Glorious Victor Defeated in Battle of Words

When Clytemnestra welcomes Agamemnon back to Argos, she tells the servants to roll out the red carpet for his entrance into the palace.

He balks - for several reasons.

Such delicacies are womanish; not suitable for a soldier used to camp life. He does not want to be fawned over like some eastern potentate. This kind of display is more fitting for a god than a man; and Agamemnon is anxious not to invite divine jealousy. Being mortal, he thinks it dangerous to set foot on fineries. Besides, it is unnecessary. He wants to avoid such foolishness.

Clytemnestra is not to be denied, despite Agamemnon’s resolve to do nothing against his will. She hints that he has spoken from fear.

“What would Priam have done, if he had been victorious?” Clytemnestra asks.

“He probably would have walked on the tapestries,” Agamemnon replies.

“Then why worry about what people might say?” she asks.

“Because the people’s voice is powerful,’ he answers.

She presses on. “Anyone worthy of admiration is the subject of envy.”

Agamemnon has had enough of her combativeness and tells her to give up, but Clytemnestra reminds him that victors can afford to be gracious.

“Does winning mean so much to you?” he asks, walking right into her trap.

"I know you don't have to," she says, "but let me win just this once."

He didn’t stand a chance.

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Who Took Orestes from Argos?

In each of the three versions of the return of Orestes in Greek tragedy, Orestes comes back from Phocis where he was taken as a baby, reunites with his sister Electra and kills his mother Clytemnestra.  Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides give differing accounts of who took him away.

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In Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, Clytemnestra says that she sent him away to trusted friends (913).

Orestes’ nurse, Cilissa, says that she took care of him as a baby, but does not mention how he was taken from her or where he went. When Orestes returns to Mycenae disguised as a Daulian, he tells Clytemnestra that he was sent by a stranger – a Phocian named Strophius – to tell Orestes’ parents that Orestes is dead. He makes a point of saying that he did not know the stranger, nor did the stranger know him. Right before he kills Clytemnestra, Orestes accuses her of throwing him away. She denies it, telling him that she sent him away “to trusted friends”, though she does not name them.

The trusted friend is most likely Strophius because it makes no sense for Orestes to name him unless he knows that Clytemnestra gave the baby to Strophius. He makes such a point about their being strangers to avoid questions that may lead to his identification.

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In Sophocles’ Electra, Electra says that she sent him away to prevent his murder. (1132)

The tutor tells Orestes that he took him from the hands of his sister in order to save him. In conversation with Chrysothemis, Electra says that Clytemnestra accuses her (Electra) of stealing Orestes from her mother’s hands. Later on, thinking that she is holding the ashes of her brother in her hands, Electra recalls the day she stole him in order to save him from being murdered. Orestes went from the hands of his murderous mother, to the hands of Electra, who put him into the hands of the tutor. For a few moments, Electra thinks that Orestes had arrived back into her hands in the form of an urn full of ashes.

Strophius is mentioned once in the Electra. Orestes tells the tutor to pretend that they were sent by the Phocian Phanotheus, who is Clytemnestra and Aegisthus’ best friend. When the tutor presents himself to Clytemnestra he tells her that he was sent by Phanotheus, but when Orestes arrives disguised as a Phocian, he tells Electra that he was sent by ‘Old Strophius’.

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In Euripides' Electra (17) the farmer says that Agamemnon’s ‘ancient servant’ took him away to prevent Aegisthus from killing him. 

The farmer says that the servant gave him to Strophius to bring up in the land of Phocis. When Electra talks with Orestes, who is still pretending to be a stranger, they agree that there is only one person who might recognize him - the old servant of Agamemnon.  When the old servant visits Electra, he mentions a cloth woven by Electra that he wrapped Orestes in to save him from death.  When Electra introduces the servant to Orestes, she affirms that this is the servant who saved Orestes from death.
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The Wild Kingdom Comes to the Cloisters

I’m not sure what I expected from an early music concert by Hesperus at the Cloisters yesterday afternoon, but it certainly was not sensory overload. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention to the title: The Wild Kingdom, A Book of Beasts.

The concert, which consisted of twelve pieces based on texts from medieval bestiaries, was performed in the Fuentidueña Chapel by three members of Hesperus, a narrator and a mime.

The performers created a wild kingdom indeed, conjuring up mermaids, panthers, cranes and unicorns from the etymologies of Isidore of Seville, the music of the papal court at Avignon and the art of mime. The concert’s setting was the stark Romanesque chapel at the Cloisters whose stone walls and high vaulted ceiling amplified every sound and whose sparse decorations – principally a fresco of the Virgin and Child and a crucifix hanging from the ceiling – reinforced the medieval tone.

The musicians – Tina Chancey, Grant Herreid and Tom Zajac – performed on early instruments: recorders, a lyre, a simple drum, and viols. They introduced the performance by introducing their instruments. Mr. Zajac told us that the recorder was invented to teach the birds to sing and Ms. Chancey was delighted to name the parts of animals that composed the drum’s skin and the viol’s strings.

Their performance by itself would have been worth the price of admission and the long trip into the city. Their playing was precise and expressive, evocative of medieval dances and liturgies. This is more or less what I expected, an hour-long concert of early music played by dedicated and talented artists. I was a bit surprised to learn that each piece would be accompanied by a reading from the text of a bestiary, those concoctions of description and folklore that interpreted the Book of Nature for medieval Muslims, Christians, and Jews. Owen Sandal’s voice, however, fitted perfectly into the music, making it impossible to know if the music accompanied the reading or the reading accompanied the music.

I was even more surprised – and I confess a bit peeved – when I discovered that each of the pieces would also be mimed by Mark Jaster. I imagined that his performance would distract me from listening to the music that I came to hear. But as he variously became cat and mouse, horse and ape his ballet-like performance became the center of attention – or rather became one center of attention, along with the music, the narrative, the chapel and the sweet smell of the hyacinths blooming in a nearby cloister.

It was almost too much to take in, but because the performance was so well integrated my sensus communis, though challenged, was able to cope. Who would have expected that?

The Fuentidueña Chapel
A great bestiary website
Hesperus