes the Athenians being absorbed in epic recitation. But that may be because we have fallen into another pitfall created by retrospective assumptions: this kind of experience, we might think, was only a step on the way historically to richer and more powerful forms of storytelling. In fact, because many of us today have relatively little exposure to theatre itself, it may be that we 8 See Aristotle, Rhetoric 1403b 22-35 and 1404a20-4; Poetics 1462a5-8; and Plato, Republic 395a.



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assume dramatic storytelling is only absorbing and effective in the form of film, our culture’s most pervasive dramatic form. Whether in an Athenian context theatre was perceived as something new and improved, poetry with an added dimension, is an important question; something did happen in Athens in the 5th century, as drama became a dominant cultural performance. But, again, understanding the cultural continuities may be more important, to begin with at least, than focusing on an historical narrative. What did allow epic recitation to function so effectively as storytelling, and as performance, for the audience of the rhapsodes? And what did that experience have in common with the experience of tragic drama? Two factors seem essential in creating the kinds of cultural and emotional resonance that Plato allows us to feel, even as he tries to argue against their effects. First, part of the intensity of the audience’s response to Homer had to do not just with the virtuosity of the performance but also with the retelling of a familiar story. As in tragedy, the rhapsodes were retelling myths that the audience already knew. Myth was pervasive in Athenian culture; it, not fiction, was the basis of both poem and response.9 In tragedy, the myth was a familiar tune on which the tragedian created relatively free variations, as a comparison of Sophocles’ and Euripides’ versions of Electra’s family troubles will make clear. Second, that effect does not result from hearing a live performance, in our terms, as opposed to reading a text, silently and alone. Though literacy was growing during the 5th century, for most of the audience Homer was familiar as poetry that was heard, most often in public performance. (Even for those who could read, reading, in school and after, was mostly done aloud and in the company of others.) In short, Athens was a “performance culture,” as it has been called, in which people were used to, and had an appetite for, poetic retellings of myth in public.10 And those performances connected, or contrasted, with each other; the implicit standard of comparison was other forms of poetic performance, not reading. Each of those forms was associated with a particular, repeated occasion and created each time a distinctive experience. That experience was familiar in its specificity to the audience, who had learned its norms and conventions, or, to put it more simply, who knew what kind of poetry to expect and how it would be performed. Epic recitation happened in the same recurring festival contexts, both at the Great Panathenaea and elsewhere. At festivals there were multiple features of the performance that allowed the Athenians to feel at home with this particular kind of poetry, again this time. The way in which the rhapsodes put across their recitations was only one part of that familiarity. The rhythm and metrical form of epic lines, Homeric hexameters, had been familiar since childhood. Also familiar was the language; Homer’s language was a special poetic dialect, composite, archaic, and partly artificial. It was an “art language,” very different from ordinary Attic, the distinctive dialect of 5th century Greek in which the Athenians functioned in daily living. Part of its effect, in fact, had to do with its being so removed from ordinary speech. But it was also effective because it was expected. Hearing that kind of poetic speech helped to draw an Athenian audience into epic myth. There were multiple forms of poetic performance, each distinctive and associated with a specific means and manner of delivering poetry. Also performing, for instance, at the 9 For a good introduction to myth in its cultural context, see R. Buxton, Imaginary Greece. The Contexts of Mythology (Cambridge, 1994). 10 Keeping in mind the idea that Athenian culture was still to a large extent an oral culture is essential. For an introduction, see R. Thomas, Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Cambridge, 1992), esp. 113-23, and Buxton, 18-49.

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Panathenaic Festival (and at other festivals) were the kitharodes, performers who sang epic and other poetry to their own accompaniment on the kithara, a concert version of the lyre. As far as the content of their songs is concerned, we have only very general notions. But again we have bits of evidence that testify to how important these performances also were for the Athenians, and what effects they might have had on an audience raised on their kind of poetry. Images on pots show us not only kitharodes in competition but also many other scenes in which an Athenian is performing poetry to the accompaniment of a lyre. Much Greek poetry, in fact, is better described as song, not simply poetry. A large part of the kitharodes’ appeal was their virtuosity as musicians; like poetry, music was as inseparable from festivals, as well as many other occasions in Greek life.11 Poetry combined with music was also strongly associated with dancing.12 There were multiple forms of, and occasions for, choral performance as well. That is, a group performed a song while dancing, for example in honor of a god. The forms of choral poetry are diverse and have a long history. By way of introduction, it will be enough to describe briefly a choral form prestigious and important at Athens, the dithyramb, which was a song performed by fifty men or boys to the accompaniment of an aulos, a kind of double oboe, and danced in a large circle. It can exemplify the differences between choral and other kinds of poetry. And it is worth comparing and contrasting with tragedy, partly because notable performances of both occurred at the same festival. The Great Dionysia, an annual festival in honor of Dionysus,13 was the most important occasion for tragedy and dithyramb, as well as for comedies like Aristophanes’ (and for “satyr plays,” a hybrid form of drama that imported a chorus of satyrs into serious myth). As with kitharody, our knowledge of the content of dithyramb is thin. We do have fragments from Pindar and Bacchylides, two of the greatest choral poets of the 5th century, but they do not allow us as much knowledge of the form as we would like, partly because the poems are fragmentary, partly because even ancient (that is, post-classical) scholars may not have been always sure which poems were dithyrambs and which originated with other kinds of choral performance. In any case, it is enough for now to note some very obvious characteristics shared with other choral poetry. First, as might be expected, the chorus presented, in a new version, a myth, in at least the central part of the poem. (There could be references to occasion, choral identity, and a god, usually Dionysus, in whose honor the chorus sang.) Second, of course, the chorus sang and danced. The metrical form, too, like the form of the performance, was elaborate. Unlike the poetry recited by the rhapsodes, for example, the poems were composed in a series of stanzas. That is, the repeated unit was not a single line, as with the Homeric hexameter, but a longer and more complex construction composed for this 11 For a very good sketch of how pervasive music was in the life of the Athenians, see M. West, Ancient Greek Music (Oxford, 1992), 13-38. For a useful collection of documents relating to Greek music, translated and with commentary, see A. Barker, Greek Musical Writings. Volume I: The Musician and his Art (Cambridge, 1984). 12 For an introduction to dance in Greek culture, see Y. Zarifi, “Chorus and Dance in the Ancient World,” in The Cambridge Companion to Greek and Roman Theatre, eds. M. McDonald and J. Walton (Cambridge, 2007). (Her pp. 227-37 are particularly useful.) 13 For evidence relevant to Athenian festivals incorporating dramatic competitions, as well as other realities of dramatic performance in Athens, see E. Csapo and W. Slater, The Context of Ancient Drama (Michigan, 1995). They give brief introductions on any number of questions, e.g. the organization of the Great Dionysia, and much ancient textual evidence in translation. For a concise introduction to Athenian drama as a whole, see A. Sommerstein, Greek Drama and Dramatists (Routledge, 2002).



General Introduction xix

particular poem. A comparison between two pieces of “modern” poetry will make this basic difference clear. In Shakespeare, the standard verse form is blank verse, unrhymed iambic pentameter: there is a standard unit, a verse visibly demarcated on every page, based on five pairs of unstressed and stressed syllables. (See p. 4.) And this verse unit is freely repeated until the character stops speaking. Here is a bit from one of Othello’s many speeches about what he imagines is Desdemona’s betrayal: But there where I have garnered* up my heart, Where either I must live or bear no life, The fountain from the which my current runs Or else dries up—to be discarded thence! Or keep it as a cistern* for foul toads To knot and gender* in! … Othello, IV.ii.59-64

*stored

*cesspool *procreate

Contrast with this two stanzas from “Hear me Talkin’ to you,” a blues song by the great Ma Rainey: Ramblin’ man makes no change in me, I’m gonna ramble back to used-to-be—ah. Hear me talkin’ to you—I don’t bite my tongue, You want to be my man, you got to fetch it with you when you come. Eve and Adam, in the Garden takin’ a chance, Adam didn’t take time to get his pants, ah. Hear me talkin’ to you—I don’t bite my tongue, You want to be my man, you got to fetch it with you when you come.14 The attitude toward love and betrayal is completely different, and so is the form of the poetry. Ma Rainey’s is sung, and each stanza is structurally distinct as a complex unit, clearly defined by musical repetition and by the refrain. Further, it is articulated internally. The couplet is set off from the refrain, and the lines are connected by rhyme. Finally, within lines, there are often internal divisions marked by two distinct phrases. In all these ways the stanza of blues songs are analogous to the stanzas of Greek choral poetry, which can be repeated in a series or combined in larger patterns but always show these characteristics of formal unity and clear internal articulation. (See pp. 85-6.) The music must have worked in tandem not just with the rhythms of the stanza but also with its unique structure. The choreography of the dance, we can guess, could reflect these properties of the choral stanza as well. (For music in tragedy, a complex question, and dance, a murky one, see pp. 86-8.) The analogous but distinctive metrical forms of tragic choruses will be described later, to the extent that the description can help in appreciating the text and in imagining the performance. More of our attention will be given to another feature of choral poetry that becomes obvious in dithyramb: it stood out for its audience by embodying yet another kind of art language. The poetic language of Homer, for instance, would have sounded like a close relative, but choral language would have been immediately recognizable as such. Again, the difference in performance is associated not only with context, forms of 14 Transcription from S. Lieb, Mother of the Blues: A Study of Ma Rainey (Univ. of Mass. Press, 1981), 105.

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performance, and metrical form, but with a distinctive poetic dialect. Choral language in general, and dithyramb in particular, was associated with the upper reaches of poetry; the language was perceived as far removed from ordinary speech. A rough approximation can be arrived at by comparing your reactions to Shakespeare’s language and to the language of Ma Rainey; both forms of English are poetic—her language is richly expressive, even if colloquial—but we sense intuitively an essential difference in Shakespeare’s dialect, partly because it is archaic English. Without getting into a more detailed discussion of the Greek, it is hard to convey what this analogy implies for a different language, and for a poetic culture where there were multiple contrastive forms of more or less elevated language; that, in fact, is one of the specific goals of this book, to help students develop a better sense of the flavors of poetic Greek. However, even at this stage, and even in translation, a clearer sense of the relative elevation of this kind of choral language emerges from reading a parody of dithyramb in Aristophanes. As he did with other forms of poetry, including tragedy, Aristophanes made fun of dithyramb. This was possible, in part, because comedy presented a version of an everyday world; it was fantastic and improbable, not (usually) a mythical world but some version of Athens. (To the extent that we can label it fiction, it is an exception that proves a rule, that myth is inseparable in Athens from poetic narrative and drama.) And the language, not markedly poetic in dialogue scenes and often colloquial, also felt closer to home. Parody was possible, and funny, because the audience could hear an obvious contrast between two juxtaposed poetic dialects. In his play Birds, then, Aristophanes’ hero Peisetaerus has “constructed” a fantastic city in the sky with the birds in order, he says, to escape the annoyances of life in Athens. Of course, once he has built the city, various personified forms of annoyance come to try to become citizens and to gain wings. Some are unscrupulous, the equivalent of shady politicians and ambulance chasers. Others are simply pretentious and full of intellectual hot air (when presented in their comic forms). One of these is Cinesias, a dithyrambic poet, who was known for composing innovative dithyrambs. (He was also the son of a kitharode; a prominent feature of the dithyramb in this period was new and innovative music.) Aristophanes’ Cinesias is meant to be ridiculous, but he does give us a comic sample of his wares. Here he is interacting with Peisetaerus, who is not buying and drives him off: Cinesias: I want to be given wings by you and then fly up and aloft and procure from the clouds new air-whisked, snow-swept preludes. Peistetaerus: You mean you can get preludes from the clouds? C.: Why, our whole art depends on them. The most brilliant of dithyrambs are misty, murky, black-rayed, wing-whisked. You’ll soon know when you hear some. P.: Oh, no, I won’t. C.: Oh yes, by Heracles, you will! I’ll go through all the airs for you. (Singing and dancing.) Likenesses of winged coursers of the sky, of long-necked birds— P. (trying to stop him): Whoa there!



General Introduction xxi

C. (taking no notice): O to leap my upward way and travel together with the blasts of the wind— P. : (rummaging in one of the baskets) By Zeus, I am going to put a stop to these blasts of yours. (He takes out a pair of wings and begins to chase the dancing Cinesias around, flicking the wings at him like a lash.) C. (dodging hither and thither): —now going toward the way of the south, now bringing myself closer to the north wind, cleaving the harborless furrows of the sky … (Birds, 1383-1400; trans., Sommerstein) Again, it is hard to get the full flavor of the poetry in translation. But notice, particularly, the number of unusual adjectival phrases. Most are hyphenated in translation because they are poetic, and invented, compound adjectives. Adjectives like this were to be found in all poetry but in a higher density in choral lyric, especially dithyramb. More generally, even a modern reader gets the impression, metaphorically enforced, not just that poetic flights of fancy have taken hold but that the language has become an end in itself, soaring, or swooping aimlessly, in clouds of its own making. This is criticism, in the form of parody, of familiar choral language that has become “overwrought.” But to make that kind of distinction, and to make a judgment on that kind of problem, while at the same time making it funny, requires a sophisticated audience. We might assume that sophistication had to result from education, and the reading and rereading of texts, and that as a result it was restricted to only a minority. But in the late 6th century and the first half of the 5th at least, traditional education was based on learning poetry by heart, and learning to perform it. There are numerous literary texts15 and numerous images on pots to show this. Many wealthy and aristocratic Athenians were skilled and knowing enough to play on the lyre at symposia, the male, and, to begin with anyway, aristocratic drinking party, at which wine, women, and song were on the agenda. And it is clear from anecdotal evidence that delight in poetry in general, and music in particular, was inbred in men who had had a traditional education in poetry. In the Republic (607e4-608a2), Plato’s Socrates mounts another attack on poetry, arguing that it must be expelled from the ideal state for philosophical and moral reasons; poetry is too seductive and may impress on men the wrong patterns of behavior. So she (Poetry) should be resisted, unless an argument can be made to show that poetry is ethically beneficial, as well as pleasurable: It is the same for men who have fallen in love but hold themselves back, if they think the love is not good for them, even if it is a struggle. So with us, because of the love of this kind of poetry bred in us by our upbringing in these fine cities of ours, we want her to be as good and true as possible. But as long as she is unable to make a defense of herself … we will take care not to fall back into this childish, popular passion. The metaphor seems to be based on the idea of falling in love with an hetaera, a highclass mistress/prostitute; poetry has an attraction that is quasi-erotic, even for a philosopher 15 See, for example, Plato, Protagoras, 325d7-326b6; Republic 376e1-8; and Aristophanes, Clouds 961-71.

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determined to make an idiosyncratic argument against it. And all of that starts from education and having been steeped in poetry and music from a young age. Moreover, large numbers of men and boys, whether they had received this kind of education or not, performed in choruses. At the dithyrambic competition of the Great Dionysia alone a thousand men and boys would have performed in choruses every year; each of the ten Athenian tribes entered a chorus of fifty men and a chorus of fifty boys. (A tribe was a political and administrative division of the citizen body.) If we add to this number the performers in tragic and comic choruses, as well as choral performers at other festivals and on other occasions, we arrive at a surprisingly large number of Athenian citizens who had direct experience of choral music, dance, and language. So even though we do not know what proportion of the audience in the theater watching a comedy, or tragedy, had received this kind of education, or to how great an extent the educated class overlapped with those capable of performing in choruses, we can see that the kind of knowing appreciation that Aristophanes was counting on was widespread. This must have been true because, whatever their level of education, for all members of the audience the sheer weight of lived, shared experience would have made them sensitive to different forms of poetic language, differences in metrical form, and the nuances of music and dance. In another passage from the Republic (601a4-b7), Socrates compares the poet to a painter; he colors his pictures with “words and phrases” and deludes his audience with “meter, rhythm, and music,” which can cover over the triviality or even falsity of the content. These tools of the poet’s art are then compared to the physical attractions of young boys; even if they are not really beautiful, the attraction of youth is powerfully erotic. The sexual metaphor should again be given its due weight. All of these features of Greek poetry, which we have to educate ourselves to appreciate, were immediately perceptible, almost sensually obvious, and part of the pull and attraction of poetry. Without that sensitivity, which came from education, practical experience in a chorus, and/or from living in a community where so many forms of poetic performance recurred, an Athenian audience simply could not have appreciated tragedy. Or, to look at it from the other end, it is hard to imagine Athenian tragedy having its origins in any other kind of community. A summary of the characteristics it shared with other forms of Athenian poetic performance will make this clear: • It was written for a single performance at a competitive festival. • There was an expectation that myths the audience already knew would be the basis for the performance. For an introductory section on myth, see below p. 1-2. • The audience expected a particular form, or forms, of performance, i.e., recitation, song, dance, or a combination of these. • They also expected specific metrical forms for line-by-line (stichic) poetry and recognizable compositional units for stanzaic (strophic) poetry, combined in clearly articulated ways. To begin with, see the discussion of the trimeter, the most common meter of dialogue scenes in tragedy, p. 4-7. • Finally, they were accustomed to various poetic dialects, easily distinguishable from each other. See the preliminary section on art languages, p. 2-4. What was unique about tragedy was the combination of these elements and the complexity of their integration into the texture and architecture of the poem. That is, dialogue scenes,



General Introduction xxiii

delivered by actors, using (most often) the trimeter and written in one form of tragic art language, were combined with sections incorporating song and choral poetry, in a different poetic dialect and in a variety of metrical forms, delivered by actors and choruses who sang and danced. Tragedy, in other words, is a hybrid form. The diversity of forms of performance, meter, and language it incorporated, as well as its subtle and sophisticated treatment of myth, resulted from the richness of the poetic culture that gave it substance, and depended on an audience that had been acculturated so as to be able to appreciate it. Questions that result for modern readers Keep in mind these continuities between tragedy and other forms of poetry; they will help in thinking productively about the two basic question posed at the beginning of the introduction: How can we understand tragedy as a distinctive form of theater? And what kinds of audience responses may be presupposed by the texts? This textbook as a whole will help in generating answers, but always keep in mind also that the scripts left to us give us clear indications of the diversity and complexity of both the performance and the audience’s responses. Even at a preliminary stage, simply leafing through the printed pages of a modern text will show differences in metrical form; they are obvious from typography, in choral sections especially. And those, in turn, imply shifts in the form of performance; the lineation and indentation change, and we should be able to infer song and dance of various kinds. With patience, and more knowledge, more and more can be extracted from what appeared at first to be only a script.16 Moreover, since two tragic versions of the same myth can be compared, written by playwrights with divergent styles, poetic techniques, dramaturgy, etc., much can be learned from the scripts about the effects each poet might have been trying to produce for an audience with a long experience of tragic performance. To help in thinking about performance and the audience’s responses, the introductions to individual readings will address a variety of questions: • What did the actors look like? What can we know, or infer, about masks and costumes? • What was the style of the acting? How can we imagine their performances, given the size of the theater and the addition of song and dance? • To what extent did the actors tell the audience, through verbal and poetic means, what we might expect to have been shown? That is, what is the balance between the verbal and the visual and does it match up with our expectations? • How did tragedy work visually, both in regard to the actors and in regard to theater? What about the use of gesture, stage movement, and props? • What can be said about music, song, and dance, especially since most of the evidence we have in the text begins with the metrical patterns of the stanzas of sung poetry? • What variations and reshaping of the myth are evident in each play? What does comparison between Euripides’ and Sophocles’ divergent presentation of the myth allow us to see about the interrelated questions of characterization, plot construction, and the themes of each play? 16 For a very good, concise demonstration of informed reading along these lines, see P. Easterling, “Form and Performance,” 157-61, in Easterling, 1995. This anthology is a good resource for thinking further about most of the topics introduced here. An equally useful anthology is A Companion to Greek Tragedy, ed. J. Gregory (Blackwell, 2005).

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•

How can we understand the role of the chorus and the nature of tragic choral poetry? What divergent possibilities for making use of the chorus emerge in the passages of Euripides and Sophocles you will read? • How are the basic structural units of the play used? That is, what are the functions of dialogue, extended speeches, debate, narrative, solo songs, sung dialogue, and choral song? And how are they related to one another from scene to scene and within a play as a whole? • How did each tragedian make use of these formal and structural units in presenting their particular version of the myth and in provoking intellectual and emotional responses to it? What can we say about the ways in which the same formal or structural units are used in the two presentations of the myth as each moves forward and develops in its own way? Of course, discussion of this whole range of questions is rooted in thoughtful reading of the texts. And that means, first of all, reading the Greek carefully. Patience and a fair amount of preliminary spadework are required. Again, slow reading will allow exploration. An attention to detail, to vocabulary, poetic dialects, metrical form, indications of gesture, stage movement, and props—all this will pay off in thinking about the nature of tragedy as a distinct form of theater, and about how it involved and affected its audience. At the same time, reading at the pace of translation should allow a richer dialogue with the text. As you read your way into these texts, you will find your own points of connection and begin your own lines of thought. No matter how much detail needs to be assimilated as an introduction, the point is for you to find your own ways in, and to encounter the text on your own terms. To that end, as much help as possible has been given to reduce the amount of preliminary work needed simply to read the Greek; extensive help has been given, with grammar, vocabulary, verb forms, and principal parts—see the introduction to the first reading, p. 10-1. The real aim should not get buried in the detail of doing the work of a first translation; that should be a point of departure for reading, discussing, rereading, even living with, tragic texts.

Introduction to the Myths, Art Languages, and Meter The myths Below is an overview of stories about Electra’s family history as they were worked out in various ways in the literary sources. A more detailed discussion, focused on the representations of the myths in Euripides and Sophocles, is reserved for a later introduction, as the shape of the story in each tragedy begins to emerge. (See p. 55-9.) The list of events, as well as the list of sources, is intended as a summary of possibilities and a point of reference. A particular dramatization does not have to match up point for point, and changes are always possible, not only in the sequence of events but also in the shape of the story. Do not worry about reading the other literary sources yet, except for the version given by Aeschylus in his Libation Bearers. To orient yourself, it will help to read the first part of this play, lines 1-305. That will make it clearer how in the first part of their own plays, the two later tragedians make use of, or push off against, at least one earlier dramatic presentation of the myth. 1) Past events, the back story. • On the way to Troy, the Greek army is delayed at Aulis by adverse winds, and the anger of Artemis. Iphigenia, Agamemnon’s daughter, has to be sacrificed to appease her. Whether Iphigenia actually dies or not is another question. Compare: Stesichorus, fr. 215, PMGF17; Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 104-255; Euripides, Iphigenia among the Taurians, 15-30. • In Agamemnon’s absence, his wife Clytemnestra and his cousin Aegisthus become lovers and take power in the city. How they share power and what the origins and dynamics of their relationship might be can be represented or alluded to in various ways. Compare: Homer, Odyssey, 1.35-43; 3.255-75 and 303-5; Aeschylus, Agamemnon (allusions throughout); Pindar, Pythian 11, 17-37. • On Agamemnon’s return after ten years, he is murdered. The fact of the murder is of central importance; it calls for revenge and has wide-ranging effects on the lives of all the characters. Who is responsible for the murder and/or the trickery by means of which he is taken unawares is an important question. Compare: Odyssey, 4.90-2 and 514-37; 11.405-34; and 24.95-7; Agamemnon, 782 ff.; Pindar, Pythian 11, 17-37. • Also in question are the motives of Clytemnestra, or the relative importance of the multiple motives she may have had. Compare: Odyssey, 3.255-75; 11. 42134; Pythian 11, 17-37. • Either before or after the murder, the young Orestes is sent away into exile or is rescued from Aegisthus and/or Clytemnestra. If he is rescued, the question of who threatens his life can be significant for the picture we get of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. • In exile, Orestes is usually befriended by Strophius, king of Phocis, and his son 17 Abbreviation for a standard edition of fragments of early lyric poetry: M. Davies, Poetarum Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta: Volumen I: Alcman, Stesichorus, Ibycus (Oxford, 1991).

1

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Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

Pylades. Compare: Aeschylus, Libation Bearers, 1-21 and 561-2. Before returning, he consults the oracle of Apollo at Delphi. Compare: Libation Bearers, 269-97. 2) Current situation and dramatic context. • Orestes returns, with Pylades. In all three tragedies this entails an initial selfpresentation of his character and motives. • If Electra and her situation are made an important part of the story, her relations with Clytemnestra and Aegisthus and her feelings about her family history and current situation can receive extended treatment. • Conversely, the ways in which she is now treated by them serve as part of the characterization of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. 3) Important elements for developments of plot and for the future events toward which each play is moving. • On his return, Orestes visits his father’s tomb and makes offerings, including a lock of hair: Stesichorus, fr. 217 and Libation Bearers, 166 ff. • Clytemnestra attempts to send offerings to Agamemnon’s tomb, in response to a horrifying dream that she thinks portends her death and originates with his influence as a malignant spirit. She sends one of her daughters, who sees Orestes’ lock of hair: Stesichorus, fr. 219; Libation Bearers, 32 ff. and 84 ff. • The recognition of Orestes by Electra and their reunion takes place; it is tied to the lock of hair as well as other tokens of recognition: Stesichorus, fr. 217 and Libation Bearers, 166 ff. • The murders are planned. In all three tragedies this involves plotting and deception of some kind. Compare: Libation Bearers, 554 ff., 734 ff., 837 ff. • Orestes kills Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, usually in that order, to judge from Aeschylus and Euripides, and from representations in art, where Clytemnestra is sometimes shown at Aegisthus’ murder. • The Furies, who watch over crimes against kin like matricide, pursue Orestes. See Stesichorus, fr. 217; Libation Bearers, 1021-75; and Eumenides, 1-142 (and throughout). • Pylades marries Electra. See Euripides, Electra, 1247-50 and his Iphigenia among the Taurians, 912-9. •

Art languages, I: poetic vocabulary, dialect coloring, and syntax In most first-year Greek courses students learn some version of literary Attic prose, for example the kind of Greek used by the Athenian orators, like Lysias. But there were four major dialects of ancient Greek, three of which were used in literature, Attic-Ionic, Doric, and Aeolic. There are also some minor, but noticeable, differences between Attic (spoken in Attica) and Ionic, spoken in Ionia (the middle section of coastal Asia Minor), the central Aegean islands, and elsewhere. Further, in any kind of Greek poetry you do not get a straightforward literary version of a single dialect of contemporary Greek. Poetic languages are art languages, poetic dialects with distinctive flavors, created by adding, to the basis of a particular local dialect, traditional poetic vocabulary and forms, which included vocabulary and forms from other dialects. Thus the basis for the rhapsode’s Homeric language is Ionic, but it includes a mixture of archaic words, some purely artificial words from the tradition



Introduction to the Myths, Art Languages, and Meter 3

of oral composition, and elements of Aeolic (which was spoken to the north of Ionia on Lesbos and the adjoining coast of Asia Minor). The dialect basis for choral poetry was Doric (spoken in most of the Peloponnese and elsewhere), but choral language included archaic and non-Doric ingredients. The basis of the language of tragedy is Attic. But the language is yet another poetic dialect, or better a couple of closely related poetic dialects, one used for dialogue and one for choral songs. Tragic language includes a surprisingly diverse lexicon of archaic and poetic vocabulary borrowed from epic and other poetic genres. In dialogue you will find both an admixture of poetic vocabulary and a few forms and modes of pronunciation/spelling borrowed from Ionic or the poetic tradition. For example, the tragedians use words, especially verbs, spelled with -σσ- where Attic has -ττ-. This is a common and noticeable difference in pronunciation between Ionic and Attic. Sometimes, an ending or (more frequently) the stem of a noun or verb appears in a distinctively poetic form. (For more details, see below, pp. 9 and 61-5.) In the choral parts you get an even richer admixture of poetic vocabulary and forms, in addition to which some words are given a Doric flavor. (See below, pp. 91-3.) Because of the nature of traditional poetic performance, it makes sense that tragic language, too, acquired a distinctive flavor, or flavors, perceived as such by the audience; as with other forms of art language, it was inseparable for the audience from the performance of a specific kind of poetry. To put it another way, tragic language, too, had a sense of occasion, and the audience was reinvited into the experience of tragedy by hearing it. The distinctiveness of tragic dialect(s) is why Aristophanes could parody tragedy’s high-falutin’ poetic sound, as he could with dithyramb, and get an almost instant laugh. The contrast with comic language, and most probably with comic styles of acting and vocal delivery, was immediately obvious. For us, this means there will be a distinct subset of vocabulary items that should be learned as poetic, both for practical reasons and so that we can get some sense of the flavor of the tragic dialects inseparable from the experience of tragic poetry. A second basic point is that the use of poetic synonyms and dialect variants is convenient for poets composing in very strict metrical forms, forms which often made it difficult, or impossible, to fit a given word or phrase into a line. This accounts, in part at least, for the richness of tragic vocabulary. The same can be said for some stylized and repeated forms of hyperbaton, that is the separation of a modifier (adjective or genitive) from its noun. In general, you will find that connecting a modifier to its noun is harder in poetry than in prose, especially in the choral sections, where the word order is often convoluted and the density of adjectives and other modifiers is high. This is one of the reasons the reading may be a bit challenging at first. Another contributing factor is a basic feature of poetic syntax: often, though not always, the tragedians leave off the article that would have (for us) more clearly indicated the relationship of modifier and noun, not to mention (usually) giving in a simple form, case, number, and gender for the noun, whatever its declension. In Homer, as you have seen or will see, the article is most often a demonstrative; the later use of the definite article you learned in beginning Greek and got used to in reading Greek prose is just starting. Not using the article, then, is one way of making tragic language sound archaic, which contributes to its poetic feel. For more on the omission of the article, compare the prose paraphrases in the first two sets of notes (and see below, pp. 39-41). Other features of distinctively poetic syntax will be discussed as they appear in the Greek.

4

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

Iambic trimeter, I: quantitative meter and scansion Meter is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “Poetic rhythm; a technique or arrangement by which this is achieved.” This definition gets us to at least two of the adjustments 21st century English speakers have to make to the meters of Greek poetry. First, the idea that poetry implies a strict formal arrangement at all may be strange; when we do encounter poetry, we may not pay much attention to the ways words are arranged rhythmically. Second, when we are exposed to meter, we tend to think of it in terms of rhythm, which is the way English speakers and poets (at least used to) take note of and make formal patterns. For us, meter makes “sense” through a patterning of stressed and unstressed syllables, as in the iambic pentameter, the blank verse of Shakespeare and many others. It can be represented as: x ´ x ´ x ´ x ´ x ´, where each “x” is an unstressed syllable, and each “´” is a stressed syllable. The pair of syllables together is an “iamb,” a unit derived from Greek poetry. In a quatrain from a Shakespearean sonnet, we would hear this pattern when reading aloud: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which went before In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Notice, though, that there are places where the rhythm seems made to feel deliberately slower, or quicker, depending on the weight of the stresses, as at the beginning and end of the second line. And there are other places where stress seems to be deliberately varied, for effect, as at the beginning of the third line, where two strong stresses seem to make the line shift feet, before it goes forward again, iambically. In Greek poetry the same kind of patterning is achieved not by arranging word stresses but by building a pattern on the basis of a contrast in “quantity,” syllables that take more or less time to pronounce. The patterns are much stricter also; variations are only allowable to the extent they are either built into the pattern or allowed within narrow limits; deliberately breaking the patterning of the line for effect is not an aesthetic resource in the same way and to the same extent as it is in Shakespeare’s iambic line. A Greek iamb, then, can be represented as ⏑‒, where the first syllable is short and the second long. This basic unit defines the movement of the line, but the building block is an iambic “metron,” ×‒⏑‒, where “×,” an “anceps,” represents a syllable that can be either long or short. Already built into the line is a tension between the iambic movement, in the abstract, and its realization. The flexibility of the metron is a device that allows the poet to introduce a standard variation on the repeated iamb, for effect and/or for the sake of fitting words with awkward sequences of long syllables. Three of these metra, then, make up a trimeter, the spoken verse used in most tragic dialogue:





×1 ‒2 ⏑3 ‒4 ×5 ⁝ ‒6 ⏑7 ⁝ ‒8 ×9 ‒10 ⏑ 11 ×12

Note: Positions in the trimeter will be referred to by numbered positions.

There are possibilities for fitting words with three, if not four or more, long syllables. And, as you will find below, there are possibilities, carefully regulated, for placing words contain-



Introduction to the Myths, Art Languages, and Meter 5

ing two or more short syllables by “resolving” a long position, by replacing it with two short syllables. In addition, it was possible to substitute two short syllables for the anceps at 1. (To accommodate proper names, two short syllables were occasionally substituted at both short and anceps positions later in the line, at 3, 5, 7, and 9.) Each line is distinct, clearly visible on the page for us but perceptible for an ancient audience in performance because the end of the line was felt as bringing to an end a metrical whole; whereas within the line, regardless of word-ends or the pauses indicated by modern punctuation, there was metrical continuity. At line-end, then, either a short or a long syllable could be used; there was a pause, actual or potential, assumed at the end of the line.18 For the same reason a word ending in a vowel could precede a word beginning with a vowel at the beginning of the next line; “hiatus” was allowed; whereas within a line it was not—see below. Within the line, there are two smaller metrical phrases; almost all verses have a break between words, often but not always coinciding with a pause, after the fifth or, less often, the seventh position. The dotted lines indicate these possibilities for the “caesura” (from the Latin for “cutting”). The effect is to break the line, with its essentially iambic movement, into two uneven pieces and to build in an interesting variation toward the middle of each line. Toward the end, however, the iambic pattern is reasserted, presumably to bring the line to an aesthetically satisfying close and to mark off the line as a metrical unit. There are stringent restrictions on word breaks between the ninth and tenth positions, as well as other less stringent but significant norms for word breaks and pauses at other points in the last metron. We will return to this overview of the structure of the trimeter, and to what may seem now like fairly abstract description, when the process of “scanning” actual trimeters is clearer. The first, practical, question is how to demarcate the long and short syllables that fill out the pattern, how to scan a line. A syllable is always defined by a vowel or diphthong, and, of course, there are no silent vowels in Greek. Diphthongs are always long;19 two single vowels, η and ω, are always long; two, ε and ο, always short; and three, α, ι, and υ, variable. Metrically speaking, however, a syllable can be either a vowel by itself or, much more often, a vowel and one or more consonants. For this purpose the whole line is treated as if it were a single word; “syllables” can be made up of sounds from adjacent words, even across a pause. In the same way, because the poets disliked butting a word ending in a vowel up against a word beginning with a vowel (hiatus), a short final vowel can be elided before a word beginning with a vowel, whether there is a pause or not. For example, the words in lines 2 and 3 are: ὅθεν ποτὲ ἄρας ναυσὶ χιλίαις Ἄρη ἐς γῆν ἔπλευσε Τρῳάδα Ἀγαμέμνων ἄναξ. But they can be rewritten, with the elision and metrical syllables divided, as: ο θεν πο τ’α ρας ναυ σι χι λι αι ςΑ ρη ες γη νε πλευ σε Τρῳ α δ’Ἀ γα μεμ νω να ναξ. 18 Note that this means that the final anceps is, in principle, not the same as the preceding ones, in spite of the standard notation for the trimeter; the reason for allowing either a short or a long syllable is different. 19 When you learn the rules for placing accent, you are told that, unlike other diphthongs, final -οι and -αι count as short. For the purposes of scansion, however, this exception disappears.

6

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

A single consonant is taken with the following vowel; two (or more) consonants are, usually, split between vowels. (On the exceptions, as in line 3, see below.) Generally, any short or ambiguous vowel that is followed by two (or more) consonants will be considered as contained in a syllable closed off by the first of them, which means the syllable takes longer to pronounce. Hence, all the following syllables, marked in bold, have to be long, whether because they have an unambiguously long vowel or diphthong or because a short vowel is closed off by a consonant: ο θεν πο τ’α ρας ναυ σι χι λι αι ςΑ ρη ες γη νε πλευ σε Τρῳ α δ’Ἀ γα μεμ νω να ναξ. The basic flow of the line, as defined by scansion, will become intuitively obvious with a bit of practice. Here are four refinements: 1) Sometimes an ambiguous syllable is followed by only one consonant. Either the word has to be looked up,20 or the pattern itself can allow you to fill in the blank. The underlined syllables can all be scanned on the basis of the underlying pattern: ο θεν πο τ’α̅ ρας ναυ σῐ χι̅ λι αι ςᾸ ρη ες γη νε πλευ σε Τρῳ ᾰ δ’Ἀ γα μεμ νω νᾰ ναξ. 2) The consonants, ζ, ξ, and ψ, are really conventional ways of writing combinations of two consonant sounds; they could be rewritten as: σδ, κσ, πσ. 3) a. On the one hand, in Attic, combinations of a π, β, φ, τ, δ, θ, κ, γ, or χ plus a λ, ρ, μ, or ν were mostly pronounced together as one sound, and could be taken together with the following vowel, which, in poetry, would leave a syllable with a short vowel short, e.g., τε κνον (“child”) vs. τεκ νον. The exceptions to this general rule, where the two consonants are split and the syllable is long after all, are βλ, γλ, γμ, γν, δμ, and δν. (Remember, “Goddamn, bloody glitch!”) You can summarize: π, β, φ τ, δ, θ } plus λ, ρ, μ, ν are taken together, except for βλ, γλ, γμ, δν, which are split. κ, γ, χ b. On the other hand, in Homer and other poetic dialects all of the combinations of consonants pronounced together in Attic could be split, pronounced with the preceding and following vowels, in which case, again, the first syllable would count as long. And sometimes the tragedians make use of this un-Attic, poetic-sounding form of syllabification (also, rarely, with the “bloody glitch” combinations). The two combinations of this kind in line 3 are taken with the following vowels and leave the preceding syllable short. In the next two readings (11-111), when two consonants like this are split between syllables, it will be noted. 4) Resolution. In these two lines there is only one instance, in line 3. Ἀγαμέμνων, as a word shaped ⏑⏑‒‒, poses a problem. The solution is to treat it as equivalent to ‒‒‒, which fits neatly after a caesura at 7. 20 Remember, though, that by definition a final vowel is short if there is an acute on the third syllable back (the antepenult) or a circumflex on the second back (the penult). See Smyth, 163-4.



Introduction to the Myths, Art Languages, and Meter 7



The first two lines, then, scan as:

⏑ ‒ ⏑ ‒ ‒⁝ ‒ ⏑‒ ⏑‒ ⏑ ‒ ο θεν πο τ’α̅ ρας ναυ σῐ χι̅ λι αι ςᾸ ρη ‒ ‒ ⏑ ‒ ⏑ ‒ ⏑⁝ ⏖ ‒ ‒ ⏑ ‒ ες γη νε πλευ σε Τρῳ ᾰ δ’Ἀ γα μεμ νω νᾰ ναξ. Note that the definition of caesura, in these lines and many others, is complicated by having a word break after both position 5 and 7; both lines here have phrasing that seems to lend itself to a later caesura, but there is sometimes room for argument.

Reading One: Euripides, Lines 1-10 First examples of poetic vocabulary and synonyms There are several words for “earth,” “land,” or “country.” Three common options, two of which appear in the first ten lines, are γῆ, γῆς, ἡ; χθών, χθονός, ἡ; and γαῖα, ας, ἡ: Prose: γῆ γῆς γῇ γῆν

Tragedy adds: χθών χθονός χθονί χθόνα

γαῖα γαίας γαίᾳ γαῖαν

For a number of common prose words you will find a similar set of synonyms. If you scan the words above, you will find that they have different metrical shapes, inherent patterns of long and short syllables. A diverse vocabulary provided the poet an important compositional tool for consistently filling out the trimeter pattern in acceptable and aesthetically satisfying ways. This is not to say that all common synonyms are interchangeable and perfectly synonymous. Differences in nuance certainly exist, all the more so given differences in context and forms of expression. And there are many more overlapping sets of related words, sets whose intersections and precise boundaries are hard to define. The point is simpler: the richness of the vocabulary, which helped make the language more poetic and more expressive, results in part from the strictness of the metrical form and the poets’ refinement as metrical composers. There are also variations on the forms of χείρ, χειρός, ἡ. Tragedy supplements the forms available in prose with forms built on the stem χερ-, i.e., χερός, ί, α, ες, ῶν, ας (as well as, rarely, χείρεσσι(ν)). This means that as alternatives to words shaped ‒⏑ or ‒‒, ⏑⏑ or ⏑‒ could be used for a common word. A change in the stem of the word, or in the form of an ending, is not as common a resource as the use of a different vocabulary item but is still noticeable. Trimeter: getting used to scansion One of the reasons the first reading covers only ten lines is to allow for practice in scansion. Hints: the only other resolution is in line 5. Πρίαμον, with a short ι in the first syllable, fits at 1-2. In line 4, Ἰλιάδι, with a long ι in the first syllable, fits at 8-10. Here we get not resolution but substitution of two shorts for the anceps at 9, which is only allowed with proper names. (See p. 5.) Also uncommon is the caesura you find in the same line; a break right in the middle of the line (medial caesura) was acceptable but mostly avoided. After you get used to scansion, and to variations within the line, we will come back to resolution and the restrictions on pauses and word breaks at the end of the line. These will be useful refinements, even though with practice most lines will scan easily. (See pp. 65-6.)

9

10

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

Basic forms to review This section is meant to help people in the second year, or those reviewing forms for a first advanced course. (For the same reason, most verb forms are identified in the vocabulary. See below.) The review is optional; and it is not meant to be exhaustive but to focus on the most common forms first, the ones most useful for reading. As a way of starting out, make sure you remember the forms of the article. This is essential in itself, and it will allow you to review most of the second declension endings and some from the first. For the third declension, start with these common endings: Masculine and feminine Neuter sing. pl. sing. pl. nom. --- -ες --- -α gen. -ος -ων -ος -ων dat. -ι -σι(ν) -ι -σι(ν) acc. -α -ας --- -α These are also used for various kinds of pronouns and adjectives, including participles. Note: final ι and α are always short in these forms. For verbs, it is assumed that you know, or will review, any regular indicative form from the first three principal parts, including contracts (i.e., present and imperfect active and middle/passive, future active and middle, and aorist active and middle). Notes on the format for the vocabulary, with some suggestions •

•

It is assumed that you have a basic vocabulary (defined here by the vocabulary used as a basis for the College Greek Exam). These words appear in the glossary in the back of the book. (If a common word shows up with an uncommon meaning, that will be indicated in the vocabulary.) To keep the size of the vocabulary manageable, other common words will only be defined the first five times they appear. These, too, will be included in the glossary. In either case, if you find yourself resorting to the glossary, make a flash card; the word is common enough to be memorized.

•

The vocabulary of tragedy is rich and varied. Many words are part of a common stock of poetic diction that the audience would have perceived as such. The vocabulary lists are designed to help appreciate at least some of the differences in the flavors of the diction, and to help in reading further in tragedy and other poetry. Any word that is poetic and shows up more than forty times in extant tragedy will be marked in bold. If a particular meaning of the word is common in poetry but not in prose, that meaning will be marked in bold. It will be useful to learn these words separately, again by making flash cards. Note: deciding what is poetic is not always a simple matter. If a word is very rare or does not appear at all in Aristophanes’ trimeter dialogue, except where he is playing with poetic language, and if it appears only rarely or not at all in a substantial sample of classical Athenian prose texts,21 the word is probably poetic,

21 The prose texts used for comparison are Thucydides, pseudo-Xenophon on The Constitution of the Athenians, a sample of oratory used by K. Dover for stylistic comparisons with poetry (The Evolution of Greek Prose Style (Oxford, 1997), 63), and the following early dialogues of Plato: Apology, Charmides, Crito, Euthyphro, Gorgias, Hippias Minor, Ion, Laches, Meno, and Protagoras.



Reading One: Euripides, Lines 1-10 11

•

•

•

•

especially if it is as common in tragic language as the words considered here. If there is some doubt about the question, this will be indicated in the notes. The running vocabulary will assume a standard Attic spelling and pronunciation, unless there is no equivalent Attic prose form. This is not the standard for lexica (dictionaries), but it will help in getting used to deviations from Attic forms. See pp. 61-2. Usually, each word will simply be glossed by the most pertinent definitions given in LSJ (though the gloss may be modernized). (LSJ = H. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. Jones, eds., A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford, 9th ed., 1940; revised supplement, 1996). This is a convenient shortcut and often all you need at this stage. It is not, however, a substitute for learning to use a lexicon and considering the nuances of words. (Otherwise, it would be enough to read a translation.) As you come across words that seem thematically interesting and/or significant in relation to Athenian cultural values, look them up. By using LSJ strategically, you can get experience reading the articles in a big lexicon and get more out of reading the Greek. Verb forms are referred, if necessary, back to the first principal part, the dictionary entry, e.g., ἔπλευσε > πλέω, line 3. But, as with common vocabulary, common principal parts will be explained only five times. A list of common irregular principal parts is added at the back of the book. Tenses, moods, voice, participles, and infinitives will also be indicated at first. But after each reading’s review of basic verb endings, explanations of those forms will disappear. For the abbreviations in the vocabulary, look at the “General List of Abbreviations” in LSJ.

ΑΥΤΟΥΡΓΟΣ Ὦ γῆς †παλαιὸν Ἄργος†, Ἰνάχου ῥοαί, ὅθεν ποτ’ ἄρας ναυσὶ χιλίαις Ἄρη ἐς γῆν ἔπλευσε Τρῳάδ’ Ἀγαμέμνων ἄναξ. κτείνας δὲ τὸν κρατοῦντ’ ἐν Ἰλιάδι χθονὶ Πρίαμον ἑλών τε Δαρδάνου κλεινὴν πόλιν 5 ἀφίκετ’ ἐς τόδ’ Ἄργος, ὑψηλῶν δ’ ἐπὶ ναῶν ἔθηκε σκῦλα πλεῖστα βαρβάρων. κἀκεῖ μὲν εὐτύχησεν· ἐν δὲ δώμασιν θνῄσκει γυναικὸς πρὸς Κλυταιμήστρας δόλῳ καὶ τοῦ Θυέστου παιδὸς Αἰγίσθου χερί.

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12

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

αὐτουργός, οῦ, ὁ—a man working his own land, small farmer ὦ—with voc., nom., or imper. as a form of address, “O” γῆ, γῆς, ἡ—earth; land, country παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient Ἄργος, ους, τό Ἴναχος, ου, ὁ ῥοή, ῆς, ἡ—stream, flow; river (usually pl.) ὅθεν—whence, from where ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world?” ἄρας (aor. part.) > αἴρω ναῦς, νεώς, ἡ—ship χίλιοι, αι, α—a thousand Ἄρης, Ἄρεως/Ἄρεος, ὁ—Ares; war, slaughter ἔς = εἰς γῆ, γῆς, ἡ—earth; land, country ἔπλευσε > πλέω—sail Τρῳάς, άδος, ἡ (fem. adj.) ἄναξ, ἄνακτος, ὁ—lord, master κτείνας (aor. part.) > κτείνω—kill, slay κρατοῦντα (pres. part.) > κρατέω Ἰλιάς, άδος, ἡ (fem. adj.)—Trojan

χθών, χθονός, ἡ—earth; land, country 5: ἑλών (aor. part.) > αἱρέω—grasp, take; capture κλεινός, ή, όν—famous, renowned ἀφίκετο (aor.) > ἀφικνέομαι—arrive at, come to ἐς— = εἰς ὅδε, ἥδε, τόδε—this (as opposed to “that”); this (present or visible) thing or person ὑψηλός, ή, όν—high ναός, οῦ, ὁ = νεώς, νεώ, ὁ (Attic)—temple ἔθηκε (aor.) > τίθημι σκῦλον, ου, τό—mostly pl., arms, spoils πλεῖστος, η, ον—most; very many βάρβαρος, ον—barbarian, non-Greek ἐκεῖ—there, in that place εὐτυχέω—be prosperous, fortunate, successful δῶμα, δώματος, τό—house θνῄσκω—die; be killed πρός—from, at the hands of (with gen.) Κλυταιμήστρα, ας, ἡ δόλος, ου, ὁ—bait, trap; trick; cunning 10: Θυέστης, ου, ὁ παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child χείρ, χειρός, ἡ—hand; hand and arm, arm

Note: Simple Arabic numbers are used to point to lines in the play being read, an abbreviation with the number (“E.” or “S.”) to lines from the other play. As you go forward in the reading, back references in this form will start to appear. These are meant to remind you of places where grammatical questions were the same or where relevant content and concepts appeared. To save space, a certain amount of page-flipping had to be imposed, but rereading in these situations will allow you to take more away from the text, to learn more Greek, and to get more out of the process of working through the text. 1—Whether Argos is addressed or not—see the next note—this address to the river Inachus probably evoked for the audience the geographical and, hence, mythical setting. Inachus is a river in Argos, a river god, and/or the mythical ancestor of Argive kings. Note, though, that at this point the audience would not know what character the actor is playing. —†παλαιὸν Ἄργος†. The phrase is a “crux,” and the crosses (cruces) indicate a part of the text that the editor judges makes no sense and has not yet been successfully “emended,” improved by conjecture so that it makes better sense. The genitive γῆς needs a noun to describe, and Argos and its river seem to be in apposition; they appear to be ways of naming the same place. To make sense you would need to substitute a noun that γῆς modifies and that refers to the river. Doing this would also make more sense of ἐς τόδ’ Ἄργος in 6. See note. —Ἰνάχου ῥοαί. The use of the plural with the genitive to name a river is a poetically full form of expression. Euripides names rivers in this way fairly often. Here it seems to help focus the audience’s attention on the location. On this use of the genitive, see the note to Ἠλέκτρας θάλος (15). 2-7. For the sake of the comparison, here is a paraphrase with articles inserted, poetic word order in noun phrases reshuffled—see notes below: ὅθεν ποτ’ ἄρας ναυσὶ χιλίαις



Reading One: Euripides, Lines 1-10 13

Ἄρη ἐς τὴν Τρῳάδα γῆν ἔπλευσε ὁ ἄναξ Ἀγαμέμνων. κτείνας δὲ τὸν κρατοῦντ’ ἐν τῇ Ἰλιάδι χθονί, τὸν Πρίαμον, ἑλών τε τὴν κλεινὴν πόλιν τοῦ Δαρδάνου, ἀφίκετ’ ἐς τόδε τὸ Ἄργος, καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ὑψηλῶν ναῶν ἔθηκε σκῦλα πλεῖστα τῶν βαρβάρων. A version with more prosaic vocabulary: ὅθεν ποτ’ ἀράμενος ναυσὶ χιλίαις πόλεμον εἰς τὴν Τρῳάδα γῆν ἔπλευσε ὁ Ἀγαμέμνων. ἀποκτείνας δὲ τὸν κρατοῦντ’ ἐν τῇ Τρῳάδι (γῇ), τὸν Πρίαμον, καὶ ἑλὼν τὴν εὔδοξον πόλιν τοῦ Δαρδάνου, ἐπανῆλθεν εἰς τόδε τὸ Ἄργος, ἐπὶ δὲ τῶν ὑψηλῶν νεὼν ἔθηκε σκῦλα πλεῖστα τῶν βαρβάρων. 2-3. The vocative hangs in the air and is left behind, without a main verb, by the relative clause. Having localized the story, the actor invokes the mythical background. 3—Note how a verb form inserted within the prepositional phrase separates the noun and its modifier (hyperbaton). Compare 19, and the note to 16. 4—κτείνας. One distinctive mark of elevated poetry is the use in a simple form of verbs that would have been compounds in prose. ἀποκτείνω is the standard in prose; κτείνω is uncommon. The reverse is true in tragedy. (Aristophanes does not use the simple form in ordinary comic dialogue.) Compare θνῄσκει (9) and see below, p. 20. 5—ἑλών τε. In poetry a single τε can be used to connect words, phrases, and clauses, which is rare in most prose authors. (Remember that “A-ing and B-ing “ with a τε has to be “A-ing B-ing τε”; τε always comes after the word (phrase, or clause) it connects.) —Δαρδάνου κλεινὴν πόλιν. Dardanus is a son of Zeus and an ancestor of Priam. 6-7. The glory of Greek success against the Trojans is brought home. —ἐς τόδ’ Ἄργος … ὑψηλῶν δ’ ἐπὶ ναῶν. In two successive phrases we get the prose word order and one at home in poetry, a sandwiching of the preposition by adjective and noun. Note also that the prose version would have included an article. See p. 40. 6—ἐς τόδ’ Ἄργος. Ἄργος can refer both to a city and to a whole district, the Argolid (in the northeastern Peloponnesus). Mycenae was near Argos, and Aeschylus makes Agamemnon king of Argos, while Sophocles makes him king of Mycenae. The location of the Farmer’s house is away from the city, on the border of the Argolid (95-6). Later in the prologue (35), he speaks of himself as descended from “Mycenaean” ancestors, a name which may simply be used to evoke the Argive past. 7—ναῶν. The tragic form of this word is not the normal Attic but a Doric version. See Smyth, 237-8. For more on the question of dialect coloring in dialogue, see below pp. 61-5. (This noun is easy to confuse with forms of ναῦς, νεώς, ἡ (“ship”); compare Smyth, 275.) —σκῦλα πλεῖστα. The superlative adjective can indicate an absolute standard (“most,” with this adjective) or, as here, a very high degree (“very many”). 8-10. The glory of Agamemnon’s achievement is now used as a foil to emphasize his misfortune and that of Electra and Orestes. 8—κἀκεῖ. = καὶ ἐκεῖ. Remember that usually a crasis is indicated by what looks like (but is not) a breathing mark on a non-initial vowel. See Smyth, 62-9. —εὐτύχησεν. On the missing augment, see Smyth, 437. —ἐν δὲ δώμασιν. δῶμα is one of several poetic synonyms for the prose οἶκος. See below, pp. 19-20. But it is also plural where a singular is expected. See pp. 20-1. 9—θνῄσκει. An “historic present.” That is, a present used for effect in a narrative about the past. One way of explaining the effect is to say that an event described with the present, as opposed to the imperfect or the aorist, is crucial or decisive for the narrative. Another motive, hard to distinguish at times from the first, is simply to bring the event before the

14

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

mind’s eye. Note also that, as with κτείνω, prose would use a compound, ἀποθνῄσκω. (Aristophanes, again, does not use the simple form in ordinary comic dialogue.) Note, too, that (ἀπο)θνῄσκω is often used as the passive of (ἀπο)κτείνω. —γυναικὸς πρὸς Κλυταιμήστρας. In effect, the same word order as in ὑψηλῶν δ’ ἐπὶ ναῶν, 6-7. πρός is used here where you might expect ὑπό plus the genitive; see Smyth, 1695b. —δόλῳ. Both this dative and χερί at the end of the next line are adverbial, either “modal” or “instrumental”; they tell you how or by what means he died. (On these kinds of dative, see below, p. 22.) Clytemnestra has brought about the murder “treacherously” or “by trickery.” She has also, as will become clear, participated in the murder. Her involvement in the actual killing varies, depending on the version of the myth presented. In Aeschylus, she is solely responsible for the deed (Agamemnon, 1380-7). In Euripides and Sophocles, both she and Aegisthus participate, though in this passage her role as chief schemer is emphasized. Compare 86-7 and 160-5 10—τοῦ Θυέστου παιδός. Neither Euripides nor Sophocles emphasizes the feud between Aegisthus’ father, Thyestes, and Agamemnon’s, Atreus, a feud which culminated in the horrific murder of Aegisthus’ brothers by Atreus. But an allusion might be felt here. —χερί. Logically speaking, we would have to say he died “at the hands of Aegisthus.” But this use of the singular for paired parts of the body, hands or feet, is a conventional poetic form of expression. Compare 17 and 28.

Introduction for the Opening Monologue What did the audience see? What did the theater and actors look like? Not much remains from the 5th century Theater of Dionysus, built on the slopes of the Acropolis. The ruins we do see are from the 4th century and later. What little the archaeologists have identified as being from the 5th century allows us to infer little for certain about what the theater would have looked like.22 We can be sure that the early theater made use of the hillside for the seating from which the audience watched, with fill used to make the slope more suitable, and that a retaining wall was constructed to create a space for the orchestra, the area where the chorus sang and danced. The basics of a Greek theater are simply a hillside for watching and a flat, open space for performing. Other ideas that have been read into the 5th century remains have depended to a large extent on the archaeological or literary evidence from other times and places used to complete the reconstructions. Up to the last quarter of the 19th century, the properties of later Greek, and Roman, theaters, with a high raised stage and circular orchestra were often assumed. Later constructions often were based on Greek theaters from the 4th century and after, like the one at Epidaurus, which became a point of reference after it was excavated at the end of the 19th century; it was relatively wellpreserved and beautifully designed and constructed. But this kind of symmetrical stone-built theater with a circular orchestra does not seem to have been built in the 5th century. What evidence we do have for contemporary theaters points, first, to rectangular or irregular rectilinear plans and, second, to a smaller and shallower orchestra. In these theaters, the distance between the front row of seats and the back of the orchestra was in the neighborhood of 10-15 meters. There appears to be a growing consensus that the orchestra in the Theater of Dionysus was similar in shape. On the other hand, it seems to have been larger. One recent reconstruction allows for an orchestra about 20 meters deep from back to front. This would easily fit within the area that was enclosed by the retaining wall of the orchestra terrace, though the remains of the retaining wall, or walls, are scrappy and very hard to interpret. In fact, an orchestra 20 meters deep might have been a bit small. Remember that a chorus of fifty performed the dithyramb at the same festival. Since they performed in a circle, they would have needed, at a bare minimum, a circular space about 16 meters in diameter, and a circle with a diameter of 25 meters or more, when the chorus members moved farther apart in dancing. Determining the outside limit for the size of the orchestra is perhaps impossible; it is hard to be sure where the lower edge of the seating area was. Still, in spite of the uncertainty as to its shape and exact dimensions, keep in mind that the orchestra was large. The audience was large also; estimates of its size range from 7,000 to 15,000. The distance from the back, or even the center, of the orchestra to most of the spectators would have been considerable, much greater than we might expect from our experience in smallish modern theaters with proscenium stages. The relative bareness of all this space has be taken into account also; the actors’ movements, their costumes, and the few properties used would have stood out starkly in the orchestra and against the backdrop of 22 See Csapo and Slater, 1995, 79-80.

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Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

the skene, the wooden stage building behind it. It is an interesting exercise to try to imagine what the Farmer looked like during his monologue and how he delivered it. At the opening of the play, then, the actor enters either from a central door in the skene, taken as his farmhouse, or up one of two entrances into the orchestra, the eisodoi. If he entered from the skene, he may have climbed down steps from a low stage platform in front of it. The existence of a stage is another matter of dispute. But let us assume he stood in the orchestra. Alone in this large bare space, then, he will carry the play forward, in fact pull the audience into the performance, simply by delivering this relatively long opening speech. For us, the imagined performance will seem unusual and unlike most theater we have experienced. To begin with, the actor was masked. (For more on masked acting, see below, pp. 117-9.) Evidence from early 5th century Athenian vase paintings lets us get a feeling for what masks would have looked like, though there seems to have been a change over the course of the century.23 Early on, the vases show a relatively simple mask reminiscent of early classical sculpture (Simon, plates 2 and 4; Gould, plate II). They do not resemble images of later Greek and Roman masks, with a large, wide-open mouth, expressive eyes, and hair piled high over the forehead. By the end of the century, the masks are more mask-like, with more expression and a somewhat more open mouth, but they are still relatively restrained and simple. The images from vase painting do not show masks that individuate the characters; instead, they indicate basic types, young and old, male and female, etc. A clear and perhaps startling indication is the possibility that white coloring was used on the faces of female masks; to judge from some 5th century images in the red figure technique, female masks were distinguished as in vase painting in the earlier black figure, where the skin of women was indicated by an overlay of white.24 Further distinguishing traits could be represented, as with the hair of both Euripides’ and Sophocles’ Electra, cut short in mourning. (See 108-9, 241 and 335 and compare S. 448-51; see also Simon, plate 4.1.) But at least as far as we can tell from the images of masks in vase paintings, this is not a result of a desire to present naturalistically a particular image of a character; instead, such traits, insofar as they were used, and visible, indicate a character in a specific mythical situation. In short, the mask directs attention not to a personality but to character of a given age and gender, one defined more clearly by mythical context and genealogy. (More may have been indicated by costume, which was presumably more easily legible by the audience as a whole; see pp. 34-7 below.) The text here seems to confirm this general picture. As far as we can tell, the mask was not unusual or individuated. Similarly, as you will see in 23 J. Gould, Cambridge History of Classical Literature, I.2, Greek Drama (Cambridge,1985), 24-7, gives a balanced and cautious discussion of the evidence. (His Plate IV is reversed and does not match its captions.) Also useful, and often accessible, is E. Simon, The Ancient Theatre (Methuen, 1982). 24 The same convention does not normally hold for red figure vase painting before the late 5th century. Yet in two red figure images of tragic masks there is a white overlay. Particularly important are fragments of a vase in Kiev (from 430-20) only recently brought into the discussion of tragic masks and costume. (See O. Taplin, Pots and Plays (Getty, 2007), 29, with fig. 9, and R. Wyles, Costume in Greek Tragedy (Bristol Classical Press, 2011), 17, with fig. 7.) There, female masks are painted in profile, with added white contrasting with the normal background of red, for the neck. Also important are the fragments from the Athenian Agora (from about 470), which show a frontal female mask; it is not being worn but is also colored with added white. (Illustrated by Simon, plate 4.1 and Gould, plate 4 (top right). See also A. Pickard-Cambridge, The Dramatic Festivals of Athens (2nd ed., Oxford, 1989), fig. 32.)



Introduction for the Opening Monologue 17

his opening monologue, there is nothing in the style of his language to characterize him as anything but a generic tragic character. His monologue will have to tell us why his character and situation are different. What did the audience hear? Telling vs. showing That monologue, then, is delivered by a single masked actor, presumably in the large empty orchestra. Neither the actor’s identity nor what the skene is supposed to represent is clear at first. (On the possibility of realistic scenery, see below.) The actor delivers trimeter verses that fit a familiar pattern, and the poetic dialect he uses is familiar also. As the audience settles in, that dialect, like the theater and the style of masked acting, invite them into the familiar experience of tragedy. You are at this stage just starting to get comfortable with the verse form and the peculiarities of tragic diction, syntax, etc. But what you learn in bits and pieces the audience experienced as a familiar verbal and acoustic texture. For us, hearing tragic trimeters and appreciating tragic language is something that can be approximated only by reading aloud or, better yet, reading the poetry well enough to read out loud to others. As you work through the Greek and reread the passages you have already gone through, one thing that may be striking, beginning in this opening monologue, is how often an actor tells the audience something that we, raised on film and to a lesser extent on modern theater, might expect to be shown. Telling in the place of showing is perfectly at home in a type of theatre that has strong roots in epic and lyric poetry. (See above, pp. xv-xxiii.) And it suited an audience that was used to multiple forms of poetic performance, and to participating imaginatively in those performances. This kind of language can be used in various ways to shape or fill out the audience’s experience of the play. (See further below, pp. 36-7, 119-20). But, to begin with, notice how often extended description and narrative are used where you might not expect them, as in this monologue. These procedures are being used, first of all, to describe a place. The actor is “setting the scene,” telling us where we are in terms of geography. The question of whether scenery was used in Greek theater is another scholarly bone of contention. We have very little evidence for its use, only one reference in Aristotle’s Poetics to σκηνογραφία, which judging from a much later source appears to indicate the illusionistic use of perspective, perhaps in representing stage buildings. In any case, it seems unlikely that specific sets gave much, if any, information about particular locations. Most of the work was done by verbal description in an opening monologue or in later dialogue. Here, the Farmer has told us right away that we are in Argos and will tell us by the end of the speech that the theater space is to be thought of as in front of his farmhouse. (Or his hut? His hovel? It is hard to imagine scene painting making that idea clear, even harder to imagine the skene being rebuilt to look smaller and humbler. Compare the notes to 51, 78, and 251-3.) Geography and setting are inseparable from myth. (Compare the notes to 1 and 6.) The Farmer also goes on to bring us into the story, as Euripides has conceived it, up to the point where we find the character. That is, the actor speaks as a narrator but in character and out of the world of the play. This is not breaking the “dramatic illusion,” or a deficiency in technique, though we will see, in Sophocles’ opening dialogue, that more naturalistic exposition was possible. The monologue is not crude or undramatic; it is a means of narration and exposition at home in tragedy, a means that orients the audience by telling them

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where they are in more than one sense. More broadly, the monologue develops both character and theme; it is expository, like the opening of most plays, introducing ideas, probing, setting our expectations, maybe setting us up for surprises, etc. We can start, however, by considering the ways in which the opening scene orients the audience in relation to the play’s presentation and interpretation of myth. In a naturalistic modern play, we might expect exposition in the sense that, at the most basic level, we find out who is involved in the play’s fictional world, how they are connected to each other, and (some of) what the “back story” might be. Here, because of the centrality of traditional myths, exposition in this basic sense means being introduced to Euripides’ particular take on the story of Electra and her relatives. Innovation is clearly possible; the Farmer is a unique and unexpected character, and his marriage to Electra is unexpected, to say the least. But at the same time Euripides is obviously playing off his audience’s expectations and their previous experience with a whole complex of myths centered on her family. For example, he does not have the farmer identify himself for over thirty lines, which is very unusual and would have focused the audience’s attention on this character, and on Electra’s marriage to him; he is an innovation and calls attention to himself precisely because he stays anonymous for so long. For the moment, we will be noting details of Euripides’ treatment of the myth. We will be coming back to the larger question of the effects of his and Sophocles’ dramatizations of the myth when we get to the beginning of Sophocles’ presentation of his Electra story and can compare and contrast the prologues of each play.

Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 Further examples of poetic vocabulary and synonyms: the household and the house There are multiple words for family relationships, for husbands, wives, children, brothers, and sisters. Two common words for “husband” are ἀνήρ, ἀνδρός, ὁ and πόσις, ὁ. And three words for “wife” have been used, γυνή, γυναικός, ἡ; δάμαρ, δάμαρτος, ἡ; ἄλοχος, ου, ἡ (“bed-partner”). (Not all the forms of each noun are to be found.) Prose: ἀνήρ ἀνδρός ἀνδρί ἄνδρα ἄνδρες ἀνδρῶν ἀνράσι(ν) ἄνδρας

Tragedy adds: πόσις --- πόσει πόσιν πόσεις --- --- ---

Prose: γυνή γυναικός γυναικί γυναῖκα γυναῖκες γυναικῶν γυναιξί(ν) γυναῖκας

Tragedy adds: δάμαρ δάμαρτος δάμαρτι δάμαρτα δάμαρτες --- --- δάμαρτας

ἄλοχος ἀλόχου ἀλόχῳ ἄλοχον ἄλοχοι ἀλόχων --ἀλόχους

πόσις is relatively common in Euripides but rare in Aeschylus and Sophocles. δάμαρ is, again, relatively common in Euripides and rare in Aeschylus and Sophocles. ἄλοχος is not as frequent, but common enough to learn as standard poetic vocabulary. Two common words for “child” have appeared, παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ and τέκνον, ου, τό. Later you will get alternatives for “brother” and “sister”: Prose: παῖς παιδός παιδί παῖδα etc.

Tragedy adds: τέκνον τέκνου τέκνῳ τέκνον

Prose: ἀδελφός/ή ἀδελφοῦ/ῆς ἀδελφῷ/ῇ ἀδελφόν/ήν

Tragedy adds: κασίγνητος/η κασιγνήτου/ης κασιγνήτῳ/ῃ κασίγνητον/ην

τέκνον is rare in prose. In a few passages in comedy it appears to be an affectionate form of address used by women. But it is uncommon, and most instances are in choruses and/or in passages that play with tragic style. In tragedy this word appears hundreds of times as a synonym for παῖς, παιδός. Notice also κόρη, ης, ἡ, “daughter.” In this sense, as opposed to “girl,” “maiden,” the word seems to be poetic. There are multiple words also for “house.” Three common options, all appearing in the opening monologue, are οἶκος, ου, ὁ; δόμος, ου, ὁ; and δῶμα, δώματος, τό. Soon, you will see, στέγη, ης, ἡ (“roof,” “room,” “house”) and μέλαθρον, ου, τό (“roof-tree,” “roof,” “house”):

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Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

Prose: οἶκος οἴκου οἴκῳ οἶκον etc.

Tragedy adds: δόμος δόμου δόμῳ δόμον

δῶμα δώματος --- δῶμα

στέγη στέγης στέγῃ στέγην

μέλαθρον μελάθρου μελάθρῳ μέλαθρον

(The word for “house” used most commonly in prose, and comedy, to refer to the physical structure is οἰκία, ας, ἡ, which is not used in tragedy.) All of these words can be, and often are, used as “poetic plurals.” See below. Simplex verbs: dying, perishing, and killing ἀπ-όλλυμι vs. ὄλλυμι (12 and 29; compare 38) ἀπο-κτείνω vs. κατακτείνω and κτείνω (4, 27, and 33) ἀπο-θνῄσκω vs. θνῄσκω (9 and 17) One of the more common departures from ordinary Attic usage in tragedy is the use of simple forms for compounds of the same verb. Destroying, killing, and dying without an ἀπο- in front is not allowed in prose, or comedy. You will find other examples of “simplex” verbs even in this reading, and many others later. Keep an eye out for them, and you will see verbs that show up in both simplex or compound forms; clearly, at least some of the time, the reason for using both is to allow variants of different metrical shapes. It would help to learn the first, second, and third principal parts of these verbs, if they are not familiar already. Notice: • ἀπ-όλλυμι, ἀπολῶ, ἀπώλεσα/ἀπωλόμην (act., “destroy,” “kill”; middle, “die”) has two versions of the aorist, one transitive and active, one intransitive and middle; both are worth learning. • The prose ἀπο-κτείνω, ἀπο-κτενῶ, ἀπ-έκτεινα (“kill”) is occasionally used by Euripides (and once in Aeschylus). In addition, there is a poetic compound, κατακτείνω. Much more common, though, is the simple κτείνω, κτενῶ, ἔκτεινα. This simple form appears in prose only occasionally, and often in legal contexts, where it may have an old-fashioned flavor appropriate to laws and oaths, e.g., “slay” vs. “kill.” Given its greater frequency, then, and its marked quality in prose, the simple form probably sounded poetic when used in tragedy. There is also a very common poetic second aorist, κατέκτανον or ἔκτανον and another poetic form, καίνω. • ἀποθνῄσκω, ἀποθανοῦμαι, ἀπέθανον, τέθνηκα (“die,” “be killed”; pf., “be dead”) is the prose standard. Except for the perfect, which is the same in prose and poetry, the simple form is poetic. (There is only one instance of the compound form in tragedy.) The compound καταθνῄσκω, on the other hand, is poetic. It is relatively common in tragedy but only used in forms built on the aorist or future stem, κατθαν-. Note: (ἀπο-)θνῄσκω can be used as a passive, in the sense, “be killed,” “ be murdered.” Poetic syntax, I: poetic plurals As you are already beginning to see, the tragedians sometimes use plurals in ways that are hard to account for. Clytemnestra and Agamemnon do not live in “houses” but a house. This is one of the most common examples of a poetic plural. This use of a plural, of a



Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 21

noun with a concrete reference, is sometimes explained by assuming a reference to multiple parts. σκῆπτρα (11) may have been, at least originally, a plural like this, indicating both the staff and an ornament on top of it. In this case, the house, a palace, could have many rooms. But this might be an attempt to impose more logic than is called for. An alternative explanation is that the effect is simply to make the word sound more dignified and impressive. However the plural is understood, it was clearly another device for making poetic language sound out of the ordinary, and a way of providing varied metrical shapes in composition. (For an interesting example, compare the notes to 51 and 78.) Another common form of the poetic plural involves nouns referring to people, especially nouns indicating family relationships. The tragedians often seem to refer to an individuals as members of a class; e.g., “children” is used to refer to a single son or daughter. Again, this is not a use of the plural that occurs in comedy or prose. The effect is to substitute an idea for a person, which can mean that the focus is on the relationship to the speaker, not on the individual child, parent, etc. (See notes to 26, 30, and 45.) Later, you will run across a third basic form of the poetic plural, this time involving an abstract noun. Take, for example, the English word “negotiation.” The singular can be used to refer to the idea of working things out; “negotiations” can refer to an ongoing series of talks to do that. This is similar to the standard use of a plural abstract noun in Greek prose. Odder are uses in tragedy of a plural abstract noun to refer to a singular event. For example, in three successive passages you will find “slaughters,” “bloodsheds,” and “murders” used to refer to Agamemnon’s death, which is by definition a singular event. How to understand these plurals is a difficult question, but be alert to this third use of the poetic plural as well. (See the notes to S. 11 and 37 and E. 123 and 137-8.) Also relatively common in tragedy (though not unheard of in prose) is the use of a plural first person pronoun for a single speaker. Some grammarians speak of a “sociative” plural, by which they mean that the speaker includes other members of a group in connection with himself or his actions. On the other hand, it can be hard to give a clear reason for the alternation; the language is simply not prosaic, stylistically speaking. And the use of this kind of plural will vary from character to character and from one situation to another. In some cases in tragedy the speaker will even shift back and forth between singular and plural in ways that are hard to explain. Plurals like this, then, may also have sometimes been simply convenient metrical variants. (For an illustration of these questions, see E. 34-9, with note to 34.) In combination with this use of “we” for “I” is another unexpected usage: female characters when pluralizing themselves usually use masculine participles and adjectives. The default gender for a human being in Greek is masculine, so in the abstract this usage makes sense. (See, Smyth, 1015.) In practice, however, the effect is harder to determine. The plural as such is hard to understand—see above. And the change in gender is an additional complication to account for. Is this only defaulting to the masculine gender? Or can a female character generalizing in such situations be talking about herself more abstractly, as a human being? Trimeter: more practice with scansion Keep practicing scansion as you read. Most lines should scan relatively easily. Take note of lines that are confusing and keep an eye out for lines with resolutions. In the next introduction there will be more discussion of resolutions, and of the restrictions on word-end and pauses at the end of the line. (For some unusual caesurae, see notes to 31-2 and 35.)

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Basic forms to review • • • •

It will help to review the rules for contracting an augment with a following vowel. See Smyth, 435. Endings for the present active participle and first aorist active participle. Remember that the masculine and neuter forms of active participles use the basic third declension endings you reviewed for the last reading. See Smyth, 305-6. Present and imperfect of εἰμί (“I am”) and the forms of εἶμι (“I will go”), used as the future of ἔρχομαι. See Smyth, 768 and 773. First declension singular forms that take long α for η, as well as masculine first declension nouns. See Smyth, 216 and 222.

Some basic syntax, also for review • •

Standard forms of conditions. See Smyth, 2290-7. Compare 32-3, 40-2, and 48-9, with notes. Remember that for some kinds of subordinate clauses an indicative or subjunctive can be changed to the optative after an introductory verb in a past tense. For discussion of this “sequence of mood,” see Smyth, 2176. Compare 22, 30, and 39, with notes.

Case usage: introductory notes As the explanatory notes begin to accumulate, it will become (more) evident that Greek case usage, especially in poetry, is not simple; in fact, it will seem that arbitrary categories and the accompanying terminology are multiplying randomly, like rabbits. But there are several basic categories that are relatively easy to grasp. In order to give a frame of reference for the explanations of non-obvious uses of the cases, short sections on case usage will be added at the end of the first few introductions. Some basic definitions will also be laid out, so that standard grammatical terms are understood, and so that it becomes easier to use a grammar, like Smyth. One preliminary point that must be kept in mind: both the genitive and dative are composite cases; historically speaking, the set of case endings we call genitive and dative represent multiple cases, which need to be distinguished for the sake of clarity (not pedantry). • The basic adjectival meaning of the genitive in which it is used to describe another noun, the “adnominal” genitive, can be distinguished from two other important categories of genitive: 1) the “ablatival” genitive, used to indicate various kinds of motion away from, separation, deprivation, etc., and 2) the “partitive” genitive, which describes a larger whole out of which something is taken. For examples, see 37-8 (ablatival) and 22 and 25 (partitive). • Further, the common use of the dative in which it indicates someone (or something) involved or concerned with an action or state of affairs (indirect object and other uses categorized and named variously) should be kept distinct from the adverbial datives that indicate means, the “instrumental” dative, or manner and circumstances, the “modal” dative. Compare the uses of the dative in 9-10 and 47 with those in 22 and 42 (and pay careful attention to the notes). • Greek also uses the accusative in ways that at first seem odd. The accusative representing the direct object is simple enough to process, but “internal” and



Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 23

• •

•

adverbial accusatives are idioms that take getting used to. See note to 36, to begin with. These kinds of accusatives are very common. The tragedians sometimes use cases in specifically poetic ways. Often this means using the accusative and dative without the prepositions that would have made clearer what the use of the case amounted to. The uses of the adnominal (adjectival) genitive in poetry are varied, subtle, and important for unpacking noun phrases. These uses are diverse enough in ordinary Greek and are extended in poetry. Two essential points to keep in mind: first, this kind of genitive defines or limits the noun it describes. Second, it often helps to rephrase and expand on such poetic expressions, in order to understand the relationship of the genitive to that noun, to see how it defines or limits it. For examples, see 1, 15, and 20, with notes. Finally, keep in mind that the nominative and vocative are for the most part identical.

Αυ. χὠ μὲν παλαιὰ σκῆπτρα Ταντάλου λιπὼν ὄλωλεν, Αἴγισθος δὲ βασιλεύει χθονός, ἄλοχον ἐκείνου Τυνδαρίδα κόρην ἔχων. οὓς δ’ ἐν δόμοισιν ἔλιφ’ ὅτ’ ἐς Tροίαν ἔπλει, ἄρσενά τ’ Ὀρέστην θῆλύ τ’ Ἠλέκτρας θάλος, τὸν μὲν πατρὸς γεραιὸς ἐκκλέπτει τροφεὺς μέλλοντ’ Ὀρέστην χερὸς ὕπ’ Αἰγίσθου θανεῖν Στροφίῳ τ’ ἔδωκε Φωκέων ἐς γῆν τρέφειν· ἣ δ’ ἐν δόμοις ἔμεινεν Ἠλέκτρα πατρός, ταύτην ἐπειδὴ θαλερὸς εἶχ’ ἥβης χρόνος μνηστῆρες ᾔτουν Ἑλλάδος πρῶτοι χθονός. δείσας δὲ μή τῳ παῖδ’ ἀριστέων τέκοι Ἀγαμέμνονος ποινάτορ’, εἶχεν ἐν δόμοις Αἴγισθος οὐδ’ ἥρμοζε νυμφίῳ τινί. ἐπεὶ δὲ καὶ τοῦτ’ ἦν φόβου πολλοῦ πλέων, μή τῳ λαθραίως τέκνα γενναίῳ τέκοι, κτανεῖν σφε βουλεύσαντος ὠμόφρων ὅμως μήτηρ νιν ἐξέσωσεν Αἰγίσθου χερός. ἐς μὲν γὰρ ἄνδρα σκῆψιν εἶχ’ ὀλωλότα, παίδων δ’ ἔδεισε μὴ φθονηθείη φόνῳ. ἐκ τῶνδε δὴ τοιόνδ’ ἐμηχανήσατο Αἴγισθος· ὃς μὲν γῆς ἀπηλλάχθη φυγὰς

15

20

25

30

24

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

Ἀγαμέμνονος παῖς, χρυσὸν εἶφ’ ὃς ἂν κτάνῃ, ἡμῖν δὲ δὴ δίδωσιν Ἠλέκτραν ἔχειν δάμαρτα, πατέρων μὲν Μυκηναίων ἄπο 35 γεγῶσιν (οὐ δὴ τοῦτό γ’ ἐξελέγχομαι· λαμπροὶ γὰρ ἐς γένος γε, χρημάτων δὲ δὴ πένητες, ἔνθεν ηὑγένει’ ἀπόλλυται), ὡς ἀσθενεῖ δοὺς ἀσθενῆ λάβοι φόβον. εἰ γάρ νιν ἔσχεν ἀξίωμ’ ἔχων ἀνήρ, 40 εὕδοντ’ ἂν ἐξήγειρε τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονος φόνον δίκη τ’ ἂν ἦλθεν Αἰγίσθῳ τότε. ἣν οὔποθ’ ἁνὴρ ὅδε (σύνοιδέ μοι Κύπρις) ᾔσχυν’ ἐν εὐνῇ· παρθένος δ’ ἔτ’ ἐστὶ δή. αἰσχύνομαι γὰρ ὀλβίων ἀνδρῶν τέκνα 45 λαβὼν ὑβρίζειν, οὐ κατάξιος γεγώς. στένω δὲ τὸν λόγοισι κηδεύοντ’ ἐμοὶ ἄθλιον Ὀρέστην, εἴ ποτ’ εἰς Ἄργος μολὼν γάμους ἀδελφῆς δυστυχεῖς ἐσόψεται. ὅστις δέ μ’ εἶναί φησι μῶρον, εἰ λαβὼν 50 νέαν ἐς οἴκους παρθένον μὴ θιγγάνω, γνώμης πονηροῖς κανόσιν ἀναμετρούμενος τὸ σῶφρον ἴστω καὐτὸς αὖ τοιοῦτος ὤν. παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient σκῆπτρον, ου, τό—staff; scepter; royal power λιπών (aor. part.) > λείπω ὄλωλεν (pf.) > ὄλλυμι—act., destroy, kill; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead βασιλεύω—rule over (with gen.) χθών, χθονός, ἡ—earth; land, country ἄλοχος, ου, ἡ—bed partner, wife Τυνδαρίς, ίδος, ἡ—(daughter) of Tyndareus κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye δόμος, ου, ὁ—house ἔλιπε (aor.) > λείπω ὅτε—when ἐς = εἰς πλέω—sail 15: ἄρρην, ἄρρεν—male θῆλυς, θήλεια, θῆλυ—female θάλος, εος, τό—child γεραιός, ά, όν—old (of people); ancient (of things)

ἐκκλέπτω—steal and carry off τροφεύς, έως, ὁ—foster father χείρ, χειρός, ἡ—hand; hand and arm, arm θανεῖν (aor. inf.) > θνῄσκω—die; be killed ἔδωκε (aor.) > δίδωμι Φωκεύς, έως, ὁ—Phocian ἐς = εἰς γῆ, γῆς, ἡ—earth; land, country τρέφειν (pres. inf.) > τρέφω δόμος, ου, ὁ—house ἔμεινεν (aor.) > μένω 20: ἐπεί/ἐπειδή—when, after; since, seeing that θαλερός, ά, όν—blooming, fresh εἶχε (impf.) > ἔχω—of a state or condition, “have,” “be in” ἥβη, ης, ἡ—youthful prime, youth μνηστήρ, ῆρος, ὁ—suitor Ἑλλάς, άδος, ἡ—Greece χθών, χθονός, ἡ—earth; land, country δείσας > δέδοικα/δέδια—fear; be afraid



Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 25

παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child ἀριστεύς, έως, ὁ—best man, prince τέκοι (aor. opt.) > τίκτω εἶχε (impf.) > ἔχω ποινάτωρ, ορος, ὁ/ἡ—avenger δόμος, ου, ὁ—house οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not ἁρμόζω—fit together, join; betroth νυμφίος, ου, ὁ—bridegroom 25: ἐπεί/ἐπειδή—when, after; since, seeing that πλέως, πλέα, πλέων—full, filled τῳ = τινι λαθραίως—in secret, by deception τέκνον, ου, τό—child γενναῖος, α, ον—noble, in birth and/or character τέκοι (aor. opt.) > τίκτω κτανεῖν (aor. inf.) > κτείνω—kill, slay σφε—him, her, them βουλεύω—deliberate; plan; decide ὠμόφρων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—savage-minded ὅμως—all the same, nevertheless νιν—him, her, them ἐξέσωσεν (aor.) > ἐκσῴζω—save, keep safe χείρ, χειρός, ἡ—hand; hand and arm, arm ἐς = εἰς σκῆψις, εως, ἡ—pretext, excuse ὀλωλότα (pf. part.) > ὄλλυμι—act., destroy, kill; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead 30: παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child ἔδεισε > δέδοικα/δέδια—fear; be afraid φθονηθείη (aor. pass. opt.) > φθονέω—be judged for, resented for (with dat.) φόνος, ου, ὁ—murder, slaughter ὅδε, ἥδε, τόδε—this (as opposed to “that”); this (present or visible) thing/person τοιόσδε, τοιάδε, τοιόνδε—such as this; as follows μηχανάομαι—construct; devise, by art or cunning γῆ, γῆς, ἡ—earth; land, country ἀπηλλάχθη (aor. pass.) > ἀπαλλάττω—act., set free, deliver from; pass. and middle, leave, depart from φυγάς, άδος, ὁ/ἡ—fugitive, exile παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child χρυσός, οῦ, ὁ—gold εἶπε (aor.) > λέγω—proclaim, announce κτάνῃ (aor. subj.) > κτείνω—kill, slay ἡμεῖς—we ἔχειν (pres. inf.) > ἔχω δάμαρ, αρτος, ἡ—wife Μυκηναῖος, α, ον—of Mycenae 35: γεγῶσιν (pf. part.) > γίγνομαι ἐξελέγχω—convict, refute; blame, fault λαμπρός, ά, όν—bright, clear; distinguished, illustrious

πένης, ητος, ὁ—poor man; poor in (as adj., with gen.) ἔνθεν—whence, from where; wherefore, for which reason εὐγένεια, ας, ἡ—nobility of birth ἀπόλλυμι—act., destroy, kill, lose; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead, done for ἀσθενής, ές—weak; poor, insignificant δούς —(aor. part.) > δίδωμι λάβοι (aor. opt.) > λαμβάνω—of emotions, “(come to) feel” 40: νιν—him, her, them ἔσχεν (aor.) > ἔχω ἀξίωμα, ατος, τό—honor, reputation εὕδω—sleep; be dormant ἐξήγειρεν (aor.) > ἐξεγείρω—wake up; stir up φόνος, ου, ὁ—murder, slaughter ἦλθεν > ἔρχομαι τότε—at that time, then οὔποτε—not ever, never ὅδε, ἥδε, τόδε—this (as opposed to “that”); this (present or visible) thing/person σύνοιδα—know something about; be a witness for/ against Κύπρις, ιδος, ἡ—Cypris, Aphrodite αἰσχύνω—act., make ugly, dishonor; middle, feel shame, be ashamed to do εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; lair, nest; grave παρθένος, ου, ἡ—(unmarried) girl, virgin 45: αἰσχύνω—act., make ugly, dishonor; middle, feel shame, be ashamed to do ὄλβιος, α, ον—happy, blessed, wealthy τέκνον, ου, τό—child λαβών > λαμβάνω ὑβρίζειν (pres. inf.) > ὑβρίζω—insult, outrage κατάξιος, α, ον—worthy γεγώς (pf. part.) > γίγνομαι στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) κηδεύω—tend; tend to a corpse, bury; to be related by marriage with ἄθλιος, α, ον—struggling, unhappy, wretched; pitiful, poor ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world? μολών > βλώσκω—go, come (almost always used in aor. forms) γάμος, ου ὁ—wedding; marriage; sex ἀδελφή, ῆς, ἡ—sister δυστυχής, ές—unlucky, unfortunate ἐσόψεται > εἰσοράω—look into, behold 50: ὅστις, ἥτις, ὅ τι—anyone who, anything which (Note: also in indirect questions.) μῶρος, α, ον—dull, stupid; foolish λαβών > λαμβάνω νέος, α, ον—young; new

26

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

ἐς = εἰς οἶκος, ου, ὁ—house παρθένος, ου, ἡ—(unmarried) girl, virgin θιγγάνω—touch; take hold of, have sex with (with gen.) γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, judgment, opinion πονηρός, ά, όν—worthless, base κανών, όνος, ὁ—rule, standard

ἀναμετρούμενος (pres. middle part.) > ἀναμετρέω—measure σώφρων, ον—of sound mind; self-controlled, chaste ἴστω (3rd sg. imper.) > οἶδα αὖ—again; on the other hand; in turn τοιοῦτος, τοιαύτη, τοιοῦτο(ν)—such as this

11-2—χὠ μὲν … Αἴγισθος δέ. χὠ = καὶ ὁ; on the crasis, see note to 8. The most common use of the article as a demonstrative is with connectives, especially with paired μέν and δέ, as in 16 and 19 below. (See Smyth, 1106 ff. and p. 39.) 11—On the genealogy of this scepter, see Iliad 2.100 ff. and compare 321 and S. 419 ff. On the use of the plural for the expected singular, see above. Tantalus is the father of Pelops, Pelops of Atreus and Thyestes, and Atreus of Agamemnon. Both the royal authority Aegisthus usurped and family history are being evoked. 12—ὄλωλεν. Both simple and compound versions of this verb are used. Compare, with a different sense, ἀπόλλυται in 38. As with many verbs that describe the state of the subject, the perfect can be translated with a present, a meaning that is often hard to separate from the more familiar meaning implied by the English present perfect; “he has perished” is clearly connected with “he is dead.” The focus is not on a beginning point, though, but on present description. 13—ἔχων. ἔχω by itself can mean “have as a wife/husband.” Make Τυνδαρίδα κόρην its object, then, and understand ἄλοχον ἐκείνου as “the wife of that man,” i.e., Agamemnon. —Τυνδαρίδα. This is a feminine patronymic, “of Tyndareus.” (Adjectives in -ίς, -ίδος are (almost always) feminine; compare Smyth, 312 and S. 301.) Remember that Tyndareus is also the father of Helen; the association between the two sisters, and their marital difficulties, may also be called to mind for the audience, especially given the entanglement of the stories of the sisters’ marriages with the story of the Trojan War. —κόρην. In spite of the η after the ρ, this is the normal Attic form, even though the rule for first declension nouns is long α instead of η after ε, ι, and ρ. See Smyth, 30-1 and p. 63, below. 14—δόμοισιν. Not only a very common poetic plural (of a concrete noun) but also the first instance of a word with a common variant ending. Ionic, and older Attic, used this longer form, which also shows up in comedy. It probably sounded poetic and/or archaic in this context. It was certainly metrically convenient. It allowed datives in -οις, -οισι, and -οισιν, all of which could be used in different ways to fit the word to the metrical pattern. Compare, for example, ἐν δόμοις in 19. —ὅτ’. Can only be from ὅτε, not from ὅτι, which never elides in tragedy or Attic prose. 15—ἄρσενα. Again, a variation from Ionic and older Attic; the current Attic pronunciation of this word would have been ἄρρενα. Most words pronounced with an ρσ in Ionic turn up with an ρρ in Attic. —τε … τε. You are probably used to τε … καί; this combination is used in poetry in the same way. In prose, it is rarer and usually joins clauses. —θῆλύ τ’ Ἠλέκτρας θάλος. θάλος for “child” is a poetic word used a few times by Euripides; it literally means “branch” or “shoot.” (The form of the genitive given in the vocabulary (-εος) follows from its use as a poetic synonym; the Attic ending for this declension is -ους.



Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 27

See p. 63.) It is combined with a genitive like the one in Ἰνάχου ῥοαί (1). This type of genitive is more developed in poetry. The noun in the genitive defines the governing noun by restating it in more specific terms: “the female child, Electra.” The periphrastic, elaborated quality of the phrase makes it sound noticeably poetic and out of the ordinary. Here, it gives weight to the first mention of Electra. (Her name is repeated in 19, presumably for emphasis and clarity.) She is the focus of attention for much of the play, and we will soon hear about her current troubles and see them from her perspective (54-81 and 112-212). Notice, too, that the third sister, Chrysothemis, is not mentioned, though she appears in Sophocles. The names and number of Clytemnestra’s daughters vary. 16-21. Lines worth paraphrasing for the sake of comparison. With articles inserted and noun phrases presented differently: τὸν μὲν ὁ γεραιὸς τροφεὺς τοῦ πατρὸς ἐκκλέπτει, τὸν Ὀρέστην, μέλλοντ’ ὑπὸ τῆς χερὸς τοῦ Αἰγίσθου θανεῖν, Στροφίῳ τ’ ἔδωκε ἐς γῆν τῶν Φωκέων τρέφειν· ἣ δ’ ἐν δόμοις τοῦ πατρὸς ἔμεινεν, Ἠλέκτρα, ταύτην ἐπειδὴ εἶχ’ ὁ θαλερὸς χρόνος τῆς ἥβης μνηστῆρες ᾔτουν οἱ πρῶτοι τῆς Ἑλλάδος χθονός. With substitution of prosaic equivalents for poetic vocabulary and a less idiomatic word order in the second sentence: τὸν μὲν ἐκκλέπτει γέρων τις, ὁ παιδαγωγὸς τοῦ πατρός, τὸν Ὀρέστην, μέλλοντ’ ὑπὸ χειρῶν τοῦ Αἰγίσθου ἀποθανεῖν, καὶ ἀπήγετο (took away) εἰς τὴν γῆν τῶν Φωκέων καὶ Στροφίῳ ἐπέτρεψε (entrusted) τρέφειν. τὴν δὲ Ἠλέκτραν, ἣ ἐν οἰκίᾳ τοῦ πατρός ἔμεινεν —ταύτην, ἐπειδὴ εἰς ἡλικίαν (maturity; marriageable age) ἦλθεν, μνηστῆρες ᾔτουν, οἱ πρῶτοι τῆς Ἑλλάδος. 16. The line is built, except for the introductory τὸν μέν (compare 11), out of a long noun phrase with a verb inserted after the caesura. Simple phrases with a modifier and noun sandwiching a verb form, as well as more extended ones like this, are relatively common in poetry. In prose a descriptive adjective like γεραιός is very seldom separated from its noun in this way. (Compare the very similar phrase in 20, in which an adjective, a genitive, and the noun they modify are interrupted by a verb form.) —γεραιός. The ordinary (positive) form of the adjective is poetic, though the comparative and superlative forms occur in prose. The old man has stayed in Argos and will return as a character later in the play; Sophocles’ version of the character, the Paidagogos, has gone into exile with Orestes and returns with him. ἐκκλέπτει—Another historic present. See note to 9. 17-9. Notice that three successive prepositional phrases are presented in what might seem at this point to be unusual forms; in the first two the preposition is sandwiched by noun and modifier, in the third the modifier is postponed until the end of the line. 17—χερός. Another singular where we might expect a plural: “at the hands of Aegisthus.” See the note to 9. —θανεῖν. Normally, you get a present or future infinitive when μέλλω is used with a future reference (“about to,” “likely to,” etc.), which is one of the few situations where the future infinitive occurs when it is not being used in indirect speech. (Remember also that (ἀπο)θνῄσκω is used as the passive of (ἀπο)κτείνω.) 18—Στροφίῳ. The ruler of Phocis (the region around Delphi in central Greece), an ally of Agamemnon’s, and the father of Pylades. See, further, note to S. 44-6. —τρέφειν. A subordinate purpose clause to express purpose is what you come to expect. (Compare note to 39.) But in both prose and poetry an infinitive can express purpose after a verb meaning “send” or “bring,” as here. Other verbs taking such infinitives mean “choose”

28

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

or “appoint” and “give” or “take.” In poetry, verbs indicating motion can be used in the same way. Notice that the infinitive is active, even though the sense seems to require a passive. (Orestes was given to Strophius “to be raised.”) 19—ἣ … Ἠλέκτρα. The word the relative clause describes (the antecedent) is incorporated into the clause and agrees in case with the relative, though you might expect Electra to stand in front of the clause in the accusative. The relative clause functions like an extended adjective, describing where she is, as opposed to Orestes—and ταύτην brings us back to Electra in the right case. Compare the second paraphrase. For the word order, compare 3, with note. 20—θαλερὸς … ἥβης χρόνος. The texture of poetic vocabulary is hard to capture because it is so diverse; the adjective is poetic and used only a few times in tragedy, by Euripides. The phrase as a whole is elevated and elaborated, incorporating not only the adjective but also another genitive that defines its noun by restating it in more specific terms—see note to 15: “the blooming time, youth.” The whole phrase may be meant to call attention to the next step in the exposition. 21—Ἑλλάδος πρῶτοι χθονός. Also poetic word order. Sandwiching a noun (πρῶτοι = οἱ πρῶτοι) by means of a genitive and an adjective in agreement is rare in prose. 22—δείσας μή … τέκοι. With a verb indicating fear you get a μή introducing a subordinate clause, and the mood of the verb in that clause indicates whether it was feared the event would happen (optative), whether it is feared it will (still) happen (subjunctive), or whether the fear is that it has happened (indicative). Here the optative is used, to indicate a fear in the past. (See Smyth, 2176, 2221, and 2225.) Ignore the fact that μή is a negative; translate as “lest” (a convenient old-fashioned word). —τῳ … ἀριστέων. τῳ = τινι, just as του is an alternative for τινος. See Smyth, 334. The dative indicates someone interested in or affected by the action. Sometimes a dative like this will make sense as an English indirect object, sometimes an English “to” or “for” will make the way a person (or thing) is interested or affected clear enough. But it helps to keep this general definition in mind; this kind of Greek dative can make intuitive sense, but it is extremely flexible and can be hard to categorize. The partitive genitive is usually easier to understand; it describes a larger whole, “the best men,” out of which the “someone” is taken. 24—οὐδ’. Attic prose writers very rarely use οὐδέ after a positive statement, i.e., otherwise than in a “not … and not …” sentence. But this is frequent in poetry. 25—καί. Remember that if a καί does not begin a clause or join two words, it cannot be a simple connective; it has to be an adverb. The options then are “also,” “even,” or (untranslatable) emphasis, like the effect of italics or of raising the voice. —φόβου πολλοῦ πλέων. Another partitive genitive—compare 22—this time indicating the material that makes for fullness. Adjectives as well as verbs can take this kind of partitive. See Smyth, 1422 and 1369. 26—τῳ … γενναίῳ. See note to 22. —τέκνα. A single male child as potential avenger is in question, as in 22-3; this is a poetic plural that generalizes and points to the relationship, as often with terms denoting relatives. (Scanned as τέκ-να, = ‒⏑; note λα-θραίως, = ⏑‒‒, immediately preceding and τέ-κνα at the end of 45.) 27-8. The word order is difficult. The participle βουλεύσαντος has to refer to Aegisthus, whether it is taken as agreeing with his name in the next line or as a genitive absolute left



Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 29

behind by the run of the sentence. The phrase ὠμόφρων ὅμως has to be taken with what follows, with the idea that Electra’s mother saved her from Aegisthus. This is an important bit of exposition; it tells us something about the way Euripides will treat Clytemnestra as a character, in spite of the qualification of her motives that follows. 27—σφε. A convenient word used by the tragedians as a multi-purpose third-person pronoun, for “him,” “her,” “them.” For other poetic pronouns, compare νιν (28) and p. 65. (Note that σφίσι(ν) is used as an indirect reflexive pronoun in prose.) —ὠμόφρων. A good example of a poetic compound adjective; it is distinctive yet made up of two recognizable parts. In this case they are related to ὠμός, ή, όν (“raw,” “crude,” “savage”) and φρήν, φρενός (“heart,” “mind”). The adjective is used ten times in tragedy but presumably would not occur in Aristophanes—except in lyric and/or parody of serious poetic language—or contemporary prose. (Admittedly, compound adjectives do occur in prose; the line between the poetic and prosaic is not always clear.) Note: for an adjective, the ὁ/ἡ in the vocabulary list indicates only one set of endings, used for masculine and feminine, with neuter forms rarely or never occurring. The general rule is that compound adjectives have one set of endings for masculine and feminine. See Smyth, 288 and compare 312. 28—νιν. Another convenient word used by the tragedians for “him,” “her,” or “them.” 30—παίδων. Here, too, there seems to be only one child in question. The plural again generalizes and points to the nature of the relationship. Compare note on 26. —ἔδεισε μὴ φθονηθείη. Another subordinate clause after a verb indicating fear. See note to 22. 31-5. Though Clytemnestra keeps Aegisthus from murdering Electra, he still appears very much in charge here. The addition of the reward put on Orestes’ head implies a forceful response, even if he did give in to his wife. Was marrying Electra off to a peasant also perhaps a way of asserting his authority over her? 31—ἐκ τῶνδε. Denniston translates, “on the basis of this,” “with this situation to face.” 31-2. Clear medial caesura in the first line. In the second, the monosyllables are grouped to provide a regular caesura; μέν should be pronounced with ὅς, and γῆς can be taken with the following phrase. Compare 35, with note. 32—ἀπηλλάχθη. The middle of this verb, in forms from other principal parts, can have the sense, “leave,” “depart from.” And the aorist passive of a verb with a distinctive middle meaning can also have a middle sense. See Smyth, 814-8. 32-3. Again, as in 19, we have a sentence in which the antecedent is pulled into a relative clause and agrees with the relative pronoun; we might expect: τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονος παῖδα ὅς …. But here we do not have an accusative to put us back on track. (Compare ταύτην in 20.) Instead we understand the object. Also implied is the antecedent for the second relative clause; easier, for us, would be, “ἐκείνῳ ὃς ἄν …” The omission of a demonstrative antecedent, however, is very common, especially when the relative has an indefinite or general reference. And here the relative is part of a general condition; the sentence implies “a reward for whomever …” 34—ἡμῖν. A good example of the poetic first person plural. The effect here may be to generalize; he is speaking not as an “I” but as a poor man of good birth. On the other hand, in the next few lines he uses the singular as well. Most interesting is his last (generalizing) description of himself in the singular (39). —δὲ δή. Picks up the idea expressed in the μέν limb of the antithesis and emphasizes the

30

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

contrast: “For Orestes, he … and to us …” Compare the weighted contrast in 35-8. —δίδωσιν … ἔχειν. Again, the infinitive expresses purpose. See note to 18. And again ἔχω means “have as a wife,” this time with an explicit (poetic) word for “wife.” See note to 13. 35—δάμαρτα. Compare γυνή (9), ἄλοχος (13). The effect of conventional variation like this in any given passage is hard to assess; (potential) nuance depends on context. But throughout the Farmer uses standard tragic diction, which involves poetic synonyms/metrical variants for many common words. Linguistic variation for the sake of characterization is not used. Compare note on 51. —πατέρων μὲν Μυκηναίων ἄπο. πατέρες means “ancestors” here. On Mycenae, see the note to 6. The preposition is “postposed,” put after its noun. Postposition is fairly frequent in tragic dialogue at line end, almost never inside the line, unless the preposition is sandwiched between a noun and modifier. So look for prepositions at line end. The accent will also be thrown back a syllable (“anastrophe”), a handy marker that the normal word order is reversed. Notice, too, that the μέν taken with the preceding word—compare 32—creates a medial caesura. 36—γεγῶσιν. This participle is plural, to agree with the poetic plural ἡμῖν, and perfect: “born from.” On the forms of this kind of perfect, see Smyth, 703-4. —οὐ δὴ τοῦτό γ’ ἐξελέγχομαι. In the active this verb can be used like this: ἐξελέγχει με τοῦτο, literally, “He blames me this.” It can take two accusatives, one of the personal direct object, one of the thing which the subject “accuses,” “blames,” etc. The first accusative is “external” to, the second “internal” to, the verbal expression, part of the description of the action as such. (Often this second kind of accusative is used to show what the subject is doing or saying—we would say—to or about someone. See Smyth, 1619-23.) When a verb taking two accusatives in this way is made passive, the direct object becomes the subject, but the internal accusative stays put; it still fills out the description of the action. Prepositional phrases would appear in English: “accused of this,” “blamed for this,” but the Greek works differently. 37—λαμπροί (ἐσμεν). Ellipse of the first person is much less common than of the third. See Smyth, 944-5. —χρημάτων δὲ δή. Not a poetic plural; the plural of χρῆμα means “money” in both prose and poetry. The combination δὲ δή highlights the contrast: “We are …, but …” 37-8—χρημάτων … πένητες. An ablatival genitive, indicating separation in the sense of deprivation. Adjectives (as well as verbs) with this kind of sense can take an ablatival genitive. See Smyth, 1429 and 1396. 38—ηὑγένει’. = ἡ εὐγένει’. The crasis—see note to 8—implies an article. In Greek, both in prose and in poetry, the article is used with an abstract noun, which is not an intuitively obvious “the” for an English speaker. (Note that the article can also be omitted with abstract nouns. See pp. 40-1.) 39—ὡς … λάβοι. A purpose clause after a main verb in the past, which is why the optative appears in the subordinate clause instead of the subjunctive. See Smyth, 2176 and 2196. Note also that ὡς for “in order that” (instead of ἵνα or ὅπως) is poetic. —ἀσθενεῖ … ἀσθενῆ. Compounds with “alpha privative” (ἀν- before a vowel) are common. 40-2. Past contrary to fact condition. (If that label is insufficient, see Smyth, 2290-7.) 40—ἔσχεν. The aorist can indicate the beginning of a state or condition (“ingressive” aorist), and the aorist of ἔχω in this sense means “took,” “got,” rather than “have,” as a wife. Compare 13 and 34.



Reading Two: Euripides, Lines 11-53 31

41—εὕδοντ’. The simple form of the usual word in prose and comedy, καθεύδω. 42—Αἰγίσθῳ. See note to 22. 43—ἥν. The relative can be used as a connection for a new independent clause; it can be equivalent to “and this (woman)” or “but this (woman).” —ἁνὴρ ὅδε. The speaker refers to himself, equivalent to “I.” 44—ἐν εὐνῇ. This word, which is rare in prose even as “bed,” is a typical decorous poetic synonym for sex and/or marriage. Closely related is γάμος, ὁ. See the note to 49. —δή. Emphasizes ἔτι. 45—αἰσχύνομαι. Compare the active in the last line. The aorist, in this middle sense, would be ᾐσχύνθην. See the note to 32. —ὀλβίων ἀνδρῶν τέκνα. Both the adjective ὄλβιος, α, ον and the noun ὄλβος, ὁ are poetic and fairly common in tragedy. Both plurals generalize; he has married only one child of a wealthy man. Compare 26 and 30. 46—γεγώς. Hard to distinguish from “being,” but implying “by birth.” Compare 36. 47—στένω. This verb is a good example of how hard it can be to get the stylistic flavor of a Greek word. Like the related verbs στενάζω and στενάχω, it is a piece of tragic diction and very rare in prose, but it also occurs in comedy. The feel of the intransitive form is hard to describe; in comedy there may be an effect of comically exaggerated emotion, bathos not pathos. This seems to be true, at times, of other words indicating pain, misfortune, etc. In any case, used transitively, in the sense, “lament for,” στένω seems to be tragic. —λόγοισι. The dative is adverbial and modal; it tells you how Orestes is related to him. Compare 9-10, with note. 48-9—εἴ ποτ’ … ἐσόψεται. In principle, as far as the mood of the verb is concerned, the use of the future indicative in an if-clause is neutral; the focus is not on how likely the result is but on the connection between two facts or events. On the other hand, given the right context, the speaker can be talking about a connection between two events that leads to a result that is undesirable or hard to contemplate. Hence, the common use in tragedy of so-called “future more vivid” conditions in threats and warnings. 48—ἄθλιον. Resolution in the second position; the first syllable has a long α. 49—γάμους. The singular in comedy and prose can mean “wedding” or “marriage.” In tragedy a poetic plural can be used to mean “marriage.” It can sometimes refer, within the bounds of tragic decorum, to “marital relations,” as in “sex.” Compare above on the poetic plural of abstracts. 50-1. This hypothetical criticism could be rephrased: μῶρος εἶ, εἰ λαβὼν νέαν ἐς οἴκους παρθένον μὴ θιγγάνεις. What is stressed is the connection between the premise and the conclusion; if it is true, then this conclusion follows. Compare note to 48-9. 50—μ’ εἶναί φησι μῶρον. If the “indirect discourse” is not obvious, see Smyth, 2576 and below, p. 67. 51—ἐς οἴκους. Another good example of the conventional use of a poetic plural, this time for a concrete noun. The explanation that the plural makes the language more dignified, let alone the idea that the plural refers to many rooms, does not seem to apply to a poor farmer’s house. See the introduction and compare 78, with note. 53—ἴστω … ὤν. A verb meaning “know” can take a participial form of indirect discourse. (If that does not sound familiar, see Smyth, 2106 and below, p. 67.) And because the subject knows, or ought to, something about himself, the participles and the adjectives referring to the subject are nominative.

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—τὸ σῶφρον. Do not lose sight of the possibility of making nouns from adjectives. Here the noun is abstract; hence the neuter adjective. See Smyth, 1153 and 1023-6.

Introduction for the Rest of the Prologue Actors and acting, I: the distribution of roles All of the actors in Athenian tragedy were male, even for female parts. And the norm was to use only three actors for all the speaking parts. This led to one actor taking multiple parts, sometimes of very different character types. Both these ideas sound strange because they defeat our assumptions about what is “natural,” that is, in accordance with our notions of plausible conventions for representing characters on stage, or screen. For instance, the fact that one actor could take on four, or even five, roles in the same play, like the actor playing the Farmer—see below—is odd enough. That an actor could take multiple parts, both male and female, as must be the case for the actor playing Orestes in Sophocles’ play, or that this same actor has to play his own mother, whom he will kill (offstage)—see p. 185—all that is even odder. In order to think further about these conventions, we will keep returning to the question of how three actors sustained and carried out a play. For the moment, here are some basic facts to keep in mind at this point in Euripides’ Electra. The actor playing the Farmer leaves, down one of the eisodoi (78-81), after Electra delivers an entrance monologue and they have a brief conversation. He will reappear next (341), in the same role, after Orestes and Electra have a first, extended, conversation. (See Reading 7.) Later, he will appear as the Old Man, Clytemnestra, and Castor (and perhaps the Messenger—see p. 207). The actor playing Electra, who stays in the same role for the rest of the play, departs at the same time, in the opposite direction. His/her absence allows the actor playing Orestes to appear and fill the audience in on who he is, what his present intentions are, etc; otherwise, he would not be able to conceal his identity from Electra, as he does in the first part of the play. His speech, which takes up the rest of the prologue, is addressed to his friend Pylades, clearly named at both the beginning and end (82 and 111). But Pylades does not respond at all. He is a mute actor and in fact will not speak during the rest of the play, even when he is addressed in a way that would seem to demand a response, for instance, when Electra addresses him directly (886-9) or, even more surprisingly, when at the end of the play he is repeatedly told he will marry Electra (1249, 1284-5, and 1340-1). Pylades is also silent in Sophocles’ Electra and in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers (except for three lines (900-2), used to powerful effect at a crucial moment). So there is a precedent for a wholly mute character here, and in similar roles where an actor is a junior partner in a pair, as with Castor and Polydeuces at the end of this play. But his silence also seems necessary. Two actors have just left the orchestra when this pair of actors arrives, and without four speaking actors Pylades cannot speak. It is most helpful not to think of this is an arcane and arbitrary “rule,” with strange and limiting consequences, but as a norm taken for granted by this audience. It is a culturally specific artistic convention, strange to those with an alien historical vantage point. This kind of convention is not at all unusual. To take an obvious example from our own 33

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experience, theme music in film would be strange and “unnatural” for someone not conditioned to respond to it. Imagine you are sitting and watching a romantic comedy, at the point where the romantic leads come together, after all hesitation, misunderstanding, or psychological difficulty has been removed. A long sequence of bouncy, feel-good music surfaces, accompanying a montage of scenes of the two enjoying each other, their love, etc., etc. As an involved member of a culturally receptive audience, you are conditioned to find the predictable and perhaps implausible movement of the plot credible, and to find the music satisfying. The Athenians were similarly conditioned, not only to the cultural presuppositions and aims of tragedy but to its conventions. For us, the challenge is not to let either convention or analytically defined notions of plausibility get in the way, to bridge the gap between critical distance and sympathetic response. Costume and visual effects We can try to visualize, then, which actors were in play successively, as Electra enters and laments; she and the Farmer go through their exchange and move off; and Orestes gives out with his speech in front of the silent Pylades. One of my teachers used to help us with this kind of thinking by using a small model theater, with pieces from a board game to stand in for the actors, to indicate their entrances and exits and the ways they might have been arranged. But for modern readers, conditioned by the experience of watching film and (less often) sitting in a smaller theater, the immediate bodily, not to mention facial, presence of the actors seems indispensable. It seems natural to ask first what the actors would have looked like. Masks were considered briefly in the last introduction, and will be discussed again when the question of the style and nature of tragic acting is discussed. (See pp. 117-9.) For the moment, the focus will be on the question of costume. This may not be the wrong question to ask first anyway, given the size of the theater: bodies at a distance, albeit topped by masked heads, were, visually speaking, the primary point of connection most members of the audience of Greek tragedy had with the actors. (“Visually speaking” is an important qualification; the argument will have to come back around again to the question of telling vs. showing. See below.) The question of tragic costume is fascinating but slippery.25 The evidence—almost exclusively from paintings on 5th century Athenian vases, supplemented by pictures on later vases from Greek cities in southern Italy—is thin for most of the 5th century, where we want more of it, sometimes puzzling, and open to divergent scholarly interpretation.26 Athenian vase painters, in fact, do not seem to have been interested in providing us with a documentary record. Pictures of performance, as opposed to pictures from myth as such, are rare. A further complication is that the vase painter often enters imaginatively into the scene; the performance may be indicated by the outlines of a mask against a neck or the presence of a musician, but the performers can begin to metamorphose into the characters being represented.27 This may show how the vase painter, like other audience members, entered into the world of the myth imaginatively, filling out the picture of what was to be “seen,” which 25 Gould, 1985, 26-7, is a good place to start. For a longer and more recent discussion, see Wyles, 2011, 5-26. 26 For illustrations, see Gould, 1985; Csapo and Slater, 1995; Simon, 1982, Pickard-Cambridge, 1989; and Wyles, 2011. 27 See the image of a maenad and flute player (Simon, plate 1; Pickard-Cambridge, fig. 35; Wyles, fig. 3) or an image of what may be a tragic chorus in performance (Csapo and Slater, 1A; Simon, 2; Wyles, fig. 1).



Introduction for the Rest of the Prologue 35

is intriguing. But the net effect of looking at these images may simply be frustration, that is, if we get stuck on the idea that we can find some simple documentary evidence. As far as we can tell from the limited evidence to hand, tragic costume earlier on in the 5th century—the vagueness is deliberate—was closer to the everyday tunic-like clothing of Athenians, simple garments made of squares or rectangles of cloth.28 These were fastened at the shoulders and sides; and they were sleeveless and mostly unpatterned. Tragic costume, even for male characters, seems usually to have covered the legs, reaching to the ankles. Soft-soled boots seem to have been usually worn also. Both these features can be explained functionally; it was easier for one actor to take on multiple parts, both male and female, if the costume covered the body as the mask covered the face and hair. Images from the end of 5th century and into the 4th differ in two important respects. First, sleeves are now becoming standard, a change that can be explained in the same way; now the entire body is covered, and for the same reason. Second, the costume is decorated and patterned. As a whole, the tragic costume of these later vase paintings resembles the elaborate and more expensive dress of musicians, and of various foreign peoples to the east. The increasing elaboration and expense is significant. Expensive clothing influenced by foreign dress was worn by some conspicuously consuming Athenians; and in musical competitions in general, as for musicians in tragedy, tradition called for expensive clothing. Highly decorated sleeved clothing from eastern sources, like Persia, was a natural model. Concurrently, perhaps there was a tendency for the wealthy patrons (the choregoi) assigned by the state to back a production to provide elaborate costumes for both chorus and actors; they could compete for status via the production’s impressiveness, whether it was successful or not. By the end of the 5th century, this kind of standard may have created a set of conventional expectations in tragic audiences as to how an actor would present himself visually. The generic and elaborate costuming of most tragedies would then have allowed a deviation that was striking precisely because of those expectations. If the Farmer, hypothetically, wore a plain costume, that would have been visually effective for an audience not expecting that kind of costume (let alone this kind of character). Such an expectation could have provided a ground against which unusual costuming would have been all the more effective. Similarly, if Electra is dressed simply or in “rags,” as she says—whatever that might mean—then the contrast between her costume and the standardized costume of other characters would be just as effective. (On Electra’s costume, see below.) We may need to refine this initial hypothesis, however. The elaborate costumes rendered by the vase painters may be symptomatic of a greater interest in the visual effects of striking costume as such, normally expensive and impressive but also more varied than the vase painters, who have their own conventions and visual interests, allow us to see. This seems more plausible, and for several reasons. First, it seems likely that, given the audience’s visual focus on the actors’ bodies at a distance, costumes were used to distinguish the characters visually. More than that, the tragedians would otherwise have missed opportunities for significant visual effects, like the ones that seem to be indicated in this play—again, see below—and they would have lost the chance to work creatively with a basic visual possibility allowed 5th century playwrights. This opportunity was not to be missed, and not just because the audience’s attention 28 This (simplified) definition ignores the addition of various kinds of cloaks, etc.

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was focused on the actors. The intensity of the audience’s focus on the actors resulted in part from the nature of the theatrical experience. For us, it is hard to imagine the sparseness and lack of clutter within the large visual field created by the Athenian theater. Contrast in terms of costume would have been worth making because visual effects were used sparingly and were therefore all the more striking and significant. (See further, p. 119.) What might have worked best, we can guess, would be sharp visual contrasts between dissimilar characters. Electra’s costume and visual effects in this play: telling and showing, again To get back, then, to Electra, we get three kinds of description of her appearance. First, Orestes says (107-9) that he sees a slave woman with short hair. Slaves in vase painting are often depicted with short hair. And Orestes is confused because mourners cut their hair short, at least for a recent death. Electra herself will later talk about her head as shaven (241 and 335). This is the kind of basic contrast just indicated; the short hair of one mask works effectively against the longer hair of all the others. (Just as the white masks of female characters were distinct from the darker masks of male characters.) Second, we get a good deal of description of her clothing. There is no mention of her being dressed in black, however, which is sometimes indicated for mourners in tragic texts, and which would have made for another simple and easily visible contrast. (Compare, for example, Libation Bearers, 10-8; the Orestes there sees Electra, “conspicuous in her grief,” approaching with the Chorus, dressed in black.) Instead, Euripides’ Electra says of herself that she is forced to make her own clothes and that they are poor and ragged (184-7 and 303-8), not suitable for a princess of Agamemnon’s house. Aristophanes repeatedly makes fun of Euripides for dressing heroic or royal characters in rags (Acharnians, 418-34; Frogs, 842 and 1063-4). But what might be indicated is a visible deviation from the more elaborate costumes of other characters; the simple clothing of the Athenian poor could be described as “ragged,”29 and Aristophanes may be making concrete, hyperbolically, what was, in fact, a simpler contrast in clothing, a contrast supplemented and made vivid by verbal description. In fact, the third kind of information we get is very likely to be purely verbal; it depends on developing visual detail. Electra says that her hair is dirty (184) and that she is “weighed down by filth” (305). Later Clytemnestra also reacts to her squalor (1107). This kind of repetition is another device for helping the audience to visualize the character more clearly. Clytemnestra refers to her also as “poorly clothed” (1107), which reinforces Electra’s own repeated pronouncements. Even the reaction of Orestes when he first sees her, his mistaking her for a slave (107-9), works to reinforce that impression. So words supplemented and developed the basic features of masks and costumes in the minds of the audience. And even if it is natural to want to know “what the actor looked like,” we may be confused by our own (sometimes naïve) desire to envision the performance. The audience may have been invited to see something described in the text precisely because it was not visible. More than that, if we take the most vividly visual bits of text we find, or the visual ideas that call themselves to our attention by repetition, and try to see them like images in film—if, for instance, we try to see Electra actually dirty—we may be missing something about the way this kind of drama works. The distinction between telling and showing applies here, too, in a different way; words are used again where we might not expect them, and for different ends. We are again invited to participate imaginatively in the 29 See Olson’s note to Peace 740.



Introduction for the Rest of the Prologue 37

experience of the text, but not only by trying to imagine what an original production looked like. More importantly, we have to try again to imagine how both these parts of the audience’s experience worked together.30 For the original audience, then, staging that brought together broad visual contrasts working in tandem with the words of the text would have been effective and rewarding. An obvious place to consider what those effects might have been will come later (998 ff.), when Clytemnestra enters, just before her debate (agon) with Electra (Reading 14). Apart from all the other dramatic effects built into that scene, the basic contrast between her costume and Electra’s, already well-prepared for, is striking. Clytemnestra is splendidly dressed (966 and 1140) and attended by Trojans slaves, also richly dressed (315-8). The extent to which Electra’s costuming was naturalistically presented, or visible—whether her costume was dirty, for instance, or whether the audience could have seen this kind of detail, does not really matter. What has been prepared is a significant contrast that simply works well theatrically, using combined visual and verbal means suitable to this theatrical space and this form of drama, means to which the audience was accustomed and receptive.

30 Compare Wyles, 2011, 51-3 and 55-8; she takes a somewhat different view of the effects made possible by this combination of the verbal and the visual.

Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 Poetic vocabulary: hard work, suffering, and wretchedness; two poetic verbs for “coming,” “going,” etc. Two common nouns for “hard work,” “hardship,” and “suffering” appear in this reading. Very common in tragedy is πόνος, ου, ὁ, which can simply refer to hard work but is often used—and often as in this passage in the plural—to refer to “troubles” or “suffering.” The word is relatively rare in comic dialogue but is common enough in prose. μόχθος, ου, ὁ, with a similar set of meanings, is clearly poetic. Some adjectives for “wretched” and “unfortunate” also occur here. As you might expect, tragedy makes heavy use of a number of these. Two that appeared at the end of the Farmer’s speech were ἄθλιος, α, ον, “struggling,” “unhappy,” “wretched,” and δυστυχής, ές, “unlucky,” “unfortunate.” Both these words appear also in prose. Ιn this passage he also uses a clearly poetic word, δύστηνος, ον, “wretched,” “unfortunate,” to refer to Electra. Very common, and appearing mostly in the aorist, is βλώσκω, μολοῦμαι, ἔμολον. Also fairly common is στείχω, which only appears in forms based on the stem from the first principal part. Note, too, ἀφ-ικνέομαι, ἀφ-ίξομαι, ἀφ-ικόμην, ἀφ-ῖγμαι, “arrive at,” “come to.” Orestes uses this verb three times, always in its compound form. But the simple poetic form is also common. Sophocles’ Orestes will use it, in the next reading (32). (A poetic variant, ἱκάνω, will also show up (8).) Poetic syntax, II: non-expression of the article In Homer, the article is usually a demonstrative; the later use of the definite article (“the’ as opposed to “a”) is just starting. By contrast, in Attic of the classical period there are only a few forms of demonstrative article; most common is its use with connectives, especially with paired μέν and δέ (Smyth, 1106 ff.). The use of the definite article was so common by then that not using the article is one way tragic language could be made to sound archaic, which contributed to its poetic feel. In order to appreciate better what it means not to use the article where an Attic speaker would expect it, you have to remind yourself of the basic prose uses of the article, keeping in mind that there are forms of non-use in prose, too, depending on the kind of article, the kind of noun, and the author: I. Often you can trust your instincts as an English speaker.31 If it sounds as if you are referring to a specific thing, person, etc., then you can expect to get the same sort of article in Greek. Hence, if you do not get it, the feeling that it should be there is analogous to the effect leaving the article off would have had. This kind of article will be easiest to spot as missing; it will simply feel odd. Before getting too much accustomed to it, go back through the first two readings and notice how few articles are in fact used; the scarcity of articles will be striking, but this 31 It is assumed that the reader is a native speaker of English. In fact, for some non-native speakers, e.g. for Russian speakers, the uses of the English article can also be difficult to learn.

39

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quickly becomes something a modern reader gets used to, first of all because the text is being read and not heard, and second because it is hard to cultivate an ear for a contrast with styles of Greek that are not being read at the moment. To take a concrete example in detail, read lines 2-7 out loud; you will find only one article. Then read the paraphrase in the notes. Here is a translation, which was rewritten with the articles prose would have used. The articles in bold are those that the Greek will seem to be lacking: … whence lord Agamemnon once raised war with thousand ships and sailed to the land of Troy. He killed the one ruling in the Ilian land, Priam, and took the glorious city of Dardanus. Then he returned to this land of Argos and on its lofty temples placed countless spoils of the barbarians. There are a number of complications, however, evident even in this short passage. Many of the rules for using or not using the article in Greek are idiomatic and not obvious to an English speaker. To begin with, after a preposition the article is often left off. Note, too, that there are articles in the Greek that do not come out in English, as with the proper names and the demonstrative τόδε. All these rules, and others, not intuitively clear at first, are discussed below. II. So your instincts as an English speaker are often not sufficient. To begin with, Greek prose will use articles where the object is definite, but where in English we would not always use the article in the same way, or bother with it to begin with. • The article is used in prose where you might expect a possessive. This is not common in poetry. In Aristophanes and prose you will get this use of the article often, and get used to the nuance. In these first readings, for instance, in all the cases in which someone refers to a family member (father, mother etc.; 16, 19, 28, 29, 35, 49, 61, 90, and 98), it is clear whose mother, father, etc. is meant, and in prose (or comedy) the article would indicate a definite relationship that could be made explicit by a possessive. Similar is the use of the article with parts of the body, possessions, etc; explicitness is not needed in Greek where the possessor is easy to infer. • In combinations with a demonstrative, the norm in prose is to use the article as well as the adjective: “This (the) rule is normal Greek.” In poetry the article is left off frequently, which sounds like English but not ordinary Greek. At 43 you do get an article with a demonstrative (ἁνὴρ ὅδε = ὁ ἀνὴρ ὅδε), but elsewhere (6, 55, 78, 84, 90, 93, 96, 103, 106, and 111) it is left off. • Proper nouns. The article can be used with a name in Greek. The reference is to a definite person, place, god, etc. This makes sense in the abstract. On the other hand, in all kinds of Greek the article can be left off. Tragedy regularly leaves off the article with proper nouns. In fact, in the prologue, the article appears to be used with a proper noun only once (τοῦ Θυέστου; 10). It is this general scarcity of the article with names that is distinctive. III. Harder to get a feel for are uses of the article with abstract nouns, or with common nouns referring to classes of things and people. In these cases, the use of the article probably will not make intuitive sense, to our ears (as in I), nor can we understand the usage as at least



Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 41

logical, because it refers to a definite entity (as in II). • Article with abstract nouns. The article is sometimes, but not always, used with abstract nouns, as in, ἡ ἀρετή, ἡ ἐλπίς, ὁ ἔρως: virtue, hope, desire. Compare, for example, ηὑγένει’ (= ἡ εὐγένεια): good birth, nobility (38). This kind of article is often left off in prose as well. And it is hard to arrive at reliable rules for describing why it is left off when it is. • Generic article used to refer to a class or type. The article can be used—with plural as well as singular nouns, and with adjectives and participles—to indicate a class or type: οἱ ἀγαθοί, οἱ ἀδικοῦντες, οἱ μαθηταί: good men, wrongdoers, students. Compare, for example, ὀλβίων ἀνδρῶν τέκνα, “the/a child [poetic plural] of prosperous men” (45), a phrase in which the genitive would almost certainly have had an article in prose, as in τῶν ὀλβίων. IV. Finally, keep in mind that the article can be used in Greek with adjectives, attributive (adjectival) participles, genitives, prepositional phrases, and adverbs to make nouns. Here, too, the usage may not make intuitive sense. The reference will sometimes be specific, sometimes generic, sometimes abstract. Remember, in particular, that the neuter article can be used to generalize or make abstractions. See, for example, τὸν κρατοῦντ’ ἐν Ἰλιάδι χθονί (4); τὸν λόγοισι κηδεύοντ’ ἐμοί (47); τὸ σῶφρον (53); τἄνδον (76); and τά γ’ εἴσω τειχέων (101). Even after these rules are reviewed and become more obvious in practice, the fact that the article often does not show up may make working through poetry more of a challenge; because the article is often simply not there, it can be harder at times to put noun phrases together, without the signposting the article provides. To take another concrete example in detail, read lines 16-21 out loud; you will find only two articles this time, both of them used as demonstratives/pronouns. Then compare the second paraphrase in the notes. The word order is different, to begin with. But there is also a difference insofar as the prose uses of the article simply give you much more information, first of all by making it much clearer to which declensions the case endings belong. Second, the relationship of adjectives and genitives to the nouns they modify is usually clearer in prose. The article allows a clear definition of the “attributive position”; it makes clear what modifies a noun. As a reminder: in prose ὁ γεραιὸς τροφεύς or ὁ τροφεὺς ὁ γεραιός are normal. And any words modifying a noun, that is, adjective, adverb, prepositional phrase, etc., can be placed after the article (either before or after their noun) to indicate that they are modifiers. If a modifier does not have the article, it is in the “predicate position,” as in the sentence ὁ τροφεὺς γεραιός. This has to be a sentence, in fact; without the article we know there is predicate in play, which also means an ἐστί is implied. (Similarly, in prose the article is nearly always left off the predicate noun to distinguish it from the subject, e.g., τροφεὺς ὁ γεραιός.) The distinction between attributive and predicate positions is still important in poetry—as will sometimes be pointed out in the notes—but putting together noun phrases and recognizing predicates may sometimes take a bit more thought. It will be important to be confident about recognizing various noun and adjective endings, and to get used to standard word order variations. All this will be helpful in getting used to reading trimeter, to begin with, and even more important in reading choral sections. (See p. 92.)

42

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

Trimeter, II: resolution Now that scanning trimeters is coming more easily, it is worth knowing more about resolution; the tragedians and their audiences had a highly developed sense of what made for an elegant trimeter appropriate to tragedy. Rules governing rhythmic variations discovered by modern scholarship are another way of getting at the sensitivity of an audience used to hearing thousands of trimeter lines at one sitting, and with experience in hearing many more thousands over the course of a lifetime. As with tragic diction and dialect, the norms of tragic trimeter composition were ingrained through collective experience and maintained by poets practicing the same craft. This is not to say that those norms were static or that individual metrical styles are not evident. Euripides’ use of resolution is the most obvious case in point, as you will see. Remember that resolution is the substitution of two short syllables for a long position. In order to provide a framework for placing different forms of it, here is the scheme of the trimeter again: ×1 ‒2 ⏑3 ‒4 ×5 ⁝ ‒6 ⏑7 ⁝ ‒8 ×9 ‒10 ⏑ 11 ×12. Syllables filling a resolved position are most often the first syllables of a word of three or more syllables. Most other forms of resolution, whether with shorter words or involving non-initial syllables, are uncommon or rare. Resolution in general is most common at 6, after the most frequent caesura position. It is fairly common at the beginning of the line, at 1or 2. Later in the line, it is somewhat common at 8, rare at 10 and unheard of at the last position in the line. A rule of thumb, then, is to look first for resolution at 6 or at the beginning of the line. Unusual forms of resolution also occur most often in these two slots. For instance, resolution involving a word shaped ⏖ or ⏖’ is most common at 6. (Compare 14, 17, and 43.) Similarly, the substitution of ⏖ for × (an anceps) or ⏑ is only common at position 1. It is used later in the line, at 3, 5, 7, and 9, only for proper names. (Even at 1 it is often used to fit a name. See 4, 18, 33, and 82.) The upshot seems to be that there was more tolerance for rhythmical variation via resolution either at the beginning of the first “half” of the line (×1 ‒2) or at or close to the beginning of the second, after one of the caesura positions (⁝ ‒6 ⏑7 ⁝ ‒8). This implies that each of the two parts of the line, on either side of the caesura, was meant to be heard as a distinct rhythmical unit. A smooth finish to the line as a whole seems to have been particularly desirable, as the restrictions on treating the last part of the line show—see pp. 65-6, below. There are practical consequences to these distinctions, even at this point. In terms of scansion, if the shape of the line is not intuitively obvious, locate the caesura by working backward from the end of the line, keeping in mind that resolution is most common at 6 or early in the line; look, first, for ‒8 ×9 ‒10 ⏑11 ×12, allowing for the possibility of ⏖8 ×9 ‒10 ⏑11 ×12. Being aware of how the line is (often) structured into two distinct phrases matching its rhythmical parts will also sometimes help with understanding how the line or sentence is phrased. In terms of appreciation, this way of looking at the line will allow a modern reader’s ear, insofar as it is possible, to hear subtle variations, and the regularities of satisfying repetition; most lines develop toward, first, a regular caesura, then move toward closure in a clearly marked iambic rhythm. Note: Over the course of his career, Euripides began to loosen the norms for resolution evident in Aeschylus and Sophocles, and in his own early plays. To



Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 43

begin with, resolution is simply more frequent in general. We can also see changes in the frequency of particular types of resolution. For instance, Euripides ends up using resolution more often at position 4 as time goes on. (See 35, 104, and 111.) (Resolution in this spot is rare in Aeschylus and not particularly common in Sophocles until his last two plays, Philoctetes and Oedipus at Colonus.) By looking at changes in overall frequency, then, as well as the use of previously restricted forms of resolution like this one, scholars have been able to correlate and contrast the patterns of resolution in plays without a certain date, like Electra, with those for which we do have a secure date. This is how we can come to an approximate dating for the play, about 420 B.C.E., some fifteen years before his death. Basic forms to review •

•

If necessary, review again the imperfect, future, and second aorist active indicative. Remember that the second principal part forms (future) always borrow endings from the first. If the verb has a second/strong aorist, the third principal part forms will also. But remember that the stem will be different for any 2nd aorist form, e.g., ἔλιπον vs. ἔλειπον, and that for an active 2nd aorist participle the accent will look different, e.g., λιπών, λιποῦσα, λιπόν vs. λείπων, λείπουσα, λεῖπον. Finally, keep in mind the basic distinction between secondary, past tense, endings and primary endings, anything non-past (without an augment). See Smyth, 382-4. Review 3rd declension neuters, as in γένος, ους, τό. These originally had a stem ending in -εσ- but lost the sigma before the vowel of many endings and, in Attic, produced contracted forms, e.g., γένεσος > γένεος > γένους. See Smyth, 263.

Case usage As was indicated at the end of the last introduction, case usage in tragic Greek is complex on the surface, but there are several basic categories that are relatively easy to grasp. Refer back to the basic description of different cases usages (pp. 22-3) and compare them with the following examples from this reading: • Adnominal vs. ablatival vs. partitive genitives: More examples of the partitive at 82-3, 84, and 90. • Dative that indicates someone (or something) involved or concerned with an action or state of affairs vs. instrumental or modal dative: Compare the uses of the dative in 9-10 and 47 with those listed in the note to 59. • Accusative as direct object vs. internal or adverbial accusative: See notes to 36 and 64, and compare 92, 94, 96, and 103 (with notes). • Poetic case usage without prepositions: Compare 88 (with note) and 111. • Distinguishing nominative and vocative: See the note to 54.

44

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

ΗΛΕΚΤΡΑ ὦ νὺξ μέλαινα, χρυσέων ἄστρων τροφέ, ἐν ᾗ τόδ’ ἄγγος τῷδ’ ἐφεδρεῦον κάρᾳ 55 φέρουσα πηγὰς ποταμίας μετέρχομαι 56 γόους τ’ ἀφίημ’ αἰθέρ’ ἐς μέγαν πατρί— 59 οὐ δή τι χρείας ἐς τοσόνδ’ ἀφιγμένη 57 ἀλλ’ ὡς ὕβριν δείξωμεν Αἰγίσθου θεοῖς. ἡ γὰρ πανώλης Τυνδαρίς, μήτηρ ἐμή, 60 ἐξέβαλέ μ’ οἴκων, χάριτα τιθεμένη πόσει· τεκοῦσα δ’ ἄλλους παῖδας Αἰγίσθῳ πάρα πάρεργ’ Ὀρέστην κἀμὲ ποιεῖται δόμων. Αυ. τί γὰρ τάδ’, ὦ δύστην’, ἐμὴν μοχθεῖς χάριν πόνους ἔχουσα, πρόσθεν εὖ τεθραμμένη, 65 καὶ ταῦτ’ ἐμοῦ λέγοντος οὐκ ἀφίστασαι; Ηλ. ἐγώ σ’ ἴσον θεοῖσιν ἡγοῦμαι φίλον· ἐν τοῖς ἐμοῖς γὰρ οὐκ ἐνύβρισας κακοῖς. μεγάλη δὲ θνητοῖς μοῖρα συμφορᾶς κακῆς ἰατρὸν εὑρεῖν, ὡς ἐγω σὲ λαμβάνω. 70 δεῖ δή με κἀκέλευστον εἰς ὅσον σθένω μόχθου ˀπικουφίζουσαν, ὡς ῥᾷον φέρῃς, συνεκκομίζειν σοι πόνους. ἅλις δ’ ἔχεις τἄξωθεν ἔργα· τἀν δόμοις δ’ ἡμᾶς χρεὼν ἐξευτρεπίζειν. εἰσιόντι δ’ ἐργάτῃ 75 θύραθεν ἡδὺ τἄνδον εὐρίσκειν καλῶς. Αυ. εἴ τοι δοκεῖ σοι, στεῖχε· καὶ γὰρ οὐ πρόσω πηγαὶ μελάθρων τῶνδ’. ἐγὼ δ’ ἅμ’ ἡμέρᾳ βοῦς εἰς ἀρούρας ἐσβαλὼν σπερῶ γύας. ἀργὸς γὰρ οὐδεὶς θεοὺς ἔχων ἀνὰ στόμα 80 βίον δύναιτ’ ἂν ξυλλέγειν ἄνευ πόνου.



Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 45

ΟΡΕΣΤΗΣ Πυλάδη, σὲ γὰρ δὴ πρῶτον ἀνθρώπων ἐγὼ πιστὸν νομίζω καί φίλον ξένον τ’ ἐμοί· μόνος δ’ Ὀρέστην τόνδ’ ἐθαύμαζες φίλων, πράσσονθ’ ἃ πράσσω δείν’ ὑπ’ Αἰγίσθου παθών, 85 ὅς μου κατέκτα πατέρα χἠ πανώλεθρος μήτηρ. ἀφῖγμαι δ’ ἐκ θεοῦ μυστηρίων Ἀργεῖον οὖδας οὐδενὸς ξυνειδότος, φόνον φονεῦσι πατρὸς ἀλλάξων ἐμοῦ. νυκτὸς δὲ τῆσδε πρὸς τάφον μολὼν πατρὸς 90 δάκρυά τ’ ἔδωκα καὶ κόμης ἀπήρξάμην πυρᾷ τ’ ἐπέσφαξ’ αἷμα μηλείου φόνου, λαθὼν τυράννους οἳ κρατοῦσι τῆσδε γῆς. καὶ τειχέων μὲν ἐντὸς οὐ βαίνω πόδα, δυοῖν δ’ ἅμιλλαν ξυντιθεὶς ἀφικόμην 95 πρὸς τέρμονας γῆς τῆσδ’ ἵν’ ἐκβάλω πόδα ἄλλην ἐπ’ αἶαν εἴ μέ τις γνοίη σκοπῶν, ζητῶν τ’ ἀδελφήν (φασὶ γάρ νιν ἐν γάμοις ζευχθεῖσαν οἰκεῖν ουδὲ παρθένον μένειν), ὡς συγγένωμαι καὶ φόνου συνεργάτιν 100 λαβὼν τά γ’ εἴσω τειχέων σαφῶς μάθω. νῦν οὖν (ἕω γὰρ λευκὸν ὄμμ’ ἀναίρεται) ἔξω τρίβου τοῦδ’ ἴχνος ἀλλαξώμεθα. ἢ γάρ τις ἀροτὴρ ἤ τις οἰκέτις γυνὴ φανήσεται νῷν, ἥντιν’ ἱστορήσομεν 105 εἰ τούσδε ναίει σύγγονος τόπους ἐμή. ἀλλ’ εἰσορῶ γὰρ τήνδε πρόσπολόν τινα πηγαῖον ἄχθος ἐν κακαρμένῳ κάρᾳ φέρουσαν, ἑζώμεσθα κἀκπυθώμεθα δούλης γυναικός, ἤν τι δεξώμεσθ’ ἔπος 110 ἐφ’ οἷσι, Πυλάδη, τήνδ’ ἀφίγμεθα χθόνα.

46

Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

ὦ—with voc., nom., or imper. as a form of address, “O” νύξ, νυκτός, ἡ—night μέλας, μέλαινα, μέλαν—black, dark χρύσεος, α, ον = χρυσοῦς, ῆ, οῦν—golden, of gold ἄστρον, ου, τό—star (mostly pl.) τροφός, οῦ, ὁ/ἡ—nurse; feeder, rearer 55: ὅδε, ἥδε, τόδε—this (as opposed to “that”); this (present or visible) thing/person ἄγγος, εος, τό—vessel, container ἐφεδρεύω—sit on, rest on κάρα, τό—head πηγή, ῆς, ἡ—running water, stream; spring, source ποτάμιος, α, ον or ος, ον—of or from a river μετέρχομαι—go for, seek; go to punish or take revenge γόος, ου, ὁ—weeping, wailing ἀφίημι—send out, away αἰθήρ, έρος, ὁ/ἡ—heaven, sky χρεία, ας, ἡ—need, lack τοσόσδε, ήδε, όνδε—so great (as this), so many (as this) ἀφιγμένη (pf. middle part.) > ἀφικνέομαι—arrive at, come to δείξωμεν (aor. subj.) > δείκνυμι 60: πανώλης, ες—completely destroyed; completely immoral; all destructive Τυνδαρίς, ίδος, ἡ—daughter of Tyndareus ἐξέβαλε > ἐκβάλλω—throw out οἶκος, ου, ὁ—house χάρις, ιτος, ἡ—grace, beauty; favor, kindness; gratitude (Att. acc., χάριν) τιθεμένη (pres. part.) > τίθημι—act. or middle, “make x” = “doing x” (here, “doing a favor,” “gratifying”) πόσις, ὁ—husband τεκοῦσα > τίκτω παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child πάρεργον, ου, τό, secondary or subordinate business δόμος, ου, ὁ—house ὦ—with voc., nom., or imper. as a form of address, “O” δύστηνος, ον—wretched, unfortunate μοχθέω—be worn out with work; suffer hardship χάρις, ιτος, ἡ—grace, beauty; favor, kindness; gratitude (Att. acc., χάριν) 65: πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering πρόσθεν—before; in front εὖ—well τεθραμμένη (pf. pass. part.) > τρέφω

ἀφίστημι—intr., stand away from, stop; withdraw, leave ἴσος, η, ον—equal, like (with dat.) ἡγέομαι—believe, regard as ἐνύβρισας (aor.) > ἐνυβρίζω—insult, mock θνητός, ή, όν—mortal, human μοῖρα, ας, ἡ—part; share; lot (in life) συμφορά, ᾶς, ἡ—event, chance event; misfortune 70: εὑρεῖν (aor. inf.) > εὑρίσκω ἀκέλευστος, ον—without being told to ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many σθένω—have strength; be able μόχθος, ου—hard work; hardship, suffering ἐπικουφίζω—lighten; relieve from ῥᾴων, ῥᾷον—easier φέρῃς (subj.) > φέρω συνεκκομίζω—help to carry, help in bearing πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering ἅλις—enough ἔξωθεν—from outside; outside δόμος, ου, ὁ—house ἡμεῖς—we χρεών—(it is) necessary 75: ἐξευτρεπίζω—get ready, prepare εἰσίοντι (pres. part.) > εἰσέρχομαι—go in, enter ἐργάτης, ου, ὁ—workman, farmer θύραθεν—from outside the door, from outside ἔνδον—inside καλῶς—well; in the right way δοκέω—think, imagine; have an opinion, decide (with dat.); of an object: seem; seem good to (with dat.); seem to be, have a reputation (for) στεῖχε (imper.) > στείχω—walk, go, come πρόσω/πόρσω (= Att. πόρρω)—onwards; far off; far from (with gen.) πηγή, ῆς, ἡ—running water, streams; spring, source μέλαθρον, ου, τό—roof-tree, roof; house, halls ἅμα—at the same time; at the same time as, together with (with dat.) ἄρουρα, ας, ἡ—field; land, earth ἐσβαλών > εἰσβάλλω—throw into, put into σπερῶ (fut.) > σπείρω—sow seed; engender children; scatter, spread γύης, ου, ὁ—field, land 80: ἀργός, όν—(= ἀεργός, όν); not working the land; idle, lazy ἀνά—in (with acc.) στόμα, ατος, τό—mouth βίος,ου, ὁ—life; means of living, livelihood δύναιτο (pres. opt.) > δύναμαι συλλέγω—bring together, gather



Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 47

ἄνευ—without πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering πιστός, ή, όν—faithful, trustworthy 85: δεινός, ή, όν—terrible, awful; marvelous, strange; clever, skillful παθών > πάσχω κατέκτα (aor.) > κατακτείνω—kill, slay πανώλεθρος, ον—completely destroyed; completely immoral; all destructive ἀφῖγμαι (pf. middle) > ἀφικνέομαι—arrive at, come to μυστήριον, ου, τό—mystery, secret rite (usually plural) Ἀργεῖος, α, ον—Argive oὖδας, εος, τό—earth, ground ξυνειδότος (part.) > σύνοιδα—know something about; share the knowledge of φόνος, ου, ὁ—murder, slaughter φονεύς, έως, ὁ—murderer ἀλλάξων (fut.) > ἀλλάττω—change; give in exchange; repay; middle, change, take in exchange 90: νύξ, νυκτός, ἡ—night τάφος, ου, ὁ—burial rites; grave, tomb μολών > βλώσκω—go, come (almost always used in aor. forms) δάκρυον, ου, τό—tear ἔδωκα (aor.) > δίδωμι—offer κόμη, ης, ἡ—hair; long hair, locks ἀπάρχoμαι—make a beginning (esp. in a sacrifice); cut off part of (with gen.) πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ—funeral pyre; mound raised on site of pyre; altar at site of pyre ἐπέσφαξα (aor.) > ἐπισφάζω—slaughter over or on αἷμα, ατος, τό—blood μήλειος, ον or α, ον—of sheep φόνος, ου, ὁ—murder, slaughter λαθών > λανθάνω—escape the notice of γῆ, γῆς, ἡ—earth; land, country τεῖχος, ους, τό—wall, esp. of city walls ἐντός—within; inside (with gen.) πούς, ποδός, ὁ—foot 95: δύο, δυοῖν—two ἅμιλλα, ης, ἡ—contest, conflict; eagerness for, desire for ξυντιθείς (pres. part.) > συντίθημι—put or place together; construct out of ἀφίκόμην > ἀφικνέομαι—arrive at, come to τέρμων, ονος, ὁ/τέρμα, ατος, τό—boundary; end; goal; culmination ἵνα—in order that; where ἐκβάλω (subj.) > ἐκβάλλω—throw out

πούς, ποδός, ὁ—foot αἶα, ας, ἡ—land, country; earth γνοίη (aor. opt.) > γιγνώσκω ἀδελφή, ῆς, ἡ—sister φασί (3rd pl.) > φημί νιν—him, her, them γάμος, ου ὁ—wedding; marriage; sex ζευχθεῖσαν (aor. pass. part.) > ζεύγνυμι—yoke; join together, join in marriage οἰκέω—live (in) (trans. or intrans.) οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not (usu. after μέν) παρθένος, ου, ἡ—(unmarried) girl, virgin 100: συγγένωμαι (subj.) > συγγίγνομαι—be with; talk with; join with; meet συνεργάτις, εως, ἡ—accomplice or assistant in λαβών > λαμβάνω φόνος, ου, ὁ—murder, slaughter εἴσω/ἔσω—adv. of εἰς/ἐς: into, to within; inside, within (also as improper prep. with gen.) τεῖχος, ους, τό—wall, esp. of city walls σαφῶς—clearly μάθω (subj.) > μανθάνω ἕως, ἕω, ἡ—dawn; morning λευκός, ή, όν—light, bright, clear; light in color ὄμμα, ατος, τό—eye; light; face ἀναίρω—raise, lift up ἔξω—adv. and prep. with gen.: out, out of; outside, separate from (in various senses), in exile τρίβος, ου, ἡ/ὁ—worn or beaten track; path ἴχνος, ους, τό—track, footstep; trace ἀλλαξώμεθα (aor. subj.) > ἀλλάττω—change; give in exchange; repay; middle, change, take in exchange ἀροτήρ, ῆρος, ὁ—plowman, farmer οἰκέτις, ιδος, ἡ, fem. of οἰκέτης, ου, ὁ—houseslave; member of a household 105: φανήσεται (fut. pass.) > φαίνω νώ, νῷν—we/us two ἱστορέω—inquire of, ask ναίω—dwell in, inhabit σύγγονος, ον = συγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related τόπος, ου, ὁ—place, region εἰσοράω—look into, behold πρόσπολος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—servant, attendant πηγαῖος, α, ον—from a spring ἄχθος, ους, τό—burden, load; grief κεκαρμένῳ (pf. pass. part.) > κείρω—cut short, shear κάρα, τό—head ἕζώμεσθα (subj.) > ἕζομαι—sit ἐκπυθώμεθα (subj.) > ἐκπυνθάνομαι—learn from (with gen.)

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110: δούλη, ης, ἡ—female slave ἤν = ἐάν ἔπος, ους, τό—word, speech, tale

ἀφίγμεθα (pf.) > ἀφικνέομαι—arrive at, come to χθών, χθονός, ἡ—earth; land, country

54-63. The actor playing Electra enters from the skene, dressed, presumably, in a simple costume and with a mask with the hair cut short as a sign of mourning. (See above.) He begins an emotional soliloquy addressed nominally to the night, which tells us that the time is presented as just at daybreak. (Compare 78-9 and 102.) This type of emotional expression addressed to the elements occurs repeatedly in tragedy. The effect is often to express not only strong emotion but also a sense of isolation. Compare Sophocles’ Electra at 86-91. Euripides’ innovation in marrying her off to a poor farmer and shifting the scene to the country creates further effects in this scene. This Electra has to respond to her exile from the palace, her loss of status, and her odd marriage. 54-5—ὦ νὺξ … ἐν ᾗ. The initial vocative slides into a relative clause leading into the soliloquy. Compare 1-3. 54—μέλαινα. On the forms of this kind of adjective, see Smyth, 298. —χρυσέων. In prose, χρυσῶν; the possibility of open spellings for adjectives and nouns usually contracted in Attic is another occasional feature of the dialect coloring of tragic dialogue. See p. 63 and compare 94 and 101. —τροφέ. The vocative ending is usually equivalent to the nominative but not always so. All the exceptions are in the singular: 1) 2nd declension nouns in -ος/-ε (and the equivalent adjective endings); 2) masculine 1st declension vocatives—compare Πυλάδη, 82 and 111; 3) many, but not all, 3rd declension vocatives (Smyth, 248-9). 55—τῷδ’ ἐφεδρεῦον κάρᾳ. If you scan the line and take this phrase as a unit after the caesura, the hyperbaton, and the long participial phrase that extends itself into the next line, will be easier to hear as units of sense. Compare 16, with note. —ἐφεδρεῦον. Has to be scanned with a long second syllable. —κάρᾳ. Dative of κάρα, τό, which also shows forms from the stem κρατ-, with a long α. Poetic for κεφαλή, ῆς, ἡ, and not to be confused with κράτος, ους, τό, “strength,” “power,” which has a short α in the stem. See Smyth, 285.14. 56—πηγὰς ποταμίας. The use of πηγή in the plural to mean “stream,” “waters,” or “water” seems to be poetic. Compare note to 1. 59—γόους τ’ ἀφίημ’. For single τε adding on a new clause, see the note to 5. —αἰθέρ’ ἐς μέγαν. Again, scan the line and take the hyperbatic phrase (prepositional sandwich) as a unit after the caesura. αἰθήρ is a recognizably poetic word, though it also occurs in philosophical texts; Aristophanes often uses it in quoting or mocking tragedy. —πατρί. We would say she laments “for” her father. For this intuitively clear but amorphous use of dative, compare the datives in 22 (with note), 42, 61, 69, 73, 75, 83, etc. 57—χρείας ἐς τόσονδ’ ἀφιγμένη. She has not reached this level of need/poverty. To “come to,” or “arrive to,” “this” or “so much” plus a genitive of an abstract noun is a fairly common idiom, though here the word order may cloud the issue. See Smyth, 1325. 58—ὡς … δείξωμεν. For the purpose clause, compare the note to 39. More purpose clauses in 72, 96, and 100. 60-1. Compare 31-5, with note. 60—πανώλης. This compound, though it is too rare for certainty, is probably poetic. Notice that it can have both an active and a passive sense; the implication could be that x



Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 49

“has been completely destroyed” or that x acts “completely immorally” or so as to be “completely destructive.” Compare πανώλεθρος in 86, and the note to 27. —ἡ … Τυνδαρίς. On this kind of adjective, see note to 13. 61—χάριτα τιθεμένη. τίθημι can be used with a noun in a phrase that describes an action of the sort implied by the noun; “make a favor/gratification” = “gratify.” (The usual Attic accusative of this noun is χάριν, as in 64.) 62-3. Sophocles, too, will refer to the children of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus (589). Adding in children of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus emphasizes the dispossession of both Electra and Orestes. (From later scraps of evidence we know of two children, Erigone and Aletes. Sophocles, as well as other tragedians, wrote plays titled Erigone. We also hear of an Aletes attributed, wrongly it seems, to Sophocles.) 62—πάρα. Postposition and anastrophe. See note to 35. 63—πάρεργ’ … δόμων. In effect, a predicate; she makes x into y. 64. Note the medial caesura. Compare 73, with notes to 31-2 and 35. —γάρ. The uses of γάρ in dialogue responses are subtle and idiomatic. Here, he is asking why she wants to do this kind of work. The emphasis implies that he is a bit surprised; often this kind of γάρ implies that the response is grounded in the attitude of the speaker toward what has just been said or done: “(I don’t understand,) for why …?” —ὦ δύστην’. The adjective is mostly tragic. In Aristophanes, the vocative is used a few times for “you wretch,” but otherwise the word is only used in tragic quotation or parody. (See Dunbar on Birds 354.) The tone is hard to catch but the word is probably not colloquial. —τάδ’ … μοχθεῖς. An internal accusative; it will not come out in English as a direct object because it forms part of the description of the action: “Why do you perform these labors?” (See note to 36.) A neuter adjective or pronoun used in this way is next door to, sometimes indistinguishable from, a neuter used adverbially: “Why do you labor in this way?” —ἐμὴν … χάριν. χάριν can be used with a possessive adjective: “for my sake,” “for your sake.” It can also be used with a genitive, usually following it, in the sense, “for the sake of x.” In that usage, it is an “improper” preposition, an adverb that can be used with nouns but not in compounds. See Smyth, 1700-2. 66. Can be understood in various ways, though the general sense is clear. The ταῦτ’ can be taken with the participle or the main verb; hence, it can be understood as “although I say these things …” or, “Although I tell you to (stop), you don’t stop doing these things.” 67. Understand an εἶναι after the object (σ’) and notice that its predicate is wrapped around the verb. —θεοῖσιν. Note the long dative form. Compare 59, and the note to 14. 68—ἐνύβρισας. Long υ in the second syllable because of the augment. 70—ἰατρόν. Has a long α. —εὑρεῖν. Remember that an infinitive is a verbal noun and can be a subject. Compare εὑρίσκειν in 76. In both cases, there is a predicate, here a noun, there a neuter adjective. —ὡς. Introducing a comparison, as ὥσπερ also does. See Smyth, 2462-3. 71-3. A sprawling sentence with two subordinate clauses; start from the accusative and infinitive, with δεῖ. Again an infinitive as subject, here with its own accusative subject. Compare 74-5. 71—κἀκέλευστον. = καὶ ἀκέλευστον. (On the crasis, see note to 8 and compare 74 and 86.) Notice: 1) The καί cannot be a connective. (Compare note to 25.) 2) A compound -ος,

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-η, -ον adjective (ἀ-κέλευστ-) is really an -ος -ον; it has only one set of endings for masculine and feminine. In fact, most adjectives like this are compounds. See note to 27. —εἰς ὅσον σθένω. “to which much I am able.” Odd-sounding relative used adverbially. Relatives can come in the form of adverbs, as here, or adjectives. See Smyth, 340 and 346 (handy tables organizing a variety of relatives and related words). 72—μόχθου ᾿πικουφίζουσαν. The genitive is probably partitive—see above, p. 22; she relieves him of some of his load of work. (The following syllable is elided through inverse elision, which is possible in poetry. See Smyth, 76.) —ῥᾷον. Neuter singular of the comparative of ῥᾴδιος, α, ον. This form of the comparative adjective is used for the comparative adverb (“more easily”). 73—ἅλις δ’ ἔχεις. The verb and adverb together seem to govern the accusative: “You are occupied enough with …” ἅλις is fairly common in tragedy and Homer, rare in comedy and classical prose (mostly with a partitive genitive, “enough of …”). 74—τἄξωθεν. The force of the suffix -θεν (“from”) is weak, but not in θύραθεν (76). —χρεών. = χρή. This word is much more common in tragedy than in comedy or prose, and particularly common in Euripides. 75—εἰσ-ί-οντι. Remember that the stem of εἶμι (“I will go”) often appears as ι, and that apart from this future, forms derived from it go with the first principal part, ἔρχομαι, as with this present participle. See Smyth, 774. 76—καλῶς. = “fine.” Can be understood as καλῶς ἔχοντα, which we would translate, as often with ἔχω and an adverb, with a form of “to be” and a predicate: “(being) fine.” The expression is probably colloquial. 77—εἴ τοι δοκεῖ σοι. τοι is another word, like γάρ, with a subtle flavor, or flavors. Probably an old dative of σύ, it makes a connection with the addressee. Here the effect is something like, “All right, if you want to …” —καὶ γάρ. “For, in fact …” Equivalent to an “anyway.” —πρόσω. Example of an improper preposition; see note to 64. The genitive connected with it comes after a slight delay. The tragedians use this word, or πόρσω, for the normal Attic πόρρω. See, below, pp. 61-4, on dialect coloring in dialogue. 78. A good example of conventional tragic diction. πηγαί is a poeticism, and μέλαθρα is poetic and might sound odd coming from a farmer and applied to his house. (Compare notes to 35 and 51.) Denniston says of μέλαθρα, “So dignified a word seems hardly suitable.” The second syllable also has a scansion involving αθ-ρ, which would have sounded mannered. The effect is, in fact, hard to judge, but our own expectations about realistic, or naturalistic, drama may be in tension with the conventional form of the art language. The standard for tragedy is to give all characters the same elevated diction, even non-heroic, non-royal characters like this one. 79—βοῦς. Accusative plural (“oxen”). For the declension of this word, see Smyth, 275. —ἀρούρας … γύας. Also sounds conventionally poetic when applied to a down-home character and his work. 80—θεοὺς ἔχων ἀνὰ στόμα. In scanning this line, you will hear this phrase as a sense unit coming after the caesura. (On the scansion of θεοὺς, see the next note.) The whole participial phrase can then be heard, like all circumstantial participial phrases, in relation to the rest of the sentence. Here the phrase is balanced against the other parts; you can understand an “although.” (If the term “circumstantial” is unclear, see Smyth, 2054 ff.)



Reading Three: Euripides, Lines 54-111 51

—θεούς. Scanned as a single syllable; the epsilon is combined in pronunciation with the diphthong through “synizesis.” This is most common when the first vowel is an epsilon and it is relatively common with forms of θεός, in Euripides particularly. The pronunciation would have sounded poetic, like pronouncing “over” as “o’er” in English poetry. (Compare the effect of μελάθ-ρων in 78.) —ἀνά. As a preposition, when it implies location or motion, ἀνά is confined to poetry. In general, it is rare in Attic prose, as well as Aristophanes’ trimeters. 81—δύναιτ’ ἄν. Potential optative—see Smyth, 1824 ff.—and a -μι verb in the present. Hence, a present optative ending (-ιτο) added to the stem δυνα-. (A -μι verb, too, can show up as a “deponent,” a verb with an active meaning but only middle, or middle and passive, forms. See Smyth, 356c and 725.) 82 ff. The Farmer and Electra depart to do their respective chores, probably by the same eisodos. The third actor comes in from the other eisodos with the mute Pylades. They may be dressed as travelers. And they have at least two servants/slaves with them. (See 393-4.) 82—Πυλάδη. In some versions of the story, as in this play, Pylades is the future husband of Electra. If the audience was aware of this, his silent presence throughout as Orestes’ partner has an interesting effect. —γάρ. The idea seems to be, “I’m asking your help because …” But then Orestes’ speech moves into history and explanation. The call for action only comes at 102 ff. 82-3—πρῶτον ἀνθρώπων … πιστόν. Denniston explains this as “loyal above all others.” The genitive may be partitive; the phrase implies the uniqueness of an individual taken out of a whole group. May also be ablatival; with comparatives and superlatives, an ablatival genitive indicates the starting point “from which” the comparison is made. Compare μόνος … φίλων in 84, and see Smyth, 1315 and 1434. 83—φίλον ξένον τ’ ἐμοί. It is worth looking both these words up in LSJ. For the first idea, compare what Electra says about the Farmer (67). 84—Ὀρέστην τόνδ’. Again, equivalent to “I”; compare 43, and note. 85—πράσσονθ’ ἃ πράσσω. This verb means here “experience,” “do well or badly.” The Ionic pronunciation is with -σσ-; normal Attic would involve -ττ-. (Compare note to 77.) Notice “experiencing what I experience”: the relative sounds natural in English, though strictly speaking “those things which” could have been used. Compare note to 32-3. 86—κατέκτα. On κατακτείνω as a variant for the prose ἀποκτείνω, and on the aorist forms for both, see above, p. 20. 86-7—χἠ πανώλεθρος μήτηρ. χἠ = καὶ ἡ. The run of the sentence and the force of the adjective make it clear that though he did the deed, she is still, in effect, a murderer. Compare notes to 9-10. On the lack of feminine endings for a compound adjective like this, see note to 27. On its meaning(s), compare note to 60. 87—ἐκ θεοῦ μυστηρίων. Though as in other retellings he has clearly consulted Apollo, this way of describing his visit to the oracle is unusual. Perhaps the effect is to emphasize the fact that we do not hear about an explicit directive as to what to do, as we do in Aeschylus’ and Sophocles’ versions. 88—Ἀργεῖον οὖδας. Notice the lack of a preposition. The accusative by itself can indicate the end of motion, or at least it could in very early Greek; later, prepositions specifying the meaning became standard. When a preposition is left off in poetry, it makes the language sound archaic.

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—ξυνειδότος. ξύν/ξυν- is an older Attic form of σύν/συν-. I.e., there are two spellings historically for both the preposition and the prefix in compounds. Except in a few phrases, the preposition is not used in prose but is poetic. (See note to S. 61.) Both forms are found as prefixes, in prose and in poetry. See Smyth, 1696. 89-90. If you scan both lines and then read them aloud, you can hear how flexible the use of conventional word order variation is; to catch the connection between rhythmical phrasing and sense, it helps to scan the line and keep in mind which phrases cohere rhythmically. —πατρός. In 89, scanned as πατ-ρός to fit in as ‒⏑. Whereas at the end of the next line the scansion is πα-τρός and ⏑⏑. 89—φονεῦσι. The plural seems to indicate Clytemnestra as well as Aegisthus—compare note to 86-7. On the other hand, Orestes might, by generalizing, be avoiding explicitness as to the matricide in his future. On the generalizing poetic plural used to refer to people, compare p. 21. (For the force of the dative, compare the note to 59.) —ἀλλάξων. The future participle (and occasionally the present) can indicate purpose or intention, especially after verbs of “coming,” “going,” “sending,” “summoning,” etc. See Smyth, 2065. 90-2. Keep in mind this lock of hair and the importance of Agamemnon’s tomb in different versions of the story. Compare S. 51-3. 90—νυκτὸς δὲ τῆσδε. “Genitive of time within which.” The partitive genitive can indicate a place/point in time when something happened. Similarly, it can indicate a place/point in space where something happened. See Smyth, 1444 and 1448. 91—δάκρυα. Short α in the first syllable. 92—πυρᾷ. Cannot refer directly to the funeral pyre, but the word can also refer simply to the site where sacrifices are made, to a mound, or to an altar erected on the spot. Here it seems to refer to an altar, as distinct from the τάφος (90). —ἐπέσφαξ’ αἷμα μηλείου φόνου. A phrase that needs unpacking, for two reasons. First, the verb and its object are bound together tightly; equivalent to “made a blood-sacrifice.” It is another example—see 36 and 64, with notes—of an internal accusative, an accusative that is contained in the description of the action. Second, the genitive phrase is condensed and poetic; as can happen in tragedy, the adjective is used where a genitive might have been expected: “blood of/from slaughter of a sheep.” 94 and 96—πόδα. More idiomatic uses of the internal accusative. English can only approximate as “take a step” (94) and “direct my steps” (96). Notice also that the singular is used as a conventional poeticism for paired body parts. See note on 10. 94—τειχέων … ἐντός. Improper prepositions—see note to 77—are postposed much more freely in tragedy and often postposed within the line, unlike ordinary prepositions. See note to 35 and Smyth, 1665 and 1700. (On the open spelling of the noun, which should be recognizable as such (Smyth, 263), see note to 54 and compare 101.) 95—δυοῖν. The word for “two” has dual endings in genitive and dative. See Smyth, 195 and 349. 96—πρὸς τέρμονας γῆς τῆσδ’. Euripides chooses not only to marry Electra off to a farmer but also to set the play away from the city near his house. Compare 208-10 and 246. —ἵν’ ἐκβάλω πόδα. Remember the differences among the conjunctions introducing purpose clauses.  ἵνα is, in fact, less common in tragedy than ὡς. See note to 39 and compare 58, 72, and 100.



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97—ἄλλην ἐπ’ αἶαν. Yet another poetic synonym for “land,” “country,” etc., though not as common as the ones already introduced. See p. 9. —σκοπῶν. Could be from σκοπέω, “watch for,” or σκοπός, οῦ, ὁ, “lookout,” “spy.” 98—ἐν γάμοις. See 49, with note, and contrast the assumption made in the next line. 99—οὐδέ. The normal negative with an infinitive is μή, or μηδέ. In indirect discourse, though, οὐ and οὐδέ are normal; the negative of (a hypothetical) οὐ μένει παρθένος remains. On the use of this word after a positive statement, see note to 24. 101—τά γ’ εἴσω τειχέων. Puzzling, but maybe the effect of the emphasis is, “As for what’s going on in the city, that I can learn clearly.” 102—ἕω. This is the genitive of an Attic version of ἠώς, ἠοῦς, ἡ. The non-Attic form is used only once in tragedy. See Smyth, 237-8. —ὄμμ’. ὄμμα is almost certainly poetic. It is rare in prose, except in Plato (and rare in his early dialogues); it shows up in comedy only in lyric and parody. —ἀναίρεται. Seems to be a passive. 103. This is an indication of staging, it seems; they move aside to an inconspicuous spot, whether they are actually hidden or not. See note to 216-7. — ἴχνος ἀλλαξώμεθα. This verb, often in the middle, can mean “change,” or “exchange.” Like the compound form—see note to 32—it may also imply “leave,” “depart,” in which case the noun would an internal accusative similar to πόδα in 94 and 96. Notice the “hortatory” use of the subjunctive. See Smyth, 1795 and 1797 and compare 109. (As for the noun, the ι is short; has to be scanned as ἴχ-νος.) 104—οἰκέτις γυνή. The first of three references to a slave woman, which he takes Electra to be. (See 107 and 110.) On her mask and costume, see the introduction. 105—φανήσεται. “Will appear.” See Smyth, 819. —ἥντιν(α). An “indefinite relative.” As opposed to ἥν, implies that it will be a specific person but of a particular kind, as in “someone whom we can …” See Smyth, 340. 106—σύγγονος … ἐμή. A poetic adjective meaning “akin,” “related” and common in Euripides (but not used by Sophocles). Can be a useful variant for “brother,” “sister.” (On the ending, compare 71, with note.) —τόπους. The plural here seems not to be a poetic plural but to be used with a slightly different meaning, “region” or “vicinity,” not simply “place” or “spot.” 107-9. Orestes announces Electra’s return to the orchestra. The transition between scenes is clearly “articulated”; very often the audience’s attention is called to the arrival of a new character in an explicit announcement. (Compare 82-4, where Orestes introduces himself and Pylades as they enter the empty orchestra.) On the other hand, characters are not announced, usually, after a choral song, where a new character was expected, to move the action forward. Notice, too, that this announcement focuses the audience’s attention on the idea of Electra’s appearance—see p. 36—as well as making it clear that Orestes does not recognize his own sister. 107—ἀλλ’ … γάρ. Each word goes in thought with its own clause; the γάρ and the first clause explain why he is using the hortatory subjunctives in response to Electra’s entrance: “But let’s … for …” (The same combination can be used, with various meanings, to introduce a single clause. See notes to S. 256 and 595.) 109-11. Why not simply ask her questions? The answer seems to be that this is postponed until after Electra’s song and exchange with the Chorus, even if that seems conventional

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and artificial to us. Both listening to one side and, more importantly, a first lyric section (pp. 88-9) have a place in this kind of drama. 109—ἑζώμεσθα κἀκπυθώμεθα. Two versions of the first person plural ending in two successive verb forms, appearing successively again in 110 and 111. -μεσθα is the poetic variant, clearly useful where there are restrictions on resolution involving the two final syllables at the end of a word. -μεσθα does not appear in prose and is unlikely to have been found in ordinary Attic, though it can appear in comic (and non-parodic) dialogue. 110—ἤν τι δεξώμεσθ’. The if clause (ἤν = ἐάν) implies its own main clause, which is not the main clause in the sentence we have; in other words, “If we find out something (that’s what we want), so let’s …” To put it another way, a clause like this can mean “in the hope that …” 111—ἐφ’ οἷσι. Left out, from our point of view, is an antecedent demonstrative. Logically, we might expect “a word about those things for which …” But the antecedent to a relative is often left off, if it is a form of “this” or “that.” (Compare note to 32-3.) Sometimes this works out smoothly in English, sometimes not. And here it feels as if we even need to supply another preposition (the “about”). —τήνδ’ ἀφίγμεθα χθόνα. See note to 88.

Sophocles’ Prologue: the Tragedians’ Use of Myth, the Audience’s Expectations, and the Shaping of a Dramatic Realization For an Athenian sitting in the original audience, the effects of either of these prologues would have depended in large part on his previous experience with the same complex of myths, all the stories that belonged to this royal family’s history. That experience originated in dramatic or poetic narratives, artistic renderings, and informal story telling. For us, deciding what were standard elements in a myth is tricky; we are working with fragments of a rich and dynamic tradition. Many elements of such a complex must have been stable for long periods of time, while others were subject to change. Moreover, our attempts to talk about “standard” elements in a particular story or set of stories are based only on the texts, sculpture, vase-paintings, etc. that have survived. Nevertheless, the story of Electra provides an unusually rich opportunity for thinking about how particular re-presentations of a tragic myth might have worked. We have multiple tragic versions, so we can make comparisons among complete realizations. These can be supplemented, speculatively, by making further connections or contrasts with other literary and artistic evidence; we have more than enough to work with. The introduction listed the basic elements that seem relevant to 5th century assumptions about these stories as they were presented in tragedy (pp. 1-2); these are based on our knowledge of Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers and the two Electra plays, supplemented by what we know about the larger tradition. The most important surviving pieces of that tradition are the extensive and repeated references to Agamemnon’s homecoming and murder in Homer’s Odyssey, from the 8th century, and fragments of an Oresteia (which we know to have been elaborated at length) by the poet Stesichorus, from the 6th century. Also important are a compact version of the murder, with reference to Clytemnestra’s motives, in a victory ode of Pindar (Pythian 11), which dates to either 474 or 454, and a series of 5th century Athenian vase paintings showing the murder of Aegisthus and, in one notable case, the paired murders of Agamemnon and Aegisthus. From the sources that survive, then, we can come up with a summary of the elements of the story of Electra. Some can be varied or changed, some can be omitted without harming the coherence of a plot, some are clearly subject to the playwright’s individual interpretation and conception. Given the preexistence of all these elements, both in previous tragedies and in the tradition, as well as, we assume, in the minds of the audience, a variety of effects could be created. Some are relatively obvious to a modern reader, some less so. We can easily see in these prologues that the characterization of Orestes and the presentation of his motives and plans, or his silence about them, creates significant differences among the three plays. In Aeschylus (269-305), there is an extended discussion of his fears about what will happen if he does not take revenge, given the threats of Apollo; in addition he describes 55

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more briefly his own motives for taking it. In Euripides (84-111), Orestes only refers to his intention to take revenge for his father’s murder and mentions having visited the oracle. Given more prominence are his caution and his uncertainty as to how to proceed, unless he can get more information about the situation in Argos. Finally, as you will see in this reading (23-76), Sophocles’ Orestes mentions having asked Apollo how he will take revenge. Most of his initial speech is taken up with his reactions to the idea that he must proceed by stealth and trickery, as well as with the question of how the scheme for revenge will have to work. He also alludes, briefly, to his desire to control his father’s household and its wealth. Even a brief, seemingly neutral, summary of these differences is on the way to an interpretation. But these differences exist because we are being drawn into a world in which each distinct Orestes, and distinct kinds of motivation and planning attached to him, are appropriate. A preliminary and fairly obvious point: characterization is inextricably tied to the emotional effects, themes, and preoccupations of each play, however we interpret them. This will become even clearer as the situation and character of Electra is presented in the initial sequence of scenes in Euripides and Sophocles; after the prologue, the Electras will sing— interacting with the Chorus in solo song and choral dialogue—as well as present themselves in the following scenes of spoken dialogue. A good deal of the richness of the experience of tragedy, then, depends on the flexibility and variation of treatment of the same elements. And to appreciate the significance of such variation, we have to keep in mind that the audience expected this each time a new tragedy was presented, and that they were alert to how such changes might be connected to other differences in the shaping and development of the plot. Consider what seems to be a small set of differences in the prologues of Euripides and Sophocles, in regard to the question of who rescued the young Orestes and who threatened him. Euripides’ Farmer tells us (16-8) that Agamemnon’s paidagogos—a slave who looked after a young boy—took Orestes away to Strophius in Phocis. Later, the same man, now old and decrepit, reappears, precipitates the recognition of Orestes, and helps plan Aegisthus’ murder. In Sophocles (114), it is Electra herself who rescues Orestes, giving him to his own paidagogos, who goes into exile with Orestes and helps raise him. He, too, will be as an important character, playing a central role in the deception of Clytemnestra by giving a false account of Orestes’ death and reappearing at a crucial moment to bring Orestes and Pylades into the palace for her murder. This kind of variation, and its connection to creative reworking of the plot, is an indication of the tragedians’ methods. Just as important is how variation can be worked into the back-story, the pre-history of the section of myth being presented in the tragedy at hand. A tragic play can work through creative retrojection, as well as by the shaping of a new and interesting plot. The brief mention of Orestes’ rescue in each prologue again provides an example. In Euripides (15-8), it is Aegisthus who threatens Orestes’ life and who would have killed Electra, if Clytemnestra had not sent her away (25-30). In Sophocles, it appears that Clytemnestra was the real threat (296-7), though this is not made clear in the prologue. Clearly, this affects our view of the characters of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra and the blame attaching to each. The treatment they have meted out to Electra, even more than the story of Orestes’ exile, will also contribute to their characterization. This is already evident in Euripides’ prologue; the Farmer talks about the same motive, Aegisthus’ fear of revenge, leading both to a price being put on Orestes’ head and to the strange marriage of Electra, so that she might not bear



Sophocles’ Prologue: The Tragedians' Use of Myth, The Audience's Expectations... 57

a child who could fill Orestes’ role as avenger (19-42). As both plays proceed, the importance of Electra’s situation and her treatment becomes even more evident; each Electra gives us a full and vivid picture of her circumstances. Each will encounter, and argue with, her Clytemnestra in a formal debate, an agon. An even more important, in fact essential, aspect of the pre-history is the murder of Agamemnon, which is recalled in multiple ways and with various effects. For all the characters, the murder of Agamemnon and their stance toward it loom large in defining their current roles, sense of self, and circumstances. There is no escaping the brute fact of the murder. In Euripides’ prologue, Aegisthus’ fear of revenge and, hence, Electra’s marriage and current life are rooted in the murder. And obviously his Orestes, given his cautious nature, would not have come unless the role of avenger was inescapable for any Orestes. Sophocles’ Orestes has been rescued and raised by the Paidagogos for just this task (12-4), and he seems acutely aware that his coming of age, his reputation, and his future success and prosperity, all depend on carrying it out (12-4 and 59-72). For each Electra, the reality that her father has not only been murdered but has been usurped and dishonored, all without being avenged, shapes and colors her entire life. All of this becomes clear in their first songs and in their initial interactions with the Chorus. The two conceptions of the character in Euripides and Sophocles are very different, but it will become more and more evident that each playwright is recalling and rehearsing the central event of the murder in ways that make emotional sense for his Electra and thematic sense in the play in which the character is enmeshed. Just as much as past events, anticipation of future events colors the thinking of the characters and the thinking of the audience. The event on everyone’s mind is, of course, matricide. For the characters, even if it is not explicitly referred to, the logic of revenge has to lead them in this direction. The audience is doubly certain of where revenge and the outline of the story have to lead. Because of their anticipation of it, even reticence and obliquity may be significant. Hence, when each Orestes refers to revenge on his father’s “murderers” (E. 89, with note, and S. 34), the murder of Clytemnestra may have come into their minds. In some versions of the myth the focus of the revenge is Aegisthus, who does the actual murder, while the revenge taken on Clytemnestra may be implied but is subordinated or deemphasized. This is the case in the version(s) that seem to be assumed by vase painters in 5th century Athens. Numerous pots survive showing Orestes taking revenge on Aegisthus, which may imply that he was often thought of as the chief murderer. And there is one notable example pairing the murder of Agamemnon, by Aegisthus, with his murder by Orestes (Boston 63.1246).32 From the 5th century, no vase paintings survive that represent the murder of Clytemnestra. For the vase painters and their customers, revenge taken on a father’s murderer was edifying, even satisfying, but matricide clearly was not. On the other hand, the matricide was appropriate, and expected, in tragedy. How that matricide was prepared for and presented was crucial. No matter how odd it might seem to us that the audience, in one sense, knew the most tragic and dramatic outcome of the play when they sat down, more important questions were in the audience member’s mind: How would the play proceed to that point? How would it arrive at and present both the matricide and other events he anticipated? A simple narrative summary of events was bound to be different from this poet’s version of a tragic myth. The drama is in the dramatization, 32 Often illustrated. See, for instance, Csapo and Slater, plates 2A and B.

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which takes place serially, in real time, and, as a new and unique performance. More than this, the poet could play off the audience’s previous experience and expectations, in order to surprise them and create new effects, and new questions, in accordance with his conception of the myth. A clear and important case of this kind of complexity, both in terms of plot construction and audience response, is already evident at the end of both prologues. Assuming that the audience anticipated not only the event of recognition between Electra and Orestes, but also a dramatic form of the recognition scene, as in the Libation Bearers (164-263), it is telling that both prologues point toward just that kind of scene but that the recognition scenes are put off beyond the point(s) at which they might have been anticipated. In Euripides, Orestes fails to recognize Electra, thinking she is a slave woman; he and Pylades go into hiding nearby (107-11). They come out of hiding after her solo song (112-166) and the parodos song she shares with the Chorus (167-212). There is then a long line-for-line exchange (stichomythia) between Orestes and Electra. But it leads nowhere, in this sense, even though the situation of Electra, and of the supposedly still exiled Orestes, is discussed at length. The real recognition is delayed until Orestes is identified by his father’s old paidagogos (558 ff.). In fact, there is another false start before this, when the same old man comes back to Electra with news of the tokens he has found of Orestes’ presence at Agamemnon’s tomb. In a scene that recalls, and even seems to parody, the recognition scene in the Libation Bearers, Electra rejects the tokens of proof the Old Man describes, refusing to believe that Orestes has returned. In Sophocles, there are analogous false starts, and an even longer delay before the actual recognition scene. At the end of the prologue (77-85), Orestes hears a woman wailing and asks the Paidagogos if they should wait: it might be Electra. But the Paidagogos is firm; they must proceed according to plan and go to Agamemnon’s tomb first to make offerings, as Apollo has ordered. Hence he, Orestes, and Pylades leave the stage. None of them returns until much later, when the Paidagogos, taking the role of a messenger, comes on to give a false account of the death of Orestes to Clytemnestra (660 ff.). Because Electra also hears this, she naturally believes Orestes has died. When her sister Chrysothemis returns from Agamemnon’s tomb with news of the tokens she has found, Electra does not believe it could have been Orestes who left them. The actual recognition is delayed even longer, until after Orestes himself returns, claiming to be another messenger, carrying the ashes of her brother back to Clytemnestra. This set of dramatic possibilities, then, focused on one basic part of the story makes clear two important distinctions: first, as this introductory discussion of myth should make clear, there is a difference between knowing the outline and outcome of the story and knowing how a play will realize it. Thinking about how various elements of the play are treated and combined—traditional elements of the plot, characterization, contextualization in the dramatic present, the treatment of pre-history, anticipation of and allusion to tragic outcomes—thinking about these elements can bring us closer to developing well-grounded interpretations of a tragedy. Second, the dramatic situation and the form of the plot, as they are shaped this time, are only a part of the realization of the myth. Also essential is the shaping of what were for the original audience recognizable structural units in a tragic performance. You will read, successively, solo songs (monodies), choral dialogues (amoibaia), recognition scenes, choral songs (stasima), debates (agones), and narratives of offstage events. All these have to be considered in their dramatic context in each play. A modern reader needs, to begin with, to understand more about the conventions of these formal units.



Sophocles’ Prologue: The Tragedians' Use of Myth, The Audience's Expectations... 59

But more than this, s/he can learn a great deal from the different functions and emphases given to each of those units in a particular dramatic context, especially in comparing plays focused on the same myth. Keeping both these distinctions in mind helps in arriving at a clearer understanding of some of the effects of a new and distinctively worked-out presentation of a familiar story, a tragic myth unfolding in a unique and structurally complex form in front of a knowing and habituated Athenian audience.

Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 More poetic vocabulary •

• • •

Prepositions used in tragic art language but not (commonly) in prose. Make sure you understand the difference between ἐς and εἰς. And pay careful attention to the uses of ξύν/ξυν- (or σύν/συν-) and ἀνά/ἀνα-, i.e., to their uses both as simple prepositions and as prefixes in compounds. See below. Pronouns not used in prose. Make sure you understand the uses and origins of the personal pronouns σφε, νιν, and σέθεν. Take note also of the use of οὔτις for οὐδείς and κεῖνος for ἐκεῖνος. See below. Poetic uses of conjunctions. Notice the use of ὡς (or less often ὡς ἄν) to introduce purpose clauses, instead of ἵνα, ὅπως, or ὅπως ἄν. Note, too, that ὡς will often appear where prose might use a ὅτι. See below. Three poetic verbs for “see,” “behold,” etc. In the last reading εἰσοράω appeared. Here, λεύσσω (forms only from first principal part) and δέρκομαι (also “have sight,” “be alive”) show up.

Art Languages, II: dialect mixture in trimeter For an Athenian audience, it was perfectly “natural” that tragic language should be an art language and distinct from other art languages, such as (to take the most important instance) the one they heard at performances of Homer. At the same time, if they thought about it, all art languages would have seemed very similar, compared to the everyday language in which Athenians normally functioned.33 Each was created by using as its basis some version of a local dialect and then adding a complex set of ingredients as flavoring: traditional poetic vocabulary and forms, as well as forms from other dialects. Looked at historically, both the differences among art languages and their similarities make sense. Homeric language was, speaking generally, not only typical but also a model that influenced the Greeks’ notions of what constituted poetic language as such. The dialect of the region, Ionic in the case of Homer, in which a poetic genre matured was the basis, and the flavors were provided both from the poetic tradition and from other dialects. Later practitioners in that genre, again speaking generally, then adapted, modified, and added to that language, no matter what region of the Greek world they came from. The differences in the case of Athenian tragedy were, to put it simply, that tragedy came to maturity in Athens and at a later period. Hence, the basis of the language of tragedy is Attic, and it could draw on not only the preceding tradition of epic but on other poetic traditions as well. Ionic was the most important dialect flavoring for tragic language, given the historical circumstances of early Athenian tragedy, insofar as we can understand them. (We do have a basic problem of evidence; we do not have any extant early tragedies or enough early 33 For a recent introduction to the question of spoken dialect and literary dialects, see G. Horrocks, Greek. A History of the Language and its Speakers (Blackwell, 2nd ed. 2010), 43-78. For more details on Greek dialects as such, and for samples of various art languages, with commentary, see S. Colvin, A Historical Greek Reader (Oxford, 2007).

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Attic prose.) In the first place, Ionic was the basis for Homeric language, and of succeeding epic poets, and epic was of central cultural importance across the Greek world. Second, epic vocabulary and forms had been borrowed by later poets in various other genres. Finally, at the end of the 6th century and the beginning of the 5th, when tragic language was coming into the state at which we find it in our extant texts (from the Persians of 472 onward), Ionian prose literature was also central in cultural terms. Ionic was presumably associated with elevated literary composition; Thucydides and Antiphon, the only two early Attic prose authors whose work remains extant in any quantity, both give their language a light Ionic flavor, presumably under the influence of the Ionic prose tradition in historical writing, medicine, etc. Most obviously, in spelling/pronunciation they adopt Ionic σσ and ρσ for Attic ττ and ρρ (see further below). It is no surprise, then, that the basis of the language used in dialogue is Attic, and that it has an Ionic flavor. As far as we are concerned, though, the “naturalness” of the Attic basis is deceptive. So much of our own effort in learning Greek is at first put into learning the Attic of literary prose that we may not weigh the importance of the Attic medium of tragic language at its historical worth. But for a man from Ionia, say, sitting in an Athenian audience, the difference would have been marked. In considering the Ionic pronunciations and forms that are used in dialogue, assume that Ionic features of the language are imported selectively. The point was not to imitate Ionic as such. The intent was to give the dialogue the Ionic flavor appropriate to its status as a serious literary language, all the more so since elevated poetic language was profoundly indebted to epic language to begin with. At the same time, many of the Ionic features that were chosen could provide alternative metrical shapes for the Attic forms for which they were substituted. All of this may seem to be a curiously artificial process—and it is. The results are diverse and sometimes, seemingly, hard to reconcile with each other. But they are consistent with the general principle that the basis of this particular form of art language is Attic and that Ionic and other features are used selectively. As far as the Attic basis itself is concerned, one feature not shared with Ionic, or other dialects, was almost invariable:34 1) In the first declension singular, as elsewhere, Attic and Ionic changed what was originally long α to η. Other dialects maintained the long α. Attic avoided or reversed the change of long α to η after ε, ι, and ρ. Hence, the alternation in Attic between nouns like νίκη and χώρα or πολίτης and νεανίας, an alternation which makes the first declension harder to learn; in each pair the η appears for most nouns but becomes long α after ε, ι, and ρ. In Ionic, the situation is simpler; nouns like these would have the same endings. (See Smyth, 214.) Another peculiarity of Attic was used relatively freely but with some restriction: 2) The use of the dual must also have been associated with Attic. In most dialects, including Ionic, it had already died out and the plural was used instead, but Attic preserved the dual longer. The tragedians did not abandon the dual entirely, perhaps because the use of the dual and plural forms together allowed more room to maneuver in fitting words into the verse. But they do seem to have restricted its used in various ways. For example, though the tragedians do use dual verb forms, these are less common than plural forms; 34 The lists that follow are meant to summarize the features described, piecemeal, in the notes up to this point, and to be a reference for later readings.



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 63

whereas the reverse is true in Aristophanes. And while they often use χεροῖν, the dative or genitive dual of χείρ, and occasionally ποδοῖν, from πούς, they avoid analogous dual forms, e.g., for “eyes,” “ears,” etc. See S. 54 and 567. Further examples: S. 21, a verb form; E. 105 and S. 75, first person dual pronouns; and E. 232, 536, 1033, and 1063-4, noun and adjective endings. (Note that the first person dual forms of verbs are extremely rare. See Smyth, 465c.) On the other hand, two distinctive features of Attic pronunciation are not heard: 3) Like Thucydides and Antiphon, the tragedians use words, especially verbs, spelled/pronounced with σσ where Attic comedy and most prose texts use ττ. Similarly, they use ρσ; again, most Attic prose texts and comedy follow the Attic norm, ρρ. Both features of Attic were unusual; not only Ionic but also most other Greek dialects used σσ and ρσ. (Hence, the use of these spellings, potentially confusing at first, for entries in LSJ.) Examples: λεύσσειν, S. 3; ἄρσενα, E. 15. Other Ionic—Or Homeric/epic? Or generically poetic? Or archaic?—features were also felt to be appropriate. The hedging in the previous sentence is unavoidable. Part of the problem is that we have, as was indicated, too little of early Athenian prose. In addition, Attic is closely related to Ionic to begin with. This compounds the problem created by the close relation between Homeric, or generally poetic, language with Ionic. In short, it can be hard to tell what features are distinctively Ionic. In any case, selected Ionic/Homeric/ poetic/archaic forms not found in contemporary Attic were used; some are used relatively often as alternatives, some as only occasional variants. In spite of the infrequency of some of these forms, they are significant in that they contribute to the net effect of distance from contemporary Attic. The ones most worth knowing about are the following: 4) Metrical lengthening of a short syllable before a combination of π, β, φ, τ, δ, θ, κ, γ, or χ plus a λ, ρ, μ, or ν that would have been syllabified differently in ordinary Attic. (See p. 6.) This kind of lengthening is common in earlier poetry from epic onward, but Aristophanes avoids it, unless he is parodying more elevated diction, as in tragedy. Examples: E. 26, 55, 78, 89, 103; S. 9, 11, 14, 51. 5) Possibility of open spellings. Greek very early lost the s sound between vowels, and at a much later date Attic-Ionic also lost the w sound (ϝ). The two vowels left next to each other by these losses were generally contracted in Attic. Spellings with uncontracted vowels are found in Homer, and in Ionic texts, especially when the first vowel is an epsilon, though the relation between spelling and actual pronunciation in Ionic is sometimes unclear. In tragedy, both open and contracted spellings are used in nouns or adjectives that were contracted in their Attic form. These forms probably sounded Homeric/ poetic. Examples: E. 54, 94, and 101. 6) In Ionic, but not Attic, the loss of a w sound (ϝ) after n, l, and r sounds was followed by the lengthening of a preceding vowel, as in, ξεῖνος vs. ξένος, κούρη vs. κόρη. (This explains why Attic κόρη from κόρϝη kept the η; the loss of the w sound came after a shift back to long α after ε, ι, and ρ. Compare E. 13 and S. 5.) Occasionally, the Ionic forms show up in tragic dialogue. For instance, both Euripides and Sophocles will later use the vocative ὦ ξεῖνε (E, 247; S. 1119). More often they use the Attic phrase, ὦ ξένε. (See, in the same scenes, E., 265, 283, and 332; S., 1112, 1180, 1184.) Other examples: φάρη with the α scanned differently at E. 317 and 543; μοῦνος at S. 531 following on

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μόνη at 528. 7) Long forms of the dative plural. a) Ionic, and older Attic, used -οισι(ν), which also shows up in comedy. It was certainly metrically convenient. It allowed datives in -οις, -οισι, and -οισιν, all of which could be used in different ways to fit the word to the metrical pattern. (See, for example, E. 14 and 19 and S. 26.) b) Attic inscriptions show inherited -ησι (-ᾱσι after vowels) early on, replaced by -αις in the last quarter of the fifth century. Ionic shows -ῃσι; in this case, it does not provide a specific model for the tragic, and comic, use of -αισι. Presumably, -αις/-αισι is a poetic license modeled on -οις/ -οισι. In spite of the use of these same forms in comedy, the effect of using the longer forms was to contribute to the poetic and/or archaic quality of tragic language, given the mix of features with which they were associated. 8) -μεσθα for -μεθα. This substitution seems to belong to a general stock of poetic possibilities used by both tragedians and comic writers. Aristophanes uses it also but it is not likely to be an ordinary Attic ending. Compare, for example, E. 109-11, where both versions are used twice in a short sequence of lines. 9) Prepositions. a) ἐς for εἰς. The Attic form is εἰς, which is the standard form in comedy. Ionic usually has ἐς, but εἰς also appears. Homer uses both forms. Tragedy uses both forms, then, both because of their Ionic/poetic flavor and for compositional convenience. The same is true for ἐς and εἰς compounds. (See, for example, S. 38-40.) b) ξύν/ξυν- and σύν/συν-: both are used in tragedy, as a preposition and as a prefix in compounds. σύν/συν(-) is used in most dialects (and as the implied norm in LSJ). ξύν/ξυν(-) shows up for the most part only in early Attic and in Homer. In compounds, both are used in comedy as well as tragedy. As prepositions, they are used in comedy only in passages marked as poetic or, as in prose, in standard phrases (for example, σὺν θεοῖς, “with the help of the gods”). See Smyth, 1696. The comic/prose version of ξύν or σύν with the dative is μετά with the genitive. c) ἀνά. As a preposition, when it implies location or motion, it is confined to poetry. In general, it is rare in Attic prose as well as Aristophanes’ trimeter. (Though it is used in lyric and parody.) d) ἀμφί. Rare in prose, except with the accusative. It is poetic when used with the genitive or dative. See notes to E. 512 and 801. 10) Poetic adverbs and improper prepositions. δίχα, ἕκατι, ἔσω, πάροιθε(ν), πέλας, πρόσω/πόρσω—all have showed up or will do so. Tragedy makes use of a larger set of such adverbs than prose does. Most can be used as prepositions, and often these are postposed. Compare Smyth, 1665 and 1700-2. 11) Conjunctions and relatives. a) In tragedy the uses of ὡς are even more various than usual. The use of ὡς (or, less often, ὡς ἄν) to introduce purpose clauses, instead of ἵνα, ὅπως, or ὅπως ἄν, is very common in tragedy, occasional in Aristophanes, and rare in prose. b) Occasionally, the tragedians use what looks like an article in place of the ordinary Attic relative, usually when it is metrically necessary. The use of the same form for the article and relative is the norm in Ionic, as in Herodotus, though the “normal” form of the relative occurs also. In Homer, the forms used as demonstratives that later are used as the article—see p. 39—are also used as relatives. Hence this usage of the article as a relative also appears to be Ionic/poetic. c) Other, less common poetic conjunctions and relatives are: ὁθούνεκα, οὕνεκα, ἔνθα, ἔνθεν, ἔστε, and εὖτε. See notes to E. 38 and S. 47, 105, 270, and 508.



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 65

12) Pronouns and possessives. Poetic forms of the personal pronouns, νιν, σφε, and the 2nd person singular genitive σέθεν are occasionally used—see below. (Note also ἡμίν (or ἧμιν), used by Sophocles.) Relatively common are a) forms of οὔτις, which is used for οὐδείς by Homer. Both are used in tragedy, but only forms from οὐδείς in prose, except for οὔτι, which occurs, rarely, in Aristophanes and Plato. b) κεῖνος, η, ο for ἐκεῖνος, η, ο. See note to E. 237. c) ἁμός/ἀμός, ή, όν for ἡμέτερος, α, ον. See note to S. 279. Three basic points must be kept in mind. First, the flavor of non-Attic dialect forms is not the only, or the most important, element in the art language of dialogue. There are more pervasive means for creating the feeling that the language is poetic, for distancing it from ordinary speech and from the ordinary experience of language. These include the use of poetic vocabulary (for instance, simplex verbs), poetic syntax (especially not using the article), and standardized variations in word order, like those described in previous introductions and in the commentary. Second, these variations brought with them a further advantage: they gave the poets more to work with compositionally, providing more flexibility in putting together trimeters. Finally, each author has an individual style; tragic language is both generic and shaped by individual poets. In any case, as the preceding summary description makes clear, the art languages of tragedy—in dialogue passages and even more so in choral sections (see below)—are artificial and composite. Some components of these composites are at home in epic and other poetry but are not Ionic forms. In trimeter, we have already encountered, for instance, the pronouns νιν and σφε and will later run into σέθεν (= σοῦ). (See notes to E. 27, 28, and 222.) The first of these pronouns is, in addition to being a poeticism, a form from Doric, yet another dialect that seasons tragic language. Doric provides forms and vocabulary distinct from both Attic and Ionic. These are occasionally evident in trimeter, as in the word almost always used in tragedy for “temple,” ναός, ου, ὁ, rather than the Attic νεώς, νεώ, ὁ. (See E. 7 and S. 8.) But elements from Doric will be most evident in choral sections, where they contribute to a different dialect mixture than the one found in dialogue. (See pp. 91-2.) Trimeter, III: rhythm and phrasing at line-end Keep practicing scansion, reading lines aloud and consulting as needed the description of refinements as to resolution given in the last reading (pp. 41-3). You will probably end up feeling that Sophocles is easier and more fun for practicing; Euripides’ trimeters are harder, though better for learning the rules because he uses more resolution. But it will help to keep reading aloud the trimeters of both as you read. Not only will scansion and reading get easier, you will begin to get some feel for the differences between their ways of putting together trimeters. In addition, vocabulary and syntax begin to settle in and clarify, and further ideas about the differences between the two prologues, and the two plays, will occur of themselves. One thing you will find in Sophocles is that at the end of the line there is more variation, in terms of phrasing and sense pauses. This kind of difference is less obvious than resolution; it does not affect scansion and is simply less common. For all the tragedians, the end of the line was felt as a rhythmical sequence that should bring the line to a satisfying conclusion. At least that makes sense as a general explanation of why, to begin with, there are restrictions on resolution toward the end of the line (i.e., not often at 10 and never at 12). There are other restrictions on placing words in such a way that there was a rhythmical

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break between them, and on phrasing that demanded the kind of pause in sense indicated by modern punctuation. Both of the resulting types of line-end seem to have been felt as inelegant compared to finishing off in a clearer rhythmical sequence. Specifically: • Word end at 11 is avoided. Word end at 9 is not favored, in general, and, if the anceps position at 9 is filled by a long syllable, there is a very strong constraint against word end, what metricians call a “bridge.” (A bridge is marked by a hooked line over one position and extending to the next: ×͡‒10) Most of the (uncommon) exceptions to this constraint involve monosyllabic words that cohere, in sense and in pronunciation, with the following word, so that in effect we are dealing with a unified word group. For example, at the end of the prologue (85), the Paidagogos will end his last line with τῶν δρωμένων (“what[ever] is done”; generic article), which makes for an apparent violation of the norm. But articles, as well as prepositions, negatives, and conjunctions, tend to cohere in pronunciation with the words they precede. Similarly, Orestes ends a line, earlier on (62), with καὶ τοὺς σοφούς (“wise men also”). Here the article (generic again) coheres with its noun and the adverbial καί with both. • Pauses in sense after 8 and 10 are not particularly common, those at 9 and 11 even less so. Sophocles, as you will find, is a bit more likely to phrase the end of the line in these ways than Euripides. See 29, 45, 47, 63, 73, 79, and 80. If you scan the lines from Euripides already read, there will be noticeably fewer cases where the editor felt punctuation was called for late in the line. The net effect of these general preferences as to phrasing and rhythm is to produce a large majority of lines: 1) without pauses in sense after 8, especially in places where either iamb would be broken; 2) with either a two or a four syllable word at the end of the line, or with a short syllable at 9 before a final ‒⏑‒. You can probably already feel this in reading aloud, that there is a regular cadence at the end of the line; the iambic pattern of the last metron was not to be (too often) disrupted in noticeable ways. Review of the system of principal parts As you do further review, it will help to fit together various forms with the system of principal parts. As a reminder: 1st principal part Get middle and passive for: present and imperfect present participle, infinitive and imperative

2nd principal part 3rd, for first aorist Get middle (only) for: Get middle (only) for: future, with endings aorist from 1st part future participle and aorist participle, infinitive, infinitive, with and imperative endings from 1st part

First, review the middle/passive and middle forms for the participles, infinitives, and imperatives, from the first three principal parts. Then, review the active infinitives and imperatives. (See Smyth, 382-4.) Remember that for a verb with a 2nd aorist, the system is the same in terms of middle vs. middle/passive endings, but the endings for the aorist will be borrowed from the first principal part. As with the participles, though, the infinitives will have



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 67

a distinctive accent: e.g., λιπεῖν and λιπέσθαι vs. λείπειν and λείπεσθαι. With these forms, then, the accent reminds you that the endings are for a 2nd aorist; otherwise, you have to pay attention to the stem. Remember also that to get passives for the future (usually) and for the aorist (always), you have to go to the 6th principal part. In between, there is a detour for the perfect active (4th) and middle/passive (5th):

4th principal part perfect active forms

5th principal part perfect middle and passive forms

6th principal part future passive and aorist passive forms

A reminder about recognizing perfects: what usually marks the perfect stem is “reduplication.” The first consonant sound of the stem is repeated as a syllable, with an epsilon, e.g., πέπαυκα. (Frequently, but not always, there is a kappa as an additional sign of the perfect.) But there are two wrinkles: 1) When the stem of the verb begins with a θ, φ, or χ—any consonant that contains an h sound—the h sound is not repeated, e.g., πέφευγα. 2) If the stem of the verb begins with a vowel, a rho, (most combinations of) two consonants, or a consonant that represents two separate sounds, the reduplication looks like an augment, as in ηὕρηκα, ἔγνωκα, ἐζήτηκα, etc. See Smyth, 439-42. Further forms to review • •

The present of οἶδα. See Smyth, 794. The kind of adjective exemplified by ἀληθής, ές. Notice that the stem originally ending in -εσ-, like the stems of γένος type nouns, and that contraction resulted in Attic after the sigma dropped out. See Smyth, 292 and 264.

More basic syntax If necessary, review the facts about “indirect speech,” the ways in which a statement, question, or other information is reported in Greek: “He says/said that …” “She wonders/ wondered why …” “He saw/knew/ learned that …” The constructions for particular verbs vary, but the essential point to keep in mind is that in addition to a clause with ὅτι or ὡς, like an English “that” clause, constructions involving infinitives and participles also occur. See Smyth, 2576, 2016 ff., 2106 ff., and the notes to 55 and 65-6. The second basic point is that after an introductory verb in the past—for a clause after ὅτι or ὡς, an indirect question, or other subordinate clauses inside the reported speech—the rules for “sequence of mood” apply; as with purpose clauses, clauses of fearing, etc., an optative can be substituted for the indicative or subjunctive that would have appeared if the introductory verb were not in the past. See Smyth, 2597 ff., 2677 ff., and the note to 33-4. Case usage Again, case usage in tragic Greek is complex on the surface, but there are several basic categories that are relatively easy to grasp. Refer back to the basic description of different cases usages (pp. 22-3) and compare them with the following examples from this reading: • Adnominal vs. ablatival vs. partitive genitives: For examples of ablatival genitives, see notes to 11, 12, 36, 70, and 78. For an example of the partitive, see

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• • •

note to 15. Dative that indicates someone (or something) involved or concerned with an action or state of affairs vs. instrumental or modal dative: See 14, with note, and compare 21, 33, 37, 59-60, 68, and 70, with notes. Poetic case usage without prepositions: See 32-3, 49, 55, and 63-4, with notes. Understanding not so obvious adnominal genitives by unpacking and expanding noun phrases: See 3, 14, 37, 69-70, and 72, with notes on the “objective” and “subjective” genitives. See also 19, with note, for a poetic use of the “genitive of quality.” (Compare E. 1, 15, and 20 for another poetic usage, in which the genitive renames the governing noun and defines it in more specific terms.)

ΠΑΙΔΑΓΩΓΟΣ Ὦ τοῦ στρατηγήσαντος ἐν Τροίᾳ ποτὲ Ἀγαμέμνονος παῖ, νῦν ἐκεῖν’ ἔξεστί σοι παρόντι λεύσσειν ὧν πρόθυμος ἦσθ’ ἀεί. τὸ γὰρ παλαιὸν Ἄργος οὑπόθεις τόδε, τῆς οἰστροπλῆγος ἄλσος Ἰνάχου κόρης· αὕτη δ’, Ὀρέστα, τοῦ λυκοκτόνου θεοῦ ἀγορὰ Λύκειος· οὑξ ἀριστερᾶς δ’ ὅδε Ἥρας ὁ κλεινὸς ναός· οἷ δ’ ἱκάνομεν, φάσκειν Μυκήνας τὰς πολυχρύσους ὁρᾶν, πολύφθορόν τε δῶμα Πελοπιδῶν τόδε, ὅθεν σε πατρὸς ἐκ φόνων ἐγώ ποτε πρὸς σῆς ὁμαίμου καὶ κασιγνήτης λαβὼν ἤνεγκα κἀξέσωσα κἀξεθρεψάμην τοσόνδ’ ἐς ἥβης πατρὶ τιμωρὸν φόνου. νῦν οὖν, Ὀρέστα καὶ σύ, φίλτατε ξένων Πυλάδη, τί χρὴ δρᾶν ἐν τάχει βουλευτέον· ὡς ἡμὶν ἤδη λαμπρὸν ἡλίου σέλας ἑῷα κινεῖ φθέγματ’ ὀρνίθων σαφῆ, μέλαινά τ’ ἄστρων ἐκλέλοιπεν εὐφρόνη. πρὶν οὖν τιν’ ἀνδρῶν ἐξοδοιπορεῖν στέγης, ξυνάπτετον λόγοισιν· ὡς ἐνταῦθ’ϯ ἐμὲν ἵν’ οὐκέτ’ ὀκνεῖν καιρός, ἀλλ’ ἔργων ἀκμή

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ΟΡΕΣΤΗΣ ὦ φίλτατ’ ἀνδρῶν προσπόλων, ὥς μοι σαφῆ σημεῖα φαίνεις ἐσθλὸς εἰς ἡμᾶς γεγώς. ὥσπερ γὰρ ἵππος εὐγενής, κἂν ᾖ γέρων, ἐν τοῖσι δεινοῖς θυμὸν οὐκ ἀπώλεσεν, ἀλλ’ ὀρθὸν οὖς ἵστησιν, ὡσαύτως δὲ σὺ ἡμᾶς τ’ ὀτρύνεις καὐτὸς ἐν πρώτοις ἕπῃ. τοιγὰρ τὰ μὲν δόξαντα δηλώσω, σὺ δέ, ὀξεῖαν ἀκοὴν τοῖς ἐμοῖς λόγοις διδούς, εἰ μή τι καιροῦ τυγχάνω, μεθάρμοσον. ἐγὼ γὰρ ἡνίχ’ ἱκόμην τὸ Πυθικὸν μαντεῖον, ὡς μάθοιμ’ ὅτῳ τρόπῳ πατρὶ δίκας ἀροίμην τῶν φονευσάντων πάρα, χρῇ μοι τοιαῦθ’ ὁ Φοῖβος ὧν πεύσῃ τάχα· ἄσκευον αὐτὸν ἀσπίδων τε καὶ στρατοῦ δόλοισι κλέψαι χειρὸς ἐνδίκου σφαγάς. ὅτ’ οὖν τοιόνδε χρησμὸν εἰσηκούσαμεν, σὺ μὲν μολών, ὅταν σε καιρὸς εἰσάγῃ, δόμων ἔσω τῶνδ’, ἴσθι πᾶν τὸ δρώμενον, ὅπως ἂν εἰδὼς ἡμὶν ἀγγείλῃς σαφῆ· οὐ γάρ σε μὴ γήρᾳ τε καὶ χρόνῳ μακρῷ γνῶσ’, οὐδ’ ὑποπτεύσουσιν, ὧδ’ ἠνθισμένον. λόγῳ δὲ χρῶ τοιῷδ’, ὅτι ξένος μὲν εἶ Φωκέως παρ’ ἀνδρὸς Φανοτέως ἥκων· ὁ γὰρ μέγιστος αὐτοῖς τυγχάνει δορυξένων. ἄγγελλε δ’, ὅρκον προστιθείς, ὁθούνεκα τέθνηκ’ Ὀρέστης ἐξ ἀναγκαίας τύχης, ἄθλοισι Πυθικοῖσιν ἐκ τροχηλάτων δίφρων κυλισθείς· ὧδ’ ὁ μῦθος ἑστάτω. ἡμεῖς δὲ πατρὸς τύμβον, ὡς ἐφίετο, λοιβαῖσι πρῶτον καὶ καρατόμοις χλιδαῖς στέψαντες, εἶτ’ ἄψορρον ἥξομεν πάλιν,

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τύπωμα χαλκόπλευρον ἠρμένοι χεροῖν, ὃ καὶ σὺ θάμνοις οἶσθά που κεκρυμμένον, ὅπως λόγῳ κλέπτοντες ἡδεῖαν φάτιν φέρωμεν αὐτοῖς, τοὐμὸν ὡς ἔρρει δέμας φλογιστὸν ἤδη καὶ κατηνθρακωμένον. τί γάρ με λυπεῖ τοῦθ’, ὅταν λόγῳ θανὼν ἔργοισι σωθῶ κἀξενέγκωμαι κλέος; δοκῶ μὲν οὐδὲν ῥῆμα σὺν κέρδει κακόν. ἤδη γὰρ εἶδον πολλάκις καὶ τοὺς σοφοὺς λόγῳ μάτην θνῄσκοντας· εἶθ’, ὅταν δόμους ἔλθωσιν αὖθις, ἐκτετίμηνται πλέον· ὣς κἄμ’ ἐπαυχῶ τῆσδε τῆς φήμης ἄπο δεδορκότ’ ἐχθροῖς ἄστρον ὣς λάμψειν ἔτι. ἀλλ’, ὦ πατρῴα γῆ θεοί τ’ ἐγχώριοι, δέξασθέ μ’ εὐτυχοῦντα ταῖσδε ταῖς ὁδοῖς, σύ τ’, ὦ πατρῷον δῶμα· σοῦ γὰρ ἔρχομαι δίκῃ καθαρτὴς πρὸς θεῶν ὡρμημένος· καὶ μή μ’ ἄτιμον τῆσδ’ ἀποστείλητε γῆς, ἀλλ’ ἀρχέπλουτον καὶ καταστάτην δόμων. εἴρηκα μέν νυν ταῦτα· σοὶ δ’ ἤδη, γέρον, τὸ σὸν μελέσθω βάντι φρουρῆσαι χρέος. νὼ δ’ ἔξιμεν· καιρὸς γάρ, ὅσπερ ἀνδράσιν μέγιστος ἔργου παντός ἐστ’ ἐπιστάτης. Ηλ. ἰώ μοί μοι δύστηνος. Πα. καὶ μὴν θυρῶν ἔδοξα προσπόλων τινὸς ὑποστενούσης ἔνδον αἰσθέσθαι, τέκνον. Ορ. ἆρ’ ἐστὶν ἡ δύστηνος Ἠλέκτρα; θέλεις μείνωμεν αὐτοῦ κἀπακούσωμεν γόων; Πα. ἥκιστα. μηδὲν πρόσθεν ἢ τὰ Λοξίου πειρώμεθ’ ἔρδειν κἀπὸ τῶνδ’ ἀρχηγετεῖν πατρὸς χέοντες λουτρά· ταῦτα γὰρ φέρειν νίκην τέ φημι καὶ κράτος τῶν δρωμένων.

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ὦ—with voc., nom., or imper. as a form of address, “O” στρατηγέω—to be general ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world?” παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child ἔξεστι—impers., it is allowed, is possible πάρειμι—to be here, be present; impers. (πάρεστι/ πάρα plus dat.), it is in the power of, it is possible for λεύσσω—look at, see πρόθυμος, ον—ready, willing, eager; eager for (with gen.) ἀεί/αἰεί—ever, always παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient Ἄργος, ους, τό ποθέω—desire (what is absent); miss (what is lost); be anxious (to do) ὅδε, ἥδε, τόδε—this (as opposed to “that”); this (present or visible) thing/person 5: οἰστροπλῆξ, πλῆγος—stung by a gadfly, driven wild ἄλσος, ους, τό—grove; sacred grove; holy precinct κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye λυκοκτόνος, ον—wolf-slaying (epithet of Apollo) Λύκειος, ον—of or belonging to a wolf; epithet of Apollo, either referring to wolves or to Lycia (in Asia Minor) άριστερός, ά, όν—left, on the left κλεινός, ή, όν—famous, renowned ναός, οῦ, ὁ = νεώς, νεώ, ὁ (Attic)—temple οἷ—where, whither ἱκάνω—come, come to φάσκω—say; assert; think, believe πολύχρυσος, ον—rich in gold 10: πολύφθορος, ον—filled with destruction δῶμα, δώματος, τό—house Πελοπίδης, ου, ὁ—son or descendant of Pelops ὅθεν—whence, from where ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world?” πρός—from, at the hands of (with gen.) ὅμαιμος, ον—of the same blood, related by blood κασιγνήτη, ης, ἡ—sister λαβών > λαμβάνω ἤνεγκα (aor.) > φέρω ἐξέσωσα > ἐκσῴζω—save, keep safe ἐξεθρεψάμην > ἐκτρέφω—bring up from childhood, rear τοσόσδε, ήδε, όνδε—so great (as this), so many (as this) ἥβη, ης, ἡ—youthful prime, youth τιμωρός, οῦ, ὁ—avenger

15: φίλτατος, η, ον (sup. of φίλος, η, ον)—dearest, nearest and dearest τάχος, ους, τό—speed, quickness ἡμεῖς—we δρᾶν (pres. inf.) > δράω—do accomplish βουλεύω—take counsel, deliberate; plan, decide; βουλευτέον, one must take counsel, etc. ἤδη—already, by this time; immediately; now λαμπρός, ά, όν—bright, clear; illustrious; splendid σέλας, αος, τό—light, brightness, flame ἑῷος, α, ον—of or in the morning κινέω—set in motion, move φθέγμα, ατος, τό—sound of the voice, voice; word; cry ὄρνις, ιθος, ὁ/ἡ—bird σαφής, ές—clear, plain, distinct μέλας, μέλαινα, μέλαν—black, dark. ἄστρον, ου, τό—star ἐκλέλοιπεν (pf.) > ἐκλείπω—pass over; abandon; die (with or without βίον); cease εὐφρόνη, ης, ἡ—night 20: πρίν—adv., before; conj., before, until ἐξοδοιπορέω—go out from στέγη, ης, ἡ—roof; room, house ξυνάπτετον (pres. dual imper.) > συνάπτω—join together; enter into (conversation) ἐνταῦθα—here, there; to this place (hither) to that place (thither); then ἵνα—in order that; where oὐκέτι—no longer, no further, not now ὀκνέω—hesitate; fear (to do); shrink (from doing) καιρός, οῦ, ὁ—exact or critical time; appropriate or proper time; what is appropriate, correct ἀκμή, ῆς, ἡ—point, edge; highest, culminating point (of anything); best time φίλτατος, η, ον (sup. of φίλος, η, ον)—dearest, nearest and dearest πρόσπολος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—servant, attendant σαφής, ές—clear, plain, distinct σημεῖον, ου, τό—mark; sign; signal; indication ἐσθλός, ή, όν—good, good of his/its kind; faithful ἡμεῖς—we γεγώς (pf. part.) > γίγνομαι 25: ὥσπερ—as; as though εὐγενής, ές—well-born; noble-minded, generous; highly-bred (of animals) ᾖ (pres. subj.) > εἰμί γέρων, οντος, ὁ—old man; as adj., old δεινός, ή, όν—terrible, awful; marvelous, strange; clever, skillful ἀπώλεσεν > ἀπόλλυμι—act., destroy, kill, lose; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead, done for ὀρθός, ή, όν—straight; upright, standing; true, real οὖς, ὠτός, τό—ear

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ὡσαύτως—in like manner, just so ὀτρύνω—stir up, encourage, esp. to battle ἕπομαι—come after, follow, accompany τοιγάρ—therefore, accordingly δοκέω—think, imagine; have an opinion, decide (with dat.); of an object: seem; seem good to (with dat.); seem to be, have a reputation (for) 30: ἀκοή, ῆς, ἡ—hearing; thing heard διδούς (pres. part.) > δίδωμι καιρός, οῦ, ὁ—exact or critical time; appropriate or proper time; what is appropriate, correct μεθάρμοσον (aor. imper.) > μεθαρμόζω—arrange differently, correct ἡνίκα—when ἱκόμην > ἱκνέομαι—arrive at, come to; come to as a suppliant; supplicate, entreat Πυθικός, ή, όν—Pythian (of Apollo, at Delphi) μαντεῖον, ου, τό—response of an oracle; seat of an oracle μάθοιμι (aor. opt.) > μανθάνω ὅστις, ἥτις, ὅ τι—anyone who, anything which (Note: also in indirect questions.) τρόπος, ου, ὁ—turn, direction; way, manner ἀροίμην (aor. opt.) > ἄρνυμαι—win, gain, try to get φονεύω—murder, kill 35: χράω—proclaim, of gods and oracles; middle, consult an oracle τοιοῦτος, τοιαύτη, τοιοῦτο(ν)—such as this φοῖβος, η, ον—bright, pure; epithet of Apollo πεύσῃ > πυνθάνομαι—learn; hear or inquire about (with acc. or gen. object) τάχα—quickly, soon, immediately; probably, perhaps (often as τάχ’ ἄν, with or without optative) ἄσκευος, ον—unprepared, unfurnished (with) ἀσπίς, ίδος, ἡ—shield στρατός, οῦ, ὁ—army, military force δόλος, ου, ὁ—bait, trap; trick; cunning κλέψαι > κλέπτω—steal, do secretly χείρ, χειρός, ἡ—hand; hand and arm, arm ἔνδικος, ον—according to right, just, legitimate σφαγή, ῆς, ἡ—slaughter; sacrifice; wound ὅτε—when τοιόσδε, τοιάδε, τοιόνδε—such as this; as follows χρησμός, οῦ, ὁ—response of an oracle εἰσακούω—be receptive to, give heed to; hear μολών > βλώσκω—go, come (almost always used in aorist forms) ὅταν— = ὅτε (when) + ἄν καιρός, οῦ, ὁ—exact or critical time; appropriate or proper time; what is appropriate, correct εἰσάγῃ (pres. subj.) > εἰσάγω—lead in or into, esp. into a house; bring in, introduce

40: εἴσω/ἔσω—adv. of εἰς/ἐς, into, to within; inside, within (also as improper prep. with gen.) ἴσθι (2nd sg. imper.) > οἶδα ὅπως—how, as; in order that εἰδώς (part.) > οἶδα ἀγγείλῃς (aor. subj.) > ἀγγέλλω σαφής, ές—clear, plain, distinct γῆρας, γήραος, τό—old age (This form is contracted from γήρα-ι.) μακρός, ά, όν—long (of space or time); large, great γνῶσι (aor. subj.) > γιγνώσκω οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not ὑποπτεύω—be suspicious; suspect, guess ὧδε—in this way, thus, so (very) ἠνθισμένον (pf. pass. part.) > ἀνθίζω—cover with flowers; color, dye, stain χρῶ (pres. imper.) > χράομαι—use, make use of (with dat.) τοιόσδε, τοιάδε, τοιόνδε—such as this; as follows 45: Φωκέυς, έως, ὁ—Phocian ἥκω—to have come, be present μέγιστος, η, ον—largest; greatest δορύξενος, ον—spear-friend, military ally ἄγγελλε (pres. imper.) > ἀγγέλλω ὅρκος, ου, ὁ—oath προστιθείς (pres. part.) > προστίθημι —put to, place against; add; give in addition, concede ὁθούνεκα—that; because τέθνηκ(ε) (pf.) > ἀποθνῄσκω ἀναγκαῖος, α, ον—of, with, or by force; imposed by necessity, applying constraint ἆθλος, ου, ὁ—contest (whether in war or in athletics) Πυθικός, ή, όν—Pythian (of Apollo, at Delphi) τροχήλατος, ον—wheel-drawn 50: δίφρος, ου, ὁ—chariot κυλισθείς (aor. pass. part.) > κυλίνδω—roll ὧδε—in this way, thus, so (very) ἑστάτω (pf. imper.) > ἵστημι τύμβος, ου, ὁ—mound, tomb ἐφίετο (impf.) > ἐφίημι—act., permit, allow; middle, command, desire λοιβή, ῆς, ἡ—drink-offering, libation καράτομος, ον—cut off from the head χλιδή, ῆς, ἡ—delicacy, luxury; insolence; luxuries στέφω—put around, crown, wreath; honor εἶτα—then, next ἄψορρον—backwards, back ἥκω—to have come, be present; be back, return πάλιν—back, backwards; again; in turn τύπωμα, ατος, τό—shaped or molded thing χαλκόπλευρος, ον—bronze-sided ἠρμένοι (pf. part.) > αἴρω



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55: θάμνος, ου, ὁ—bush, shrub που—somewhere; to some degree, perhaps κεκρυμμένον (pf. pass. part.) > κρύπτω—hide; lie hidden ὅπως—how, as; in order that κλέπτω—steal, do secretly φάτις, ἡ—voice from the gods, oracle; saying; common talk, report; speech, words φέρωμεν (pres. subj.) > φέρω ἔρρω—go or come to one’s harm, to a bad end; perish, disappear δέμας, τό—body φλογιστός, ή, όν—burnt up ἤδη—already, by this time; immediately; now κατηνθρακωμένον (pf. pass. part.) > κατανθρακόω—burn to cinders λυπέω—cause pain; grieve, distress ὅταν— = ὅτε (when) + ἄν θανών > θνῄσκω—die; be killed 60: σωθῶ (aor. pass. subj.) > σῴζω ἐξενέγκωμαι (aor. sub.) > ἐκφέρω—in middle, carry away, carry off (as a prize or reward); pass., be carried away by emotion κλέος, τό—rumor, report; fame, glory δοκέω—think, imagine; have an opinion, decide (with dat.); of an object: seem; seem good to (with dat.); seem to be, have a reputation (for) ῥῆμα, ατος, τό—word, phrase, expression κέρδος, ους, τό—gain, profit ἤδη—already, by this time; immediately; now εἶδον > ὁράω πολλάκις—many times, often μάτην—in vain; randomly; falsely θνῄσκω—die; be killed εἶτα—then, next ὅταν— = ὅτε (when) + ἄν ἔλθωσιν (aor. subj.) > ἔρχομαι αὖθις—back; again; in the future; in turn ἐκτετίμηνται (pf. pass.) > ἐκτιμάω—honor highly πλέον (neuter of πλείων/πλέων)—adv., more, rather 65: ὥς—in this way, so ἐπαυχέω—to be confident φήμη, ης, ἡ—utterance prompted by the gods; common report, tradition; message δεδορκότα (pf. part.) > δέρκομαι—see clearly; be alive; look at ἐχθρός, ά, όν—hated; hating; as noun, enemy ἄστρον, ου, τό—star λάμπω—give light, shine; be conspicuous, famous ὦ—with voc., nom., or imper. as a form of address, “O”

πατρῷος, α, ον/ος, ον—of or from one’s father, coming or inherited from him; hereditary, ancestral (of customs, institutions, etc.) ἐγχώριος, ον/α, ον—in or of the country δέξασθε (aor. imper.) > δέχομαι εὐτυχέω—be prosperous, fortunate, successful πατρῷος, α, ον/ος, ον—of or from one’s father, coming or inherited from him; hereditary, ancestral (of customs, institutions, etc.) δῶμα, δώματος, τό—house 70: καθαρτής, οῦ, ὁ—cleanser, purifier ὡρμημένος (pf. pass. part.) > ὁρμάω—set in motion, urge on; start, begin; rush (at/for) ἄτιμος, ον—without honor, dishonored ἀποστείλητε (aor. subj.) > ἀποστέλλω—send away, banish ἀρχέπλουτος, ον—master of/controlling wealth; founder of wealth καταστάτης, ου, ὁ—establisher, restorer εἴρηκα (pf.) > λέγω νυν—so, now, then ἤδη—already, by this time; immediately; now γέρων, οντος, ὁ—old man; as adj., old μελέσθω (middle imper.) > μέλω—act. or middle, be a concern to, be a matter of thought for (usu. impers.) βάντι (aor. part.) > βαίνω φρουρέω—keep watch; watch for, observe χρέος, τό—obligation, debt; duty, task; thing, matter 75: ἐξίμεν (fut.) > ἐξέρχομαι—go/come out καιρός, οῦ, ὁ—exact or critical time; appropriate or proper time; what is appropriate, correct ὅσπερ, ἥπερ, ὅπερ—just the one who, just the thing which μέγιστος, η, ον—largest; greatest ἐπιστάτης, ου, ὁ—someone standing near or by; overseer, commander ἰώ—exclamation used in invoking aid; expression of grief or suffering δύστηνος, ον—wretched, unfortunate θύρα, ας, ἡ—door δοκέω—think, imagine; have an opinion, decide (with dat.); of an object: seem; seem good to (with dat.); seem to be, have a reputation (for) πρόσπολος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—servant, attendant ὑποστένω—moan in a low tone ἔνδον—inside αἰσθέσθαι > αἰσθάνομαι—perceive, see, hear; understand, learn τέκνον, ου, τό—child 80: δύστηνος, ον—wretched, unfortunate θέλω = ἐθέλω μείνωμεν (aor. subj.) > μένω

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αὐτοῦ—adv., (just) here, (just) there ἐπακούσωμεν (aor. subj.) > ἐπακούω—hear, listen γόος, ου, ὁ—weeping, wailing ἥκιστος, η, ον (sup. of ἤττων, ἧττον)—least, worst; as adv. (ἥκιστα), least μηδείς, μηδεμία, μηδέν—not one, nobody/ nothing; neut. as adv., in no way πρόσθεν/πρόσθε—before (of space or time, and as adv. or improper prep.) Λοξίας, ου, ὁ—epithet of Apollo πειρώμεθα (pres. subj.) > πειράω—act. or (more often), middle, try to do; with gen., make trial of, make an attempt on

ἔρδω—do; offer a sacrifice ἀρχηγετέω—make a beginning χέω—pour; scatter, drop λουτρόν, οῦ, τό—bath; bathing-place; pl., water for washing; libation 85: κράτος, ους, τό—strength; power, rule; mastery, victory δρωμένων (pf. pass. part.) > δράω—do accomplish

1-2. As with Euripides’ prologue, the play begins with a vocative that brings us into a mythical setting. Here, though, the prologue proceeds not by means of narration—see pp. 17-8— but through successive speeches addressed to another character. (Whether they feel like “real” dialogue to us is another question). The Paidagogos’ speech is clearly expository, as is Euripides’ Farmer’s, but additional effects result from addressing Orestes and from giving him information about the place and the history associated with it; both have constituted his identity and determine the course of his life. —Ὦ τοῦ … Ἀγαμέμνονος παῖ. The word order we might expect would be: Ὦ παῖ Ἀγαμέμονος τοῦ … What is the effect of the word order you get? An extended vocative phrase incorporating a participle is characteristically tragic. (Such phrases can also be used in comedy but were not common in prose or, it seems, in colloquial language.) 2—ἐκεῖν’. Can be used to refer to what is well known, often referred to in the past. —ἔξεστί σοι. Impersonal verbs can take either an accusative subject with an infinitive— compare note to E. 71-3—or a dative and an infinitive. The dative is the flexible kind of dative that refers to someone concerned, in any of a number of ways, with the statement made by the verb. Compare note to E. 59, with further examples. 3—λεύσσειν. For the spelling of the verb in the vocabulary entry, see note to E. 15. —ὧν πρόθυμος. A noun or an adjective can take an “objective” genitive, that is a genitive that represents the object of the verbal idea implied in the word that governs it. E.g., “love of money” can imply, “S/he loves money.” 4-10. The Paidagogos sets the scene for the audience, while introducing Orestes to a landscape that he has often heard about. The description of the setting is unusually long, and it is evocative, not realistic. He refers in these lines to the view from Mycenae southward over the Argive plain but includes in his description two famous temples of Argos, which the audience would have associated with Argos, but which were in fact not visible from Mycenae. He then identifies the place as Mycenae (9)—compare note to E. 6—and the skene (10) as the palace of the descendants of Pelops. Even at this point, he is still appealing to the audience’s imagination; scene painting cannot specify the “location” in this way, only the invocation of geography and its associations, mythical and otherwise. 4—οὑπόθεις. = ὃ ἐπόθεις. Compare the previous line, and the note to 1-2. 5—τῆς οἰστροπλῆγος … Ἰνάχου κόρης. Io, of course. She, like her father Inachus—see note to E. 1—clearly belongs to the myth-history of παλαιὸν Ἄργος. But some of the allusions to the myth and topography intertwined here seem also to be relevant to the (so



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 75

far) absent Electra. Io may be relevant because she, unlike Electra, was (finally) relegated to motherhood; like most young female characters in myth, that was her story, the story of motherhood, thwarted and extremely uncomfortable, but motherhood nevertheless. —ἄλσος. Normally this word refers to a sacred space, a “precinct” set aside for a god, often in a wooded spot. Here the idea is extended metaphorically to cover all of Argos. 6—Ὀρέστα. On the vocative form, see note to E. 54 and compare 15, 16, and 23. 7—οὑξ ἀριστερᾶς = ὁ ἐξ ἀριστερᾶς χειρός, “on the left.” 8—Ἥρας ὁ κλεινὸς ναός. At E. 167 ff. the important festival dedicated to Hera, the Heraea, is mentioned. This temple was the focus of the festival, in which young women participated, to honor Hera as the goddess of marriage and childbirth. Again, the situation of Electra seems to be indirectly implied. —ἱκάνομεν. An uncommon variant for the prose ἀφίκνεομαι. Much more common is the simple form, ἱκνέομαι. See p. 39 and compare, for example, 32. 8 and 11—οἷ … ὅθεν. On relative adverbs referring to direction, see Smyth, 346. 9-10—πολυχρύσους … πολύφθορον. Each of these compound adjectives has a particular point, and because of the verbal echo, they seem meant to complement each other: Mycenae would be a rich inheritance for Orestes, and the family history, to which he is about to add, is indeed “rich in destruction.” (On the lack of feminine endings for compounds, see note to E. 27.) 9—φάσκειν. The infinitive can be used as the equivalent to a second person imperative. This is common in Homer but also occurs in Attic, both in poetry and prose. —Μυκήνας τὰς πολυχρύσους. You might expect an article with Μυκήνας. But the combination article-noun-article-adjective is not found very often in tragedy and is more common in prose. This combination, noun-article-adjective, on the other hand, is not uncommon in tragedy and not found very often in prose. Compare p. 41. (The scansion of the adjective, with lengthening a short syllable at the seam of a compound, is unusual.) 10—δῶμα Πελοπιδῶν τόδε. By contrast with Euripides—see note to E. 96—Sophocles chooses to set the play in front of Agamemnon’s palace and to make Electra live in it. 11-3. The Paidagogos now moves briskly into a very concise narrative, compared with his description of the setting. He starts from the description of the place (ὅθεν …) and moves directly (νῦν οὖν …) to the task at hand. By contrast, Euripides spends much longer on the back-story, as well as on Electra’s situation. Here she only comes into the story in one line. There her history and situation is the main focus of the Farmer’s speech. 11—φόνων. Poetic use of a plural abstract noun—compare φόνου in 14—to refer to a singular event. Plurals for “slaughter,” “bloodshed,” and “murder” are also used at E. 123 and 137-8 to refer to Agamemnon’s death, by definition singular. See p. 21. —ἐκ. Seems to imply “from” the murder, with an ablatival genitive, not “after” the murder. This is interesting because he also says he took Orestes from Electra. See the next note. (For a list of standard and less usual uses of prepositions, see Smyth, 1675 ff.) 12. Electra seems to be the one responsible for the rescue itself. Did she snatch Orestes from the murder in the sense that she rescued him quickly from the palace, afraid of what Clytemnestra and Aegisthus would do to a (potential) male avenger? —πρός. Used here with an ablatival genitive to indicate from whose hands or at whose hands he was given the baby. Compare 70, with note. —κασιγνήτης. κασιγνήτη/κασίγνητος for “sister” and “brother” are common tragic

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synonyms for ἀδελφή/ἀδελφός. Here the word ὅμαιμος (also poetic) is added, perhaps to emphasize the connection by blood between the brother and sister and/or to call attention to this first and only mention of Electra. 13. This staccato series of verbs suits the Paidagogos’ rhetoric—see note to 11-3—but also emphasizes his role in and importance to Orestes’ life. See above, p. 56. 14—πατρὶ τιμωρὸν φόνου. The sense of this kind of dative is probably becoming, or has become, easier to catch. (See notes to 3 and E. 59.) The genitive, as in “avenger of (your) father,” probably makes sense immediately. If you unpack the phrase, it becomes clearer that it is an “objective” genitive; it could be approximated by, “You will avenge your father.” Compare 69-70 and 72. 15—φίλτατε ξένων. Partitive genitive; compare note to E. 82-3, and compare 20, 23, 46, and 78 (with note). 16—Πυλάδη. Pylades is again a mute character, not addressed again until 1373, when he and Orestes are about to go in to kill Clytemnestra. Remember that in some versions of the story at least, as in Euripides’, Pylades is the future husband of Electra, though Sophocles does not refer to this explicitly. —χρή. An impersonal verb, like χρεών (E. 74), that indicates what must be done. —δρᾶν. δράω is said by Aristotle to be the Doric equivalent of the Attic πράττω. It is common in tragedy but occurs in comedy also. A good example of the difficulties of being certain about nuance; we have to rely on distribution among different kinds of Greek in order to label something as poetic. —ἐν τάχει. Adverbial. Equivalent to ταχέως. —βουλευτέον. A verbal adjective, indicating what must be done. See Smyth, 2149-52. 17-9. Taken prosaically, this elaborate description calls attention to the time of day imagined—compare E. 54 ff.—but it also seems to call attention to itself as poetry, and to the attitude of the Paidagogos toward the current episode in Orestes’ story. Contrast the way Electra uses the ideas of dawn and the preceding night at 86-91. 17—ἡμίν. Poetic variant with short ι used by Sophocles. Compare 41. 18—ἑῷα … φθέγματ’ ὀρνίθων σαφῆ. The first adjective seems to be poetic and is used where a genitive might be expected, “dawn voices” vs. “voices of/at dawn.” (Compare note to E. 92.) The second adjective indicates that the sun awakens the birds so that they begin to sing clearly/loudly; it shows the result of the action of the verb. See Smyth, 1579. 19—μέλαινά τ’ ἄστρων … εὐφρόνη. Both genitive and adjective are descriptive, the genitive being used where an adjective might be expected: “the dark night of stars,” as Jebb translates. (In his notes, he gives the paraphrase, εὐφρόνη ἀστεροέσσα.) This “genitive of quality” is poetic and goes beyond the range of prose usage. See Smyth, 1320a. —μέλαινα. On the forms of this kind of adjective, see Smyth, 298. 20—πρὶν … τιν’ ἀνδρῶν ἐξοδοιπορεῖν. With the infinitive, this conjunction means “before,” in the sense, “at some time before” (not in the sense, “until”). Note the subject accusative (τινά). 21—λόγοισιν. The dative is modal, i.e., adverbial; it indicates the way in which they will come together. See Smyth, 1527. —ἐμέν. Would have to be taken as equivalent to ἐσμέν, but this word is found in only one other place for “we are.” In both cases, the reading of the manuscript seems to result from corruption, misunderstanding and/or miscopying.



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 77

23—ὥς μοι. ὡς here is exclamatory: “How … !” The accent is due to the following accentless word (an “enclitic”). See Smyth, 181 and 185. 24-5—μοι … ἡμᾶς. See p. 21 and compare note to E. 34. 24—γεγώς. The participle is “supplementary” and should be taken with the whole phrase, σαφῆ σημεῖα φαίνεις, as with the more usual φαίνῃ ὤν (“You are clearly …”). In other words, the participle, like a “complementary” infinitive, is integral to the verbal expression and completes the sense: “You show clear signs (of) being loyal/useful.” Such a combination of verb and supplementary participle often has an idiomatic meaning. A common combination is τυγχάνω plus a participle, e.g., τυγχάνει ὢν ἐσθλός, which could mean, “He happens to be loyal/useful,” or simply, “He is loyal.” 25—κἄν. = καὶ ἐάν = καὶ εἰ ἄν. One of the standard ways of introducing a concessive (“although,” “even though”) clause, here introducing a present general condition. See Smyth, 2369 ff. On the condition, see the next note. 26—ἀπώλεσεν. The aorist marks the statement as applying generally, without reference to past time, even though in form it is a secondary (augmented) tense. (Notice that in the continuation of this description there is a present.) 27—δέ. From the point of view of English this sounds odd; we have just gotten to the main clause and do not need an “and.” Occasionally, most often in poetry, δέ is placed at the beginning of a main clause, at the transition from a subordinate clause. 28—ὀτρύνεις. = prose ἐποτρύνω. Remember that you often get a simple form of what shows up in prose as a compound. Compare 32, with note. —τ(ε) … κ(αί). Remember that this combination pairs up words, phrases, etc., with the τε usually simply pointing to its partner. 29-31. The rest of Orestes’ speech is formally introduced as consultation but is clearly expository. On the other hand, we are aware he is talking to the Paidagogos and of their history and relationship. (Compare the note to 1-2.) Note that a response is not really expected; at 67 he moves directly into a prayer. 29—τοιγάρ. Not a combination found in Attic prose and very rare in comedy. Clearly poetic, though it is not particularly common. —τὰ … δόξαντα. From δοκέω. Keep in mind the standard uses of the article in manufacturing nouns, and the possibility of creating abstractions with the neuter. Compare E. 53, with note. 32-3—ἱκόμην τὸ Πυθικὸν μαντεῖον. Another example of the “terminal accusative.” See note to E. 88. 32—ἱκόμην. The compound form of this verb has already appeared; this is the first example of the simplex version, but both are common. 33-4. For the optative in a purpose clause in secondary sequence, compare E. 39, with note. The second optative is used in an analogous way, to represent the verb of an indirect question in the past. It can represent an indicative but here stands in for an original deliberative subjunctive: τίνι τρόπῳ ἄρωμαι …; On this kind of subjunctive, see Smyth, 1795 and 1805. 33—ὅτῳ. = ᾧτινι. Tragedy uses the shorter, older forms ὅτῳ and ὅτου, rather than ᾧτινι and οὗτινος. See Smyth, 339b. Indefinite pronouns, adjectives, and adverbs can also be used in indirect questions. See Smyth, 340, 346, and 2663-4. (And contrast their use as genuine relatives; see note to E. 105.)

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—ὅτῳ τρόπῳ πατρί. πατρί is used as in 14. (See note.) The first dative is again modal/ adverbial. Compare 37, 68, and 70. 34—δίκας ἀροίμην. In prose expressions for “give/exact a penalty,” both the plural and singular of δίκη are used. Not a poetic plural, then, or a reference to multiple penalties in itself. (See next note.) —τῶν φονευσάντων πάρα. The number of murderers may be plural, i.e. include Clytemnestra. See note to E. 89. 35—χρῇ. An “historic present.” See note to E. 9. Look up χράω and χράομαι. Then look at Smyth, 395 and compare line 44. —τοιαῦτα … ὧν. You might have expected a “correlative” οἵων—see Smyth, 340. 36-7. Keep in mind that this is what Apollo told him to do. You get an accusative and an infinitive because there is some content, as in indirect speech. But this is not quite normal indirect speech; it is a command. An aorist infinitive can be used, even though, obviously, Apollo ordered him to do something that would happen in the future. 36—ἄσκευον … ἀσπίδων τε καὶ στρατοῦ. The adjective is a compound implying a lack of something. That is one reason for the genitive (it is ablatival, implying separation); the other is that compound adjectives in tragedy can take a genitive when there is an implied noun that could take a genitive: “without the furnishing of …” The two nouns in the genitive express a single idea, e.g., “an armed band.” (The rhetorical figure is called “hendiadys.” See Smyth, 3004 ff. for a glossary of rhetorical figures and grammatical terms.) —αὐτόν. Remember that αὐτός as an adjective can mean two things. With the article it means “the same,” without the article it can mean “herself,” “himself,” “itself,” etc. Here it means “myself” in the sense, “alone.” 37—δόλοισι κλέψαι χειρὸς ἐνδίκου σφαγάς. Later in his speech (59-64), Orestes returns to the idea of using trickery to accomplish his revenge; whether he is comfortable with this is an open question. κλέπτω can mean “deceive” or “cheat,” as well as “do secretly.” δόλοισι is modal/adverbial and/or instrumental; it is sometimes hard to distinguish the two. (Keep an eye out for this word; it is poetic vocabulary, and the idea of deceit is important in both plays. Compare E. 9, for example.) Whether the revenge, insofar as it involves matricide, is something he wants to face may also be in question; he does not address this problem. See above, p. 57. Note that he is not necessarily reporting Apollo’s response verbatim. —χειρὸς … σφαγάς. σφαγάς seems to be a generalizing poetic plural. See p. 21 and compare the note to 11. χειρός is an example of another limiting/defining genitive that needs unpacking; “revenge of (my) hand” implies, “My hand will avenge …” Hence, this kind of genitive can be categorized as “subjective.” Compare 3, with note. 38-58. Orestes has a carefully elaborated plan for the deception. In Aeschylus and Euripides the plan is worked out after Orestes is reunited with Electra. Sophocles constructs the play so that she, too, is deceived by Orestes’ plan; she spends a large part of the play in the dark— stuck where she has been, emotionally and otherwise—and she will have to hear a false report that Orestes has died. See above, p. 58. 38—ὅτ’. Has to be an elided version of ὅτε, since ὅτι is not elided. Compare E. 14. A temporal clause can indicate reasoning or cause: “When [i.e., since] you put it like that …” 42-3—οὐ … μὴ … γνῶσ(ι). This combination of negatives and an aorist subjunctive is used to make a strong denial with reference to the future. (The future indicative is less common but can be used in the same way.) γιγνώσκω can often be translated “perceive”



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 79

or, as here, “recognize.” 42—γήρᾳ τε καὶ χρόνῳ μακρῷ. The datives indicate cause and/or explain the participial ὦδ’ ἠνθισμένον in the next line. See Smyth, 1517. 44-6. Phanoteus is Pylades’ great-uncle and has feuded with his grandfather, Crisus. The idea is to make the messenger more credible, as coming from a source who is an ally of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra and hostile to the family that took in Agamemnon’s son. Sophocles may be introducing him to enrich the deception plot. See 670-3 and the notes to E. 18 and S. 1110-1. 44—χρῶ. χράομαι—compare note to 35—has a number of subtly interrelated meanings. Worth looking at the article in LSJ. 45—Φωκέως … Φανοτέως. Both words are genitives from the declension that includes βασιλεύς, έως, ὁ, etc. (See Smyth, 275.) The first is scanned with synizesis—see note to E. 80—the second is not. The contrast within a single line makes more obvious the conventional nature of this form of pronunciation in poetry. —ὁ γάρ. In normal Attic prose you can find a few demonstrative uses of the article with connectives, especially with paired μέν and δέ. (Smyth, 1106 ff.) ὁ γάρ is mostly confined to poetry. Compare E. 16 and 19, for example, and see p. 39. 46—τυγχάνει. An ὤν has been left out. (This is the standard supplementary participle with τυγχάνω in this sense—compare 24, with note.) 47—ὁθούνεκα. An example of the greater freedom with which Sophocles treats the end of the line; he occasionally puts a conjunction there. This word, and οὕνεκα, are used in tragedy as variants for ὅτι and ὡς; that is, they can introduce causal or object clauses. See Smyth, 2240 and 2578. (The improper preposition οὕνεκα is used in both tragedy and comedy, though it is very rare in prose. See Smyth, 1700.) 48—τέθνηκ’. Remember that the perfect of ἀποθνῄσκω is not compound; this is the prose form. The perfect here indicates a state: “Orestes is dead.” See note to 50. —ἐξ. ἐκ/ἐξ with the genitive can indicate the cause of an action, its basis. —ἀναγκαίας τύχης. It is hard to sort out the notions of what is constraining/violent and what is fated. But there seems to be an emphasis on the former, combined with the notion of τύχη. Kells translates, “an accident that there was no resisting.” 49—ἄθλοισι Πυθικοῖσιν. In prose you get the dative by itself with the names of festivals to indicate time. Here seems to locate the event in both space and time: “at the Pythian games.” Compare the note to 55. 50—δίφρων. Poetic plural of a noun with a concrete reference. See pp. 20-1. —ἑστάτω. A perfect, third person, imperative of ἵστημι. The perfect of ἵστημι, like the perfect of ἀποθνῄσκω, describes the present state of the subject: “Let the story stand/be like this.” See note to E. 12. 51-8. Orestes introduces two essential ideas about the plot: he must visit his father’s tomb to make offerings, and he will use a false funerary urn as part of the deception. (Euripides’ Orestes has already made his offerings (90-2).) The tomb is offstage but central to later scenes—see 405 ff. and 871 ff. It is very important in Aeschylus’ realization of the myth, since the tomb and Orestes’ offerings there allow the recognition scene between Orestes and Electra. Here, the recognition that might have been expected is short-circuited by the deception—see note to 38-58. The urn will be uniquely important later in this play as a “plot” device and prop; see 1113 ff. (It is mentioned also in Aeschylus, at Libation Bearers, 686-7.)

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51—τύμβον. Flavor is hard to determine. It is common in tragedy and not used in prose. But sometimes it is used colloquially in Aristophanes (and even tragedy) to refer to old men; maybe a dignified word is used in a jokey way, e.g., “You old sepulcher!” (Sommerstein’s translation of Lysistrata, 372). —ὡς ἐφίετο. Apollo is the subject. Formally, the speech hangs together and the reference makes sense. At 39 he tells the Paidagogos what his part is in the plan (σύ μέν); here we get to his, and Pylades’ part in the plan (ἡμεῖς δέ), all of which follows from Apollo’s oracular response (38). 52—πρῶτον. Adverbial, like ἄψορρον in the next line. Remember that neuter singulars or plurals are often used adverbially. —λοιβαῖσι … χλιδαῖς. On the variation in form, see p. 64. The datives are instrumental. —καρατόμοις χλιδαῖς. For family members to leave a lock of hair at a tomb was a normal part of funeral ritual, but this is an unusual poetic phrase: “luxuries/indulgences consisting of shorn locks.” (Notice that the adjective ends in -οις; remember that compounds like this usually have only two sets of endings.) Like the circumstantial description, the phrase seems to call attention to this action as a plot element. See note to 51-8. 53—εἶτ’. The combination of πρῶτον/πρῶτα μέν and ἔπειτα/εἶτα is frequent for “First … and next …” 54—τύπωμα. This is a rare word; there are two 5th century uses, both tragic. Probably a poetic coinage, then. The tragedians are prone to using, and making up, nouns derived from verbs by adding the suffix -μα. The verb in this case, τυπόω, means to shape or mold. A -μα noun will usually indicate the result of an action, like an object that has been made. (Sometimes it can indicate the action itself.) As in 52, an unusual noun is combined with a fancy-pants compound adjective. The result is another elaborated expression that calls attention to itself. See note to 51-8. —χεροῖν. Dual ending. Third declension endings are -ε, -οιν, -οιν, -ε. 55—ὃ … οἶσθα … κεκρυμμένον. If this is not recognizable as another form of indirect speech, see above, p. 67. Compare 62-3. —θάμνοις. A dative without a preposition and indicating location is also poetic, like the bare accusative indicating goal/end of motion. (In prose, used only with a few place names.) See note to E. 88 and Smyth, 1531. —που. A bit confusing here; he must know where the urn is. Possibly, as some commentators explain, “You, I suppose …” I.e., “You must …” 55, 58, and 70—κεκρυμμένον, κατηνθρακωμένον, ὡρμημένος. All perfect passive participles. Notice, first, that the reduplication is potentially confusing for the second and third of these. (See p. 67.) Second, in translating this kind of perfect participle joined to a main verb in the present, an English present perfect is not always needed but often makes sense: the urn “has been hidden,” the body “has been burnt up,” and Orestes “has been sent by the gods.” For perfect forms the focus can be on the continuing effect, on an object, or on description of a current state of affairs. Compare the notes to 50 and E. 12. 56—κλέπτοντες. See note to 37. 57—ἔρρει. Might expect a perfect to suit the sense; the message is that he perished, but the focus is on the continued effect: he has perished. The present can be used like this at times. See Smyth, 1886-7. (Note that this is not the historic present, which stands out in a narrative about the past. Compare on E. 9.)



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 81

59-60. At least as far as the surface meaning of the sentence goes, Orestes’ scruples are not about the morality of his actions but are based on a conventional feeling that talking about your own death is ill-omened. (Note again the modal/adverbial datives, now edging toward becoming adverbs. Compare 70, with note.) 60—κλέος. A poetic word (rare in our prose sample) with overtones from heroic epic. 61—δοκῶ μέν. A μέν without a balancing δέ can be used to emphasize a verb expressing opinion or probability: “I do think.” —σὺν κέρδει. As a preposition—compare note to E. 88—σύν/ξύν is part of poetic diction. See above, p. 64. 62-4. Orestes seems either to be referring to the sort of characters, mentioned in Herodotus (4.14-5 and 4.95), thought to be able to come back from death or to figures from myth falsely said to be dead (e.g., Odysseus). 62—ἤδη … εἶδον πολλάκις. English would almost certainly use a present perfect: “I have often before now …” (Note the translation of ἤδη.) The aorist makes sense in Greek because it is the simplest way of indicating a past event; the extra nuance as to the present result indicated by a perfect—made clear here by the adverbs—is simply not made explicit. Compare the note to 55, 58, 70 and see Smyth, 1930 and 1940. 63-4—δόμους ἔλθωσιν. Compare 32-3, and note to E. 88. 64—ἐκτετίμηνται. The perfect can also express a general idea, like the aorist—see note to 26. But it does so only occasionally; the aorist, and the present, are much more common. Note that as a prepositional prefix ἐκ- can have a variety of meanings different from its meanings as a preposition. See Smyth, 1688.2. —πλέον. Neuter singular comparative adjective used as a comparative adverb. (Superlative adverbs are neuter plural adjective forms.) Compare E. 72. 65-6—κἄμ’ ἐπαυχῶ … λάμψειν. The future infinitive should make sense. If not, see above, p. 67. What is unexpected is this combination of accusative and infinitive. The normal procedure is not to express the subject of the infinitive when the subject of the main verb and the subject of the infinitive are the same. Compare E. 53, with note. Seems to be motivated by the connection of Orestes with the sophoi; “he, too (καί), …” —ὥς … ὥς. The first use of ὥς is as an adverb, “thus,” “in this way.” Note the accent. The second is a case of ὡς following its noun; it is a use of ὡς meaning “like” but with a change in its accent because of its position. 66—δεδορκότ’. Some verbs, often verbs indicating perception, emotion, or sounds, can take this kind of “intensive” perfect. The tense is descriptive but is hard to connect to any beginning point in the past—compare note to E. 12. Orestes simply “sees” or “lives.” —ἐχθροῖς. Clear that his enemies will be concerned, affected, etc., if he is still alive and successful. Again, a dative that probably makes intuitive sense by now but is not so easy to find an exact equivalent for in English. 67—ἀλλ’. This is not clearly adversative; there is no clear opposition in the thought. Instead, it marks a transition to the prayer; it functions like the ἀλλά that introduces a command following a statement. 68—ταῖσδε ταῖς ὁδοῖς. Either a poetic plural or may refer to some underlying notion of plurality, all the roads he had to take to get here. See p. 21. The dative is adverbial and seems to combine the ideas of circumstance and time: “on this journey.” 70—δίκῃ. Also an adverbial dative, in origin; modal, indicating circumstance and/or

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manner. Like other datives of abstract nouns δίκῃ becomes an adverb. See Smyth, 1527 and compare 59-60, with note. —πρὸς θεῶν. Used here where you might expect ὑπό plus the genitive. Compare note to 12 and see Smyth, 1695b. 71-2. For Orestes, control of the royal house and its wealth marks both success and succession to his rightful honor and status. See above, pp. 55-6. All these ideas are linked in this sentence, which incorporates a figure called a zeugma, a “yoking.” (See the glossary of rhetorical figures and grammatical terms in Smyth, at 3004 ff.) In the first clause the literal meaning of the verb is “send away from.” In the second clause there is the same idea of him being sent somewhere, but the meaning is closer to “send me back as.” In zeugmata like this the contrast between a negative idea and its opposite (μή … ἀλλά …) allows you to supply the second meaning fairly easily. 71—μή … ἀποστείλητε. Aorist subjunctive used in a negative command (“prohibitive subjunctive”). See Smyth, 1795 and 1800. 73—εἴρηκα. Here the perfect has the same sense as an English present perfect: “I have …” Compare 50 and 66, with notes. —νυν. You are used to seeing as νῦν, “now.” νυν usually means “then” or “therefore.” See Smyth, 2926. 74—τὸ σὸν μελέσθω βάντι φρουρῆσαι χρέος. A third person form of the imperative, the subject being either χρέος or the infinitive: “Let it be your task to …” or “Let keeping an eye on your task be …” For the use of the dative, compare 2, with note. 75—νώ. A dual first-person pronoun: “the two of us.” —ἔξιμεν. Future of ἐξέρχομαι. See note to E. 75 and Smyth, 774. 77. Electra is heard from offstage. In effect, she announces herself—compare note to E. 107-9—and in an emotionally arresting form. She cries out, or chants, in anapaests, a different meter and one associated with a different mode of performance—see pp. 101-2. That contrast is of a piece with her dramatic and emotional separateness. She is isolated by the plotting, both Orestes’ and Sophocles’—see note to 38-58—and enters as a character presented in a different performative and emotional key. The effect is all the more striking since she has been left out of the prologue, for the most part—see note to 11-3. The character now seizes our attention and will hold it for most of the rest of the play. 78-9—ἔδοξα … αἰσθέσθαι. In tragedy (or comedy), the aorist can be used to indicate a reaction, to another speaker or, as here, to what is going on: “I think I heard …” (The infinitive is second aorist, so the reference is to a time before the main verb.) One way of explaining this kind of aorist is to say that is not being used as a tense, describing actions in past time, but is registering the speaker’s experience at a particular point in time. Perhaps its use could be accompanied by gesture and/or stage movement. Compare E. 215, with note. (It should be noted that there has been considerable debate about how to explain this kind of aorist.35) 78—καὶ μήν. This combination of words can call attention to something new, the entrance of a new character, something just seen or heard, etc. —θυρῶν. The genitive could be kind of partitive genitive and refer to the space within 35 This is not a traditional way of understanding it. (See Finglass on S. 668 for references to earlier discussion.) So I cite the scholarly treatment I found most helpful, the recent interpretation of S. Colvin: “The Instantaneous Aorist: The Syntax of the Agora and the Syntax of Parnassus,” in Dic Mihi, Musa, Virum. Homenaje al Profesor Antonio López Eire, eds. F. Cortés Gabaudan and J. Méndez Dosuna (Salamanca, 2010).



Reading Four: Sophocles, Lines 1-85 83

which an action occurs, which is largely a poetic use (showing up especially in epic). He hears her moaning “inside the gates.” Or it could be ablatival and indicate the place from which the sound is coming. The genitive τινος is clearly ablatival and the genitive you often get with verbs of hearing, when it refers to the person you hear. 79—ὑποστενούσης. Like ἐκ- as a prepositional prefix—note to 64—ὑπο- can have a variety of meanings different from its meanings as a preposition. See Smyth, 1698.4. 80-5. The Paidagogos’ intentions are open to interpretation, insofar as he suggests they have heard a servant lamenting. And so is Orestes’ response, in regard to his feelings about his sister. On the delayed recognition scene, see above p. 58. 80. How to construe the sentence is up for debate, but most likely, “Is the wretched woman Electra?” That would make the combination of article and noun the subject and the predicate the name, without article. See p. 41. —ἆρ’. As a reminder: used to signal a question where there is no interrogative. 80-1—θέλεις μείνωμεν. Forms of θέλω are commonly used in tragedy for ἐθέλω. (The sequence ⏑⏑‒ is difficult to use in most styles of trimeter.) The shorter version of the verb is rare in prose and not used by Aristophanes, except in lyric or in parody of tragedy (apart from the phrase ἢν θεὸς θέλῃ, and variations). The combination of this poetic verb with a deliberative subjunctive—see on 33-4—is interesting. βούλομαι with a subjunctive— e.g., βούλῃ μείνωμεν; —is colloquial, so this phrase is a tragic hybrid. (βούλομαι is fairly common in Euripides, rare in Sophocles, very rare in Aeschylus.) 82-3—μηδὲν … πειρώμεθ’. Hortatory subjunctive—see Smyth, 1795 and 1797—with a negative. Because you get a μή with this subjunctive, a μηδέν makes sense here as “nothing.” 82—ἥκιστα. A superlative adverb. (See the note to 64.) In answers to questions means “not at all.” —πρόσθεν ἤ. πρόσθεν (or πρόσθε in poetry) is an adverb. It can be combined with πρίν or ἤ in a way that can sound redundant, the adverb signaling the conjunction to follow. Here, it could be translated “sooner than.” (Also an improper preposition with the genitive. See Smyth, 1700.) —τὰ Λοξίου. On the use of the article, compare E. 53, and note. Apollo’s epithet/name may be related to the adjective λοξός, ή, όν, “slanting,” “oblique,” and refer to the (sometimes) ambiguous quality of oracular language. 84—χέοντες λουτρά. χέω in a simple form is mostly poetic. And it can have a variety of literal and figurative meanings. Here it refers to the libations they must pour at Agamemnon’s grave, though λουτρά usually refer to the ritual bathing of a corpse. Compare E. 157, with note. 85—κράτος. Compare note to E. 55.

Euripides: Introduction to Electra’s Song and the Entrance Song of the Chorus What happens in this part of the play? What do we know about this kind of performance? Orestes, the mute actor playing Pylades, and the extras playing their servants (note to 82ff.) move away toward the skene. They are now thought of as out of sight for Electra, as she reenters with her water jar, presumably up the eisodos opposite them. (Electra, too, may have a silent attendant/servant; see note to 140.) The actor moves forward, perhaps toward the center of the orchestra; at the end of this scene (215 ff.), Electra notices Orestes and the others, but they are now between her and the house, to which she tries to escape. In the meantime, though, something surprising happens: for the next hundred lines or so we get song, and dance. The actor first performs a “monody,” a solo song.36 (The accompaniment, as with any kind of song in tragedy, was provided by an aulos player, an elaborately costumed musician playing a kind of double oboe.) As is often the case, the monody has elements of a lament, a ritualized expression of grief for the dead. (For more on lament, see the notes.) And, as often in Euripides, the monody is given to the protagonist and is closely connected to the parodos, the song the Chorus sings as it enters the orchestra. The parodos, in turn, takes the form of an amoibaion, a formally structured sung dialogue between soloist and the Chorus. Note that both the Chorus and Electra are now to be imagined as present in the playing space of the orchestra, where they will perform this sequence of songs. The Chorus will stay there for the rest of the play. And Electra, too, except during the Chorus’ songs, will be continuously in front of the skene or in the orchestra. (A similar staging is to be imagined in Sophocles’ play; his Chorus and Electra are on stage until the end of the play.) The presence of the Chorus and protagonist has multiple implications. To begin with, even when the Chorus is not speaking or interacting with other characters, it pays to keep a mental eye on the Chorus members and their possible movements, especially since they must have been such an important part of the audience’s visual experience of the play; they were a continual presence in the large bare space of the orchestra. For instance, it is interesting, or frustrating, to try to imagine what they might be doing during long dialogue scenes in which they have little or no part: do they move to one side, so that the focus is on the actors? Do they react visibly at crucial points in the plot or when argument and interchange intensify emotionally? This time you will read Electra’s monody, in Greek, and the parodos/amoibaion that follows (lines 167-212), in English. You will see in both that there are obvious structural units. The stanzaic forms, variable and more or less complex, are evident even in looking at the layout of a modern text. In Electra’s monody there are two stanzas of identical metrical form (strophe and antistrophe) separated, unusually, by a third stanza of a different form (a 36 For an introductory discussion of different forms of tragic song, see L. Battezzato, “Lyric,” in Gregory, 1995.

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mesode). That pattern is repeated; two stanzas of matching but completely different form follow (again with the intervening and atypical mesode). Paired stanzas of a unique metrical construction following one another in a series are typical of tragic songs, whether a soloist is involved or not. (In the amoibaion, though, a single pair gives a formal shape to the dialogue of Electra and the Chorus. As is most often the case in a sung dialogue, the same singers deliver the same section in each stanza.) Later, you will read two examples of a purely choral stasimon, a song sung by the Chorus “in place,” in the orchestra. (Euripides’ song will be read in translation, Sophocles’ in Greek.) And you will see the same general pattern emerge, of repeated but metrically distinct pairs of stanzas. The usual pattern is therefore AA, BB …, whereas in other poetry it may be simpler, A, A … or more complex, for instance, AAB, AAB …—either a single stanza form or more complicated structures built out of multiple stanzas are repeated in a series. In either case, though, stanzas of the same metrical form are repeated. You will also see in the monody that the metrical patterns within each pair of stanzas are complex. First, metrical phrases (cola) from other poetry, tragic and otherwise, are discernible. Second, each stanza is articulated internally; there are metrical sentences, or “periods,” made up of one or more phrases. Unlike a repeated spoken verse, as with the trimeter, these do not have to, and usually do not, correspond to printed lines on the page. But we can locate breaks in metrical continuity, often by noticing the same signs of metrical discontinuity that define the end of the trimeter, the use of a short syllable where the pattern calls for a long, or the presence of hiatus, the meeting of adjacent vowels between words. (On another marker of period-end, the use of a variant, shorter metrical phrase to create a sense of rhythmic closure, see the note to 112-24.) Often there is a pause in sense, but there does not have to be; metrical discontinuity may or may not have been realized by a pause in performance. Finally, the stanza, analogous to a paragraph, is usually self-contained; it makes a metrical unit that comes to a clear end, this time almost certainly with a pause. A stanza also usually ends with a complete thought, marked by punctuation. (See note to 155-8.) In this book we will not focus much on the complexities of song meters; it is a subject needing a textbook in and of itself.37 (Some brief description will be given in the notes.) But it helps to know that the song is, in fact, metrically patterned in recognizable ways. The first stanza (112-24), for instance, begins (112-4) in a version of a common meter called anapaestic; i.e., it is based on ⏑⏑‒, and variations—see pp. 101-2 below. The song continues with two periods (115-9 and 120-4) consisting of phrases built around the unit of the choriamb, ‒⏑⏑‒. No matter how varied the rhythms, however, the music presumably helped in making them discernible and helped the original audience in appreciating the art of the poet/composer. Their ears were attuned to this combination of poetic rhythm and music. Further, one basic characteristic of Greek music was the subordination of the music to the quantitative patterns of the poetry. The tragic poet wrote his own music. And composing tragic songs was not analogous to writing lyrics to fit a melody, which would then impose its time values on syllables of verse. Instead, the poet was writing his own music to fit the 37 For a sketch, see L. Battezzato, “Metre and Music,” in The Cambridge Companion to Greek Lyric, ed. F. Budelmann (Cambridge, 2009). For more detail, the best handbook in English is M. West, Greek Metre (Oxford, 1982). (Particularly useful, as a reference and starting point, is the glossary of technical terms at p. 191 ff.)



Euripides: Introduction to Electra’s Song and the Entrance Song of the Chorus 87

complex, quantitative, rhythms he himself had created. And the quantitative patterns of the poetry dictated the time values of the music, which were meant to reinforce and articulate, not obscure them.38 The ways in which paired strophe and antistrophe are used are also worth thinking about. One of the basic reasons for the metrical complexities of tragic songs is that each of these pairs is unique. This kind of variety and inventiveness is another index of the metrical and musical sophistication of the audience and poet, who had grown up in a culture of song, including songs performed by a variety of choruses, e.g., dithyrambic choruses. (See p. xviii.) The music must have been similarly varied and was of interest in itself. Certainly by the end of the century music, and increasingly complex forms of music, were of considerable interest, as Aristophanes’ professed scorn for musical innovation shows. The figure of Cinesias, the dithyrambic poet, like other poets he parodies, is a worthwhile target because his poetry/music must have been startling, and intriguing, at least to some people. (See p. xx.) What all this meant for the performance, especially if we try to imagine the addition of dance to music and lyrics, is a set of problems that invites speculation but provides few satisfying answers. For scholars working with the text as such, the basic fact that strophe A corresponds to antistrophe A, and that B corresponds to B, is extremely useful. In the first pair of stanzas, the sequence of periods in the antistrophe corresponds exactly with those in the strophe; 127-9 matches up with 112-4, 130-4, with 115-9, and 135-9 with 120-4. In the lingo of metrics, the two stanzas are in “responsion.” Responsion allows a better understanding of the metrical construction of each pair. In addition, it can provide a basis for detecting, or trying to make better sense of, a piece of text garbled in transmission. (See notes to 143 and 161.) But it is hard to go beyond describing the metrical sentence structure, the construction of periods. It can be argued, for example, that the music, too, was identical for each pair of stanzas. This might seem odd at first, but makes sense if we keep in mind the idea that music helped to articulate rhythm and that the construction of each (paired) stanza was unique. We might go further out on a limb and argue that the choreography was tied to this repetition. For instance, the translation of strophe and antistrophe as “turn” and “counterturn” has been explained as indicating a repetition of the same patterns of movement in reverse, though this does not give us much to go on, not to mention being hard to imagine. Tying our visualization of dance movement to content, not the formal patterning of the poetry, might allow us to imagine more of the performance. Some speculative theories begin from the idea that dance was essentially mimetic, that a variety of gestures or poses were used in conjunction with narrative, expressions of emotions, etc. But this too turns out to be unsatisfying; except in clear cases like Electra’s references to the formal gestures of lament—see 146-50—it is hard to be ingenious enough, or at least ingenious enough and at all convincing, to fill out a reconstructive picture.39 We have to 38 I depend here on the analysis of A. Dale, “Words, Music, and Dance,” in Collected Papers (Cambridge, 1969). (See esp., pp. 161-2.) Toward the end of the 5th century, with the rise of the so-called “New Music,” this basic characteristic of music began to change but only to a limited extent. See West, Greek Music, 129-33. 39 For a skeptical, and discouraging, introduction to theories about dance in tragedy, see G. Ley, The

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be content with conceptual generalizations: if the rhythmical patterns determined and were emphasized by the music, the dancing, too, was at times, somehow, grounded in the metrical phrases and periods within the stanza. And if strophe and antistrophe, in all their variety, were a focus of attention and invention, the choreography may have been defined, again like the music, by the stanza as a larger unit of “movement” within the song. In turn, a unified sequence of dance movements could have helped articulate and emphasize, like the repetition of the music, the formal unity of the stanza, whether those movements were repeated to accompany the stanza’s partner or not. In the end, this kind of speculation may be the best we can do; dancing as performance, like a large part of the musical dimension of tragedy, simply cannot be reconstructed on the basis of the primary evidence we have, which is the text. What new possibilities do monody and choral song allow? This does not mean, though, that we cannot appreciate, from that text, part of what the audience got out of songs like Electra’s monody or the amoibaion following. Consider, again, what happens when the actor first comes into the orchestra to sing her monody. We might say that the “action” stops, but that would be to judge this kind of theatre retrospectively and on the basis of our own assumptions. More productively, we could try to imagine what new theatrical possibilities opened up: both in terms of the audience’s focus of attention and in terms of emotional and intellectual interest, what happened in the orchestra added new dimensions to the performance. The elevation of sung poetry, the music, the dance and visual effect—all these heightened and intensified the audience’s awareness of the depth of implication in the story being enacted, as did the freedom of thought and association allowed by the wider focus of sung poetry. In the monody, then, the fact that Electra now sings, and presumably dances, her story pulls the audience into the story emotionally. At the same time, she is able to go back in time and rehearse the story of her father’s death and expand on her own continuing grief in ways that would have not had the same sort of impact and richness in exposition that took the form of dialogue. Similarly, in the amoibaion that follows, we could say simply that the exposition of her situation continues, largely through contrast with the situation of the Chorus, who are women at a similar stage of life, ready for marriage (παρθενικαί, 174) or just recently married but not yet mothers (νύμφαι, 179). They are not isolated as Electra is, by her pseudo-marriage to the Farmer, her removal from the palace, and by her own feelings of bitterness. The Chorus invites her to a festival of Hera, as patron of Argos and goddess of marriage and childbirth, a festival in which young women participated. But Electra refuses. In the second half of the amoibaion, the Chorus invites her again to the festival and tries to reason her out of lamenting; she is invited to return to the normal rhythm of life. Electra repeats her refusal and again rehearses her grievances. In other words, the amoibaion shows just how stuck she is, and how much she needs Orestes, watching in the background, to come and move her story forward. All of this could be explained but this dialogue in song enacts it evocatively. Just as important are the possibilities allowed by having the Chorus there to begin with. The Chorus is not just another character but a collective character. We are not aware of them as (fifteen) individuals who happen to have been gathered together but of a group Theatricality of Greek Tragedy. Playing Space and Chorus (Univ. of Chicago, 2007), 150-67. Note that our difficulties in visualizing dance in tragedy do not mean that we cannot try to allow for its importance there or in Greek culture generally.



Euripides: Introduction to Electra’s Song and the Entrance Song of the Chorus 89

that expresses itself as a group; they almost always speak with one voice. And for the most part the Chorus speaks in parts of the play, and in a theatrical space, the orchestra, that are marked off as its own. In visual terms, too, they are not just individuals in a group, but a group that is, presumably, identically masked and costumed and that moves together, expressively. (Or so we might imagine the dancing and movements of the chorus.) In the abstract, then, we can see that built into tragic performance and structure are contrasts between the perspective and reactions of a group, as a specific subset of the larger community, and the reactions of the characters, especially the protagonist.40 How those contrasts have been realized concretely and in detail, in a particular tragedy or a particular passage of the play, is a matter for interpretation. Here, it has been argued, for the sake of illustration, that the identity of the Chorus as a group of normal young women, as well as its ordinary point of view and conventional reactions to her situation—all that defines Electra’s situation and character by means of contrast. None of this is very hard to see, and an analogous set of contrasts is clearly constructed in the first part of Sophocles’ play. But whatever direction interpretation leads, and however far a more detailed interpretation might be worked out, the point of the illustration is that a modern reader will need at times to keep the specific identity of the Chorus in mind, while giving thought to its point of view and interactions with the protagonist.

40 For a good general discussion along these lines, see S. Goldhill, Reading Greek Tragedy (Cambridge, 1986), 267-71. (The book as a whole is worth reading for anyone beginning to think about tragedy.)

Reading Five: Euripides, Lines 112-66 Poetic vocabulary: lament, wretchedness, etc.; words for the body and parts of the body Since this reading is reminiscent of lament, it is not surprising to find one of the most important words for “weeping,” or “wailing,” γόος, ου, ὁ, a poetic word and very common in Euripides. There is also a whole thicket of adjectives meaning “painful,” “wretched,” etc. Tragic vocabulary in this area is understandably varied. (See, further, p. 107.) Two of the words occurring in this passage occur also in prose: ἄλγιστος, η, ον, “most/very painful, grievous” and σχέτλιος, α, ον, “cruel,” “wretched,” etc. The others are poetic vocabulary: μέλεος, α, ον, “unhappy,” “miserable” and τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ, “enduring,” “wretched,” etc. Note also two related poetic adjectives, στυγνός, ή, όν, “hated,” “hostile,” etc. and στυγερός, ά, όν, “hateful,” “wretched,” etc., both of which come from a neighboring semantic field. Lament is physical, focused on the body of the mourner, and the body of the dead, even if only in retrospect. We get several poetic words referring to the body. This Electra will talk about beating her head, κάρα, τό (Smyth, 285.14), and Sophocles’ Electra will talk about beating her breast, στέρνον, ου, τό. Another bit of body language that surfaces here is, χρώς, χρωτός/χροός, ὁ, “skin,” “flesh” (Smyth, 285.29). We can add to these two other common poetic terms, δέμας, τό, “body” and ὄμμα, ὄμματος, τό, “eye,” “face,” which have already appeared. Art Languages, III: choral language Because tragedy is a hybrid form (pp. xxii-xxiii) and incorporates choral poetry as a distinct form of performance, it made sense, for an Athenian audience habituated to different forms of poetic performance, that choral language should be marked off from the language of dialogue. Along with a shift to music and dance, and in conjunction with different metrical and rhythmical units of composition, the art language too shifts noticeably. The most obvious shift, as a signifier of choral poetry and of increased poetic elevation, is the addition of Doric flavoring, which was appropriate because it was associated with choral poetry in general. In the endings or stems of verbs, adjectives, nouns, etc. an Attic η is changed to Doric long α. Remember, in particular, that Attic and Ionic changed endings with long α to endings with η, and that in Attic the η changed back to long α after ε, ι, and ρ. Most noticeable are differences in the singular endings of first declension nouns. Undoing these linguistic changes in Attic tragic choruses means the use of Doric long α for first declension endings where the stem does not end in ε, ι, or ρ. In addition, two common first declension endings are spelled differently in Doric: 1) genitive plurals come out as -ᾶν; 2) the genitive singular of masculines is a long α, not ου. (See Smyth, 214. In this song Doric alphas and endings will be underlined.) Just as interesting are words in which the change to a long α is not made. Compare, for example, πολιῆται (119) or ἦμαρ (145). Both are epic/poetic words that are not Doricized. Here the basic forms of poetic vocabulary assert themselves (if we can trust the 91

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tradition producing the manuscripts). At times, we also find the usual spelling of non-poetic, Attic words. This shows, in fact, that the Doric flavor is just that, a flavoring, not a genuine attempt to imitate a real Doric dialect. Other Doric characteristics could have been adopted, and were adopted in other forms of choral poetry that did not have the Attic basis of tragic language.41 As with the Ionic flavoring of the language of dialogue, the point is that a limited selection of dialect forms was considered appropriate, even if the exclusion of some possibilities might seem arbitrary. In spite of this change in dialect flavor, the poetic language of choral sections will seem familiar: you will encounter features of the language that will feel poetic because you are already getting used to noticing them in the art language of dialogue. Choral language becomes more poetic, noticeably more elevated, but most of the means used to create that effect have already been encountered in dialogue. So this description is an extension of the earlier discussion of poetic language in dialogue. (See pp. 61-5.) On the other hand, the experience of noticing poeticisms will be more frequent, sometimes continuous. Here are some things to keep an eye on in assessing the difference between choral language and the language of trimeter—being alert to them will also help in adjusting to phrases and sentences that are denser and more highly wrought: 1) Poetic vocabulary and other markers of poetic style. The number of poetic words increases. Many will not be common enough to be marked as such in the vocabulary, but in reading choral language more use will be made of the vocabulary, or a lexicon. This reflects, at a distance, the experience of the audience, who were aware that the density of the poetic vocabulary had increased. (For a sample, see the vocabulary list and the note to 117.) The audience would have also been perhaps more aware, because of this increased poetic heft in the language, of particular forms of poetic diction, like simplex verbs (p. 20) and compound adjectives (note to E. 27), as well as other markers of poetic style: metrical lengthening of syllables involving combinations of consonants ending in μ, ν, ρ, λ (p. 6), the use of cases without prepositions (notes to E. 88 and S. 55), and all the other markers of epic or generally poetic language (pp. 63-5). 2) Non-use of article. A further, and essential, marker of poetic style is the omission of articles. By now this is not a surprise, so much so that it may not be noticeable, unless it makes it harder to identify a noun or adjective ending or to connect modifiers and nouns separated by conventional forms of hyperbaton. This problem will be more frequent in reading choral sections, where there is a higher concentration of descriptive adjectives in hyperbaton and a tendency to use the article even less often. Both characteristics are features of a more condensed and concrete form of expression, one that sometimes proceeds expressively by moving the reader, or the listener, through complicated noun phrases. Practically speaking, this means that it can be harder to locate adjectives in attributive position. (See p. 41.) In the two sung passages that follow (E. 112-66 and S. 121-52), the article is used only about ten times, most often to create a noun from an adjective. 3) Word order and sentence structure. It is hard to generalize about unusual forms of phrasing and syntax in choral Greek. Anyone who reads it for the first time, however, will feel that getting through individual phrases and sentences is more challenging, at least sometimes. There is a higher frequency, for instance, of a word order like 41 For some examples, see Colvin, 2007, 58 and Horrocks, 2010, 54.



Reading Five: Euripides, Lines 112-66 93

adjective-preposition-noun, familiar from trimeter (e.g., E. 140, 148, 152). And it pays to keep in mind the possibilities for poetic forms of hyperbaton already encountered, especially the possibility of extension of simpler patterns. (See E. 132-4 (with note), 146-7, 158, and S. 89-90, 92-3, 133.) But the more general problem is that both word order and sentence structure can at times feel elaborated and convoluted in unusual and expressive ways. This is a question better addressed in the notes to specific passages. (See E. 132-4, 164-5, S. 92-5, 103-9, and 122-6 (all with notes).) Further forms to review • •

Nouns following the patterns of πόλις, εως, ἡ and βασιλεύς, έως, ὁ. See Smyth, 268 and 275. The forms of the first declension that take long α in the singular endings in Attic. See Smyth, 216 and 222.

Ηλ. σύντειν’ (ὥρα) ποδὸς ὁρμάν· ὤ, ἔμβα ἔμβα κατακλαίουσα. ἰώ μοί μοι. ἐγενόμαν Ἀγαμέμνονος καί μ’ ἔτικτε Κλυταιμήστρα στυγνὰ Τυνδάρεω κόρα, κικλήσκουσι δέ μ’ ἀθλίαν Ἠλέκτραν πολιῆται. φεῦ φεῦ σχετλίων πόνων καὶ στυγερᾶς ζόας. ὦ πάτερ, σὺ δ’ ἐν Ἀίδα κεῖσαι σᾶς ἀλόχου σφαγαῖς Αἰγίσθου τ’, Ἀγάμεμνον.

Strophe A

ἴθι τὸν αὐτὸν ἔγειρε γόον, ἄναγε πολύδακρυν ἁδονάν.

Mesode A 126

σύντειν’ (ὥρα) ποδὸς ὁρμάν· ὤ, ἔμβα ἔμβα κατακλαίουσα. ἰώ μοί μοι. τίνα πόλιν, τίνα δ’ οἶκον, ὦ τλᾶμον σύγγον’, ἀλατεύεις οἰκτρὰν ἐν θαλάμοις λιπὼν

Antistrophe A

115

120

130

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Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

πατρῴοις ἐπὶ συμφοραῖς ἀλγίσταισιν ἀδελφάν; ἔλθοις δὲ πόνων ἐμοὶ τᾷ μελέᾳ λυτήρ, ὦ Ζεῦ Ζεῦ, πατρί θ’ αἱμάτων αἰσχίστων ἐπίκουρος, Ἄργει κέλσας πόδ’ ἀλάταν.

135

θὲς τόδε τεῦχος ἐμᾶς ἀπὸ κρατὸς ἑ- Strophe B λοῦσ’, ἵνα πατρὶ γόους νυχίους 141 ἐπορθοβοάσω· † ἰαχὰν ἀοιδὰν μέλος 143 Ἀίδα, πάτερ, σοὶ† 143 κατὰ γᾶς ἐνέπω γόους οἷς ἀεὶ τὸ κατ’ ἦμαρ 145 λείβομαι, κατὰ μὲν φίλαν ὄνυχι τεμνομένα δέραν χέρα τε κρᾶτ’ ἔπι κούριμον τιθεμένα θανάτῳ σῷ. ἒ ἔ, δρύπτε κάρα· οἷα δέ τις κύκνος ἀχέτας ποταμίοις παρὰ χεύμασιν πατέρα φίλτατον καλεῖ, ὀλόμενον δολίοις βρόχων ἕρκεσιν, ὣς σὲ τὸν ἄθλιον, πάτερ, ἐγὼ κατακλαίομαι,

Mesode B 151

λουτρὰ πανύσταθ’ ὑδρανάμενον χροῒ κοίτᾳ ἐν οἰκτροτάτᾳ θανάτου. ἰώ μοι μοι πικρᾶς μὲν πελέκεως τομᾶς σᾶς, πάτερ, πικρᾶς δ’ †ἐκ

Antistrophe B

155

160 160



Reading Five: Euripides, Lines 112-66 95

Τροίας ὅδου βουλᾶς†. οὐ μίτραισι γυνά σε δέξατ’ οὐδ’ ἐπὶ στεφάνοις, ξίφεσι δ’ ἀμφιτόμοις λυγρὰν Αἰγίσθου λώβαν θεμένα 165 δόλιον ἔσχεν ἀκοίταν. συντείνω—strain, draw tight; urge on, exert ὥρα, ας, ἡ—(any) period of time; right time, time to do πούς, ποδός, ὁ—foot ὁρμή, ῆς, ἡ—rapid motion forwards (in various senses) ὤ—exclamation expressing surprise, joy, or pain, “oh” ἔμβα (aor. imp.) > ἐμβαίνω—go forward, go quickly; step out κατακλαίω—act. and middle, lament, wail loudly ἰώ—exclamation used in invoking aid; expression of grief or suffering 115: ἐγενόμην > γίγνομαι στυγνός, ή, όν—hated, abhorred; hostile (with dat.) κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye κικλήσκω (poetic) = καλέω ἄθλιος, α, ον—struggling, unhappy, wretched; pitiful, poor πολιήτης, εω, ὁ (Ionic and poetic) = πολίτης, ου, ὁ 120: φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration σχέτλιος, α, ον—cruel, merciless, miserable (of people); cruel, shocking (of things) πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering στυγερός, ά, όν—hated, loathed; hateful, wretched ζόη, ης, ἡ (Ionic and poetic) = ζωή, ῆς, ἡ— property, means of living; life, existence Ἀίδας, α (Doric and poetic) = ᾍδης or ᾅδης, ου— Hades; the underworld; death κεῖμαι—(used as passive of τίθημι) be placed, lie; lie dead ἄλοχος, ου, ἡ—bed partner, wife σφαγή, ῆς, ἡ—slaughter; wound 125: ἴθι (pres. imp.) > ἔρχομαι—with imper., come ἐγείρω—wake; stir up, start γόος, ου, ὁ—weeping, wailing ἀνάγω—lift up a song, lament, etc. πολύδακρυς, υος, ὁ/ἡ—much wept for; with many tears, tearful συντείνω—strain, draw tight; urge on, exert ὥρα, ας, ἡ—(any) period of time; right time, time to do πούς, ποδός, ὁ—foot

ὁρμή, ῆς, ἡ—rapid motion forwards (in various senses) ὤ—exclamation expressing surprise, joy, or pain, “oh” ἔμβα (aor. imp.) > ἐμβαίνω—go forward, go quickly; step out κατακλαίω—act. and middle, lament, wail loudly ἰώ—exclamation used in invoking aid; expression of grief or suffering 130: οἶκος, ου, ὁ—house τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stouthearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable σύγγονος, ον = συγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related ἀλητεύω—wander, roam οἰκτρός, ά, όν—pitiable, lamentable; weeping piteously, piteous θάλαμος, ου, ὁ—inner room; women’s room; bridechamber; house λιπών > λείπω πατρῷος, α, ον/ος, ον—of or from one’s father, coming or inherited from him; hereditary, ancestral (of customs, institutions, etc.) συμφορά, ᾶς, ἡ—event, chance event; misfortune ἄλγιστος, η, ον—most/very painful, grievous ἀδελφή, ῆς, ἡ—sister 135: ἔλθοις (aor. opt.) > ἔρχομαι πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering μέλεος, α, ον—unhappy, miserable λυτήρ, ῆρος, ὁ—deliverer αἷμα, ατος, τό—blood αἴσχιστος, η, ον (sup. of αἰσχρός, ά, όν)—(most, very) ugly, shameful, base ἐπίκουρος, ου, ὁ—helper, ally; as adj., helping aiding Ἄργος, ους, τό κέλσας > κέλλω—drive (a ship) to shore; come to shore, into harbor πούς, ποδός, ὁ—foot ἀλήτης, ου, ὁ—wanderer; as adj., wandering 140: θές (aor. imp.) > τίθημι τεῦχος, ους, τό—tool; container; pl., weapons, armor κάρα, τό—head ἑλοῦσα > αἱρέω—grasp, take; capture ἵνα—in order that; where

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γόος, ου, ὁ—weeping, wailing νύχιος, α, ον—of the night, at night; dark ἐπορθοβοήσω (aor. subj.) > ἐπορθοβοάω—lift up a cry ἰαχή, ῆς, ἡ—cry, shout, either of joy or grief ἀοιδή, ῆς, ἡ (= Attic ᾠδή)—song μέλος, ους, τό—song; tune; melody Ἀίδας, α (Doric and poetic) = ᾍδης or ᾅδης, ου— Hades; the underworld; death ἐννέπω/ἐνέπω—tell, speak, utter γόος, ου, ὁ—weeping, wailing 145: ἀεί/αἰεί—ever, always ἦμαρ, ἤματος, τό—day λείβω—pour a libation; pour out; weep κατατέμνω—cut up; lacerate ὄνυξ, υχος, ὁ—claw; nail δέρη, ης, ἡ—neck, throat χείρ, χειρός, ἡ—hand; hand and arm, arm κάρα, τό—head κούριμος, η, ον—with hair cut short; cut off (of hair) τιθεμένη (pres. middle part.) > τίθημι 150: ἒ ἔ—exclamation of pain or grief δρύπτω—tear, strip κάρα, τό—head οἷος, α, ον—relat. adj., of what sort, such as; neut. as adv., in which way, as; in main clauses as exclam., what! what sort of! κύκνος, ου, ὁ—swan ἠχέτης, ου, ὁ—as adj., clear-sounding, musical, shrill ποτάμιος, α, ον or ος, ον—of or from a river χεῦμα, ατος, τό—something poured out, stream φίλτατος, η, ον (sup. of φίλος, η, ον)—dearest, nearest and dearest

ὀλομένον > ὄλλυμι—act., destroy, kill; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead δόλιος, α, ον—crafty, deceitful, treacherous βρόχος, ου, ὁ—noose, snare 155: ἕρκος, ους, τό—fence; wall; defense; net ὥς—in this way, so ἄθλιος, α, ον—struggling, unhappy, wretched; pitiful, poor κατακλαίω—act. and middle, lament, wail loudly λουτρόν, οῦ, τό—bath; bathing-place; pl., water for washing; libation πανύστατος, η, ον—very last ὑδρανάμενον > ὑδραίνω—act., sprinkle/pour water; wash; middle, wash oneself χρώς, χρωτός/χροός, ὁ—skin, flesh; body κοίτη, ης, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; going to bed, sleep οἰκτρότατος, η, ον—(most) pitiable, lamentable ἰώ—exclam., invoking a god; expressing grief 160: πικρός, ά, όν—pointed, sharp; bitter πέλεκυς, εως, ὁ—axe τομή, ῆς, ἡ—cutting, cleaving βουλή, ῆς, ἡ—counsel, plan; decision μίτρα, ας, ἡ—headband, ribbon οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not στέφανος, ου, ὁ—crown, wreath ξίφος, ους, τό—sword ἀμφίτομος, ον—cutting on both sides, two-edged λυγρός, ά, όν—murderous, destructive; mournful 165: λώβή, ῆς, ἡ—outrage, dishonor θεμένη (aor. middle part.) > τίθημι δόλιος, α, ον—crafty, deceitful, treacherous ἔσχεν > ἔχω ἀκοίτης, ου, ὁ—bed-partner; husband

112-24. The first part of the song, in 112-4, is built on anapaests; the underlying rhythm is ⏑⏑‒. (‒‒ and ‒⏑⏑ can be substituted for ⏑⏑‒.) As with the trimeter, the rules for putting the elements together are not based simply on repeating the same rhythm. See the introduction to S. 86-120.) Succeeding periods, 115-9 and 120-4, are built around the choriamb, ‒⏑⏑‒. Most lines take the form ‒×‒⏑⏑‒⏑‒ or, at the end of the period, ‒×‒⏑⏑‒‒; the end of a period can be marked by a shortened form of the same rhythmical phrase, which gives a sense of closure. 112-3. Electra moves from carrying water from the spring straight into a monody reminiscent of lament. (See the next note.) The opening involves imperatives that appear to be self-addressed. There are more imperatives later in the song; one seems to be addressed to a silent extra. Compare 125, 140, and 150. 112—ὤ. An interjection or exclamation, like ἰώ μοί μοι (114, 129; compare 159), φεῦ φεῦ (120), and ἒ ἔ (150). Semi-articulate cries, often repeated, suit a lament. Tragedy has a rich vocabulary of these, and though they are hard to find equivalents for in English, they should be given due emotional weight in imagination. Here, the actor is calling to mind, in a stylized way, real lamentation, just as the dance probably mimed the formal gestures of mourning.



Reading Five: Euripides, Lines 112-66 97

The song both describes Electra’s continuing state of mourning—note the density of words that name it, as well as the concrete details—and is emotionally evocative for the audience. On the other hand, lament was performed with others, often through call and response, and in a funeral ritual for someone recently dead, and present; there is a corpse around which the ritual centers. Moreover, as we know from 54-63, Electra has her own axe to grind; she also laments her father to make clear Aegisthus’ hybris and Clytemnestra’s mistreatment of her. —ὁρμάν. Remember to keep an eye out for underlined long alphas, equivalent to “normal” (Attic) etas. Pay particular attention to first-declension endings. 113—ἔμβα, ἔμβα. Repetitions like this are also characteristic of laments, judging from other laments in tragedy. Other forms of repetition in 130 and 160-1. 114— ἰώ μοί μοι. ἰώ is used a moments of excitement and high emotion. It is common in tragedy (understandably), fairly common in comedy, not found in Attic prose. (The use of μοι should make intuitive sense by now.) 115—ἐγενόμαν Ἀγαμέμνονος. “born of/from Agamemnon” 117—στυγνά. This adjective, like στυγερός, ά, όν (121), is poetic. Other poetic words in this first half of the monody, in addition to a fair number of words common enough to be marked as such the vocabulary list: κίκλησκω (118); πολιήτης, ου, ο̒ (119); ζόη, ης, ἡ (121); πολύδακρυς, υος, ὁ/ἡ (126); ἀλητεύω (131); λυτήρ, ῆρος, ὁ (136); κέλλω (139); and ἀλήτης, ου, ὁ (139). —Τυνδάρεω. Genitive of a name declined like Attic νεώς, νεώ. See Smyth, 237-8. —κόρα. The non-lyric form is κόρη, in spite of the general rule in Attic about long α after ε, ι, ρ. See p. 63. 120-1. This kind of genitive, indicating a cause, can be used after verbs describing an emotion or after exclamatory cries like φεῦ. See Smyth, 1405 and 1407 and compare the dative of cause, Smyth, 1517, which can be used in a similar way. φεῦ occurs a few times in comedy to express unhappiness, more often to express surprise or admiration. It is very common as an expression of grief in tragedy. We could come up with a translation, “Alas for my …” But that will probably sound stilted. Compare the note to 112. 122-4. Address to the dead is a feature of lament, like describing the situation in which the mourner has been left. Compare 143 ff. and 155 ff. 122—ὦ πάτερ, σὺ δ’. The δέ is postponed until after the vocative, which is rare except in serious poetry. —ἐν Ἀίδα. “In (the house of) Hades.” This is a Doric genitive, suitable for a choral passage. The stem is also uncontracted; compare the Attic ᾍδης (= ᾅδης), ου. (After a capital letter, an accent on the second vowel of what appears to be an initial diphthong means the two sounds are actually pronounced separately. Sometimes a double dot (“diaeresis”) indicates this kind of pronunciation, as in Ἀΐδα.) 123—σφαγαῖς. For the plural, see on S. 11. The dative seems to be causal, common with verbs expressing emotion—see on 120-1—but occurring with other verbs as well. Compare S. 42, with note, and 149. 124—Αἰγίσθου τ’. See note to 5. —Ἀγάμεμνον. Vocative. See note to 54. 125—τὸν αὐτὸν … γόον. Introduces the “same lament,” with a repeated opening but also with variation and expansion. (On the use of αὐτός, see note to S. 36.) 126—πολύδακρυν ἁδονάν. Poetic use of the adjective; the noun implied by the adjective

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might have been expected as a genitive: “the pleasure of many tears.” (Compare note to 92.) This kind of dense noun-phrase is especially common with compound adjectives. 130-1. Repeated questions like this are characteristic of tragic laments. The most natural way to take the verb with two accusatives is, “To what city, to what house do you wander?” I.e., they would be accusatives indicating the goal/end of motion. (See 88, with note.) 132-4. The phrasing is a bit confusing at first. Some points to notice: 1) the manuscript’s πατρῴαις (133) has been emended—see note to 1—to a masculine form, because θαλάμοις seems to need further specification, and perhaps because of a sense that the two prepositional phrases should be balanced in length; 2) there are two ideas knotted up here, that she has been left behind and that she is to be pitied in (or for?) her terrible misfortunes (assuming that the manuscript is not right to talk about her father’s terrible misfortune); 3) the adjective οἰκτράν seems to be given weight because it leads off this long participial phrase, and it is given more weight by its delayed noun and the explanatory prepositional phrase at the end. An approximation: “I am to be pitied, whom you left in our ancestral halls, your sister (pitiable) in [or “because of”] grievous misfortunes.” 133-4—ἐπὶ συμφοραῖς ἀλγίσταισιν. ἐπί with the dative can indicate accompanying circumstances, as in 163. That is probably the sense here, though it may be that it indicates a cause: she is to be pitied for her misfortunes. At least, with verbs of emotion this is possible. (Compare note to 123 and Smyth, 1518.) In any case, cause and circumstance are hard to separate. 135—ἔλθοις. Remember that the optative without ἄν and in a main clause expresses a wish. See Smyth, 1814 ff. (Note that the poets occasionally use a potential optative without an ἄν.) 137—ὦ Ζεῦ, Ζεῦ. Vocative, clearly. For the forms of the other cases, see Smyth, 285.12. —πατρί θ’. See note to 5. 137-8—αἱμάτων αἰσχίστων ἐπίκουρος. The plural αἵματα is sometimes said to refer to “streams of blood,” usually from more than one person. Here the reference is to Agamemnon only, which seems to make it a poetic plural, like the plural of other nouns referring to his murder. See note to S. 11. The adjective is taken with the genitive, in the sense, “helping because of,” which amounts to saying “as an avenger of.” 138-9—Ἄργει. The dative shows the place where he ends up after “putting ashore.” A poetic dative indicating location. See note to S. 55. 140—θές. It seems hard to take this imperative, like the others in the song—see note to 112-3—as self-addressed, especially given the ἐμᾶς; a silent extra has been imagined at this point. 143. The crosses (cruces) indicate a part of the text, garbled in transmission, that the editor thinks is hard to make sense of but not so far successfully emended—compare 1. Here the string of nouns could be read as a list of words describing the lament and either taken with the preceding or following verb. But that seems doubtful. Another reason for doubting the text is the lack of responsion in the corresponding line(s) of the antistrophe (160), where another corrupt line (161) follows immediately after. 144—κατὰ γᾶς. “down through the earth” 145—ἀεὶ τὸ κατ’ ἦμαρ. ἀεί can imply repetition, not simply continuity; the next adverbial phrase (which includes the article) makes this clear: “repeatedly, day after day.” 146-9—μὲν … τε. μέν … δέ often implies not a clear contrast but simple coordination of



Reading Five: Euripides, Lines 112-66 99

two ideas. So, especially in poetry, you can get a μέν … τε (or μέν … καί). 146-7—κατὰ … τεμνομένα. The separation of a prepositional prefix from its verb is possible in poetry (“tmesis”). 146—λείβομαι. She is “poured out,” “dissolved” by her weeping. —φίλαν. This word can indicate anything in the personal sphere; it can mean “dear” or indicate possession, in poetry. 147—ὄνυχι. Poetic use of the singular for the plural of a body part. Compare on 9. 149—θανάτῳ σῷ. Causal dative. See note to 123. 150—ἒ ἔ, δρύπτε κάρα. The reference is to tearing the hair and scratching the scalp. Like scratching the cheeks and throat and beating the head (146-9), actions that are part of ritualized mourning. Note, too, the quasi-ritual cries; compare note to 112. 151—οἷα δέ τις κύκνος … A simile is introduced comparing her lament to the song of a swan. (Compare 155 ff.) Swan-lore in ancient literature is diverse, but the basic idea here seems to be that that a swan’s song can be loud and mournful. 152—ποταμίοις παρὰ χεύμασιν. Another elevated periphrasis for “river” involving a poetic plural. Compare 1 and 56, with notes. 155-8. Continuing the sentence across stanzas is unusual. When the sentence does continue, the sense is almost always complete grammatically; it could stand on its own without the addition. On the other hand, the additional ideas tacked on with a dependent clause or phrase can add significant content. Here, the story of the murder begins in the new stanza. 155—ὥς. Picks up the οἶα and brings in the point of the comparison. 157. As in Aeschylus, the murder takes place while Agamemnon is in his bath. Agamemnon is washing himself—the participle is a middle—but the language seems to refer to the washing and laying out of a corpse (λουτρὰ πανύστατα), which he is both denied and, in a perverse form, given before his time. —χροΐ. A poetic word with two sets of forms. See Smyth, 285.29. 158—κοίτᾳ. The meaning here is extended to mean “the sleep of death,” which perhaps implies both the normal act of going to bed and the final laying out of a corpse. 160-1. This passage starts off clearly enough. The emotional cry of Electra—ἰώ μοι ἰώ μοι—is explained by the genitive that follows. (See note to 120-1.) But 161 is corrupt and does not respond to 144. It is hard to get a sense through the textual static of what it refers to. One suggestion, not printed here, is to emend as: πικρᾶς δ’ ἐς Τροΐαν ὁδίου βουλᾶς. Combined with the preceding exclamation this would amount to, “Alas for the bitter plan formed on the road to Troy!” —πικρᾶς … πικρᾶς. “Anaphora”—see Smyth, 3010— is also characteristic of lament. Compare 113, with note. 160—πελέκεως. In both Euripides and Sophocles the murder weapon is an axe, though there is some doubt about the weapon used in Aeschylus’ version. More important is the question of how the responsibility for the killing is described. See 9-10, 86-7, and the note to 164-5 (and compare S. 97-9). 162-3—οὐ μίτραισι … οὐδ’ ἐπὶ στεφάνοις. A phrase that needs unpacking: 1) ribbons and wreaths were associated with military and athletic victors; 2) ἐπί can be understood with both nouns, even though it only appears with the second, which is possible in lyric and tragedy; 3) ἐπί with the dative indicates accompanying circumstances. (Compare note to 133-4.)

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164-5. The word order, syntax, and sequence of thought are difficult. The passage, from at least 162 on, focuses on Clytemnestra’s actions against her husband. However, since we know (9-10 and 86-7) that Aegisthus and Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon, and since the axe seems to have been the murder weapon (160-1), this reference to a sword of Aegisthus— see next note—and the λυγρὰν λώβαν inflicted with it, must refer to Aegisthus’ mutilation of the corpse after the murder. What is described is a particular, and horrific, kind of mutilation. In Sophocles (444-5) and Aeschylus (Libation Bearers, 439), the ritual process of μασχαλισμός is clearly referred to; the victim’s extremities were cut off, strung together, and tied around the neck and under the armpits. The aim was to disable the spirit of the dead man, so as to obviate revenge. All of which helps in developing Aegisthus’ character. (Compare note to 31-5.) —ξίφεσι δ’ ἀμφιτόμοις λυγρὰν Αἰγίσθου λώβαν θεμένα. The word order is interlaced; the genitive tells us whose sword it is, and introduces the agent doing the mutilation. (ξίφεσι is a poetic plural of a noun with a concrete reference; see pp. 20-1.)

Sophocles: Introduction for the Anapaestic Section and for the Following Parodos The performance of Electra’s solo: recited anapaests You will again read a solo by the protagonist (86-120). The reading will continue into the first strophe and antistrophe of a parodos/amoibaion (121-52) that again follows. (The rest of that parodos, up to 250, can be read in English.) The structure of this part of Sophocles’ play is very similar to the corresponding part of Euripides’, and it allows comparisons as to how the initial characterization of the protagonist is related to the action and themes of each play. Or, to put it another way, the development of this Electra’s characterization, which begins here, will be tied to a divergent presentation of the myth. The audience expected to see not just differences in characterization but, more generally, new ways to connect, both emotionally and intellectually, with “a story” they already knew, with a myth that perpetuated itself through unique retellings. (See pp. 55-6.) We will return to these larger questions below. An important preliminary question is the performance of Electra’s solo. When Electra first enters from the skene, she does not sing; instead, accompanied by an aulos player, she chants or recites. The shift into a musical mode can again only be imagined, but it is significant. In general terms, song allows a compelling and more evocative enactment than is possible in dialogue. This was noticeable in Euripides, in both monody and amoibaion. Here, a different shift in the mode of performance has the same kind of effect: to begin with the obvious, this Electra’s self-presentation is also emotional. More interesting is the way in which that emotion is prepared for in the prologue; the contrast with Orestes and his helpers, who are calculating and prudent and who present themselves in dialogue, is built into this segment of the play through a sequence not just of scenes but of shifting forms of performance. A shift into music, as often, is tied to a more emotional form of expression. This makes intuitive sense and the emotional effect of music, in connection with poetry, seems to have been felt strongly by the original audience.42 It is true that we are not sure exactly how anapaestic chanting/recitation differed from spoken delivery in dialogue, but we know that it was distinct and can tell it is used here because of the form of the meter she uses, the variety of anapaests that show up at this point in our text. The usual building block is a metron, a pair of anapaests; in modern texts, metra are themselves usually grouped in pairs. What makes the anapaestic metron distinct, to begin with, is a word break in the middle of the paired metra, a “dimeter”: ⏑⏑‒⏑⏑‒ ⁝ ⏑⏑‒⏑⏑‒. In chanted/recited anapaests this break is normal, though sometimes it comes after the next short syllable (as in 94 and 106). There is no anceps syllable built into the metron, as in an iambic metron—see p. 4. But there is the freedom, within limits, to substitute either ‒‒ (a spondee) or ‒⏑⏑ (a dactyl) for ⏑⏑‒. In theory, then, the form of this 42 The connection between music and strong emotional effects (of various kinds) is explicitly discussed in classical texts. In Plato and Aristotle, in particular, music and poetry in combination are described as emotionally seductive. See West, 1992, 247-53 (and compare pp. xxi-xxii).

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basic unit, a dimeter, changes to: ⏔⏕⏔⏕ ⁝ ⏔⏕⏔⏕. ⏔ indicates the substitution of a long for two shorts (in spondees or dactyls), ⏕ the substitution of two shorts for a long (in dactyls). In practice, there are restrictions on this freedom of substitution: • ‒⏑⏑‒‒ or ‒⏑⏑‒⏑⏑ are common, other combinations rare. (See 86, 91, 96, 1079, 111-2, 115, and 118-9; all the uses of dactyls in this passage fit these two patterns.) • It is not common to use a dimeter of the form ‒‒‒‒ ⁝ ‒‒‒‒. • A sequence of four short syllables is avoided. Anapaestic sequences, or “runs,” are built mostly from dimeters. But dimeters are not really equivalent to lines, like trimeters. In spite of the fact that each dimeter looks like a closed structure on the page, the whole sequence of dimeters is treated as a metrical period. Within a run of anapaests a short syllable at the end of the dimeter can be lengthened only when two or more consonants are involved. Moreover, hiatus, the meeting of vowels between dimeters is not allowed. (Compare p. 5, on the trimeter, and p. 86 on metrical periods.) Nor are anapaestic runs comparable to stanzas. The close of a run is often marked by a special shortened form of the dimeter (a “paroemiac”): ⏔⏕⏔‒ ⁝ ⏑⏑‒‒. This clearly marks the end of the metrical sequence. (Compare note to E. 112-24 and see 102 and 120 and the discussion below.) But there does not have to be responsion. One reason for explaining the form taken by recited anapaests in so much detail is to allow an explanation of what sung anapaests look like. That, in turn, will help in appreciating what is going on when Sophocles’ Electra comes out for her solo. Some of the most obvious features of sung anapaests, as we can see from our texts, are the following: • The use of Doric coloring for the language. In this solo there is only one possible instance of a form with a long Doric α, at 90. • The use of more than one shortened dimeter, as at 88-89 and 105-6. • The use of ‒‒‒‒ ⁝ ‒‒‒‒, or ‒‒‒‒ ⁝ ‒‒‒, as at 88-89 and 105. • Not observing the word break in the middle of the dimeter, as in 89-90 and 105. It is clear that all the anomalies are concentrated in four lines. Whether Electra at these points broke into song and then lapsed back into chanting/recitation is unclear. It seems possible that she did; both of these passages, it could be argued, occur at moments of even more intense self-expression. The whole passage, moreover, is on its way to becoming song, and its shape is analogous to strophic construction. It almost falls into two halves; there is a missing metron in 116, but otherwise the construction is symmetrical, demarcated neatly by 102 and 120, which take the form of the shortened dimeter described above. (Compare note to 105-6.) The re-presentation of myth: character in relation to action and theme Whether there were some bits of song in Electra’s anapaests or not, we can see a second significant shift, in the form of the performance and in its focus, when the Chorus enters for the amoibaion. In the anapaestic section, Electra carries through and articulates the distress signaled by the offstage cry that announces her entry (77). And, of course, she begins her self-presentation as a character, which is continued in the amoibaion. That will become clearer in reading and reflecting on the text. The differences between this Electra and Euripides’ also become clearer—see below. What is harder to assess is the effect of the second shift in the form of performance, after the Chorus enters and the sung dialogue is carried through. The shift here is not defined by a simple contrast, as between the anapaests and



Sophocles: Introduction for the Anapaestic Section and for the Following Parodos 103

the preceding dialogue; in both anapaests and amoibaion there is music, in both (perhaps) dance in the orchestra, in both vivid expression of emotion. But there is a change in how emotions are expressed, which we can sense, though it is hard to define exactly. Perhaps you could say that the anapaests, which are not sung, express the daily grind of her grief, already unusually painful and hard even for this Electra to sustain. With the shift into song and the Doricized choral language that goes with it, the performance and Electra’s self-expression are ratcheted up still further emotionally. At the same time, the character, and the character of her emotions, are now brought into focus by a particular question: why does she insist on the continual expression of her grief? What allows all this is her interaction with the Chorus. To begin with, it helps define her character, as in Euripides. This time the women are older than the Electra, referred to as γυναῖκες (254) and addressing her as παῖ (121 and 251) and τέκνον (154 and 174). The Chorus is on her side, believing that what has been happening is horrifying and unjust (122-7 and 193-200). It feels for her (129-36) and says that it is giving her advice like a μήτηρ she can trust (233-5). The Chorus does not agree with Electra, however, or condone her behavior: it says that her continual grief is pointless (138-43); by implication, that it is perhaps self-indulgent (153-9); and that it is certainly self-defeating, not to say self-destructive (213-20). Electra accepts the Chorus’ sympathy, acknowledges its good will, and does not budge an inch. In fact, she becomes even more insistent, and more lyrical, about the injustice against Agamemnon, her sense of humiliation and mistreatment, and, above all, her determination to continue voicing her grief, whether it makes sense to the Chorus or not. Sophocles’ Electra, then, is defined not just by her isolation and her sense that her life is on hold, like Euripides’ protagonist, but by her unbendable opposition. And this argument with older women she can trust both allows us a vivid evocation of her horrible situation (in a way that recalls Euripides’ amoibaion) and develops further a distinctive and unforgettable character. No matter how fascinating and compelling this character becomes, though, it is essential to consider the reasons for constructing her as she is and for giving her this kind of expressiveness. It is true that characters in tragedy, certainly this Electra, have depth, that we can empathize with them, be startled by them, be repelled, and so forth. That is essential to our experience of the play. But because we assist imaginatively in creating the character who appears on a stage (or a page), it is possible to think about the character and the play she lives in as if we assumed there were a “real” character and that the character we imagine so vividly is based on her. For example, it is possible to get stuck on the question of how to judge the character’s behavior, whether it is “right” or “wrong,” and to limit our thinking or conversation to that point. But even if our thinking is not constrained by this (implicit) biographical fallacy, we may still fail to think carefully enough about the characters as we find them at home in their particular tragic worlds. The point for the tragedian and his audience was neither to create, as an end in itself, an interesting personality nor to give a psychological portrait, as in a modern novel, but to create a character who worked as part of the machinery of this presentation of tragic myth. We need to think how a tragic character fits in the realization of a myth in this particular play. The question at hand is: why is this Electra so oppositional, so far beyond stubborn? How does that suit, or enable, the plot and themes of the play that grows up around her? Just listing the everyday realities of Electra’s situation will help us see why this

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character makes sense in Sophocles’ play, and why it makes sense as a setting for the character. She is kept at home so that she comes into daily conflict, it seems, with both her mother and Aegisthus. She has, it will turn out, a much more reasonable, if less courageous, sister, Chrysothemis, with whom she can also butt heads. She is deprived of marriage, of status, of respectful treatment, etc. But she does not just brood on these problems, she seems to ask for them, to ensure that they continue, and to make it possible for them to get worse. Moreover, as the plot develops Electra will have to make the same kinds of choices repeatedly. Because she is kept in the dark for so long about Orestes’ return and about his plan, and because she is herself deceived by the false report of his death, she is not simply left in her initial oppositional state; she has to choose repeatedly, during arguments with the Chorus, with her sister, and with Clytemnestra, to dig in emotionally. And she will choose to act on her own to take revenge after she thinks Orestes is dead. In sum, Sophocles’ protagonist has to respond to the myth as Sophocles constructs it in the form of situation and plot. What becomes interesting about the character, then, is precisely her responses to this version of the myth. As a result, the character becomes a locus for the questions the audience might ask about the themes of the play. Often those questions will concern roles, both in the family and in the larger community, as well as the values the characters live by, and sometimes die for. To take one not particularly original example, for the sake of illustration: what is the relationship between grief and a sense of grievance? And how does a sense of personal injury lead to violence, to revenge, and to further disruption for the family and for the community? Revenge is often a theme in tragedy, as is the connected problem of familial and communal damage. But in this play a combination of long-nourished resentment and self-justification becomes overwhelming, so much so that self-delusion, even narcissism, become almost inescapable. The psychology of grievance and revenge, in other words, is a focus in this play, a theme that for the original audience would have resonated emotionally, both because those feelings were understandable, and seductive, and because they were clearly a threat to the stability of the community. That area of thematic questioning is clearly related to another recurring problem in tragedy: to what extent are the character’s own motives opaque to herself, and to what extent can she be blinded by her own rhetoric? The connections among accusation, self-justification, and self-delusion are clearly relevant to understanding Clytemnestra but also, I would argue, to Electra as well. Clearly, this is now interpretation, not description. But the point to be illustrated was the connection between characterization and theme. No matter where interpretation leads, and no matter where more detailed argument and closer reading of the text might take this line of thought or any other, keep in mind that the character is built into the machinery of this presentation of the myth. That is why she and her responses to the situation become more than interesting to think about. The character’s responses become absorbing because the play is built to compel its own responses, both intellectually and emotionally, to a myth that was worth responding to yet again.

Reading Six: Sophocles, Lines 86-152 Poetic vocabulary: lament and suffering (yet again); light, day, the cosmos, etc. The Chorus will use the verb στενάχω, “groan,” “wail,” etc., a clearly poetic variant on the (usually) poetic στένω. (See note to E. 47.) And it will use the noun ἄλγος, εος, τό to refer to her pain and grief. Later, Electra will use the word πῆμα, ατος, τό, “misery,” “calamity,” to refer to her sufferings (258). Both are poetic and very common in tragedy. When she first appears (54-9), Euripides’ Electra sends out her lamentation, her γόοι, to the sky, the αἰθήρ. The situation of lament in a cosmic frame is even more evident in the first appearance of this Electra, as is the use of expressive poetic vocabulary in doing so. She uses: φάος, εος, τό, “light,” “daylight,” etc. (= Att. φῶς, φωτός, τό) and ἦμαρ, ἤματος, τό, “day.” In a similar form of self-expression (259), she will later juxtapose ἦμαρ with a poetic synonym for “night,” εὐφρόνη, ης, ἡ. Note, too, the references to Hades, the underworld; in the anapaests, Electra uses an Attic prose form, ᾍδης (= ᾅδης), ου; in the amoibaion following, the Chorus uses the uncontracted Doric/lyric form, Ἀίδας, α. Further forms to review Because of the scarcity of articles in the language of these readings and the density of noun phrases, it pays to be even more careful with noun and adjective endings, especially with third declension forms, which are more various. • Check the variety of endings for third declension stems ending in ι or υ. Refer to Smyth, 268. • Remind yourself about how nouns like χάρις work. See Smyth, 257. • Review the endings for adjectives ending in -ης, -ες, and make sure that adjectives ending in -ων, -ον make sense. See Smyth, 292-3.

ΗΛΕΚΤΡΑ ὦ φάος ἁγνὸν καὶ γῆς ἰσόμοιρ’ ἀήρ, ὥς μοι πολλὰς μὲν θρήνων ᾠδάς, πολλὰς δ’ ἀντήρεις ᾔσθου στέρνων πλαγὰς αἱμασσομένων, ὁπόταν δνοφερὰ νὺξ ὑπολειφθῇ· τὰ δὲ παννυχίδων κήδη στυγεραὶ ξυνίσασ’ εὐναὶ μογερῶν οἴκων, ὅσα τὸν δύστηνον ἐμὸν θρηνῶ 105

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πατέρ’, ὃν κατὰ μὲν βάρβαρον αἶαν φοίνιος Ἄρης οὐκ ἐξένισεν, μήτηρ δ’ ἡμὴ χὠ κοινολεχὴς Αἴγισθος ὅπως δρῦν ὑλοτόμοι σχίζουσι κάρα φονίῳ πελέκει. κοὐδεὶς τούτων οἶκτος ἀπ’ ἄλλης ἢ ˀμοῦ φέρεται, σοῦ, πάτερ, οὕτως αἰκῶς οἰκτρῶς τε θανόντος. ἀλλ’ οὐ μὲν δὴ λήξω θρήνων στυγερῶν τε γόων, ἔστ’ ἂν παμφεγγεῖς ἄστρων ῥιπάς, λεύσσω δὲ τόδ’ ἦμαρ, μὴ οὐ τεκνολέτειρ’ ὥς τις ἀηδὼν ἐπὶ κωκυτῷ τῶνδε πατρῴων πρὸ θυρῶν ἠχὼ πᾶσι προφωνεῖν. ὦ δῶμ’ Ἀίδου καὶ Περσεφόνης, ὦ χθόνι’ Ἑρμῆ καὶ πότνι’ Ἀρά, σεμναί τε θεῶν παῖδες Ἐρινύες, αἳ τοὺς ἀδίκως θνῄσκοντας ὁρᾶθ’, αἳ τοὺς εὐνὰς ὑποκλεπτομένους, ἔλθετ’, ἀρήξατε, τείσασθε πατρὸς φόνον ἡμετέρου, καί μοι τὸν ἐμὸν πέμψατ’ ἀδελφόν. μούνη γὰρ ἄγειν οὐκέτι σωκῶ λύπης ἀντίρροπον ἄχθος.

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ΧΟΡΟΣ ὦ παῖ παῖ δυστανοτάτας Ἠλέκτρα ματρός, τίν’ ἀεὶ λάσκεις ὧδ’ ἀκόρεστον οἰμωγὰν τὸν πάλαι ἐκ δολερᾶς ἀθεώτατα ματρὸς ἁλόντ’ ἀπάταις Ἀγαμέμνονα κακᾷ τε χειρὶ πρόδοτον; ὣς ὁ τάδε πορὼν

Strophe A

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Reading Six: Sophocles, Lines 86-152 107

ὄλοιτ’, εἴ μοι θέμις τάδ’ αὐδᾶν. Ηλ. ὦ γενέθλα γενναίων, ἥκετ’ ἐμῶν καμάτων παραμύθιον· 130 οἶδά τε καὶ ξυνίημι τάδ’, οὔ τί με φυγγάνει, οὐδ’ ἐθέλω προλιπεῖν τόδε, μὴ οὐ τὸν ἐμὸν στενάχειν πατέρ’ ἄθλιον. ἀλλ’ ὦ παντοίας φιλότητος ἀμειβόμεναι χάριν, ἐᾶτέ μ’ ὧδ’ ἀλύειν, 135 αἰαῖ, ἱκνοῦμαι. Χο. ἀλλ’ οὔτοι τόν γ’ ἐξ Ἀίδα παγκοίνου λίμνας πατέρ’ ἀνστάσεις οὔτε γόοισιν, οὐ λιταῖς· ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ τῶν μετρίων ἐπ’ ἀμήχανον ἄλγος ἀεὶ στενάχουσα διόλλυσαι, ἐν οἷς ἀνάλυσίς ἐστιν οὐδεμία κακῶν. τί μοι τῶν δυσφόρων ἐφίῃ; Ηλ. νήπιος ὃς τῶν οἰκτρῶς οἰχομένων γονέων ἐπιλάθεται. ἀλλ’ ἐμέ γ’ ἁ στονόεσσ’ ἄραρεν φρένας, ἃ Ἴτυν αἰὲν Ἴτυν ὀλοφύρεται, ὄρνις ἀτυζομένα, Διὸς ἄγγελος. ἰὼ παντλάμων Νιόβα, σὲ δ’ ἔγωγε νέμω θεόν, ἅτ’ ἐν τάφῳ πετραίῳ, αἰαῖ, δακρύεις. φάος, εος, τό (= Attic φῶς, φωτός, τό)—light; daylight; metaph., deliverance, victory, happiness, etc. ἁγνός, ή, όν—pure, chaste, holy ἰσόμοιρος, ον—sharing equally ἀήρ, ἀέρος, ὁ—lower air (opposed to αἰθήρ); air θρῆνος, ου, ὁ—dirge, lament ᾠδή, ῆς, ἡ (Attic, = ἀοιδή)—song ἀντήρης, ες—set over against, opposite ᾔσθου > αἰσθάνομαι—perceive, see, hear; understand, learn 90: στέρνον, ου, τό—breast, chest πληγή, ῆς, ἡ—blow, stroke αἱμάττω—make bloody, stain with blood δνοφερός, ά, όν—dark, murky νύξ, νυκτός, ἡ—night

Antistrophe A

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ὑπολειφθῇ (aor. pass. subj.) > ὑπολείπω—leave remaining, fail, fall short; pass., be left behind, fail, end παννυχίς, ίδος, ἡ—night festival; vigil κῆδος, ους, τό—concern, anxiety, grief στυγερός, ά, όν—hated, loathed; hateful, wretched σύνοιδα—know something about; be a witness for/against; share the knowledge of εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; lair, nest; grave μογερός, ά, όν—toiling, distressed, wretched; toilsome, grievous οἶκος, ου, ὁ—house ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many δύστηνος, ον—wretched, unfortunate; wretched, in moral sense θρηνέω—sing a dirge, lament

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95: βάρβαρος, ον—barbarous, non-Greek αἶα, ας, ἡ—land, country; earth φοίνιος/φόνιος, α, ον—of or like blood; bloody; murderous Ἄρης, Ἄρεως, ὁ—Ares; war, slaughter ἐξένισεν (aor.) > ξενίζω—receive or entertain as a guest; give a guest gifts κοινολεχής, ές—bed-partner, lover ὅπως—how, as; in order that δρῦς, δρυός, ἡ—tree; oak ὑλοτόμος, ον—adj., cutting wood; as noun, woodcutter σχίζω—split; divide, separate φοίνιος/φόνιος, α, ον—of or like blood; bloody; murderous πέλεκυς, εως, ὁ—axe 100: οἶκτος, ου, ὁ—pity, compassion; lamentation, wailing φέρω—bring as tribute, or what is due αἰκῶς—in an unseemly way, shamefully οἰκτρῶς—pitiably, lamentably θανόντος > θνῄσκω—die; be killed λήγω—leave off; cease from (with gen.); stop doing (with part.) θρῆνος, ου, ὁ—dirge, lament στυγερός, ά, όν—hated, loathed; hateful, wretched 105: ἔστε—until; while παμφεγγής, ές—all-shining, radiant ἄστρον, ου, τό—star ῥιπή, ῆς, ἡ—swing, force; rushing, movement λεύσσω—look at, see ἦμαρ, ἤματος, τό—day τεκνολέτειρα—child-destroying; having lost one’s young ἀηδών, όνος, ἡ—nightingale κωκυτός, οῦ, ὁ—shrieking, wailing πατρῷος, α, ον/ος, ον—of or from one’s father, coming or inherited from him; hereditary, ancestral (of customs, institutions, etc.) πρό—with gen: in front of; before; rather than; for, on behalf of θύρα, ας, ἡ—door ἠχώ, ἡ—echo; ringing or loud sound προφωνέω—utter, declare (beforehand/before all) 110: δῶμα, δώματος, τό—house ᾍδης (i.e., ᾅδης), ου = Ἀίδας, α (Doric and poetic)—Hades; the underworld; death χθόνιος, α, ον—in, under, beneath the earth; of the underworld Ἑρμῆς, οῦ, ὁ—Hermes πότνια, ἡ—as noun, mistress, queen; as adj., revered, august

Ἀρά, ᾶς, ἡ—prayer; curse; personification of destruction and revenge σεμνός, ή, όν—of gods, revered, holy; of people, dignified, majestic, proud, pompous Ἐρινύς, ύος, ἡ—Fury ἀδικώς—wrongly, unjustly θνῄσκω—die; be killed εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; lair, nest; grave ὑποκλέπτω—take by stealth 115: ἔλθετε > ἔρχομαι ἀρήξατε > ἀρήγω—aid, help, help in war; ward off τείσασθε > τίνω—pay a price/penalty; middle, have a price paid oneself, punish, take revenge ἡμέτερος, α, ον—our ἀδελφός, οῦ, ὁ—brother oὐκέτι—no longer, no further, not now σωκέω—have power or strength 120: λύπη, ης, ἡ—pain, grief ἀντίρροπος, ον—balanced against, compensating for ἄχθος, ους, τό—burden, load; grief δύστηνος, ον—wretched, unfortunate; wretched, in moral sense ἀεί/αἰεί—ever, always λάσκω—rattle, ring, crash; shout, scream; utter aloud ὧδε—in this way, thus, so (very) ἀκόρεστος, ον—insatiate; unceasing οἰμωγή, ῆς, ἡ—loud wailing, lamentation πάλαι—long ago, for a long time; as attribute, of old; before δολερός, ά, όν—deceitful, treacherous ἄθεος, ον—without god, denying the gods; unholy, godless 125: ἁλόντα > ἁλίσκομαι—with passive sense, be taken; caught; be caught doing ἀπάτη, ης, ἡ—trick, fraud, deceit πρόδοτος, ον—betrayed, abandoned ὥς—in this way, so πορών > πόρω—furnish, offer, give ὄλοιτο (aor. opt.) > ὄλλυμι—act., destroy, kill; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead θέμις, ἡ—custom, law; what is right αὐδάω—utter, say; speak to γενέθλη, ης, ἡ /γένεθλον, ου, τό—race, descent; offspring γενναῖος, α, ον—noble, in birth and/or character 130: ἥκω—to have come, be present; be back, return κάματος, ου, ὁ—toil, trouble, pain, weariness παραμύθιον, ου, τό—encouragement; assuagement, abatement of ξυνίημι—hear, be aware of, understand



Reading Six: Sophocles, Lines 86-152 109

φυγγάνω = φεύγω οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not προλιπεῖν > προλείπω—forsake, abandon; omit to do στενάχω = στένω—groan, sigh wail; lament ἄθλιος, α, ον—struggling, unhappy, wretched; pitiful, poor παντοῖος, α, ον—of all kinds φιλότης, ητος, ἡ—friendship, affection ἀμείβω—act., change, exchange; middle: exchange (with one another), do in turn, get in exchange χάρις, ιτος, ἡ—grace, beauty; favor, kindness; gratitude (Att. acc., χάριν) 135: ἐάω—allow; let alone, let be ὧδε—in this way, thus, so (very) ἀλύω—to be disturbed, excited; distraught, beside oneself αἰαῖ—doubled form of αἴ or αἶ—exclamation of surprise or grief ἱκνέομαι—arrive at, come to; come to as a suppliant; supplicate, entreat Ἀίδας, α (Doric and poetic) = ᾍδης (i.e., ᾅδης), ου—Hades; the underworld; death πάγκοινος, ον—common to all λίμνη, ης, ἡ—standing water by a sea or river; marsh ἀνστήσεις > ἀνίστημι—make stand, raise up; intr. forms, rise, rise up λιτή, ῆς, ἡ—prayer, entreaty 140: μέτριος, α, ον—within measure, moderate; tolerable; temperate, restrained ἀμήχανος, ον—without means or resources, helpless; unmanageable, hard, impossible ἄλγος, ους, τό—pain, suffering, grief ἀεί/αἰεί—ever, always στενάχω = στένω—groan, sigh wail; lament

διόλλυσαι (2nd sing. middle) > διόλλυμι—destroy completely; intr. forms, perish utterly ἀνάλυσις, εως, ἡ—loosing, releasing δύσφορος, ον—heavy, hard to bear, grievous ἐφίῃ (2nd sing. middle) > ἐφίημι—act., permit, allow; middle, command, desire 145: νήπιος, α, ον—of an infant/child; childish; blind, without forethought οἰκτρῶς—pitiably, lamentably οἴχομαι—be gone, have departed; be dead; be ruined γονεύς, έως, ὁ—begetter, father; parent; ancestor ἐπιλανθάνομαι/ἐπιλήθομαι—forget (with gen.) στονόεις, εσσα, εν—causing groans or sighs; moaning ἄραρεν (aor.) > ἀραρίσκω-join/fit together; suit, be pleasing φρήν, φρενός, ἡ—sg. or pl., heart, mind Ἴτυς, υος, ὁ—Itys, son of Procne and Tereus. ἀεί/αἰεί—ever, always ὀλοφύρομαι—lament, mourn for ὄρνις, ιθος, ὁ/ἡ—bird; bird of omen, omen ἀτύζομαι—only as pass. part., to be distraught, terrified, bewildered Ζεύς, Διός, ὁ—Zeus 150: ἰώ—exclamation used in invoking aid; expression of grief or suffering παντλήμων, ονος—entirely wretched νέμω—hold, consider as; deal out, allot; act. or middle, possess, live in τάφος, ου, ὁ—burial rites; grave, tomb πετραῖος, α, ον—of rock, among rocks αἰαῖ—doubled form of αἴ or αἶ—exclamation of surprise or grief δακρύω—weep, weep for

86-91. Electra begins by addressing the sun, which indicates that it is dawn. (Compare 17-9 in the Paidagogos’ prologue speech.) But this simple idea is woven into the beginning of a complex self-presentation. Like Euripides’ Electra (54 ff.) she expresses her feelings to the elements, but note the emphasis on repetition of grief and its expression. Euripides’ Electra covers some of the same ground in her monody, but her initial characterization is different. (See above.) 86—φάος. This uncontracted noun is poetic. The contracted Attic form is φῶς, φωτός, τό. (Contrast ᾠδάς in 88.) Some of the contracted forms are easy to confuse with the poetic φώς φωτός, ὁ, “man.” 87—γῆς ἰσόμοιρ’ ἀήρ. The ἀήρ has an ἴσην μοῖραν γῆς. I.e., the adjective and genitive express what a noun plus genitive could. (Compare note to 36.) Granted, the second expression with the noun may also seem opaque. The idea may be that it has an “equal share (to that) of earth” in terms of the space they occupy. —ὥς μοι. Compare 23, with note. 88-91. The idea of repetitive grief is stressed by the repetition of πολλάς (anaphora) and

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by the generalizing condition. (Compare note to 86-91.) Note that the main verb is aorist but will have a perfect sense: “You have (repeatedly) heard …” See the note to 62. This also explains the subjunctive in the conditional clause—see note to 91; the sequence of mood follows the present/perfect frame of reference. See p. 67. 88—θρήνων ᾠδάς. The word in the genitive defines the other noun; it tells you what kind of song you are talking about by defining the general in terms of the specific. You could say either “songs of lamentation” or “songs, that is laments.” Compare p. 23 and E. 15, with note. θρῆνος means “dirge,” “lament.” Often it seems interchangeable with the poetic γόος. (Compare 139 and E. 215, where Electra refers to her γόοι as θρηνήματα.) But insofar as a distinction can be pressed, θρῆνος refers to formal, public lament. Electra will use this word repeatedly to refer to her laments, as will other characters; she wants to grieve publicly, and her laments are too public for many of those around her, especially her mother. 89—ἀντήρεις. The adjective means “against” and helps paint a picture of strong, selfinflicted, blows. 90—στέρνων πλαγὰς αἱμασσομένων. The genitive is objective; it expresses what a direct object would, if the phrase were turned into a sentence of equivalent meaning: “I beat my bloodied breast.” (The noun is a poetic plural.) Compare 3, with note. The participle/adjective shows the result of the action. Compare 18, with note. —πλαγάς. On the Doric alpha in the stem, see p. 102. 91—ὁπόταν … ὑπολειφθῇ. The beginning of a present general condition; ὁπόταν is used like ὅταν. In itself ὁπότε means “whenever” (or “when” in an indirect question). An indefinite relative adverb lends itself to a general condition—compare E. 71 and 105, with notes. 92-9. Electra moves from calling on the sun, as yet again a witness of her grief, back into her nights of mourning, and then into the history of her father’s murder. Her anapaests contrast sharply with the Paidagogos’ prologue speech, in which the present opportunity for action is emphasized and emotion and family history are not. See p. 101. 92-5. The basic structure of the sentence is, “My bed knows (about) my night-long griefs, how much I …” The clause beginning with the ὅσα explains what is known, the ὅσα being adverbial/internal accusative (“how often,” “how many laments”). Compare E. 36 and 64, with notes, and Smyth, 340. 92-3—στυγεραὶ … εὐναὶ μογερῶν οἴκων. The genitive indicates location: “in the house”; her laments take place inside as well as outside (and by night as well as by day). On this kind of genitive, see note to 78. 92—τὰ δὲ παννυχίδων κήδη. The word παννυχίς should refer to staying up all night for a religious celebration. The effect of this phrase is ironic, even oxymoronic. 96—φοίνιος Ἄρης. The adjective is poetic and appears in two metrical forms. (Compare 99.) Usually the α of Ἄρης is short, but it can scan long, as it has to here. —ἐξένισεν. Like παννυχίς, this word, too, may be used ironically. Ares could have “entertained” Agamemnon as his ξένος by giving him the gift of death. On the other hand, the word-choice may imply that this kind of death would have been honorable treatment compared to the welcome he received at home. 97-9. The question of who is responsible for the murder is a matter of emphasis and focus; both participated, whoever did the deed. Compare 34 and 124-6, as well as E. 9-10, 86-7, and 164-5, with notes. 97—ὁ κοινολεχής. This kind of term is usually applied to women, e.g., to Cassandra.



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Referring to Aegisthus in this way may signify his subordinate role. 98—ὅπως. Another way of introducing a comparative clause. Compare E. 70, with note. 99—σχίζουσι. Historic present. See note to E. 9. —κάρα. Accusative. (See Smyth, 285.14 for declension.) Remember that this long relative clause began (95) with a ὅν referring to Agamemnon. So we have two accusatives. In poetry, starting with Homer, you can get two object accusatives with one verb, with one accusative indicating the person and the other a part of the body. 100—τούτων. Either a genitive indicating cause, as often when emotional reactions are being described (note to E. 120-1), or an objective genitive (note to 3). —ἀπ’ ἄλλης. Indirect reference to Clytemnestra? ἀπό is used here where you might expect ὑπό plus the genitive. Compare 70, and note to 12. 101—φέρεται. Seems to mean “offer,” in the sense, “bring what is due/owed.” 101-2—σοῦ … θανόντος. Remember that a genitive absolute can be read like any other circumstantial participle: “ when you …,” “although you …” 103-9. A complicated sentence. Here is a simplified version, to which can be added the remaining clauses and phrases as they come up: οὐ λήξω θρήνων … μὴ οὐ … ἠχὼ πᾶσι προφωνεῖν. This sentence uses negatives and an infinitive following the usual formula for sentences incorporating a verb meaning or implying “to deny,” to refuse,” “to doubt,” “to prevent,” etc. If the main verb is positive, you often get an infinitive with a redundant μή, e.g., oἱ κακοὶ κωλύουσί με μὴ ἀγαθὰ ποιεῖν. (“Evil men prevent me from doing good.”) If the main verb is negatived, you can get two redundant negatives with the infinitive: oἱ κακοὶ οὐ κωλύουσί με μὴ οὐ κακὰ ποιεῖν. (“Evil men do not prevent me from doing evil.”) See Smyth, 2739 ff. 103—ἀλλ’ … μὲν δή. “but … in spite of that” 104—λήξω θρήνων. The genitive is ablatival: “cease from …” 105-6. The manuscripts have ἔστ’ ἂν λεύσσω … λεύσσω, which would make life easier for us, but which clearly results from someone trying to explain, via a marginal notation, a confusing idiom. These two lines are presumably paroemiacs, to match 89-90. (See p. 102.) And 105 is two syllables too long. Once the first λεύσσω is removed, we get lines that scan. And we get a recognizable Greek construction, in which a repeated verb is supplied from a following coordinate clause, which is what was confusing enough to produce the notation. See Smyth, 3018b. 105—ἔστ’ ἄν. A poetic version of a temporal clause seen in prose with ἕως ἄν, etc., indicating how long something will go on: “While …,” “So long as …” See Smyth, 2383. 107. The nightingale is Procne, who killed her son Itys after her husband Tereus raped her sister Philomela. All three were turned into birds, and she lamented her son ever after. —μὴ οὐ. Have to be slurred together in pronunciation as one syllable (synizesis). —ὥς τις. Another way of introducing a comparison. (τις can be used in comparisons to a definite person, object etc.) The comparison, like the temporal clause, postpones completion of the main thought and is interwoven with the infinitive phrase μὴ οὐ … προφωνεῖν. (On the accent on ὡς, see note to 23.) —τεκνολέτειρ’. Since some adjectives with an implied verbal sense can be understood either actively or passively, the meaning of this unique adjective is debatable, and in an interesting way. The obvious way of understanding it is as with an active sense: Procne is “childdestroying.” But that does not suit Electra’s situation. The adjective could be understood as

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passive; Procne’s child having been killed, she is a nightingale “having lost its young” (LSJ). This does not fit either, since Electra is childless. But what the references to Procne may imply—she comes up again in 147-9—is Electra’s thwarted motherhood; she is stuck both socially and sexually, which widens the range of motive for her anger and sense of injury. Compare above, p. 104 (and the note to 5). 108—ἐπὶ κωκυτῷ. Compare notes to E. 133-4 and 162-3. 108-9—τῶνδε πατρῴων πρὸ θυρῶν. She is making a public statement, and a loud one, right in front of her mother’s house, a startling and provocative strategy. 109—ἠχώ. Accusative. 110-7. Electra prays to and invokes: 1) Hades and Persephone, gods of the underworld; 2) Hermes, the god who escorts the dead there; 3) the Curse, personified, uttered by Agamemnon as he was dying; 4) the Furies, who avenged crimes against family members and fulfilled curses. 112—ὦ χθόνι’ Ἑρμῆ. On the vocative forms, see note to E. 54. 113—τοὺς ἀδίκως θνῄσκοντας. Electra perhaps personalizes the conception of what the Furies will avenge; their province is usually restricted to crimes against family members. See the next note. 114—τοὺς εὐνὰς ὑποκλεπτομένους. “ὑποκλέπτει ὁ Αἴγισθος τὴν εὐνὴν τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονα,” would mean, literally, “Aegisthus steals/dishonors Agamemnon his bed/ marriage in secret.” The two accusatives go with the same verb, with Agamemnon being the direct object and “bed/marriage” being part of the description of the verbal action, an internal accusative. In the passive then, ὁ Ἀγαμέμνων ὑποκλέπτεται τὴν εὐνήν; the internal accusative remains, as part of the action described. Compare E. 36, with note. (On the meanings of ὑπο- in this kind of compound, see Smyth, 1698.4.) In this formulation the plural masculine generalizes. Commentators have wondered whether punishing adultery can really be part of the Furies’ job description and have explained this line variously; this is the only passage in Greek literature where the idea is so clearly stated. Perhaps, as in 113, Electra’s rhetoric shows how her personal history and her sense of injury are being amplified rhetorically into cosmic principles. 115-7—ἔλθετ’, etc. A string of imperatives, without connectives. The absence of connectives, “asyndeton,” is striking in Greek, while to an English-speaker’s ear the Greek urge to connect sentences and clauses often leads to redundancy. The effect of asyndeton can be to give additional rhetorical and emotional force to a statement. See Smyth, 2165 ff. and 3016. 115-6—πατρὸς φόνον ἡμετέρου. For the word order, see note to E. 21. 116—ἡμετέρου. On this kind of poetic plural, see p. 21. It may sound odd in conjunction with the μοι in the next line. It is possible to combine singular and plural in this way. (Compare E. 34-9, 23-4, and p. 21.) But she may already be thinking of Orestes, who is the topic of the second part of her prayer. 119-20. The metaphor depends on the image of a balance. ἄγειν in that context means “to draw up” one pan of the balance; her strength is pulling or weighed against the weight of her pain. 119—μούνη. Ionic and epic form. In tragedy, only Sophocles uses it, occasionally. 121-52. With the shift into song in the amoibaion, Doric alphas and endings are used as coloring. (See p. 91.) These are again underlined in the text. 122-6. An elaborately lyrical sentence, with a poetically phrased verbal idea—λάσκεις



Reading Six: Sophocles, Lines 86-152 113

οἰμωγάν—governing an extended direct object—τὸν ... ἁλόντ’ … Ἀγαμέμνονα. The verb and noun together express a single idea: “you loudly lament,” and that idea in turn is combined with “you lament Agamemnon.” The text printed is an emendation. There has been much ingenuity expended trying to improve on the manuscript’s τάκεις οἰμωγάν. The verb τήκω indicates “melting,” “wasting,” or “pining.” Combined with an accusative it would mean something like, “You waste away (in) lamenting,” but the Greek would be easier phrased as, “οἰμώζεις τακομένα,” with a simple direct object. As is, the Greek is unusual, so these editors substituted λάσκω, which is appropriate—Electra is loud—and an obvious bit of poetic diction, used in parody of tragedy by Aristophanes more than once. (Later the editors changed their minds and argued for another emendation.) 122-3—τίν’ … οἰμωγάν. This complex sentence takes the form of a question. And τίς here means not “what” but “what sort of.” The Chorus begins an appeal for moderation, which emerges clearly in the antistrophe. (Note also πάλαι in 124.) 124-5—ἐκ … ματρός. Used here where you might expect ὑπό plus the genitive. Compare note to 70 and Smyth, 1688c. 124—ἀθεώτατα. Superlative adverbs are neuter plural adjective forms. (Compare note to 64.) 125-6. Agamemnon is done in by a combination of trickery and violence, just as in Euripides—see 9 and 10, with notes. 126-7—ὥς … ὄλοιτ(ο). Either ὥς or ὡς can be added to an optative of wish. (Compare E. 135, with note.) If the version without the accent is used, it is exclamatory (“How I wish … !”), which is rare but does occur in poetry. 126—ὁ τάδε πορών. The article could be masculine and definite, referring to Aegisthus. Or it could be general, in which case it could refer to Clytemnestra—which might makes sense given her prominence in what precedes. (“The person” is masculine by default; see Smyth, 1015.) 129—γενέθλα. Another poetic word for “child.” This is feminine, though a neuter version, more common in tragedy, is available. The feminine form reappears in 226. (Using the neuter gives an alternative scansion.) 130—ἥκετ’ ἐμῶν καμάτων παραμύθιον. The idea is, “You have come to comfort my grief.” The accusative is a form of internal accusative; what they have done, accusative, amounts to a comfort. Compare note to 114. (Another, related form of accusative feels like an appositive; it explains and expands on the whole sentence, and often a comma seems appropriate. See E. 231, with note.) 132—οὐδ’ ἐθέλω. Remember that οὐδέ can mean “but not” 133—μὴ οὐ … στενάχειν. Τhe introductory phrase here implies something like, “I will not be prevented …” Hence, the two redundant negatives with the infinitive. See note to 103-9. (For στενάχω, compare note to E. 47 and 141.) —τὸν ἐμὸν … πατέρ’ ἄθλιον. Attributive adjectives in prose are connected clearly with their nouns by articles, as in, to simplify, τὸν ἄθλιον πατέρα or τὸν πατέρα τὸν ἄθλιον. In poetry, articles can be omitted, but since in this phrase there is an article with the first adjective, you would expect one with the second to show that it is also descriptive: τὸν ἐμὸν … πατέρ’ τὸν ἄθλιον. As it is, ἄθλιον appears to be in predicate position. This might not imply “my wretched father”; instead, the phrasing may highlight a further idea: “my father, who is wretched.”

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134. Remember that extended vocative phrases incorporating a participle are characteristic of tragic language. (Compare 1-2, and note.) 137-43. The Chorus tries to reason Electra out of her grief, starting from its own, ordinary person’s point of view. Compare E. 193-7. 137— οὔτοι. This combination can also be written οὔ τοι. The τοι makes the negation more forceful: “not … indeed,” “you won’t …” —τόν γ’ ἐξ Ἀίδα. The article is joined with a prepositional phrase, which seems to dictate an ablatival sense—on Ἀίδα as a genitive, see p. 105. But we want to read it as “the man in Hades.” A preposition with an ablatival genitive can indicate the perspective of the speaker—the Chorus refers to Agamemnon from his position relative to itself. The phrase also anticipates πατέρ(α), which explains it. (It would help if we had another article, as in prose: τὸν πατέρα, which would mean “your father.”) —γ’. Hard to see how this can mean “this one.” If Agamemnon is dead, he is no different from others. And irony is out of place. 138—παγκοίνου λίμνας. The genitive is ablatival; it indicates where he would be coming from. 138-9—ἀνστάσεις. The loss of a final vowel from the end of a prefix/preposition before a verb stem beginning with a vowel (or before an augment) is familiar from Attic texts. Before a verb stem beginning with a consonant, it occurs mostly in other dialects and in poetry. In tragedy it is most common with compounds like this, formed with ἀνα-. (Called “apocope”; see Smyth, 75D.) 139—οὔτε … οὐ. Most manuscripts have a second οὔτε, but there are problems with responsion; 123 does not match up metrically. It is possible in poetry to get this pairing, and this is one way to improve the meter. 140-1—ἀπὸ τῶν μετρίων ἐπ’ ἀμήχανον ἄλγος … διόλλυσαι. The idea seems to be that she is making her way from the reasonable to the impossible, all the way—on δια- see Smyth, 1685.3—to destruction. 142—ἐν οἷς. The reference is to everything expressed in the previous sentence, not to a specific antecedent. —ἀνάλυσίς ἐστιν οὐδεμία κακῶν. The genitive could be objective; “and no ending of your troubles” means, roughly, “Nothing ends your troubles.” It could also be ablatival: “a release from troubles.” Notice that the form of expression, “there is no release from …” depersonalizes and softens the Chorus’ criticism of Electra. The effect is more marked because this combination of a verb and an abstract verbal noun as a subject is much less common in Greek, which more often expresses the same idea with a personal verb form, e.g., “You won’t release yourself …” 143—μοι. Compare 66, and note. 145—νήπιος ὅς. The masculine gender is used to generalize. (Again, the default gender in Greek for a human being is masculine. Compare 126, with note.) 145-6—τῶν οἰκτρῶς οἰχομένων γονέων. The noun probably means “parents,” as it often does in the plural, though it could be a generalizing poetic plural and mean “father.” (See p. 21.) The participle is from a verb commonly used in tragedy to refer to death and the “departed” but rare in Aristophanes and prose. 147-52. Electra does not respond directly to the Chorus’ reasoning/reasonableness. Instead, she tries to take the high ground rhetorically and invokes first Procne and then Niobe—see



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below—as exempla from myth. 147—ἐμέ γˀ … ἄραρεν φρένας. On the accusatives, compare the note to 99. The verb form is probably a generalizing aorist. See note to 26. (The augment is left off, which is common in Homer and possible in tragedy.) φρήν/φρένες for “heart” or “mind” is elevated poetic diction, rare in early prose. Aristophanes uses it often in parody of high style (though it does not always have a poetic flavor). —στονόεσσ’. Adjectives in -οεις, -οεσσα, -οεν are often poetic. See Smyth, 299D and 299c. 149—Διὸς ἄγγελος. Unclear why she is the messenger of Zeus. (For the other forms of Zeus’s name, see Smyth, 285.12.) 150-2. Niobe was a queen in Thebes and had numerous children. She boasted about her superiority over Leto, who had only two. Leto sent her children, Apollo and Artemis, to kill all of Niobe’s. She mourned them ever after, having been turned into a rock with water flowing down it, like tears. Electra’s approval of Niobe as a mythical exemplum suited to her situation fits with her approval of Procne. See note to 107. 150. Comparing someone to a god can be a way of indicating their extreme good fortune (though Niobe also has divine ancestry and is, in effect, made immortal). This is a startling expression of feeling then, and it is emphasized both by the ἔγωγε—see next note—and the emphatic παντλάμων, which makes the opinion a seeming paradox; the gods are free from this kind of mortal grief. —παντλάμων. Nominative, not vocative. A “you” is understood. See Smyth, 1288. —ἔγωγε. Easy to overtranslate this combination of ἔγω and γε. But it makes sense that here the combination focuses our attention on her opinion. 151—ἅτ’. = ἅτε, an epic form, which = ἅ, which = ἥ. The effect of the τε is hard to decide; maybe, “that one who …” Or, it may be that emphasizing the relative slightly implies a causal connection; she admires Niobe because she is the one who …

Introduction to the First Dialogue Scene in Euripides Actors and acting, II: the style and resources of tragic acting It may be a bit surprising how the two Electras put across their entrance song or recitative and their parts in the parodos. We do not automatically associate these kinds of performance with actors; actors act, and it seems intuitively obvious what acting entails. But the nature of acting varies too much among cultures and from one historical period to another. In order to imagine tragic acting in ways that are not out of place, culturally and historically, we have to try to consider it on its own terms. That means thinking carefully about what kinds of acting make sense in a culture that begins from the performance of poetry, both recited and sung, and moves on to create a form of theatrically performed poetry. As both plays move forward, then, into longer stretches of dialogue scenes carried through almost entirely by the actors, and as you try to imagine how a particular passage was realized in the theater, basic questions about acting will surface almost of themselves: How would the actors have looked in performance? What was the style of the acting? What means did the actors use to put across the poetry? If we are to come up with adequate arguments about tragic acting, again on its own terms, answering these questions will not be a simple proposition. To start with the first, we cannot hope for any satisfying picture, in a literal sense, of actors in performance. The evidence from 5th century vase painting gives us only very brief glimpses of gesture; there is even less to go on than there is for the question of costume. (See pp. 34-5.) And we get no ideas about staging, about blocking and the dynamics of larger movements on the stage. More than this, it seems mistaken to imagine we can visualize anything of what went on. We do not have enough textual evidence either. There is very little description of acting or theatrical production from the classical period, even from the fourth century. Visual reconstruction in any simple sense is impossible. We can, however, make more or less plausible arguments about the kinds of acting and staging the audience expected, and we can argue about how the acting and staging for particular plays might have worked. All of this should be part of our interpretation of the texts as scripts for theatrical events. We can work with the (almost exclusively) textual evidence we do have, most importantly the texts of the tragedies themselves. Or, at least we can do so provided we try to take account of and make explicit our assumptions, and provided we present our working hypotheses as such. For example, look back at the second and third questions above. It is assumed here that the acting must have been, from our point of view, stylized to some degree. That is, the aim was not to give a naturalistic rendering of dialogue in the sense of conversation, as in conventional theater or in film. (See further, below.) Further, it is assumed that there must have been some continuity between tragic acting and other forms of poetic performance, particularly the performances of the rhapsodes, and that, consequently, the primary job of the actor was to put across the words that have come down to us as effectively as possible, both in song and in dialogue. That means the actor’s most basic resource was his voice. Like the rhapsode, he 117

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had to reach an audience of thousands, and in a large theatrical space. And he was masked, which may seem like a liability. We are so used to the intimacy of film, and to concentrating on the faces of actors, as well as their bodies, that we might think that an actor whose head was covered by a mask and whose body was completely covered by his costume was fundamentally handicapped. This does not have to be so; acting in other traditions and periods is still expressive and involving, whether the style of acting and the expressive means of the actor seem “natural” to us or not. Tragic actors do seem to have been vocally accomplished. There are suggestive bits of evidence, most unfortunately from the 4th century, that show both rhapsodes and actors had trained voices, valued as we would value the voices of singers.43 The most interesting of these is from Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics (1118a1-9). Aristotle is talking about σωφροσύνη, “moderation” in regard to physical pleasures: Moderation would concern physical pleasures, but not even all of these. People who enjoy what they see, like colors and shapes and painting, are not called either restrained or self-indulgent, even though, it would seem possible to enjoy these things, too, both in the right way and either too much or too little. Just so with what people hear; no one calls self-indulgent people who enjoy music or acting to excess. And no one calls people who enjoy these things in the right way restrained. What is striking is the contrast between the visual and the aural: pleasure in acting comes not through the eyes but the ears. This does not have to imply that the visual dimension of acting is unimportant. (See below.) What matters is Aristotle’s assumption that during the 4th century people went to the theater expecting to enjoy hearing the actors perform.44 That in 5th century tragedy there was considerable opportunity for actors to sing, in monodies and amoibaia, implies the same kind of audience response. This is a difference in expectation that should be given its due weight; our culture’s drama has conditioned us to enjoy drama through the eye first and then the ear; the priority is reversed. What can we hypothesize, nevertheless, about the visual dimension of tragic acting? Most striking, for us, is the use of the mask. An enormous quantity of ink has been spilled over this question. There is no simple answer to the question of why the mask made sense in this kind of theater, but two basic assumptions will be made here: First, it is not sufficient to say that the mask was a device for allowing actors to play multiple parts or male actors to play female roles. Masks are not a result of other conventions or simply practical means to get around what seem to us to be “problems” with those conventions. The masks, whatever their origins, were significant for both actor and audience. You could begin by saying, for instance, that a masked actor was inseparable from the performance of tragic myth; like the style of poetic language, tragic masks were expected and pulled the audience into the performance. You could even say that the mask signaled that the actor was not simply taking 43 On vocal delivery and vocal technique among rhapsodes and actors, see Aristotle, Rhetoric 1403b22-35 and 1404a20-4; Poetics 1462a5-8; and Plato, Republic 395a. Demosthenes' speech, On the False Embassy, though late (from 343), is also interesting, because Demosthenes’ political opponent, Aeschines, is a former actor. He mentions the beauty, clarity, and strength of Aeschines’ voice repeatedly. 44 It is sometimes said that Aristotle undervalues the visual dimension of theater, at least in the Poetics, which gives us our most important, and densely difficult, analysis of Athenian tragedy by an ancient critic. Yet Aristotle may imply the importance of the visual in tragedy while underselling it for his own theoretical reasons. See S. Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics (2nd ed. Chicago, 1998), 337-43.



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on a part but becoming that mythical character. The mask, which was generic and not individualized, was a sign for the audience of another entry into the world of myth. It was not a signal that they were to encounter an individuated and psychologically complex character but that a figure enmeshed in the myth had been made present. (Compare above, p. 16.) Second, the style of physical acting was inseparable from the use of the mask but, more importantly, it began with the size of the theater. Masked acting is a subject, too, that has been copiously discussed. For the last 25 years or more there has been significant experimentation with performing ancient tragedy in masks, so we can work from the reactions of modern actors to the effects of masks on acting, as well as from critical theorizing about those effects.45 For a modern actor, one of the most interesting results of wearing a mask is a focus on using the whole body in different ways, in order to convey what might have been conveyed through facial expression. To what extent this overlaps with the physical style of ancient actors is an open question; how much movement, how stylized, how controlled or extravagant, etc.—all these are not simply the results of the mechanics of wearing a mask but also of cultural and aesthetic differences that are difficult to recover. More importantly, however interested we are in the effect of seeing masked acting in a modern theater, an inescapable factor in tragic acting in Athens was the size of the theater and just how visible the actor was. The actors’ bodies were their primary means of connecting visually with all of the audience. Even though we can assume the voice was the actor’s most important instrument, bodies could be used, and presumably had to be used, in order to put across the words most effectively. The actors must have made use of easily readable movements, postures, and gestures. The larger picture: staging, visual effects, and the importance of words, once again If we pull back from acting as such to consider the visual dimension of tragedy as a whole, including staging, visual effects, props, movements into and out of the orchestra—anything that worked through the eye and not the ear—probably the result will be a feeling that the visual economy of the audience’s experience was much different than we might have expected. That is, so far as we can tell from the texts, visual effects were both scarcer and had more theatrical value. 46 The theatrical space was large and bare. And most of the time the audience’s attention was focused on the actor, on the experience of hearing, as well as seeing, him put across the words. As a result, what visual effects there were had more weight in relation to the theatrical experience as a whole; they were often important precisely because there was less to look at. At the same time, the audience’s visual experience was shaped to a surprising extent by words. First, we often find telling where we might expect showing in the specific sense that description is sometimes used in tragedy where we might expect visual means to be used. This is a feature of many forms of drama. To take a simple example, if you as an audience member are told that an actor is handsome yet do not find him so, that does not mean you 45 See, for instance, G. McCart, “Masks in Greek and Roman Theatre,” in McDonald and Walton, 2007, 247-57. 46 The initial qualification is important. In the end, we have to read the texts for most of the evidence that allows us to come to conclusions about the performance that they reflect. If, for instance, there was considerably more going on visually than we “see” in the texts, we have no access to it. On the other hand, we can enrich our understanding of the texts by building on this hypothesis. See, first of all, O. Taplin, Greek Tragedy in Action (Routledge, 2003), 1-19.

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will not accept the responses and feelings of another actor as dramatically valid; the text can be taken at face value. What matters here is that the degree to which this sort of description is used may force itself on our notice. For instance, the Farmer’s small and unimpressive (if not squalid) house was probably not represented as such; it is doubtful that scene-painting could have given the audience an idea visually of the ways in which Orestes says it appears. (See notes to 251-3.) A second verbal possibility, hard to separate from the first, is that visual effects were often combined with or completed by explicit verbalization. This kind of verbal cuing and completion might seem redundant but could be used in multiple ways to focus the audience’s attention and work in tandem with a visual effect. It has already been suggested, for instance, that effects of costume and the appearance of the actor were completed in the mind’s eye—see pp. 36-7; the audience often saw with the help of words. Some of this may seem to be at this point more hypothesis than plausible argument. These working hypotheses are, in fact, based on multiple assumptions. But one aim of this attempt at a summary answer to a number of debatable questions is to provide a starting point for thinking and further argument. In the end, each reader has to test out this kind of argument on her/his own and match it against the experience of trying to make sense of the text. To start with, consider the beginning of next scene and how it might have been presented. As the parodos ends, the Chorus Leader is speaking about the troubles caused for Electra’s oikos and for all of Greece by Helen, which seems to be a way of expressing sympathy while backing away a bit from Electra’s persistent lament. At this point (215-9), Electra announces her dismay and tells the Chorus, and the audience, that she has just left off lamenting. Presumably, her lines would have been delivered with appropriate gestures to indicate surprise and fear, the reason being, as she says, that some xenoi have just emerged from hiding. She urges the Chorus to flee “down the road” while she runs back to the house. Then she is caught by Orestes. All this may seem like ordinary dramatic action, to us. But it is important to think about how often action in the form of surprise and physical movement happens. The answer is, not very often, relative to what we might expect. This moment is dramatic, precisely because physical movement, especially sudden movement like this, is much less common than argument, the rendering of speeches, narrative, etc. Visually, then, the effect is dynamic, even though it might seem very simple to us. What that sequence dramatizes is the tension of Electra’s first encounter with Orestes, which results from her not recognizing him. Her lack of knowledge of who he is, combined with his knowledge of who she is, will be played with and developed during the rest of the scene. (See below.) It is important also to notice how Electra does not simply act out her reactions to what is happening; she announces them to the audience as they happen, which focuses more attention on the effect of this kind of infrequent and significant movement. It is not that her announcement is somehow overly formal, as if the playwright did not have the means to put this across more dramatically and in a less explicit way. Instead, we can see that words and action work reciprocally, not just to focus the audience’s attention on what is happening in terms of movement or plot but also to increase their interest in its dramatic quality, and to raise questions about the meaning(s) of a moment that is being artfully spotlighted. Construction of dialogue scenes: stichomythia and rhesis What follows after Electra is caught by Orestes (220) is, first, a long stretch of lineby line exchange (220-89), during which Electra hears about Orestes and he hears more



Introduction to the First Dialogue Scene in Euripides 121

about her life and recent family history. Then there are brief requests from Orestes and the Chorus Leader to hear more from Electra. Finally, she gives out with a longish speech in response (300-38). Looking at the scene on the page, then, you can get a sense of how it is put together; you will see that this scene, ending as usual with the announcement of the arrival of a new character, the Farmer, is mostly filled with two stretches of “dialogue” that do not correspond, even visually, with what we expect. That is, the line-by-line exchange, the stichomythia, and the extended speech of Electra, a rhesis, may not look to us like dramatic dialogue. Our expectations, though, like our assumptions about acting, may bring in inapplicable concepts of what is natural, i.e., suited to our experience of naturalistically rendered dramatic speech. We have to think imaginatively and carefully about how these conventional means help the actors to put across the words and the audience members to involve themselves in the drama. Both actors and audience were at home with these formal structures, and they constitute long stretches of most scenes in tragedy. From this point of view, it is helpful to start with stichomythia, precisely because a stretch of formalized line-by-line exchange seems odd to us. It can take other forms, for example alternating pairs of lines, but the effect is much the same: modern readers, and even critics, can feel slightly uncomfortable with it as a representation of human interchange. Here is a sample, from the first part of the stichomythia performed by Orestes and Electra:

Or. Stay here, poor woman! Do not shrink from my hand! El. O Phoebus Apollo, I entreat you, may I not die! Or. May I rather kill others more hated than yourself! El. Get away; keep your hands off those you should not handle! Or. There’s none whom I could touch with greater right. El. Why then do you lie in wait, sword in hand, by my house? Or. Stay, listen; then perhaps you will believe me. El. I am still; I am yours anyway, since you are stronger. Or. I have come here bringing word to you from your brother. El. O dearest one! Living is he, or dead? Or. He lives; let the good news be the first I give you. (220-30; trans., Cropp)

In spite of its formal strictness, or better because of it, stichomythia can be seen as typical of tragic dialogue in many ways: we are conscious of the line as a formal unit and that not speaking in whole lines is exceptional; we notice that the actors almost always respond directly and with a complete thought; we notice that they never try to talk at the same time, that they rarely interrupt each other, or fall silent in mid-sentence. In other words, the formality of tragic speech is crystallized, which reminds us of the ways in which tragic dialogue is not naturalistically rendered conversation. For the original audience, stichomythia, like other formal structures—for example, monody—did the work of carrying forward this particular version of the myth; it is not simply the presentation of character, dramatic situation, and plot that were important but the construction and effective use of familiar formal units within a scene. And stichomythia can be both an effective and a flexible instrument. We might expect that if the actors are speaking quickly, in a kind of verbal ping-pong match, the tension would be high, as in

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argument. And this is one possibility. But at other points the tension does not seem as high, or is not evidently so. In this case, after Electra’s initial agitation, the stichomythia settles into a series of questions; Orestes and Electra fill each other in on what is happening in their lives. The irony lies in the unequal amount of information each has about the identity of the other; Orestes knows that he is talking to his sister, Electra only gets “news” of her brother. The audience, like Orestes, is in a privileged position. At times, as in the second and third of his lines above, he will even seem to be talking over Electra’s head to the audience. And they are pulled in by watching her not catch on, and by seeing him reacting to the information he receives—most of which they have already heard—and trying to conceal his emotion. All of that was heightened by their expectation that at some point there has to be a recognition. In other words, this stichomythia is dramatically effective, not in spite of, but because of, its strict formal structure. The perspective on Orestes’ character in particular, as he responds to each bit of information about Electra’s situation and what has happened to his father, depends on the ping-ponging of his emotional responses. Moreover, that formal structure is also being used effectively insofar as it is a device to amplify and prolong dramatic tension and interest. The audience can see enacted the simultaneous emotional distance and proximity of the two characters, as well as the differences in their emotional situations. The audience also gets to hear more of Electra’s perspective on her situation; it is developed further in the extended speech that follows. The functions and structure of the tragic rhesis also require some thought; speeches like this have their own forms of construction and like stichomythia can be used in multiple ways depending on the context. Questions about the ways in which a rhesis can be constructed and used will come up repeatedly; speeches like this, extended and rhetorically shaped, are in many ways the most important means for constructing a dialogue scene. We will return to their construction and function(s) in the next reading when the initial speeches of both Electras are available for comparison.

Reading Seven: Euripides, Lines 213-338 Poetic Vocabulary: some common poetic verbs and words for “tomb” and “mortal” Three very common poetic verbs show up in this reading: 1) θέλω. The present stem of the prose ἐθέλω calls for resolution. (See note to S. 80-1.) 2) κυρέω. Often used where τυγχάνω would be used in prose, both with a genitive (288) and with a participle (note to S. 24). 3) κλύω. Very common in tragedy, though appearing first only in this reading. Can mean “hear,” where a prose word like ἀκούω might be expected; can also mean “pay attention to” or “obey.” Four less common, but fairly frequent, verbs also appear: 1) θιγγάνω (aor. ἔθιγον), “touch,” “take hold of,” or (euphemistically) “have sex with” (with gen.); 2) ψαύω, “touch,” “lay hands on” (with gen.); 3) ναίω, “dwell in,” “inhabit”; and 4) τλάω, “suffer,” “endure,” “dare,” etc. The last verb is used in the aorist, ἔτλην, only. (See note to 255 and compare 277-8.) Two common words used to refer to men, or human beings, also occur: 1) βροτός, οῦ, ὁ, “mortal.” (See note to 291.) 2) φώς, φωτός, ὁ, “man.” (See note to S. 86.) And we get, because Agamemnon’s tomb comes into the conversation: 1) τύμβος, ου, ὁ, “mound,” tomb”; 2) τάφος, ου, ὁ, “burial rites,” “grave,” “tomb”; and 3) πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ, “funeral pyre,” “mound,” “altar.” This last word is not poetic but recurs in both plays. (See 92, with note, and 513.) Further forms to review

Go back to the review of principal parts first—see p. 66-7—and then review: • The subjunctives formed from the 1st, 3rd, and 6th (present and aorist subjunctive). See Smyth, 383. • The optatives formed from the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 6th (present, future, and aorist). See Smyth, 383. • The aorist passive indicative and participle. See Smyth, 383.3 and 307. A second aorist passive is used for some verbs, without the introductory θ; see Smyth, 590 ff. Remember that a verb with a second aorist will borrow endings from the first principal part. See Smyth, 384. And note that the optative of the aorist passive and of contract verbs can show different forms for the endings. See Smyth, 383.3 and 385. Look also at the forms for irregular comparative adjectives. See Smyth, 293. These use 3rd declension endings. The only forms that are not immediately obvious are the forms ending in -ω, alternatives for -ονα (m. /f. acc. sing. and nt. nom. and acc. pl.), and the forms ending in -ους, alternatives for -ονες and -ονας (m. /f. nom. and acc. pl.).

Χο. πολλῶν κακῶν Ἕλλησιν αἰτίαν ἔχει σῆς μητρὸς Ἑλένη σύγγονος δόμοις τε σοῖς. Ηλ. οἴμοι· γυναῖκες, ἐξέβην θρηνημάτων. 123

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ξένοι τινὲς παρ’ οἶκον οἵδ’ ἐφεστίους εὐνὰς ἔχοντες ἐξανίστανται λόχου· φυγῇ σὺ μὲν κατ’ οἶμον, ἐς δόμους δ’ ἐγὼ φῶτας κακούργους ἐξαλύξωμεν ποδί. Ορ. μέν’, ὦ τάλαινα· μὴ τρέσῃς ἐμὴν χέρα. Ηλ. ὦ Φοῖβ’ Ἄπολλον, προσπίτνω σε μὴ θανεῖν. Ορ. ἄλλους κτάνοιμι μᾶλλον ἐχθίους σέθεν. Ηλ. ἄπελθε, μὴ ψαῦ’ ὧν σε μὴ ψαύειν χρεών. Ορ. οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅτου θίγοιμ’ ἂν ἐνδικώτερον. Ηλ. καὶ πῶς ξιφήρης πρὸς δόμοις λοχᾷς ἐμοῖς; Ορ. μείνασ’ ἄκουσον, καὶ τάχ’ οὐκ ἄλλως ἐρεῖς. Ηλ. ἕστηκα· πάντως δ’ εἰμὶ σή· κρείσσων γὰρ εἶ. Ορ. ἥκω φέρων σοι σοῦ κασιγνήτου λόγους. Ηλ. ὦ φίλτατ’, ἆρα ζῶντος ἢ τεθνηκότος; Ορ. ζῇ· πρῶτα γάρ σοι τἀγάθ’ ἀγγέλλειν θέλω. Ηλ. εὐδαιμονοίης μισθὸν ἡδίστων λόγων. Ορ. κοινῇ δίδωμι τοῦτο νῷν ἀμφοῖν ἔχειν. Ηλ. ποῦ γῆς ὁ τλήμων τλήμονας φυγὰς ἔχων; Ορ. οὐχ ἕνα νομίζων φθείρεται πόλεως νόμον. Ηλ. οὔ που σπανίζων τοῦ καθ’ ἡμέραν βίου; Ορ. ἔχει μέν, ἀσθενὴς δὲ δὴ φεύγων ἀνήρ. Ηλ. λόγον δὲ δὴ τίν’ ἦλθες ἐκ κείνου φέρων; Ορ. εἰ ζῇς, ὅπως τε ζῶσα συμφορᾶς ἔχεις. Ηλ. οὔκουν ὁρᾷς μου πρῶτον ὡς ξηρὸν δέμας; Ορ. λύπαις γε συντετηκός, ὥστε με στένειν. Ηλ. καὶ κρᾶτα πλόκαμόν τ’ ἐσκυθισμένον ξυρῷ. Ορ. δάκνει σ’ ἀδελφὸς ὅ τε θανὼν ἴσως πατήρ. Ηλ. οἴμοι· τί γάρ μοι τῶνδέ γ’ ἐστὶ φίλτερον; Ορ. φεῦ φεῦ· τί δ’ αὖ σοῦ σῷ κασιγνήτῳ δοκεῖς; Ηλ. ἀπὼν ἐκεῖνος, οὐ παρὼν ἡμῖν φίλος. Ορ. ἐκ τοῦ δὲ ναίεις ἐνθάδ’ ἄστεως ἑκάς; Ηλ. ἐγημάμεσθ’, ὦ ξεῖνε, θανάσιμον γάμον. Ορ. ᾤμωξ’ ἀδελφὸν σόν. Μυκηναίων τίνι;

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Reading Seven: Euripides, Lines 213-338 125

Ηλ. οὐχ ᾧ πατήρ μ’ ἤλπιζεν ἐκδώσειν ποτέ. Ορ. εἴφ’, ὡς ἀκούσας σῷ κασιγνήτῳ λέγω. Ηλ. ἐν τοῖσδ’ ἐκείνου τηλορὸς ναίω δόμοις. Ορ. σκαφεύς τις ἢ βουφορβὸς ἄξιος δόμων. Ηλ. πένης ἀνὴρ γενναῖος ἔς τ’ ἔμ’ εὐσεβής. Ορ. ἡ δ’ εὐσέβεια τίς πρόσεστι σῷ πόσει; Ηλ. οὐπώποτ’ εὐνῆς τῆς ἐμῆς ἔτλη θιγεῖν. Ορ. ἅγνευμ’ ἔχων τι θεῖον ἤ σ’ ἀπαξιῶν; Ηλ. γονέας ὑβρίζειν τοὺς ἐμοὺς οὐκ ἠξίου. Ορ. καὶ πῶς γάμον τοιοῦτον οὐχ ἥσθη λαβών; Ηλ. οὐ κύριον τὸν δόντα μ’ ἡγεῖται, ξένε. Ορ. ξυνῆκ’· Ὀρέστῃ μή ποτ’ ἐκτείσῃ δίκην. Ηλ. τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ ταρβῶν· πρὸς δὲ καὶ σώφρων ἔφυ. Ορ. φεῦ· γενναῖον ἄνδρ’ ἔλεξας, εὖ τε δραστέον. Ηλ. εἰ δή ποθ’ ἥξει γ’ ἐς δόμους ὁ νῦν ἀπών. Ορ. μήτηρ δέ σ’ ἡ τεκοῦσα ταῦτ’ ἠνέσχετο; Ηλ. γυναῖκες ἀνδρῶν, ὦ ξέν’, οὐ παίδων φίλαι. Ορ. τίνος δέ σ’ οὕνεχ’ ὕβρισ’ Αἴγισθος τάδε; Ηλ. τεκεῖν μ’ ἐβούλετ’ ἀσθενῆ, τοιῷδε δούς. Ορ. ὡς δῆθε παῖδας μὴ τέκοις ποινάτορας; Ηλ. τοιαῦτ’ ἐβούλευσ’· ὧν ἐμοὶ δοίη δίκην. Ορ. οἶδεν δέ σ’ οὖσαν παρθένον μητρὸς πόσις; Ηλ. οὐκ οἶδε· σιγῇ τοῦθ’ ὑφαιρούμεσθά νιν. Ορ. αἵδ’ οὖν φίλαι σοι τούσδ’ ἀκούουσιν λόγους; Ηλ. ὥστε στέγειν γε τἀμὰ καὶ σ’ ἔπη καλῶς. Ορ. τί δῆτ’ Ὀρέστης πρὸς τάδ’, Ἄργος ἢν μόλῃ; Ηλ. ἤρου τόδ’; αἰσχρόν γ’ εἶπας· οὐ γὰρ νῦν ἀκμή; Ορ. ἐλθὼν δὲ δὴ πῶς φονέας ἂν κτάνοι πατρός; Ηλ. τολμῶν ὑπ’ ἐχθρῶν οἷ’ ἐτολμήθη †πατήρ†. Ορ. ἦ καὶ μετ’ αὐτοῦ μητέρ’ ἂν τλαίης κτανεῖν; Ηλ. ταὐτῷ γε πελέκει τῷ πατὴρ ἀπώλετο. Ορ. λέγω τάδ’ αὐτῷ, καὶ βέβαια τἀπὸ σοῦ;

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Ηλ. θάνοιμι μητρὸς αἷμ’ ἐπισφάξασ’ ἐμῆς. Ορ. φεῦ· εἴθ’ ἦν Ὀρέστης πλησίον κλύων τάδε. Ηλ. ἀλλ’, ὦ ξέν’, οὐ γνοίην ἂν εἰσιδοῦσά νιν. Ορ. νέα γάρ, οὐδὲν θαῦμ’, ἀπεζεύχθης νέου. Ηλ. εἷς ἂν μόνος νιν τῶν ἐμῶν γνοίη φίλων. Ορ. ἆρ’ ὃν λέγουσιν αὐτὸν ἐκκλέψαι φόνου; Ηλ. πατρός γε παιδαγωγὸς ἀρχαῖος γέρων. Ορ. ὁ κατθανὼν δὲ σὸς πατὴρ τύμβου κυρεῖ; Ηλ. ἔκυρσεν ὡς ἔκυρσεν, ἐκβληθεὶς δόμων. Ορ. οἴμοι, τόδ’ οἷον εἶπας· αἴσθησις γὰρ οὖν καὶ τῶν θυραίων πημάτων δάκνει βροτούς. λέξον δ’, ἵν’ εἰδὼς σῷ κασιγνήτῳ φέρω λόγους ἀτερπεῖς ἀλλ’ ἀναγκαίους κλύειν. ἔνεστι δ’ οἶκτος ἀμαθίᾳ μὲν οὐδαμοῦ, σοφοῖσι δ’ ἀνδρῶν· καὶ γὰρ οὐδ’ ἀζήμιον  γνώμην ἐνεῖναι τοῖς σοφοῖς λίαν σοφήν. Χο. κἀγὼ τὸν αὐτὸν τῷδ’ ἔρον ψυχῆς ἔχω. πρόσω γὰρ ἄστεως οὖσα τἀν πόλει κακὰ οὐκ οἶδα, νῦν δὲ βούλομαι κἀγὼ μαθεῖν. Ηλ. λέγοιμ’ ἄν, εἰ χρή (χρὴ δὲ πρὸς φίλον λέγειν), τύχας βαρείας τὰς ἐμὰς κἀμοῦ πατρός. ἐπεὶ δὲ κινεῖς μῦθον, ἱκετεύω, ξένε, ἄγγελλ’ Ὀρέστῃ τἀμὰ κἀκείνου κακά, πρῶτον μὲν οἵοις ἐν πέπλοις αὐλίζομαι, πίνῳ θ’ ὅσῳ βέβριθ’, ὑπὸ στέγαισί τε οἵαισι ναίω βασιλικῶν ἐκ δωμάτων,  αὐτὴ μὲν ἐκμοχθοῦσα κερκίσιν πέπλους ἢ γυμνὸν ἕξω σῶμα καὶ στερήσομαι <                               >, αὐτὴ δὲ πηγὰς ποταμίους φορουμένη. ἀνέορτος ἱερῶν καὶ χορῶν τητωμένη ἀναίνομαι γυναῖκας οὖσα παρθένος, αἰσχύνομαι δὲ Κάστορ’, ὃς πρὶν ἐς θεοὺς

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Reading Seven: Euripides, Lines 213-338 127

ἐλθεῖν ἔμ’ ἐμνήστευεν, οὖσαν ἐγγενῆ. μήτηρ δ’ ἐμὴ Φρυγίοισιν ἐν σκυλεύμασιν θρόνῳ κάθηται, πρὸς δ’ ἕδραισιν Ἀσίδες δμωαὶ στατίζουσ’, ἃς ἔπερσ’ ἐμὸς πατήρ, Ἰδαῖα φάρη χρυσέαις ἐζευγμέναι πόρπαισιν. αἷμα δ’ ἔτι πατρὸς κατὰ στέγας μέλαν σέσηπεν, ὃς δ’ ἐκεῖνον ἔκτανεν ἐς ταὐτὰ βαίνων ἅρματ’ ἐκφοιτᾶι πατρί, καὶ σκῆπτρ’ ἐν οἷς Ἕλλησιν ἐστρατηλάτει μιαιφόνοισι χερσὶ γαυροῦται λαβών. Ἀγαμέμνονος δὲ τύμβος ἠτιμασμένος οὔπω χοάς ποτ’ οὐδὲ κλῶνα μυρσίνης ἔλαβε, πυρὰ δὲ χέρσος ἀγλαϊσμάτων. μέθῃ δὲ βρεχθεὶς τῆς ἐμῆς μητρὸς πόσις ὁ κλεινός, ὡς λέγουσιν, ἐνθρῴσκει τάφῳ πέτροις τε λεύει μνῆμα λάινον πατρός, καὶ τοῦτο τολμᾷ τοὔπος εἰς ἡμᾶς λέγειν· Ποῦ παῖς Ὀρέστης; ἆρά σοι τύμβῳ καλῶς παρὼν ἀμύνει; ταῦτ’ ἀπὼν ὑβρίζεται. ἀλλ’, ὦ ξέν’, ἱκετεύω σ’, ἀπάγγειλον τάδε. πολλοὶ δ’ ἐπιστέλλουσιν, ἑρμηνεὺς δ’ ἐγώ, αἱ χεῖρες ἡ γλῶσσ’ ἡ ταλαίπωρός τε φρὴν κάρα τ’ ἐμὸν ξυρῆκες ὅ τ’ ἐκεῖνον τεκών. αἰσχρὸν γάρ, εἰ πατὴρ μὲν ἐξεῖλεν Φρύγας, ὁ δ’ ἄνδρ’ ἕν’ εἷς ὢν οὐ δυνήσεται κτανεῖν, νέος πεφυκὼς κἀξ ἀμείνονος πατρός. Ἕλλην, ηνος, ὁ—a Greek; as adj., Greek σύγγονος, ον = συγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related 215: οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise ἐξέβην (aor.) > ἐκβαίνω—step out of or off from; withdraw from θρήνημα, ατος, τό—lament, dirge οἶκος, ου, ὁ—house ἐφέστιος, ον—at the hearth, at home; of or in the house

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εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; lair, nest; grave ἐξανίστημι—trans., raise up, remove; intr., stand/ rise from; depart, be removed λόχος, ου, ὁ—place for lying in wait, ambush φυγή, ῆς, ἡ—flight, escape; exile οἶμος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—way, road, path φώς, φωτός, ὁ—man κακoῦργος, ον—doing wrong, doing harm ἐξαλύξωμεν > ἐξαλύσκω—flee from; escape 220: μένε (imper.) > μένω

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τάλας, τάλαινα, τάλαν—suffering, wretched; reckless, cruel τρέσῃς > τρέω—flee out of fear; flee; fear φοῖβος, η, ον—bright, pure; epithet of Apollo προσπίτνω—fall in front of, supplicate; entreat (with acc. and/or inf.); fall on (someone’s neck), embrace θανεῖν > θνῄσκω κτάνοιμι > κτείνω—kill, slay μᾶλλον—more, rather ἐχθίων, ιον (comp. of ἐχθρός, ά, όν)—more hated; more hating σέθεν = gen. of σύ ἄπελθε > ἀπέρχομαι—go away, depart from ψαύω—touch, lay hands on (with gen.) χρεών—(it is) necessary ὅστις, ἥτις, ὅ τι—anyone who, anything which (Note: also in indirect questions.) θίγοιμι > θιγγάνω—touch; take hold of, have sex with (with gen.) ἐνδικώτερος, ον (comp. of ἔνδικος, ον)—with more right, more just, more legitimate 225: πῶς—how? ξιφήρης, ες—armed with a sword, sword in hand λοχάω—lie in wait for, ambush μείνασα > μένω ἄκουσον > ἀκούω τάχα—quickly, soon, immediately; probably, perhaps (often as τάχ’ ἄν, with or without optative) ἄλλως—otherwise, differently; aimlessly, in vain ἐρεῖς (fut.) > λέγω ἕστηκα (pf.) > ἵστημι πάντως—anyway; certainly κρείττων, ον (comp. of ἀγαθός, ή, όν)—stronger; better ἥκω—to have come, be present; be back, return κασίγνητος, ου, ὁ—brother φίλτατος, η, ον (sup. of φίλος, η, ον)—dearest, nearest and dearest ἆρα—marks question, usually without an interrogative; in poetry, equivalent to ἄρα, “then,” “so,” etc. τεθνηκότος (pf. part.) > ἀποθνῄσκω 230: θέλω = ἐθέλω εὐδαιμονοίης (opt.) > εὐδαιμονέω—be prosperous; be happy, be fortunate μισθός, οῦ, ὁ—pay; reward ἥδιστος, η, ον, sup. of ἡδύς, εῖα, ύ κοινῇ—in common, by common consent νώ, νῷν—we/us two ἄμφω, ἀμφοῖν—both ποῦ—where? τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stouthearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable

φυγή, ῆς, ἡ—flight, escape; exile εἷς, μία, ἕν—one φθείρω—act., destroy, corrupt, ruin; pass.: be destroyed, perish; wander 235: που—somewhere; to some degree, perhaps σπανίζω—need, be in want of (with gen.) βίος,ου, ὁ—life; means of living, livelihood ἀσθενής, ές—weak; poor, insignificant φεύγω—flee, run away; flee the country, be in exile ἦλθες > ἔρχομαι κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο ὅπως—how, as; in order that συμφορά, ᾶς, ἡ—event, chance event; misfortune ξηρός, ά, όν—dry; withered δέμας, τό—body 240: λύπη, ης, ἡ—pain, grief συντετηκός (pf. part.) συντήκω—pass. and pf., melted/fused together, melt away; waste away ὥστε—conj., so as to; so that στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) κάρα, τό—head πλόκαμος, ου, ὁ—lock or braid of hair; hair ἐσκυθισμένον (pf. part.) > σκυθίζω—behave like a Scythian; shave off the hair ξυρόν, οῦ, τό—razor δάκνω—bite; cause pain, grief, etc. ἀδελφός, οῦ, ὁ—brother θανών > θνῄσκω ἴσως—equally, in the same way; probably, perhaps οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise φίλτερον, α, ον (comp. of φίλος, η, ον)—dearer φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration αὖ—again; on the other hand; in turn κασίγνητος, ου, ὁ—brother δοκέω—think, imagine; have an opinion, decide (with dat.); of an object: seem; seem good to (with dat.); seem to be, have a reputation (for) 245: ἄπειμι—to be away or absent πάρειμι—to be here, be present; impers. (πάρεστι/ πάρα plus dat.), it is in the power of, it is possible for ναίω—dwell in, inhabit ἐνθάδε—here; there ἄστυ, εως, τό—town ἑκάς—far off; far from (with gen.) ἐγημάμεσθα (aor.) > γαμέω—act., of the man, marry; middle, of the woman, give oneself in marriage ξεῖνος, ου, ὁ = ξένος, ου, ὁ θανάσιμος, η, ον—deadly, fatal; belonging to or connected with death γάμος, ου ὁ—wedding; marriage; sex ᾤμωξα (aor.) > οἰμώζω—wail aloud, lament



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ἀδελφός, οῦ, ὁ—brother Μυκηναῖος, α, ον—of Mycenae ἐλπίζω—hope, expect ἐκδώσειν > ἐκδίδωμι—give up/out/over; give a daughter in marriage ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world?” 250: εἰπέ > λέγω κασίγνητος, ου, ὁ—brother τηλουρός, όν/τηλορός, όν—distant ναίω—dwell in, inhabit σκαφεύς, έως, ὁ—digger βουφορβός, οῦ, ὁ—herdsman πένης, ητος, ὁ—laborer; poor man; as adj., poor γενναῖος, α, ον—noble, in birth and/or character εὐσεβής, ές—pious, religious; respectful εὐσέβεια, ας, ἡ—piety; respect (for family) πρόσειμι—be added to; belong to; be present, at hand πόσις, ὁ—husband 255: οὐπώποτε—never yet (at any time) εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; lair, nest; grave ἔτλη > τλάω—suffer; endure, submit to; bring oneself to do, dare to do θιγεῖν > θιγγάνω—touch; take hold of, have sex with (with gen.) ἅγνευμα, ατος, τό—observance of chastity θεῖος, α, ον—of or from the gods; sacred to the gods, holy ἀπαξιόω—think unworthy; disclaim γονεύς, έως, ὁ—begetter, father; parent; ancestor ὑβρίζω—insult, outrage ἀξιόω—think worthy of; expect (to get); think it right (to do) πῶς—how? γάμος, ου ὁ—wedding; marriage; sex τοιοῦτος, τοιαύτη, τοιοῦτο(ν)—such as this ἥσθη (aor. pass.) > ἥδομαι—enjoy, take pleasure in; be pleased, delighted κύριος, α, ον—having power or authority over δόντα (aor. part.) > δίδωμι ἡγέομαι—believe, regard as 260: ξυνῆκα (aor.) > ξυνίημι—hear, be aware of, understand ἐκτείσῃ (aor. subj.) > ἐκτίνω—pay off, pay in full ταρβέω—to be frightened; fear πρός—adv., besides, over and above σώφρων, ον—of sound mind; self-controlled, chaste ἔφυ (aor.) > φύω φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration γενναῖος, α, ον—noble, in birth and/or character εὖ—well δραστέος, α, ον—to be done; δραστέον, one must do

ἥκω—to have come, be present; be back, return ἄπειμι—to be away or absent τεκοῦσα (aor.) > τίκτω ἠνέσχετο > ἀνέχω—hold up, lift up; middle, bear, allow, endure 265: οὕνεκα/οὕνεκεν—on account of, because of (with gen.); as conj., that, because ὕβρισε (aor.) > ὑβρίζω—insult, outrage τεκεῖν > τίκτω ἀσθενής, ές—weak; poor, insignificant τοιόσδε, τοιάδε, τοιόνδε—such as this; as follows δούς (aor. part.) > δίδωμι τέκοις > τίκτω ποινάτωρ, ορος, ὁ/ἡ—avenger τοιοῦτος, τοιαύτη, τοιοῦτο(ν)—such as this βουλεύω—deliberate; plan; decide δοίη (aor. opt.) > δίδωμι 270: παρθένος, ου, ἡ—(unmarried) girl, virgin πόσις, ὁ—husband σιγῇ—in silence ὑφαιρέω—take away underhandedly; steal from νιν—him, her, them ὥστε—conj., so as to; so that στέγω—cover tightly; protect; keep hidden; hold, contain ἔπος, ους, τό—word, speech, tale καλῶς—well; in the right way δῆτα—in questions, so, then; for emphasis in commands, statements, etc. Ἄργος, ους, τό—Argos ἤν = ἐάν μόλῃ > βλώσκω—go, come (almost always used in aorist forms) 275: ἤρου (aor.) > ἐρωτάω αἰσχρός, ά, όν—ugly; shameful, base εἶπας > λέγω ἀκμή, ῆς, ἡ—point, edge; highest, culminating point (of anything); best time πῶς—how? φονεύς, έως, ὁ—murderer κτάνοι > κτείνω—kill, slay τολμάω—suffer; endure, submit to; bring oneself to do, dare to do ἐχθρός, ά, όν—hated; hating; as noun, enemy οἷος, α, ον—relat. adj., of what sort, such as; neut. as adv., in which way, as; in main clauses as exclam., what! what sort of! τολμάω—suffer; endure, submit to; bring oneself to do, dare to do ἦ—truly, surely; introducing a question τλαίης (aor. opt.) > τλάω—suffer; endure, submit to; bring oneself to do, dare to do κτανεῖν > κτείνω—kill, slay πέλεκυς, εως, ὁ—axe

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ἀπώλετο > ἀπόλλυμι—act., destroy, kill, lose; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead, done for 280: βέβαιος, α, ον—firm, steady; sure, certain θάνοιμι > θνῄσκω αἷμα, ατος, τό—blood ἐπισφάξασα > ἐπισφάζω—slaughter over or on φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration πλησίος, α, ον—near; adv., close by κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey γνοίην (aor. opt.) > γιγνώσκω ει̕σιδοῦσα > εἰσοράω—look into, behold νιν—him, her, them νέος, α, ον—young; new θαῦμα, ατος, τό—wonder, marvel; wonder, astonishment ἀπεζεύχθης > ἀποζεύγνυμι—separate, part νέος, α, ον—young; new 285: εἷς, μία, ἕν—one γνοίη (aor. opt.) > γιγνώσκω ἆρα—marks question, usually without an interrogative; in poetry, equivalent to ἄρα, “then,” “so,” etc. ἐκκλέψαι > ἐκκλέπτω—steal and carry off παιδαγωγός, οῦ, ὁ—slave attending a boy ἀρχαῖος, α, ον—ancient, old; former γέρων, οντος, ὁ—old man; as adj., old κατθανών > καταθνῄσκω—die τύμβος, ου, ὁ—mound, tomb κυρέω/κύρω—meet with, befall (with dat.); hit, find, obtain (with gen.); happen, turn out to be ἔκυρσεν > κυρέω/κύρω ἐκβληθείς > ἐκβάλλω—throw out 290: οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise οἷος, α, ον—relat. adj., of what sort, such as; neut. as adv., in which way, as; in main clauses as exclam., what! what sort of! εἶπας > λέγω αἴσθησις, εως, ἡ—sensation, perception θυραῖος, α, ον—at or outside the door; someone else’s; from outside, from abroad πῆμα, ατος, τό—misery, calamity δάκνω—bite; cause pain, grief, etc. βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal ἵνα—in order that; where εἰδώς (part.) > οἶδα κασίγνητος, ου, ὁ—brother ἀτερπής, ές—not pleasing, joyless ἀναγκαῖος, α, ον—of, with, or by force; imposed by necessity, applying constraint κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of οἶκτος, ου, ὁ—pity, compassion; lamentation, wailing

ἀμαθία, ας, ἡ—ignorance, stupidity; lack of culture, bad manners οὐδαμοῦ—nowhere 295: ἀζήμιος, ον—without loss or penalty, unpunished; not deserving punishment ἐνεῖναι (inf.) > ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of λίαν—very, very much, exceedingly ἔρος, ου, ὁ—love, desire πρόσω/πόρσω—onwards; far off; far from (with gen.) ἄστυ, εως, τό—town μαθεῖν > μανθάνω 300: ἐπεί/ἐπειδή—when, after; since, seeing that κινέω—set in motion, move ἱκετεύω—supplicate; entreat οἷος, α, ον—relat. adj., of what sort, such as; neut. as adv., in which way, as; in main clauses as exclam., what! what sort of! πέπλος, ου, ὁ—upper garment, in one piece, worn by women (less frequently in reference to men); garment, clothing αὐλίζομαι—be stabled (of animals); make camp 305: πίνος, ου, ὁ—dirt, in clothes or hair ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many βέβριθα (pf.) > βρίθω—be heavy or weighed down with στέγη, ης, ἡ—roof; room, house ναίω—dwell in, inhabit βασιλικός, ή, όν—royal, kingly δῶμα, δώματος, τό—house ἐκμοχθέω—work out or through by labor κερκίς, ίδος, ἡ—weaver’s shuttle πέπλος, ου, ὁ—upper garment, in one piece, worn by women (less frequently in reference to men); garment, clothing γυμνός, ή, όν—naked, exposed, bare ἕξω > ἔχω στερήσομαι (fut. middle or pass.) > στερέω— deprive, rob πηγή, ῆς, ἡ—running water, streams; spring, source ποτάμιος, α, ον or ος, ον—of or from a river φορέω—carry, bring (repeatedly, regularly); wear 310: ἀνέορτος, ον—uncelebrated (of festivals); here, without a share in (festival rituals) ἱερός, ά, όν—divine, holy, sacred; as noun, ἱερά, offerings, rituals χορός, οῦ, ὁ—dance; chorus τητάομαι—only in pres., be in need, be deprived of (with gen.) ἀναίνομαι—refuse, reject with contempt; shun, renounce παρθένος, ου, ἡ—(unmarried) girl, virgin



Reading Seven: Euripides, Lines 213-338 131

αἰσχύνω—act., make ugly, dishonor; middle, feel shame, be ashamed to do Κάστωρ, ορος, ὁ πρίν—adv., before; conj., before, until μνηστεύω—court, seek in marriage ἐγγενής, ές—native; related; innate Φρυγίος, α, ον—Phrygian; Trojan σκύλευμα, ατος, τό—mostly plural, arms, spoils 315: θρόνος, ου, ὁ—seat, chair; throne κάθημαι—to be seated, sit ἕδρα, ας, ἡ—seat, chair; place to sit; seat of, home of; place for Ἀσίς, ίδος, ἡ—Asian δμωή, ῆς, ἡ/δμώς, ωός, ὁ—slave taken in war; slave στατίζω—trans., place; intr., stand ἔπερσε (aor.) > πέρθω—lay waste, sack; kill; take as plunder Ἰδαῖος, α, ον—of Mt. Ida, Trojan φᾶρος/φάρος, ους, τό—cloak, mantle χρύσεος, η, ον—golden, of gold ἐζευγμέναι (pf. middle part.) > ζεύγνυμι—yoke; join together, join in marriage πόρπη, ης, ἡ—pin, brooch αἷμα, ατος, τό—blood στέγη, ης, ἡ—roof; room, house μέλας, μέλαινα, μέλαν—black, dark σέσηπεν (pf.) > σήπω—in pass. and pf., rot, molder 320: ἅρμα, ατος, τό—chariot, war-chariot ἐκφοιτάω—go out, go out regularly σκῆπτρον, ου, τό—staff; scepter; royal power Ἕλλην, ηνος, ὁ—a Greek; as adj., Greek στρατηλατέω—lead an army into the field; be a general, command μιαιφόνος, ον—bloodthirsty, murderous γαυρόομαι—exult, be proud or boastful τύμβος, ου, ὁ—mound, tomb ἠτιμασμένος (pf. part.) > ἀτιμάζω—hold in no honor, think little of; dishonor οὔπω—not yet χοή, ῆς, ἡ—pouring out of liquid, drink-offering, esp. for the dead οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not κλών, κλωνός, ὁ—twig, spray μυρρίνη, ης, ἡ—myrtle

325: πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ—funeral pyre; mound raised on site of pyre; altar χέρσος, η, ον—dry, firm (of land); dry, barren ἀγλάισμα, ατος, τό—honor, ornament μέθη, ης, ἡ—drink (as in, “alcohol”); drunkenness βρέχω—wet, soak; pass., get wet πόσις, ὁ—husband κλεινός, ή, όν—famous, renowned ἐνθρῴσκω—leap in/on/among τάφος, ου, ὁ—burial rites; grave, tomb πέτρος, ου, ὁ—stone, rock λεύω—stone μνῆμα, ατος, τό—memorial, remembrance; mound, tomb λάινος, η, ον—of stone or marble τολμάω—suffer; endure, submit to; bring oneself to do, dare to do ἔπος, ους, τό—word, speech, tale 330: ποῦ—where? ἆρα—marks question, usually without an interrogative; in poetry, equivalent to ἄρα, “then,” “so,” etc. τύμβος, ου, ὁ—mound, tomb πάρειμι—to be here, be present; impers. (πάρεστι/ πάρα plus dat.), it is in the power of, it is possible for ἀμύνω—keep off, ward off; aid, defend (with dat.) ἄπειμι—to be away or absent ὑβρίζω—insult, outrage ἱκετεύω—supplicate; entreat ἀπάγγειλον (aor. imper.) > ἀπαγγέλλω—bring news, report ἐπιστέλλω—send a message; impose a duty, task, etc., command ἑρμηνεύς, έως, ὁ—interpreter, expounder ταλαίπωρος, ον—suffering, miserable φρήν, φρενός, ἡ—sg. or pl., heart, mind 335: ξυρήκης, ες—close-shaven αἰσχρός, ά, όν—ugly; shameful, base ἐξεῖλεν (aor.) > ἐξαιρέω—take out, remove; do away with, destroy; middle, take away from Φρύξ, Φρυγός, ὁ—Phrygian, Trojan εἷς, μία, ἕν—one δύνησεται > δύναμαι νέος, α, ον—young; new πεφυκώς (pf. part.) > φύω

213-4. When the Chorus speaks in dialogue, it is assumed that the Chorus Leader is doing the talking. Notice, though, that his part in the dialogue almost never takes the form of an extended speech; the norm is two or three lines. 213—αἰτίαν ἔχει. In this phrase the idea of being the cause blends into that of being responsible or to blame. 215—ἐξέβην θρηνημάτων. In addition to registering a speaker’s reaction at a particular point in time to another person or to what is happening—see note to S. 78-9—the aorist

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can be used in tragedy (or comedy) to mark an action, something the speaker is doing at a particular point; Cropp translates, “I leave my lamentations.” 216-7. The staging implied here is in some doubt, as is the meaning; the two problems are knotted together. Orestes and Pylades, with servants, had moved aside to listen—see note to 109-11—and had hidden behind a pillar or altar dedicated to Apollo—see note to 221. Now Electra sees them moving by the house (παρ’ οἶκον) from their hiding place (an extended but understandable meaning of εὐνή). The adjective ἐφέστιος normally refers to being near to a hearth; hence, by extension it can refer to being in or near a house. 218-27. Electra and the Chorus—see next note—apparently flee in different directions. On her way toward the skene doors Electra is cut off by Orestes, at which point he takes hold of her and tries to calm her. 218—σύ. Addressed to the Chorus as a whole, though at 215 she addresses it as γυναῖκες. 218-9—φυγῇ … ποδί. The datives are adverbial and/or instrumental and really go together in sense. Compare S. 37 and 70, with notes. The second is also another instance of the poetic singular for a pair. Compare the next line and 10, with note. 219—φῶτας. See note to S. 86. —ἐξαλύξωμεν. Hortatory subjunctive. Compare E. 103, with note. 220—ὦ τάλαινα. Used often as a vocative, this word can convey a range of attitudes. Here it conveys pity or compassion. Only μέλας, μέλαινα, μέλαν and this adjective have this form. See Smyth, 298. —μὴ τρέσῃς. Prohibitive subjunctive. Compare S. 71, with note. 221—Electra appeals to Apollo, who is represented by a pillar and was probably thought of as preventing evil from entering the house. Such a shrine stood by the door of many Athenian houses. Though the evidence is confusing, it appears to have been combined with an altar or to have had a flat base for making offerings. Repeated references to it in drama make it likely that it was a permanent, or frequent, bit of scenery associated with the skene. (Compare S. 634-8.) —προσπίτνω. πίτνω is a poetic variant of πίπτω. 222—The manuscripts have ἂν κτάνοιμι, which would not scan. The words can be transposed as κτάνοιμ’ ἄν, which scans and preserves the potential optative, or the ἄν can be deleted, which gives an optative of wish. (If the distinction between these two independent uses of the optative is unclear, compare 81 and 135, with notes.) This second possibility, taken up in this text, means that Orestes obliquely expresses his intentions, though the line can also be heard simply as an attempt to reassure Electra. —μᾶλλον ἐχθίους. On the irregular comparative form of the adjective, see p. 123 above and compare ἐνδικώτερον in 224. As well as being used with an ordinary (positive) adjective, the adverb can strengthen a comparative form. See Smyth, 323 and 1084. We could take it with the verb, however, understanding it as “rather,” not “more.” —σέθεν. A common poetic alternative for the pronoun σοῦ (compare σφε and νιν). See p. 65. 223—μὴ ψαῦ’ ὧν. A present imperative in a prohibition. May imply “Let go of me!” not just “Don’t touch me!” Compare 220 and Smyth, 1840-1. The object is the relative; “what/ which things” is used rather than “those things which.” Compare 85 and 111, with notes. 224—οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅτου. In this kind of expression the ἔστιν (note the accent) is of the “there exists” variety (Smyth, 187b), and the indefinite ὅστις, without an antecedent, generalizes; literally, then, “There exists no one whom I could …” (ὅτου = οὗτινος; see notes to E. 105



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and S. 33, and Smyth, 339b.) The indicative is more usual in this kind of clause. See Smyth, 2496 and 2557. —ἐνδικώτερον. Comparative adverb. Compare E. 72, with note. 225—καὶ πῶς. Electra is still upset. καί in front of an interrogative can introduce a surprised or indignant question: “So how is it that you … ?” 226—οὐκ ἄλλως ἐρεῖς. The reference is to the point at issue in the previous three lines, why Orestes has taken hold of her and how he can be friendly, given that he is armed and has “ambushed” her. 227—ἕστηκα. See note to S. 50. 228—σοῦ κασιγνήτου λόγους. The genitive seems to indicate the person he has come to tell her about. 230—ζῇ. ζάω is one of several contract verbs, like χράομαι, that show an η where we might expect a long α. See Smyth, 394. —πρῶτα. Remember that neuter singulars, or plurals, are often used adverbially. Compare 239. 231—εὐδαιμονοίης. Optative of wish; compare note to 222. And an optative from a contract verb. This kind of optative ending shows up also for aorist passive optatives, as well as for some -μι verbs. See Smyth, 383.3, 385, and 416. —μισθόν. The accusative seems to be in apposition to the content of the action described by the verb. That is, it is added to a description of an action that is complete already and expands on it: “May you be fortunate, (as) a reward for …” (Normally, apposition refers to the use of a noun to expand on/describe another noun, e.g., “Apposition, a common Greek construction, comes in various forms.”) Compare S. 130, with note. 232—κοινῇ. Compare 218 and S. 70, with note. —νῷν αμφοῖν. Dual dative forms. —ἔχειν. See note to 18. 233—ποῦ γῆς. The interrogative, “where?”—note accent—can be combined with a partitive genitive: “Where in/in what part of the world …?” —ὁ τλήμων. Masculine and feminine endings are the same for this adjective. —ἔχων. Indicates a state or condition: “keeping his exile” (Cropp). 234—φθείρεται. This verb can be used of men who are shipwrecked and seems to imply both wandering and suffering. —νομίζων … νόμον. A “cognate” accusative, a subspecies of internal accusative. Literally, something like “practices the practices.” The effect may be to emphasize the basic idea of the verb. Usually an adjective or other modifier is added to the noun, in effect changing the meaning of the verb. Compare 247. —πόλεως. Scanned as two syllables. ⏖ is used at an anceps position later in the line only with proper names. See p. 5 and note to 80. 235—οὔ που. With the negative this που—note accent—indicates that the speaker does not want to believe something: “You don’t mean …?” —καθ’ ἡμέραν. Expression of time derived from the use of κατά meaning “by,” “according to”; so, “day by day,” “daily.” 236-7—δὲ δή. In the first line, the δή highlights the contrast: “He has …, but …” (Compare 37.) In the second line, it stresses the important part of the question: “And what message …?” 237—κείνου. An Ionic form—see p. 65—used as a metrical alternative by the tragedians.

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238—ὅπως τε ζῶσα συμφορᾶς ἔχεις. The adverb (an indirect interrogative—see note to S. 33) is combined with ἔχω, a common idiom, and means: “How you are…” The genitive then specifies: “in regard to.” The participle is conditional: “And, if you are alive, how…” —ζῇς … ζῶσα. See note to 230. 239—οὔκουν. In a question, this combination of οὐκ and οὖν occurs frequently in the back and forth of drama, often in a response; the speaker reacts not so much to what has just been said but to the fact that it has been said to begin with: “Well, don’t you see …?” It should be obvious, to Electra’s mind, how she is doing. 240-1. Assumed in the first line is something like “I see your body …” In the second, “And you see …” The form of expression in stichomythia can condense itself, which may mean filling in the blanks from context. 240—γε. In answers, instead of a “yes” a γε does the same job and implies agreement. Orestes agrees, saying, more or less, “With grief (I see your body) worn down.” —ὥστε με στένειν. One of the two standard uses of ὥστε to express a result. With the infinitive, the emphasis is on the kind of event, circumstance, etc., one that naturally leads to a particular result, whether it happens or not. When the verb form is not an infinitive, the emphasis is on an actual result. Orestes may groan, in other words, but the focus is on Electra’s sad state. (Note that, since the infinitive construction is used here, the subject is in the accusative, as with some impersonal verbs and in indirect speech.) See Smyth, 2257-9. 243—γάρ. γάρ can introduce an answer in which the speaker, by implication, says, “Yes, I agree,” or “No, I disagree,” and gives his reason. (Compare the use of γε in 240.) In English we would make the agreement or disagreement explicit and leave out the logical connection: “He was a great president.” “No, he had no idea of what he was doing about …” 244. Another line to fill in from context; add in φίλτερόν ἐστι from the last line. 246—ἐκ τοῦ. = ἐκ τίνος—see Smyth, 334—and means something like, “From what cause?” Compare 31, with note. —ἑκάς. Postposed improper preposition. Compare note to 94, and Smyth, 1700. 247—ἐγημάμεσθ’ … θανάσιμον γάμον. Adding an adjective to the cognate accusative— see note to 234—changes the basic meaning of the verb. —ὦ ξεῖνε. Like κεῖνος—237, with note—an Ionic form used by the tragedians as a compositional variant. But this word is used infrequently, mostly in the vocative. (Compare 259 and 265.) 248—ᾤμωξ’. “I lament for your brother.” On the use of this kind of aorist to indicate a reaction, see note to S. 78-9. 249—ᾧ. The demonstrative implied by the relative (“that man to whom …”) is left out, as often. (Compare 223, with note.) But the relative is definite; later, it appears that her uncle Castor had courted her. (See note to 312.) —ἤλπιζεν ἐκδώσειν. The future infinitive is regularly used only in indirect discourse constructions. It can be used with verbs of hoping, expecting, promising, and swearing in reference to the future, but the present and aorist infinitives are possible also. 250—ὡς … λέγω. Compare 268, and note to 39. 251-2. These references to the house/skene do not have to be taken to imply that there is realistic scenery. An idea the audience has in the mind’s eye can be created simply by a reference like this, at a point when it is appropriate to the dramatic situation. See pp. 119-20 and compare 51 and 78, with notes. 251—τηλορός. The adjective is treated as an -ος, -ον adjective. Most “two-termination” adjectives are compounds. (See note to E. 71.) But for non-compounds masculine can be



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used for feminine, even when separate feminine forms are also used. See Smyth, 288 and 289d. Notice also that the adjective is used where an adverb might be expected. See Smyth, 1042-3. 252. Orestes means that the hut does not seem worthy even of an ordinary farmer. 253—πένης ἀνὴρ γενναῖος. The sense has to be, “Though a poor man, he is noble …” Sometimes Euripides uses two adjectives, without a connective and contrasted in sense, with one noun. There may be an understood concessive use of ὤν here; an “although” is implied: πένης ὢν ἀνὴρ, γενναῖος … 254—ἡ δ’ εὐσέβεια τίς πρόσεστι σῷ πόσει; Idiomatic sentence construction. The interrogative is in predicate position, which is how we want to translate it. But there is already a main verb. Could be smoothed out as, “What is the piety which belongs to your husband?” See Smyth, 2647. 255—ἔτλη. The aorist of τλάω is formed like the aorists of βαίνω, γιγνώσκω, φύω, etc. See Smyth, 687. The present is not in use, the present of the prose synonym, τολμάω, being used instead. Compare 277-8. 256—ἅγνευμ’. Avoiding sex was a way of ensuring ritual purity, though the Farmer’s (hypothetical) motives are not spelled out. 258—καὶ πῶς. See note to 225. —ἥσθη. Τhe aorist passive of a verb with only middle or middle and passive forms, a “deponent”—see Smyth, 356c—can have an aorist passive with an active sense. Verbs like this are called “passive deponents.” See Smyth, 811 ff. Compare note to E. 32. 259—κύριον. In Athenian law, a κύριος is the male relative with the authority to marry off a woman to another family. Whether Athenian law is being invoked directly is another matter; perhaps the expectation is simply that a male relative has to be in charge when a woman is engaged, even in a mythical royal family. Compare note to 263. 260—ξυνῆκ’. In tragic usage, the aorist of this verb can express understanding; the aorist indicates that the speaker gets the point: “I get you,” not “I understood.” Compare 248, and note to S. 78-9. —μή ποτ’ ἐκτείσῃ. Understood is something like “he’s afraid …” On clauses after verbs implying fear, see note to E. 22. —δίκην. δίκη in this kind of context means “atonement,” “satisfaction,” “penalty.” Compare 269. 261—τοῦτ’ αὐτό. “This very thing,” “just this.” Compare 279, and note to S. 36. —ἔφυ. In terms of endings, another aorist like ἔτλη. See Smyth, 687. As to its meaning, the aorist, along with the perfect, can have a present sense: “to be [something] by nature” or simply “to be.” 262—φεῦ. Exclamations like this sometimes occur “extra metrum,” not as an integral part of a line. Compare 282. —δραστέον. A verbal adjective, indicating what must be done. Here, it can be taken impersonally and actively with ἄνδρα as its object. Compare S. 16 and Smyth, 2149-52. 263. The reference is to Orestes, who in Electra’s mind is not there, though the actual Orestes has just spoken in his own voice. As the male relative in charge of her (at least potentially), he should reward her husband for respecting her, just as he should punish Aegisthus for dishonoring her. —εἰ δή ποθ’ … γ’. The combination goes with a future in the if-clause. (On this kind of condition, see note to 48-9.) The tone seems to be simultaneously skeptical and emphatic: “If he ever (ποτε) does return…”

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264—ἠνέσχετο. Occasionally an augment is added to the prefix in a compound and duplicated in its normal position. See Smyth, 451. 266—τίνος … οὕνεχ’. See note to S. 47. —σ(ε) … ὕβρισ’ Αἴγισθος τάδε. See note to 36. 267—τεκεῖν μ’ ἐβούλετ’ ἀσθενῆ. The context implies “children,” so τέκνα could be understood from τεκεῖν. On βούλομαι vs. θέλω, see note to S. 80-1. 268—δῆθε. Here a stronger form of δή. (The spelling is almost always δῆθεν.) The tone is indignant: “And all so you wouldn’t …?” 269—ὧν … δίκην. The relative picks up the τοιαῦτα and should be taken with δίκην. On the meaning of the noun, see note to 260. —δοίη. Compare 231, with note. 271—σιγῇ τοῦθ’ ὑφαιρούμεσθά νιν. This verb can take an accusative object, though a genitive (stealing from) might be expected. In combination with the adverb and internal accusative the whole means roughly, but more than, “We keep this a secret from him.” 272—αἵδ’ οὖν φίλαι σοι. Can understand οὖσαι. The weight of the question falls on this idea, which is brought to the front of the sentence—so that the hearer focuses on it—and which fills out the line to the caesura. 273—ὥστε στέγειν γε. On ὥστε with the infinitive and the use of γε, compare 240, with note. —σ’. = σά. 274. The main verb of the condition is understood; the question is what Orestes should do, if he comes. πρὸς τάδε means “with this situation to face,” “accordingly.” —Ἄργος. (Neuter) accusative. In other words, another instance of the “terminal accusative.” See note to 88. 275—ἤρου … εἶπας. Though these verbs are in the 2nd person, the aorist expresses the speaker’s reaction to what the interlocutor is saying: “You’re asking this? That’s shameful!” Compare 248 (and note to S. 78-9). —εἶπας. For the second person singular, this combination of second aorist stem and first aorist ending is standard in Aristophanes and tragedy. 276—ἐλθὼν δὲ δή. Stresses the important part of the question: “But once he’s come, how…?” Compare 237. 277. The last word of the line is in doubt. If πατήρ is not the subject, we can rephrase more clearly (for us) as, τολμῶν (τοιαῦτα) οἷ’ ὑπ’ ἐχθρῶν ἐτολμήθη. —τολμῶν. See on 255. 278—ἦ καί. “Would you even …?” Or, “Would you actually …?” 279—ταὐτῷ. = τῷ αὐτῷ. Compare 261, and note to S. 36. —γε. See note to 240. —τῷ. = ᾧ. Relatives that look like articles are used in Homer and in the Ionic of Herodotus. The tragedians also sometimes use them. In almost all cases in dialogue this form of the relative is used as a compositional expedient. Here it keeps a diphthong and a vowel (-ει ᾧ) from butting together. 280—λέγω τάδ’ αὐτῷ; As the punctuation makes clear, this is a deliberative question. (“Shall I …?”) Most deliberative subjunctives—see note to S. 33-4—are first person plural, but the singular occurs. 281—ἐπισφάξασ’. The meaning of the ἐπι- can be read variously because there is no



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context. (Compare 92, where the idea of sacrifice is clear.) Could imply an “upon,” an “in addition,” etc. See Smyth, 1689.4. 282—φεῦ. Hard to pin down the nuance of this exclamation. Is he simply surprised? Does he admire her determination? Is he a little taken aback, and thoughtful? (Compare his reaction to her description of her husband, after 261.) —εἴθ’ ἦν … κλύων. A wish for the future is expressed with the optative. And the introductory words εἴθε, εἰ γάρ, or εἰ can be added but do not have to be. A wish that is “contrary to fact,” about the present or past, is expressed with an imperfect or aorist indicative and has to begin with εἴθε or εἰ γάρ. The imperfect can refer to the present or the past (if the action is thought of as ongoing or repeated); with the aorist the wish has to refer to the past. In this sentence the “were” is combined with a participle, which can happen with a form of εἰμί or ἔχω. The net result is, “I wish Orestes were hearing …” 283—γνοίην ἄν. Verbs that have aorists like ἔβην, ἔγνων, ἔφυν, etc. show forms like the aorists of -μι verbs; hence, this kind of optative. See Smyth, 687 and 683, and the note to 231. 285—μόνος. The adjective is being used adverbially. See Smyth, 1042. If the Old Man left Orestes and returned to Argos soon after, it is not clear why he should recognize him now. But this may be hair-splitting; the audience is being set up for a recognition-scene, even though this scene does not lead in that direction. 286—ἆρ’ ὃν λέγουσιν. On the omitted antecedent to the relative, compare 249, with note. Here you have to understand a main verb also: “Do you mean …?” 287—πατρός γε. Compare note to 240. —παιδαγωγὸς ἀρχαῖος γέρων. Could take ἀρχαῖος with παιδαγωγός (as “old,” “former”) or, better, with γέρων to emphasize his age. (When he comes on (487-92), the Old Man is certainly presented as ancient.) 288—κατθανών. For this poetic form, see above, p. 20. On the shortened form of the prefix, see note to S. 138-9. —κυρεῖ. The present is used because the focus is on the present state of affairs; “Did he get…?” is expressed more like “Has he gotten …?” Compare S. 57, with note. 289. Electra responds euphemistically. Though Agamemnon did get buried, she does not go into the whole story. Compare 323-31 and 164-5, with note. 290—τόδ’ οἷον εἶπας. Like many relative words, οἷος can be used in exclamations. As a whole, the sentence is constructed similarly to the one in 254; the exclamatory οἷον feels like a predicate of τόδε, and an English approximation seems to call for two clauses: “What a thing this is that you’ve said!” See Smyth, 2682c and compare 2647. (On εἶπας see note to 275.) —γὰρ οὖν. The οὖν adds the idea that the explanation is important or essential: “For, you see, …” 291—βροτούς. A common poetic word for “mortal,” as opposed to “immortal” or “god.” Used in Aristophanes at times but seldom in dialogue and mostly in parodies of tragedy or in scenes where humans are talking to gods. 293—ἀναγκαίους κλύειν. As in English, the infinitive can explain and expand on the adjective; the λόγοι are “necessary to hear.” Notice that the infinitive is active in form but logically implies a passive; the λόγοι “must be heard.” 295-6—ἀζήμιον … ἐνεῖναι. The core of the sentence is a simple predicate. And the subject infinitive has its own accusative subject. Compare notes to 70 and 71-3.

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295—καὶ γάρ οὐδ’. = καὶ γὰρ καὶ οὐκ. In καὶ γάρ the καί needs to be understood as not a simple “and” but as an adverbial “also,” “even,” “in fact,” etc. While οὐδέ, too, can imply any of these meanings of καί. (Contrast note to S. 132.) Putting all this together, we get, “For, in fact, having discernment is also not …” 297—τὸν αὐτὸν τῷδ’. Another use of αὐτός with the article, hence meaning “the same.” A dative can be added, as with other adjectives and adverbs expressing similarity, equality, etc. See Smyth, 1500-1. Notice that this allows a compressed form of comparison, as in the English “I have the same … as he.” (Though in this Greek idiom there is not even the beginning of a clause.) 298—ἄστεως. Scanned with synizesis. See note to 80. 300—λέγοιμ’ ἄν. When a potential optative cannot be translated by plugging in an English auxiliary (“can,” “could,” “might,” etc.), it becomes clear how flexible the notion of possibility expressed by this kind of optative is, and that it is hard at times to understand nuances. In this formula at the beginning of a speech, after an invitation to speak, the speaker simply expresses willingness to speak, or at least that is one way of explaining it: “Well, then, I’ll …” It has also been said about this kind of optative that it can express some initial reluctance: “In that case, I’d better …” In either case, the implication is that the intention to speak is conditioned by circumstances. 304-6—πρῶτον μὲν οἵοις ἐν πέπλοις … πίνῳ θ’ ὅσῳ … ὑπὸ στέγαισί τε οἵαισι … You might expect an ἔπειτα δέ (“first … next”) or some kind of definite contrast. Instead you get a list adding one indignity to the other. Perhaps the real contrast, which she has in mind but does not get to for a while (at 314 ff.), is with the way her mother is living. Notice that each additional indignity takes the form of relative clause tied to the main verb with a relative adjective, e.g., “tell him … in what kind of clothing …” Compare note to 71. 304-5. On the question of Electra’s appearance and how it is described for the audience, see p. 36. 304—πέπλοις. This word can refer to a specific form of clothing, mostly for women, and also to the robe woven for Athena and presented at the Panathenaic festival. But tragedy uses it generically for “garment” and “clothing.” 305—ὑπὸ στέγαισι. With the dative ὑπό can mean “under.” Here, “under a roof” means “in a house,” στέγαι being a poetic part for the whole but still meaning “roof.” 306—βασιλικῶν ἐκ δωμάτων. ἐκ seems to indicate a transition in her life, not just moving away from the palace; understand it as “after.” 307-9. The verb in 308 seems to need an object. Hence, the editor’s angle brackets; he assumes a line dropped out in copying a manuscript. —αὐτὴ μέν … αὐτὴ δέ. The indignity of having to do things herself is reinforced by the anaphora (Smyth, 3010); slaves ought to be doing this work for her. 308—στερήσομαι. Could be formed from a second aorist passive, without the -θ-; Euripides uses a poetic form of the sixth principal part, ἐστέρην (vs. ἐστερήθην). (See Smyth, 554 and 673.) Also could be a future middle used passively, which happens with various verbs. (See Smyth, 807-9.) 310—ἀνέορτος ἱερῶν καὶ χορῶν τητωμένη. Both genitives are ablatival; they imply she is deprived of and hence separated from something. In addition, the first genitive depends on an adjective that implies another noun: “without celebration of rituals.” Compare S. 36, with note.



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311-3. There are a number of problems with understanding the manuscript readings of these lines, and the text given here is the result of more than one emendation. 311. As emended here, the idea seems to be that she is reluctant to participate with real married women (γυναῖκας) because her marriage has not been consummated. That implies a clearer idea about the age and status of the Chorus than has been assumed here. Compare p. 88. 312-3. Castor, one of the twin brothers of Helen and Clytemnestra, is her uncle and was courting her. Marriage with an uncle is acceptable in Athenian terms, but the sense of οὖσαν ἐγγενῆ is unclear. —πρὶν … ἐλθεῖν. See note to S. 20. Castor and his brother, Polydeuces, share immortality, alternating life in Hades and on Olympus. (See, first, Odyssey 11.300-4.) They will show up at the end of the play to untangle the familial and political situation after the murders. 312—αἰσχύνομαι. The manuscript has ἀναίνομαι, which might be a mistaken repetition from the previous line; this is another emendation, though it does not lead to perfect clarity. The phrasing seems to imply she feels shame “when she thinks about” Castor. With this text, she feels shame (middle) “before” Castor. The middle can take a personal object. Some verbs indicating emotion can take a direct object, though we might think they are intransitive and need a prepositional phrase to complete the sense. See Smyth, 1595a. 314—Φρυγίοισιν ἐν σκυλεύμασιν. She sits “among” Trojan spoils. Or the reference is more specific; she sits “on” elaborate tapestries, or even is dressed “in” clothing taken from the sack of Troy. In any case, the implications are that she lives in luxury and Electra in squalor and, perhaps, that she is corrupted by a taste for oriental/barbarian luxury. Note that for the line to scan the anceps at 5 has to be resolved, which is possible with a proper name. Compare 234, with note. 315—θρόνῳ κάθηται, πρὸς δ’ ἕδραισιν. The dative is a poetic local dative. See note to S. 55. ἧμαι, compounded here, is an irregular -μι verb. See Smyth, 789. Keep in mind that a -μι verb can also be a deponent, have no active forms. See Smyth, 356c and 725. 317—φάρη … ἐζευγμέναι. The participle is middle and, with a main verb in the present, its perfect sense is descriptive of a present state of affairs. See note to S. 55, 58, and 70. φᾶρος—see p. 63—is markedly tragic diction, like πέπλος (304 and 307). 318-9—ἔτι … σέσηπεν. The perfect, common with this verb, describes a present situation without a reference to a beginning point in the past. Compare note to S. 66. 320—ἐς ταὐτὰ … ἅρματ’ … πατρί. See note to 297. 321—ἐν οἷς. The range of ἐν is wider than the English “in.” Here it may approximate ἃ ἔχων, “with which”; ἐν can be used to refer to clothing, weapons, etc. 323-5. Honoring the dead, and continuing to honor them at the tomb, was an important familial and religious duty. The neglect—and even abuse (327-31)—of the tomb is of a piece with the rest of Aegisthus’ arrogant and dangerous behavior. Neglect of the tomb also implies a judgment on Clytemnestra; the care of the dead was the responsibility of the women in a family. Compare 508-12 and S. 1138-42. —ἠτιμασμένος … οὔπω … ἔλαβε. The aorist with the adverb can be equivalent to an English present perfect. Compare S. 62, with note, and S. 88-91. The perfect participle is descriptive. Compare 317, with note. 324—μυρσίνης. Ionic form. See p. 63. 325—πυρά. May refer to an altar. Compare note to 92.

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—χέρσος ἀγλαϊσμάτων. Compare note to 310. (The double dot (diaeresis) indicates that αϊ is not a diphthong but pronounced as two separate vowel sounds.) 326—βρεχθείς. Colloquial way of talking about being drunk, as in “soused,” “sozzled.” 327—ὁ κλεινός, ὡς λέγουσιν.  Would seem natural to separate ὁ κλεινός in sense, given the line break, and to take ὡς λέγουσιν as a parenthetical and ironic comment on his supposed nobility. But given the way the article is used in poetry, πόσις ὁ κλεινός is easy enough to understand as a unit—see note to S. 9—even if the addition gives the adjective more emphasis. In other words, ὡς λέγουσιν probably should be taken with the next phrase; the sentence is working toward telling us this particularly awful thing people say Aegisthus did at the tomb. 329—εἰς ἡμᾶς. “against us” 330—καλῶς. Colloquial. The implication is, “Doing a fine job, isn’t he?” Compare 76 and note. 331—ταῦτ’ … ὑβρίζεται. In other words, ταῦτα τὸν ἄποντα Ὀρέστην ὁ Αἴγισθος ὑβρίζει. Compare 266 and see note to 36. 334-5. An odd-sounding list. Electra is interpreter for her hands, tongue (?), and heart, to which are tacked on her shaven head and Orestes’ father. The second line in particular sounds odd, though her preoccupation with her “degraded” appearance has been given great weight, even in comparison to the murder of Agamemnon. The use of τε to join together the last item of a series that begins without any connectives is rare. 334—ἡ γλῶσσ’. Ionic form. See p. 63. 336-7—αἰσχρὸν … εἰ … οὐ δυνήσεται. The possibility is presented, clearly, as something she does not want to think about. See note to 48-9. (οὐ instead of μή is sometimes used in an if-clause divided into μέν and δέ pieces. See Smyth, 2698.e.) 337—ὁ δ’. Demonstrative use of the article—compare note to S. 45—contrasted with πατὴρ μέν. —ἄνδρ’ ἕν’ εἷς ὤν. The εἷς ὤν seems superfluous; the contrast is clear already. But this kind of repetition of the same word in different forms can be used for effect in poetry. Maybe the point is to emphasize the idea of a straight man-to-man combat. If so, her expectations are off. Orestes goes to work differently. See 830-42. 338—πεφυκώς. See note to 261.

Introduction for the First Dialogue Scene in Sophocles Construction of dialogue scenes continued: rhesis The speech of Euripides’ Electra from the last reading has a clear rhetorical shape; we can hear the character speechifying. First, we are aware that it has a beginning, a body of argument, and a clearly marked ending. Second, we are in no doubt that she has a rhetorical aim. She announces her intention to speak, after being invited by Orestes and the Chorus Leader, and her purpose, that Orestes hear what she has to say (300-3); she goes through a detailed description of her poverty and the dispossession of her status (304-13); she makes a clear transition and contrasts her mother’s luxurious life (314-9) and Aegisthus’ usurpation of her father’s place, as well as his hybris (319-31); she returns to her original purpose, forcefully asking that Orestes heed all this; finally, she rounds off with a clear plea for action, that given the glorious victories of his father his not taking revenge would be shameful. The speech is carefully elaborated, in other words, and each part is clearly related to the whole and to the speaker’s purposes. In the speech of Sophocles’ Electra the same feeling of rhetorical shape and purposefulness will be clear. She will announce her theme and imply her purpose (254-7), to explain further and to justify her behavior; she will go through the body of her self-justification (258-306)—see below; and she will give a clear rounding off, this time by generalizing in a pithy way about why behavior like hers (always) has to be excused (307-9). Following this lengthy speech, the scene concludes with a brief passage of stichomythia—see note to 310-23—in which the Chorus Leader asks about the possibility of Orestes’ coming and of revenge. That, in effect, is the entire scene, which ends with the announcement of the entry of Electra’s sister Chrysothemis from the skene/palace. Not only the rhetorical flavor and shape of a tragic rhesis, then, but also its extent may be surprising. Tragic characters are not often at a loss for words, so much so that silence can be dramatic or ominous. The default is that thoughts and feelings are explicitly worked out and extensively verbalized. Their verbal responsiveness, and their willingness not only to act but to hash over action, past, present, and future, is a large part of what makes them interesting mechanisms for enacting the version of the myth being presented, and for helping the audience respond to its meanings. (See pp. 102-4.) The speeches of the protagonist in particular are not simply formally constructed or just plain long but opportunities for significant and dramatic elaboration of dilemmas, arguments, emotional responses, etc. She, or he, is at the center of the action and is responding to the situation in which a tragic protagonist must respond, because they are constructed to do so in a way that justifies empathy, or uneasiness, and that provides food for thought. Action and justification of action; the Electras’ speeches Like stichomythiai, tragic speeches are flexible instruments; they suit the context and the character. Sophocles’ Electra delivers a speech that responds to a specific situation 141

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and that does, in fact, provide a justification for her position (whether she is convincing or not). That the protagonist now justifies her refusal to stop mourning and her oppositional character might seem redundant. The same ground has been covered in the opening anapaests and amoibaion. But the doubling the rhesis allows is both useful and dramatically effective, and for several reasons. First, because of the length of the speech and its rhetorical elaboration, it allows expansiveness and expatiation, as well as an opportunity to argue for Electra’s particular way of responding to her situation. She gets to explain at length what might have seemed to be a purely emotional response, even at times irrational obstinacy. By enumerating the consequences of Agamemnon’s murder, as she has to live with them, and by making concrete and circumstantial what was pitched at such a high lyric level, she grounds her complaints and makes clearer her position. We see the same procedure, with important differences not only in the situation but also in tone and feeling, in the Euripidean Electra’s speech; she expounds on her need for Orestes to his “representative” and reiterates in vivid detail just how squalid her life is, how luxurious Clytemnestra’s, and how crass and immoral is Aegisthus’ behavior. In addition, her speech provides further exposition of the current situation, and the characters of her Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, who by her account fully deserve the revenge she hopes for; the audience gets not only to ponder the consequences of Agamemnon’s murder, the most important event in the back story, but to sink further into the particular present of Euripides’ version of the myth and to think about where the action is heading. The same sort of thing is going on in the Sophoclean Electra’s speech. She, too, gives the details of her current life, how she has to live with the consequences of Agamemnon’s murder and the usurpation of his power by Aegisthus. But she also gives a particularly vivid picture of this Clytemnestra, a picture that becomes increasingly colored emotionally. Her Clytemnestra is angry because of Electra’s obstinacy and because of her fear of Orestes, and we hear her angry words reported directly by Electra. The net effect of such vivid language, like the image in Euripides of the drunken Aegisthus stoning Agamemnon’s tomb and taunting the absent Orestes, is not only to make more immediate the feelings of the Electras but to bring on stage, in absentia, the characters whose past crimes, and future deaths, will be a focus for action.

Reading Eight: Sophocles, Lines 251-323 Poetic Vocabulary: some common poetic adjectives Two common adjectives appear: 1) κλεινός, ή, όν, “famous,” “renowned” and 2) ἐσθλός, ή, όν, “good,” “good of his/her/its kind.” Two fairly common verbs also appear: 1) πέλω, “become,” “be” and 2) πέρθω, “sack,” “take as plunder,” etc. (A closely related prose verb is πορθέω.) Further forms to review Go back to the review of the functions of the principal parts, first—see p. 66-7— and then review: • The perfect active indicative, from the fourth principal part. See Smyth, 383.1. • The perfect active participle and infinitive. See Smyth, 383.1 and 309. Remember that the reduplication is not always easy to recognize as such. See p. 67. Review also: • The present and imperfect of φημί. See Smyth, 783. Common irregular verbs By this point some irregular principal parts, particularly the third, for aorist active and middle forms, have repeated themselves several times. As common principal parts begin to be omitted from the vocabulary—see p. 11—the principal parts for the verbs they come from will be listed in the introductions to the readings, so that they can be learned systematically and a few at a time. For easy reference, there is a list in the back of the textbook. For further information, see Smyth, pp. 684-722. (Notice that in his lists compounds are not listed separately and that prose forms are printed in bold.) We will work mostly on the first, second, third, and sixth principal parts; most perfect forms are uncommon enough to pass over for the moment. For this time, learn: ἀπο-θνῄσκω, ἀπο-θανοῦμαι, ἀπ-έθανον, τέθνηκα ἀπ-όλλυμι, ἀπ-ολῶ, ἀπ-ώλεσα/ἀπ-ωλόμην, (ἀπ-ολώλεκα/ἀπ-όλωλα) λαμβάνω, λήψομαι, ἔλαβον, (εἴληφα), (εἴλημμαι), ἐλήφθην ὁράω, ὄψομαι, εἶδον, (ἑώρακα/ἑόρακα), (ἑώραμαι/ὦμμαι), ὤφθην (Note the aorist stem, ἰδ-.)

Χο. ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ παῖ, καὶ τὸ σὸν σπεύδουσ’ ἅμα καὶ τοὐμὸν αὐτῆς ἦλθον· εἰ δὲ μὴ καλῶς λέγω, σὺ νίκα· σοὶ γὰρ ἑψόμεσθ’ ἅμα. Ηλ. αἰσχύνομαι μέν, ὦ γυναῖκες, εἰ δοκῶ πολλοῖσι θρήνοις δυσφορεῖν ὑμῖν ἄγαν. ἀλλ’ ἡ βία γὰρ ταῦτ’ ἀναγκάζει με δρᾶν, σύγγνωτε. πῶς γάρ, ἥτις εὐγενὴς γυνή, 143

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πατρῷ’ ὁρῶσα πήματ’, οὐ δρῴη τάδ’ ἄν, ἁγὼ κατ’ ἦμαρ καὶ κατ’ εὐφρόνην ἀεὶ θάλλοντα μᾶλλον ἢ καταφθίνονθ’ ὁρῶ; ᾗ πρῶτα μὲν τὰ μητρός, ἥ μ’ ἐγείνατο, ἔχθιστα συμβέβηκεν· εἶτα δώμασιν ἐν τοῖς ἐμαυτῆς τοῖς φονεῦσι τοῦ πατρὸς ξύνειμι, κἀκ τῶνδ’ ἄρχομαι κἀκ τῶνδέ μοι λαβεῖν θ’ ὁμοίως καὶ τὸ τητᾶσθαι πέλει. ἔπειτα ποίας ἡμέρας δοκεῖς μ’ ἄγειν, ὅταν θρόνοις Αἴγισθον ἐνθακοῦντ’ ἴδω τοῖσιν πατρῴοις, εἰσίδω δ’ ἐσθήματα φοροῦντ’ ἐκείνῳ ταὐτά, καὶ παρεστίους σπένδοντα λοιβὰς ἔνθ’ ἐκεῖνον ὤλεσεν, ἴδω δὲ τούτων τὴν τελευταίαν ὕβριν, τὸν αὐτοέντην ἡμὶν ἐν κοίτῃ πατρὸς ξὺν τῇ ταλαίνῃ μητρί, μητέρ’ εἰ χρεὼν ταύτην προσαυδᾶν τῷδε συγκοιμωμένην· ἡ δ’ ὧδε τλήμων ὥστε τῷ μιάστορι ξύνεστ’, Ἐρινὺν οὔτιν’ ἐκφοβουμένη· ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ ἐγγελῶσα τοῖς ποιουμένοις, εὑροῦσ’ ἐκείνην ἡμέραν, ἐν ᾗ τότε πατέρα τὸν ἀμὸν ἐκ δόλου κατέκτανεν, ταύτῃ χοροὺς ἵστησι καὶ μηλοσφαγεῖ θεοῖσιν ἔμμην’ ἱερὰ τοῖς σωτηρίοις. ἐγὼ δ’ ὁρῶσα δύσμορος κατὰ στέγας κλαίω, τέτηκα, κἀπικωκύω πατρὸς τὴν δυστάλαιναν δαῖτ’ ἐπωνομασμένην αὐτὴ πρὸς αὐτήν· οὐδὲ γὰρ κλαῦσαι πάρα τοσόνδ’ ὅσον μοι θυμὸς ἡδονὴν φέρει. αὕτη γὰρ ἡ λόγοισι γενναία γυνὴ φωνοῦσα τοιάδ’ ἐξονειδίζει κακά, “ὦ δύσθεον μίσημα, σοὶ μόνῃ πατὴρ τέθνηκεν; ἄλλος δ’ οὔτις ἐν πένθει βροτῶν;

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κακῶς ὄλοιο, μηδέ σ’ ἐκ γόων ποτὲ τῶν νῦν ἀπαλλάξειαν οἱ κάτω θεοί.” τάδ’ ἐξυβρίζει· πλὴν ὅταν κλύῃ τινὸς ἥξοντ’ Ὀρέστην· τηνικαῦτα δ’ ἐμμανὴς βοᾷ παραστᾶσ’, “οὐ σύ μοι τῶνδ’ αἰτία; οὐ σὸν τόδ’ ἐστὶ τοὔργον, ἥτις ἐκ χερῶν κλέψασ’ Ὀρέστην τῶν ἐμῶν ὑπεξέθου; ἀλλ’ ἴσθι τοι τείσουσά γ’ ἀξίαν δίκην.” τοιαῦθ’ ὑλακτεῖ, σὺν δ’ ἐποτρύνει πέλας ὁ κλεινὸς αὐτῇ ταὐτὰ νυμφίος παρών, ὁ πάντ’ ἄναλκις οὗτος, ἡ πᾶσα βλάβη, ὁ σὺν γυναιξὶ τὰς μάχας ποιούμενος. ἐγὼ δ’ Ὀρέστην τῶνδε προσμένουσ’ ἀεὶ παυστῆρ’ ἐφήξειν ἡ τάλαιν’ ἀπόλλυμαι. μέλλων γὰρ ἀεὶ δρᾶν τι τὰς οὔσας τέ μου καὶ τὰς ἀπούσας ἐλπίδας διέφθορεν. ἐν οὖν τοιούτοις οὔτε σωφρονεῖν, φίλαι, οὔτ’ εὐσεβεῖν πάρεστιν· ἀλλ’ ἐν τοῖς κακοῖς πολλή ˀστ’ ἀνάγκη κἀπιτηδεύειν κακά. Χο. φέρ’ εἰπέ, πότερον ὄντος Αἰγίσθου πέλας λέγεις τάδ’ ἡμῖν, ἢ βεβῶτος ἐκ δόμων; Ηλ. ἦ κάρτα. μὴ δόκει μ’ ἄν, εἴπερ ἦν πέλας, θυραῖον οἰχνεῖν· νῦν δ’ ἀγροῖσι τυγχάνει. Χο. ἦ δὴ ἂν ἐγὼ θαρσοῦσα μᾶλλον ἐς λόγους τοὺς σοὺς ἱκοίμην, εἴπερ ὧδε ταῦτ’ ἔχει. Ηλ. ὡς νῦν ἀπόντος ἱστόρει· τί σοι φίλον; Χο. καὶ δή σ’ ἐρωτῶ, τοῦ κασιγνήτου τί φῄς, ἥξοντος, ἢ μέλλοντος; εἰδέναι θέλω. Ηλ. φησίν γε· φάσκων δ’ οὐδὲν ὧν λέγει ποεῖ. Χο. φιλεῖ γὰρ ὀκνεῖν πρᾶγμ’ ἀνὴρ πράσσων μέγα. Ηλ. καὶ μὴν ἔγωγ’ ἔσωσ’ ἐκεῖνον οὐκ ὄκνῳ. Χο. θάρσει· πέφυκεν ἐσθλός, ὥστ’ ἀρκεῖν φίλοις. Ηλ. πέποιθ’, ἐπεί τἂν οὐ μακρὰν ἔζων ἐγώ.

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σπεύδω—urge on, quicken; further; press on, hurry ἅμα—at the same time; at the same time as, together with (with dat.) ἦλθον > ἔρχομαι ἕπομαι—come after, follow, accompany ἅμα—at the same time; at the same time as, together with (with dat.) αἰσχύνω—act., make ugly, dishonor; middle, feel shame, be ashamed to do 255: θρῆνος, ου, ὁ—dirge, lament δυσφορέω—be impatient, angry, distressed ἄγαν—very much, too much ἀναγκάζω—force, compel, constrain δράω—do, accomplish σύγγνωτε (aor. imper.) > συγγιγνώσκω—think with, agree with; have a fellow feeling with, excuse, pardon πῶς—how? ὅστις, ἥτις, ὅ τι—anyone who, anything which (Note: also in indirect questions.) εὐγενής, ές—well-born; noble-minded, generous; highly-bred (of animals) πατρῷος, α, ον/ος, ον—of or from one’s father, coming or inherited from him; hereditary, ancestral (of customs, institutions, etc.) πῆμα, ατος, τό—misery, calamity δρῴη (pres. opt.) > δράω—do, accomplish ἦμαρ, ἤματος, τό—day εὐφρόνη, ης, ἡ—night 260: θάλλω—sprout, grow, thrive; flourish, prosper μᾶλλον—more, rather καταφθίνω—waste away, decay ἐγείνατο (aor.) > γείνομαι—pass., to be born; middle, beget, bear ἔχθιστος, η, ον (sup. of ἐχθρός, ά, όν)—hated most; hating most συμβέβηκεν > συμβαίνω—come to pass, happen; joined with adv. or adj., turn out to be, turn out in a certain way εἶτα—then, next φονεύς, έως, ὁ—murderer ξύνειμι—be with, be joined with; live with 265: ὁμοίως—in the same way τητάομαι—only in pres., be in need, be deprived of (with gen.) πέλω/πέλομαι—become, be ἔπειτα—then, next ὅταν— = ὅτε (when) + ἄν θρόνος, ου, ὁ—seat, chair; throne ἐνθακέω—sit in or on εἰσοράω—look into, behold ἔσθημα, ατος, τό—garment, clothing φορέω—carry, bring (repeatedly, regularly); wear παρέστιος, ον—by or at the hearth

270: σπένδω—make a drink offering, pour out a libation λοιβή, ῆς, ἡ—drink-offering, libation ἔνθα—adv., there, to that place; relat., where ὄλλυμι—act., destroy, kill; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead τελευταῖος, α, ον—last; most extreme αὐτοέντης, ου, ὁ—murderer κοίτη, ης, ἡ—bed; marriage bed τάλας, τάλαινα, τάλαν—suffering, wretched; reckless, cruel χρεών—(it is) necessary προσαυδάω—speak to, address; address as, call συγκοιμάομαι—sleep with, lie with 275: ὧδε—in this way, thus, so (very) τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stouthearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable ὥστε—conj., so as to; so that μιάστωρ, ορος, ὁ—polluted killer; avenger ξύνειμι—be with, be joined with; live with Ἐρινύς, ύος, ἡ—Fury, avenging divinity; guilt, punishment οὔτις, οὔτι—nobody, nothing ἐκφοβέω—cause alarm; middle and pass., be greatly afraid ὥσπερ—as; as though ἐγγελάω—laugh at, mock εὑροῦσα > εὑρίσκω τότε—at that time, then ἁμός/ἀμός, ή, όν—my; our δόλος, ου, ὁ—bait, trap; trick; cunning κατέκτανεν (aor.) > κατακτείνω—kill, slay 280: χορός, οῦ, ὁ—dance; chorus μηλοσφαγέω—slay sheep (in sacrifice); sacrifice ἔμμηνος, ον—every month, monthly ἱερός, ά, όν—divine, holy, sacred; as noun, ἱερά, offerings, rituals σωτήριος, ον—saving, delivering δύσμορος, ον—ill-fated, unhappy στέγη, ης, ἡ—roof; room, house κλαίω—cry, wail, lament τήκω—act., melt; pass. and pf., melt away, dissolve; pine, waste away ἐπικωκύω—lament over δύστάλας, -τάλαινα, -τάλαν—most miserable δαῖς, δαιτός, ἡ—meal, feast ἐπονομάζω—name, name after 285: κλαῦσαι > κλαίω—cry, wail, lament πάρειμι—to be here, be present; impers. (πάρεστι/ πάρα plus dat.), it is in the power of, it is possible for τοσόσδε, ήδε, όνδε—so great (as this), so many (as this) ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many



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γενναῖος, α, ον—noble, in birth and/or character φωνέω—make a loud sound; speak loudly or clearly; speak, say τοιόσδε, τοιάδε, τοιόνδε—such as this; as follows ἐξονειδίζω—cast in one’s teeth, insult δύσθεος, ον—godless, impious; hated by the gods μίσημα, ατος, τό—object of hate 290: οὔτις, οὔτι—nobody, nothing πένθος, ους, τό—sorrow, grief; mourning βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal κακῶς—badly, painfully μηδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not ἀπαλλάξειαν > ἀπαλλάττω—act., set free, deliver from; pass. and middle, leave, depart from κάτω—downwards; beneath, below ἐξυβρίζω—to break out into hybris; be (very) insulting or violent πλήν—adv. and conj., except ὅταν— = ὅτε (when) + ἄν κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey τηνικαῦτα—at that time, then ἐμμανής, ές—frantic, raving 295: βοάω—cry out, shout παραστᾶσα (aor. part.) > παρίστημι—stand near, stand beside αἴτιος, α, ον—guilty, responsible, responsible for (with gen.) ὅστις, ἥτις, ὅ τι—anyone who, anything which (Note: also in indirect questions.) κλέψασα > κλέπτω—steal, do secretly ὑπεξέθου (aor.) > ὑπεκτίθεμαι—bring one’s property to a place of safety; remove from danger ἴσθι (2nd sg. imper.) > οἶδα τοι—let me tell you, see here τείσουσα > τίνω—pay a price/penalty; middle, have a price paid oneself, punish, take revenge τοιοῦτος, τοιαύτη, τοιοῦτο(ν)—such as this ὑλακτέω—bark, bay, howl ἐποτρύνω—stir up, excite, urge on πέλας—near, near by (with gen., dat., or as adv.) 300: κλεινός, ή, όν—famous, renowned νυμφίος, ου, ὁ—bridegroom πάρειμι—to be here, be present; impers. (πάρεστι/ πάρα plus dat.), it is in the power of, it is possible for ἄναλκις, ιδος, ὁ/ἡ—without strength, feeble (of unwarlike men) βλάβη, ης, ἡ—harm, damage; trouble προσμένω—wait; wait for (with object) παυστήρ, ῆρος, ὁ—one who stops or relieves ἐφήκω—come, arrive τάλας, τάλαινα, τάλαν—suffering, wretched; reckless, cruel 305: δράω—do, accomplish

ἄπειμι—to be away or absent διέφθορεν (pf.) > διαφθείρω—destroy completely; kill; corrupt, ruin σωφρονέω—to be of sound mind; be modest, show self-control εὐσεβέω—live or act piously, show respect or reverence ἐπιτηδεύω—pursue or practice a thing 310: εἰπέ > λέγω πότερον/πότερα—adv., introducing a question in two parts (followed by ἤ) πέλας—near, near by (with gen., dat., or as adv.) βεβῶτος > βαίνω ἦ—truly, surely; introducing a question κάρτα—very, very much εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact πέλας—near, near by (with gen., dat., or as adv.) θυραῖος, α, ον/ος, ον—at or outside the door; someone else’s; from outside, from abroad οἰχνέω—go, come ἀγρός, οῦ, ὁ—mostly in plural, fields; country ἦ—truly, surely; introducing a question θαρρέω—have courage, take courage (aor.); be unafraid, have confidence μᾶλλον—more, rather 315: ἱκοίμην > ἱκνέομαι—arrive at, come to; come to as a suppliant; supplicate, entreat εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact ἄπειμι—to be away or absent ἱστορέω—inquire of, ask κασίγνητος, ου, ὁ—brother εἰδέναι > οἶδα θέλω = ἐθέλω φάσκω—say; assert; think, believe 320: φιλέω—love; be likely to ὀκνέω—hesitate; fear (to do); shrink (from doing) ἔσωσα > σῴζω ὄκνος, ου, ὁ—reluctance, hesitation; fear θαρρέω—have courage, take courage (aor.); be unafraid, have confidence ἐσθλός, ή, όν—good, good of his/its kind; faithful ὥστε—conj., so as to; so that ἀρκέω—defend, help; be strong enough; be sufficient πέποιθα > πείθω μακράν—adv., far, long

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251-3—The Chorus shapes its response to her intransigence carefully, so much so that these lines are somewhat opaque. The Chorus Leader begin by saying that they have come to promote both their own aims and Electra’s, which leads to several questions: What stake does the Chorus have in getting Electra not to make her situation worse? Does it identify with her and her interests? Is the Chorus being diplomatic, seeing that Electra will not bend? —ἐγὼ μέν … ἑψόμεσθ’. Reference to the Chorus can be in the singular and in the plural, even in the same passage. 251—μέν. Seems to be contrasted with the idea of the following clause, which focuses by implication on Electra’s wishes and interests. —σπεύδουσ’. A future participle is much more common to indicate purpose or intention. Compare E. 89, with note, and 318. 252—τοὐμὸν αὐτῆς. The Chorus Leader could have said, σπεύδω τὸ ἐμόν. The possessive adjective is another way of referring reflexively back to the subject. This combination of possessive and a genitive of αὐτός is possible in poetry. See Smyth, 1199.2. 254—αἰσχύνομαι μέν. She begins by conceding that her behavior justifies the Chorus’ concerns. But the μέν is here balanced by ἀλλὰ γάρ, which explains why she proceeds as she does in spite of her shame. See the note to 256. 255—πολλοῖσι θρήνοις. Dative indicating cause. Compare 42. 256—ἀλλ’ … γάρ. Introduces an overriding objection and an explanation at the same time: “But since …” Both words have a clear force. Compare the note to 595. 257—ἥτις. Electra introduces her particular case in terms of a general ethical truth. The indefinite relative generalizes—compare E. 105, with note. 258—δρῴη. Another optative from a contract verb. Remember that this kind of optative ending shows up also for aorist passive optatives and for -μι verbs. See note to E. 231. 259—ἁγώ. = ἃ ἐγώ. Antecedent to the relative is the πατρῷα πήματα, her father’s murder and the griefs resulting from it. 261-2—πρῶτα μὲν … εἶτα. Compare 53, and note. Notice that the list of grievances introduced here continues with the ἔπειτα section in 266 ff. 261—ᾗ. = ᾗ γε or ᾗτινι. A relative clause can indicate cause. The relative can be emphasized (“she, who …”) or your attention can be focused on the kind of person or thing you are talking about (“seeing that she is the kind of woman to …”) Or you can get the same effect, as here, implied by the context. See Smyth, 2555. —τὰ μητρός. Something like “my relations with my mother.” The neuter article is being used to generalize, to manufacture an abstract noun. See E. 53 and note. —ἥ μ’ ἐγείνατο. Seems redundant, but expressions like this seem to add an emotional coloring. The effect here is like saying “(my relations with) my own mother.” 262-3—δώμασιν ἐν τοῖς ἐμαυτῆς. It is the house of her natal family, and she may feel that from that point of view not only Aegisthus is a usurper but also Clytemnestra. On the other hand, none of that can mean much until Orestes, as the male in charge, returns. Compare E. 259 and 263, with notes. 263—τοῦ πατρός. Clear example of the article being used where we might expect a possessive; “my father” is implied by the context. Not common in tragedy; see p. 40. 264-5—ἐκ τῶνδε. With the passives at least we might expect ὑπό plus the genitive. But ἐκ seems to indicate a source of authority. Compare 124-5 and see Smyth, 1688c. 265—λαβεῖν θ’ … καὶ τὸ τητᾶσθαι. Both infinitives together are subject of the sentence.



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The infinitive used as a noun can take the article but does not have to when it is the subject. Here we get a good example of variation in use of the article, probably for metrical convenience. (Could say it is understood, after the fact, with the first infinitive, the same element being shared by two phrases, as sometimes happens.) 266-74. A long sentence that begins as a rhetorical question and develops into a series of statements that explain the anger and indignation implied by the question. 266—ἄγειν. Same sort of extended meaning here as in the English “lead a/one’s life.” 267-71—ἴδω … εἰσίδω … ἴδω. The repetition has rhetorical weight (though not a strict form of anaphora—see Smyth, 3010). Each form is an aorist subjunctive, from the root ἰδ-, which yields the augmented εἰδ-. 268-9—ἐσθήματα … ἐκείνῳ ταὐτά. See note to E. 297. 269-70—παρεστίους … λοιβάς. Libations were poured before and after a feast. But the symbolic resonance is that the hearth is at the center of the household and its rituals; Aegisthus has usurped Agamemnon in multiple ways. 270—ἔνθ’. ἔνθα meaning “where” and ἔνθεν, “from where,” “whence,” are very rare in our prose sample—only a few instances of ἔνθα in Thucydides—and used by Aristophanes only in lyric or parody. —ὤλεσεν. Remember that this verb has both a transitive and intransitive aorist. See p. 143 and compare 127. 271—τούτων. The genitive could be “subjective”; it expresses what a subject would, if the phrase were turned into a sentence of equivalent meaning: “They commit the worst/ most extreme hybris by …” Compare the note to 37. Could also be partitive: “and the worst hybris of all (their acts of hybris) …” —τὴν τελευταίαν ὕβριν. The phrase as a whole is an accusative in apposition to the content of the rest of the sentence. (Compare E. 231, with note.) ὕβριν here refers to an “act of hybris,” a deliberate and malicious form of insult or outrage intended as humiliation. 273—ξύν. See note to 61. 273-4—Her complaints about Aegisthus modulate into complaints about Clytemnestra, who will be her focus for another 25 lines. 275-6—ὥστε … ξύνεστ’. See note to E. 240. 275—ἡ δ’. The article is used as a demonstrative. Compare ὁ γάρ, 45, with note. —τλήμων. On the forms of this adjective, compare E. 233, with note. 276—οὔτιν’. οὔτις is used for οὐδείς by Homer. Forms from both are used in tragedy but only those from οὐδείς in prose, except for οὔτι, which occurs (rarely) in Aristophanes and Plato. —Ἐρινὺν … ἐκφοβουμένη. Some Greek verbs indicating emotion can take a direct object, though we might expect them to be intransitive and need a prepositional phrase to complete the sense, e.g., “be greatly afraid about…” Compare E. 312 and see Smyth, 1595a. 277—ὥσπερ ἐγγελῶσα. With a participle, ὥσπερ can introduce a comparison with an assumed situation: “as though mocking … , “ “as if she were …” See Smyth, 2087. 278—εὑροῦσ’. Seems to mean something like “having ascertained” (Jebb). If that sounds a bit odd, you are not alone in feeling that way. Various scholars have proposed emending the text so that Clytemnestra would “observe” that day with rituals, or would have “consecrated” it as a day for ritual. 279—ἁμός/ἀμός. Poetic form used in tragedy as an equivalent to ἡμέτερος, which is rare

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in trimeter. Used here as a poetic plural. —ἐκ δόλου. ἐκ/ἐξ with the genitive can indicate the cause of its action, its basis. (Compare 48.) And that same usage can modulate into an adverbial expression; indicating the cause or means can be a way of expressing how something was done. 283-4. Would be easier as τὴν πατρὸς ἐπωνομασμένην δυστάλαιναν δαῖτα, “the (very) miserable feast named after my father” (Jebb). The effect of this word order seems to be to emphasize the fact that it is named after her father. 283—τέτηκα. Compare note to 66. —κἀπικωκύω. = καὶ ἐπικωκύω. The use of καί to add on the last item in a list sounds normal to an English speaker. But in Greek it is normal to use no connectives or one for each item. 285—αὐτὴ πρὸς αὐτήν. Might expect simply πρὸς ἐμαυτήν, but this intensified form of the reflexive pronoun emphasizes her isolation; she is shut in the house and cut off from the connection she might expect with others in mourning, normally communal. —πάρα. = πάρεστι, “it is possible,” “it is in one’s power.” Notice the accent. If you see a preposition like this that is not following its noun, it is likely not to be a preposition but a short form of a compound of ἐστί. 286—τοσόνδ’ ὅσον. Both τοσόνδε and ὅσον are adverbial and correlative. A demonstrative and a relative are tied together: “to that extent … to which extent,” or, we would say, “as much … as.” Compare note to E. 71, and Smyth, 340. 287—λόγοισι. Electra appeals to ideas of nobility she has already invoked (257) and criticizes Clytemnestra for being noble “in words.” The exact meaning is hard to determine. Is she noble in word but not deed? Is she “supposedly” noble? Is she said (by others) to be noble? Is she “noble” (with sarcastic emphasis) in the following speeches? 288—φωνοῦσα. Sometimes this word is a simple poetic synonym for “say,” but the verb often means that someone is speaking loudly, which makes sense here. 289—δύσθεον. The adjective seems to have a passive sense, “hated by the gods,” rather than an active one, like “impious.” —μίσημα. The use of an abstract noun in -μα to refer to a person can have a strong negative flavor; Electra is portraying Clytemnestra’s anger vividly. 293—πλήν. Seems slightly illogical. Why an “except” and not a “but?” We might expect this idea to be expressed differently; she is insulting (normally), “but when …” Instead we get the idea that she is insulting normally, except when she hears about Orestes, and then she loses control completely. —κλύῃ τινός. The genitive indicates the person “from whom” you hear something. 295—παραστᾶσ’. Implies physical movement and a threatening, in-your-face posture. 296—ἥτις. See the note to 261. 297—κλέψασ’ … ὑπεξέθου. See 12-3, 321, 601, and 1130-3; compare the note to 12. The implication is that Clytemnestra intended to murder Orestes. Note the first part of the prefix on the verb, which implies secrecy. See Smyth, 1698.4. On the nuances of κλέπτω, in addition to the explicit meaning “steal,” see note to 37. 298—ἴσθι … τείσουσα. If it is not clear why the participle is in the nominative here but in the accusative in 294, see note to E. 53. —τοι … γ’. Clytemnestra is threatening her daughter. Approximately, “I’m telling you, you’ll pay for this.” τοι often implies that the speaker is trying to bring home an idea to the



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person addressed. It can be translated, like γε, by emphasis or tone of voice. 299—σὺν δ’ ἐποτρύνει. σύν is probably adverbial, though it could be taken as a second prefix with the verb. (See note to E. 146-7.) —πέλας. Not used in prose as an adverb or improper preposition but with an article; οἱ πέλας are “neighbors.” 300—αὐτῇ ταὐτά. For the dative, see note to E. 297. 301—ὁ πάντ’ ἄναλκις. πάντα = “in every respect.” Accusative of respect with the adjective—see Smyth, 1600-5. (On the form of the adjective, see note to E. 13.) —ἡ πᾶσα βλάβη. βλάβη can be applied to people as an insult (“trouble-maker,” “pain,” etc.). πᾶς can be used to intensify insults. 302—σὺν γυναιξί. See p. 64 and note to 61. The preposition does not imply “with,” as in “against,” but “together with,” “with the help of.” (See Smyth, 1696.1.) The reproach is again aimed at Aegisthus’ virility. See note to 97-9. —τὰς μάχας ποιούμενος. The middle of ποιέω can be used with a noun as a periphrasis for a verb of the same meaning, as in the English “make war,” “make whoopee,” etc. 303-4. Verbs that mean “promise,” “swear,” “expect,” “hope,” etc. can take a form of indirect speech. Hence, the accusative with future infinitive. Take τῶνδ’ and παυστῆρ’ together; Orestes will come as a “stopper” or “reliever” of/from all “this” (her troubles). 304—ἡ τάλαιν’. The word has a range of meanings; compare 273. Here used in self-commiseration. Compare E. 220, with note. 305-6—τὰς οὔσας τέ μου καὶ τὰς ἀπούσας ἐλπίδας. Two contrasted elements are opposed (a “polar expression”) as a way of expressing the idea “all my hopes.” 305—μέλλων … δρᾶν τι. On the infinitive, compare E. 17, with note. δρᾶν τι seems to mean “do something” in the sense, “do something significant,” “do something valuable.” 306—διέφθορεν. Reduplication for this perfect form may be confusing. See p. 67. 307-8—οὔτε σωφρονεῖν … οὔτ’ εὐσεβεῖν. Compare and contrast 254-8. The sticking point (at least rhetorically) is that she is not behaving as a young, unmarried woman should; to begin with, she is complaining loudly, in public, and not showing respect for her mother. If the audience remembered Aeschylus’ Electra the contrast might have been a sharp one; she prays to be “σωφρονεστέραν πολύ” and “χεῖρα εὐσεβεστέραν” than Clytemnestra, “much more self-controlled sexually and more pious in deed” (Libation Bearers, 140-1). That the audience might have remembered this about Aeschylus’ Electra seems likely; Aristophanes can joke about the character and play off a picture of an Electra who is “σώφρων φύσει,” “modest by nature” (Clouds 534-7). 308—πάρεστιν. Compare 285, with note. 310—φέρ’ εἰπέ. φέρε in combination with an imperative means something like “Come …” It marks a break and introduces the imperative. The expression as a whole may be colloquial. 310-1. It is important dramatically, and for the construction of the plot, that Aegisthus is absent. His absence allows a focus on Clytemnestra, and a different sequence of events in the revenge plot. The possibility of his return is also implied. —πότερον… ἤ. This combination of words is common for introducing a question in two parts. Notice, though, that Electra only replies to the second part of the question; the real point is that the conversation is impossible without Aegisthus’ absence. (The two-part question may be meant to draw attention to that absence; see the last note.) 311—βεβῶτος. A perfect participle from βαίνω. Contracted from βεβαότος. The form is

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based on a “second perfect” stem; see Smyth, 554, 561 and 702-4. On the meaning of the tense, compare note to E. 12 and the perfects in 322 and 323. 312-3—μὴ δόκει μ’ ἄν … θυραῖον οἰχνεῖν. Standard accusative infinitive construction in indirect speech. (Notice the contract imperative also.) What is implied, as the ἄν with the infinitive shows, is: οὐκ ἂν θυραῖος ᾤχνουν, εἴπερ ἦν πέλας, a contrary to fact. 313—θυραῖον. Compare E. 251, with note. —τυγχάνει. Without an ὤν. Compare 46, with note. —ἀγροῖσι. Dative indicating location without a preposition. Like the accusative without a preposition, it is poetic. See the note to 55. 314-5—ἐς λόγους τοὺς σούς. You might think that the phrase implies Electra doing the speaking: “your speaking,” “You will speak (to us),” etc. But the possessive can also imply that someone else is doing something to, for, or with the person referred to by the adjective: “words with you,” “I want to talk with you,” etc. (Just as a personal pronoun in the genitive can imply a subject or an object; see Smyth, 1197 and 1330-1.) 315—ὧδε ταῦτ’ ἔχει. Compare note to E. 76. 316—ὡς νῦν ἀπόντος. ὡς with a participle often indicates what the subject of the main verb is thinking or saying. A handy general approximation is “with this in mind.” 316-7—ἱστόρει … καὶ δή σ’ ἐρωτῶ. The combination καὶ δή can be used when the speaker responds to a command by answering that s/he is doing or has done what was required: “All right, I’m …” Often, the word of command is echoed in the answer; here the echo takes the form of metrically convenient poetic synonym. The first verb is absent from comedy and Attic prose, the second common. Tragedy can use both. 317-9. Again, there is a two-part question with only one of the alternatives taken up in the response. The question amounts to, “Is he really going to come, or is he still delaying?” The weight is on the first part. Compare 310-1, with note. 317-8. The elaborate buildup to this question might seem odd, given Electra’s pessimism about his returning (at 303-6). Consistency is less important than dramatic and emotional focus; Electra’s situation and state of mind are being dramatized. 317—τοῦ κασιγνήτου. An introductory genitive indicating the subject talked about; you might expect a περί. You can also get a genitive with verbs meaning “to hear,” not what you hear but what you hear about. Compare 480-1, with note. 318—ἥξοντος, ἢ μέλλοντος. The future participle indicates purpose or intention. Compare E. 89, with note. μέλλω here means “delay,” “put off.” 319—οὐδὲν ὧν λέγει. Would be easier as τούτων ἃ λέγει. But the antecedent in the genitive or dative can be left off and the relative can take its case by “attraction.” Happens frequently with demonstratives. In other words, we get “nothing of what he says” instead of “nothing of those things which he says,” which does not sound like a problem in English, until we have to account for the case of the “what” in the Greek. See Smyth, 2522 (and 2529). 320—φιλεῖ. From the sense of “love/like to do” the verb comes to be used with an infinitive to indicate what the subject is likely to do or usually does. 321. Compare 12-3 and 296-7, with note to 12. —καὶ μὴν ἔγωγ’. καὶ μήν can introduce an objection: “And yet …” ἔγωγε is a standard combination fused into a word: “I …” or “for my part …” See the definition(s) of γε in the glossary.



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—οὐκ ὄκνῳ. Adverbial. Compare S. 70, with note. 322—πέφυκεν. On the meaning of this verb in the perfect or the aorist, see note to E. 261. 323—πέποιθ(α). “I believe it.” (Another “second perfect”; see note to 311. The form is rare in prose, relatively common in tragedy, occasionally used in comedy.) —τἄν. = τοι ἄν. On τοι see note to 298. The ἄν points to an implied condition. But it is less easy to see it than was the case in 312-3; the if clause is assumed as part of the explanation: “Since, if this hadn’t been the case …” I.e., “Since otherwise …”

The Chorus The voices of choral performance and their dramatic possibilities For this assignment you will begin with more reading in translation. In order to provide context for two choral passages, E. 432-86 and S. 472-515, read the rest of the dialogue section following the last reading in Greek for each play. That is, read the rest of each episode. Because Aristotle used the term in his Poetics, any stretch of spoken dialogue between extended choral (or solo) songs has been called an episode, the part between the odes/songs. This is a useful term; the structure of a tragedy, roughly speaking, is created by alternating spoken with sung sections of performance. But in practice there is much variation in the length and form of each unit. The two episodes considered here are about the same length, but the length of episodes varies greatly. More importantly, there is considerable variation in the construction of the plot within episodes, as they develop through a varying number of scenes, defined by the arrivals and departures of the actors. In Euripides’ play, after the long stichomythia and Electra’s rhesis, the first scene ends with the announcement of the Farmer’s return (339-40). As usual, the audience’s attention is drawn to the new arrival. (Compare E. 107-9, with note.) The second scene of the episode, then, begins with all three speaking actors involved. They do not engage in a genuine three-cornered conversation, however, which is rare in tragedy. Instead, there are two sequences involving duologue. The Farmer asks Electra for information about Orestes and Pylades and then invites them into the house. Orestes, without addressing the Farmer, then asks Electra about him and gives a longish speech about the correspondence, or lack of it, between social and moral worth. Then he and Pylades, along with their servants, enter the skene. Electra and her husband wrangle briefly about how to entertain and feed the guests. She is sent back into the house (421-2), and the Farmer goes off to get food from an old servant, who was Agamemnon’s paidagogos. The Chorus is left by itself on the stage. In this first episode in Sophocles, after Electra’s long speech of self-justification and the brief exchange with the Chorus Leader, the arrival of Chrysothemis, Electra’s sister, is announced (324-7).47 Not only does this mark a new sequence of dialogue and action, but, as often, the appearance of the new character is also connected verbally, and visually, to new developments; Chrysothemis is carrying offerings for the dead, as the Chorus Leader makes clear. At first, it appears that this second scene will only cover ground similar to the first; Chrysothemis and Electra argue about whether to resist Clytemnestra and Aegisthus and about Electra’s being dangerously vocal. Chrysothemis is a more reasonable and morally accommodating sort, and she acts as another foil, like the Chorus, for Electra’s intransigent character. But then the plot moves forward, and the reason for the offerings is made clear. Clytemnestra has had a frightening dream, which seems to portend the return of Orestes and the overthrow of herself and Aegisthus (417-27). Because Agamemnon figures in the dream as a symbolic agent, Clytemnestra wants to propitiate him and has sent her other daughter with offerings for the grave. Electra talks her out of making the offerings, for which she and Chrysothemis will substitute others. Chrysothemis leaves to go to the grave, and Electra is left alone with the Chorus. 47 This character could be played by either the actor playing Orestes or the one playing the Paidagogos.

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As these summaries make clear, the action is developing in different directions in the two plays. The focus of the dialogue, and the interactions between characters, differ accordingly. But, structurally and in terms of performance, both plays will then follow the same pattern. An episode, however it is segmented into scenes, however long it is, and whatever happens, is defined by what seems to be a pause in the action, by the song that marks its ending. The song can take the form of a monody or amoibaion, of the kind we have already seen, but often it takes the form of a stasimon, a choral song in the orchestra. Frequently, as in Euripides, the actors are not present, though, as in Sophocles, an actor can remain on stage. After the song another actor appears to initiate a new episode. In Euripides the actor playing the Farmer arrives, in a new mask and costume, as the Old Man, who will play a crucial part in the recognition scene between Orestes and Electra that follows. In Sophocles, the actor playing Clytemnestra enters—see p. 185—and a long debate between her and Electra, an agon, begins. In the interim, we have the same kind of rich choral performance—rich visually, musically, and verbally—as took place in the earlier monody and amoibaia. The rest of the reading is in choral song, Sophocles’ chorus to be read in Greek, Euripides’ in translation. As you read through these two samples, it will be apparent that what goes on dramatically in stasima is sometimes a puzzle. In monodies and amoibaia we can more easily fall back on the idea of individual emotional expression—an idea of performance that we could assimilate to our own expectations of drama, if we were to forget the effects of dancing, music, and elevated choral language. (See pp. 88-9.) In stasima our attention is called more insistently to a distinct kind of performance. In working through the Greek, especially, we are aware of just how different choral song was as a theatrical event; there are startling changes in the qualities of the poetry, and the number and variety of effects it can produce is also surprising. Remember that tragedy originated in a poetic culture that included multiple forms of choral poetry. It is not simply drama as we understand it but a hybrid combining culturally specific versions of dialogue and acting with choral performance. In this regard, tragedy cannot simply be drama as we understand it, but something more, and defining that surplus in any given choral song is crucial for informed reading and interpretation. An underlying and essential characteristic of stasima is the malleable quality of the Chorus as a character, and the shifting and malleable quality of its voice or, better, voices. We might expect the Chorus, which represents a specific group of people—young women of Argos come to invite Electra to a festival or older women from Mycenae come to comfort and consult with their Electra—to express itself “in character.” That is, it should have, we might think, a consistent collective point of view, a defined relationship with the protagonist, an interest in what goes on as a collective representative of a particular part of the community, emotional reactions that make sense from scene to scene, etc. All these parts of a Chorus’ characterization are evident in choral song. The Chorus in Sophocles, for instance, is happy about the dream; it is definitely on Electra’s side, and addresses her directly (477) with encouraging words. We can feel the Chorus’ confidence, perhaps overconfidence, for a successful future, read in light of the dream. All this makes dramatic sense, in terms of the Chorus’ characterization, from its earlier dealings with Electra and its relationship with her as it was developed in the amoibaion. (See for example, 121-7.) But as you read this chorus, you will see that understanding its effects and implications involves much more than describing the emotional reactions of the Chorus as a collective character; it is not simply reacting as a character might within an episode but performing a choral song.



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The shift into a stasimon at the end of an episode does not just allow the Chorus to react; the play can move into a different space of dramatic possibility. The orchestra at this moment is where other voices can be heard, which for lack of a better shorthand we might call the voices of choral performance. From our point of view, it might seem that the stasima are not a part of the “real” business of the play, the representation of the speech and action of the characters. But for the original audience it was not that the action stopped; as it shifted into song, dance, and elevated lyric language, the drama opened up. There were additional possibilities for imaginative, emotional, and intellectual responses to the unfolding presentation of the myth. In short, we have to think further about what choral song does, about what can be achieved through the malleable characterization and multiple voices of the Chorus. Below is an introductory sketch of three basic issues; as with the discussion of acting, it is meant to raise questions and provide material for thought. Communal judgment and authority The Chorus often seems invested with the authority of religious and ethical values, and to use these to make sense of and respond to the action. For example, in the Euripides stasimon, after an elaborate evocation of Greek heroism at Troy, Achilles’ heroism in particular, the Chorus finishes with:

Such were those spear-toiling men whose lord your union killed, thou evil-minded child of Tyndareus. For that shall the gods in heaven one day send death upon you in retribution. Still, shall I see beneath your throat the murderous gush of iron-spilled blood. (479-86; trans., Cropp)

The idea that Clytemnestra’s sins will call down divine retribution is the sort of thing that a large part of the audience would have at least liked to believe, and this sounds like a collective statement of religious belief that the community inside the play might want to subscribe to also. But notice that the voice of the Chorus as a group of young Argive women, happy at the thought of going off to the festival in their best clothes, has modulated into a voice that sounds both authoritative and fiercely confident. And this statement has gone much further than the Chorus Leader’s expression of cautious optimism in the preceding dialogue, that perhaps Electra’s fortunes would gradually improve (401-3). However this pronouncement or the rest of the ode is interpreted (see below), be aware that this kind of traditional religious and ethical moralizing is a feature of choral performance as such, both in tragedy and elsewhere. The form that it takes and the tone of the voice in which it is delivered make sense because of the audience’s experience with other choral poetry, for example in religious hymns. On occasions like these a chorus often gave voice to ethical and religious pronouncements, statements that were rooted in traditional communal belief, or aspirations. At this point in the play, then, the audience is probably willing to listen to this point of view; this kind of choral voice has an inherent plausibility and authority.48 In addition, 48 The question of the authority of this choral voice, especially insofar as it may reflect the authority of the communal values of the Athenian citizens gathered to watch the tragedy, is a controversial issue. It is assumed

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the form of the performance—the song, dance, and elevated language—make the voicing of this part of the stasimon almost impossible to ignore. The elevated poetic language in particular creates a sense that the judgment made does have, at least potentially, a weight that individual judgments and arguments in dialogue might not have had. In the end, the Chorus, and Electra as well, will not be so certain about the justification, divine or otherwise, of the murder of Clytemnestra at the hands of her children. The Chorus will change its mind about matricide, no matter how convinced, or convincing, these pronouncements might sound. (See the amoibaion at 1190 ff.) But the question of (possible) inconsistency is less important than using this form of choral voice to put out for the audience’s consideration a question about this kind of moral and religious certainty, one that needs asking in the world of this particular tragedy. Telling myths: more on choral commentary So this choral voice is used to provide one possible perspective from which to see the action and the significance of Orestes’ return. Another voice of the Chorus is as a narrator of myths. The characters/actors, involved in the immediate action of the current story, talk about their family history and how that history will develop into the future, but the Chorus can go further back in time. And it can go further afield for other myths that are exemplary, or explanatory, or that are meant to applicable in some other way to the current situation. The Chorus is allowed this because, like the use of statements of ethical and religious belief, the retelling of myths is a traditional feature of choral performance; they help the community better understand the immediate occasion of the song. Whether it makes mimetic sense to us or not in regard to the tragic chorus as a character, the audience is used to the idea that choral reflection can take the form of story telling; myth is a storehouse of applicable stories embodying reflection, even though their significance is a matter for interpretation. A chorus, in speaking for the community, almost always turned to myth during part(s) of its song, as another way of making some larger sense of whatever matter was at hand. Notice that, again, because it incorporates a traditional form of communal wisdom, as well as because of song, dance, and choral language, the performance of a tragic chorus is invested with a certain weight and authority. The audience is almost bound to listen with real interest, not to mention enjoyment. Euripides is prone to using material from other myths, very often connected causally to the present one, as in the later stasimon where the remote causes of Agamemnon’s family troubles are rehearsed (699-746). (The end of the Sophocles ode, which shows the same technique, is in fact exceptional.) But Euripides’ technique is highly flexible; sometimes his choruses recount pieces of myth that are only antecedent to or seemingly at a tangent from, the myth being presented. All of the rest of this stasimon preceding the pronouncement quoted above brings in the war at Troy, via a vivid and oddly appealing description of the Greek ships on their journey to Troy, followed by an episode with Achilles and a description of his magnificent shield and helmet, on which could be seen pictures from the stories of Perseus, Bellerophon, and the Sphinx. Agamemnon, whose murder by Clytemnestra is here that the transmuted forms of choral poetry in tragedy are distinguishable from choral poetry in social and religious practice; there is a distinction between the experiences that make this kind of performance familiar to, and effective with, an audience and the complexity of application and effect in the play as a whole. For students, a balanced and accessible beginning point is provided by S. Goldhill, How to Stage a Greek Tragedy Today (Chicago, 2007), 46-56.



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condemned in the explicit moral judgment at the end, comes in obliquely: “Such were those spear-toiling men whose lord your union killed.” (479-80; compare 440 and 451). There is a general sense that heroic accomplishment, and even a kind of heroic glamour, both in battle and in the field of monster slaying, are being invoked. And there is also a sense that the condemnation of Clytemnestra as the murderer of a man associated with this ethos is justified. But how the interpretation of the stasimon, in detail and as a coherent poetic whole, could proceed further is an open question. In spite of the explicit moral drawn by the Chorus, the myth has developed a life of its own in the telling, and as a self-subsistent piece of poetry the stasimon seems to demand further thought. Just as important a question is whether the application of the stories presented by the Chorus does in fact help us make more sense of the tragedy as we have seen it so far and as we imagine it will proceed. We could say, to begin with and for the sake of illustration, that it is not clear that this evocation of the world of heroic myth sits very comfortably in the context of the action as we have seen it play out to this point. Orestes has not even revealed his identity, and he seems very cautious and not particularly heroic. We could even say that Orestes has returned to a mundane and not particularly inspiring world in which to act the hero. What will we make of his revenge, particularly the matricide, then, even if he succeeds? These are the kinds of questions the use of mythical paradigms seems meant to provoke; the audience was not given answers but another vantage point for looking at the action. They could begin to reflect on the peculiarities of this particular tragedy, both in looking back at what they had seen so far and as the play developed its take on the world of this myth. Emotional involvement and the Chorus as internal commentator As you do the reading, you will see that Sophocles’ stasimon is more obviously integrated into its dramatic context. And the voice of the Chorus seems more clearly “characterizable.” It is easier to assume that the Chorus’ emotional reaction makes dramatic sense and seems to follow from its characterization. (See above.) It is not that the traditional possibilities for choral commentary already discussed, the application of conventional moral judgments or the telling of myth, are not realized; the distinction to be made is that the Chorus becomes not just a source of commentary but emerges more clearly as an internal commentator, whose reactions are rooted in the development of the plot. On the other hand, its reaction is clearly not like the reactions of the characters/ actors, and for more than one reason. To begin with, no one responds, at least directly, to the Chorus’ reactions. In dialogue scenes, in the ebb and flow of argument, conflict, or even explanation and self-expression, we expect one reaction to lead to another, in the form of comment, argument, anger, etc. Here, even though Electra is on stage and is addressed, she does not have to respond to the Chorus as a character. Much of the time, in fact, the Chorus performs with none of the characters/actors present, as in Euripides’ stasimon. The result is that choral reactions seem to be mostly performed for the audience, even though they are not explicitly addressed to them. As a result, they are drawn into the tension and excitement of dramatic moment. And, as in the opening anapaests and amoibaion, the performance of music, dance, and elevated poetic language gives what the Chorus has to say more emotional weight. That focuses the audience’s attention; in this case, it makes them more acutely aware of what is at stake for the Chorus, and even more for Electra.

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But because the Chorus as commentator is located inside the world of the play, and because it speaks from its position as a character, the audience will be unsure about whether the Chorus’ responses should be taken at face value, as valid, or even adequate to the situation at this point in the development of the play. Nor is it necessarily sure about whether to accept at face value choral pronouncements on future developments. The excitement about the significance of the dream is convincing and dramatically effective, but there remains a question as to how the drama is going to unfold before the conclusion, by which point the audience can assume Clytemnestra’s fears will be justified. Presumably, the audience will remember that Orestes and the Paidagogos are going to use deception, including a false report of Orestes’ death. All of which makes for deeper involvement now and for effective drama as the next episode unfolds. Immediately following this stasimon is the agon, the extended debate between Clytemnestra and Electra, to which the Chorus is a witness. It is not made explicit that Electra has been stirred by the Chorus, but the audience may infer that she is just as encouraged, and perhaps on edge. Her resistance to Clytemnestra and her rhetorical determination are all the stronger. The irony, of course, is that almost immediately after their debate, the Paidagogos enters to deliver the false news of Orestes’ death. Electra is devastated, and the Chorus’ determined optimism will appear, to the Chorus at least, to have been completely unjustified. By the end of that next episode, after Clytemnestra and the Paidagogos leave, the play has reached an emotional climax, or a low point. All hope seems gone for Electra, and the Chorus, in the amoibaion that follows (823-70), is left groping for ways to console her, none of which seem adequate; Electra feels utterly deserted and has decided, she says, to lie down at the doors of the palace to die. Because of the preceding stasimon and the way in which it pulled them in emotionally, the audience feels for Electra and the Chorus. The fact that they are in on the secret of the deception and have a better sense, if no certainty, about how the plot will unfold only amplifies the emotional effect. The tension between the audience’s knowledge and the characters’ is a device that can be used in multiple ways in tragedy; here, the gap between the audience’s knowledge and the characters’ seems to make for even more sympathy. The net effect is that the audience is deeply involved in a familiar myth, one that in spite of its familiarity has been turned into drama, with its own theatrical immediacy and emotional force.

Reading Nine: Sophocles, Lines 472-515 Further forms to review •

•

Review the future and imperfect from εἶμι (“I will go”). See Smyth, 773. Note the iota subscript in the imperfect, which helps in distinguishing these forms from the imperfect of εἰμί (“I am”). See Smyth, 768. On the use of these and other forms from εἶμι with ἔρχομαι, see Smyth, 774. Review the forms for aorists like ἔφυν (472) and ἔβην (compare 492). See Smyth, 681-2 and 687. Note that the endings are added directly to the vowel of the stem and do not include a “thematic” vowel, an introductory ο or ε.

Common irregular verbs Remember that as common principal parts of irregular verbs begin to be omitted from the vocabulary—see p. 143—the principal parts of the verbs they come from will be listed, so they can be learned systematically. (Remember also that there is a list in the back of the textbook for easy reference and that the forms in parentheses can be ignored.) For this time, learn: βαίνω, βήσομαι, ἔβην, (βέβηκα) (On this form of aorist, see above; note that prose does not use simple forms from either the 2nd or 3rd principal part.) βλώσκω, μολοῦμαι, ἔμολον, (μέμβλωκα) (Present not used in tragedy; future and perfect very rare.) ἔρχομαι, εἶμι, ἦλθον, (ἐλήλυθα) λείπω, λείψω, ἔλιπον, (λέλοιπα), (λέλειμμαι), ἐλείφθην On further poetic vocabulary for coming and going, see p. 39.

Χο. εἰ μὴ ˀγὼ παράφρων μάντις ἔφυν καὶ γνώμας λειπομένα σοφᾶς, εἶσιν ἁ πρόμαντις Δίκα, δίκαια φερομένα χεροῖν κράτη· μέτεισιν, ὦ τέκνον, οὐ μακροῦ χρόνου. ὕπεστί μοι θάρσος ἁδυπνόων κλύουσαν ἀρτίως ὀνειράτων. οὐ γάρ ποτ’ ἀμναστεῖ γ’ ὁ φύσας σ’ Ἑλλάνων ἄναξ, οὐδ’ ἁ παλαιὰ χαλκόπληκτος ἀμφήκης γένυς, 161

Strophe 475

478 480

485

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ἅ νιν κατέπεφνεν αἰσχίσταις ἐν αἰκείαις.

487

ἥξει καὶ πολύπους καὶ πολύχειρ ἁ Antistrophe δεινοῖς κρυπτομένα λόχοις 490 χαλκόπους Ἐρινύς. ἄλεκτρ’ ἄνυμφα γὰρ ἐπέβα μιαιφόνων 492 γάμων ἁμιλλήμαθ’ οἷσιν οὐ θέμις. πρὸ τῶνδέ τοι θάρσος 495 μήποτε μήποθ’ ἡμῖν ἀψεγὲς πελᾶν τέρας τοῖς δρῶσι καὶ συνδρῶσιν. ἤτοι μαντεῖαι βροτῶν οὐκ εἰσὶν ἐν δεινοῖς ὀνεί- ροις οὐδ’ ἐν θεσφάτοις, εἰ μὴ τόδε φάσμα νυκτὸς εὖ κατασχήσει. ὦ Πέλοπος ἁ πρόσθεν πολύπονος ἱππεία, ὡς ἔμολες αἰανὴς τᾷδε γᾷ. εὖτε γὰρ ὁ ποντισθεὶς Μυρτίλος ἐκοιμάθη, παγχρύσων δίφρων δυστάνοις αἰκείαις πρόρριζος ἐκριφθείς, οὔ τί πω ἔλιπεν ἐκ τοῦδ’ οἴκου πολύπονος αἰκεία. παράφρων, ον—not thinking straight, senseless μάντις, εως, ὁ/ἡ—seer, prophet γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, judgment, opinion 475: πρόμαντις, εως, ὁ/ἡ—prophet; as adj., prophetic δίκαιος, α, ον—decent, righteous, just κράτος, ους, τό—strength; power, rule; mastery, victory

499 499 500

Epode 505

510

515

μετέρχομαι—go for, seek; go to punish or take revenge τέκνον, ου, τό—child μακρός, ά, όν—long (of space or time); large, great ὕπειμι—be underneath; exist, be available θάρρος, ους, τό—courage 480: ἡδύπνοος, ον—sweet-breathing; auspicious κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey



Reading Nine: Sophocles, Lines 472-515 163

ἀρτίως—just now, recently ὄνειρος, ὁ/ὄνειρον, τό—dream ἀμνηστέω—be unmindful, forget Ἕλλην, ηνος, ὁ—a Greek; as adj., Greek ἄναξ, ἄνακτος, ὁ—lord, master παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient χαλκόπληκτος, ον—striking with bronze edge 485: ἀμφήκης, ες—double-edged γένυς, υος, ἡ—pl., jaws; edge of an axe κατέπεφνον—2nd aor. with no present, kill, slay αἴσχιστος, η, ον (sup. of αἰσχρός, ά, όν)—(most, very) ugly, shameful, base αἰκεία, ας, ἡ—insulting treatment, outrage; suffering πολύπους, -ποδος ὁ/ἡ—many-footed πολύχειρ, -χειρος, ὁ/ἡ—many-handed 490: δεινός, ή, όν—terrible, awful; marvelous, strange; clever, skillful κρύπτω—hide; lie hidden λόχος, ου, ὁ—place for lying in wait, ambush χαλκόπους, -ποδος, ὁ/ἡ—bronze-footed Ἐρινύς, ύος, ἡ—Fury, avenging divinity; guilt, punishment ἄλεκτρος, ον—unwedded ἄνυμφος, ον—without a bride, without marriage ἐπιβαίνω—go, on, upon, against; attack μιαιφόνος, ον—bloodthirsty, murderous γάμος, ου ὁ—wedding; marriage; sex ἁμίλλημα, ατος, τό—conflict, struggle, striving θέμις, ἡ—custom, law; what is right 495: πρό—with gen: in front of; before; rather than; for, on behalf of θάρρος, ους, τό—courage μήποτε—not ever, never ἀψεγής, ές—blameless πελῶ (fut.) > πελάζω—trans., approach, come near; intr., bring near

τέρας, ατος, τό—sign, wonder, portent; monster συνδράω—do along with, help in doing μαντεία, ας, ἡ—power of prophecy; prophecy, oracle βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal δεινός, ή, όν—terrible, awful; marvelous, strange; clever, skillful ὄνειρος, ὁ/ὄνειρον, τό—dream 500: θέσφατος, ον—spoken by a god, ordained; neut. pl., oracles φάσμα, ατος, τό—apparition, vision; omen νύξ, νυκτός, ἡ—night εὖ—well κατασχήσει > κατέχω—check, restrain; keep; come from the sea to shore, put in to land Πέλοψ, οπος, ὁ πρόσθεν/πρόσθε—before (of space or time, and as adv. or improper prep.) 505: πολύπονος, ον—much laboring, much suffering ἱππεία, ας, ἡ—riding or driving of horses αἰανής, ές—long-lasting; grim εὖτε—when; since ποντίσθεις > ποντίζω—plunge or sink in the sea κοιμάω—lull, put to sleep; calm; middle and pass., fall asleep, go to bed 510: πάγχρυσος, ον—all-golden, of pure gold δίφρος, ου, ὁ—chariot αἰκεία, ας, ἡ—insulting treatment, outrage; suffering πρόρριζος, ον—by the roots, root and branch, utterly ἐκριφθείς > ἐκρίπτω—throw out πω—up to this time, yet 515: πολύπονος, ον—much laboring, much suffering αἰκεία, ας, ἡ—insulting treatment, outrage; suffering

472—ἔφυν. On the meaning of the aorist of this verb, see note to E. 261. Contrast 482, where the transitive aorist means “begot.” 473—γνώμας λειπομένα σοφᾶς. Remember the Doric coloring of lyric; see pp. 91-2. The passive feminine participle is joined with a genitive; λείπομαι in the passive can mean “be left behind” and, with an ablatival genitive, “fall short of,” “be lacking in.” 475-6. Justice (personified) will “carry off” or “win as a prize” δίκαια κράτη, or she will come bringing δίκαια κράτη (with her or for her own purposes); it is hard to separate the two meanings. Note the poetic plural, here of an abstract noun. (Compare 85.) See p. 21 and compare 487, 490, and 499. 475—πρόμαντις. Justice has sent the dream to Clytemnestra (417-25). On the form of the adjective, see note to E. 27; compare πολύπους, πολύχειρ (489), and χαλκόπους (491). 477—οὐ μακροῦ χρόνου. Genitive of “time within which.” On the use of genitive, dative, and accusative in relation to time, see Smyth, 1444 and 1447.

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478-80—μοι … κλύουσαν. Both pronoun and participle refer to the Chorus. The construction of the sentence shifts a bit as it proceeds. 480-1—ἁδυπνόων … ὀνειράτων. Normally, an accusative stands for what is heard. But a genitive can indicate what someone hears “about.” See Smyth, 1361 and 1365 and compare 317, with note. 481—ὀνειράτων. This noun has forms from ὀνειρατ-, as well as the nom./acc. ὄναρ, τό. See Smyth, 285.19. 484-5. The dead remember and wait for revenge. That the murder weapon also remembers might sound (even) stranger. 484—παλαιά. Can understand this adjective as adverbial, as Jebb does: “that struck the blow of old.” Compare E. 251, with note. 487—αἰσχίσταις ἐν αἰκείαις. The preposition is used to indicate the circumstances and manner of the murder. See Smyth, 1687.1c. The plural of the abstract noun seems similar to the use of κράτη in 476, though the reference may be to more than one from of outrage/ humiliation. See note to E. 164-5. 489-91. To the basic idea that the Fury will come are added several other elements, which need unpacking. 489—καὶ πολύπους καὶ πολύχειρ. The repetition is forceful, though the effect is hard to define; the idea may simply be that the Fury will come very quickly and with great force. Reference to feet and hands may also imply tenacity in seeking vengeance and/or evoke various monsters from myth that have plural arms, heads, etc. 490. The Fury “hidden in ambush” prefigures the nature of Orestes’ revenge. 491—χαλκόπους. Images of the feet of Furies are frequent. (Compare on 489.) A “bronzefooted” Fury may be both relentless and untiring. 492-4. An expressively condensed sentence, which describes the emotions that drove Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. The major difficulty is the abstract, personified subject: ἄλκεκτρ’ ἄνυμφα … μιαιφόνων γάμων ἁμιλλήμαθ’. (Note: neuter plural subject with the usual singular verb; see Smyth, 958.) Here is an attempt at a literal paraphrase: “the struggle, which was without a wedding or a bride, for murderous sex/marriage.” (On γάμοι, see note to E. 49.) That paraphrase should make it clearer that the adjectives in this phrase are transferred to nouns with which, logically, they should not agree; the struggle was murderous, the sex/marriage was without a wedding or bride. So this dense phrase implies “murderous struggle for sex/marriage without a wedding or a bride” but does not have the same effect. The transferring of adjectives implies that the violence of murder and sexual urgency are mixed up together. A further result is that each element in the phrase stands out, as a way of expressing the Chorus’ feeling that this situation is too perverse for (normal) words. A second, minor difficulty with the sentence as a whole is that these emotional forces “attacked [those] for whom it was not lawful.” The complex abstract subject is what affected those for whom it was not right. (The implied “those” is taken up into the relative, which is attracted to its case; compare 319, with note.) 492—ἄλεκτρ’ ἄνυμφα. Note that the first two adjectives are added without a connecting “and,” which is most common in poetry, especially in lyric and with descriptive adjectives. On asyndeton, see Smyth, 1033. 495-8. The Chorus is confident—and grows more confident as it goes on—that the sign of the dream will be fulfilled. Verbs that mean “promise,” “swear,” “expect,” “hope,” etc. can



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take a form like ordinary indirect speech, but with a μή (or compound of μή). (See Smyth, 2725, and compare E. 249, with note.) And the noun θάρσος, then, with a dative indicating who is confident, introduces a sentence built in this way. Here, the infinitive is future—see note to 497; so, “The sign will never …” 495—πρὸ τῶνδε. Seems to mean “in view of this,” “for this reason.” —τοι. The flavor of this is subtle. It seems to call attention to their confidence, and to show that they are still aware of their connection with Electra. Compare note to 298. 497—ἀψεγές. Used adverbially—compare note to 484: “The sign will never come without blame. …” That is, it will not be fulfilled without horrific consequences. (On the use of this kind of understatement (“litotes”), see Smyth, 3032.) —πελᾶν. So-called “Attic” future of πελάζω. See Smyth, 538-9. The verb is rare in prose but fairly common in poetry. 498-501. The condition incorporates an if clause with a future and presents the connection of thought as objective. See note to E. 48-9. 498—τοῖς δρῶσι καὶ συνδρῶσιν. More datives to indicate the people affected/concerned. (See 494 and 496). As poetic plurals they also generalize, which makes the sentence indirect and allusive. See p. 21 and compare 34, with note. The two nouns clearly refer to Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, or to Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; it is unclear which. (Compare 97-9.) The Chorus is excited and confident but reluctant to say some things, or names, out loud. 498-9—ἤτοι. = ἤ τοι (probably). The effect may be, “All this should happen, or …” On the flavor of τοι, see note to 495. 499—μαντεῖαι. Seems to mean prophecy in general as a form of (human) understanding; again a poetic plural of an abstract noun. (Compare 486 and 490.) 501—νυκτός. The genitive describes the φάσμα; it is one that is associated with or happens in the night. —εὖ κατασχήσει. The phrase appears to be figurative; the verb is used when a ship “makes land” or “puts into shore.” 504-7. The Chorus turns to the myth/history of the royal house. (See above, pp. 158-9.) The first sentence takes the form of an “apostrophe,” a rhetorical address, to the chariot race of Pelops; the chariot race is the “you” implied by the ὦ, and the initial nominative phrase expands on it. See Smyth, 1287. The sentence as a whole is exclamatory—ὡς is used as in, “How …!” 506—αἰανής. A poetic adjective and used with interesting overtones; the (consequences of) the chariot race are both “long-lasting” and “grim.” 508—εὖτε. A non-Attic conjunction used occasionally in tragedy. Can mean either “when,” like ὅτε, or “since,” like ἐπεί. 509—ἐκοιμάθη. The association of the idea of sleep with death is relatively common, as when Sleep and Death, personified, take away the dead Sarpedon in the Iliad (16.667-83). But the use of the idea here in reference to violent death in such circumstances is surprising. Perhaps the point is the contrast; he was “laid to rest” in the sea. But the description of the moment before is given much weight in the following lines. 510-2. Cumulatively, each bit of adverbial information preceding the participle creates a more vivid, and more violent, picture of his being thrown out of the chariot. 510—παγχρύσων δίφρων. The genitive is ablatival, with ἐκριφθείς, and yet another

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poetic plural. This time it is the plural of a noun with a concrete reference. See pp. 20-1. 511—δυστάνοις αἰκείαις. The dative is loosely adverbial, giving a view of the manner and circumstances of his death. Compare, for more obvious examples, 21 and 33, with notes. 512—πρόρριζος. The context may activate the metaphor inherent in the word; he is being ripped out of the chariot violently and thrown head over heels. πρόρριζος literally means “root-forward,” “uprooted.” Or it may simply mean “to his complete destruction,” as in other uses of the word. 513-4—οὔ τί πω ἔλιπεν. On the use of the aorist, compare the note to 62. 515—πολύπονος αἰκεία. As commentators note, the repetition of both words emphasizes the connection of events in the family myth/history. See 487 and 505.

The Recognition Scene: Euripides’ Play with a Conventional Structural Element After the Chorus sings its stasimon about Achilles and other heroes (432-86), and draws the moral that Clytemnestra will deservedly die for killing the leader of such men at Troy (479-86), the next episode begins with the arrival of the Old Man, the servant and former paidagogos of Agamemnon, who was going to provide food for the guests (40814). The Old Man, played by the same actor who has played the Farmer, comes slowly up to the house, complaining about the steepness of the slope and his own decrepitude (48792). He greets Electra, and a conversation ensues (503 ff.) in which he talks about visiting Agamemnon’s tomb and finding a lock of hair, as well as an offering of a sheep. He says that he was astonished; no Argive would have dared to visit the tomb (516-7). He starts with a basic question: Could Orestes have come in secret and made an offering? And then he embarks on a series of questions that amount to asking: What clues could we use to find out if he has come? This piece of dialogue (518-44) has generated a long-running discussion among commentators and editors. Some have argued that these lines must be an interpolation, a later addition to the text. The Old Man’s questions are presented as a series of hypotheticals, and Electra responds skeptically and argumentatively. She scoffs at the idea, first, that her courageous brother Orestes could have come in secret. And then says the Old Man’s suggestion that she try the hair against hers, to see if it is a match, is ridiculous: the hair of men and women is too different, and anyway many people who are not related have similar hair. He then asks two more questions: What if they were to compare tracks at the tomb with her footprints? And was there a piece of weaving that Orestes might have had with him when he was taken away? She dismisses both possibilities, as improbable, and then comes back to his news about the lock of hair in a pair of lines (545-6) that trail off into garbled text but that seem to point to alternatives: either a foreigner made the offering or—and here the text becomes hard to understand but might be emended and supplemented—Orestes sent messengers, who escaped the notice of Aegisthus’ spies and made the offerings as his proxies.49 The corruption of the text here, where this passage joins the next sequence of dialogue, has felt to some like a seam, where old material was stitched to a new insertion. But two larger problems have bothered commentators more. First, the Old Man’s questions seem far-fetched and unmotivated by the context. Why bring up the idea of hypothetical matching of tracks and footprints or, even more improbably, a purely hypothetical piece of weaving? Second, the whole series of tokens, the hair, the tracks, and the weaving, matches up as a series with the tokens used in the recognition scene in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers.50 49 See, as an illustration, D. Kovacs, “Euripides, Electra 518-44: Further Doubts about Genuinenesss,” BICS 36 (1989), 76. He proposes an emendation and supplement along these lines, though he himself is arguing that lines 518-44 are probably a later interpolation. 50 Which is one reason why you should also read Aeschylus’ treatment of the same element of the story (Libation Bearers, lines 164-263).

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Further, at a few points verbal echoes of Aeschylus have been detected. Could Euripides really have inserted a parody of the earlier tragedian in the middle of his recognition scene? On balance, it seems that there is not enough evidence to show that the lines in this passage are not authentic; there are no arguments to show that the style, meter, language, etc. are not Euripidean. Nor has anyone plausibly explained why and by whom the passage could have been added.51 The real question may be how we define and understand the process of playing with a familiar structural element, like a recognition scene, to produce new effects. That is, if a recognition at some point was expected, could Euripides create additional interest and generate new responses in his audience in the process of delaying it again, as he did in the earlier stichomythia? And could what might be taken as straightforward parody be meant to produce some of the effects aimed at in the scene? Whether the audience remembered Aeschylus’ version of the recognition or not, it might be that the real point is to play with their knowledge of how recognitions could work, and by doing so to focus their attention on the ways this recognition is not going to proceed. The result would be to make them wonder why this scene is delayed. Earlier (90-3), we heard that Orestes had already gone to make the offering, and to leave a lock of hair. The lock of hair was a traditional element of the story; it is used in Aeschylus and Sophocles and was used as early as the 6th century by Stesichorus (p. 2). But the lock of hair as a possible token has been put out there for the audience, it seems, to set up expectations that are only meant to be defeated; Electra does not believe in the possibility that brother and sister can be identified by this kind of physical resemblance. As for the other tokens, the tracks and weaving, other tragedians, and not just Aeschylus, probably used these in recognition scenes. Certainly by the 4th century, when Aristotle wrote his Poetics, the number of devices and methods for creating recognitions had proliferated; he devotes a chapter (16) to enumerating types of recognition scenes and methods. We can assume that this became a popular and useful formal element in tragedy. That we happen to have the recognition scene in Aeschylus’ version of this myth may be incidental, then, though the order in the sequence of tokens and the verbal echoes are hard to ignore. In any case, whether the allusion is to how this kind of token has been used before, in general, or whether there is a more pointed allusion, that Aeschylus has done so with particular implausibility, the dramatic point is, again, to focus the audience’s attention on some specific differences in procedure and content between this scene and a more conventional recognition scene. What is argued here, then, is that Euripides does not stop his play to foreground a self-standing, and self-indulgent, parody, even if he is having a subdued kind of fun in the background with the conventional ways in which devices like footprints or weaving are used. Instead, he may be using these elements of recognition scenes playfully, as he works toward provoking specific forms of audience response. All of which becomes clearer if this passage is considered in relation to the rest of the scene, in which the recognition does finally happen. In the earlier stichomythia, Electra says that she would not even recognize her brother if she saw him, which is true; she says this standing in front of him. The only person who could, she adds, is the Old Man (283-7). Later in this scene the Old Man is the one who does recognize Orestes (after he reenters from the skene), because of a scar near his eyebrow, the result of a fall he took as a child (558-74). Electra is taken aback but soon convinced, 51 To my mind, at least. There has been considerable argument about whether there is a logical fit between lines 545-6 and the rest of the passage, but it does not seem that any particular problem with logic or internal consistency has yet been argued convincingly enough.



The Recognition Scene: Euripides’ Play with a Conventional Structural Element 169

and she and Orestes fall into each other’s arms. The whole process takes less time than the argument over the validity of various ways of recognizing a long-lost relative. Over half of the scene has been taken up with calling attention to the process of delaying this moment, and to the reasons why we did not get to it by one of the usual routes. What is going on in the first part of the scene, then, and how is the content of the dialogue between Electra and the Old Man significant, if it is not primarily parodic? Electra’s determined and argumentative skepticism, and her surprise when she finds out that Orestes is in fact Orestes, may point to a certain “cluelessness,” emotional as well as intellectual. It seems that she needs the Old Man, who asks the right basic question, and who cares deeply about her family, to push her toward, and even to perform for her, the recognition of her brother. She does not see why she should address that question: Could it be that Orestes has left the lock of hair and made the offerings? She is enjoying demolishing the, admittedly feeble, attempts of the Old Man to find a way to answer it. But the question itself remains, and the Old Man is right; it is vitally important, pragmatically, to know whether Orestes has returned. It also at least should be a vital question emotionally, but Electra has, it seems, bought into her own misery and self-commiseration, as well as her own cleverness. Or so you might argue. In the same vein, you could argue that it is thematically significant that she rejects the conventional tokens of recognition. The possibility is excluded of family resemblance so strong as to produce, however implausibly, hair of exactly the same color and texture or very similar feet.52 Also excluded is a shared history that is still valid, in spite of the passage of time, so that earlier connections like weaving for your baby brother are still emotionally evocative. Is all that symptomatic of a play in which the family connection as such, and its pull on the characters’ emotions, is being presented as a fundamental problem? Electra seems disjoint from her brother. The Old Man has to recognize and almost push her toward him. And even when she finds Orestes in her arms, she seems to feel more surprise than joy. The reunion as such feels almost perfunctory, compared to all the time devoted to expressions of anxiety and grief over the difficulties she has felt in her isolation. In sum, the characters find themselves in a bleakly tragic world, in which the protagonists are debarred from genuine emotional connection with other members of the family, even though the tragic nature of their lives is defined by family history. The interpretations just given are only sketched in. And working out in detail what else these readings, or others, might mean for the larger themes of the play is a matter for further thought and discussion. But this general approach to reading the scene is productive because it helps in thinking about how repeated structural elements, like recognition scenes, debate scenes, etc. can be used in tragedy. The kind of self-conscious play with expectation and audience response assumed here may be an extreme case, but for that very reason it may make us more conscious of what possibilities were allowed the tragedians by a tradition that not only repeated the same stories in recurring original versions, but also used the same structural elements to give them shape theatrically. In a scene defined by tradition and convention, the question in the playwright’s mind, and for the audience, was not how to get on with things, to advance the action, but what could be done that was innovative, and hence effective, and that could make thematic sense in the context of an idiosyncratic rendering of the myth. 52 There has been much discussion of what Aeschylus could have meant at Libation Bearers, 209-10. See, for example, the notes in the commentary of A. Garvie.

Reading Ten: Euripides, Lines 487-584 Further forms to review

Review the future of εἰμί (“I am”). See Smyth, 768.

Common irregular verbs βάλλω, βαλῶ, ἔβαλον, (βέβληκα), (βέβλημαι), ἐβλήθην γίγνομαι, γενήσομαι, ἐγενόμην, (γέγονα), (γεγένημαι) γιγνώσκω, γνώσομαι, ἔγνων, (ἔγνωκα), (ἔγνωσμαι), ἐγνώσθην τλάω, τλήσομαι, ἔτλην, τέτληκα (Present not used.) τρέφω, θρέψω, ἔθρεψα, (τέτροφα), (τέθραμμαι), ἐτράφην Note that the aorists ἔγνων and ἔτλην follow the pattern of ἔφυν and ἔβην. See p. 161. Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts In order to make recognizing verb forms easier, and in order to use a dictionary more easily, it pays to learn some basic changes that can, but do not have to, occur in the first principal part, the dictionary entry. Ignoring for the moment the 4th and 5th principal parts, we can see that some verbs follow this pattern for principal parts: 1st π, β, or φ

πέποιθα δ’· ἢ χρὴ μηκέθ’ ἡγεῖσθαι θεούς, εἰ τἄδικ’ ἔσται τῆς δίκης ὑπέρτερα.

555

560

565

570

575

580



Reading Ten: Euripides, Lines 487-584 175

ποῦ—where? νεᾶνις, ιδος, ἡ—girl, maiden πότνια, ἡ—as noun, mistress, queen; as adj., revered, august δέσποινα, ης, ἡ—mistress ἐξέθρεψα > ἐκτρέφω—bring up from childhood, rear πρόσβασις, εως, ἡ—means of approach, access (esp. uphill) ὄρθιος, α, ον—straight up, steep, uphill 490: ῥυσός, ή, όν—shriveled, wrinkled γέρων, οντος, ὁ—old man; as adj., old προσβῆναι (aor. inf.) > προσβαίνω—approach; mount, climb ὅμως—all the same, nevertheless ἐξελκτέον—one must drag along διπλόος, η, ον/διπλοῦς, ῆ, οῦν—twofold, double; two ἄκανθα, ης, ἡ—thorn, spine; backbone παλίρροπος, ον—tottering, bent γόνυ, γόνατος, τό—knee θυγάτηρ, θυγατρός, ἡ—daughter ἄρτι—just now, recently βόσκημα, ατος, τό—something fed or fattened; pl., animals 495: ποίμνη, ης, ἡ—flock νεογνός, ή, όν—new-born θρέμμα, ατος, τό—nursling; creature ὑποσπάω—draw away from under; take secretly στέφανος, ου, ὁ—crown, wreath τεῦχος, ους, τό—tool; container; pl., weapons, armor ἐξελών > ἐξαιρέω—take out, remove; do away with, destroy; middle, take away from τύρευμα, ατος, τό—something curdled, cheese πολιός, ά, όν/ ός, όν—grey, grizzled; of hair, grey with age; aged, venerable θησαύρισμα, ατος,τό—store; treasure ὀσμή, ῆς, ἡ—smell, odor κατήρης, ες—fitted with, furnished with σμικρός, ά, όν = μικρός, ά, όν ἐπεισβάλλω—throw into besides σκύφος, ου, ὁ/σκύφος, ους, τό—cup ἀσθενέστερος, α, ον—weaker; poorer; less significant ποτόν, οῦ, τό—something to drink, esp. wine 500: ἴτω (imper.) > ἔρχομαι τρῦχος, ους, τό—worn-out garment; rag, tatter πέπλος, ου, ὁ—upper garment, in one piece, worn by women (less frequently in reference to men); garment, clothing κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye, eye δάκρυον, ου, τό—tear

τέγγω—wet, moisten ἐξομόρξασθαι (aor.) > ἐξομόργνυμι—wipe away/ off θέλω = ἐθέλω γεραιός, ά, όν—old (of people); ancient (of things) διάβροχος, ον—very wet, moist ὄμμα, ατος, τό—eye; light; face ἀνέμνησεν > ἀναμιμνήσκω—act., remind (with acc. of person, acc. and/or gen. of thing); pass., remember (usually with gen.) 505: τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stouthearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable φυγή, ῆς, ἡ—flight, escape; exile στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) ἀνόνητος, ον—unprofitable; neut. pl. as adv., in vain ἔθρεψας > τρέφω ἀνόνητος, ον—unprofitable; neut. pl. as adv., in vain ὅμως—all the same, nevertheless ἠνεσχόμην > ἀνέχω—hold up, lift up; middle, bear, allow, endure τάφος, ου, ὁ—burial rites; grave, tomb πάρεργον, ου, τό, secondary or subordinate business 510: προσπεσών > προσπίπτω—fall in front of, supplicate; fall on (someone’s neck), embrace ἔκλαυσα > κλαίω—cry, wail, lament ἐρημία, ας, ἡ—solitary/deserted place; solitude, loneliness; lack (with gen.) τυχών > τυγχάνω σπονδή, ῆς, ἡ—drink-offering, libation ἀσκός, οῦ, ὁ—skin; skin bag, esp. wineskin ἔσπεισα > σπένδω—make a drink offering, pour out a libation τύμβος, ου, ὁ—mound, tomb ἀμφέθηκα (aor.) > ἀμφιτίθημι—put/place around μυρρίνη, ης, ἡ—myrtle πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ—funeral pyre; mound raised on site of pyre; altar οἶς, οἰός, ὁ/ἡ—sheep μελάγχιμος, ον—black, dark πόκος, ου, ὁ—raw wool, fleece σφάγιον, ου, τό—victim, offering αἷμα, ατος, τό—blood πάλαι—long ago, for a long time; as attribute, of old; before χυθέν > χέω—pour; scatter, drop 515: ξανθός, ή, όν—yellow, brown, auburn χαίτη, ης, ἡ—loose, flowing hair; mane (not of human hair in prose) βόστρυχος, ου, ὁ—curl; lock of hair κεκαρμένους (pf. pass. part.) > κείρω—cut short, shear; middle, cut one’s hair, in mourning

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ἐθαύμασα > θαυμάζω ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world?” ἔτλη > τλάω—suffer; endure, submit to; bring oneself to do, dare to do Ἀργεῖος, α, ον—Argive ἴσως—equally, in the same way; probably, perhaps που—somewhere; to some degree, perhaps λάθρᾳ—secretly, by stealth ἐθαύμασε > θαυμάζω ἄθλιος, α, ον—struggling, unhappy, wretched; pitiful, poor 520: σκέψαι > σκέπτομαι—look around carefully, examine; consider, think about χαίτη, ης, ἡ—loose, flowing hair; mane (not of human hair in prose) προστιθεῖσα (pres. part.) > προστίθημι—put to, place against; add κόμη, ης, ἡ—hair; long hair, locks χρῶμα, ατος, τό—color of skin, complexion; color κούριμος, η, ον—with hair cut short; cut off (of hair) θρίξ, τριχός, ἡ—hair φιλέω—love; be likely to ὅμοιος, α, ον—like, resembling; the same; suiting, according with γέρων, οντος, ὁ—old man; as adj., old 525: κρυπτός, ή, όν—hidden, secret ἀδελφός, οῦ, ὁ—brother εὐθαρσής, ές—with good courage ἔπειτα—then, next χαίτη, ης, ἡ—loose, flowing hair; mane (not of human hair in prose) πῶς—how? συνοίσεται > συμφέρω—pass. and fut. middle/ pass., come together; agree with; match πλόκος, ου, ὁ—curl, lock of hair; braid παλαίστρα, ας, ἡ—wrestling-school εὐγενής, ές—well-born; noble-minded, generous; highly-bred (of animals) τραφείς > τρέφω κτενισμός, οῦ, ὁ—combing θῆλυς, θήλεια, θῆλυ—female ἀμήχανος, ον—without means or resources, helpless; unmanageable, hard, impossible 530: εὕροις > εὑρίσκω βόστρυχος, ου, ὁ—curl; lock of hair ὁμόπτερος, ον—with the same plumage; closely resembling γεγῶσιν (pf. part.) > γίγνομαι ἴχνος, ους, τό—track, footstep; trace βᾶσα (aor. part.) > βαίνω ἁρβύλη, ης, ἡ—shoe, boot

σκέψαι > σκέπτομαι—look around carefully, examine; consider, think about βάσις, εως, ἡ—stepping, step; here, print σύμμετρος, ον—of the same measure or size τέκνον, ου, τό—child πῶς—how? κραταίλεως, ων—rocky, hard πέδον, ου, τό—ground, earth; sacred ground, precinct 535: γαῖα, ας, ἡ—land, country; earth; Earth ἔκμακτρον ου, τό—impression δύο, δυοῖν—two ἀδελφός, οῦ, ὁ—brother ἴσος, η, ον—equal, like (with dat.) ἄρρην, ἄρρεν—male κερκίς, ίδος, ἡ—weaver’s shuttle γνοίης (aor. opt.) > γιγνώσκω ἐξύφασμα, ατος, τό—finished weaving 540: ἐκκλέπτω—steal and carry off ἡνίκα—when ἐκπίπτω—fall out of; be driven out, be banished χθών, χθονός, ἡ—earth; land, country νέος, α, ον—young; new κρέκω—weave πέπλος, ου, ὁ—upper garment, in one piece, worn by women (less frequently in reference to men); garment, clothing τότε—at that time, then φᾶρος/φάρος, ους, τό—cloak, mantle συναυξάνω—increase in size along with πέπλος, ου, ὁ—upper garment, in one piece, worn by women (less frequently in reference to men); garment, clothing 545: τάφος, ου, ὁ—burial rites; grave, tomb ἐποικτίρας > ἐποικτείρω/-ίρω—feel compassion for ἐκείρατο > κείρω—cut short, shear; middle, cut one’s hair, in mourning σκοπός, οῦ, ὁ—watcher; look-out man ποῦ—where? ἐρέσθαι > ἐρωτάω λαιψηρός, ά, όν—light, nimble, swift 550: εὐγενής, ές—well-born; noble-minded, generous; highly-bred (of animals) κίβδηλος, ον—counterfeit; fraudulent, dishonest εὐγενής, ές—well-born; noble-minded, generous; highly-bred (of animals) ὅμως—all the same, nevertheless προσέννεπω—address; entreat command (with acc. and inf.) γεραιός, ά, όν—old (of people); ancient (of things) παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient λείψανον, ου, τό—piece left, remnant; remains (of the dead)



Reading Ten: Euripides, Lines 487-584 177

κυρέω/κύρω—meet with, befall (with dat.); hit, find, obtain (with gen.); happen, turn out to be 555: ἁμός/ἀμός, ή, όν—my; our ἔθρεψεν > τρέφω ἐκκλέπτω—steal and carry off σύγγονος, ον = συγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related σώσας > σῴζω κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact ἔα—ah!, hey! ἐσδέδορκε > εἰσδέρκομαι—look at or upon ὥσπερ—as; as though ἄργυρος, ου, ὁ—silver; money λαμπρός, ά, όν—bright, clear, manifest; wellknown, distinguished χαρακτήρ, ῆρος, ὁ—engraved or stamped mark; characteristic; character ἦ—truly, surely; introducing a question προσεικάζω—compare; make a guess 560: ἴσως—equally, in the same way; probably, perhaps ἧλιξ, ικος, ὁ/ἡ—adj., of the same age, contemporary; as noun, friend, comrade ἥδομαι—enjoy, take pleasure in; be pleased, delighted φώς, φωτός, ὁ—man κυκλέω—move in a circle; middle, circle, go round πέριξ—around, all round πότνια, ἡ—as noun, mistress, queen; as adj., revered, august εὔχομαι—pray, pray that θυγάτηρ, θυγατρός, ἡ—daughter 565: θησαυρός, οῦ, ὁ—store, treasure; store-room, treasury βλέψον > βλέπω νυν—so, now, then τέκνον, ου, τό—child φίλτατος, η, ον (sup. of φίλος, η, ον)—dearest, nearest and dearest πάλαι—long ago, for a long time; as attribute, of old; before δέδορκα > δέρκομαι—see clearly; be alive; look at oὐκέτι—no longer, no further, not now εὖ—well

570: γεραιός, ά, όν—old (of people); ancient (of things) ἀνέλπιστος, ον—not hoped for; without hope ποῖος, α, ον—of what kind?; of place and time, what? χαρακτήρ, ῆρος, ὁ—engraved or stamped mark; characteristic; character πείσομαι > πείθω οὐλή, ῆς, ἡ—scar ὀφρῦς, ύος, ἡ—brow; eyebrow νεβρός, οῦ, ὁ—fawn ᾑμάχθη > αἱμάττω—make bloody, stain with blood πεσών > πίπτω 575: πτῶμα, ατος, τό—fall τεκμήριον, ου, τό—sign, token; proof ἔπειτα—then, next προσπίτνω—fall in front of, supplicate; fall on (someone’s neck), embrace oὐκέτι—no longer, no further, not now γεραιός, ά, όν—old (of people); ancient (of things) σύμβολον, ου, τό—token of identity; token πέπεισμαι (pf. pass.) > πείθω θυμός, οῦ, ὁ—soul, spirit; spirit, courage φανείς > φαίνω ἀέλπτως—beyond all hope 580: οὐδέποτε—and not ever, not even ever, never δόξασα > δοκέω ἤλπισα > ἐλπίζω—hope, expect σύμμαχος, ον—fighting along with; as noun, ally ἤν = ἐάν ἀνσπάσωμαι > ἀνασπάω—draw up, pull in μετέρχομαι—go for βόλος, ου, ὁ—throw with a fishing net; catch of fish πέποιθα > πείθω ἦ—truly, surely; introducing a question μηκέτι—no longer, no further, not now ἡγέομαι—believe, regard as ἄδικος, ον—unjust, immoral ὑπέρτερος, α, ον—nobler, more excellent; stronger; victorious over (with gen.)

487-500. It is fascinating to speculate about how this passage might have been performed. The Old Man may bring before a modern reader’s eye naturalistic acting, especially in relation to stage movements. He moves slowly, an old man carrying supplies (494-9), going up a slope (489-90), bent over double and walking with effort (491-2). How much of the performance was telling as opposed to showing, how much physically mimetic, and how stylized the stage movement might have been—all are in question. See above, pp. 118-9. 487. The old servant speaks of his mistress (δέσποινα) with respect; πότνια is often used of

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divinities. On the other hand, he addresses her later on in a more familiar way, as “daughter” (ὦ θύγατερ; 493). 488—ὅν. The manuscript has ἥν, which makes less sense; a young girl would not have been raised by a male slave. Emending to ὅν puts the focus on his age; Agamemnon’s paidagogos can be presented as very old. 489—ὡς πρόσβασιν … ἔχει. The sentence is a bit obscure. Given the context, it seems that Electra must be the subject; she “has a steep approach” for her house. The ὡς can be explained as exclamatory: “How … !” (Compare on S. 504-7.) 489-90—πρόσβασιν … ὀρθίαν … προσβῆναι. The approach is “steep to approach/ climb”; the infinitive explains how the adjective applies. Compare 293, and note. Whether the picture presented refers concretely to a raised stage or is meant as a picture for the audience’s imagination is an open question. 490. All these datives are hard to sort out. Judging by Euripides’ phrasing elsewhere, probably best to take the first three words together, and assume a caesura after τῷδε. The approach is steep to approach/climb, ῥυσῷ γέροντι τῷδε. The datives indicate the person affected or concerned; τῷδε is used to refer to the speaker (compare E. 43, and note): “for me, a wrinkled old man.” This leaves the final dative, ποδί, as a modal/adverbial dative and/or as a dative of means. Compare S. 37, and note. 491—πρός γε τοὺς φίλους. In a phrase beginning with an article or preposition, γε usually moves up to the second slot; the normal expectation is that it follows the word it is attached to (here, φίλους). —ἐξελκτέον. A verbal adjective, expressing necessity. Compare, S. 16, with note. The ἐξmay imply that he has not gotten up the slope yet; he has to complete hauling himself up. (On the prefix, see Smyth, 1688.2.) Perhaps he starts to and then stops. Two lines later he sees Electra, who has responded to his calls. 492—διπλῆν ἄκανθαν καὶ παλίρροπον γόνυ. His spine is double and his knee is bent and shaky. The description is evocative of old age but not colloquial; the diction is tragic. Note the compound adjective—unique and perhaps a coinage, omission of articles—there are no articles to indicate “my” back and knee(s), and the poetic use of the singular “knee”—we might expect a dual or plural. (On the use of the article, see p. 40; on the poetic singular, see note to E. 10.) 494—τῶν ἐμῶν βοσκημάτων. The genitive is partitive and/or ablatival: “from my animals.” 495—ποίμνης. Better probably with the participle: “taking from my flock …” 496—στεφάνους. Guests at a dinner were provided with wreaths. —τευχέων. The “open” spelling of the manuscript would reflect a non-Attic and poetic form. (See Smyth, 263.) If this spelling is correct, the word has to be pronounced in a mannered way, with synizesis, the vowels being slurred together. (See note to 80.) 497—πολιόν τε θησαύρισμα Διονύσου. Fancy diction: wine, stored up and aged. 498-9—σμικρὸν ἀλλ’ ἐπεσβαλεῖν ἡδύ. It is a small amount, but it is “sweet to add a cup of this …” The two adjectives are presented as if parallel grammatically, and both seem to refer to the wine. But the sentence changes its form as it goes; by the end “adding” is what is sweet. 501—τρύχει τῷδ’ ἐμῶν πέπλων. Like Electra (at 185), the Old Man refers to his ragged clothes. On the problem of understanding references to ragged costume, see pp. 35-6. What is interesting here is that, unlike Electra and other royal and/or heroic characters of the kind



Reading Ten: Euripides, Lines 487-584 179

Aristophanes parodies, the Old Man might actually be expected to wear ragged, or at least unimpressive, clothing. Notice though that like the Farmer at the beginning of the play, he uses the same kind of language as any other tragic character. In fact, this phrase is a markedly poetic periphrasis used to name a mundane piece of clothing; both τρῦχος and πέπλος are tragic words, and the periphrasis with the genitive is poetic; compare 15 and S. 88, with notes. 502—δακρύοισι τέγξας. A standard bit of tragic diction used to indicate weeping. Again, as was the case with his diction, whatever special effects were created by references to his old age, his references to poverty, etc., the character is presented in a conventional tragic way. Note, too, that the words help the audience “see” an expression of emotion, whether a gesture over the mask was used or not. 503—ὦ γεραιέ. On this poetic adjective, used several times to refer to the old servant, see note to 16. 504-7. Electra asks two questions about the Old Man’s tears. The first, focusing on old family troubles and her own, is rhetorical and is presented as a non-alternative. (See on μῶν.) The second brings her back to Orestes’ exile and Agamemnon’s death. 504. This line is usually emended. The result makes more sense than the manuscript line but is still somewhat obscure. —μῶν. = μὴ οὖν. Sometimes said (e.g., Smyth, 2651) to be used in rhetorical questions where a negative answer is expected. This does not always explain the speaker’s attitude; it may be used where the speaker is afraid that something is so and hopes for a negative answer. Approximately—see next note, “I didn’t … did I?” —τἀμά. Seems to mean something like ἐγώ but also implies “my actions now” or “my situation.” (Neuter plural subject with a singular verb; see Smyth, 958.) —κακῶν. Refers, a bit vaguely, to “troubles,” probably old family troubles. Though how these are distinct from what is happening to Orestes and what happened to Agamemnon is a bit hard to see. 508. Another slightly obscure line, which has been emended and can be explained in different ways. —ἀνόνηθ’. The repetition expresses agreement (soon qualified). —δ’ οὖν. The combination points to something essential. He didn’t endure “this anyway.” —τοῦτό γ’. What the “this” is that he did not have to put up with is hard to pin down. It can be explained as simply the neglect of funeral honors for Agamemnon. (On the form of respect due at a tomb, compare 323-5, with note.) He did not neglect this honor, so he is replying to Electra’s egotism and pessimism, implying that his faithfulness and continued loyalty are still important. The sequel to the story shows that in a way he is rewarded. —ἠνεσχόμην. See note to 264. 509—πάρεργ’ ὁδοῦ. The phrase expands on, is in apposition with, the rest of the sentence; his coming to the tomb was a secondary reason for his trip (ὁδός). Compare E. 231, with note. 512—τύμβῳ δ’ ἀμφέθηκα μυρσίνας. The local dative results from the ἀμφ- in the compound. On ἀμφί as a preposition, see p. 64 and compare 801, with note. μυρσίνας is Ionic. See p. 63. 513—πυρᾶς ἔπ’ αὐτῆς. On the altar, as distinct from the τύμβος; compare 92, with note. —μελάγχιμον πόκῳ. A black animal was considered appropriate as an offering to the

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dead. The “dative of respect” shows how the adjective applies: “black as to the fleece,” “black-fleeced.” Similar is the “accusative of respect.” See Smyth, 1516 and 1600. 515—χαίτης βοστρύχους. Both these words are pieces of poetic diction, as is κόμη later on (520). θρίξ (521) is a word also used in prose. This passage is another good illustration of the variety of tragic vocabulary, as well as of the audience’s habituation to a composite poetic dialect. This is true, again, in spite of the fact that the character might be expected, by us, to speak differently than his betters. 516. An indirect question: “I marveled at who …” Notice that the aorist is used in a subordinate clause where an English speaker might expect a pluperfect: “I marveled at who had…” Note, too, that the direct interrogative form is retained; compare note to S. 33. 518—ἴσως που. He doubly qualifies his assertion. 519—ἐθαύμασ’. In spite of the fact that it was used shortly before this (516), the verb has a different meaning here; it has to refer to Orestes “honoring” the tomb. 521—χρῶμα ταὐτόν. Does this mean that the masks had hair of the same color? (When it means “the same,” αὐτόν, not αὐτό, is common. See Smyth, 327.) —ἔσται. May imply, like γενήσεται in 533, that the test is hypothetical; he may not have the lock of hair with him. 522. The word order would be easier as: οἷς ἂν ᾖ αἷμα ταὐτόν πατρός. Then it would be easier to see that the whole clause functions as a dative of the people concerned or affected. Or, could be said that the antecedent, a τούτοις, has been omitted. Compare 32-3, with note. —φιλεῖ. Compare S. 320, with note. 523—τὰ πόλλ’. With the article, πολύς can mean “the greater part,” “the greater number,” etc. See Smyth, 1189. (As in 504, neuter plural with a singular verb.) 525-6. The if clause has a main verb, δοκέω, that motivates the accusative-infinitive indirect speech. The ἄν implies, in a direct form: ἔμολεν ἄν, a “past potential.” A past form of the indicative with ἄν can be used to indicate a past possibility, just as an optative with ἄν can be used to talk about present or future possibility. The use of a past indicative and ἄν in the main clause of a past contrary to fact condition is clearly related; past possibilities are often described only to indicate what would not have happened. Compare S. 312-3, with note, and see Smyth, 1784-7. 525—κρυπτόν. Should be taken adverbially with ἀδελφόν, the subject of the infinitive. Compare E. 251, and note. —Αἰγίσθου φόβῳ. Indicates cause and/or circumstance. See on 123 and S. 21. 526—ἀδελφὸν τὸν ἐμὸν εὐθαρσῆ. Both adjectives are taken with the noun, but only the first is marked as attributive; εὐθαρσῆ feels like a predicate adjective. There may be some emphasis on the idea of his courage: “my brother, who is courageous.” Compare S. 133, with note. 527—πλόκος. This word, as well as πλόκαμος (241), is yet another piece of poetic diction referring to hair. Compare note to 515. 528-9—ὁ μὲν … ὁ δέ. Used as contrasted pronouns: “The one … the other …” Both referring, clearly, to πλόκος. The comparison implied by the pronouns is developed in parallel phrases. The participle τραφείς seems to mean “cared for” but also implies “grown.” It is assumed in the second phrase and in both phrases is modified by an adverbial dative. Each phrase is then filled out with further description of the pronoun, by ἀνδρὸς εὐγενοῦς and θῆλυς.



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528—παλαίστραις ἀνδρὸς εὐγενοῦς. The dative may be locative—see note to S. 55—or, better, describes circumstances and/or manner. 530—πολλοῖς. What is implied is a compressed form of comparison. Here the other term of the comparison, the hair, is left out: “hair like [the hair of] many.” See note to 297. 531—μὴ γεγῶσιν. The negative is not an οὐ because the reference is to a type of person, not to a group of specific people. See Smyth, 2734 (and 2052a). 532—σὺ δ’. The Old Man offers a new idea: “Well, then, you …” —βᾶσ’. A participle from the aorist of βαίνω. Only compound forms from this principal part (and the 2nd) are used in prose. (Compare S. 74 and p. 161.) —ἁρβύλης σκέψαι βάσιν. First, this phrase probably should be taken as a rhythmical and grammatical unit; it fits after the caesura and is a recognizable pattern of word order. Second, the object of the verb anticipates the subject of the clause that follows, in this case an indirect question. The effect is to foreground the idea promoted into the main clause: “Consider the boot’s print, whether it …” On the anticipation of the subject of a subordinate clause (“prolepsis”), see Smyth, 2182. 533—γενήσεται. He is suggesting a test she will have to make later at the tomb. Compare note to 521. 534-5—πῶς δ’ ἂν γένοιτ’ ἄν. The doubling of the ἄν seems to indicate a double focus in the question; the normal position of an ἄν is with its verb or toward the front of a clause or sense unit. There are two points to make, then, with a slight pause between. And each is given its own weight: “How, in the world, could …?” —ἐν κραταιλέῳ πέδῳ γαῖας. γαῖα has not shown up before now but, like χθών (541), it is a common poetic synonym for γῆ. See p. 9. πέδον, which is also poetic, has an overlapping but somewhat different range of meaning. On the form of the adjective, see Smyth, 289b. 535—ἔστιν. When this word has an accent at the beginning of a sentence, it usually means “there is” or “it is possible.” See Smyth, 187b. 536—ἀδελφοῖν. Here, the word amounts to “siblings.” Second declension dual endings are -ω, -οιν, -οιν, -ω. 537—ἅρσην. Note the rough breathing, which implies ὁ ἄρσην. 538-40. The Old Man comes up with yet another way, hypothetically, of recognizing Orestes. He starts (538) by asking a question based on the same assumption, that he may have come back: “If he has come … isn’t there …?” (The flavor of the καί seems to be tentative, not skeptical.) In the rest of his speech, however, his thinking, and the text, become more obscure. The idea of asking about a hypothetical piece of cloth as yet another test that might be made is puzzling. See below on 540. Compounding this problem is the fact that the sentence is incomplete; a line seems to have dropped out. The text resumes with “a piece of weaving from your shuttle …” 538—οὐκ ἔστιν. See note to 535. 539—ὅτῳ. = ᾧτινι. Tragedy uses the shorter forms ὅτῳ and ὅτου, rather than ᾧτινι and οὗτινος. See Smyth, 339b. The point of the indefinite relative—see on 105—is that it describes a piece of weaving in terms of a characteristic: “the kind which …” 540—ᾧ. Whereas this second relative simply introduces a factual description of a piece of weaving he had in mind. —ἐξέκλεψα μὴ θανεῖν. The negative is redundant. Compare the note to S. 103-9. On the use of the infinitive, see note to E. 18.

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542-4. Instead of continuing the contrary to fact, the sentence turns into a question about probabilities. In other words, instead of “Even if I had … he would not be …”, you get “Even if I had … how could …?” The clause following the question, then, continues that exploration of possibility. 542—εἰ δὲ κἄκρεκον. = εἰ δὲ καὶ ἔκρεκον. This time—compare note to 538-40—the καί gives a very skeptical tone: “Even if I had woven …” 543—φάρη. A poetic word for “cloak,” “shroud,” etc., used for “garments,” “clothing.” 545-6. It is easy enough to see where Electra’s thinking starts. She rejects the idea of Orestes’ having come and throws out two possible explanations. What happens in the next line is hard to figure. The speech seems to be pointing to what an Argive might have done—in spite of the Old Man’s assertion at 517. But making plausible sense out of the line as it stands is hard. The editor of this text assumes no convincing emendation has yet solved the problem. (Hence the cruces. Compare 1, with note.) For a possible explanation, see the introduction, p. 167. 547—εἰσιδών. The point may be that he wants to ask them “face to face”; he is still pushing for answers about Orestes, in spite of Electra’s pessimism. 549—λαιψηρῷ ποδί. They move well, like athletes or warriors, or they move quickly, on the lookout for trouble. 550—ἀλλ’. This is not adversative, a simple “but.” Means something like “Well …” —ἐν δὲ κιβδήλῳ τόδε. Not “in” in any spatial or concrete sense but “in the realm of,” “in the category of.” 552. χαίρειν τοὺς ξένους προσεννέπω. The use of χαίρω in welcoming someone makes sense. Usually the original meanings, “be happy,” etc., are inert. In this kind of phrase they are more active. 553-4—τοῦ … φίλων κυρεῖ. What needs to be understood is an ὄν; κυρέω, like τυγχάνω, can take a supplementary participle, which in this case would be a participle from εἰμί referring to the παλαιὸν ἀνδρὸς λείψανον. To that expression is tied a possessive genitive as a predicate: “He happens to be of/belong to … whom?” See Smyth, 1303. (τοῦ = τίνος. See Smyth, 334—compare 339—and note to 539.) In turn, a second (partitive) genitive, φίλων, depends on the interrogative pronoun. 553—τοῦ ποτ’. With an interrogative, ποτε can have the force of an “ever” in English, as in, “Whoever do you mean?” But that may not only sound overly formal but also be an overtranslation. Sometimes the effect is like the use of italics: “Who do you mean?” 555—ἁμόν. Ambiguous, at least insofar as a second meaning, “our,” is latent. Compare S. 279, with note. 557—ἔσθ’. See note to 535. 558—ἔα. Exclamation, usually expressing surprise, sometimes at something unwelcome. It is fairly common in Euripides and also occurs in comedy. It may be colloquial. (Extra metrum; compare 262, with note.) —ἐσδέδορκεν. A (rare) compound of a poetic verb (compare 568). On the perfect, see note to S. 66. 559—λαμπρόν. Explained as a reference to new coins, which would call for testing more than an old coin that had been put into circulation and found to be genuine. —τῳ. = τινι; see Smyth, 334, and compare the form in 553.



Reading Ten: Euripides, Lines 487-584 183

561—φίλου γε φωτός. Orestes agrees: “Yes, a man dear to me.” Or he may be saying, “Orestes is dear to him.” (On the use of γε, see note to 240 and compare 581.) 564—τῶν ἀπόντων ἢ … τῶν ὄντων πέρι. The opposition refers to the sum total of things she could ask about: “What in the world …?” Compare S. 305-6, and note. 566—ι̕δού. “There, I …” Expression used in response to a request or command. Probably another colloquial expression, and common in comedy. The original sense—the verb is a middle imperative from ὁράω—is “See!” or “Look!” 568—μή. A question introduced with μή is sometimes said to introduce only questions expecting a negative answer (e.g., Smyth, 2651). But it can be used, instead, to introduce a question when the speaker is hesitant: “You aren’t …, I hope?” (Similar complications with μῶν introducing questions; compare 504, and note.) —εὖ φρόνεις. “Thinking straight,” “in your right mind.” 570. The question πῶς εἶπας is fleshed out by adding ἀνέλπιστον λόγον. “How are you saying …?” implies, “What do you mean by …?” On the use of the aorist, compare 275, with note. (On εἶπ-ας, see note to 275.) 571-2. As often in stichomythia, a character’s response presupposes the previous line grammatically; missing pieces of sentence structure are supplied in both lines from what precedes: “(εἶπον) ὁρᾶν Ὀρέστην,” leads to, “(εἶπας ὁρᾶν Ὀρέστην) εἰσιδών …” 572—ποῖον χαρακτῆρ’. This word might be expected to express only “what sort of.” Electra could be asking only about what kind of token he means. But the word also seems to be used idiomatically to convey skepticism, even ridicule, as in the English, “What token?” or “What do you mean, ‘token?’” In sharper forms of expression it may be colloquial and is used, most often in comedy, with a form of ποῖος and a noun repeated from what has just been said. Sometimes, though, it is used in a complete question and/or seems milder. In other words, Electra might also be expressing surprise. 573-4. The breaking of the line-by-line stichomythia seems to mark a moment of special importance; here is the real token, which finally brings about the recognition. —οὐλὴν … ἥν … ᾑμάχθη. The second accusative is internal and used with a passive verb. In addition, as a relative, it refers back to οὐλήν, which makes it even harder to take as part of the description of the action. In other words, if we had something like, “He bloodied himself this,” and that was changed to, “He was bloodied this,” that would sound strained, in English. (Compare 36, with note.) Making it “He was bloodied a scar,” is even more so. (Compare S. 114, and note.) “A scar … which he was bloodied” sounds just plain obscure. 574—σοῦ μέθ’. Postposition inside the line is rare. (Compare 564, and note to 35.) 575—μέν. The lack of a δέ clause means that the idea balancing this one is not expressed; this is as far as the speaker has gone or will go. The effect has to be understood in context; here, “I do see the sign of a fall.” 576—ἔπειτα. Can be used in questions to express surprise. —μέλλεις προσπίτνειν. μέλλω here means “delay” or “hesitate.” Compare S. 318. —προσπίτνειν. πίτνω is a poetic variant of πίπτω. —τοῖς φιλτάτοις. Poetic plural with a noun denoting a family relationship. See p. 21. 577—συμβόλοισι. The plural seems to imply that she is now convinced not just by the scar but also the other “tokens” that the Old Man was arguing for earlier. On the other hand, it may be that it is a poetic plural and is heard as an abstract; it generalizes but refers to a single concrete instance, as in “proof of identity.” See p. 21.

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578-9. Physical contact between actors is used sparingly, like many other visual effects. The moments when two actors came together in the large, bare acting area must have been striking. Embracing occurs at moments of high emotion and involves family members; in a recognition scene, as in a farewell, the idea of family connection is made evident. Notice, too, that the fact of the embrace is verbalized, and that is combined with a shift into lines split between the two actors—see note to 579-81. —χρόνῳ … χρόνῳ. Adverbial—see note to S. 70—and can mean “in time,” “after some time.” Here it means “Finally!” 578—θυμόν. Probably best taken as an accusative of respect—see Smyth, 1600. 579-81. The breaking of individual lines in two, “antilabe,” can mark moments of strong emotion. Even in stichomythia the normal unit is a whole line. Compare p. 121. 579—ἐξ ἐμοῦ. See note to S. 124-5. 580—οὐδ’ ἐγὼ γάρ. The οὐδέ can be understood as an οὐ and a καί, each word being understood separately. (Compare 295, with note.) The γάρ expresses agreement by giving the reason for it: “Yes, I also didn’t …” (Compare 243, with note.) 581—γε. See note to 240. 582-4. Orestes seems to be following out his own thought and correcting it. He starts by affirming that he is there, as her only ally. And then he says, “But if I pull in the catch I’m after …” (This is the force, it seems, of the combination δέ … γε.) But at this point his train of thought goes, if not exactly off the rails, at least into a tunnel. When the text comes back into view, he is coming to a moralizing conclusion about why they should be confident of success. The future in the if-clause presents the sequence of thought as objective. Compare S. 498-501, and note to E. 48-9. 582—ἀνσπάσωμαι. See note to S. 138-9. 583—πέποιθα. See note to S. 323.

The agon, the Debate Between Sophocles’ Electra and Clytemnestra Clytemnestra enters for the first time, after the Chorus reacts so optimistically and emotionally to the news about her dream, and after they perform their hopeful interpretation in the presence of Electra, who has remained on stage. (See p. 156.) Presumably, Clytemnestra is played by the actor who also was given the role of Orestes; the Paidagogos will enter later in this episode, to deliver his deceptive narrative about the death of Orestes, and he comes on while “she” and Electra are still on stage. So unless the Paidagogos’ role is split, the actor playing Orestes doubles his own mother. We think almost automatically about the identification of actor and character. The idea that “Orestes” could play the mother he will later murder (offstage) is odd. But in tragic theater actors did play multiple parts. And this particular doubling of roles may simply be striking enough to call an alien theatrical convention to our attention. What is much more obvious for a modern reader is the argumentative tone and formal shape of the ensuing scene. Immediately after Clytemnestra enters from the skene, she launches into a longish rhesis (516-51) in which she attacks Electra and makes an argument for condemning her behavior. She begins by attacking Electra’s shameless attacks on her mother (516-24); she continues by arguing for the justice of murdering Agamemnon, who sacrificed Iphigenia, her daughter (525-33); she builds on that argument by demolishing a list of hypothetical motives for the sacrifice (534-48); and she ends by returning briefly but forcefully to the initial personal attack on Electra. There follows a brief exchange in which Electra more or less gets formal permission from her mother to respond in kind by, she says, speaking for her father and sister. She then embarks on an even longer speech (558609) in which she attempts to refute her mother’s arguments. She begins with an attack on Clytemnestra’s own behavior (558-62); she follows with a defense of Agamemnon’s decision to sacrifice Iphigenia (563-76); and she follows that with an attack on Clytemnestra’s motives for the murder (577-94); finally she returns to the initial point of attack (595-609) by defending her motives for attacking and shaming her mother, from whom, she says, she has been forced to learn shamelessness. In reading any rhesis, we can be made conscious of the character’s rhetorical purposes and of the ways in which the speech is constructed to suit those purposes. But a scene like this makes us feel that one rhesis has been opposed to another, not just that one character has come into conflict with another, or that one long speech answers a preceding one. We are aware of the formal balance of speech with speech, and sometimes of argument with argument. Moreover, we are aware of the self-consciously argumentative posture of both characters. It is not only that tragic characters are articulate and almost never at a loss for words; they are endowed with the ability to construct arguments that respond to both the critical situations in which they find themselves and an opponent. In reading their arguments in a scene like this, we may feel at a loss at first as to how, and why, a relatively static debate is fitted into the play. Here, after a brief and somewhat opaque comment by the Chorus (see note to 610-1), the debate, as sometimes happens, trails off into an angry stichomythia (here in alternating pairs of lines). Nothing seems to have happened, much less 185

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to have been resolved. We could say that the argument between mother and daughter happens in large part because they confront each other in public. Electra is outside and talking to the Chorus, who represent not just a group of sympathetic older woman but public opinion. And Clytemnestra’s initial attack is motivated by the idea that Electra is shaming her family (518). Visually, this was presumably made obvious by a contrast between the poor or simple costume of Electra (190-1) and Clytemnestra’s richer and more elaborate costume, as well as by Electra’s mask, with hair cut short in mourning (448-52), a continual reminder of her grief and sense of grievance. Further, Clytemnestra says, Electra has repeatedly said, and to many people, that she is cruel and treats Electra outrageously (520-2). The Chorus is not expected to argue itself. In dialogue scenes the Chorus Leader very rarely intervenes at length, seldom for longer than three or four lines. Nor does s/he usually express strong opinions, whatever the Chorus’ sympathies. Normally, in the course of the debate as such, the only choral contribution is a brief, usually bland, comment between the rheseis. For their part, the two opponents rarely turn from an argument to address themselves to the Chorus. (Compare note on 612-5.) But the Chorus certainly is a suitable internal audience for charge and countercharge, in this case for an argument over who is really the one behaving shamelessly and reprehensibly. On the other hand, even if both mother and daughter feel impelled to present an argument, the debate can in fact be nothing but a draw; each character is dug into her position and has been for a long time. All they can succeed in doing is in making each other angrier. As a result, even if we can understand their motives and how the argument is grounded in the immediate circumstances, we may be left with further questions as to the purpose(s) of the scene. As you get into the reading, it will become clearer that more is at stake, dramatically, than at first meets the ear. The speeches as performance are not just a way of dramatizing a conflict but a form of self-presentation. Most obviously, we have not seen, and in fact will have no better chance to see, what kind of character Clytemnestra is. We have had brief, vivid pictures of her from Electra and have heard about her fears from Chrysothemis, but here she pushes herself into the center of the play, in order to present herself, and her point(s) of view. All of which, equally obviously, lets us see more of the protagonist and how she responds, yet again, to a challenge, this time a very forceful one, to her self-determined commitment to grief and to her view of her family, especially her mother. Both characters are led at the same time into self-justification, via the construction of an argument designed to subvert the argument of the other. Such self-justification shows even more clearly what is at stake for each and how they feel about their own responses to their tragic, and impossible, situations. To put it another way, if tragic characters are built to respond to stories from which they cannot escape, staging an argument like this between two very different characters trapped in the same story can only help in drawing out the significance of both their responses and the dilemmas they find themselves facing. The debate scene, then, can function as a further means of exploring the full significance of the myth, especially in regard to the back-story. That is why an argument ostensibly about the shamefulness of Electra’s current behavior can develop into a rehashing of the inevitable family history, the sacrifice of Iphigenia and the murder of Agamemnon. Second, it could be said that the agon shows us how impossibly hard it is for both characters to find adequate responses, especially how hard it is to remain clearheaded. (See

The agon, the Debate Between Sophocles’ Electra and Clytemnestra

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pp. 103-4 for an introduction to this line of interpretation.) Electra can no more admit that there was any justification for Agamemnon’s murder, in spite of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, than Clytemnestra can admit that she had any admixture of sexual motive for the murder, which she must pin to the sacrifice of Iphigenia. Neither, then, can let herself be at all swayed by the other’s arguments, because too much is at stake to risk anything in argument, as opposed to attempting a debater’s self-justification. For Electra, living with the idea that her father’s murder could be anything but a crime would mean that she would have to accept it and renounce her own sense of what her life has meant, a life lived in opposition to her mother and Aegisthus. While for Clytemnestra, admitting any personal guilt at all would mean, in effect, having to take responsibility for the murder. And if all that is true, the selfjustifications may not be cynical or just plain unconvincing, even on Clytemnestra’s side; the point may that a character in a situation like this has to let herself be convinced by her own arguments or be overwhelmed by her tragic situation. In the end, the audience, or the reader, may be best able to respond adequately, because there is less at stake, and because at a greater distance an attempt can be made to take into account the responses of both characters, even though reconciling the conflicting arguments seems impossible. The result should be a deeper understanding of the tragic situation as a whole, and a greater empathy for the characters trapped in it.

Reading Eleven: Sophocles, Lines 516-633 Poetic vocabulary Two more poetic verbs appear in this reading: 1) σθένω, “have strength,” “be able.” 2) χρῄζεις, “need,” “desire,” etc. Both these verbs show only forms from the first principal part. Further forms to review

Review the forms for φημί, present and imperfect. See Smyth, 783.

Common irregular verbs ἀπο-κτείνω, ἀπο-κτενῶ, ἀπ-έκτεινα, (ἀπ-ἔκτονα) (Note the aorist ἔκτανον) ἔχω, ἕξω/σχήσω, ἔσχον, (ἔσχηκα) (Note the imperfect, εἶχον.) λέγω, ἐρῶ/λέξω, εἶπον/ ἔλεξα, (εἴρηκα), (εἴρημαι), ἐρρήθην/ἐλέχθην τίκτω, τέξομαι, ἔτεκον, (τέτοκα) For ἀπο-κτείνω and its poetic variants, see p. 20. Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts Some verbs like πείθω, πείσω, ἔπεισα … ἐπείσθην show the results of two basic changes in pronunciation/spelling, which follow from putting τ, δ, or θ before σ (2nd and 3rd principal part), or before θ (in the 6th). Ignoring, again, the 4th and 5th principal parts, we get: 1st τ, δ, or θ

ἀνίημι—send up or out; let go, let go free; middle, loosen, open ἔοικα—be like, look like; seem; be fitting, suit αὖ—again; on the other hand; in turn στρέφω—turn about/around; middle and pass., twist or turn, be at large, wander ἐπεῖχε (impf.) > ἐπέχω—hold back, keep in check θυραῖος, α, ον—at or outside the door; someone else’s; from outside, from abroad αἰσχύνω—act., make ugly, dishonor; middle, feel shame, be ashamed to do ἐντρέπω—turn around; middle or pass, pay attention to, respect (with gen.) 520: καίτοι—and yet ἐξεῖπας > ἐξαγορεύω—speak out, declare, make known θρασύς, εῖα, ύ—bold, confident; rash; arrogant, insolent

615

620

625

630

πέρα—adv., beyond, further; beyond a limit; with gen., beyond, more than καθυβρίζω—treat spitefully, insult κακῶς—badly, painfully κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey σέθεν = gen. of σύ θαμά—often 525: πρόσχημα, ατος, τό—something held in front; pretense, pretext ἔξοιδα—know thoroughly, know well ἄρνησις, εως, ἡ—denial ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of εἷλεν > αἱρέω—grasp, take; capture χρῆν (impf.) > χρή ἀρήγω—aid, help, help in war; ward off 530: θρηνέω—sing a dirge, lament ὅμαιμος, ον—of the same blood, related by blood

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μοῦνος, η, ον = μόνος, η, ον Ἕλλην, ηνος, ὁ—a Greek; as adj., Greek θύω—make an offering, sacrifice ἴσος, η, ον—equal, like (with dat.) καμών > κάμνω—work, labor; be tired; suffer; meet with disaster λύπη, ης, ἡ—pain, grief ὅτε—when σπείρω—sow seed; engender children; scatter, spread ὥσπερ—as; as though εἶἑν—well then, so far so good δίδαξον > διδάσκω χάριν—with gen., for the sake of, on behalf of, on account of 535: θύω—make an offering, sacrifice πότερον/πότερα—adv., introducing a question in two parts (followed by ἤ) Ἀργεῖος, α, ον—Argive μέτειμι—be among; impers., have a share, have a claim to (with dat.) ἀντί—with gen.: instead of, in the place of; as the price of, in return for; because of δῆτα—in questions, so, then; for emphasis in commands, statements, etc. δώσειν > δίδωμι πότερον/πότερα—adv., introducing a question in two parts (followed by ἤ) διπλόος, η, ον/διπλοῦς, ῆ, οῦν—twofold, double; two 540: μᾶλλον—more, rather εἰκός, ότος, τό—neut. part. of ἔοικα—likely; reasonable; fair, right πλοῦς (Attic for πλόος), ὁ—sailing, voyage χάριν—with gen., for the sake of, on behalf of, on account of ᾍδης (i.e., ᾅδης), ου = Ἀίδας, α (Doric and poetic)—Hades; the underworld; death ἵμερος, ου, ὁ—longing for, desire for (with gen.); desire δαίσασθαι > δαίνυμι—give a banquet or feast; middle, feast, feast on πλέον (neuter of πλείων/πλέων)—adv., more, rather πανώλης, ες—completely destroyed; completely immoral 545: πόθος, ου, ὁ—longing, regret; desire; care for, tenderness παρεῖτο (plpf.) > παρίημι—let go; relax; give up ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of ἄβουλος, ον—inconsiderate, unfeeling γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, judgment, opinion

δίχα—adv., in two, divided; as prep., apart from, differently from (with gen.) γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, judgment, opinion φαίη > φημί φωνή, ῆς, ἡ—sound; voice; speech πεπραγμένοις (pf. pass.) > πράττω 550: δύσθυμος, ον—in despair, melancholy κακῶς—badly, painfully γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, judgment, opinion δίκαιος, α, ον—decent, righteous, just πέλας—near, near by (with gen., dat., or as adv.) ψέγω—blame, censure οὐχί = οὐ (perhaps with more emphasis) λυπηρός, ά, όν—causing pain, causing sorrow εἶτα—then, next ἐξακούω—hear, listen to, catch the sound of ἤν = ἐάν ἐφῇς (aor. subj.) > ἐφίημι—act., permit, allow; middle, command, desire 555: ὀρθῶς—rightly, truly, correctly κασιγνήτη, ης, ἡ—sister ὁμοῦ—together, both; together with (with dat.) ἐφίημι—act., permit, allow; middle, command, desire ἐξάρχω—begin, initiate (with gen. or acc.) λυπηρός, ά, όν—causing pain, causing sorrow κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey αἰσχίων, αἴσχιον (comp. of αἰσχρός, ά, όν)— (more) ugly, shameful, base 560: εἴτε—usually doubled, either … or, whether … or δικαίως—rightly, justly ἔσπασεν > σπάω—draw; pull, drag; pull away or aside πειθώ, οῦς, ἡ—Persuasion; persuasion, persuasiveness τανῦν—now ξύνειμι—be with, be joined with; live with ἐροῦ (aor. imper.) > ἐρωτάω κυναγός, όν—hound-leader, hunter ποινή, ῆς, ἡ—blood money; satisfaction, penalty πνεῦμα, ατος, τό—wind; breath 565: φράζω—point out, show; tell, make known, explain κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο θέμις, ἡ—custom, law; what is right μαθεῖν > μανθάνω θεά, ᾶς, ἡ —goddess παίζω—play (in various senses), hunt (here) ἄλσος, ους, τό—wood; esp., sacred wood, precinct of a god ἐκκινέω—stir up, move from στικτός, ή, όν—spotted, dappled κεράστης, ου—horned



Reading Eleven: Sophocles, Lines 516-633 195

ἔλαφος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—deer σφαγή, ῆς, ἡ—slaughter; sacrifice; wound ἐκκομπάζω—boast loudly ἔπος, ους, τό—word, speech, tale βαλών > βάλλω 570: μηνίω—be angry with, be angry Λητῷος, α, ον—Letonian, of/born from Leto κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye, eye κατεῖχε (impf.) > κατέχω—check, restrain; keep; come from the sea to shore, put in to land Ἀχαιός, ά, όν—Achaean, Greek ἕως—conj., until, while ἀντίσταθμος, ον—balancing; in compensation for θήρ, θηρός, ὁ—predatory animal; (wild) animal; monster ἐκθύω—sacrifice ἑαυτοῦ, ῆς, οῦ, etc. or αὑτοῦ, αὑτῆς, αὑτοῦ, etc.—reflex. pron., himself, herself, itself, etc. κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο θῦμα, ατος, τό—victim, sacrifice λύσις, εως, ἡ—loosing, releasing; means of releasing στρατός, οῦ, ὁ—army, military force Ἴλιον, ου, τό—Ilium, Troy 575: ἀντί—with gen.: instead of, in the place of; as the price of, in return for; because of βιάζομαι—use force, force, overpower ἀντιβάς (aor. part.) > ἀντιβαίνω—go against, withstand, resist μόλις—with pain, with difficulty; barely, scarcely θύω—make an offering, sacrifice χάριν—with gen., for the sake of, on behalf of, on account of κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο θέλω = ἐθέλω ἐπωφελέω—aid, help χρῆν (impf.) > χρή οὕνεκα/οὕνεκεν—on account of, because of (with gen.); as conj., that, because σέθεν = gen. of σύ 580: τιθεῖσα (part.) > τίθημι βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal πῆμα, ατος, τό—misery, calamity σεαυτοῦ, ῆς, etc. or σαυτοῦ, σαυτῆς, etc.—reflex. pron., yourself μετάγνοια, ας, ἡ—remorse, repentance τίθης (2nd pers.) > τίθημι ἀντί—with gen.: instead of, in place of; as the price of, in return for; because of σκῆψις, εως, ἡ—excuse, pretense τίθης (2nd pers.) > τίθημι 585: δίδαξον > διδάσκω ἀντί—with gen.: instead of, in the place of; as the price of, in return for; because of

τανῦν—now αἴσχιστος, η, ον (sup. of αἰσχρός, ά, όν)—(most, very) ugly, shameful, base ξυνεύδω—sleep with παλαμναῖος, ου, ὁ—someone polluted by violence; murderer ἁμός/ἀμός, ή, όν—my; our πρόσθεν/πρόσθε—before (of space or time, and as adv. or improper prep.) ἐξαπόλλυμι—destroy completely παιδοποιέω—beget or bear children πρόσθεν/πρόσθε—before (of space or time, and as adv. or improper prep.) εὐσεβής, ές—pious, religious; respectful 590: βλαστάνω—sprout, grow; come to light; be born ἐκβάλλω—throw out ἐπαινέσαιμι > ἐπαινέω—approve; praise, commend ἀντίποινα, τά—requital, retribution αἰσχρῶς—shamefully, basely ἐχθρός, ά, όν—hated; hating; as noun, enemy γαμέω—act., of the man, marry; middle, of the woman, give oneself in marriage θυγάτηρ, θυγατρός, ἡ—daughter οὕνεκα/οὕνεκεν—on account of, because of (with gen.); as conj., that, because 595: νουθετέω—admonish, warn, rebuke ἔξεστι—impers., it is allowed, is possible ἵης (2nd pers.) > ἵημι κακοστομέω—revile, bad-mouth δεσπότις, ἡ—mistress ἔλαττον (neut. of ἐλάττων, ἔλαττον)—adv., less νέμω—hold, consider as; deal out, allot; act. or middle, possess, live in μοχθηρός, ά, όν—suffering, wretched 600: ξύνειμι—be with, be joined with; live with σύννομος, ου, ὁ—partner, mate ἔξω—adv. and prep. with gen.: out, out of; outside, separate from (in various senses), in exile μόλις—with pain, with difficulty; barely, scarcely φυγών > φεύγω τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stouthearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable δυστυχής, ές—unlucky, unfortunate τρίβω—rub; wear out; of time, wear away, spend μιάστωρ, ορος, ὁ—polluted killer; avenger ἐπαιτιάομαι—accuse; blame; complain of εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact σθένω—have strength; be able 605: ἴσθι (2nd sg. imper.) > οἶδα οὕνεκα/οὕνεκεν—on account of, because of (with gen.); as conj., that, because κηρύττω—act as a herald; proclaim, announce

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ἅπας, ἅπασα, ἅπαν—strengthened form of πᾶς, absolutely all, the whole; in pl., all together εἴτε—usually doubled, either … or, whether … or στόμαργος, ον—talking noisily, loudly ἀναίδεια, ας, ἡ—shamelessness πλέως, πλέα, πλέων—full, filled ἴδρις, εως, ὁ/ἡ—adj., knowing about, experienced in (with gen.) σχεδόν—near (of place or time); about, more or less; perhaps καταισχύνω—dishonor, put to shame 610: μένος, ους, τό—strength, force; passion, anger πνέω—breathe; metaph., breathe forth ξύνειμι—be with, be joined with; live with φροντίς, ίδος, ἡ—thought for, concern about (with gen.); reflection; anxiety oὐκέτι—no longer, no further, not now ποῖος, α, ον—of what kind?; of place and time, what? ὕβρισε > ὑβρίζω τηλικοῦτος, αύτη, οῦτον—of such an age, so old, so young ἆρα—marks question, usually without an interrogative; in poetry, equivalent to ἄρα, “then,” “so,” etc. 615: χωρέω—move, go forward αἰσχύνη, ης, ἡ—shame, dishonor; sense of shame ἄτερ—without, apart from εὖ—well ἐπίστω (imper.) > ἐπίσταμαι—know how to; be assured, know for certain αἰσχύνη, ης, ἡ—shame, dishonor; sense of shame ὁθούνεκα—that; because ἔξωρος, ον—untimely, not suitable, unfitting προσεικότα (part.) > προσέοικα—be like; suit, be fitting δυσμένεια, ας, ἡ—hatred, enmity 620: ἐξαναγκάζω—force, compel completely

βία, ας, ἡ—strength, force; act of violence αἰσχρός, ά, όν—ugly; shameful, base ἐκδιδάσκω—teach thoroughly θρέμμα, ατος, τό—nursling; creature ἀναιδής, ές—shameless ἔπος, ους, τό—word, speech, tale ἄγαν—very much, too much 625: μά or οὐ μά—(I swear) by (with acc.; mostly in oaths involving a negative) δέσποινα, ης, ἡ—mistress θράσος, ους, τό—courage, boldness; rashness, insolence ἀλύξεις > ἀλύσκω—avoid, escape εὖτε—when; since ὀργή, ῆς, ἡ—temperament, mood; anger ἐκφέρω—in middle, carry away, carry off (as a prize or reward); pass., be carried away by emotion μεθεῖσα (aor. part.) > μεθίημι—let go; release; give up; allow χρῄζω—need, lack; desire, want ἐπίσταμαι—know how to; be assured, know for certain 630: ἐάω—allow; let alone, let be εὔφημος, ον—not saying inauspicious words, keeping religious silence βοή, ῆς, ἡ—loud cry, shout θύω—make an offering, sacrifice ἐπεί/ἐπειδή—when, after; since, seeing that ἐφῆκα (aor.) > ἐφίημι—act., permit, allow; middle, command, desire ἐάω—allow; let alone, let be θύω—make an offering, sacrifice ἐπαιτιάομαι—accuse; blame; complain of στόμα, ατος, τό—mouth πέρα—adv., beyond, further; beyond a limit, too much; with gen., beyond, more than

516—μέν. Not really answered. Speeches in tragedy can start off with this kind of μέν clause. —ὡς ἔοικας. Greek will often use a personal construction where an English speaker might expect an impersonal form of expression; we get “as you seem” vs. “as it seems.” (On ὡς introducing a comparison, see note to E. 70.) For ἔοικα, a perfect with a present sense, see Smyth, 703 and 704d. 518—μή … αἰσχύνειν. The negative is redundant. See note to S. 103-9. Why does her behavior disgrace her family? Clytemnestra is using a conventional argument about wellbehaved daughters—compare E. 343-4—but that is not all there is to it. —τοι ... γ’. Approximately, “at least … when you are outside.” The combination of the two words makes for a forceful statement qualified in scope. Compare note to 298. 520-4. Clytemnestra’s point is rhetorically effective and even makes intuitive sense, but it depends on juxtaposing if not exactly apples and oranges at least tangerines and oranges:



Reading Eleven: Sophocles, Lines 516-633 197

“You don’t pay any mind to me, and yet you reproach me, morally, for …” In other words, her point is that Electra is not properly respectful, which Clytemnestra juxtaposes with other moral reproaches or insults (as she sees them); these are the real beginning point for Clytemnestra’s hostile response. 520—πολλὰ πρὸς πολλούς με δή. Not entirely clear what the δή emphasizes, except that it is not με. Could be either πολλά or πολλούς or, maybe better, the whole phrase. The idea seems to be that she is complaining all the time, and to everybody; the notion of her repeated bad behavior permeates this part of the speech; see 516 and 524. Also important to note that the accusative pronoun anticipates the subject of the subordinate clause; put into English idiom, “you say … about me that …” Compare E. 532, with note. —πολλά. As an adverbial neuter πολλά is very common for “often.” 521—ἐξεῖπας. This aorist is used with ἐξαγορεύω. On the second person singular ending -ας, see note to E. 275. 522—καθυβρίζουσα. The reproach of ὕβρις is thrown back and forth repeatedly. See 271 and note, and compare 613. (The prefix κατα- often intensifies the force of a verb but may be hard to translate. See Smyth, 1690.3.) 524—κακῶς κλύουσα πρὸς σέθεν. κλύω is used with a passive sense, “be spoken of,” which explains the πρὸς σέθεν, approximating ὑπὸ σοῦ; see note to 70. 525—πατήρ. This nominative is tied to both parts of the sentence that follows. It anticipates the subject of second clause but is a predicate also in the first: “For your father is your excuse/pretext, nothing else, (saying) that he was killed by me.” 526—ἐξ ἐμοῦ. See note to 124-5. 526-7—καλῶς ἔξοιδα. The meaning of καλῶς is “well,” as in, “I am well aware”; the adverb is emphatic. So, too, with the prefix on the verb, which in compounds like this implies thoroughness, completeness, etc. See Smyth, 1688.2. 527—ἄρνησις οὐκ ἔνεστί μοι. Clytemnestra takes what rhetorical refuge she can in abstraction; she does not say, “I cannot deny that I did it.” She tries to distance herself from her own guilt and puts it more argumentatively: “Denial is not possible for me.” The effect is more marked because a combination of a verb and verbal abstract noun as its subject is rarer in Greek than in English. (Compare 142, and note.) 528—γάρ. What is she explaining? She seems to be taking her argument one step further; not only is it not possible to deny the murder; she will not deny it, because … —εἷλεν. The meaning of this verb here is disputed. It could mean that Justice caught Agamemnon, or killed him, or convicted him. Maybe “convicted” makes more sense, if she is again trying to distance herself from personal responsibility. 529—ᾗ. The antecedent is Δίκη. —χρῆν σ’ ἀρήγειν … εἰ … ἐτύγχανες. χρῆν (or ἐχρῆν) is the imperfect of χρή. (See Smyth, 793.) The imperfect of an impersonal verb can introduce a form of contrary to fact. With the present infinitive it refers to the past or present; the aorist refers to the past. Compare E. 525-6, with note, and see Smyth, 2314. —φρονοῦσ’. Means, as often, “sensible,” “in your right mind.” Compare E. 568. 530-2. One reading of these lines is that two ideas seem to be conflated in the same sentence: “He alone of the Greeks dared to sacrifice his daughter,” and “He sacrificed your (own) sister.” Can also be explained by taking μοῦνος to mean, “It was his sole decision to sacrifice your sister.” That would be a distortion, perhaps, given the details of the usual

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story—the other Greeks were, in effect, demanding the decision of him—but it would be rhetorically effective and suit the emotional tenor of the speech. Part of the effect would be the echo of οὐκ ἐγὼ μόνη (528); Clytemnestra was an ally of Justice and did not act alone, Agamemnon made the decision by himself. 531—μοῦνος. Epic and Ionic version of Attic μόνος (as in 528). Sophocles uses it in both dialogue and lyric, Aeschylus and Euripides only in isolated compound words. 532-3. He felt no pain at all in begetting her, but Clytemnestra did feel pain in bearing her. Therefore she had more claim to, and/or more affection for, her daughter than he. The phrase οὐκ ἴσον καμὼν ἐμοὶ λύπης by itself would mean, “not suffering an equal amount of pain as/to me.” The comparison is completed by ὥσπερ ἡ τίκτουσ’ ἐγώ. 534-46. Clytemnestra starts in on a new stretch of argument. She addresses the question of Agamemnon’s motives for sacrificing Iphigenia, and whether he was justified or not. Her argument takes the rhetorical from of “hypophora.” (See Smyth, 3029.) That is, she poses a series of rhetorical questions about various explanations. At first (535-6) there is an explicit statement as to why a question or hypothetical suggestion is not the answer. As she proceeds, the answer is collapsed into the question (537-8) or implied by the way it is framed (539-46). At the same time, her rhetoric modulates toward invective and away from logical argument (logical in form at least); the tone of the questions becomes sharper and then indignantly ironic. 534—δή. With an imperative δή can mean “come,” “so.” —τοῦ. = τίνος; see Smyth, 334. —χάριν. An “improper” preposition, and usually appearing after its object. See note to E. 64 and 94 and compare 541, ἧς …χάριν. 535—πότερον. Signals a question that comes in two parts: “Was it … or was it …?” Here a second possibility is introduced with an ἀλλά not an ἤ (537), after she has answered her own question. (Compare the series of questions in 539-45.) 536—μετῆν. Imperfect of  μέτεστι. Compare 545, ἐνῆν. —τήν γ’ ἐμήν. “My daughter.” The slight emphasis provided by the γε, not to mention the use of the possessive to begin with, is important. Compare the τἄμ’ (more or less “my child”) in 538. (On the position of γε, see note to E. 491.) 537-8. A fuller paraphrase of the first part of the sentence would be, “Well, then, (would you justify him by saying) he killed my child because of his brother?” But might be better paraphrased, given the content of 539-41, “Well, then, (would you justify him by saying) he killed my child, in the place of his brother (killing his)?” 537—ἀλλ’. Can mean “well,” and with δῆτα “well, then.” This variety of ἀλλά is used, in general, after a rejected suggestion, hypothesis, etc. Hence, it can be used in hypophora—see notes to 534-46 and 535—when the speaker makes a new suggestion. —Μενέλεω. Genitive of a name declined like νεώς, νεώ. See Smyth, 238. 539-45. Another series of questions, formally at least continuing the hypophora. Here the first question is introduced by πότερον and succeeding questions (542-3 and 544-5) by ἤ. (The ἤ at 543 should be taken with πλέον; it is there because of a comparison built into the question beginning in the previous line.) It is unusual for πότερον to be followed by multiple options, the root meaning implying alternatives. 539—ἐκείνῳ … ἦσαν. The dative with εἰμί indicates possession. A close relative of the dative that indicates someone affected or concerned; he had two children at his disposal.



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—διπλοῖ. In Homer, Menelaus only has one legitimate child, Hermione. In other authors he has two. 540. I.e., τούτους εἰκὸς ἦν θνῄσκειν μᾶλλον ἢ τὴνδε θνῄσκειν. The relative is the subject of the infinitive, which is the subject of the impersonal expression. The comparison with Iphigenia is compressed into a single genitive. —τῆσδε. Obviously, Iphigenia is not present; but Clytemnestra has just been talking about her, and she is important for her argument. 541—ἧς. Though both parents are mentioned, the sentence moves on to focus on Helen; she wants to add in the aggravating circumstance that her sister was to blame for the Greek expedition against Troy, but she had to pay the price as a mother. 542-3. Would be easier to put together as: ἢ Ἅιδης ἔσχε τιν’ ἵμερον τῶν ἐμῶν τέκνων πλέον ἢ τῶν ἐκείνης; That is, the comparison, indicated by the adverb πλέον and ἤ, is between her children and Helen’s. 543—δαίσασθαι. The infinitive is attached in sense to τέκνων, “to eat (them).” Like similar infinitives used with an adjective, it is added as an explanation and expansion of the meaning. Compare E. 293, with note. 544—τῷ πανώλει πατρί. The article can be taken as “your,” maybe with an edge to it. (On the possessive article, not much used in tragedy, see p. 40, and compare 536.) 545. The δέ clause can be filled out with parallel elements from the μέν clause: τῶν δὲ παίδων Μενέλεω πόθος ἐνῆν; 546. This is a predicative sentence, but the predicate takes the form of a descriptive genitive, one that describes the subject in terms of a quality or characteristic: to say “These things are of x” in Greek can mean “These things are characteristic of x.” See Smyth, 1320 and compare 19, with note. 547—δοκῶ μέν. “I would think so …” Compare 61. —εἰ καί. The καί implies “even if (as seems to the case) …” Contrast E. 542, with note. —σῆς δίχα γνώμης. δίχα is another improper preposition, sandwiched between a modifier and noun like an ordinary preposition. As a preposition (though not as an adverb), its use is poetic. See Smyth, 1700. 548—φαίη. On this optative of this verb, see Smyth,783 and 459-60. 549—τοῖς πεπραγμένοις. Causal dative. See note to E. 123. 550-1. φρονεῖν κακῶς refers not to bad reasoning but to her way of thinking about her history and present situation, which Electra condemns. Clytemnestra returns to a tactic used at the beginning of her speech; she attacks the judgment and behavior of Electra as a way of defending herself. Compare note to 520-4. 551—σχοῦσα. The aorist stem can indicate the beginning of a state or condition (ingressive aorist), and the aorist of ἔχω can mean “get,” “acquire.” (There may be the same sort of meaning operative in ἔσχε, 543.) Compare E. 40. 552-3. Compare what Clytemnestra says about Electra at 523-4. 552—μέν. The contrast that follows is with the whole idea of the next sentence, and with ἀλλά adding more weight to the contrast: “You won’t say … But, if …” —μ’. “about me.” Compare 520, with note. (Note that the elided pronoun cannot be a μοι; μοι and σοι are not elided in tragedy.) 553. For the sense, compare 524, with note. —σοῦ … ὕπο. Note the accent on the postposed preposition.

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554-5. This is a mixed condition, with an if clause from a future more vivid and a main clause from a future less vivid. How does the optative in the main clause, instead of a future, change the tone of Electra’s request? (Often a condition makes intuitive sense, even if it defeats your expectations.) —τοῦ τεθνηκότος θ’ ὕπερ ... τῆς κασιγνήτης θ’ ὁμοῦ. The combination τε … τε pairs up the genitives (and is reinforced by ὁμοῦ). Using it with a pair of single words is rare in prose. Compare E. 15, and note. 554—ἐφῇς. An aorist subjunctive of ἐφίημι. In some aorist forms of ἵημι all that is left is a rough breathing, which can only be seen if the preposition in a compound ends with the right kind of consonant. 556—καὶ μήν. The combination can indicate that the other person can proceed, with a line of thought or otherwise: “And I do …” 556-7—μ’ … λόγους ἐξῆρχες. The pronoun is the object of the verbal idea implied by the rest of the phrase. 557—λυπηρὰ κλύειν. Compare 543, and note to E. 293. 558-9—τίς ἂν … γένοιτ’ ἅν. As at E. 534-5—see note—the doubling of the ἄν seems to indicate a double focus in the question, the normal position of ἄν being with its verb or toward the front of a sense unit. There are two points to make, with a slight pause between, and each is given its own weight. Here the word order is more complicated and the nuance harder to capture, something like, “Compared to this admission what, I ask you, could be still more shameful?” 558—καὶ δὴ λέγω σοι. Compare 316-7, with note. —φῂς κτεῖναι. Why no accusative subject for the infinitive? See on S. 65-6. 560—εἴτ’ οὖν … εἴτε. “whether, in fact … or whether.” The point being that it does not matter one way or the other. 561—δίκῃ. See note to 70 and compare δικαίως in the previous line. —ἔσπασεν. This verb has a short final vowel but does not behave like an ordinary contract verb. See Smyth, 488a. 562—κακοῦ πρὸς ἀνδρός. Compare note to 70. 563-4—τίνος ποινάς. The accusative, with a genitive hanging from it, seems to be another variety of the internal accusative: “Ask her what she punished by …” Compare 130, and note. ποινή is rare in prose, where δίκη might be used, as in 538. 564. The implication of this line is that the story assumed here involves a calm, not storms or adverse winds. —τὰ πολλὰ πνεύματ’. “the frequent/usual winds.” The article refers to something familiar or well known; we might say “those frequent winds.” —ἔσχ’. The simple form of the verb is used in poetry with the same meaning as the compound κατέχω, “hold back,” “restrain,” etc. The effect of the aorist can be got at by “check,” “stop.” (Compare note to 551. And see further κατεῖχε in 571, where the compound, in the imperfect, has a related but somewhat different meaning.) 565—ἤ. “Or, rather …” “Or, better …” —κείνης. Ablatival genitive. She would be the source to learn from, if it were proper. 566-9. There are various stories about how Agamemnon offended Artemis. In the version that seems closest to this one, from a late summary of a pre-tragic epic, he is hunting and kills a deer. Then, hybristically, he boasts of being a better shot than Artemis.



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566—θεᾶς. Except in occasional stock phrases, the standard expression for “goddess” in prose is ἡ θεός. Aristophanes uses the marked feminine occasionally, to avoid ambiguity when no article is called for. But the norm is the prose expression, and θεά is used very rarely in his trimeter. Hence, the feminine form with an omitted article, as here, was almost certainly heard as a piece of tragic diction. 566-8—θεᾶς … κατ’ ἄλσος and οὗ κατὰ σφαγάς. Standard form of word order in two somewhat different forms. For the meaning of κατά in each case, see Smyth, 1690.2. 567—ποδοῖν. Dual ending. Compare 54, with note. 568—στικτὸν κεράστην. On two adjectives without a connective, see note to 492. 569. May be hard to see which participle goes with τυγχάνει (as supplementary) and which gives more background information (circumstantial). Seems better to take all of the line through τυγχάνει as a unit and βαλών as filling in the background. This makes sense if we put some weight on παίζων and ποδοῖν in 567: Agamemnon is not hunting but enjoying himself walking through the sacred woods of Artemis. He startles a deer and, in spite of being on foot and taken by surprise, hits it and kills it. That picture in turn fits into a (tendentiously told) version of the story that is meant to mitigate the blame for being impious and for sacrificing Iphigenia. —ἐκκομπάσας. ἐκ- can add a nuance to a simple form of the verb, implying, for instance, completion or thoroughness—see 526-7, with note, and Smyth, 1688.2—and Sophocles is given to using verbs like this. Sometimes it is hard to see what the nuance is; it may simply sound like a stronger form of expression. The LSJ definition is “boast loudly,” which would color our perception of Agamemnon’s guilt. On the other hand, it is strange that Electra puts it this way. 570—Λητῴα κόρη. The adjective is derived from the name and is used instead of a genitive. (“Letonian daughter” vs. “Leto’s daughter.”) This kind of adjective is most common in poetry. 571—ἕως. “until.” Because the action is in the past and the sentence describes her intentions while she is restraining the winds, an optative is used. That is, when ἕως means “until” and the action has not yet happened the subjunctive (with ἄν) is used. If you describe such a situation in the past, an optative (by itself) makes sense; the clause follows the rules for sequence of mood. (See p. 67.) You may often be describing someone’s purpose as well; Artemis’ delaying the Greeks until Agamemnon does as she wants also implies her purpose. See Smyth, 2422 ff. and 2418. (Note that ἕως has to be scanned as one syllable, with synizesis. See note to E. 80.) 572—ἐκθύσειε. Hard to distinguish this compound from θύω. (Compare note to 569.) But the difference may be something like “make a sacrifice out of,” not just “sacrifice.” The word may imply the unnaturalness of the act. —αὑτοῦ. = ἑαυτοῦ. A shortened form for the reflexive pronoun “himself,” as in, “He hit himself on the thumb with a hammer.” (Not the adjectival “himself,” as in, “He himself broke his thumb.” That would imply a form of αὐτός, ή, ό.) See Smyth, 329. 573—ὧδ’ ἦν. Normal Greek idiom is to use ἔχω with an adverb; this sounds like English idiom but is a rare combination in Greek. Compare E. 76 and 238. —τὰ κείνης θύματ’. A poetic plural of an abstract noun. (Compare 568.) As a whole, the expression is a bit impersonal; as in the following sentence, we get an unusual expression that combines verb and abstract noun, and that seems again to deny personal agency and

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responsibility. (Notice the neuter plural subject with a singular verb; see Smyth, 958.) 573-4—οὐ γὰρ ἦν λύσις ἄλλη στρατῷ. As in 527—see note—the argument is bolstered by a markedly abstract form of expression: there was no way out; Agamemnon’s moral choices and what he actually did are pushed into the background. 575—πολλά τ’ ἀντιβάς. πολλά here means “greatly.” Compare 520, with note. 577—εἰ δ’ οὖν. “But, if in fact …” The speaker grants a rhetorical possibility. —τὸ σόν. Neuter article used to manufacture an abstract noun. See E. 53, and note. The force of that noun is something like “your argument,” “your version of events.” 578-9—τούτου … οὕνεκ’. The postposition of this word used as an improper preposition is very common. The separation at such a distance is rare. Compare 594, and note to E. 94. —θανεῖν χρῆν αὐτὸν … ἐκ σέθεν; The question is rhetorical and, in effect, contrafactual. See note to 529. 579—ἐκ σέθεν. See note to 124-5. 580-1—ὅρα … μὴ … τίθης. Α verb that implies “take care” or “beware” can take the same kind of subordinate clauses, and use negatives in the same way, as a verb of fearing. See note to E. 22. Notice, too, that this is an indicative, not a subjunctive (though the manuscripts offer a variant version with a subjunctive). An indicative refers to a fear about what is going on now. In this passage, then, Electra is not warning her about what may happen; the tone of the rhetoric is more analytical and factual: “ … lest you are making …” vs. “ … lest you make …” 581—σαυτῇ. Contracted form of the 2nd person reflexive, σεαυτῇ. See note to 572. 582-3. Another mixed condition; it starts out with a future in the if-clause but modulates into something more hypothetical: “If we do kill …, then you would …” (Compare 554-5.) 582—τοι. See note to 298. 584—εἰσόρα μὴ … τίθης. The compound main verb is used in the same construction as ὅρα in 580: “Be careful lest …” 585—ὅτου. Tragedy uses the shorter forms ὅτου and ὅτῳ, rather than οὗτινος and ᾧτινι. See Smyth, 339b. On the indirect interrogative, see 33, with note. 587—ἥτις ξυνεύδεις. See the note to 261. 588—ἐξαπώλεσας. See note to 569. 589—παιδοποιεῖς. On the children of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, see note to E. 62-3. 589-90—εὐσεβεῖς κἀξ εὐσεβῶν. She means that the children were legitimate, in the sense that the marriage was legitimate in religious terms, and that the parents were acting correctly in a marriage that was religiously sanctioned. But she also implies that, before she was forced not to be, she was εὐσεβής, even if, as it turns out, Clytemnestra was not. Compare note to 307-8. 590—ἐκβαλοῦσ’ ἔχεις. Equivalent to an English present perfect: “You have …” This combination of ἔχω with an aorist participle is commonest in tragedy and more common in Sophocles than in Aeschylus or Euripides. 591-2—καὶ ταῦτ ἐρεῖς ὡς … Compare 520 and E. 532, with notes. 591—ἐπαινέσαιμ’. On the short final vowel of the stem, see Smyth, 488b and compare note to 561. 593—ἐάν περ καί. ἐάν περ is the conditional form of εἴπερ, a strengthened form of εἰ, sometimes hard to put into English. καί, taken with the verb, gives a bit of emphasis: “If you did say (this) …” Compare E. 538-40, with note.



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594—ἐχθροῖς. Only one enemy in question, clearly. The plural seems to be a generalizing poetic plural of the same type as plurals that indicate other relationships. See p. 21. Aegisthus should be Clytemnestra’s enemy, given the family history; he was the enemy of his cousin, her husband. 595—ἀλλ’ οὐ γὰρ οὐδέ. A dense combination of words: 1) In this use of the combination of ἀλλά and γάρ, it is hard to see the force of the γάρ. One way of understanding its role in the combination is to think of the word as indicating why it makes sense to introduce a statement beginning with a “but”: “All that’s not the point, since …” or “Anyway, enough of that, since …” (In other cases, both words have a clearer separate force. Compare the note to 256.) 2) οὐ and οὐδέ do not cancel each other out; compound negatives reinforce another negative, if they come second. In other words, οὐδεὶς οὐ μανθάνει ταῦτα means, “Everybody learns this stuff.” But οὐ μανθάνει οὐδεὶς ταῦτα means, “Nobody at all learns this stuff.” See Smyth, 2760-1. 3) οὐδέ can be translated as a negative plus an adverbial καί, i.e., “not even.” Compare note to E. 295. 596—ἥ. Compare 599 and 613 and see the note to S. 261. —πᾶσαν ἵης γλῶσσαν. The implication is that she is loud. γλῶσσα here is used as a poetic word for “voice.” 597-8—καί σ’ ἔγωγε … νέμω. Could be taken as, “And Ι consider …” In other words, the reproach would make sense, if she did not see her mother differently. (On ἔγωγε, see note to 150.) 598—οὐκ ἔλασσον. The kind of expression that by underselling an idea implies the opposite (“litotes”); “not less than” means “more than.” See Smyth, 3032 and 2694. 599-600—ἔκ τε σοῦ … τοῦ τε συννόμου. On the doubled τε, see note to 554-5. On the article, compare 544, with note. 601. See note to 297. —ἔξω. “in exile” 603—ὅν. The relative can be used as a connection for a new independent clause. It can be equivalent to “and this (one)” or “but this (one).” Compare E. 43. —δή. Emphatic with πολλά. Compare 520, with note. 604-5. Electra seems to be threatening her mother, more or less directly. Logically, the τόδε seems to refer to the immediately preceding idea, raising an avenger. But the verb, ἔσθενον, points to the less logical, but relevant, concept of revenge as such. (Notice that the condition is a past contrary to fact with two imperfects.) 604—ἐπῃτιάσω. A regular contract verb, with a long α, instead of an η, following ι, as in first declension nouns. 605—τοῦδέ γ’ οὕνεκεα. “As far as that goes …” She is not disturbed by being charged with this kind of feeling towards her mother. 606—χρῇς. A rare verb meaning “want.” Distinguished in LSJ from other forms of χράω/ χράομαι but showing the same unusual contraction. See Smyth, 394-5. 609—σχεδόν τι … οὐ καταισχύνω. The introductory phrase is a form of seemingly polite understatement—see note to 598—that has the opposite effect; “perhaps, in a way” implies sarcastic certainty. That expression, in turn, is combined with an ironic use of a standard phrase. If you do not disgrace your nature or birth, then you live up to it, in a positive sense. Here, by acting badly she does not disgrace her mother’s debased nature. 610-1. These two lines have provoked considerable discussion. There are three basic

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problems: 1) It is not clear whether the Chorus is talking about Electra or Clytemnestra, or whether they refer to each in successive parts of the sentence. 2) A related problem: Has a line before 609 dropped out (because a copyist skipped over it)? And could that line have made the reference(s) clear? 3) Who says these lines, what the “attribution” is, has caused some discussion, though the manuscripts give them to the Chorus Leader. (Manuscript indications for change of speakers can result from ancient guesswork.) It makes sense to have a reaction from the Chorus Leader here, as often happens. But arguments have been made for either Electra or Clytemnestra. 610—ὁρῶ μένος πνέουσαν. Could be taken to refer to Electra, since she has just been talking and has clearly gotten angry. But also might be taken as a way of focusing the audience’s attention on, and making clear, the anger of Clytemnestra. —σὺν δίκῃ. Has been argued that this phrase applies most naturally to Clytemnestra, since it seems more natural, given the preceding argument, to judge her actions in terms of justice. (See, for instance, 582-3.) But the point may be that though Electra has argued about justice, among other things, it is not clear whether she is acting justly now, especially given the harshness of the end of her speech. Whether all that means that both this sentence and the first—see last note—apply to one of the two is another question. It might make most sense to see this response as an attempt to temporize. That is, the first sentence is indirect support for Electra; it points out Clytemnestra’s anger and lack of control. The second sentence is an attempt to placate Clytemnestra; Electra has gone too far herself. Choral responses in this kind of situation sometimes are contorted; it is impossible to bridge the gap between two irreconcilable points of view, and the Chorus does not want to get caught in the middle but is. 611—οὐκέτ’. Does not have to refer to time, as in “no longer,” but can be a negative version of ἔτι meaning “still” or “further.” The Chorus, in temporizing, may be saying that it does not see—this is a further conclusion—whether Electra (or Clytemnestra) is concerned with the justness of her own behavior. If there is a reference to time, the Chorus is being more definite; it no longer sees Electra (or Clytemnestra) concerned with whether she is acting justly. 612-5. It is rare for a character to turn away from an opponent in argument to address the Chorus. That may underscore her unhappiness with Electra’s public loudness, a reaction evident from the beginning of the scene. 612—δεῖ. Most commonly used impersonally with an accusative-infinitive: “it is necessary.” But can be used with a genitive, when something is “needed” or “lacking.” —ποίας δ’ ἐμοὶ … πρός γε τήνδε φροντίδος. In the text as we have it here, we get ἐμοί with a γε emphasizing the τήνδε. (On the position of γε, see note to E. 491.) The effect is: “And what sort of concern should I have toward her? The implication is that the Chorus has just been talking about Electra. This makes sense if the Chorus is trying to placate Clytemnestra in the second sentence—see note to 610, but it should be borne in mind that the text of this line could just as easily be read: ποίας δέ μοι … πρός γε τήνδε φροντίδος, which might be taken as, “What sort of concern should I have toward her, since she …?” That would imply a focus in the second sentence on Clytemnestra’s lack of concern. And it seems to make more sense of the tone given by an idiomatic use of ποίας; she picks up on a word in the previous line and repeats it indignantly. (Compare E. 572, and note.) She is responding to a direct criticism about her lack of concern. In the first case, reading ἐμοί, the connection of thought is not so direct.



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613—τοιαῦτα … ὕβρισεν. “Internal,” essentially adverbial, accusative. Compare E. 64, with note. 614—καὶ ταῦτα τηλικοῦτος. καὶ ταῦτα takes up and expands on a previous idea: “and that, too,” “and that in spite of being …” (Often get this expression with concessive participles.) See Smyth, 947 and 2083. —τηλικοῦτος. Would expect a feminine form of this adjective, but it must refer to Electra. Has been taken to mean “so young,” as well as “so old,” i.e., mature. The temptation to compute Electra’s age is great and leads to various results. But the important point may be the rhetorical effect intended; Clytemnestra does not have to be logical, let alone accurate. Is she saying that an unmarried—read dependent and subordinate—girl should not speak this way? Or is she saying that a girl this old—and still unmarried—should be old enough to know better? 614-5—ἆρά σοι δοκεῖ χωρεῖν ἄν …; δοκεῖ plus a dative is usually used personally in Greek—”Does she seem to you …” Whereas, in English you get an impersonal version— ”Does it seem to you that she…” What gets confusing is the transition into indirect speech: “Does she seem to you that …” But this is what is happening here, which is why there is no subject for the infinitive; Electra is the subject of the main verb. An additional source of (potential) confusion is that the ἄν shows you that the infinitive represents an optative: “Does she seem to you that she would …?” To put it another way, they are being asked their opinion about a possibility that could be expressed by “χωροίη ἄν;” (“Would she proceed?” Compare and contrast E. 525-6, and note.) Finally, note that the question is rhetorical. She is not really asking something of the Chorus about which she needs their opinion. In this kind of rhetorical context, ἆρα can ask for a “yes,” because of the way the question is framed. 615—αἰσχύνης ἄτερ. See note to E. 94 and Smyth, 1700. 617—κεἰ. = καὶ εἰ. Used in the same way as εἰ καί in 547. See note. —μανθάνω. Here means “see,” “know.” 619—ἀλλ’ … γάρ. See the note to 595. —ἐκ σοῦ. See note to 124-5. 620—ἐξαναγκάζει με ταῦτα δρᾶν βίᾳ. The compound verb seems forceful and rhetorically effective. (See note to 569 and compare the very similar expression, with a simple form of the verb, that Electra uses earlier to explain her behavior to the Chorus, at 256.) To this is added what seems like a redundant βίᾳ. (The dative is used adverbially: “under compulsion,” “against my will.” Compare 70, with note.) 621—ἐκδιδάσκεται. Again, seems forceful. An approximation: “Acting shamefully is drilled into you by …” 622—ὦ θρέμμ’ ἀναιδές. Compare 289, with note. 624—τοι. She is remonstrating with Clytemnestra: “Well, you …” See note to 298. —νιν. = αὐτά. Much more often equivalent, as “them,” to αὐτούς or αὐτάς. Compare note to E. 28. 625—εὑρίσκεται. The middle here means that the deeds “find” or “invent” words for themselves. 626-7—οὐ μὰ … οὐκ. In this case the two negatives do not cancel each other out—see note to 595. The first is used to introduce the oath, as μά itself can do. (ναὶ μά is also possible, if the oath has a positive form, but νή is more common. See Smyth, 2894.)

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—θράσους τοῦδ’. The genitive could indicate a cause. Or it could indicate that she will not escape from her “insolence,” in the sense that there have to be consequences for it. 626. Normally, Artemis is a god invoked in tragedy by unmarried girls. Clytemnestra may be implying that she should be punished for unmaidenly behavior. (Might also be a malicious reminder that she is still unmarried. Compare 614, and note.) 627—εὖτ’ ἄν. See note to 508. 628—ἐκφέρῃ. The idea of being “carried away” suits a compound with ἐκ-. See note to 569. —μεθεῖσα. See note to 554. 629—ἃ χρῄζοιμ’. Clytemnestra’s permission amounted to saying something like, “λέγε ἃ ἂν χρῄζῃς.” When that idea is cast in terms of past description the subjunctive in the subordinate clause is replaced by an optative and the ἄν is left out. See Smyth, 2601-3 and 2607. 630—οὔκουν ἐάσεις ... In the back and forth of dramatic dialogue, οὔκουν and the future can introduce an impatient question as a reaction to what has just been said: “Well, won’t you let me …?” —ἐάσεις. See note to 604. —οὐδ’ ὑπ’ εὐφήμου βοῆς. οὔκουν and οὐδέ do not cancel each other out. See note to 595. Hence, “Well, won’t you allow me even to sacrifice?” (On οὐδέ, compare E. 295, with note.) The prepositional phrase with ὑπό coming between the negative and the infinitive indicates the circumstances accompanying the action. See Smyth, 1698b. 632—κελεύω. Not ordering but urging: “Pray do.” “Go right ahead.” 633—οὐκ ἂν … λέξαιμ’. Sometimes the optative only implies that the action is contingent on some other circumstance. That can make it hard to distinguish from a future. Implied is “in that case” or “under the circumstances.” Compare E. 300, and note.

The Narrative of Euripides’ Messenger Violence and telling vs. showing, again This reading (585-961) covers the first part of the revenge plot that follows on the recognition of Orestes. Immediately after the recognition scene there is a brief song, joyful and hopeful, from the Chorus (585-95), followed by a scene in which not only the murder of Aegisthus but the murder of Clytemnestra is planned. Orestes and the Old Man are to go find Aegisthus, who is outside the city preparing to make a sacrifice (619-39). The Old Man, at Electra’s suggestion, is then to go find Clytemnestra and deliver the news that Electra has had a baby (647-63), which will bring her out to the Farmer’s house to be murdered. Then follows a brief set of prayers and the departure of all the actors, Electra into the house, and Orestes, the Old Man, and Pylades (with servants) to go find Aegisthus. The Chorus, left by itself, sings about the remote causes of the current crisis, the dispute between Atreus and Thyestes, the brothers who were the fathers of Agamemnon and Aegisthus (699-746). At the beginning of the next episode, Electra reemerges and there is a tense interchange with the Chorus; they hear the sounds of screams offstage and wait for a messenger (747-60); a messenger often reports violent, offstage events. A messenger (one of Orestes’ servants) does give a lengthy description of Aegisthus’ murder, and prepares Electra and the Chorus for the arrival of Orestes and Pylades with Aegisthus’ body (774-858). After a brief celebratory sequence (859-79), they enter and are hailed as victors. The bulk of the next scene, however, is taken up by Electra, who addresses the corpse and denounces it/him as she had always wanted (907-56). After that, the corpse is taken inside so that Clytemnestra will not see it. She is soon seen approaching in the distance. The second part of the revenge plot is about to begin. The reading in Greek covers the whole of the description of Aegisthus’ murder (774-858), which is at the center of this sequence of action and which is one of the dramatic climaxes of this section of the play, though all the action described by the Messenger takes place offstage. He could have been played by the actor who sustains the Old Man. But there is some possibility that the same actor who plays Orestes could have done so; between the departure of the Messenger and Orestes and Pylades’ arrival there is an exchange of twenty or so lines between the Chorus, which sings, and Electra, in trimeters (859-79), which may have allowed enough time for the actor to go down an eisodos, change mask and costume, and return. This is plausible, in terms of distribution of roles, because if the speech is not given to the actor playing Orestes, he will only have about half as many spoken lines as the other actors (though he would sing in the amoibaion at the end of the play). The possibility that a more even division of lines could have been a consideration is an interesting one. Because we almost automatically assume that actor and character are identical, the idea that “Orestes” could report the murder “he” had just done seems odd. But in tragic theater actors did play multiple parts. This particular doubling of roles would simply be striking enough again, as with the doubling of Sophocles’ Orestes and Clytemnestra, to call the convention to our attention. 207

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For the actors, there might have been a further question: who was to get the chance to deliver a rhesis that allowed a virtuoso display of tragic acting, in putting across for the audience a vivid poetic narrative? The Messenger, as usual, gives them the gist right away, that Aegisthus has been murdered. He is then asked by Electra to tell how the murder was done, and what its “shape” was, how the sequence of events worked out (772-3). An invitation like this is conventional. One of the characters asks to hear, at length, about a result that is already known. While the internal audience, Electra and the Chorus in this case, do want to hear—it is a moment of triumph and provides a peculiar kind of pleasure—the convention points to the effectiveness of the messenger’s speech for the external audience, as an involving and dramatic narrative. It is clear that in tragedy generally, and particularly in Euripides, this kind of narrative was extensively developed and that it was valued for its own sake. The tragedians were able to make of it more than a simple report of facts about an action that had not been shown on stage; in multiple ways, they made creative use of what might seem to be only a conventional and limited form of rhesis. The convention of a messenger’s narrative is hard to separate from the “problem” of violence in tragedy. Messengers very often, though not always, report on murders, suicides, etc. And in discussions of tragic convention it is often said that homicidal violence was kept off stage; it can be reported but not shown. For example, in a recent handbook, the discussion of messenger scenes includes the following: It is also well know that Greek tragedy avoided displays of onstage violence (Ajax’s suicide in Sophocles’ play is a notable exception to this practice), and so these scenes could depict, often in graphic detail, the brutal acts that were essential elements of the drama’s story.53 This kind of formulation describes tragic practice accurately but raises further questions. To begin with, what is the origin of the (strong) tendency to avoid onstage violence? One plausible answer is that graphic violence was hard to present visually, given the size of the Athenian theater and more generally because of the limitations of any kind of theatrical violence. This makes sense from our cultural perspective; we are so accustomed to “sophisticated” forms of film violence that they can be taken for granted as a conventional visual resource. A more interesting approach, though, is to view this tragic convention, whatever its origin,54 not in terms of the limitations of Athenian theater but in terms of the advantages it brings. The second part of this formulation points the way: How is it that narrative violence can in fact be “graphic?” The question of what narrative can show the audience takes a particularly interesting form when it comes to question of how violence is represented in tragedy. That specific question leads to larger questions, not only about the convention of these narratives, but also about telling vs. showing in general. Is it the case that the visual has 53 M. Halleran, “Episodes,” 174, in Gregory, 1995. 54 Religious scruples may also lie behind this convention; in the context of a religious festival even a simulated murder might have been taboo. Notice, though, that there are apparently no aesthetic objections; suicides, and threats of murder, are staged in tragedy. And the display of the aftermath of violence is worth seeing, as in corpses generally or, to take some obvious examples, a hero who has murdered his children in a delusional state (Heracles), a mother who has murdered her children while more or less in her right mind (Medea), a hero who has blinded himself (Oedipus), etc. The audience does not seem to have been squeamish, and part of the emotional effect of tragedy could be developed through dwelling on, and gazing at, the results of violence.



The Narrative of Euripides’ Messenger 209

to be more effective, dramatically and emotionally, than the verbal? How do we describe the verbal means used in this kind of telling, which clearly goes far beyond a simple factual reporting of offstage events? What advantages are there, in terms of theatrical effects, to keeping violent but climactic events offstage and “only” representing them verbally? Words, immediacy, and dramatic effect The murder of Euripides’ Clytemnestra, as you will see, is kept offstage but overheard. And the murder “scene” is presented mostly through an amoibaion, by characters who cannot see the events and for an audience that can only hear about them. The Chorus sings an initial strophe and antistrophe harking back to Agamemnon’s murder and Clytemnestra’s ruthlessness. They then overhear Clytemnestra’s murder and her cries as she is being murdered. Then, after Orestes and Electra enter with the bodies of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, they sing an amoibaion recounting, vividly, the matricide and their immediate remorse. An elaborate and impressive lyric scene marks a violent climax in the plot. And the fact that the murder is overheard, and not performed on stage, makes it more dramatic and suspenseful, especially since the murder sequence is capped off by an impressive visual effect, through the appearance of the corpses and the murderers. In other words, this sequence is carefully constructed and calculated to produce specific theatrical effects at a climactic moment. Given the form it takes, in sung poetry and with music, for an audience highly receptive to the emotional effects of sung poetry and music, the power of those theatrical effects must have been augmented emotionally; tension and drama were heightened to the breaking point. All this was, in fact, much better theater than simply staging the murder in the open might have been.55 Something analogous must have happened in the narratives of messengers. As you read the narrative of Euripides’ messenger, think about how this narrative could have been more effective than simply performing the murder on stage, for an audience used to listening to narrative poetry, especially the rhapsodes’ performance of epic. (Recall the description of the enthralled and emotionally overwhelmed audience glimpsed in Plato’s Ion. See pp. xv-xvi.) In particular, notice that the narrative does not simply present the murder graphically but also makes the story as a whole immediate; we are not kept at a distance from the story as we would be by a bare recitation of events in chronological sequence. The Messenger in this case is Orestes’ servant, and at the end of the story he certainly shows he is partisan. But for the most part he disappears from the story; we are aware of him as a dramatic character, but mostly we are aware of him as a witness, partly, oddly enough, because in this narrative we get direct speech. That is, the speech is not presented in the form, “And Aegisthus said that they … but Orestes said …” (Euripides is prone to direct speech in these narratives, but nowhere else does he insert so much dialogue inside the speech.) The effect is to make us feel we are there. More than this, we see the events through the messenger’s eyes, because of physical detail strategically placed as the narrative unspools, i.e., not in the form of extended description that might take us away from the action. The use of description is both effective and economical. We have a vivid sense of place, of the cast of characters, etc. But at the same time, the sequence of events is tightly connected and we feel the story building to a climax. It is exciting storytelling, and it is easy to imagine the audience on the edge of their seats. 55 The theatrical means in use and the effects attained are similar in Sophocles. See p. 259.

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In relation to the surrounding parts of the play also, the speech as a whole is artful and calculated. Because the audience hears about the murder through an extended narrative, they know what has happened but have to wait for a further, visual, piece of theater. The Messenger announces the appearance of Orestes and Pylades—and there they are with the body. The verbal presentation of the murder has in fact increased the power of the appearance of the body, and of Orestes as now successful and vindicated, or so it seems. As with the lyric murder scene just described, the theatrical elaboration of a climax in the plot is augmented visually. At the same time, the basis of this visual augmentation, and the basis of the drama leading up to it, is verbal; the audience is receptive to poetic narrative because they have grown up with this form of the poetic performance. In sum, the tragedians relied on their audience having grown up in a culture that gave them both verbal and visual resources to elaborate the climaxes of familiar myths theatrically, and in ways that extracted as much emotional and dramatic energy as possible. Even if the audience knew what was coming, its significance was brought home yet again, and in such a way, ideally, that they appreciated more fully the play’s rendition of the myth.56

56 It is also important to keep in mind that tragedians were competing for a prize and had to make a traditional myth feel uniquely powerful and dramatic.

Reading Twelve: Euripides, Lines 774-858 Poetic vocabulary In the Messenger’s story, much of the action centers around Aegisthus and his slaves/servants, so one common poetic word for “slave,” δμώς, ωός, ὁ, occurs repeatedly. The feminine, δμωή, ῆς, ἡ has already showed up, as well as another poetic variant, πρόσπολος, ου, ὁ/ἡ, “servant,” “attendant.” Also appearing (again) is a poetic word for “lord,” “master,” ἄναξ, ἄνακτος, ὁ. ἐννέπω, a poetic verb for “speak,” is used several times in the reported dialogue. (An alternative form, ἐνέπω, is used in Electra’s monody (144).) Similar poetic verbs appearing occasionally in these plays, and more often elsewhere, are αὐδάω, “utter,” say,” etc. (S. 127) and φωνέω, “speak loudly,” “make a loud sound,” etc. (See S. 288, with note.) Further forms to review Review the -μι verbs. In this reading, τίθημι, ἵστημι, and ἵημι appear, as well as two examples of regular -μι verbs, δείκνυμι and ῥήγνυμι. Do not learn, or relearn, all the forms, but remind yourself about how these verbs differ from the regular -ω verb forms you have been reviewing to this point, and about how less and more regular -μι verbs differ. As forms from these verbs come up, check them against the paradigms in Smyth: • -μι verbs are athematic; the endings are not introduced by a thematic vowel, an ο or ε. Compare the endings for the present indicative of -ω verbs, in Smyth, 383, with those for -μι verbs, in 416 and 418. • -μι verbs do not differ from -ω verbs in most principal parts. Regular -μι verbs, like δείκνυμι and ῥήγνυμι, only have distinct forms for the first principal part. (See Smyth, 418 and compare the forms in 818, 837, and 842.) τίθημι, ἵστημι, and ἵημι—along with δίδωμι, to be reviewed later—have distinctive forms for the third principal part also. • For these less regular -μι verbs, remember to start from the stem: the endings, especially in the aorist and imperfect, may be strange, but the stems from the first principal part are always one syllable longer than stems from the third. See Smyth, 416. (Notice, for instance, the forms in 798 and 812.) • This general rule is true for ἵημι also but recognizing the stem can be difficult for aorist forms. (Compare the note to S. 554.) Note that in prose these appear only in compounds. See Smyth, 777. (Compare the forms in 797, 799, and 826.) • There are two aorists for ἵστημι. The first, ἔστην, is formed like ἔτλην, ἔγνων, ἔφυν, and ἔβην. (See Smyth, 416 and compare 681-2.) It is intransitive. (Compare the forms in 786, 792, 840, and 846.) There is a regular transitive aorist also, ἔστησα. Common irregular verbs αἱρέω, αἱρήσω, εἷλον, (ᾕρηκα), (ᾕρημαι), ᾑρέθην τίθημι, θήσω, ἔθηκα, (τέθηκα), (τέθειμαι), ἐτέθην (τἑθειμαι is rare; κεῖμαι is used instead) 211

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ἵστημι, στήσω, ἔστησα/ἔστην, ἕστηκα, (ἕσταμαι), ἐστάθην ἵημι, ἥσω, ἧκα, (εἷκα), (εἷμαι), εἵθην (Simple forms not used in prose, except for present and (some) aorist forms; see Smyth, 777.) Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts In the last reading, a group of verbs with a first principal part ending in ζ was introduced. These verbs have a stem for the other principal parts ending in δ; as with other patterns (like verbs ending in πτ), a suffix has been added to form the present stem. Particularly common are verbs with a first principal part ending in αζ: 1st αζ

βαίνω δρέπω—pick, pluck τέρην, τέρεινα, τέρεν—soft, delicate μυρρίνη, ης, ἡ—myrtle κάρα, τό—head πλόκος, ου, ὁ—curl, lock of hair; braid; wreath ἀυτέω—call out, shout 780: πόθεν—from where? whence?; from whom? of what family, race? ποῖος, α, ον—of what kind?; of place and time, what? Ὀλύμπιος, ον—Olympian, living on Olympus Ζεύς, Διός, ὁ—Zeus ἐννέπω/ἐνέπω—tell, speak, utter

850

855

συνέστιος, ον—sharing in a hearth or house; sharing (with dat. of person and gen. of thing) ὁμοῦ—together, both; together with (with dat.) 785: θοίνη, ης, ἡ—meal, feast βουθυτέω—sacrifice oxen; sacrifice νύμφη, ης, ἡ—young wife, bride; nymph (minor goddess) ἑῷος, α, ον—of or in the morning ἐξανασταντες (part.) > ἐξανίστημι—trans., raise up, remove; intr., stand/rise from; depart, be removed λέχος, ους, τό—bed; marriage bed, marriage ἴωμεν (subj.) > ἔρχομαι ἅμα—at the same time; at the same time as, together with (with dat.) ἀγορεύω—speak publicly, speak in the assembly, proclaim; speak, say παράγω—lead by, past; lead aside, lead in ἀπαρνέομαι—deny completely; refuse, reject χρεών—(it is) necessary 790: ἐννέπω/ἐνέπω—tell, speak, utter λουτρόν, οῦ, τό—bath; bathing-place; pl., water for washing; libation τάχιστα—most quickly αἰρέτω (3rd pers. sing. imper.) > αἴρω ἀμφί—around, about (with dat. or acc.); about, concerning (with gen.); on account of, for (with dat.) βωμός, οῦ, ὁ—altar στῶσι (subj.) > ἵστημι χέρνιψ, ιβος, ἡ—water used for purification before sacrifices

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πέλας—near, near by (with gen., dat., or as adv.) ἀρτίως—just now, recently ἡγνίσμεθα (pf. middle) > ἁγνίζω—wash off, clean; purify λουτρόν, οῦ, τό—bath; bathing-place; pl., water for washing; libation καθαρός, ά, όν—clean, clear (of water); pure (in various senses) ποτάμιος, α, ον or ος, ον—of or from a river ῥεῖθρον, ου, τό—something flowing, stream 795: ἀστός, οῦ, ὁ—(fellow) townsman συνθύω—join in sacrificing χρεών—(it is) necessary ἕτοιμος, η, ον—at hand, prepared; ready (of people) ἀπαρνέομαι—deny completely; refuse, reject ἄναξ, ἄνακτος, ὁ—lord, master μεθεῖσαν (aor.) > μεθίημι—let go; let fly, plunge (of weapons); release; give up, allow μέσος, η, ον—middle, in the middle λόγχη, ης, ἡ—spear head; spear θέντες (part.) > τίθημι φρούρημα, ατος, τό—what is guarded; what guards, guard δμωή, ῆς, ἡ/δμώς, ωός, ὁ—slave taken in war; slave ἵεσαν > ἵημι 800: σφαγεῖον, ου, τό—bowl for catching the blood of the victim κάνεον, ου, τό (Attic, κανοῦν, τό)—basket for holding the barley scattered at a sacrifice πῦρ, πυρός, τό—fire ἀνάπτω—light up, kindle ἀμφί—around, about (with dat. or acc.); about, concerning (with gen.); on account of, for (with dat.) ἐσχάρα, ας, ἡ—hearth; sacrificial hearth; altar λέβης, λέβητος, ὁ—kettle, cauldron; basin, bowl; urn ὀρθόω—set straight; set upright, set up κτυπέω—crash; ring, resound στέγη, ης, ἡ—roof; room, house προχύται (κριθαί)—grains of barley thrown at the altar and animal before a sacrifice εὐνέτης, ου, ὁ—bedfellow, husband σέθεν = gen. of σύ βωμός, οῦ, ὁ—altar ἐννέπω/ἐνέπω—tell, speak, utter 805: νύμφη, ης, ἡ—young wife, bride; nymph (minor goddess) πετραῖος, α, ον—of rock, among rocks πολλάκις—many times, often βουθυτέω—sacrifice oxen; sacrifice Τυνδαρίς, ίδος, ἡ—daughter of Tyndareus

δάμαρ, αρτος, ἡ—wife ἐχθρός, ά, όν—hated; hating; as noun, enemy κακῶς—badly, painfully ἐναντίος, α, ον—opposite, on the opposite side (of place); opposed, contrary εὔχομαι—pray, pray that γεγωνίσκω—proclaim; say out loud 810: κάνεον, ου, τό (Attic, κανοῦν, τό)—basket for holding the barley scattered at a sacrifice ὀρθός, ή, όν—straight; upright, standing; true, real σφαγίς, ίδος, ἡ—sacrificial knife μόσχειος, α, ον—of a calf θρίξ, τριχός, ἡ—hair τεμών > τέμνω—cut, cut off ἁγνός, ή, όν—pure, chaste, holy πῦρ, πυρός, τό—fire δεξιά, ᾶς, ἡ—right hand ἔσφαξε > σφάζω/σφάττω—slaughter in sacrifice, by cutting the throat; kill, slaughter ὦμος, ου, ὁ—shoulder, with the upper arm; shoulder (as opposed to the arm) μόσχος, ου, ὁ—calf, young bull ἦραν (aor.) > αἴρω δμωή, ῆς, ἡ/δμώς, ωός, ὁ—slave taken in war; slave 815: εἷς, μία, ἕν—one κομπέω—ring, clash; boast, brag ταῦρος, ου, ὁ—bull ἀρταμέω—butcher, cut in pieces ὀχμάζω—break σίδηρος, ου, ὁ—iron; iron tool or weapon δεῖξον > δείκνυμι φήμη, ης, ἡ—utterance prompted by the gods; common report, tradition; message ἔτυμος, ον—true ἀμφί—around, about (with dat. or acc.); about, concerning (with gen.); on account of, for (with dat.) εὐκρότητος, ον—well-hammered, well-wrought Δωρίς, ίδος, ἡ—adj., Dorian ἁρπάζω—snatch; carry off; overpower 820: ῥίπτω—throw, cast, hurl; throw off or away ὦμος, ου, ὁ—shoulder, with the upper arm; shoulder (as opposed to the arm) εὐπρεπής, ές—good-looking, with a fine appearance πόρπαμα, ατος, τό—piece of clothing fastened with a πόρπη (pin, brooch) πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering ὑπηρέτης, ου, ὁ—servant; helper δμωή, ῆς, ἡ/δμώς, ωός, ὁ—slave taken in war; slave ἀπωθέω—push away, push aside



Reading Twelve: Euripides, Lines 774-858 217

μόσχος, ου, ὁ—calf, young bull λευκός, ή, όν—light, bright, clear; light in color, white γυμνόω—strip naked; expose σάρξ, σαρκός, ἡ—flesh, meat (often plural) ἐκτείνω—stretch out θᾶττον—more quickly, sooner βύρσα, ης, ἡ—skin stripped off, hide ἐξέδειρεν (aor.) > ἐκδέρω—strip off the skin δρομεύς, έως, ὁ—runner 825: διττός, ή, όν—twofold, double δίαυλος, ου, ὁ—double pipe; race-course with doubled track (there and back) ἵππιος, α, ον—of a horse or horses διανύω—bring to an end, finish ἀνεῖτο (aor.) > ἀνίημι—send up or out; let go, let go free; middle, loosen, open λαγών, όνος, ἡ—hollow below the ribs, flank ἱερός, ά, όν—divine, holy, sacred; for offering, for a ritual ἀθρέω—watch, observe, inspect λοβός, οῦ, ὁ—lobe; lobe of the liver πρόσειμι—be added to; belong to; be present, at hand σπλάγχνον, ου, τό—viscera, innards, esp. heart, lung, kidneys, and liver (usually pl.) προσβολή, ῆς, ἡ—attack, assault; attack, visitation 830: σκυθράζω—be angry, look upset ἀνιστορέω—inquire into, ask about ἀθυμέω—be discouraged, be despondent ὀρρωδέω—dread; be afraid δόλος, ου, ὁ—bait, trap; trick; cunning θυραῖος, α, ον—at or outside the door; someone else’s; from outside, from abroad ἔχθιστος, η, ον (sup. of ἐχθρός, ά, όν)—hated most; hating most βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal πολέμιος, α, ον—of or like an enemy, hostile; as noun, an enemy φυγάς, άδος, ὁ/ἡ—fugitive, exile δῆτα—in questions, so, then; for emphasis in commands, statements, etc. δειμαίνω—be afraid, fear δόλος, ου, ὁ—bait, trap; trick; cunning 835: ἀνάσσω—be lord of, rule (with gen.) ὅπως—how, as; in order that παστήρια, τά—parts eaten at sacrifices (= σπλάγχνα) θοινάω—feast, feast on (often in middle) Φθιάς, άδος, ἡ—Phthian ἀντί—with gen.: instead of, in the place of; as the price of, in return for; because of Δωρικός, ή, όν—Doric οἴσει > φέρω

κοπίς, ίδος, ἡ—chopper, cleaver ἀναρρῆξαι > ἀναρρήγνυμι—break through, break open χέλυς, υος, ἡ—turtle; chest, breast (from similarity of shape) κόπτω—strike, knock (on); cut, chop σπλάγχνον, ου, τό—viscera, innards, esp. heart, lung, kidneys, and liver (usually pl.) ἀθρέω—watch, observe, inspect διαιρέω—divide, divide into parts, separate νεύω—nod; bend forward κάτω—downwards; beneath, below 840: ὄνυξ, υχος, ὁ—claw; nail ἄκρος, α, ον—at the farthest point or end; topmost, outermost, etc. στάς (part.) > ἵστημι σέθεν = gen. of σύ σφόνδυλος, ου, ὁ—vertebra; in pl., spine or neck παίω—strike, hit νωτιαῖος, α, ον—of the spine ἔρρηξεν > ῥήγνυμι—break apart, tear, shatter ἄρθρον, ου, τό—joint ἄνω—upwards; on high, above κάτω—downwards; beneath, below ἀσπαίρω—pant, gasp, struggle ἐλελίζω—shake, quiver δυσθνῄσκω—struggle against death, die hard δμωή, ῆς, ἡ/δμώς, ωός, ὁ—slave taken in war; slave εὐθύς—adv., right away, immediately ᾖξαν > ἀίσσω/ᾄσσω—rush, shoot δόρυ, τό—spear 845: μάχομαι—fight δύο, δυοῖν—two ἀνδρεία, ας, ἡ—manliness, courage ἔστησαν > ἵστημι ἀντίπρῳρος, ον—of ships, with the prow forward, ready for action; face to face σείω—shake; brandish βέλος, ους, τό—missile, esp. an arrow; weapon οὐχί = οὐ (perhaps with more emphasis) δυσμενής, ές—hostile; as noun, an enemy ὀπάων, ονος, ὁ—comrade in war; follower, attendant φονεύς, έως, ὁ—murderer ἀντιτιμωρέομαι—take revenge, avenge oneself on 850: τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stout-hearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable καίνω—kill, slay παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient κάμαξ, ακος, ἡ—pole, shaft ἀρχαῖος, α, ον—ancient, old; former στέφω—put around, crown, wreath; honor εὐθύς—adv., right away, immediately

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855: ἀλαλάζω—cry out, shout; raise a war cry; cry out joyfully ἐπιδείξων > ἐπιδείκνυμι—show, display οὐχί = οὐ (perhaps with more emphasis)

Γοργώ, όνος, ἡ—the Gorgon στυγέω—hate, abhor πικρός, ά, όν—pointed, sharp; bitter δανεισμός, οῦ, ὁ—borrowing; lending

775-6—ᾖμεν … ἔνθ’. The word order is interlaced. After they take a turn into the road and get going, in the participial phrase, we find out where they went, in the relative clause. (For this irregular imperfect, see p. 161.) 776—ὁ καινός. Interesting to note that this is an emendation for ὁ κλεινός of the manuscript. Calling Aegisthus “famous” or “renowned” seemed inappropriate to the editor of this text. (Compare how the word is used in reference to Aegisthus in 327.) On the other hand, κλεινός could be simply a conventional epithet of royalty. 777-8—κυρεῖ … δρέπων. Though the effect of the variation is often hard to gauge, it is worth noticing where the historical present is used in this narrative. See note to E. 9. 777—βεβώς. In the perfect, βαίνω can be used to indicate that someone is standing in, or simply is in, a particular place. Compare note to E. 12. (On the form, see note to S. 311.) 778—κάρᾳ. See note to E. 55. He is picking myrtle shoots to make a wreath for his head. Wreaths were worn when performing a sacrifice. 779-80—τίνες πόθεν πορεύεσθ’. With this (lack of) punctuation sounds like the Homeric formula, τίς πόθεν εἰς ἀνδρῶν; Two questions are rolled into one: “Who are you, and where are you coming from?” (Though in the Homeric phrase the questions may be, “Who are you? And who was your father?”) 781-2. Orestes says they are Thessalians but names no names. Thessaly is to the north of Phocis, where Pylades’ father rules. (Compare 18 and S. 15-6.) They are travelling south, he says, to offer sacrifice to Zeus at his most famous temple, in Olympia, identified here by the local river, Alpheus. (For the forms of Zeus’s name, see Smyth, 285.12.) 781—ὁ δ’ … Ὀρέστης. “And he, Orestes …” In Attic prose you can find a few demonstrative uses of the article with connectives, especially with paired μέν and δέ (Smyth, 1106 ff.). ὁ δέ can also be used by itself, usually when the subject is not the same as the subject of the preceding sentence. See Smyth, 1112. 782—θύσοντες. Indicates purpose. Compare E. 89, with note. 785-6. Aegisthus is sacrificing to the Nymphs, for the health and prosperity of himself and Clytemnestra (805-7) and probably also for the well-being of current and future children (625-7). 787-9. The punctuation with the dashes indicates a parenthesis. Direct speech (Aegisthus’ words) is resumed in the final phrase of 789. The effect is to make vivid how naturally and quickly all this happened. 787—ἐς ταὐτὸν ἥξετ’. “You will come to the same thing,” means, “It will amount to the same thing.” If they leave early in the morning, it will not make a difference. 788—χερὸς λαβών. Verbs meaning “touch,” “take hold of,” etc. can take a partitive genitive of the relevant part of the body: “Taking us by the hand …” 790—ἐν οἴκοις. He leads them through the gates into the courtyard of a house, where the altar is. (He is visiting the pastures where his horses are kept (623); the house is presumably part of his property outside the city.) 791-839. A narrative of the murder is folded into a detailed description of a sacrifice. For the audience, those details, strange to us, provided a familiar background in tension with the



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actions and intentions of Orestes and Pylades. See the notes below. 791—λούτρ’. Ritual purity is essential in order to ensure the success of the sacrifice and because it is an expression of piety as such. The participants in the sacrifice purify themselves even before approaching the altar, where they will be purified again. —ὡς τάχιστα. ὡς or ὅτι are used to make a superlative even more emphatic: “as quickly as possible.” See Smyth, 1086. 792—χερνίβων. The water actually used in purification during the sacrifice. The water is sprinkled in the area of the sacrifice, over the victim, and over the participants. 794—ποταμίων ῥείθρων. Running water is supposed to ensure purity. The most important point dramatically is that Orestes refuses to perform a basic part of the ritual, which means that the audience is reminded, here as elsewhere, of the deception; he is not a real participant. It is harder to specify the religious connotations of his refusal. 795—χρεών. The sense here is something like “right” or “permitted.” 796—ἕτοιμοι. Ellipse of the first person of εἰμί is much less common than of the third but occurs more often with ἕτοιμος and some other common adjectives. See Smyth, 944-5 and compare 37, where the ellipse is more unusual. 797—μεθεῖσαν. Seems to mean “let fall” or “utter.” —μὲν οὖν. Marks the transition from one part of the narrative to the next. Referring both backward (οὖν) and forward (μέν). —ἐκ μέσου. Means something like “in their midst” and is used as ἐν μέσῳ sometimes is. Perhaps this use of ἐκ is related to other quasi-adverbial uses. Compare S. 279, and note. 798—λόγχας δὲ θέντες. They put aside their spears. Aegisthus has a bodyguard. —δεσπότου φρουρήματα. The effect of a phrase like this is clearly to make the phrasing as such ornamental. In terms of meaning, the difference in nuance between this and a simpler expression, say with a participle (“spears protecting their master”) is harder to determine. The reference is concrete, to the spears, but the implication now seems more abstract. Have they stopped paying attention to the job of guarding their master? 800. The baskets hold barley grains thrown at the animal and the altar as one of the first parts of the ritual. (See 803-4.) Hidden in the grain is a sacrificial knife (810-1). The bowl is for catching the blood after the animal’s throat is cut. (See 813-4.) It will be poured over the altar. 801—ἀμφί τ’ ἐσχάραις. The word ἐσχάρα is used in tragedy to refer to a hearth or an altar, where burnt sacrifices might be made. It seems that there is only one ἐσχάρα in question, so this is a poetic plural. Compare βώμους in 804 and see p. 21. As a preposition, ἀμφί is uncommon in Attic prose and used only with the accusative. It is rare also in comedy, except in lyric. Clearly poetic when used with the genitive or dative. Compare 818. 802—λέβητας. Bowls for holding the χέρνιβες (792). 803—μητρὸς εὐνέτης σέθεν. See the note to 21. 805-7. In prayers, a wish is often expressed with an accusative plus an infinitive. 807—τοὺς δ’ ἐμοὺς ἐχθροὺς κακῶς. Carrying further the construction of the previous part of the sentence; an infinitive, πράσσειν, is understood. 808—λέγων. “meaning” 809-10. You might expect Orestes’ prayer to be cast in an ordinary form of indirect speech, with him as the (unexpressed) subject of a future infinitive. (See on S. 65-6.) But it is possible for verbs that imply an idea about future event, such as verbs of hoping, expecting,

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swearing, etc., to take an aorist (or present) infinitive. The infinitive expresses his thought but is also complementary, somewhere between “He prayed that he …” and “He prayed to …” 811-4. As a preliminary offering, hair is cut off the animal and burned. The throat is then cut as it is hoisted on the slaves’ shoulders over the bowl for catching its blood. 813. Would be easier as “κἄσφαξ’ ὡς …” But the two clauses seem to be fused: “He sacrificed the calf, when they lifted (it) up in their arms onto their shoulders.” —ἔσφαξ(ε.) See above on the complications involved in dealing with the principal parts of verbs that have a root ending in γ. —ὡς. Means “as” or “when” here. 815-7. The sense has to be that the Thessalians who have these skills boast of them, but the sentence is put together in a non-obvious way.  First, it is not the Thessalians—on the face of it—who are doing the boasting; they are not the subject of the main verb. “They say that the Thessalians boast …” seems to be implied.  Second, the clause beginning with ὅστις explains the τόδε: “They say that the Thessalians boast that  the following  is an accomplishment, whoever …” (The bit about taming horses feels like an afterthought; it is not as relevant to the context. But this skill, too, is valued by, or characteristic of, Thessalians, and the phrase depends on the same sentence structure.) 818—δεῖξόν τε φήμην ἔτυμον. Verbs meaning “show,” “demonstrate,” etc. can take indirect discourse with an accusative and a participle. Here the participle, an οὖσαν, is understood. 819—εὐκρότητον Δωρίδ’. A bit obscure but seems to refer to the sacrificial knife (σφαγίς) mentioned in 811. Later Orestes will call for a cleaver (κόπις) instead of this knife. See note to 836. 822-3. Almost in one motion, Orestes takes hold of the foot and, reaching out, starts skinning the calf. 824-5. In a world without devices for measuring them, distance can be a measure for short amounts of time. The distance here, described as a “horse-track lap,” is longer than a normal runner’s lap. 825—διήνυσεν. The aorist generalizes; the statement is generic, about “a runner.” See note to S. 26. 826—ἱερά. “Sacred parts,” the parts connected with this ritual. They are taking omens to see whether the sacrifice will lead to a favorable outcome. Inspecting the liver, to see whether it was of a normal shape, was particularly important. 827-8. An exact description of the unfavorable form of the liver. πύλαι refers to the “portal vein,” which supplies blood to the liver. The lobe referred to in 827 would normally cover it. According to one interpretation, δοχαί means “receptacle,” something that receives and holds the χολή, “gall” or “bile.” According to another, the δοχαί are veins near the gall bladder, χολῆς πέλας. 828—πέλας. If the first interpretation of the description in 828 is right, this word should be taken with the participial phrase in the next line, with τῷ σκοποῦντι. 829—προσβολάς. Used abstractly like this, the word seems to imply a sudden onset from an outside agency or force. It can be used of an “attack” of disease, for instance. 831—τί χρῆμ’. This expression shows up as a variation on “what?” and sounds colloquial; it is used in comedy and is one of several related expressions where χρῆμα is tacked onto



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other words (and sounds redundant). In tragedy, only Euripides uses τί χρῆμα meaning “why?” 832—ἔστι. In this case, does not seem to mean “there is” or “it is possible.” Compare 535, with note. 835-6—ὅπως … θοινασόμεσθα. Occasionally, a future shows up in a purpose clause, usually with ὅπως. 836—Φθιάδ’ ἀντὶ Δωρικῆς. “A Phthian (cleaver) instead of a Doric (knife).” Up to this point, he seems to have been used a Dorian sacrificial knife (σφαγίς), and there has been no need for anything heavier. See 811 and 819, with note to 819. Phthia is a part of Thessaly, from which they are supposed to have come. And in this context κόπις would refer to a broad heavy knife, suitable for cutting meat, and chopping through bone. 837—ἀναρρῆξαι. The infinitive expresses purpose. See note to 18. 839-41. The picture is vivid. Aegisthus is bent forward, and Orestes poises himself to strike, his weight on his toes. 842-3. The text as presented by the manuscripts needs emendation. As emended here, the text seems to assume πᾶν σῶμα first as an accusative of respect (Smyth, 1600) with ἤσπαιρεν; Aegisthus struggles and the accusative specifies how. Second, πᾶν σῶμα is taken as an object with ἠλέλιζε; Aegisthus is shaking his whole body. In other words, even though it seems that σῶμα is the subject of both verbs, Aegisthus turns out to be the subject and πᾶν σῶμα is used in two different ways with two successive verbs. All this necessitates a change of the manuscript’s δυσθνῇσκον, which would have agreed with σῶμα, to δυσθνῄσκων, agreeing with Aegisthus as the subject. 842—ἄνω κάτω. “up and down,” “to and fro” 843—ἤσπαιρεν ἠλέλιζε. For effect, the verbs are tacked together without a connective (asyndeton). The description is made quicker and sounds more vivid. (See Smyth, 2166.) —φόνῳ. Compare S. 21 and 70, and notes. 844—ἦξαν ἐς δόρυ. See 798. (In the present, the Attic prose version is ᾄττω, but the verb is rare in prose in any case.) —δόρυ. On the various forms of this very common noun, see Smyth, 285.10. 845—ἀνδρείας ὕπο. Indicates external circumstances—compare S. 630, with note—and/ or an internal cause. Either they stood their ground courageously or because of courage, but it is hard to make a distinction. 850—καίνετε. Yet another poetic verb for “kill.” Compare p. 20. 851—παλαιοί. “From before,” not “old.” Though the servant who recognizes Orestes (852-3) is old, the others have not seen him (631). —οἱ δ’. See note to 781. 852—ἔσχον κάμακας. Compare S. 564, and note. —ἐγνώσθη. Compare S. 42-3, and note. 855—χαίροντες ἀλαλάζοντες. See note to 843. 855-7. The word order and punctuation would be easier as: ἔρχεται δὲ σοὶ ˀπιδείξων, οὐχὶ Γοργόνος κάρα, φέρων, ἀλλ’ Αἴγισθον ὃν στυγεῖς. The contrast is between a Gorgon’s head, the one Perseus brought back, and the body of Aegisthus, which will soon be brought in. Some have argued that Aegisthus’ head/mask is brought in with a decapitated body/dummy. But we would have expected the audience’s attention to have been called to the head, verbally as well as visually, and something explicit to have been made of

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this rhetorically, in order to augment the emotional effect. (See pp. 119-20.) But there is not even a clear reference to the head, as opposed to a body. (See 880 ff., especially 896-9 and 959-61.) 856—κάρα … οὐχὶ Γοργόνος. “Not the Gorgon’s head” is an expression for something that is not to be feared. —’πιδείξων. On the participle, compare 782 and see note to 89. For the elision, compare 72, with note. 857-8. Aegisthus’ (own) blood has now come due as repayment for the blood he “borrowed.” The basic point of the metaphor seems to be that, given the Greek principle of reciprocal justice, murder must be paid for; he who kills will be killed in return. (The idea of repayment is closer to the surface if “has been killed” instead of “dead” is understood; remember that (ἀπο-)θνῄσκω is used as the passive of (ἀπο-)κτείνω.) 858—ἦλθε τῷ θανόντι νῦν. νῦν could go with the participial phrase but also can be taken with the aorist main verb: “has now come due.” Compare S. 62, and note.

Sophocles’ Use of the Messenger’s Narrative and the Motif of the Lock of Hair: Craftsmanship and Thematic Originality The reading in translation (634-870) covers the rest of the episode following Electra and Clytemnestra’s agon as well as an ensuing amoibaion. After the optimism generated by hearing about Clytemnestra’s dream, the audience goes through, with Electra, the emotional reversal that pulls her down to a low point; she hears the deceptive narrative of Orestes’ death delivered by the Paidagogos and is devastated. In the amoibaion, the Chorus attempts to console her, but she is left grieving, perhaps lying on the ground before the entrance to the skene (817-9). Immediately after, at the beginning of the next episode, Chrysothemis returns from Agamemnon’s tomb.57 She rushes in, hurrying, as she says, in a way that a well-behaved women should not (871-2). The visual contrast, verbally spotlighted, sums up the emotional distance between, and the diverging perspectives of, the two sisters. In the ensuing scene, to be read in Greek (871-937), Chrysothemis tries to convey what she thinks is exciting and hopeful news; she has found offerings at the tomb and what she takes to be a lock of Orestes’ hair. Electra responds out of despair, and from the conviction induced by the false narrative of Orestes’ death. Sophocles has used the form of the messenger’s narrative to brilliant effect. The story the Paidagogos tells is fiction, as the audience knows. But like the narrative of Aegisthus’ murder, it is circumstantial and vivid. The details, as in the list of contestants entered in the chariot race, as well as a description that is fullest at its dramatic and painful climax, in the description of the race and Orestes’ death—all this creates a sense of immediacy. Only this time the primary audience is the internal audience of Electra, Clytemnestra, and the Chorus. The theater audience can hear how involving the narrative is, but they are also watching the internal audience hear the narrative; they experience that involvement emotionally partly through imagining, and presumably seeing, the reactions of the figures in the orchestra and before the skene, as they are acted out through gesture and body language. One effect is that a gap between the audience’s knowledge and the characters’ lack of it is exploited, as earlier when the Chorus jumped too soon to an optimistic interpretation of Clytemnestra’s dream. In watching Electra react to the news of Orestes’ death, the audience is drawn again into Electra’s tragic family history, as she sees it; the conventional unit of a messenger’s narrative has been retooled to provide a climax. At the same time, they have their attention focused on the contrast between Electra’s reactions and those of Clytemnestra. The deception plot, planned at the beginning of the play, finally begins here. They also see how Clytemnestra is drawn in. Partly this is because as a supposed eyewitness account (761-3) the story is effective and believable. Partly, she 57 Chrysothemis could be played by either the actor who has just played Clytemnestra, or by the actor who has just played the Paidagogos and delivered the narrative of Orestes’ death.

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is drawn in because she wants to believe it is true. She is relieved. Further, she is drawn in because she cannot resist the idea of having won out over, and silenced, Electra. The argument begun in the agon seems finally to have been won. For the audience, then, the deception plot is made both more believable and more dramatic. Clytemnestra will exit, with the Paidagogos/Messenger, into the house; the first stage of the plot has been carried out. The episode then modulates into the amoibaion, in which Electra gives voice to her despair. Through the inadequate responses of the Chorus, the episode also dramatizes the hopelessness of responding to what appears to be a final blow for her. All this sets up the scene in which Chrysothemis tells her story of what she found at the tomb, and of her own rush of optimism: she sees the lock of hair, and Orestes’ image as she has imagined him comes to her mind. She is convinced that the offering could have come from no one but him and that their lives will change for the better (906-19). Electra responds by dismissing Chrysothemis and the tokens of the lock of hair and offerings. She has heard of Orestes’ death from an eyewitness (927). Sophocles has used the idea of the lock of hair, and the offerings at the tomb, in an original way. As in Euripides’ play, the audience’s expectations are defeated; after being mentioned early on (51-3), the lock of hair becomes a means to take the story of the protagonist yet one stage further; it does not bring about a recognition. Ironically, it only makes Electra affirm her feelings of despair, in opposition to Chrysothemis. Like Euripides’ Electra, she will react with skepticism and will thus dismiss a clue that could have been followed up. The audience is aware that Chrysothemis, and her intuitions about the hair and offerings, are simply right. And as in Euripides, their attention is focused on the reasons why the tokens that could lead to a recognition are not going to do so. It does not seem that this Electra is clueless so much as overwhelmed by what she takes to be an unanswerable truth. Her own egotism does not do her in; it is the cruelty of the deception plot, which has overtaken her and, seemingly, threatens to overwhelm her. Still, Electra’s tone is revealing; she seems predisposed to give complete authority to the narrative of a stranger and to ignore the intuitions of, and an eyewitness report from, her own sister. It is true that she comes up with an explanation; the offerings were in honor of Orestes. But what seems more interesting is the possibility that this Electra expected that she would turn out to be victim of her story, as she conceives it. Like her mother, she has heard and been deceived by what she was predisposed to hear. What is fascinating about this pair of scenes is, first, how well Sophocles has used a freestanding narrative from a messenger, which in other hands might have been only a conventional set piece. The scene has complex effects on both the audience and the characters, and it furthers the development of the plot in two directions. Second, his treatment of the traditional story element of the lock of hair reflects more than just his ingenuity in creating a complex and organic plot. Though this second scene will fit seamlessly with the previous episode to advance Electra’s story, and will take the audience one step further emotionally, the thematic implications produced are even more interesting. As in the scene with the agon, though less obviously, she argues from the viewpoint of her own tragic position; she hears what she wants to because of the constraints placed upon her by her character, history, and impossibly difficult life. Or so it has been argued here. All along this line of interpretation has been carried through as an illustration: the characters’ own ability to comprehend their situation, to hear



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the limitations of their own arguments, and to gain a viewpoint beyond the one they stand in—all that is a way of describing a set of thematic connections that can help in understanding the construction of the play from scene to scene. The basic point, though, is not the interpretation as such but the appreciation of the skill that goes into making use of conventional structural elements and traditional elements of the story while creating an original thematic fabric. Simply thinking for a moment about the completely different thematic uses Euripides makes of the idea of the lock of hair, and of recognition tokens in general, can make this basic point even clearer: the relation between part and whole can help us appreciate better the craftsmanship and originality of each tragedian.

Reading Thirteen: Sophocles, Lines 871-937 Common irregular verbs ἀφ-ικνέομαι, ἀφ-ίξομαι, ἀφ-ικόμην, (ἀφ-ῖγμαι) εὑρίσκω, εὑρήσω, ηὗρον, (ηὕρηκα), (εὕρημαι), εὑρέθην (Augmented as ηὑ- or εὑ-; see Smyth, 437.) μανθάνω, μαθήσομαι, ἔμαθον, (μεμάθηκα)

Χρ. ὑφ’ ἡδονῆς τοι, φιλτάτη, διώκομαι τὸ κόσμιον μεθεῖσα σὺν τάχει μολεῖν. φέρω γὰρ ἡδονάς τε κἀνάπαυλαν ὧν πάροιθεν εἶχες καὶ κατέστενες κακῶν. Ηλ. πόθεν δ’ ἂν εὕροις τῶν ἐμῶν σὺ πημάτων ἄρηξιν, οἷς ἴασις οὐκ ἔνεστ’ ἔτι; Χρ. πάρεστ’ Ὀρέστης ἡμίν, ἴσθι τοῦτ’ ἐμοῦ κλύουσ’, ἐναργῶς, ὥσπερ εἰσορᾷς ἐμέ. Ηλ. ἀλλ’ ἦ μέμηνας, ὦ τάλαινα, κἀπὶ τοῖς σαυτῆς κακοῖσι κἀπὶ τοῖς ἐμοῖς γελᾷς; Χρ. μὰ τὴν πατρῴαν ἑστίαν, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὕβρει λέγω τάδ’, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνον ὡς παρόντα νῷν. Ηλ. οἴμοι τάλαινα· καὶ τίνος βροτῶν λόγον τόνδ’ εἰσακούσασ’ ὧδε πιστεύεις ἄγαν; Χρ. ἐγὼ μὲν ἐξ ἐμοῦ τε κοὐκ ἄλλου σαφῆ σημεῖ’ ἰδοῦσα τῷδε πιστεύω λόγῳ. Ηλ. τίν’, ὦ τάλαιν’, ἰδοῦσα πίστιν; ἐς τί μοι βλέψασα θάλπῃ τῷδ’ ἀνηφαίστῳ πυρί; Χρ. πρός νυν θεῶν ἄκουσον, ὡς μαθοῦσά μου τὸ λοιπὸν ἢ φρονοῦσαν ἢ μώραν λέγῃς. Ηλ. σὺ δ’ οὖν λέγ’, εἴ σοι τῷ λόγῳ τις ἡδονή. Χρ. καὶ δὴ λέγω σοι πᾶν ὅσον κατειδόμην. ἐπεὶ γὰρ ἦλθον πατρὸς ἀρχαῖον τάφον, ὁρῶ κολώνης ἐξ ἄκρας νεορρύτους 227

875

880

885

890

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Greek Tragedy, a First Reading

πηγὰς γάλακτος καὶ περιστεφῆ κύκλῳ πάντων ὅσ’ ἔστιν ἀνθέων θήκην πατρός. ἰδοῦσα δ’ ἔσχον θαῦμα, καὶ περισκοπῶ μή πού τις ἡμῖν ἐγγὺς ἐγχρίμπτει βροτῶν. ὡς δ’ ἐν γαλήνῃ πάντ’ ἐδερκόμην τόπον, τύμβου προσεῖρπον ἆσσον· ἐσχάτης δ’ ὁρῶ πυρᾶς νεώρη βόστρυχον τετμημένον· κεὐθὺς τάλαιν’ ὡς εἶδον, ἐμπαίει τί μοι ψυχῇ σύνηθες ὄμμα, φιλτάτου βροτῶν πάντων Ὀρέστου τοῦθ’ ὁρᾶν τεκμήριον· καὶ χερσὶ βαστάσασα δυσφημῶ μὲν οὔ, χαρᾷ δὲ πίμπλημ’ εὐθὺς ὄμμα δακρύων. καὶ νῦν θ’ ὁμοίως καὶ τότ’ ἐξεπίσταμαι μή του τόδ’ ἀγλάισμα πλὴν κείνου μολεῖν. τῷ γὰρ προσήκει πλήν γ’ ἐμοῦ καὶ σοῦ τόδε; κἀγὼ μὲν οὐκ ἔδρασα, τοῦτ’ ἐπίσταμαι, οὐδ’ αὖ σύ· πῶς γάρ; ᾗ γε μηδὲ πρὸς θεοὺς ἔξεστ’ ἀκλαύτῳ τῆσδ’ ἀποστῆναι στέγης. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ μὲν δὴ μητρὸς οὔθ’ ὁ νοῦς φιλεῖ τοιαῦτα πράσσειν οὔτε δρῶσ’ ἐλάνθαν’ ἄν· ἀλλ’ ἔστ’ Ὀρέστου ταῦτα τἀπιτύμβια. ἀλλ’, ὦ φίλη, θάρσυνε. τοῖς αὐτοῖσί τοι οὐχ αὑτὸς αἰεὶ δαιμόνων παραστατεῖ. νῷν δ’ ἦν ὁ πρόσθε στυγνός· ἡ δὲ νῦν ἴσως πολλῶν ὑπάρξει κῦρος ἡμέρα καλῶν. Ηλ. φεῦ, τῆς ἀνοίας ὥς σ’ ἐποικτίρω πάλαι. Χρ. τί δ’ ἔστιν; οὐ πρὸς ἡδονὴν λέγω τάδε; Ηλ. οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅποι γῆς οὐδ’ ὅποι γνώμης φέρῃ. Χρ. πῶς δ’ οὐκ ἐγὼ κάτοιδ’ ἅ γ’ εἶδον ἐμφανῶς; Ηλ. τέθνηκεν, ὦ τάλαινα· τἀκ κείνου δέ σοι σωτήρι’ ἔρρει· μηδὲν ἐς κεῖνόν γ’ ὅρα. Χρ. οἴμοι τάλαινα· τοῦ τάδ’ ἤκουσας βροτῶν; Ηλ. τοῦ πλησίον παρόντος, ἡνίκ’ ὤλλυτο.

895

900

905

910

915

920

925



Reading Thirteen: Sophocles, Lines 871-937 229

Χρ. καὶ ποῦ ˀστιν οὗτος; θαῦμά τοί μ’ ὑπέρχεται. Ηλ. κατ’ οἶκον, ἡδὺς οὐδὲ μητρὶ δυσχερής. Χρ. οἴμοι τάλαινα· τοῦ γὰρ ἀνθρώπων ποτ’ ἦν τὰ πολλὰ πατρὸς πρὸς τάφον κτερίσματα; Ηλ. οἶμαι μάλιστ’ ἔγωγε τοῦ τεθνηκότος μνημεῖ’ Ὀρέστου ταῦτα προσθεῖναί τινα. Χρ. ὦ δυστυχής· ἐγὼ δὲ σὺν χαρᾷ λόγους τοιούσδ’ ἔχουσ’ ἔσπευδον, οὐκ εἰδυῖ’ ἄρα

930

935

ἵν’ ἦμεν ἄτης· ἀλλὰ νῦν, ὅθ’ ἱκόμην, τά τ’ ὄντα πρόσθεν ἄλλα θ’ εὑρίσκω κακά. κόσμιος, α, ον—well-ordered, moderate; wellbehaved μεθεῖσα (aor. part.) > μεθίημι—let go; release; give up; allow τάχος, ους, τό—speed, quickness ἀνάπαυλα, ης, ἡ—rest; rest from something (with gen.) πάροιθε(ν)—with gen., in front of; adv., before (of time) καταστένω—lament, groan over/at (with acc.) 875: πόθεν—from where? whence?; from whom? of what family, race? εὕροις > εὑρίσκω πῆμα, ατος, τό—misery, calamity ἄρηξις, εως, ἡ—help, help against something (with gen.) ἴασις, εως, ἡ—healing, remedy ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of ἴσθι (2nd sg. imper.) > οἶδα ἐναργῶς—visibly, in bodily shape ὥσπερ—as; as though μέμηνας > μαίνομαι—rage, be furious; be mad τάλας, τάλαινα, τάλαν—suffering, wretched; reckless, cruel 880: σεαυτοῦ, ῆς, etc. or σαυτοῦ, σαυτῆς, etc.— reflex. pron., yourself γελάω—laugh; laugh at μά or οὐ μά—(I swear) by (with acc.; mostly in oaths involving a negative) ἑστία, ας, ἡ—hearth νώ, νῷν—we/us two οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise τάλας, τάλαινα, τάλαν—suffering, wretched; reckless, cruel βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal εἰσακούω—be receptive to, give heed to; hear

ἄγαν—very much, too much 885: σαφής, ές—clear, plain, distinct σημεῖον, ου, τό—mark; sign; signal; indication πίστις, εως, ἡ—trust, confidence; what creates trust or confidence, assurance θάλπω—heat, warm; comfort ἀνήφαιστος, ον—not of Hephaestus (the god of fire) πῦρ, πυρός, τό—fire νυν—so, now, then 890: λοιπός, ή, όν—remaining; as noun, what remains; adv., of time, in the future (with art., in sing. or pl.) μῶρος, α, ον—dull, stupid; foolish ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many καθοράω—have in view, see distinctly; observe, see ἀρχαῖος, α, ον—ancient, old; former κολώνη, ης, ἡ—hill, mound, esp. a funeral mound, barrow ἄκρος, α, ον—at the farthest point or end; topmost, outermost, etc. νεόρρυτος, ον—recently flowing 895: πηγή, ῆς, ἡ—running water, streams; spring, source γάλα, γάλακτος, τό—milk περιστεφής, ές—wreathed, crowned ἄνθος, ους, τό—blossom, flower θήκη, ης, ἡ-chest, case; grave, tomb θαῦμα, ατος, τό—wonder, marvel; wonder, astonishment περισκοπέω—look around; examine or consider carefully που—somewhere; to some degree, perhaps ἐγγύς, adv., near, at hand ἐγχρίμπτω—approach γαλήνη, ης, ἡ—calm sea; calm, quiet δέρκομαι—see clearly; be alive; look at

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τόπος, ου, ὁ—place, region 900: προσεῖρπον (impf.) > προσέρπω—creep up to; approach ἆσσον—nearer (adv. or with gen.) ἔσχατος, η, ον—farthest, extreme; at the end, edge, etc. πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ—funeral pyre; mound raised on site of pyre; altar νεώρης, ες—new, fresh βόστρυχος, ου, ὁ—curl; lock of hair τετμημένον (pf. pass.) > τέμνω εὐθύς—adv., right away, immediately ἐμπαίω—strike, emboss; here, burst in on ψυχή, ῆς, ἡ—life; soul; self; mind συνήθης, ες—living together, used to one another; habitual, customary ὄμμα, ατος, τό—eye; light; face τεκμήριον, ου, τό—sign, token; proof 905: βαστάζω—lift; take into the hands; hold δυσφημέω—speak words of ill-omen; speak ill of χαρά, ᾶς, ἡ—joy, delight πίμπλημι—fill, fill full of εὐθύς—adv., right away, immediately ὄμμα, ατος, τό—eye; light; face δάκρυον, ου, τό—tear ὁμοίως—in the same way τότε—at that time, then ἐξεπίσταμαι—know well ἀγλάισμα, ατος, τό—honor, ornament πλήν—adv. and conj., except κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο προσήκω—have come, be present; belong to, concern, suit (with dat.) πλήν—adv. and conj., except 910: ἐπίσταμαι—know how to; be assured, know for certain αὖ—again; on the other hand; in turn μηδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not ἔξεστι—impers., it is allowed, is possible ἄκλαυτος, ον—unwept; without weeping; with impunity ἀποστῆναι (aor. inf.) > ἀφίστημι—intr., stand away from, stop; withdraw, leave νόος, νόου, ὁ (Att., νοῦς, νοῦ)—mind; mind, in relation to feeling and deciding φιλέω—love; be likely to 915: ἐπιτύμβιος, ον—at or over a tomb θαρρύνω—encourage, embolden; here, take courage παραστατέω—stand by or near; support (with dat.) νώ, νῷν—we/us two πρόσθεν/πρόσθε—before (of space or time, and as adv. or improper prep.)

στυγνός, ή, όν—hated, abhorred; hostile (with dat.) ἴσως—equally, in the same way; probably, perhaps ὑπάρχω—begin; be the beginning; exist; be κῦρος, ους, τό—power, authority; confirmation, validity 920: φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration ἄνοια, ας, ἡ—lack of understanding, foolishness ἐποικτείρω/-ίρω—feel compassion for πάλαι—long ago, for a long time; as attribute, of old; before ὅποι—whither, to which place γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, judgment, opinion κάτοιδα—know well, understand ἐμφανῶς—visibly, openly, without doubt κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο 925: σωτήριος, ον—saving, delivering ἔρρω—go or come to one’s harm, to a bad end; perish, disappear μηδείς, μηδεμία, μηδέν—not one, nobody/ nothing; adv., in no way οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise πλησίος, α, ον—near; adv., close by ἡνίκα—when ποῦ—where? θαῦμα, ατος, τό—wonder, marvel; wonder, astonishment ὑπέρχομαι—(of feelings) come upon, steal over δυσχερής, ές—hard to take in hand, manage; annoying; difficult; unfriendly 930: κτερίσματα, τά—funeral gifts, funeral honors οἶμαι/οἴομαι—think, suppose, believe μάλιστα—most, most of all μνημεῖον, ου, τό—memorial, remembrance, record προσθεῖναι (aor. inf.) > προστίθημι—put to, place against; add; give in addition, concede δυστυχής, ές—unlucky, unfortunate χαρά, ᾶς, ἡ—joy, delight 935: σπεύδω—urge on, quicken; further; press on, hurry εἰδυῖα (part.) > οἶδα ἄρα—then, so ἵνα—in order that; where ὅτε—when ἱκνέομαι—arrive at, come to; come to as a suppliant; supplicate, entreat πρόσθεν/πρόσθε—before (of space or time, and as adv. or improper prep.)



Reading Thirteen: Sophocles, Lines 871-937 231

871-2. Chrysothemis hurries in, down one of the eisodoi, announcing to the audience that she is doing so. A hurried—or even running? —entrance would have been dramatic. The effect of the staging is stronger because an Athenian sense of decorum would lead the audience to expect slow, dignified movement for a character like this. 871—ὑφ’ ἡδονῆς. Describes the internal force “impelling” her to move so quickly. Compare E. 845, and note. (An unusual meaning for διώκω.) —τοι. Here the effect is to call Electra’s attention to her state of mind. Maybe, “It’s joy that impels me. …” See note to 298. 872—τὸ κόσμιον. See note to E. 53. —μολεῖν. The infinitive expresses purpose. See note to E. 18. 873—ἡδονάς. Probably a poetic plural. See p. 21. 873-4—ὧν … κακῶν. The relative clause forms one unit with its antecedent and precedes it, the antecedent having been sucked into it. The effect is to make the relative clause an extended adjective: “relief from the which you had before and lamented evils.” Note that ὧν is attracted to its antecedent. See Smyth, 2522 and compare 319. 875-6. Electra makes her denial as general as possible; she denies the possibility categorically, and the form of the statement—combining a verb and a verbal abstract noun—brings out her attitude. Compare 527 and 573, with notes. 879—ἀλλ’ ἦ. Puts an objection (ἀλλά) in the form of a question (ἦ). —μέμηνας. See note to 66. —ὦ τάλαινα. Used often as a vocative, this word can convey a range of attitudes. (Remember that for a first declension feminine form the vocative and nominative have the same ending; see note to E. 54 and Smyth, 298.) It can convey pity or compassion. (See E. 220.) It can also convey condemnation, as in a Victorian-sounding, “Wretch, are you so abandoned to vice that …?” More mildly, as here, it can convey pity or irritation for what the speaker sees as foolishness. Compare 883 and 887. 881-2. The sequence of negatives and adversatives is confusing. The first ἀλλά has been displaced by the oath: “But, by the paternal hearth, I …” would be easier. The second is balanced with the preceding negative, as often: “I did not … but …” 881. Swearing by the paternal hearth is exactly right in emotional and rhetorical terms; the hearth is the center of family life in general, and it is Agamemnon’s family, including Orestes, that ought to be gathered there. Compare 269-70, and note. —ὕβρει. Compare note to 70. 882—ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνον ὡς πάροντα νῷν. A rare use of the accusative-participle type of indirect speech with a verb of saying or thinking. This is poetic syntax and perhaps more emphatic. The ὡς with the participle in indirect speech sometimes indicates that the speaker is telling you what someone else is thinking. Or, as here, it, too, may be a bit more emphatic. 883—οἴμοι τάλαινα. See note to 879. (Could also be taken as a nominative; see 902, with note.) —καὶ τίνος. καί in front of an interrogative can introduce a surprised or indignant question, as in, “And who told you that?” Compare E. 225 and 258. 885—ἐγὼ μέν. She learned it from her own observation. Sometimes in tragedy μέν is used by itself for emphasis, as in Homer and other earlier poetry. 887—ὦ τάλαιν’. See note to 879. —μοι. Compare 66 and 144, with notes.

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889-90—ὡς … λέγῃς. See notes to E. 39 and 96. 889—μαθοῦσά μου. The weight in the first part of the sentence is on the participle: “having (first) learned …” The ablatival genitive indicates the source from whom she will learn. (See 36 and 78, and notes.) 890—φρονοῦσαν. Compare 529, and note. 891—δ’ οὖν. Used, almost always with pronouns, to give permission, even if the speaker is skeptical or dismissive: “All right, if you insist …” 892—καὶ δὴ λέγω. Compare 316-7, with note. —πᾶν ὅσον. This combination makes sense, but does not come across smoothly into English: “all which much,” as opposed to “everything that.” See Smyth, 340. —κατειδόμην. Sophocles can use the middle of κατείδον in an active sense. 893—ἦλθον πατρὸς ἀρχαῖον τάφον. ἀρχαῖον may imply an ancestral tomb, a mound with multiple graves inside. (Compare 1135.) 895-6—περιστεφῆ … πάντων ὅσ’ ἔστιν ἀνθέων θήκην. The adjective περιστεφῆ governs a genitive, ἀνθέων. Compound adjectives in tragedy can take a genitive when there is an implied noun that could: someone has put a crown of flowers all around the grave. Compare 36, and note. The relative clause functions essentially as an adjective modifying this genitive. Compare 873-4, with note. 895. Milk or milk and honey were used as offerings to the dead. —κύκλῳ. Adverbial. Compare note to 70 896—πάντων ὅσ’. Compare 892, and note. —ἔστιν. Compare E. 535, with note. —ἀνθέων. On the uncontracted spelling, see note to E. 54. 897—ἔσχον θαῦμα. Used instead of an ἐθαύμασα. Whether there is any difference in nuance is hard to say. Compare E. 40, and note. 898—μή πού τις … ἐγχρίμπτει. The indicative implies a fear, not that someone may approach, but is approaching. See the note to E. 22. 899—ὡς. = ἐπεί. Compare 902. —ἐδερκόμην. She is saying she saw that the whole place was peaceful. Would expect a participle (after a verb indicating perception), but forms of ὤν can be left out. Also have to take ἐν γαλήνῃ, as a kind of predicate. 900—προσεῖρπον. The augment for this imperfect originally preceded a consonant that disappeared. In this situation the augment contracts with a following vowel. (As with εἶχον (impf. of ἔχω) or εἷλον (aor. of αἱρέω) . ε + ε yields ει. Whereas the ordinary, lengthened form for a verb stem beginning with ε is η. See Smyth, 431 and 435. 900-1—ἐσχάτης … πυρᾶς. The genitive is hard to classify but clearly means something like “on the edge of the mound.” It might be explained as a partitive genitive indicating the area within which an action occurs. (Compare the genitive of “time within which.”) The usage is mostly poetic and shows up especially in epic. Compare 78. 901—νεώρη. Used adverbially. See Smyth, 1042. 902-3. A bit puzzling at first, since she has not seen Orestes since he was small. (See 12-4.) She has often imagined how Orestes looks, then? If that is the sense, then the idea that Chrysothemis, too, has dwelt on the idea of Orestes so much brings out his emotional importance for Electra, and the state she must be in. 902—τάλαιν’. Here used in self-commiseration (and in the nominative case). Compare



Reading Thirteen: Sophocles, Lines 871-937 233

304, and note to 879. —τί μοι. τι gets an accent because it is followed by another enclitic. See Smyth, 185. 903-4. The whole phrase after ὄμμα, built around the infinitive ὁρᾶν, expresses the idea the image brought to her mind. At least, that is one way of explaining the construction of the sentence; there is an implied indirect speech construction, with the subject of the infinitive not expressed, since she is doing the seeing: “(I thought) (myself) to see this (as) evidence. …” 905—δυσφημῶ μὲν οὔ. She does not utter anything ill omened, which implies about the same thing as εὐφημέω, “avoiding words that are unlucky,” “being quiet.” Compare 630-1. 906—δακρύων. Verbs meaning “to fill,” “be full of,” etc. take a partitive genitive. 907—ἐξεπίσταμαι. On the force of ἐκ- here as a prefix, see Smyth, 1688.2. Compare ἐπίσταμαι in 910. 908—μή … μολεῖν. The usual negative in indirect discourse is οὐ. But verbs expressing opinions or asserting knowledge can take a different negative. See Smyth, 2725. —του. The genitive is probably ablatival. 909—Leaving a lock of hair is something only a close relative would have done. 911—πῶς γάρ; A compressed question that confirms the previous conclusion: “For how (could you)?” —ᾗ γε … Continues the (implied) thought, and refers to the subject of that thought, Electra. The relative clause gives the grounds for saying this about Electra. —μηδέ. Not οὐδέ because the focus is on a characteristic of Electra. μή is used in a relative clause that expresses generic characteristics. See Smyth, 2705g. 911-2. Going out for religious rituals was normal, even for women who were held to the “respectable” standard of not being seen outside the home by strange men. Compare E. 343-4. 913-4—ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ μὲν δὴ … οὔτε … οὔτε. Moving on to deny another possibility (οὐδέ), but one expressed in terms of alternatives introduced by compound negatives (οὔτε … οὔτε). The Greek makes sense but is idiomatic. The compound negatives cannot be translated as such—see note to 595—and English would probably not explicitly mark the alternatives: “What’s more, neither … either … or …” 913—φίλεῖ. From the sense of “love/like to do,” the verb with an infinitive comes to be used to indicate what people are likely to do or usually do. 914—δρῶσ’ ἐλάνθαν’ ἄν. A circumstantial participle can take the place of an if-clause, so this is a contrary to fact: “If she had done this …” 915—ʾΟρέστου. The genitive is a predicate: “These … come from/belong to Orestes.” Compare E. 553-4, with note. (ἔστι has an accent because it follows an ἀλλά; it is still a simple “is.” See Smyth, 187b.) 916-9. At various points reference is made to a δαίμων who decides Electra’s lot and that of other characters’, in one way or another. The idea of a δαίμων is personal, at least in origin; a divine agent or force governs the course of an individual’s life. But very often in tragedy it comes closer to what we would mean by “luck.” 916—τοι. τοι emphasizes how she sees the proverb applying to Electra’s situation. See note to 298. 918—στυγνός. The adjective seems to have an active sense; the previous δαίμων hated them. In E. 117, on the other hand, it makes more sense to take it passively; Clytemnestra is

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hated by Electra. Compare note to 107. 918-9—ἡ δὲ νῦν … ὑπάρξει κῦρος ἡμέρα. The verb does not mean “begin,” “be the beginning of.” In that case, there would be a participle, or the genitive could be taken with the verb. Instead, κῦρος is a predicate and is taken with the genitive. The idea seems to be that this day will be both a beginning point for and provide the power to claim the πολλῶν καλῶν. 920. Can be punctuated as, φεῦ τῆς ἄνοιας, ὥς σ’ ἐποικτίρω πάλαι or as, φεῦ, τῆς ἄνοιας ὥς σ’ ἐποικτίρω πάλαι. In other words, the genitive can be taken with the exclamation or with the verb in the subordinate clause—see note to E. 532. In either case it indicates a cause, as often with expressions of emotion—see note to E. 120-1. —ὥς σ’ ἐποικτίρω πάλαι. The present and a temporal adverb can be used where English uses the present perfect: “I have been explaining this for years,” vs. “I explain this for years.” See Smyth, 1885. (For exclamatory ὡς, see Smyth, 2578c.) 921—τί δ’ ἔστιν; “What is it?” “What’s the matter?” —πρὸς ἡδονήν. A prepositional phrase with πρός can be used adverbially. 922—ὅποι γῆς … ὅποι γνώμης. These two phrases have to be read together; she is asking where in the world, in terms of her thinking, Chrysothemis has got to. In both cases, the genitive is partitive and the ὅποι indicates the place in the world, and in her mind, she has gotten to. (On this kind of genitive, compare ἵν’ ἦμεν ἄτης in 936.) —ὅποι. The direct form of this interrogative would be ποῖ (“To what place?” “Whither?”). See note to 33 and Smyth, 346. 924-5. Three short, blunt expressions conveying emotion and urgency. The effect is reinforced by the lack of connection before the last sentence; asyndeton can be used to convey strong emotion. See Smyth, 2165a. —τἀκ κείνου … σωτήρι’. “Salvation,” “means of deliverance” from Orestes. The article is used to manufacture an abstract noun. See note to E. 53. Note that the plural is also possible. See Smyth, 1026. 924—ὦ τάλαινα. See note to 879. 925—ἔρρει. Compare 57, with note. —μηδὲν … ὅρα. Imperative with an adverbial negative; οὐδέν or μηδέν is the opposite of τι: “in no way,” “not at all,” as opposed to “in some way,” “somehow.” ὁράω here implies “look to him (for help).” 926—οἴμοι τάλαινα. Compare 930 and notes to 902 and 879. 928—καὶ ποῦ. Compare 883, with note. —τοι. Compare 871, with note. —ὑπέρχεται. For the force of the prefix, see Smyth, 1698.4. 929—ἡδὺς οὐδὲ μητρὶ δυσχερής. μητρί goes with both adjectives. 930-1. The genitive is probably ablatival, as with the genitive you often get with ἀκούω— see 926-7. 930—γάρ. γάρ shows the connection between her expression of distress and the question; it springs from her emotional reaction. Compare E. 64, and note. —ποτ’. Compare E. 553, with note. 931—τὰ πολλὰ … κτερίσματα. Similar to the use of τὰ πολλά in 564; it points to something that they both know about and can be translated with a “those.” —πρὸς τάφον. A compressed form of expression that implies another verb, a “were



Reading Thirteen: Sophocles, Lines 871-937 235

brought.” See Smyth, 1659b. 932—οἶμαι μάλιστ’ ἔγωγε. The idea is, “In my opinion, it is most likely that …” 934—ὦ δυστυχής. Exclamatory, and nominative; understand ἐγώ. See Smyth, 1288 and compare 902. 935—ἄρα. This word often indicates that the speaker or writer now realizes something is true: “It turns out …” See Smyth, 2795. 936—ἵν’ ἦμεν ἄτης. Compare 922, with note.

Euripides’ Use of the agon in the Second Part of the Revenge Plot This reading covers both the second part of the revenge plot, the deception and murder of Clytemnestra (962-1176), and a theatrically and thematically complex denouement (1177-359). In the denouement, the reactions of Orestes, Electra, and the Chorus to the matricide are performed in an amoibaion (1177-232). This allows Orestes and Electra to voice their regrets and to describe, after the fact, the scene of the murder; the amoibaion realizes the murder in words, like a messenger speech, but brings out, through song, dance, and choral language, the horror and regret of the actors. There is no quasi-objective account but a lyric reperformance of the act. Then Castor and Pollux, who function as “gods from the machine,” appear to give a divine pronouncement on both the murder and the future lives of Orestes, Electra, and Pylades (1233-359). The dramatic focus is obvious: everyone concerned in the revenge plot has to face up to the matricide and its consequences. Beginning with Castor’s rhesis (1238-91), those consequences are spelled out, first from a distance and with the voice of divine authority, and later in an anapaestic dialogue with Electra and Orestes (1292-359). Electra will marry Pylades but has to go into exile. Orestes, polluted by the murder and pursued by Furies, has to go to Athens to be tried. He will be acquitted by a split jury and then go into exile himself. The punishment of Clytemnestra was just but not the act of matricide, even though Apollo authorized it (1244-6). But before its consequences set in and have to be faced, the matricide is dwelt on in advance. At the beginning of the second part of the revenge plot (962-1176), both Orestes and Electra express their feelings in anticipation. After the approach of Clytemnestra is announced, Orestes is overcome by doubts about the matricide; he says, in effect, what Castor tells them after the fact: even if Apollo has told him to proceed, the matricide is unthinkable and will lead to pollution. In a tense stichomythia, Electra pushes him away from his doubts (962-87). She argues for the old eye-for-an-eye justice, using against him the authority of Apollo and a charge of cowardice, and sends him off into the skene to lie in wait.58 Though she will later express regret and admit the horror of the murder, she is resolute and self-assertive up to the point where Clytemnestra has followed her son into the skene, to her death. She is happy, it seems, not just with the idea of revenge for her father but on her mother. As she did with the dead Aegisthus, she denounces the just departed Clytemnestra; she says her mother has created a life of poverty for her, committed adultery with Aegisthus, and murdered her father. Now she is going to the sacrifice, to fall beside her lover (1139-46). Between Orestes’ doubts and Electra’s denunciation, there is an agon (998-1122), the reading in Greek. The third actor, who has played the Farmer, the Old Man, and perhaps the Messenger, arrives as Clytemnestra. (See pp. 33 and 207.) There is a fulsome greeting by the Chorus, which to this extent is also a conspirator, insofar as it keeps silent and flatters her (988-97). This helps draw her into the trap; she is less likely to suspect the ostensible circumstances, a visit to Electra after a birth, and more likely to think she has an audience 58 For the sake of comparison, it is worth reading Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, lines 837-934. Also interesting, as a reference point for assessing the murder, are lines 973-1076.

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to whom she can pitch her arguments in the agon. Then Electra reproaches her mother, at first for her wealth, which she contrasts sharply with her own poverty, as is emphasized by the staging. (See pp. 36-7 and 998-1003, with note.) The point of departure for the agon as such, though, is the murder of Agamemnon and its consequences for Electra (1008-10). Once Electra has brought up the murder, Clytemnestra is drawn into a formal rhesis that in its turn clearly demands a reply; in fact, after the argument she makes for the justice of the murder, she invites Electra to make a counterargument and show how the death of Agamemnon was not just (1049-50). As with the agon in Sophocles, speech answers speech; the formal balance of the debate is evident again. But what will be even more striking are the self-consciously rhetorical techniques used by both, especially Clytemnestra. In Sophocles, rhetorical devices were evident at times. For example, his Clytemnestra makes use of a form of argument in which successive hypothetical explanations for Agamemnon’s decision to sacrifice Iphigenia are brought up in the form of rhetorical questions and then dismissed (hypophora; 534-47). But the use of rhetorical devices in Euripides is more noticeable and more extensive. Instead of maintaining a focus on the tragic facts and the dilemmas resulting from them, the characters repeatedly resort to manipulating hypothetical possibilities, to arguments based on probability, or to generalizations about ethics and behavior, all of which shows a surprising degree of rhetorical skill consciously deployed. Euripides’ tendency to endow his characters with this kind of skill, and to put them into an obviously rhetorical posture, was noticed already in the 5th century. (See Frogs 947-58, for example.) And this tendency has seemed to some modern readers artificial and even undramatic. But, first of all, the capacity to argue for a personal position, even the impossible position of a tragic character, is inherently fruitful, in terms of the audience’s opportunity to reflect on the logic, or illogic, of the myth as Euripides presents it. Second, this skill in argument is analogous to the elevated poetic language available to all sorts of characters, even characters like the Farmer who would thus seem to speak “out of character,” if they did not happen to be tragic characters. It is a function of the kind of drama the characters find themselves in. Characterization through, to our minds, plausible forms of expression is less important than other poetic or dramatic aims. In the case of sophisticated argumentation, a resource is made available for expression that is, at least potentially, adequate to the oddness and extremity of the characters’ experience. For instance, Clytemnestra argues in a highly rhetorical form for the justice of her decision to kill Agamemnon; she says she had a right to kill a husband who had murdered her daughter, just as he, hypothetically, would have been right to kill his wife for killing his son. In one sense, this argument is far-fetched, too ingeniously hypothetical; in another, it is exactly right: part of the awfulness of what happened to her daughter, and to her, is that their gender meant they were simply less important when push came to shove. To save the male enterprise of a military expedition a girl, and her mother’s claims on her, had to be sacrificed. That basic gender inequality is made evident, whether the argument justifies Clytemnestra’s own actions convincingly or not. The agon is not just a formal set piece, a chance for the playwright to show off his ingenuity in arguing both sides of the case or, to be even more critical, a distracting indulgence in rhetoric at the expense of a developing drama. What happens here, right before the final and most important crisis of the play, the matricide, is that Electra is given space to argue from her own experience to her mother’s face. She can express her feelings, with



Euripides’ Use of the agon in the Second Part of the Revenge Plot

239

all the gratifying tools of argument, about her mother and her own history. She knows, and the audience knows, and the Chorus knows, what is about to happen. Before it does, she gets to say all the things she has wanted to say all along; notice, for instance, how briefly (1086-7) she deals with the sacrifice of Iphigenia, which, naturally, is the starting point for Clytemnestra’s defense. She is out to say what she wants to Clytemnestra, not argue about right and wrong; the revenge to come will settle that issue, or so she thinks at the moment. At the same time, we get a picture of Clytemnestra, and we get to hear her defend her own responses to the situation in which she found herself and try to explain the crime that is shortly to result in her death. At times she seems oddly sympathetic; she admits regret, for instance, something Sophocles’ Clytemnestra would never do, and she admits to selfinterest. She even admits to adultery, though she claims that hers was only in response to Agamemnon’s having brought Cassandra back with him. How each audience member, or reader, ends up feeling about the murder of Agamemnon, the initial subject up for debate, about the larger history in which it is embedded, and about each of the characters—all that will be a matter for interpretation. But clearly the agon makes sense as a part of a carefully constructed sequence of scenes in this last part of the play, scenes that give the audience diverse and shifting points of view, in anticipation and after the fact, on the culminating act, Clytemnestra’s murder by her children.

Reading Fourteen: Euripides, Lines 998-1122 Poetic vocabulary Part of the argument in this agon will be about Clytemnestra’s sexual conduct, not just that she murdered her husband. There is a whole set of poetic words in tragedy that can refer euphemistically to sex. We have seen the word εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ, “bed,” “marriage bed,” etc., already. (Compare 44, with note, and 255.) And the plural γάμοι, “marriage,” “marital relations,” can be used similarly. (Compare 49, with note, and S. 493-4.) In this reading we get two further poetic words for “bed” or “marriage bed,” λέχος, ους, τό and λέκτρον, ου, τό. Some further syntax • • •

Review, if needed, the rules for contrary to fact conditions. See Smyth, 2292. Review the rules for the “past potential” indicative. See Smyth, 1784-7. Review the rules for using χρῆν/ἐχρῆν in similar expressions. See Smyth, 1774-6.

Further forms to review 1) Review the -μι verb forms of δίδωμι. That is, go over the forms from the first and third principal parts, where the verb differs from the regular -ω verb forms. (See p. 211.) As with other -μι verbs, you can always check them against the paradigms in Smyth as they come up. (See Smyth, 416.) In order to help recognize forms from δίδωμι, remember that they are athematic and that the stems from the first principal part are always one syllable longer than stems from the third. 2) Remind yourself, if it is not clear already, what the fourth and fifth principal parts represent. And if the rules for reduplication are not clear, review these also. (See pp. 66-7.) The reason a fifth principal part is needed, apart from the problem of irregular stems, is that perfect middle-passive stems ending in a consonant undergo changes in spelling when adjoining consonants from the stem and the ending meet in pronunciation. For example, λελειμμένοι (1010), a perfect middle-passive participle, is spelled as it is because λελειπ + μένοι resulted in that sequence of sounds/letters. As this example shows, the endings are added to the stems directly—the fifth principal part is athematic. With both stems and endings contributing various consonants, the changes in pronunciation/spelling that result vary accordingly. Multiple phonetic rules for the treatment of sequences of consonants come into play, which makes perfect middle-passive forms for stems ending in a consonant harder to learn. These will continue to be glossed. (See Smyth, 403-9.) Learning what happens when stems end in a vowel is not so hard, the forms can be easily assimilated. The endings, both for indicative and participle are familiar: take the ending from the first principal part and subtract the introductory thematic vowel, the ο or ε, and the perfect middle-passive ending results. E.g., the participle is -μενος, η, ον, etc. The 241

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only exceptions are the 2nd person singular endings, -σαι and -σο. Be aware also that some forms are occasionally, or regularly, generated with a participle and a form from εἰμί. See Smyth, 383 and 599. Common irregular verbs δίδωμι, δώσω, ἔδωκα, (δέδωκα), (δέδομαι), ἐδόθην πείθω, πείσω, ἔπεισα, (πέπεικα/πέποιθα), (πέπεισμαι), ἐπείσθην πάσχω, πείσομαι, ἔπαθον, (πέπονθα) σῴζω, σώσω, ἔσωσα, (σέσωκα), (σέσωσμαι), ἐσώθην Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts Remember that some verbs like πείθω, πείσω, ἔπεισα … ἐπείσθην show the results of two basic changes in pronunciation, which follow from putting τ, δ, or θ next to σ or θ. Ignoring, again, the 4th and 5th principal parts, we get: 1st τ, δ, or θ

ἐκβάλλω—throw out 1005: δυστυχής, ές—unlucky, unfortunate οἰκέω—live (in) (trans. or intrans.) μακάριος, α, ον—blessed, happy; prosperous δούλη, ης, ἡ—female slave πονέω—work hard, labor; suffer αἰχμάλωτος, ον—taken by the spear, captive, prisoner ἀποικίζω—send away from home, banish

1109 1110

1120

1010: ὀρφανός, ή, όν—without parents, fatherless; bereaved of, left without λελειμμένοι > λείπω βούλευμα, ατος, τό—decision, purpose (often pl.) ἥκιστος, η, ον (sup. of ἥττων, ἧττον)—least, worst; as adv. (ἥκιστα), least βουλεύω—deliberate; plan; decide καίτοι—and yet πικρότης, ητος, ἡ—bitterness, harshness; distastefulness ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of 1015: κακῶς—badly, painfully ἤν = ἐάν ἀξίως—rightly, in a way that is deserved/called for μισέω—hate δίκαιος, α, ον—decent, righteous, just στυγέω—hate, abhor ἔδωκε > δίδωμι Τυνδάρεως, εω, ὁ—Tyndareus. ὥστε—conj., so as to; so that γείνομαι—pass., to be born; middle, beget, bear 1020: λέκτρον, ου, τό—bed; marriage bed (mostly pl.) πείσας > πείθω οἴχομαι—be gone, have departed; be dead; be ruined πρυμνοῦχος, ον—holding a ship’s stern; detaining ships



Reading Fourteen: Euripides, Lines 998-1122 247

ἔνθα—adv., there, to that place; relat., where ὑπερτείνας (aor. part.) > ὑπερτείνω—hold or stretch out or over πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ—funeral pyre; mound raised on site of pyre; altar λευκός, ή, όν—light, bright, clear; light in color, white διαμάω—scrape through; cut through παρηίς, ίδος, ἡ/παρῄς, ῇδος, ἡ—cheek ἅλωσις, εως, ἡ—capture, taking ἐξιάομαι—cure thoroughly, heal 1025: ὀνήσων > ὀνίνημι—profit, benefit, help ἐκσῴζω—save, keep safe συγγνωστός, όν—forgivable, allowable οὕνεκα/οὕνεκεν—on account of, because of (with gen.); as conj., that, because μάργος, η, ον/ος, ον—mad; greedy; lustful αὖ—again; on the other hand; in turn ἄλοχος, ου, ἡ—bed partner, wife κολάζω—check, correct, punish προδότης, ου, ὁ/προδότις, ιδος, ἡ—betrayer (acc. for fem., προδότιν.) ἠπίστατο (impf.) > ἐπίσταμαι—know how to; be assured, know for certain ἕκατι—with gen., usually preceding: by the will of, by means of, by virtue of; on account of, for the sake of διόλλυμι—destroy completely; intr., perish utterly 1030: καίπερ—although ἀδικέω—do wrong; harm, injure ἀγριόω—make wild or savage; pass., be wild or savage πόσις, ὁ—husband μαινάς, άδος, ἡ—raving, frantic ἔνθεος, ον—full of the god, inspired, possessed κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye, eye λέκτρον, ου, τό—bed; marriage bed (mostly pl.) ἐπεισέφρηκε (aor.) > ἐπεισφρέω—bring in or introduce in addition νύμφη, ης, ἡ—young wife, bride; nymph (minor goddess) δύο, δυοῖν—two κατέχω—check, restrain; keep; come from the sea to shore, put in to land ὁμοῦ—together, both; together with (with dat.) 1035: μῶρος, α, ον—dull, stupid; foolish ἄλλως—otherwise, differently; aimlessly, in vain ὕπειμι—be underneath; exist, be ἔνδον—inside παρώσας > παρωθέω—push aside or away; reject λέκτρον, ου, τό—bed; marriage bed (mostly pl.) μιμέομαι—imitate, represent, portray θέλω = ἐθέλω

κτᾶσθαι > κτάομαι—get, acquire; pf. and plpf., have, possess ἔπειτα—then, next ψόγος, ου, ὁ—blame, censure λαμπρύνω—make bright or brilliant 1040: αἴτιος, α, ον—guilty, responsible, responsible for (with gen.) κακῶς—badly, painfully ἥρπαστο (plpf.) > ἁρπάζω—snatch; carry off; overpower Μενέλαος, ου, ὁ/Μενέλεως, εω, ὁ (Attic)— Menelaus λάθρᾳ—secretly, by stealth χρῆν (impf.) > χρή κασιγνήτη, ης, ἡ—sister Μενέλαος, ου, ὁ/Μενέλεως, εω, ὁ (Attic)— Menelaus σώσαιμι > σῴζω εἶτα—then, next 1045: ἐτρέφθην > τρέπω ᾗπερ—in which way, where, whither πορεύσιμος, ον—crossable, passable πολέμιος, α, ον—of or like an enemy, hostile; as noun, an enemy κοινωνέω—share, take part in (with gen. of the thing and dat. of person) χρῄζω—need, lack; desire, want ἀντιθές (aor. imper.) > ἀντιτίθημι—set up against, so as to oppose, balance, etc.; reply, retort παρρησία, ας, ἡ—outspokenness, frankness, freedom of speech 1050: ἐνδίκως—right, with justice, fairly δίκαιος, α, ον—decent, righteous, just αἰσχρῶς—shamefully, basely συγχωρέω—get out of the way, make way; yield to, defer to (with dat.) φρενήρης, ες—of sound mind ἀριθμός, οῦ, ὁ—number; worth, account 1055: μέμνησο (imper.) > μέμνημαι (pf. of μιμνήσκω)—remember (often with gen.) ὕστατος, η, ον—last (of time, place, or rank) παρρησία, ας, ἡ—outspokenness, frankness, freedom of speech ἀπαρνέομαι—deny completely; refuse, reject ἔρξαις > ἔρδω—do; offer a sacrifice προστίθημι—put to, place against; add; give in addition, concede φρήν, φρενός, ἡ—sg. or pl., heart, mind 1060: ἀρχή, ῆς, ἡ—beginning, origin προοίμιον, ου, τό—opening, introduction βελτίων, βέλτιον (comp. of ἀγαθός, ή, όν)— better φρήν, φρενός, ἡ—sg. or pl., heart, mind αἶνος, ου, ὁ—tale, story; praise δύο, δυοῖν—two

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σύγγονος, ον = συγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related ἄμφω, ἀμφοῖν—both μάταιος, α, ον—vain, empty; foolish; wicked 1065: ἁρπάζω—snatch; carry off; overpower ἑκών, ἑκοῦσα, ἑκόν—willingly ἀπόλλυμι—act., destroy, kill, lose; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead, done for Ἑλλάς, άδος, ἡ—Greece διόλλυμι—destroy completely; intr. forms, perish utterly σκῆψις, εως, ἡ—pretext, excuse προτείνω—hold out, stretch out; offer πρίν—adv., before; conj., before, until κυρόω—confirm; determine; accomplish σφαγή, ῆς, ἡ—slaughter; wound 1070: ἐξορμάω—pass., set out, start ξανθός, ή, όν—yellow, brown, auburn κάτοπτρον, ου, τό—mirror πλόκαμος, ου, ὁ—lock or braid of hair; hair ἐξασκέω—adorn, arrange κόμη, ης, ἡ—hair; long hair, locks κάλλος, ους, τό—beauty, esp. of the body ἀσκέω—adorn, dress up; practice, train διαγράφω—draw a line through, strike off (a name) θύρασι(ν)—at the door, outside; in public εὐπρεπής, ές—good-looking, with a fine appearance 1075: πρόσωπον, ου, τό—face Ἑλληνίς, ίδος, ἡ—Greek Τρῶες, Τρώων, οἱ—Trojans εὐτυχέω—be prosperous, fortunate, successful ἥττων, ἧττον—worse, inferior; weaker συννέφω—be cloudy; be gloomy ὄμμα, ατος, τό—eye; light; face χρῄζω—need, lack; desire, want 1080: καίτοι—and yet σωφρονέω—to be of sound mind; be modest, show self-control παρέχω—hand over; provide; offer; impers., it is allowed, in one’s power (with dat.) κακίων, κάκιον—worse Ἑλλάς, άδος, ἡ—Greece ἑαυτοῦ, ῆς, οῦ, etc. or αὑτοῦ, αὑτῆς, αὑτοῦ, etc.—reflex. pron., himself, herself, itself, etc. στρατηλάτης, ου, ὁ—leader of an army, general ἀδελφή, ῆς, ἡ—sister ἐξειργασμένης > ἐξεργάζομαι—work out, achieve, accomplish ἔξεστι—impers., it is allowed, is possible κλέος, τό—rumor, report; fame, glory 1085: παράδειγμα, ατος, τό—model; example; standard of comparison, foil

ἐσθλός, ή, όν—good, good of his/its kind; faithful εἴσοψις, εως, ἡ—focus for attention, act of looking ἀδικέω—do wrong; wrong, harm προσάπτω—fasten to or on; attach, grant ἐπηνεγκω (aor.) > ἐπιφέρω—bring to, put on; middle, bring with oneself, bring a dowry λέχος, ους, τό—bed; marriage bed, marriage 1090: ἀλλότριος, α, ον—of or belonging to someone else; foreign, strange μισθός, οῦ, ὁ—pay; reward ὠνέομαι—buy, purchase ἀντιφεύγω—flee or go into exile in turn δίς—twice, doubly τόσως—so much, as much ἀδελφή, ῆς, ἡ—sister ἀμείβω—act., change, exchange; middle: exchange (with one another); do in turn; get in exchange δικάζω—judge, give judgment on (with acc.); call for a penalty (with acc.) 1095: τιμωρέω—be an avenger; middle, take one’s revenge for (with dat.) δίκαιος, α, ον—decent, righteous, just ἔνδικος, ον—according to right, just, legitimate πλοῦτος, ου, ὁ—wealth εὐγένεια, ας, ἡ—nobility of birth γαμέω—act., of the man, marry; middle, of the woman, give oneself in marriage πονηρός, ά, όν—worthless, base μῶρος, α, ον—dull, stupid; foolish ἀμείνων, ἄμεινον (comp. of ἀγαθός, ή, όν)— better (of people or things) σώφρων, ον—of sound mind; self-controlled, chaste λέχος, ους, τό—bed; marriage bed, marriage 1100: δέρκομαι—see clearly; be alive; look at στέργω—love, feel affection (esp. of parents and children) ἄρρην, ἄρρεν—male φιλέω—love; be likely to μᾶλλον—more, rather 1105: συγγιγνώσκω—think with, agree with; have a fellow feeling with, excuse, pardon ἄγαν—very much, too much οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise βούλευμα, ατος, τό—decision, purpose (often pl.) 1110: ἤλασα > ἐλαύνω—drive, set in motion; metaph., drive, push (things) ὀργή, ῆς, ἡ—temperament, mood; anger ὀψέ—after a long time; late; too late στενάζω—sigh deeply, sigh, groan ἡνίκα—when ἄκος, ους, τό—cure, remedy



Reading Fourteen: Euripides, Lines 998-1122 249

ἔξω—adv. and prep. with gen.: out, out of; outside, separate from (in various senses), in exile κομίζω—bring back, recover; bring back from exile ἀλητεύω—wander, roam δέδοικα/δέδια—fear; be afraid οὐχί = οὐ (perhaps with more emphasis) 1115: θυμόω—make angry; middle, be angry ἄγριος, α, ον—savage, fierce

τρόπος, ου, ὁ—turn, direction; way, manner αὐθάδης, αὔθαδες—self-willed, stubborn ἀλγέω—feel pain, suffer; grieve θυμόω—make angry; middle, be angry 1120: ναίω—dwell in, inhabit ἀναζωπυρέω—rekindle, light up again νεῖκος, ους, τό—quarrel, strife, feud σιγάω—be silent, keep quiet δέδοικα/δέδια—fear; be afraid

998-1003. In an elaborate entrance announcement, the Chorus flatters Clytemnestra by praising her lineage and her wealth (988-97). She enters with Trojan captives, probably richly costumed. They are effective props for underscoring the difference in status between Clytemnestra, also probably richly costumed, and the poorly/plainly dressed Electra. (See 304-8, 314-8, and pp. 36-7.) There may be a difference between ἀπήνης and τοῦδ’ ὄχου; if these are distinct and the words are not simply poetic variants, the effect would be even more striking. Note that before her entrance, Clytemnestra’s arrival and the fact of the chariot(s) and rich clothing are announced for the audience (966). 998-9—χειρὸς δ’ ἐμῆς λάβεσθ’. In the middle, λαμβάνω can mean “take hold of.” It takes a partitive genitive. 1002—ἐξαίρετ’. = τὰ ἐξαίρετα. The “pick” of the plunder, set aside for him. 1003—κέκτημαι. An exception to the rule that a stem with a double consonant takes an augment/reduplication. See p. 67 and Smyth, 442. —δόμοις. Dative of the person or thing affected: “for my house.” And/or local, without a preposition. See note to S. 55. Her way of putting this also points up the contrast between her wealth and Electra’s situation; the Farmer’s house, in the imagination of the audience if not visually, is very unimpressive. 1004-6. Electra responds in a calculated way to the style of Clytemnestra’s entrance and self-presentation. 1004—οὔκουν. This combination of οὐκ and οὖν occurs frequently in the back and forth of drama, often in a response that takes the form of a question; the speaker reacts not so much to what has just been said but to the fact that it has been said to begin with: “Well, shouldn’t I …?” Electra is trying to be provocative. Compare 239 and S. 630. 1006—λάβωμαι. Deliberative subjunctive, and aimed rhetorically at Clytemnestra. See note to S. 33-4. (Normally, the negative is μή.) —μακαρίας τῆς σῆς χερός. μακαρίας, though formally attributive, is put in the predicate position for emphasis. Compare S. 133 and 526, with notes. The weight this puts on the adjective completes the contrast with Electra’s assertion of her status as a “slave,” an assertion Clytemnestra pointedly ignores. 1007—μοι. Dative of the person affected. Could be translated with an “on my account” or a “please.” —πόνει. Normally, the word means “work hard” or, in its extended senses, “suffer,” as in pain, sickness, etc., not simply “put yourself out” or “trouble yourself.” Perhaps Clytemnestra is being sarcastic, e.g., “Don’t go to all that trouble.” 1008—τί δ’; Taking up Clytemnestra where she left off: “And why (not)?” —τοι. Trying to put her rhetorical point across to Clytemnestra (in a different way). See note to S. 298.

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1009—ᾑρημένων … ᾑρήμεθα. She is playing with a common meaning of αἱρέω; her father’s house has been taken, as a city like Troy is taken, which implies the “taking” and enslavement of the women, as with the Trojan captives. 1010—ὀρφανοὶ λελειμμένοι. When a female character refers to herself in the first person plural and there are adjectives and participles in play, the gender usually shifts to the masculine, the default gender. See p. 21. On the force of the perfect participle, see note to S. 55, 58, and 70. 1011-2. Word order is a bit tricky; two clauses seem to be knitted together. Easier (for us) would be: τοιαῦτα μέντοι σὸς πατὴρ βουλεύματα ἐβούλευσεν ἐς τούτους τοὺς φίλους οὓς ἐχρῆν ἥκιστα βουλεῦσαι. But the clause ἐς οὓς ἐχρῆν ἥκιστα … φίλων has no antecedent and functions as an object for the preposition. 1011—μέντοι. A combination of an emphatic μέν—see note to S. 885—and the kind of τοι used to bring home an idea to the person addressed—see note to S. 298. 1012—ἐχρῆν. Like a past potential indicative in that it implies an unfulfilled possibility or obligation and can also be rephrased as a contrary to fact; “against those whom he least ought to have” implies, “If he had done what he ought to have done, he would not have …” Compare notes to E. 525-6 and S. 529 and see Smyth, 1774-6. 1013-7—καίτοι … μὲν … δέ. A subtly connected series of ideas. The καίτοι introduces a problem or objection: “Yet …” That problem is commented on in the μέν clause, which is then balanced by a δέ introducing the real answer to the initial objection. (Might have expected an ἀλλά, if the μέν clause had not intervened.) See note to 1015. 1014-5. In 1015, the manuscript καλῶς is emended to κακῶς. The editor thinks Clytemnestra cannot be saying her “bitterness” is not acceptable (οὐ καλῶς); that concedes too much and makes for bad self-justification. It only makes sense to say her bitterness is “not improper” (οὐ κακῶς). Others take πικρότης differently; the unpleasantness is not a property of the speaker but describes her hearers’ reactions. This second way of understanding the passage makes more sense, insofar as it is more effective rhetorically; she is on the attack and accusing her hearers of prejudice and not judging the case on the basis of what has actually been done. (In which case, we can keep the manuscript οὐ καλῶς.) This seems to be the correct way of reading the passage; with the text as printed, too much prominence is given to an assertion of a dubious claim to her right to be bitter. 1014—γλώσσῃ. May mean “speech,” “talk” here, whether Clytemnestra’s or, more to the point, the talk of others about her. (See last note.) 1015—ὡς μὲν παρ’ ἡμῖν. “In my judgment …” Combine this with the manuscript οὐ καλῶς; the implicit contrast is with the judgment of those who ought to be judging the matter at hand, not acting out of prejudice. (The dative indicates the person concerned, i.e. making a judgment. The ὡς brings out the subjectivity of the judgment. Compare S. 316, with note; the use of ὡς with a participle is a close relative.) 1016—ἢν μὲν ἀξίως μισεῖν ἔχῃ (τὸ πρᾶγμα). The common idiom combining ἔχω and an adverb where we might expect a form of “to be” and a predicate. (See 76 and 238, with notes.) Here this kind of phrase is embedded in a conditional clause and assumes a personal subject from the context. The infinitive, then, expands on and explains the adverb, just as it can do for a similar adjective; ἀξίως μισεῖν works like ἄξιον μισεῖν. So, “If the matter deserves/calls for hatred.” 1016-7—μισεῖν … στυγεῖν … στυγεῖν. στυγέω is a poetic variant on μίσεω. (For related



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adjectives, compare p. 91.) The prosaic and poetic synonyms are juxtaposed without any clear distinction of meaning. Passages like this make clear the conventional nature of much poetic vocabulary. Notice the emphasis on hatred. This follows from her basic rhetorical strategy in this passage, and suits the second interpretation of πικρότης given in the note to 1014-5. —μαθόντας … στυγεῖν δίκαιον. The manuscript has μαθόντα σ’. But the text is usually emended to make the statement general. With an impersonal expression like this (“it is just to hate …,” “to hate is just …”) a general/indefinite subject, like τινας, is often left out, and the participle implies such a subject. See Smyth, 937a. 1018-9. The idea is that by giving her in marriage, her father did not intend that she or her children should die. One of her children did die, of course, but adding in the possibility that she might as well have, or could have, died herself fits with the oddly hypothetical tone she adopts at various points in the speech. See p. 238 above. 1018—Τυνδάρεως. The noun is a name declined like the Attic νεώς, νεώ. See 117 and note. Compare the genitive of Achilles’ name in 1020, declined like βασιλεύς, etc. 1019—ὥστε θνῄσκειν. ὥστε with the infinitive focuses on the way in which something is done, so as to lead naturally to a particular result. (See note to E. 240.) Hence, it can be used with an infinitive in situations where a purpose clause might be expected; “in such a way as to” is next door to “in order to.” —γειναίμην. Tyndareus’ intentions could be (hypothetically) expressed as, “τέκνα ἃ ἂν γείνηται ἡ Κλυταιμήστρα, θανεῖται.” In other words, there is a thought indirectly implied, even if we are not in formal indirect speech. The rules for treating subordinate clauses in indirect speech can then kick in, in order to cast this bit, rhetorically, as his intention. See note to S. 629. 1020-2. The motif of the pretended marriage to Achilles is common to many versions, though the details vary. (Euripides provides two other versions, in his Iphigenia among the Taurians and Iphigenia at Aulis.) Here, Agamemnon first persuades Iphigenia and Clytemnestra by means of a promise of marriage with Achilles. Then, surprisingly, he takes her to Aulis himself; he does not send for her but comes back after the ships are delayed by adverse winds and the sacrifice is demanded. 1021—λέκτροισι. See note to 44. 1022—ὑπερτείνας πυρᾶς. Iphigenia is hoisted above the altar, so that the blood can flow over it. (Compare notes to 800 and 811-4.) In his Agamemnon, Aeschylus gives an unforgettable picture of the same moment (231-47). 1023—διήμησ’ Ἰφιγόνης παρηίδα. The expression is figuratively effective. The cheeks of young women are singled out as a way of indicating beauty. So saying that her cheek is cut, instead of her cheek and throat, makes vivid the horror and quasi-violation inherent in sacrificing Agamemnon’s daughter. On the use of this part for the whole type expression (“synecdoche”), see Smyth, 3047. (The name here is a variation on the more usual Ἰφιγένεια, ας, ἡ.) 1024. The sacrifice of a child by a king in order to save his city is a recurring motif in myth, as in Euripides’ fragmentary Erechtheus. In that story a mythical king sacrifices one of his daughters to save Athens. The difference here, of course, is that Agamemnon sacrifices his child so as to be able to capture someone else’s city. 1025—ὀνήσων. On the meaning of the future participle, see note to 89.

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1026—πολλῶν … ὕπερ. Compare 574, with note. —συγγνώστ’ ἂν ἦν. = συγγνωστὰ ἂν ἦν. The predicate, a verbal adjective expressing possibility, is plural; see Smyth, 472 and 1052. 1027—νῦν δ’. Sometimes does not refer to time per se but marks a contrast with what might have been the case: “as it is,” “but in fact.” —ὅ τ’ αὖ λαβών. Menelaus. αὖ means something like “for his part.” 1030-45. The sequence of thought here has given many commentators pause. Clytemnestra had started with the sacrifice of Iphigenia (1018-29). Next, she turns to the aggravating circumstance of Agamemnon’s having brought a mistress, Cassandra, back from Troy (1030-40). Then, abruptly, she reverts to the sacrifice of her daughter (1041-5). Many have thought that either the second section, on Cassandra, or the third section, again on the sacrifice, should be cut out. And two transitions, between the second and third sections and the third and 1046, certainly are confusing—see on 1041 and 1046. 1030—ἐπὶ τοῖσδε. “in response” —τοίνυν. Can be logical, “then,” “therefore,” or simply mark a transition: “Well …” Here, makes more sense as “Well …” She is not drawing a conclusion. 1031—οὐδ’ ἂν ἔκτανον. A past potential indicative implies a contrary to fact condition. Compare note to 525-6. 1032-4. Cassandra was given to Agamemnon as a prize after the sack of Troy. She was also a prophetess, though of a peculiar kind. For two memorable pictures of her, see Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, 1035-330 and Euripides’ Trojan Woman, 308-461. 1033—νύμφα δύο. Accusative dual. 1034—κατεῖχ’. Can be understood as “tried to keep.” Given the right context, a form built on the stem from the first principal part, most often an imperfect, implies that someone is or was trying to do something. This nuance depends on the use of a form with the stem implying ongoing and incomplete action. See Smyth, 1878 and 1895. 1035—μῶρον. In a generalization, proverb, etc., a personal subject can take an abstract predicate to mark a concept, not a personal characteristic: “Women are a foolish thing,” not “(These particular) women are foolish.” μῶρον here is a softer predicate than μάργος in 1027. She means by “foolishness” here a lack of sexual self-control, which is exactly what she condemns Helen for in the previous passage. What helps mask her inconsistency is the force of the generalization, which appeals to popular (Greek) prejudice; women were thought to have less sexual self-control than men. 1036—ὑπόντος τοῦδ’. Works like “on top of this” in English. “And on top of that, he …” implies a cumulative grievance; the Greek expression implies the same thing by talking about a grievance already there: “With this underneath, he (also) …” 1039—κἄπειτ’. “And then … !” κἄπειτα, κἆτα, or εἶτα can introduce a rhetorical climax that expresses indignation; seems to be colloquial. 1040—κλύουσ’ ἄνδρες κακῶς. κλύω with εὖ or κακῶς is used in tragedy to talk about reputation, how someone is “spoken of.” 1041-5. This piece of argument certainly sounds far-fetched. It starts from the question of what would have happened if Menelaus, not Helen, had been taken away and Clytemnestra had ended up sacrificing Orestes. And because of the abrupt turn back to the topic of Iphigenia, some have thought all these lines should be deleted. (See note to 103045.) However, the form of the argumentation as such is not that surprising, given similar



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arguments elsewhere in tragedy. Cropp puts it this way, “Clytemnestra draws out, by pushing a hypothesis to its limits, an implicit absurdity in the case she is attacking.” (He compares S. 544-5.) Further, even though the turn back to the question of Iphigenia’s sacrifice is confusing on the surface, there is an underlying connection of thought. The standards for judging male and female sexual behavior are inconsistent. If the roles and genders of the offender and injured party had been reversed in the case of the sacrifice, would it have seemed unjust for Clytemnestra to be killed? Probably not. Given a consistent standard of moral judgment, then, without regard for gender, Agamemnon should have been killed. All of which harks back to Clytemnestra’s point of departure: deeds themselves, not prejudice, should come first in making a judgment, especially in regard to women. Compare the Chorus Leader’s reaction at 1051 (with note). 1041-3. On the form of this contrary to fact sentence, see the note to S. 529. 1041—ἥρπαστο. A pluperfect for a stem beginning with a vowel; there is a combined augment and reduplication on the front end—Smyth, 444—and a past tense ending without thematic vowel on the back end. Like the imperfect, the pluperfect can be used in a past or present contrary to fact: “If he had been …” or “If he has been …” Clearly, the first meaning makes sense here. —Μενέλεως. This name occurs in various forms in tragedy. Usually it appears as either a name like Τυνδάρεως, declined like the Attic νεώς, νεώ—see note to 1018—or in forms from Μενέλαος, ου, ὁ—compare 1043. 1044—ἠνέσχετ’ ἂν ταῦτ’. On the implied condition, see note to 1031. On the verb form, see note to 264. 1044-5. On the use of χρῆν in a sentence that implies a contrary to fact, see note to 1012. —οὐ θανεῖν… χρῆν. The negative should go with χρῆν, μή being expected with an infinitive; there is a rhetorical question beginning “Shouldn’t he have … “ —τὸν μὲν … κτείνοντα … τἄμ’. Could be translated, “he, being the murderer of my children.” Remember also that (ἀπο-)θνῄσκω can be used as the passive for (ἀπο-)κτείνω; a murderer deserves not just to die but to be killed in return, according to Greek thinking. 1045—ἐμὲ δὲ πρὸς κείνου παθεῖν. This follows to the end the oddly hypothetical argument begun in 1041. She would have deserved to suffer at his hands, if … (See note to 1041-5). The problem is that there seems to be a gap; there is an argument over whether παθεῖν by itself, without an object, is idiomatic in Greek. Given the abrupt transition to 1046—see the next note—some have thought that there is a gap because a line has dropped out in transmission; they have supposed there is a “lacuna.” Diggle, the editor of this text, suggests, for the sake of the example, κτείνουσαν αὐτοῦ παῖδας οὐκ ἐλάσσονα (“ … [as] I ought no less to have suffered at his hands for killing his child”). 1046. The lack of a connective here (asyndeton) has bothered many editors. Perhaps another reason for assuming a line has dropped out. —ἐτρέφθην. Aorist passive with a middle sense, “turned (oneself).” See note to 32. 1047-8—φίλων γὰρ ἄν. The φίλοι are contrasted with the enemies of Agamemnon she turned to: “ For as to his friends …” This explains the position of the first ἄν; the normal position of an ἄν is with its verb or toward the front of a clause or sense unit. The sentence goes on, after a slight pause, with emphasis on a second idea, which explains the second ἄν. The net effect is, “For as to his friends, who, I ask you, could have …?” Compare 534-5, with note.

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—τίς ἂν … ἐκοινώνησε. Compare 1031, with note, and 1044. 1049—παρρησίᾳ. See note to S. 70. 1051-4. Often the Chorus Leader tries to mediate between two characters in conflict, or to find a compromise position. But s/he can be partisan, as here. The Chorus sides with Electra and insists on conventional ideas about female obedience. (The attribution of the manuscript, which gave the lines to Electra, has been changed—compare S. 610-1, with note; a choral comment is expected here, and Electra probably would not have conceded any justice to her mother’s argument.) 1051—ἡ δίκη. Might be taken as “your (principle of) justice,” her principle that a husband should be bound by the same norms as a wife. See note to 1041-5. —αἰσχρῶς ἔχει. Compare 76 and 238, with notes. 1052—πάντα. Remember that neuter singulars, or plurals, are often used adverbially: “in everything,” “completely.” 1053—ἥτις φρενήρης. The indefinite relative generalizes, and makes the sentence a general condition, with the indicative: “Whatever woman is sensible …” See Smyth, 2569. 1054. A woman like this does not “count,” to their way of thinking. ἀριθμός and λόγος can both be used in regard to the worth or valuation assigned to a person. 1055—μέμνησο. Another exception to the rule that a stem with a double consonant takes an augment/reduplication. See p. 67 and Smyth, 442. 1055-6—οὓς ἔλεξας ὑστάτους λόγους. The relative clause precedes its antecedent and functions as one unit with it. For the use of ὑστάτους, compare S. 901, with note. 1058—κλύουσα … εἶτ’ ἔρξαις κακῶς. A participle followed by εἶτα and a finite verb can be used to mark a contrast. 1059. The line has been judged unintelligible by multiple editors (hence the cruces). Most suggestions for emendation begin from εἴ τι for ἔστι; saying it is not possible for her to react harshly makes not much sense—see on E. 535. Diggle suggests: οὔκ· εἴ τι τῇ σῇ δ’ ἡδὺ προσθήσω φρενί. And he translates, “No; and anything that is pleasing to your heart, that I shall concede.” 1060—λέγοιμ’ ἄν. Compare 300, with note. —ἀρχὴ δ’ ἥδε μοι προοιμίου. A difficult phrase. ἀρχή may refer only to the wish, or insult, expressed in the next line and προοιμίου to the rest of the comparison with Helen, which expands on that beginning. Electra’s counterarguments really begin after that (1069 ff.). Notice that the subject, logically, should be τόδε, but the demonstrative is “attracted” into the gender of the feminine predicate. See Smyth, 926b and 1239. 1061—εἴθ’ εἶχες. See note to 282. —φρένας. See note to S. 147. 1062—ἄξιον φέρειν. Compare note to 1016. 1063-4. Would expect feminine first declension dual endings, in -α, -αιν, -αιν, -α, but feminine dual adjectives and participles can use masculine second declension endings. (Compare 536, with note, and see Smyth, 287b.) Note that σύγγονος, ον has only two sets of endings. 1063—δύο δ’ ἔφυτε συγγόνω. Not saying that they are related, which is obvious, but that by nature (also) they are “akin.” 1064—ματαίω. This adjective can imply that an action is pointless and hence foolish. It can also convey a judgment on the part of the speaker that the action is, in fact, wrong or wicked. In some places in tragedy, as here, the underlying judgment has to do with promiscuity,



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which certainly makes sense here. Compare note to 1035. —Κάστορός τ’ οὐκ ἀξίω. Beginning with the Iliad (3.236-44), there is a contrast made between the virtue of her brothers and of Helen, and she is said to have shamed them. Here the motif is modified to cover both Helen and Clytemnestra. The reference to Castor alone (without Pollux) is puzzling at first, but he was Electra’s suitor. See 312-3, with note. 1065—ἀπώλετο. This verb can be used in reference to the seduction of a woman. In Victorian-sounding language, “she was undone,” “she was ruined.” 1068—γάρ. The thought is compressed and elliptical but understandable. It is as if she were saying, “You can make this excuse, for they don’t know …” 1069—πρὶν κεκυρῶσθαι σφαγάς. See note to S. 20. 1070—νέον. Compare 1052, with note. 1072-3. Would be easier as, γυνὴ δ’ ἥτις ἀπόντος ἀνδρὸς ἐκ δόμων ἐς κάλλος ἀσκεῖ, διάγραφ’ αὐτὴν ὡς οὖσαν κακήν. But even with the word order smoothed out, the case of γυνή needs explaining (as the αὐτήν makes clear): the antecedent to a relative can take on its case. (As opposed to the relative itself shifting case; see S. 873-4 and note.) This can happen when the antecedent, separated from its verb by the relative clause, is highlighted. (So-called “inverse attraction”; see Smyth, 2533.) —ἥτις. Again generalizing and conditional. Compare 1053, and note. 1073—ἀσκεῖ. Without an object, the normal meaning of the verb is “practice,” “train,” as an athlete does. Perhaps “cultivate (herself)” makes sense here. —ὡς οὖσαν κακήν. On the use of ὡς with the participle, compare S. 316, with note. 1074—οὐδέν. See note to 1052. 1076-8. After οἶδα there is a standard indirect speech construction—see p. 67—blended with a past general condition—see p. 22. 1076—Ἑλληνίδων. Adjectives in -ίς, -ίδος are (almost always) feminine. See Smyth, 312. 1077—εὐτυχοῖ. In the singular, the optatives of contract verbs mostly show endings in -οιην, -οιης, -οιη. Sometimes -οιμι, -οις, -οι are found. See Smyth, 393. —κεχαρμένην. On the reduplication, see above, p. 67. On the perfect, see note to S. 66. 1080—καλῶς. Could be taken with either σωφρονεῖν or παρεῖχε. Perhaps, given what is said at 1084-5, better with σωφρονεῖν. 1080—παρεῖχέ σοι. Impersonal verb with a dative. See note to S. 2 and compare 1084. 1082—εἵλετο. Aorist in a subordinate clause where we might expect a pluperfect. Compare 516-7. 1083—ἐξειργασμένης. As when augments are added to verb stems that originally began with a consonant, perfect stems originally beginning with a consonant can get an augment/ reduplication that is spelled as ει (not η). See note to S. 900 and compare Smyth, 443. 1084-5. The form of expression is abstract, the phrase εἴσοψιν ἔχει in particular; the noun is unique in surviving texts, and using an abstract noun as an object of ἔχω is uncommon. The effect may be to make the proposition sound like a general truth, though it is a hypothetical possibility fished up for the sake of argument. Instead of saying, “You could have used her immoral behavior to make your own look better,” she says, “Immoral behavior allows a standard (of comparison) and conspicuousness for the good.” 1084—κλέος. Compare S. 60, with note. 1088-90. According to Athenian rules of inheritance, a widow could not inherit, though her dowry went with her if she left her children’s household. The property belonged to the male

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heir. And a daughter would be entitled to a dowry. In what ways exactly these norms would have shaped the audience’s perceptions is an open question, but Clytemnestra’s appropriation of her children’s property would probably have seemed of a piece with her other failures as a wife. 1090—μισθοῦ. “Genitive of price.” See Smyth, 1372. 1091-3. On Aegisthus’ persecution of Electra and Orestes, see 31-42 and 58-63. 1092-3—δὶς τόσως … ἀδελφῆς. The comparison expressed by the adverbs, even without a comparative adjective, explains the genitive. Contrast, for example, 1099. 1093-5. Remember that the future in the if-clause followed by a future in the main clause is in principle neutral. On the other hand, given the right context this kind of condition can be used in warnings or threats. This might seem appropriate here, even if Clytemnestra does not hear the overtones. See note to E. 48-9 and compare S. 582-3, with note. 1093-4. The idea seems to be that the first murder, deciding on a second as a penalty, brings it in its turn. φόνον goes in sense with both the main verb and the participle. 1097-1101. These lines sound like sententious (tragic) advice to men on how to choose wives. The first three are, in fact, quoted by Stobaeus, a late author (early 5th century C.E.?) of an anthology of instructive excerpts from earlier literature. Pithy sayings like this, more or less relevant to the matter at hand, might have been written in the margins of an earlier manuscript and then copied into a later one. Most editors assume that all of these lines, including the two given to the Chorus Leader, should be bracketed and that the speech of Electra ends at 1096, with Clytemnestra’s response beginning at 1102. (In 1100-1 the oblique comment seems at odds with the forthrightness of 1051-4.) 1097—ἢ εὐγένειαν. Have to be slurred together in pronunciation (synizesis). (Compare S. 107 and 1169.) 1098-9—μικρὰ … σώφρον’ … λέχη. Both adjectives clearly modify the noun at the end of the sentence, and a connective might have been expected. In various places in Euripides, two adjectives are used with one noun without a connective, and contrasted in sense. Compare 253. 1099—μεγάλων ἀμείνω. On the form of the comparative adjective, see p. 123. 1100—γυναικῶν ἐς γάμους. To be taken as a unit, ἐς meaning “in regard to.” 1103-4. οἱ μέν … οἱ δ’ αὖ … Remember that the masculine is the default gender for talking about people of both sexes: “Some children … while others …” See Smyth, 1015. 1103—ἀρσένων. The genitive is a predicate. Compare 553-4, with note. 1104—φιλοῦσι μητέρας μᾶλλον πατρός. A compressed form of comparison. The genitive represents an idea that could have been expressed by a clause: “They love their mothers more than they love their fathers.” See Smyth, 1077. 1105—καὶ γάρ. A combination of γάρ with an adverbial καί. See note to 295. 1106—χαίρω τι. In conjunction with the previous phrase τι tones down χαίρω even more, though the effect is hard to approximate in English; maybe “I am not so glad,” gets at the effect. —τοῖς δεδραμένοις ἐμοί. With passive verbs, especially with the perfect, the use of the dative to indicate the person concerned or affected can shade over into a description of agency: “what has been done for/by me.” See Smyth, 1488. 1107-8. These lines have been relocated to follow 1131 because for more than one reason they seem out of place.



Reading Fourteen: Euripides, Lines 998-1122 257

1109—οἴμοι τάλαινα. Compare S. 902 and 926, with notes. 1110—μᾶλλον ἢ χρῆν. Compare 1012, with note, and 1044-5. —ἤλασ’ εἰς ὀργήν. Clytemnestra “drove,” moved in terms of her behavior, in a particular “direction.” Or, to put it another way, she “pushed things” in that direction. 1111—στενάζεις. See note to 47. 1112—μὲν οὖν. Marks a transition: “Well, my father is dead, but …” Compare 797, and note. 1114—τοὐμὸν … τοὐκείνου. Neuters used to manufacture abstracts. (See note to 53.) In this case means something like “my interests … his interests.” Compare S. 577, and note. 1116. With a predicate ἔχω can mean “keep,” as in keep in a particular state. 1117—καὶ σὺ δ’. δέ is the connective (“and”) and καί is adverbial (“also”). 1119—καὶ μήν. Implies here, by adding in a circumstance that would reinforce it, that she is all for Electra’s new attitude: “And he will, I’m sure …” —βαρύς. “Hard to bear,” meaning he is angry and/or resentful. 1120—φρονεῖ μέγ’. He is proud, or conceited. As with other phrases of Electra’s, constructed with deliberate irony. 1121—ἀν’ αὖ σὺ ζωπυρεῖς. Tmesis, the separation of prefix from its verb, is possible in poetry. (Compare 146-7.) It is particularly common in Euripides but used more often in lyric. —νέα. The adjective is a kind of predicate and shows the result of her restarting the νείκη; they become new disputes. See Smyth, 1579. 1122. Here the irony of her phrasing is very noticeable; she fears him as she fears him because she does not fear him, being dead.

Sophocles’ Recognition Scene, the Matricide, the Construction of the Later Part of the Play, and Electra’s Characterization The reading for this time covers the rest of Sophocles’ play. First, there is a final episode in Electra’s history, as a stubbornly isolated protagonist who tries to keep responding to her situation with her own resources. Following her rejection of Chrysothemis’ hopeful interpretation of the offerings at the grave (871-937), she comes to a new resolve: she will bring about Aegisthus’ death, since she has no hope for any further help from Orestes. She tries to enlist Chrysothemis as a fellow conspirator but is met with reasonable, though unheroic, prudence. In effect, this scene (938-1057) is another agon; both she and Chyrsothemis argue for their point of view, on the basis of their personalities and commitments, after which an angry stichomythia trails off into a deepened sense of Electra’s stubborn isolation. The Chorus then sings in praise of Electra and her loyal determination to do the right thing, as they see it, by acting out of filial piety and from a noble nature (1058-97). It seems that this strand of plot and dramatic possibility, which the audience has followed out for most of the play, could come to a dead end, perhaps literally. At least this is what Chrysothemis and the Chorus think (1009-16); Electra is bound to fail and be killed. What is Electra herself thinking? And what do we make of her determination to kill Aegisthus? It is puzzling that she does not speak here of killing Clytemnestra (954-7); in the agon she seemed to be saying she would have if she had had the strength (604-5, with note). Perhaps in trying to convince Chrysothemis she ignores the problem of matricide. In any case, what follows this seeming dead end is an extended and elaborate recognition scene, part of which will be read in Greek (1098-231; 1232-325 being read in translation). This is the climax of the movement of the play as the audience has experienced it so far. The plotting of Orestes and the Paidagogos has been initiated, but except in the scene of the false narrative, the focus has not shifted from Electra and her story. The length and elaboration of the recognition scene can be explained in various ways—see below for some suggestions— but it clearly cannot be seen as simply a necessary transition to the carrying through of the deception plot, and to the murders of first Clytemnestra and then Aegisthus (1326-1510). The two murders are elaborated and shaped to produce a theatrically satisfying climax. First, as in Euripides (p. 209), there is an amoibaion in which Clytemnestra’s murder is overheard and culminated visually (1398-441). The strophe of the amoibaion is performed by the Chorus and Electra as they hear the murder and Clytemnestra’s cries. Electra goes into the house and reports on the first encounter of Orestes and Clytemnestra, as she prepares the urn for burial and he and Pylades stand nearby. And she also participates in the murder, to the extent of listening eagerly and urging on Orestes. The antistrophe is performed by Orestes, after he reappears from the skene, sword in hand, to announce his success. During that same antistrophe the news of Aegisthus’ approach is brought; 259

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Orestes’ (and Pylades’) reappearance is also part of the preparation for the second murder. Aegisthus’ murder is chilling, and theatrical in more than one sense; the sequence is not only darkly dramatic as it unfolds in front of the audience but also satisfying, as a performance, for the avengers (1442-507). Electra speaks deceitfully, and out of character, as mournful but acquiescent, to him and the situation. And she tells Aegisthus that not just the news of Orestes’ death has arrived but also his body (1453-5). Aegisthus orders the gates opened so that all who hoped for a revenge on him can see the corpse. He is maneuvered into uncovering the face of the shrouded body, sees Clytemnestra, and realizes what is happening. Aegisthus asks for a last chance to speak. Electra breaks in, urging an immediate murder; he should be killed and cast forth without burial, so she can be freed from her old griefs. After a brief exchange between Orestes and Aegisthus, he is led into the skene to his death. Surprisingly, the matricide is not said to have any consequences for Orestes. Unlike Euripides’ version of the story, or Aeschylus’, Sophocles’ makes no overt mention of pollution, the Furies, the madness of Orestes, etc.59 There is no mention either of consequences for Electra; she will not have to go into exile for her part in the matricide, as in Euripides. Nor is there any hesitation about the deed before the fact, or regret after it. The sole focus is on the murders and on revenge. Part of this effect is obtained by immediately shifting the audience’s attention, and the characters’, to the murder of Aegisthus. This depends on an innovation in Sophocles’ plot; the usual order for the murders, so far as we can tell, was reversed. (See p. 2.) But even given this sequence of action, the audience may have been puzzled by the fact that the matricide is simply left behind by the forward movement of the plot. By the end of the play, there is a narrowing of focus to the idea of a just retribution— for Aegisthus (1503-10). Nonetheless, whether the audience was supposed to be puzzled by this silence about the future is an open question; the end of the play may call itself into question precisely because of its silence about the matricide and its consequences, and perhaps even because of the chilling way in which the manipulation of Aegisthus is staged. In short, the revenge plot is carried through and this last part of the play does feel like a genuine climax, but it may leave the audience uneasy about how to react to the ending just constructed. They may be left with similarly puzzling feelings about Electra. This part of the play is also constructed, first, so as not to leave behind Electra and her continuing story. Second, it presents a final version of her that seems designed to raise questions about her responses to the later stages of the story she finds herself in. The nature of the recognition scene as such leaves her at center stage, even though it seemed that she had been overtaken and overwhelmed by the deception plot. And though it might have been expected she would be simply a passive witness of the real business now on the play’s agenda, the murders to come, her responses to the ongoing murders, and the way she inserts herself into them, are thought-provoking, even disturbing. Consider the elaboration, and the length, of the recognition scene. Like the murder scenes, the recognition scene makes use of striking theatrical effects. The most noticeable, early on, is Electra’s mourning over the empty urn. She will ask for the urn (1113-22), which Orestes has brought and the audience has been told more than once will be a prop in the deception plot (53-8 and 757-60). Then she will take it into her hands and mourn over it at length (1123-70). Effectively, this is a continuation of previous scenes in which she was caught up in the deception plot, but it also brings the dramatic focus back to Electra again. 59 Lines 1497-8 mention “future evils” for the line of Pelops, but what these might be is not spelled out.

Sophocles’ Recognition Scene, the Matricide, the Construction of the Later Part of the Play... 261

At this point Orestes is no longer able to control his emotions, and a stichomythia ensues in which the two of them get closer through his empathy; she describes her wretchedness and her life with Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, he expresses sympathy and questions her. The move toward the recognition scene as such, however, takes place when he is about to reveal himself and asks her to let go of the urn. Electra resists, and her resistance delays his selfrevelation, and the recognition (1205-10). As a mourner, she cannot bear to have her rights to “him” taken away, just as she could not give up mourning her father. The emotional effects of the recognition on Electra, when she at last is brought to understand the deception, are proportional to the vehemence of her previous grief. Electra is whipsawed into excessively emotional, and excessively long, expressions of joy. In Euripides the reactions of both Electra and Orestes to the recognition feel perfunctory; they jump very quickly into planning revenge. Here the expression of joy on Electra’s part seems to go on so long that it threatens to overrun, even to undermine, the deception of Clytemnestra. Following the recognition, an amoibaion ensues in which she sings and Orestes speaks in ordinary trimeters, except for one or two brief phrases that may have been chanted (1276 and 1280). In amoibaia of this kind the emotion of a singing character can be juxtaposed with the calmer expression of another speaking; the contrast in performance enacts the contrast in emotional stance. What is more, both in the amoibaion and in the following dialogue, Orestes repeatedly tries to rein Electra in, urging more quiet and more prudence until Clytemnestra and Aegisthus have been dealt with. This is the view of the Paidagogos also, forcefully expressed when he reenters from the skene and reprimands both of them (1326-38). The total effect of this long recognition scene is hard to gauge, and the views of Electra that result will vary. Electra seems unable to control herself, or perhaps the effect of having been jerked this quickly into an alternative emotional universe is just too much for her (1313-7). She may be seen as foolishly self-indulgent, or self-absorbed. Or she may be seen as simply too passionate and courageous to be silenced. But in any case, one of the effects of this long sequence seems to be that the audience’s attention is now focused simultaneously on her and on the elaborately staged climax of the revenge plot. Moreover, she takes a startlingly active role in the murders given her gender, and given the fact that she was supposed to have no part in it. Her reactions to the murder itself show her energy and ruthlessness (1404-21); the Chorus is properly horrified, Electra is excited, even urging Orestes on to strike a second blow after Clytemnestra calls out (1413-21). She participates actively in the plot to murder Aegisthus; she deceives him by a false show of submission and helps to manipulate him in the theatrical and carefully stage-managed performance of the revenge. She is no longer a victim of the deception plot but an actor, and even at points its director. Her reactions and actions, then, seem to suit the theatrical sequence through which the murders are carried out. She is excited, even exultant, about the killing of her mother, and she seems not to look back as the action hurries her forward into active participation in the revenge on Aegisthus. She is certain that he deserves no better, and that he deserves to be thrown out without burial, mistreated in death, even as he is cruelly manipulated in the action leading up to the revenge. How are we left feeling, then, about Electra’s and Orestes’ revenge, particularly about the matricide? And how are we to feel about this character, now that she is no longer a victim but finally has the upper hand? Are her responses to the tragic situation such that

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we can call her heroic? Has she finally mastered her situation? Or has she been mastered by it? These are leading questions, of course; they imply a particular point of view and are framed like this because of specific responses to and ideas about this part of the play and the character. Whatever their value, however, the point is that the play does leave us with more questions than answers, and the sequence of scenes from the recognition scene on seems constructed to raise them.

Reading Fifteen: Sophocles, Lines 1098-1231 Recognizable, but not predictable, patterns in principal parts Verbs with μ, ν, ρ, and λ will usually lose the σ at the end of the stem in the 2nd and 3 principal parts, though for different reasons—see Smyth, 535 and 544—and with different results. Futures are treated like ε contract verbs, and the accents behave accordingly, as in ἀποκτενῶ or μενῶ. Aorists lengthen a short vowel before the μ, ν, ρ, and λ, as ε is lengthened to ει in ἀπέκτεινα or ἔμεινα, or short α is lengthened to η, in φανῶ, ἔφηνα. (Short ι and υ are lengthened without changing the spelling.) As the last example implies, however, the vowel sound in the first principal part can change as well, though it does not have to: φαίνω φανῶ, ἔφηνα shows an unpredictable lexicon entry, but μένω, μενῶ, ἔμεινα does not. Moreover, a future or aorist stem ending in λ almost always shows λλ in the present stem, e.g., ἀγγέλλω, ἀγγελῶ, ἤγγειλα. In summary form, then, the patterns you should allow for are: rd

1st ειν/ειρ/ελλ 1st αιν/αιρ/αλλ

ἔρχομαι εἰσέρχομαι—go in, enter Φωκεύς, έως, ὁ—Phocian ματεύω—seek, seek for; search φήμη, ης, ἡ—utterance prompted by the gods; common report, tradition; message ἐμφανής, ές—visible, manifest τεκμήριον, ου, τό—sign, token; proof 1110: κληδών, όνος, ἡ—tidings, rumor, news ἐφεῖτο (aor.) > ἐφίημι ὑπέρχομαι—(of feelings) come upon, steal over σμικρός, ά, όν = μικρός, ά, όν λείψανον, ου, τό—piece left, remnant; remains (of the dead)

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τεῦχος, ους, τό—tool; container; pl., weapons, armor κομίζω—bring back, recover; bring back from exile 1115: οἴ—exclam. of pain, grief, pity, or surprise (with nom. or, more often, dat., as in οἴμοι) ἤδη—already, by this time; immediately; now σαφής, ές—clear, plain, distinct πρόχειρος, ον—at hand, ready to hand ἄχθος, ους, τό—burden, load; grief ἔοικα—be like, look like; seem; be fitting, suit δέρκομαι—see clearly; be alive; look at εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact κλαίω—cry, wail, lament Ὀρέστειος, α, ον—of Orestes ἄγγος, εος, τό—vessel, container ἴσθι (2nd sg. imper.) > οἶδα στέγω—cover tightly; protect; keep hidden; hold, contain ξεῖνος, ου, ὁ = ξένος, ου, ὁ δός (2nd sg. aor. imper.) > δίδωμι νυν—so, now, then εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact 1120: κεύθω—cover, hide; contain (esp. of a grave, etc.) τεῦχος, ους, τό—tool; container; pl., weapons, armor ἐμαυτοῦ, ῆς, etc.—reflex. pron., myself ὁμοῦ—together, both; together with (with dat.) κλαύσω > κλαίω—cry, wail, lament ἀποδύρομαι—lament, bitterly σποδός, οῦ, ἡ—ashes δότε (2nd pl. aor. imper.) > δίδωμι προσφέρω—bring to δυσμένεια, ας, ἡ—hatred, enmity ἐπαιτέω—ask beside, ask for more; ask, beg 1125: φύσις, εως, ἡ—origin, birth; nature, character μνημεῖον, ου, τό—memorial, remembrance, record λοιπός, ή, όν—remaining; as noun, what remains; adv., of time, in the future (with art., in sing. or pl.) ὅσπερ, ἥπερ, ὅπερ—just the one who, just the thing which ἐκπέμπω—send out, send away εἰσδέχομαι—take into, admit; take back βαστάζω—lift; take into the hands; hold 1130: λαμπρός, ά, όν—bright, clear, manifest; well-known, distinguished ἐκπέμπω—send out, send away ὤφελον > ὀφείλω—owe; be obligated (to do) πάροιθε(ν)—with gen., in front of; adv., before (of time)

ἐκλείπω—pass over; desert; die (with or without βίον) πρίν—conj., before, until γαῖα, ας, ἡ—land, country; earth; Earth ἐκπέμπω—send out, send away κλέπτω—steal, do secretly ἀνασῴζω—recover; rescue (more common in middle) ἔκεισο (impf.) > κεῖμαι—be placed, lie, lie dead τότε—at that time, then 1135: κοινός, ή, όν—common, shared εἰληχώς > λαγχάνω—obtain by lot; gain possession of μέρος, ους, τό—share, part ἔκτος—adv., outside; prep., out of, far from (with gen.) φυγάς, άδος, ὁ/ἡ—fugitive, exile ἀπόλλυμι—act., destroy, kill, lose; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead, done for κασιγνήτη, ης, ἡ—sister δίχα—adv., in two, divided; as prep., apart from, differently from (with gen.) λουτρόν, οῦ, τό—bath; bathing-place; pl., water for washing; libation κοσμέω—order, arrange; dress, adorn πάμφλεκτος, ον—all-consuming πῦρ, πυρός, τό—fire 1140: ἀναιρέω—pick up; middle, take up a body, ashes, etc. for burial εἰκός, ότος, τό—neut. part. of ἔοικα—likely; reasonable; fair, right βάρος, ους, τό—weight, burden; grief κηδεύω—tend; tend to a corpse, bury; to be related by marriage with σμικρός, ά, όν = μικρός, ά, όν προσήκω—have come, be present; belong to, concern, suit (with dat.) ὄγκος, ου, ὁ—bulk, size σμικρός, ά, όν = μικρός, ά, όν κύτος, κύτους, τό—hollow, hollow space; vessel, container τροφή, ῆς, ἡ—food, nourishment; nurture, rearing ἀνωφέλητος, ον—unprofitable, useless θαμά—often ἀμφί—around, about (with dat. or acc.); about, concerning (with gen.); on account of, for (with dat.) 1145: γλυκύς, εῖα, ύ—sweet; pleasant, sweet παρέχω—hand over; provide; offer; impers., it is allowed, in one’s power (with dat.) τροφός, οῦ, ἡ—nurse; feeder, rearer προσαυδάω—speak to, address; address as, call ἐκλέλοιπε > ἐκλείπω—pass over; abandon; die (with or without βίον); cease



Reading Fifteen: Sophocles, Lines 1098-1231 269

εἷς, μία, ἕν—one 1150: συναρπάζω—snatch and carry away θύελλα, ης, ἡ—wind-storm, squall βέβηκας > βαίνω οἴχομαι—be gone, have departed; be dead; be ruined φροῦδος, η, ον—gone away, gone for good γελάω—laugh; laugh at ἐχθρός, ά, όν—hated; hating; as noun, enemy μαίνομαι—rage, be furious; be mad ἀμήτωρ, ορος—motherless; unmotherly πολλάκις—many times, often 1155: φήμη, ης, ἡ—utterance prompted by the gods; common report, tradition; message λάθρᾳ—secretly, by stealth προπέμπω—send out, send before τιμωρός, οῦ, ὁ—avenger δυστυχής, ές—unlucky, unfortunate ἐξαφαιρέω—take away προπέμπω—send out, send before μορφή, ῆς, ἡ—form, shape σποδός, οῦ, ἡ—ashes σκιά, ᾶς, ἡ—shadow, shade; phantom, shade ἀνωφελής, ές—unprofitable, useless 1160: δέμας, τό—body οἰκτρός, ά, όν—pitiable, lamentable; weeping piteously, piteous φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration δεινότατος, η, ον—most/very terrible, awful κέλευθος, ου, ἡ—road, path; journey, voyage δῆτα—in questions, so, then; for emphasis in commands, statements, etc. 1165: τοιγάρ—therefore, accordingly στέγος, ους, τό—roof; house μηδείς, μηδεμία, μηδέν—not one, nobody/ nothing; adv., in no way κάτω—downwards; beneath, below λοιπός, ή, όν—remaining; as noun, what remains; adv., of time, in the future (with art., in sing. or pl.) ἡνίκα—when ἄνω—upwards; on high, above μετέχω—partake of, share in (usually with gen.) ἴσος, η, ον—equal, like (with dat.) ποθέω—desire (what is absent); miss (what is lost); be anxious (to do) ἀπολείπω—pass., to be left behind, be distant from, be deprived of 1170: λυπέω—cause pain; grieve, distress θνητός, ή, όν—mortal, human ὥστε—conj., so as to; so that λίαν—very, very much, exceedingly στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) ὀφείλω—owe; be obligated (to do)

παθεῖν > πάσχω ποῖ—to what place? whither? ἀμηχανέω—be at a loss, not know what to do 1175: σθένω—have strength; be able ἄλγος, ους, τό—pain, suffering, grief κυρέω/κύρω—meet with, befall (with dat.); hit, find, obtain (with gen.); happen, turn out to be κλεινός, ή, όν—famous, renowned μάλα—very, very much, quite ἀθλίως—wretchedly, miserably ἆρα—marks question, usually without an interrogative; in poetry, equivalent to ἄρα, “then,” “so,” etc. συμφορά, ᾶς, ἡ—event, chance event; misfortune 1180: στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) ἀτίμως—dishonorably, ignominiously ἀθέως—by the anger of the gods; without regard for the gods ἐφθαρμένον > φθείρω—act., destroy, corrupt, ruin; pass.: be destroyed, perish; wander δυσφημέω—speak words of ill-omen; speak ill of ἄνυμφος, ον—without a bride, without marriage δύσμορος, ον—ill-fated, unhappy τροφή, ῆς, ἡ—food, nourishment; nurture, rearing ἐπισκοπέω—look upon/at, observe, inspect 1185: ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many ᾔδη > οἶδα διαγιγνώσκω—distinguish; discern exactly, perceive εἰρημένων > λέγω ἐμπρέπω—be conspicuous in/among, stand out; be distinguished for/by ἄλγος, ους, τό—pain, suffering, grief παῦρος, ον—little small; few ἐχθίων, ιον (comp. of ἐχθρός, ά, όν)—more hated; more hating 1190: ὁθούνεκα—that, because φονεύς, έως, ὁ—murderer σύντροφος, ον—brought up together with; living with πόθεν—from where? whence?; from whom? of what family, race? ἐκσημαίνω—disclose, indicate εἶτα—then, next δουλεύω—be a slave; serve, be subject to βία, ας, ἡ—strength, force; act of violence προτρέπω—urge on, impel ἐξισόω—make equal or even; be equal to or like 1195: πότερον/πότερα—adv., introducing a question in two parts (followed by ἤ) λύμη, ης, ἡ—mistreatment, indignity βίος,ου, ὁ—life; means of living, livelihood ἐπαρήγω—come to aid, help

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κωλύω—hinder, prevent δῆτα—in questions, so, then; for emphasis, in commands, statements, etc. προὔθηκας (aor.) > προτίθημι—set before, set out; hand over (for burial) σποδός, οῦ, ἡ—ashes δύσποτμος, ον—unlucky, ill-fated ἐποικτείρω/-ίρω—feel compassion for 1200: νυν—so, now, then ἐποικτείρω/-ίρω—feel compassion for ἀλγέω—feel pain, suffer; grieve ξυγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related ποθέν—from some place φράζω—point out, show; tell, make known, explain εὔνοος, ον/εὔνους, εὔνουν (Attic)—well-disposed, kind, friendly πιστός, ή, όν—faithful, trustworthy 1205: μέθες (aor. imper.) > μεθίημι—let go; release; give up; allow ἄγγος, εος, τό—vessel, container ἁμαρτήσῃ (fut.) > ἁμαρτάνω γένειον, ου, τό—chin ἐξαιρέω—take out, remove; do away with, destroy; middle, take away from ἐάω—allow; let alone, let be σέθεν = gen. of σύ 1210: στερήσομαι (fut. pass.) > στερέω—deprive, rob ταφή, ῆς, ἡ—burial εὔφημος, ον—not saying inauspicious words, keeping religious silence φωνέω—make a loud sound; speak loudly or clearly; speak, say στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) προσήκω—have come, be present; belong to, concern, suit (with dat.)

προσφωνέω—speak to, address; pronounce, utter φάτις, ἡ—voice from the gods, oracle; saying; common talk, report; speech, words ἄτιμος, ον—without honor, dishonored 1215: οὐχί = οὐ (perhaps with more emphasis) βαστάζω—lift; take into the hands; hold πλήν—adv. and conj., except ἀσκέω—work raw materials, shape; dress, adorn, trick out ταλαίπωρος, ον—suffering, distressed, miserable 1220: ψεῦδος, ους, τό—lie, untruth ἔμψυχος, ον—having life, alive προσβλέπω—look at σφραγίς, ῖδος, ἡ—seal, seal ring ἐκμανθάνω—learn well, learn thoroughly φῶς, φωτός, τό (= φάος, εος, τό)—light; daylight; metaph., deliverance, victory, happiness, etc. συμμαρτυρέω—bear witness with or in support of another 1225: φθέγμα, ατος, τό—sound of the voice, voice; word; cry μηκέτι—no longer, no further, not now ἄλλοθεν—from another place πύθῃ > πυνθάνομαι—learn; hear or inquire about λοιπός, ή, όν—remaining; as noun, what remains; adv., of time, in the future (with art., in sing. or pl.) πολίτις, ιδος, ἡ—fem. of πολίτης, ου—citizen σεσωμένον > σῴζω 1230: συμφορά, ᾶς, ἡ—event, chance event; misfortune γεγηθός > γηθέω—rejoice ἕρπω—move slowly, walk; come, go δάκρυον, ου, τό—tear

1099—ἔνθα. Here in the sense, “to where,” “whither.” 1100—βουληθείς. See notes to E. 258 and 80-1. 1101—Αἴγισθον ἔνθ’ ᾤκηκεν. The accusative anticipates the subject of a relative clause. Compare E. 532, with note. This time ἔνθα is a relative (adverb) meaning “where.” As with many verbs that describe the state of the subject, the perfect of this verb would come out in English as a present. Compare E. 12, with note. —ἱστορῶ πάλαι. On the combination of the adverb and the present tense, compare 920, and note. πάλαι implies that he is not just looking around at the present moment; he has been searching for a while. 1102—ἀλλ’. Not adversative, i.e., a simple “but.” In fact, introduces a statement that implies agreement; “I have been looking for …” evokes, “Why, in fact, you have …” 1103—φράσειεν. On this alternative optative ending, see Smyth, 383 and 668. —τίς οὖν ἂν … φράσειεν ἄν. The repetition of ἄν seems to follow from equal stress placed on two important new ideas; the message needs to be sent to those inside—and it concerns



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some welcome news. The first part of the sentence is treated as a distinct sense unit, and then goes on after a slight pause. At each point of articulation, an ἄν can find one of its normal positions, both toward the front of the clause and after the verb. Compare E. 534-5 and 1047-8, and notes. 1104—ποθεινὴν κοινόπουν παρουσίαν. The abstract noun phrase with two adjectives, one an unusual compound, calls attention to itself. Perhaps, the effect is to make Orestes sound formal, maybe a bit overly formal. If so, he could be playing the part of a messenger aware of bringing an important message. The most obvious effect would be to begin setting up a contrast with the highly emotional Electra. There is an interesting (possible) ambiguity implied by ποθεινήν. Taken in the most obvious sense, it implies that the news is something that would be desired by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. Less obviously, it may imply that his presence is something that Orestes himself has wanted, an implication that makes sense given the complexities of his identity and his emotional reactions. 1105—τὸν ἄγχιστον. The masculine gender is used to make the expression generic. See Smyth, 1015. 1106-7. There has been much disagreement as to whether Orestes recognizes Electra. The text is ambiguous. To begin with, there is the question of how to read τὸν ἄγχιστον: does it refer to the “nearest” in terms of relationship? And would Orestes have to hear it that way? It could mean “nearest” in the sense of “nearest available person.” (By convention, it is assumed the Chorus cannot leave the stage and go inside.) Further questions: Are her costume and general appearance so much like a servant’s that he might not guess her status? (Compare note to 1177-8.) Would the fact that she is outside make him assume she is a servant? (Compare E. 343-4.) If he does recognize her, could he react differently? He has just arrived, has no idea about the loyalties of the Chorus (see 1203-4), and is still self-controlled and in his character as a messenger (see below on 1117 and 1125). 1106—ὦ γύναι. A regular, and neutral, form of address for an unknown woman. It seems that Orestes is not talking to her in a way that marks her as lower status. 1108—οἴμοι τάλαιν’. Compare 902 and 926, with notes. —οὐ δή ποθ’. Sophocles uses this combination of a negative and emphatic δή to introduce a surprised question. 1108-9—ἧς ἠκούσαμεν φήμης. The relative clause precedes its antecedent and functions as one unit with it. Compare 873-4, with note. (Generally, you get an accusative of what you hear and a genitive of the person you hear it from. But this is not a hard and fast rule, so it may be that the relative is not attracted.) 1110-1. Orestes picks the most plausible source for the news, given that he is carrying the urn and speaking to Electra. Strophius has not been mentioned by name up to this point, though he may be referred to indirectly when the Paidagogos talks about Phocians taking care of Orestes’ remains (757-60). Strophius and his relationship to Agamemnon are apparently well known, though—see E. 18. (The Paidagogos, on the other hand, mentions Phanoteus, Strophius’ uncle, and the ally of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra—see 44-6, with note, and 668-70.) 1110—τὴν σήν. “This rumor of yours” means “this rumor you are talking about.” 1111—ἐφ-εῖτ’. On the forms of the aorist of ἵημι, see Smyth, 777. 1112—ὥς μ’. Which variety of ὡς? Compare 1114, 1123, and 1127. (Note that the accent comes from the following, unaccented, word; see Smyth, 179-80.)

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1113-4—ἐν βραχεῖ τεύχει. The urn becomes the focus of attention for both the audience and Electra. Its use in the deception plot, and as a symbol of what she is made to think she has lost, is crucial dramatically. Compare 51-8, with note, and 1205-10, with notes to 1208 and 1209-10. 1115-6. These lines have been punctuated in various ways. But the punctuation of the text used here helps in conveying Electra’s emotions; short phrases in asyndeton make sense given the intensity of the moment. Compare 924-5, and note. 1115—οἲ ˀγὼ τάλαινα. οἴ is used more often with a dative, and written οἴμοι, but it can be attached to a nominative. On τάλαινα, compare 902 and 926, with notes. —τοῦτ’ ἐκεῖν’. With this punctuation, a common colloquial phrase: “This is it.” “I knew it.” The speaker sees what he or she had been thinking or speaking about. 1116—πρόχειρον ἄχθος. A dense phrase. The adjective implies that the ἄχθος is right there to be taken, and that it is easy to handle or carry. But the noun implies that the “weight,” the “burden,” is harder to take or bear; in tragedy, ἄχθος also refers to grief. —ἔοικε. On ἔοικα, a perfect with a present sense, see Smyth, 703 and 704d. 1117—εἴπερ τι κλαίεις. Seems deliberately understated. He refrains from drawing the obvious conclusion. (Remember that adverbial τι can mean “somewhat,” “at all.”) This is odd, given the kind of emotion he is witnessing. Perhaps he is deliberately, and knowingly, keeping his emotional distance. See notes to 1106-7 and 1125. —τῶν Ὀρεστείων κακῶν. The adjective is derived from the name and used where you might expect a genitive. (“Oresteian evils” equals “the evils of Orestes.”) This kind of adjective is most common in poetry. Compare 570. 1119—ὦ ξεῖνε. See note to E. 247 and p. 63. 1119-20—δός … λαβεῖν. δίδωμι can be used with an infinitive to mean “Allow me to …” —εἴπερ. εἴπερ can also imply that the idea lines up with the facts: “If the urn does …” comes out as “Since the urn …” 1120—κέκευθεν. The tense describes a present state; it is hard to connect to any beginning point in the past. See note to 66. 1123—δόθ’, ἥτις ἐστί. Might expect a ταύτῃ. But the antecedent is left out. 1123-4—ὡς … οὖσ’. Compare 316, with note. 1125. If Orestes has heard what the Chorus said in 1105, and has understood the Chorus to mean that Electra is the “nearest of kin” present—see 1117 and note, this sounds odd, even forced. Is Orestes deliberately being obtuse, precisely because he knows who Electra is? On the other hand, what are the implications of his not responding here to Electra’s emotions on seeing the urn and of his allowing Electra to take it into her arms? Could that mean he realizes who she is only after she begins to lament? —πρὸς αἵματος φύσιν. The prepositional phrase indicates relationship: “from/by blood.” The accusative of respect, somewhat redundantly, adds “by birth.” 1126—φιλτάτου μνημεῖον ἀνθρώπων. Compare E. 21: Ἑλλάδος πρῶτοι χθονός. Poetic word order. Phrases that sandwich a noun with a genitive and a word modifying the genitive are rare in prose. 1128—οὐχ ὧνπερ ἐξέπεμπον. These words represent a change of course in the sentence, one that seems to demand being set off by dashes, mentally at least, if not in the text. That is, the sentence starts off with an exclamatory phrase focusing on how her expectations were defeated. (ἀπ’ ἐλπίδων implies “far from,” “contrary to” her expectations.) But before the



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verb attached to that phrase (εἰσεδεξάμην) shows up, there is another idea introduced— not with the expectations with which she sent him away. (Most commentators assume that ὧνπερ stands for αἷσπερ by attraction. See Smyth, 2522.) —εἰσεδεξάμην. The aorist may mark the action of taking the urn, and Orestes, into her hands: “I take you back,” not “I got you back.” Compare E. 215, with note. 1130-5. Electra recalls her role as rescuer of the infant Orestes. (See notes to 12 and 297.) For her, the irony is that she expected a different kind of return; her efforts only ended with his return home after his death and cremation. The real irony, of course, is that the urn is the source of an illusion, in spite of the pathos of her lament. 1130—λαμπρόν. This adjective, and the verb λάμπω, can be used to refer to the “brilliance” of youth. Elsewhere (66 and 685), it refers to Orestes’ youth and/or his success. 1131—ὡς ὤφελον … ἐκλιπεῖν. This is another way to express a wish that is contrary to fact. Compare E. 282, with note. The aorist of ὀφείλω, “owe,” i.e., “ought,” introduces an infinitive. The present infinitive introduces a wish referring to the present, or to ongoing action in the past, the aorist, a wish referring to the past. The wish can be introduced by εἴθε, εἰ γάρ, or μή. ὡς is used only rarely but does occur in poetry. Compare on 126-7. 1132—πρὶν … ἐκπέμψαι. See note to 20. —γαῖαν. See the note to E. 534-5. 1133—κλέψασα. For the meaning of κλέπτω here, compare 37, with note. —ταῖνδε. The dual often does not have separate feminine forms for demonstratives (or other kinds of words, like the article). See Smyth, 333ff. 1134—ὅπως … ἔκεισο. Because the wish in the main clause could not have been realized, this purpose could not have been realized. This is a special form of the purpose clause, then, with a past indicative, not an optative (which you might have expected, given the sequence of moods). The imperfect refers to an ongoing action in the past (as it does here) or to the present, the aorist to the past only. —θανὼν ἔκεισο. The participle amounts to “having been killed.” κεῖμαι can be used as a passive of τίθημι and is another -μι verb. See Smyth, 791. 1135—εἰληχώς. On the front end of this perfect form, see Smyth, 445. 1138-40. The care of the dead was the responsibility of the women in a family, both before and after the burial. Compare E. 323-5, and note. The specific reference is to the πρόθεσις, the part of the process in which the women of a family washed, anointed, and dressed the corpse. Interestingly, Electra leaves Clytemnestra out of the picture, which is reasonable given the circumstances but also of a piece with the way she sees her relationship with Orestes, and with Clytemnestra. See note to 1143-8. 1138—ἐν φίλαισι χερσίν. ἐν with the dative can be instrumental. (Compare E. 321, and note.) Often an underlying locative meaning is evident, as here. φίλαισι is contrasted with ξένησι (1141) and so may mean “belonging to loved ones,” “loving,” or something similar. 1140—ἄθλιον βάρος. More play—see note to 1116—with the ideas of “weight” and “grief.” The bones left after the cremation are not heavy, but she dwells again on how hard her grief is to bear. (She will then go on, as the focus shifts back to the urn, to talk about the smallness of the remains and how light they are.) 1141—ἐν ξένησι χερσί. The dative plural ending, if genuine, seems to be an older Attic form. See p. 64. 1143-8. Electra speaks of herself in a quasi-maternal role, as if Clytemnestra had no part in

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raising Orestes. Compare note to 1138-40. And she makes use of the kind of language used elsewhere (in epic and tragedy) by mothers who have lost their children. 1144—ἀνωφελήτου. The adjective, though formally attributive, is put in the predicate position for emphasis. Compare 133, E. 526, and E. 1006, with notes. —τήν. Article used for relative. See note to E. 279. 1144-5—θάμ’ … παρέσχον. An interesting example of how flexible the aorist can be. The adverb might seem to point to an imperfect; the labor was the result of continuous care of the baby. But she is looking at the action as a completed whole, from her current perspective, and talking about it as a net loss. 1146—κἀμοῦ φίλος. In comparisons, elements from the clause on either or both sides of the conjunction can be filled in: οὔτε μητρὸς σύ γ’ ἦσθα (φίλος) μᾶλλον ἢ (ἦσθα) κἀμοῦ φίλος. The genitive is possessive: “my darling.” Τhe καί sounds redundant; it implies, “You were my darling also.” 1147. Another combination of clauses in which elements from each can be understood in the other: οὔθ’ οἱ κατ’ οἶκον ἦσαν (τροφοί), ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ τροφὸς (ἦ). 1148—ἀδελφὴ σοὶ προσηυδώμην. Has been explained by simply saying that there were other sisters; she was his favorite. Can be further explained as the last in a series of roles/ names that proves her closeness to Orestes. He was her “darling,” not just his mother’s. She was his nurse. And she was his sister. For the dative, compare E. 1106, with note. 1150—θανόντι σὺν σοί. The participle is used as if it were a noun; “with you dead” amounts to “with your death.” See Smyth, 2053. Another manuscript reading, θανόντα, has more force and is more vivid: “(It all has) died with you.” 1151—θύελλ’ ὅπως. In tragedy ὅπως can be used like ὡς in comparisons and can be placed after a noun. Compare 66 (with note to 65-6) and 98. 1151-2. On the asyndeton, compare 1115-6, with note. 1152—τέθνηκ’ ἐγὼ σοί. The dative seems to be a dative indicating the agent—compare 1148, and note to E. 1106: “I have been killed by you.” (Remember that forms from (ἀπο-)θνῄσκω can be taken as passives of (ἀπο-)κτείνω.) That fits the sequence of thought: “Our father is dead. You have killed me. You yourself are dead and gone.” 1154-5. Hard to be sure what word or words to take as connected with ἧς. Though this is not a common construction, it might be taken with φήμας: the messages are about her. Compare E. 228. And/or the genitive might be taken with λάθρᾳ, which can be combined with a genitive to mean “without the knowledge of.” 1155—προὔπεμπες. In compound verbs, περί and πρό do not elide, and the final vowel of πρό can contract with an augment. See Smyth, 449b. —ὡς φανούμενος. On the use of ὡς, compare 316, with note. On the future participle, compare E. 89, with note. 1156-9. On the idea of the δαίμων, compare 916-9, with note. 1160-2. She breaks into, first, an exclamation extra metrum; compare E. 262 and 558. She follows with some irregular anapaests, which mark an emotional crescendo. Then she lapses back into trimeter; the sentence begun in 1162 finishes in trimeter. Note that she does not shift into a monody in this scene, or begin singing in an amoibaion, as often happens at points of high emotion. (See p. 101.) Perhaps this is because the scene is still building to a genuine climax. The following stichomythia—see note to 1176-226—builds toward the recognition proper and is followed by an amoibaion.



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1160—οἴμοι μοι. Doubled μοι with a single οἴ. Compare note to 1115. 1162-3—ὦ δεινοτάτας … πεμφθεὶς κελεύθους. Characteristic tragic use of an extended vocative phrase built around a participle. See note to 1-2. The accusative indicates the space through which he travelled/was sent. (Used like the accusative indicating extent of time.) The plural is a poetic plural, if the reference is to his last journey, after death and in the urn. All of which would provide a natural sequence to 1156-9. But the reference could include another “road” he has travelled, the journey away from home, when Electra sent him away, she thought, to rescue him. Or the reference could be genuinely plural, to the sum total of the roads he has travelled. Compare 68, with note. 1164—ὦ κασίγνητον κάρα. κασίγνητος is used as an adjective here. This kind of periphrasis, especially with κάρα and other nouns than can refer to a person, is very elevated, if stereotyped, style. More often the genitive, usually of a name, is used to refer to the person. Compare the note to 88. 1165—ἐς τὸ σὸν τόδε στέγος. With a noun and article already modified by an adjective, a demonstrative can appear in the attributive position. (Remember that the norm is for the demonstrative to appear in the predicate position, and with an article. See p. 40.) 1166—τὴν μηδὲν ἐς τὸ μηδέν. Electra speaks of herself as “one who is nothing.” μηδέν is used here to indicate someone who has no substance or value, who is as good as dead. (μηδέν, as opposed to οὐδέν, makes the reference generic.) To this phrase she adds a phrase in the neuter to indicate the idea of “nothingness,” of death. For a use of οὐδέν, with a similar meaning but a simpler sense, see 1129. 1167-8—καὶ γὰρ … καί. A combination of γάρ with a καί that is correlated with another καί. Neither καί is to be understood as a simple “and,” then; as a pair, approximately, “Just as … so, too …” Compare note to E. 295. 1171—θνητοῦ πέφυκας πατρός. Another basic meaning of φύω. With a genitive, in the perfect or aorist, it can mean “be born from,” “descended from” (ablatival genitive). Compare note to E. 261. 1172—ὥστε μὴ λίαν στένε. Remember that ὥστε with a finite verb form focuses your attention on an actual result. (See note to E. 240.) But the imperative makes as much sense as an indicative. Roughly, “Therefore, don’t …” 1173—ὀφείλεται. This verb can mean “owe,” as well as “ought.” So, “Suffering this is owed by us all.” Compare note to 1131. For the dative, see note to E. 1106. 1174—λόγων. The genitive expresses the area into which the interrogative points; you can think of it as partitive. Compare note to 922. —ἀμηχανῶν. The accent shows that the editor takes this as a participle. (The other possibility is to take it as an adjective, from ἀμήχανος, ον.) 1174-5—τί λέξω; ποῖ … ἔλθω; Compare E. 280, with note. 1175—κρατεῖν … γλώσσης. Verbs meaning to “rule,” “control,” etc. often take a genitive. That Orestes says he is unable to control his tongue any longer points in the direction of deception, which might imply he knew that this was Electra all along, that is if he did not gradually come to realize who she was. See notes to 1106-7 and 1125. 1176-226. The scene shifts into stichomythia, which shows, in this case, that the emotional tension is being ratcheted up; we are moving toward the recognition. See notes to 1160-2 and 1176-87, and compare pp. 121-2. 1176-87. It may seem that Orestes simply takes too long in expressing his feelings about

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Electra and her situation. And it may seem that Electra is a bit slow on the uptake. A modern reader (or even a modern commentator) may have a problem with what feels like (too much) artifice in the unfolding of the recognition scene. At this moment of climactic, and appealing, emotionalism, we may want psychological realism and vivid portrayal of emotion. But the point is to use the stichomythia in an emotionally effective way at this point in the presentation of the myth, which may mean drawing out the effect and making it more dramatic; Electra and Orestes are moving in the same direction emotionally, but the point is the evocation of the pathos of their separation and the joy of their mutual recognition. From that point of view, the effectiveness of the writing lies not in a convincingly naturalistic portrayal of what is going on inside the characters from moment to moment but in the sustained, and prolonged, portrayal of the emotions of the scene as such. 1176—τί δ’ ἔσχες ἄλγος. ἔσχες ἄλγος is hard to distinguish from ἤλγησας. The τί, then, is not adjectival, but adverbial or an accusative of respect: “Why [or “in regard to what”] are you troubled/pained?” On the use of the aorist, compare 570 and E. 275, with note. —εἰπὼν κυρεῖς. Remember that κυρέω, like τυγχάνω, can take a supplementary participle. See note to 24. 1177-8. These lines bring up the idea that Electra’s clothing and appearance are to be thought of as disjoint from her status. (Compare 190-2 and 1181 and compare note to 1106-7.) She also has a mask with the hair cut short, which may have made her look like a household slave. (See 448-52 and compare E. 107-9, with p. 16.) 1177. Orestes may be thinking, “Is the famous beauty of Electra …?” He could be thinking of a beauty he has only heard about, which becomes the focus of the question. Normally, that would make sense; for the sake of clarity, the subject has an article, and a predicate leaves it off. See p. 41. But when the predicate is something well known or identical with the subject, it can have the article. See Smyth, 1152. And, of course, omitting the article is common in poetry. In other words, the sentence could be rewritten, ἦ τόδε τὸ σὸν (εἶδος) τὸ κλεινὸν εἶδος Ἠλέκτρας; Τhe second phrase could be the predicate. —κλεινόν. In a fragment of The Catalogue of Women, attributed to Hesiod (fr. 23a.16), Electra is said to “rival the immortal goddesses in respect to her εἶδος.” That this idea is relevant here cannot be proved, but it does not seem unlikely. 1178—τόδ’ ἔστ’ ἐκεῖνο. ἐκεῖνος can refer to someone or something well known. Compare 2, with note. (ἔστ’ has an accent because it follows an elided word; it is still a simple “is.” See Smyth, 187d.) —καὶ μάλ’. The καί adds emphasis to the μάλα; it does not add a new idea. —ἀθλίως ἔχον. Yet another instance of the common idiom combining ἔχω and an adverb where we might expect a form of “to be” and a predicate. (See E. 76, with note.) 1180—οὐ δή ποτ’. See the note to 1108. —στένεις τάδε. To talk about an action in light of its results, we might say, “You make these laments,” putting the weight on the noun. Greek will often lean harder on the verb. 1181—ἐφθαρμένον. On the reduplication, see p. 67. 1182—οὔτοι. See note to 137. 1183—τροφῆς. Here means “way of life” or “condition.” That he knows her existence is ἀνύμφου is interesting. Does he infer that she has no (suitable) husband to provide for her? 1184—τί δή ποτ’. Both δή and ποτε emphasize the “Why?” The point is that Electra still does not understand why (in the world) this stranger is acting as he is. (Compare E. 553,



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with note.) 1185—ὅσ’. Like many relative words, ὅσος can be used in exclamations: “How much …!” (Compare E. 290.) —οὐκ ἄρ’ ᾔδη. Compare 935, with note. For the forms of the past of οἶδα, see Smyth, 794. Compare the past forms of εἰμί and εἶμι; see Smyth, 768 and 773. 1186—ἐν τῷ. Could be instrumental; see note to 1138. Or it could be used to “locate” the source of his perception: “In which …?” 1188-98. Why slow down and go over Electra’s wrongs yet again? And how is it that she does not follow up on the emotional clues given by Orestes? (Compare note to 1201-2.) As for Orestes, he pulls himself up and acts his part, though his indignation still shows through. The point may be to build toward a more effective emotional outcome; while she remains unaware, he is made to confront all the implications of Electra’s situation. The net effect is that the whole scene builds more effectively for the audience. Compare note to 1176-87. 1188—καὶ μήν. “And yet …” Compare 321. 1189—καὶ πῶς. Compare E. 225, with note. —ἐχθίω. On the alternative form for the comparative, see p. 123. 1191—πόθεν. An interrogative adverb is used here in the same way as interrogative adjectives sometimes are. That is, if Electra had not been specific but had only said that there was a something more hateful that she had to endure. Orestes might have said, τί τοῦτ’ ἐξεσήμηνας κακόν; He could have used an interrogative adjective that sounds like a predicate and part of its own clause: “What is this evil that you have disclosed?” (Compare E. 254 and Smyth, 2647.) In this sentence, the adverb seems to demand its own clause. Jebb paraphrases: πόθεν ἐστὶ τοῦτο τὸ κακὸν ὃ ἐξεσήμηνας; 1193—τίς γάρ. In this kind of question the speaker is asking for further explanation: “You are in this state because who …?” —προτρέπει. The scansion is unusual. See note to 9. 1194—μητρὶ δ’ οὐδέν ἐξισοῖ. Could be transitive: “She does nothing like a mother.” Or could be intransitive with an adverbial accusative: “In no way is she like a mother.” 1195—πότερα … ἤ. See note to 535. —χερσίν … λύμῃ βίου. χερσίν here means “force,” “violence.” λύμῃ βίου refers to mistreatment or indignities connected with her comforts and way of life. See, for instance, 264-5. The genitive is probably descriptive. 1197—οὑπαρήξων … ὁ κωλύσων. Adding the article to a participle makes it generic; in English we would say “someone to …” See p. 41. —πάρα. = πάρεστι, “is present,” “ready to help,” “available.” On the accent, see note to 285. 1198—προὔθηκας. Concretely, the verb refers to bringing the urn before Electra’s eyes. It can also refer, appropriately enough, to handing over a corpse for burial. (On the contraction of the prefix, see the note to 1155.) 1199—ἐποικτίρω πάλαι. Compare 1101, with note. 1200—ἴσθ’ ἐποικτίρας. On the nominative participle, compare E. 53, with note. 1201-2. Some editors print an alternative manuscript reading, τοῖς ἴσοις, and assume that what is meant is not “similar” but “the same.” Others think this is implausible. One advantage of reading τοῖς ἴσοις is that Electra’s question follows more smoothly in the gradual progression of the stichomythia toward its climax. She is surprised at this next bit of revelation, as Orestes lets down his guard further, and the combination οὐ δή ποτ’ shows this.

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(Compare 1108, with note, and 1180.) 1203—τὸ τῶνδ’. An abstract phrase referring not just to the women (as αἵδε alone would) but also to their attitude, which will be present as something εὔνουν or the reverse. For a use of the article in manufacturing a similar abstract, compare 261, with note. 1204—ἀλλ’. Not an obvious use of “but,” as in a contrasted point of view. The idea is though that the doubt implied by Orestes hesitation is unnecessary, from Electra’s perspective: “But they are …” 1206—μὴ … ἐργάσῃ. Prohibitive subjunctive. See 71, with note. (Compare 1208 and 1225.) 1207—πιθοῦ. The second aorist of πείθω, ἐπιθόμην, is very rare in prose but common enough in tragedy and comedy. —λέγοντι. Unusual that there is not a μοι for the participle to attach to. It is possible to get a participle by itself without a pronoun, or an article, but the expectation would be that the reference is indefinite (“the person speaking,” here, which sounds fatuous, given the rest of the sentence). The reference must be definite and a μοι does seem implied. 1208. In formal supplication, the suppliant touches the knees and chin of the person supplicated. Here a formula points to a purely verbal supplication. It is hard to imagine stage action to suit, since Electra is clutching the urn. Nevertheless, the language of supplication is evocative; it suits the emotional intensity of the moment and the mounting emotion of the stichomythia. —μὴ ˀξέλῃ. On this form of elision, compare E. 72, with note. 1209-10. The breaking of the succession of individual lines by Electra’s line and a half marks an emotional breaking point as well. Compare how the breaking of lines, the antilabe, marks the increasing emotion at the climax of the recognition (1220-6). (For a similar effect at the climax of the recognition scene in Euripides, see 579-81.) 1209—οὔ φημ’. The negative goes in thought with the future infinitive, in indirect speech. See Smyth, 2691 and 2693. On the lack of an accusative subject, compare S. 65-6, with note. 1210—εἰ στερήσομαι. Some verbs have a future middle with a passive sense, some have both middle and passive forms. (See Smyth, 807-9.) The implied condition with the indicative expresses her sense of grief and/or indignation at being deprived of the urn and what it represents: “If I am going to be deprived … then (I will be) wretched.” See note to E. 48-9. —τῆς σῆς … ταφῆς. She is going to be deprived even of the act of putting the urn in her father’s tomb or of doing something similar, so as to do something for her dead brother. 1211. He means it is inauspicious and unlucky to speak of the living as if they were dead. (Contrast 59-60.) Another step toward recognition. —πρὸς δίκης. Approximates δίκῃ in the next line, as the repetition shows. (On the use of the dative singular in an adverbial sense, see note to 70.) 1212—τὸν θανόντ’ ἀδελφόν. The article has a possessive sense. See p. 40. 1213. In full, τήνδε προσφωνεῖν φάτιν αὐτόν (or even με). 1214—ἄτιμός εἰμι τοῦ τεθνηκότος. She means she is “deprived of her rights” as far as her brother is concerned. This narrower meaning of ἄτιμος is similar to its use in talking about Athenian men losing their rights as citizens. 1215—τοῦτο δ’ οὐχὶ σόν. Could refer to the urn (τόδ’ ἄγγος, 1205) or perhaps to the idea of lamenting, τὸ στένειν.



Reading Fifteen: Sophocles, Lines 1098-1231 279

1216. Another sentence—compare note to 1191—that would come out in English with a further subordinate clause: “If this is Orestes’ body that …” —εἴπερ γ’. The strengthened form of εἰ, given further emphasis by γε. Some interpret these words to mean that she is saying, not that there is any question about the identity of the remains, but that she has every right, if these are Orestes’ remains (“since these are …”). Compare the second part of 1221 (and 1119, with note). With this reading, the idea is to sustain her resistance as long as possible, for the sake of a different kind of emotional effect. Compare note to 1188-98. Others take εἴπερ γε to mean that she is beginning finally to realize the possibility that Orestes may not be dead. Compare 1117, with note. 1217—πλὴν λόγῳ γ’ ἠσκημένον. The participle is used metaphorically: “except insofar as it has been dressed up in/through words.” (On the reduplication, see p. 67. On the force of the perfect participle, see note to 55, 58, and 70.) 1219—τοῦ … ζῶντος. The article makes the participle generic: “a living man.” Compare 1197. 1220-6. Compare 1209-10, with note. 1220—εἶπας. See the note to E. 275. 1221—ζῇ. See note to E. 230. 1221-2—ἦ γάρ. The questions are rhetorical and express surprise: “What! You’re saying …?” The question, in effect, explains the surprise; hence, the γάρ. Compare E. 64, and note. 1222-3. Seems to be that the phrase τήνδε προσβλέψασά μου both anticipates and is completed by σφραγῖδα πατρός: “Looking at this (seal ring) of mine, my father’s seal ring …” Would be easier for us as, “Looking at this seal ring of mine, my father’s (seal-ring) …” 1223—ἔκμαθ’. “Learn for sure,” “be sure.” On the force of the prefix, see Smyth, 1688.2. —σαφῆ. Refers to what is obviously, manifestly, true. Appropriate at this point. 1224-6. On the visual effect of the actors’ embrace, and on the effect of antilabe, see notes to E. 578-9 and 579-81. Notice that she confirms his identity by sight, hearing, and touch and is still asking questions about the reality of what she senses. Finding Orestes is cause for joy but psychically disorienting. (This may be a further reason why it makes sense to slow down her progress toward recognition markedly. See notes to 1176-87 and 1188-98.) 1224—φῶς. Here means “day,” with the implication, “day of deliverance.” Compare S. 86, with note. 1225—μηκέτ’. Not “any longer” but, “Don’t … further.” Compare 611, with note. 1226—ὡς … ἔχοις. ὡς is a relative adverb, an “as,” and the optative represents a wish. 1227—πολίτιδες. The word suggests “citizenship,” in the sense that they all belong to the wider community, not just to individual households. On the other hand, given their gender, the overtones, to an Athenian ear, do not include “citizenship” as that was defined for men. Exactly how the tragic/mythical context changes the nuance of the word is a further question. 1229—σεσωμένον. In the sense, “safely brought/having been brought home.” On the force of the perfect, compare 1217, with note. 1231—γεγηθὸς … δάκρυον. The perfect participle has an intensive force. See note to 66 and contrast 1217 and 1228.

Glossary of Common Words Note: The range of meanings given for many words is restricted. This is especially true for prepositions. For these, see the lists of prepositional uses in Smyth, 1681-98. Remember that any word that is poetic and shows up more than forty times in extant tragedy will be marked in bold. If a particular meaning of the word is common in poetry but not in prose, that meaning will be marked in bold. ἀγαθός, ή, όν—good; noble ἄγαν—very much, too much ἄγγελος, ου, ὁ—messenger ἀγγέλλω—announce; report ἀγορά, ᾶς, ἡ—market place ἄγω—lead, bring ἀδελφή, ῆς, ἡ—sister ἀδελφός, οῦ, ὁ—brother ἀεί/αἰεί—ever, always ἄθλιος, α, ον—struggling, unhappy, wretched; pitiful, poor αἷμα, ατος, τό—blood αἱρέω—take; middle, choose αἴρω—lift; take up, bring; stir up, begin; take away αἰσχρός, ά, όν—ugly; shameful, base (comp., αἰσχίων, αἴσχιον; sup., αἴσχιστος, η, ον) αἰσχύνω—act., make ugly, dishonor; middle, feel shame, be ashamed to do αἰτέω—ask; ask for αἰτία, ας, ἡ—cause; responsibility, blame ἀκούω—hear, listen to (plus gen. of a person, gen. or acc. of a thing) ἀλλά—but (and with various senses depending on use and context) ἄλλος, η, ον—other, the rest (of) ἅμα—at the same time; at the same time as, together with (with dat.) ἁμαρτάνω—miss (plus gen.); make a mistake ἀμείνων, ἄμεινον (comp. of ἀγαθός, ή, όν)—better (of people or things) ἀμφί—around, about (with dat. or acc.); about, concerning (with gen.); on account of, for (with dat.) ἀνάγκη, ης, ἡ—necessity; force, constraint ἀνήρ, ἀνδρός, ὁ—man, husband ἄνθρωπος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—human being; man ἀντί—with gen.: instead of, in the place of; as the price of, in return for; because of ἄξιος, α, ον—worth, worthy of (plus gen.) ἄπειμι—to be away or absent ἀπό—from, away from; as a result of ἀποθνῄσκω—die; be killed ἀπόλλυμι—act., destroy, kill, lose; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead, done for

ἆρα—marks question, usually without an interrogative; in poetry, equivalent to ἄρα, “then,” “so,” etc. ἄριστος, η, ον (sup. of ἀγαθός, ή, όν)—best (of people or things) ἄρχω—rule, command (intr. or with gen.); begin (intr. or with gen.) ἄτη, ης, ἡ—blindness; destruction αὖ—again; on the other hand; in turn αὐτός, ή, ό—as pron., him, her, it, them; as adj., himself, herself, etc; with art., the same ἀφικνέομαι—arrive at, come to βαίνω—go, come, walk βαρύς, εῖα, ύ—heavy; heavy to bear; grievous βία, ας, ἡ—force βίος, ου, ὁ—life; means of living βλέπω—see; look at βλώσκω: see ἔμολον βουλεύω—deliberate; plan; decide βούλομαι—want, wish βραχύς, εῖα, ύ—short, small βροτός, οῦ, ὁ—mortal γάμος, ου ὁ—wedding; marriage; sex γάρ—for, because (and with various senses depending on context) γε—focusing attention and emphasizing, with force of italics or exclamation point; focusing attention and limiting, e.g., “at least” γενναῖος, α, ον—noble, in birth and/or character γένος, ους, τό—race, family γεραιός, ά, όν—old (of people); ancient (of things) γέρων, οντος, ὁ—old man; as adj., old γῆ, γῆς, ἡ—earth; land, country γίγνομαι—become; be born; happen γλῶττα, ης, ἡ—tongue; language γνώμη, ης, ἡ—thought, intelligence, opinion; judgment; plan γόος, ου, ὁ—weeping, wailing γυνή, γυναικός, ἡ—woman, wife δαίμων, ονος, ὁ—spirit, god δέ—and, but; with μέν, expressing contrast or correlation between words or clauses δεῖ—it is necessary δείκνυμι—show

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δεινός, ή, όν—terrible, awful; marvelous, strange; clever, skillful δέρκομαι—see clearly; be alive; look at δέσπότης, ου, ὁ—master δέχομαι—welcome; receive δή—actually, indeed (but often simply emphasizing preceding word); then, so δηλόω—show; make clear δῆτα—in questions, so, then; for emphasis in commands, statements, etc. διδάσκω—teach, instruct δίδωμι—give, offer δίκαιος, α, ον—decent, righteous, just δίκη, ης, ἡ—justice; punishment, satisfaction; lawsuit, case διώκω—pursue δμωή, ῆς, ἡ/δμώς, ωός, ὁ—slave taken in war; slave δοκέω—think, imagine; have an opinion, decide (with dat.); of an object, seem; seem good to (with dat.); seem to be, have a reputation (for) δόμος, ου, ὁ—house δόξα, ης, ἡ—glory; opinion; reputation δοῦλος, ου, ὁ/δούλη, ης, ἡ—slave δράω—do, accomplish δύναμαι—be able, can δύο, δυοῖν—two δύστηνος, ον—wretched, unfortunate δῶμα, δώματος, τό—house ἐάν = εἰ + ἄν—if (followed by subj.) ἐγώ, ἐμοῦ/μου, ἐμοί/μοι, ἐμέ/με—I, me ἐθέλω—wish, want εἰ—if; whether εἶδος, ους, τό—form, shape; beauty εἴπερ—strengthened form of εἰ, if really, if in fact εἰς—into, to (with acc.) εἷς, μία, ἕν—one εἰσοράω—look into, behold εἴσω/ἔσω—adv. of εἰς/ἐς, into, to within; inside, within (also as improper prep. with gen.) εἶτα/ἔπειτα—then, next ἐκ/ἐξ—from, out of; as a result of ἐκβάλλω—throw out ἐκεῖνος, η, ο—that; s/he, it, they ἐλπίς, ίδος, ἡ—hope, expectation ἔμολον> βλώσκω—go, come (almost always used in aorist forms) ἐμός, ή, όν—my, mine ἐν—in (with dat.) ἔνειμι—be in, be present; impers., to be possible for, in the power of ἔνθα—adv., there, to that place; relat., where ἐννέπω/ἐνέπω—tell, speak, utter ἐπεί/ἐπειδή—when, after; since, seeing that ἐπί—on, in (with gen.); on, for, because of (with dat.); to, against, over, on (with acc.)

ἐπίσταμαι—know how to; be assured, know for certain ἔπος, ους, τό—word, speech, tale ἐργάζομαι—work, labor; make; do ἔργον, ου, τό—work, job ἔρχομαι—come, go ἐρωτάω—ask, question ἐς = εἰς ἕτερος, α, ον—other (of two) ἔτι—still, yet; hereafter (with fut.) εὖ—well εὐγενής, ές—well-born; noble-minded, generous; highly-bred (of animals) εὐνή, ῆς, ἡ—bed; marriage bed; lair, nest; grave εὑρίσκω—find, come upon ἐφίημι—act., permit, allow; middle, command, desire ἔχω—have, hold; have as wife or husband; be in a state (plus adv.) ζάω—live ζητέω—seek, look for ἤ—or; than ἦ—truly, surely; introducing a question ἡδονή, ῆς, ἡ—pleasure ἡδύς, εῖα, ύ—sweet, pleasant ἥκω—to have come, be present; be back, return ἥλιος, ου, ὁ—sun ἡμεῖς, ἡμῶν, ἡμῖν, ἡμᾶς—we ἡμέρα, ας, ἡ—day ἡμέτερος, α, ον—our ἤν = ἐάν θάνατος, ου, ὁ—death θαυμάζω—wonder at, marvel at; honor θέλω— = ἐθέλω θέος, ου, ὁ/ἡ—god, goddess θιγγάνω—touch; take hold of, have sex with (with gen.) θνῄσκω—die; be killed θυμός, οῦ, ὁ—spirit; heart; courage; anger θύω—make an offering, sacrifice ἰατρός, οῦ, ὁ—doctor ἵημι—let go; throw; send; of speech, utter ἱκνέομαι—arrive at, come to; come to as a suppliant; supplicate, entreat ἵππος, ου, ὁ—horse ἴσος, η, ον—equal, like (with dat.) ἵστημι—trans. or intrans., set up, raise; stand ἰώ—exclamation used in invoking aid; expression of grief or suffering καί—and; also; even; actually (Note: can be used simply for emphasis.) κακός, ή, όν—bad, evil; cowardly; low κακῶς—badly, painfully καλέω—call, summon καλῶς—well; in the right way κάρα, τό—head

κασιγνήτη, ης, ἡ—sister κασίγνητος, ου, ὁ—brother κατά—down from, beneath (with gen.); according to, by (with acc.); down, through, in (a space or place) (with acc.) κεῖνος, η, ο = ἐκεῖνος, η, ο κελεύω—order, bid; urge κλεινός, ή, όν—famous, renowned κλύω—hear; pay attention to, obey κόρη, ης, ἡ—girl; unmarried girl, virgin; daughter; pupil of the eye, eye κρατέω—rule, rule over; prevail, get the upper hand κτείνω—kill, slay κύκλος, ου, ὁ—circle κυρέω/κύρω—meet with, befall (with dat.); hit, find, obtain (with gen.); happen, turn out to be λαμβάνω—take, seize; get, find; of emotions, (come to) feel λανθάνω—do without being noticed λέγω—say, speak; proclaim, announce; mean λείπω—leave, leave behind λόγος, ου, ὁ—word; argument; story; message λουτρόν, οῦ, τό—bath; bathing-place; water for bathing or washing μακρός, ά, όν—large, big, long μᾶλλον—more, rather μανθάνω—learn, understand μάχη, ης, ἡ—battle μέγας, μεγάλη, μέγα—great, big μεθίημι—let go; let fly, plunge (of weapons); release; give up, allow μέλλω—intend; be about to; delay μέν—with δέ, expressing contrast or correlation between words or clauses μένω—stay, remain; wait for μετά—with, in company with (with gen.) μή—in specific senses, “not”: with imperatives; in subordinate clauses of conditions; lest (in clause of fearing); as redundant negative with verbs meaning “deny,” “prevent,” etc. μήτηρ, μητρός, ἡ—mother μηχανή, ῆς, ἡ—device; contrivance, strategy μικρός, ά, όν—small, short, little μόνος, η, ον—alone, single μῦθος, ου, ὁ—story, word ναίω—dwell in, inhabit νέος, α, ον—young; new νικάω—conquer, win; prevail (as of opinion, etc.) νίκη, ης, ἡ—victory νιν—him, her, them νομίζω—acknowledge; consider; practice νόμος, ου, ὁ—custom, law νῦν—now νυν—so, now, then ξένος, ου, ὁ—foreigner, stranger; guest-friend

Glossary of Common Words 283 ὁ, ἡ, τό—the (def. art.; see pp. 39-41) ὅδε, ἥδε, τόδε—this (as opposed to “that”); this (present or visible) thing/person ὁδός, οῦ, ἡ—road; journey οἶδα—know οἶκος, ου, ὁ—house οἴμοι—exclam. of pain, grief, fear, anger, or surprise οἷος, α, ον—relat. adj., of what sort, such as; neut. as adv., in which way, as; in main clauses as exclam., what! what sort of! ὄλλυμι—act., destroy, kill; middle, die, perish; pf., be dead ὄμμα, ατος, τό—eye; light; face ὁμοῦ—together, both; together with (with dat.) ὀξύς, εῖα, ύ—sharp, bitter, shrill; of the senses, keen ὅπως—how, as; in order that ὁράω—see ὅς, ἥ, ὅ—who, what, which ὅσoς, η, ον—relat. adj., which much, as many ὅστις, ἥτις, ὅ τι—anyone who, anything which (Note: also in indirect questions.) ὅταν— = ὅτε (when) + ἄν οὐδέ—and not; nor; not even; not at all; but not οὐδείς, οὐδεμία, οὐδέν—no one, nothing; adj., no; neut. as adv., not at all, in no way oὐκέτι—no longer, no further, not now οὖν—so, then; therefore οὕνεκα/οὕνεκεν—on account of, because of (with gen.); as conj., that, because οὔτε … οὔτε—neither … nor οὗτος, αὕτη, τοῦτο—this; s/he, it, they οὕτως—so, in this way παῖς, παιδός, ὁ/ἡ—child; slave πάλαι—long ago, for a long time; as attribute, of old; before παλαιός, ά, όν—old, ancient παρά—from, from beside (with gen.); with, beside (w. dat.); to (a person); by, beside (with acc.) πάρειμι—to be here, be present; impers. (πάρεστι/ πάρα plus dat.), it is in the power of, it is possible for παρθένος, ου, ἡ—(unmarried) girl, virgin πᾶς, πᾶσα, πᾶν—all; every: all (of) (after art.) πάσχω—suffer; experience πατήρ, πατρός, ὁ—father πατρῷος, α, ον/ος, ον—of or from one’s father, coming or inherited from him; hereditary, ancestral (of customs, institutions, etc.) πείθω—persuade πέλας—near, near by (with gen., dat., or as adv.) πέμπω—send πέπλος, ου, ὁ—upper garment, in one piece, worn by women (less frequently in reference to men); garment, clothing περί—about, concerning (w. gen.)

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πίπτω—fall πιστεύω—trust, believe (with dat.) πλείων/πλέων, πλέον/πλεῖν—more ποιέω—make, do ποῖος, α, ον—what sort of? πόλις, εως, ἡ—city, city-state πολύς, πολλή, πολύ—much; many πόνος, ου, ὁ—work, hard work; hardship, suffering πορεύομαι—go, walk, go by land (as opp. to going by sea) πόσις, ὁ—husband ποτε—at some time; once; intensively in questions, e.g., “who?,” “who in the world?” ποῦ—where? πούς, ποδός, ὁ—foot πρᾶγμα, ατος, τό—thing; affair, business πράττω—do; experience πρίν—adv., before; conj., before, until πρός—from, at the hands of; in the name of (with gen.); by (with dat.); to, toward, with, with a view to (with acc.) πρῶτος, η, ον—first πυρά, ᾶς, ἡ—funeral pyre; mound raised on site of pyre; altar πῶς—how? σαφής, ές—clear, plain, distinct σέθεν = gen. of σύ σκοπέω—look at; watch for; consider σός, ή, όν—your σοφός, ή, όν—clever; wise; learned στέγη, ης, ἡ—roof; room, house στένω—moan, sigh, groan; lament (for) σύ, σοῦ/σου, σοί/σοι, σέ/σε—you (sing.) σύγγονος, ον = συγγενής, ές—inborn, natural; akin, related σύν/ξύν—with (in various senses) σῴζω—save, keep alive (of people); keep safe, preserve (of things) σῶμα, ατος, τό—body τάλας, τάλαινα, τάλαν—suffering, wretched; reckless, cruel τάφος, ου, ὁ—burial rites; grave, tomb ταχύς, εῖα, ύ—quick τε—and τέκνον, ου, τό—child τίθημι—put, place; make τίκτω—give birth, bear; beget τις, τι—someone, something; some, a certain (as adj.); τι (as adv.) somewhat, at all, in some way τίς, τί—who? what? which?; τί as adv., why? τλήμων, ονος, ὁ/ἡ—patient, enduring, stouthearted; bold, reckless; wretched, miserable τοι—let me tell you, see here τοιόσδε, τοιάδε, τοιόνδε—such as this; as follows τοιοῦτος, τοιαύτη, τοιοῦτο(ν)—such as this

τότε—at that time, then τρέπω—turn (trans. or intrans.) τρέφω—nourish; raise τυγχάνω—happen, be actually (with part.); hit, meet (with gen.) τύμβος, ου, ὁ—mound, tomb τύραννος, ου, ὁ—ruler, tyrant τύχη, ης, ἡ—chance, good or bad fortune ὑβρίζω—treat violently, humiliate ὕβρις, εως, ἡ—aggression, violence, humiliation ὑπέρ—with gen.: on behalf of; instead of; because of ὑπό—by, at the hands of; from, because of (with gen.) φαίνω—show; appear, seem φέρω—carry; bear, endure φεῦ—exclamation of grief, surprise, or admiration φεύγω—flee, run away; be in exile φημί—say φίλος, η, ον—dear; friendly; related (sup., φίλτατος, η, ον) φόβος, ου, ὁ—fear φοίνιος/φόνιος, α, ον—of or like blood; bloody; murderous φονεύς, έως, ὁ—murderer φόνος, ου, ὁ—murder, slaughter φρήν, φρενός, ἡ—sg. or pl., heart, mind φρονέω—think; be sensible, understand φύσις, εως, ἡ—nature, character φύω—produce, beget; be (by nature), be inclined to (aor. and pf.) χαίρω—rejoice, be glad; used as form of welcome often in imperative, “greetings,” “welcome” χείρ, χειρός, ἡ—hand; hand and arm, arm χθών, χθονός, ἡ—earth; land, country χρεών—(it is) necessary χρή—(it is) necessary χρόνος, ου, ὁ—time ψυχή, ῆς, ἡ—soul, life ὦ—with voc., nom., or imper. as a form of address, “O” ὧδε—in this way, thus, so (very) ὡς—that; seeing that, since; in order that; how!; like, as; as, when ὥσπερ—as; as though

Principal Parts for Common Irregular Verbs αἱρέω, αἱρήσω, εἷλον, ᾕρηκα, ᾕρημαι, ᾑρέθην ἀπο-θνῄσκω, ἀπο-θανοῦμαι, ἀπ-έθανον, τέθνηκα ἀπο-κτείνω, ἀπο-κτενῶ, ἀπ-έκτεινα, ἀπ-έκτονα (Note the aorist ἔκτανον.) ἀπ-όλλυμι, ἀπ-ολῶ, ἀπ-ώλεσα/ἀπ-ωλόμην, ἀπ-ολώλεκα/ἀπ-όλωλα ἀφ-ικνέομαι, ἀφ-ίξομαι, ἀφ-ικόμην, ἀφ-ῖγμαι βαίνω, βήσομαι, ἔβην, βέβηκα (Simple form in prose only in present and perfect.) βάλλω, βαλῶ, ἔβαλον, βέβληκα, βέβλημαι, ἐβλήθην βλώσκω, μολοῦμαι, ἔμολον, μέμβλωκα (Present not used in tragedy; future and perfect very rare.) γίγνομαι, γενήσομαι, ἐγενόμην, γέγονα, γεγένημαι γιγνώσκω, γνώσομαι, ἔγνων, ἔγνωκα, ἔγνωσμαι, ἐγνώσθην δίδωμι, δώσω, ἔδωκα, δέδωκα, δέδομαι, ἐδόθην ἔρχομαι, εἶμι, ἦλθον, ἐλήλυθα (On the use of forms from εἶμι, see Smyth, 774.) εὑρίσκω, εὑρήσω, ηὗρον, ηὕρηκα, εὕρημαι, εὑρέθην (Can be augmented or reduplicated as ηὑ- or εὑ-; see Smyth, 437.) ἔχω, ἕξω/σχήσω, ἔσχον, ἔσχηκα (Note the imperfect, εἶχον.) ἵημι, ἥσω, ἧκα, εἷκα, εἷμαι, εἵθην (Simple forms not used in prose, except for present and (some) aorist forms.) ἵστημι, στήσω, ἔστησα/ἔστην, ἕστηκα, ἕσταμαι, ἐστάθην λαμβάνω, λήψομαι, ἔλαβον, εἴληφα, εἴλημμαι, ἐλήφθην λέγω, ἐρῶ /λέξω, εἶπον/ ἔλεξα, εἴρηκα, εἴρημαι, ἐρρήθην/ἐλέχθην λείπω, λείψω, ἔλιπον, λέλοιπα, λέλειμμαι, ἐλείφθην μανθάνω, μαθήσομαι, ἔμαθον, μεμάθηκα ὁράω, ὄψομαι, εἶδον, ἑώρακα/ἑόρακα, ἑώραμαι/ὦμμαι, ὤφθην (Note the aorist stem, ἰδ-.) πάσχω, πείσομαι, ἔπαθον, πέπονθα πείθω, πείσω, ἔπεισα, πέπεικα/πέποιθα, πέπεισμαι, ἐπείσθην (Also 2nd aorist ἔπιθον/-ομην in poetry.) σῴζω, σώσω, ἔσωσα, σέσωκα, σέσωσμαι, ἐσώθην τίθημι, θήσω, ἔθηκα, τέθηκα, τέθειμαι (rare; κεῖμαι used instead), ἐτέθην τίκτω, τέξομαι, ἔτεκον, τέτοκα τλάω, τλήσομαι, ἔτλην, τέτληκα (Present not used.) τρέφω, θρέψω, ἔθρεψα, τέτροφα, τέθραμμαι, ἐτράφην

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FOCUS CLASSICAL COMMENTARY

Greek Tragedy, A First Reading is an intermediate to advanced textbook for the first reading of Greek tragedy in the original language. Drawing selections from both Euripides’ and Sophocles’ Electra, it provides students with structured access to interesting Greek material at an advanced level. It presents a careful introduction to the language, nature, and forms of classical Greek tragedy and Greek poetry as found in Electra, focusing on material relevant for translation and for understanding this unique form of drama. Nicholas Baechle is Associate Professor of Classical Studies at Hanover College, where he teaches Greek language and literature, as well as mythology. He received his Ph.D. from Yale University.

ISBN-13: 978-1-58510-371-3

Focus an imprint of

Hackett Publishing Company

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90000

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FOREIGN LANGUAGE STUDY | Ancient Languages