Oedipus At Colonus, 3

Oedipus clamors for the protection of Theseus, who denounces Creon for flouting the laws and customs of the city he has entered.  Creon throws it back at him, denouncing Theseus for harboring such an awful, twisted man as Oedipus-- simultaneously gladhanding Theseus for his city's stellar reputation, now at risk.  Oedipus can't take it, and once again protests his innocence.  He cannot be guilty of wrongdoing if all the events were fated, if he was unaware that it was his father who he killed and his mother who he married, and if anyone in his position, knowing what he knew, would have been justified in doing the same.  Theseus sends Creon away, along with a party to retrieve Antigone and Ismene, and threatens Creon with further reprisal if he interferes, or if his co-conspirators don't cooperate.

The Chorus describe the hunt in song, praising the gods of Athens who aid the effort.

The girls are returned to their father, and Oedipus praises Theseus again, almost embarrassed at his devotion.  Theseus tells him he is welcome again, then leaves to take care of urgent but mysterious business.  A stranger from Thebes has arrived to speak with Oedipus, who recognizes immediately that his son is here to draw him back to the family conflict, again in fulfillment of the prophecy.  He greatly desires not to have that conversation, but Antigone convinces him to give his estranged son another chance.

Polynieces enters, bemoaning his father's reduced state.  But down to business.  Polynieces was driven from the city by his younger brother Eteocles.  He then raised an army to take the city back.  He is asking Oedipus to join him to ensure that justice-- the rights of the older brother-- may be established.  Oedipus finally gets to respond to his son, an opportunity he has been waiting for for many years, and he takes full advantage [and it's awesome]:

You trustees of this realm,   since Theseus sent him here
  and asked me to reply, I will.
Nothing less would let him hear my voice.
But now he shall be graced with it
  in accents that will bring him little joy.

Liar!
When you held hte scepter and the throne
  which your brother at the moment holds in Thebes,
  you drove me out,
  drove this your father out,
  displaced me from my city.
You are the reason for these rage--
  rages that make you cry to see,
  now that you have reached rock bottom too.
The season for condolences is past.
What I must bear must last as long as life,
  last in my thoughts of you as my destroyer.
Oh yes, it's you that dragged me down!
You expelled me, you arranged
  that I should beg my daily bread.
But for my two girls
  I should not even be alive if left to you.
It's they who tend me, they preserve me.
They are the ones who play a man's and not a woman's part.

But you, you and your brother-- bastards--
  are no sons of mine.

The eye of Fate is on you now.
Her glance is mild to what it soon shall be
  if once your armies march on Thebes.
Never shall you topple down that city.
Instead, you'll trip up headlong into blood,
  your brother too,
  spattering each other.
Long ago I cursed you both,
  and now once more I summon up those curses,
  let them battle for me.
Let them teach you reverence
  for those that gave you birth.
Let them teach you what contempt is worth
  of an eyeless Father
  who had such worthless sons.

My daughters did not treat me so.
Therefore, if Justice is still seated
  side by side with Zeus
  in ancient and eternal sway,
I consign to perdition
  your sanctimonious supplications
  and your precious throne.
So, leave my sight.  Get gone and die:
  you trash-- no son of mine.
Die,
  with these my curses
  ringing in your ears:
Never to flatten your motherland beneath your spear,
Never to set foot again in Arvgive's vales,
Instead you die,
  die by a brother's blow
  and make him dead by yours
  who drove you out.

That's my prayer for you.
I summon the pitchy gloom of Tartarus
  to gulp you down
  to a new paternal home.
I summon the holy spirits of this place.
I summon Ares the Destroyer,
  who whirled you into hatred and collision.
With these imprecations in your ears, get out.
Go publish them in Thebes.
Go tell your bellicose and trusty champions
  the will and testament
That Oedipus bequeaths to his two sons.

The Chorus suggests that Polynieces leave.

Polynieces is devastated.  He'll be destroyed by his own army if they learn the truth.  He begs his sisters to take care of his grave when he inevitably loses his life.  Antigone asks that he not return to the war at all, but his sense of honor demands that he go back.  He makes her promise again to take care of his grave.  Polynieces exits.

Ismene remains silent.

-----------------------------

The plot is an interesting retrospective on Oedipus's life.  Characters enter, say their peace, and leave.  It allows Oedipus to say what must to said to each.  The structure, actually, calls to mind The Dark Knight Returns, in that individual villains enter, are dealt with, and then Batman moves on to the next.

Tried to find a good performance of Oedipus cursing out Polynieces.  It doesn't appear to have been a part of The Gospel of Oedipus.  There was one made-for-TV version from the '80s that didn't seem to capture the moment very well.  But there was also this:

Philoctetes, 2

A sailor arrives to pass on Odysseus's cover story.  Pretending that Neoptolemus had fled from Troy, he says he has been sent by Menelaus and Agamemnon to bring him back to battle.  Odysseus would be fetching him himself, execpt that he is in the middle of a different search: to find Philoctetes.  Neoptolemus isn't happy with this story, as he is losing his nerve to do what he had been ready to do.  After dropping the news, the sailor heads back.

Philoctetes is pleased at his opportunity to revenge.  His attitude: "Screw 'em all, let's hop on the boat and head home for Greece!"  But Neoptolemus is hesitant, and tries to delay because of the weather.  But he steels himself and is ready to go.  Philoctetes gathers up his few possessions-- including the bow of Heracles, now much admired by Neoptolemus.

The Chorus again laments the horrible fate that has befallen Philoctetes.  They point out [and this is new] that he never did anything to deserve the terrible physical pain and abandonment he has experienced.  [This might be unique among the Greek tragedy characters up to this point.]

Suddenly, a wave of pain shoots through Philoctetes-- an intermittent additional suffering he must occasionally put up with, he explains.  He is more afraid, though, that the spectacle will cause Neoptolemus to leave him, so he downplays it as best he can.  In the meantime, he hands over the bow for safekeeping.  As the pain grows, though, he asks for Neoptolemus to end it all: to burn his body in the same way Philoctetes burned Heracles's body when he was in similar pain from the poisoned shirt-- the very act that won him the bow in the first place.  Neoptolemus promises to stay with him, and the pain gradually subsides, dropping Philoctetes into an exhausted sleep.

Now it is decision time for Neoptolemus and his crew.  They have the bow, and the Chorus is urging that they run off with it.  Neoptolemus feels the obligation to rescue Philoctetes from his abandonment.  For the moment, though, they're more worried that Philoctetes will hear them discussing it.

He awakes, and is ready to go-- and Neoptolemus is ready to take him!  But at the very last minute, he hesitates again: "Now is the moment.  What shall I do from now on?"  Philoctetes is begging him again, but sees the betrayal coming.  Neoptolemus explains that it's not even as simple as that.  The real problem is that, if he rescues Philoctetes, he won't be taking him home to Greece at all, but will head right back to the war with Troy and the hated Odysseus, Agamemnon, and Menelaus.  To Philoctetes, this is far worse than before-- and now Neoptolemus refuses to return the bow, condemning Philoctetes to a lonely, hungry death on the island.

-------------------------

This is horrible.

The tragic figure here turns out to be Neoptolemus, pulled by conflicting duties in at least three directions: to the war, to his promises to Philoctetes, to making sure Odysseus gets what is really coming to him.  There's no way out.

I'm glad Sophocles mentioned that Philoctetes hadn't done anything to deserve his fate.  It's a good reminder to an audience who sees most characters as bringing their burdens onto themselves.  And it may have been a necessary reminder, too, if they weren't paying attention.

There's a clearer indication here of the problems inherent in Odysseus's "cleverness"-- called strategem throughout this translation.  Philoctetes laments most of all that he was betrayed in this way.  That's the problem.  He is OK with perishing through the searing pain-- that is the natural way of things.  He would be OK with being bested in battle-- that is one man using natural gifts toward their natural end.  But the use of cleverness and guile in such a twisted way is despicable.  It is a perversion of the natural goodness of man's gift of intelligence.  Nothing could be worse.

One other neat little thing: the conversation between Neoptolemus and the sailor sent by Odysseus is a great example of dramatic irony.  They're both using cover stories, keeping Philoctetes in the dark, while Neoptolemus is simultaneously expressing his disgust over the whole charade.  Now where have I seen that before?

Thesis: George Costanza is a modern day Odysseus. "It's not a lie, if you believe it."

Oedipus The King, 3

Oedipus recognizes the story of Laius's murder as that of the murder he committed.  He sees himself as the cause of the city's troubles after all, and is in agony over it.  [He doesn't know the half of it.  Strike that, he doesn't know the tenth of it yet.  Laius's murder is the least of his problems.]  There was one survivor from the murder, a servant who, upon seeing Oedipus take the throne, asked to return to shepherding, his previous career.  Oedipus asks that he be brought in, and the exact circumstances of Laius's murder matched against his own memory.

In the meantime, Oedipus tells his own story.  At home in Corinth, he was told in passing that he was adopted.  Unnerved, his parents Polybus and Merope tried to set his mind at ease.  But he went to an oracle, whose prophecy was far worse than just the adoption news.  He was told he would murder his father and marry his mother.  Horrified at the prospect, he fled.  And on the road, he had an altercation with a travelling band at the three crossroads.  He killed them.  And now he might be responsible for Laius's death.  Jocasta tries to calm him, saying at the very least the prophets don't know what they're talking about-- because Laius certainly wasn't killed by his son!

The Chorus try to wrap their heads around the situation.  They know that justice must be done against Oedipus if he really is the killer.  On the other hand, if prophecies go unfulfilled so easily, why must any respect be paid to them at all?

A messenger enters with news from Corinth.  Polybus is dead, and Oedipus will inherit that throne.  It's good news!  And even better, this tells against the prophecy that was giving Oedipus so much grief-- he didn't have to kill his father after all! [Nobody has noticed up to this point the similarity between Oedipus's prophecy and that of Jocasta.]  Oedipus is still fearful of returning home, fearful of the second half of the prophecy-- marrying his mother.  The messenger explains that the whole prophecy was never anything to worry about in the first place-- after all, Polybus wasn't even Oedipus's real father!  Oedipus was adopted, brought to the king by this messenger himself, after being found as an infant with his ankles bound on a hill near Thebes!



Jocasta is getting upset.

And actually, this messenger didn't find Oedipus per se.  He was found by another shepherd-- one of Laius's men.  The Chorus thinks perhaps this is the same guy who they already called about the other story.  They ask Jocasta if she remembers anything, but she's suddenly playing dumb and trying to change the subject.  Oedipus wants to know all about his origins, but Jocasta is begging him not to follow through to the end of the story.  But he's feeling upbeat now, and thinks she'll be embarrassed by his lowly station, if he's the abandoned son of slaves.  But perhaps he is the son of the gods themselves!  Tee-hee!

The Chorus gets carried away thinking of the possibilites.  Here among them, offspring of the divine!  That kind of thing never happens anymore!  Awesome!

---------------------------

The language games are getting more and more clever-- but I can't tell if it's Sophocles or Roche making more of it than is actually there.  A sampling:

"This is his palace, sir, and he's within.
This lady [Jocasta] is his wife and mother... of his children."  [Come on.]

[Answer! From Alex Jech. 

The Greek lines are:

στέγαι μὲν αἵδε, καὐτὸς ἔνδον, ὦ ξένε:
γυνὴ δὲ μήτηρ ἥδε τῶν κείνου τέκνων.

Alex's raw translation was "But this woman is mother of his children."  After giving him the context, he acknowledged there was something goofy going on in the structure of the second line.  He then suggested "Wife and mother, this one, of his children," which is pretty close to the effect of Roche's version, though a little more subtle.  Success!]

"I do not blush to own I'm Forgune's pampered child.
She will not let me down.  She is my mother."

One other line of note, when Jocasta is trying to settle down Oedipus's fear of the prophecy of him marrying his mother:

"Forget this silly thought of mother-marrying.
Why, many men in dreams have married mothers,
And he lives happiest who makes the least of it."

A clinical description of the Oedipal Complex!  I always thought that Freud simply named it after the character because it was such a well-known story.  But it looks like the psychological phenomenon itself was mentioned right in the play.  We've gone totally meta.

Oedipus The King, 2

The prophet Tiresias enters, but refuses to speak, for what he knows hurts him too much to make public.  Oedipus tries to flatter it out of him, to no avail.  Angry now, Oedipus accuses Tiresias himself of being the murderer, or at least plotting it years ago.  That pisses him off something fierce.  Tiresias now directly fingers Oedipus as the murderer, which just makes the confrontation more contentious than before.

Not understaning the accusation at all, Oedipus thinks he has stumbled on the real plot.  He claims that Creon has put the prophet up to it, in a power play to usurp the throne.  (And he thinks himself enormously clever for figuring it out.)  Tiresias is more insulted than ever, and curses out Oedipus.  He starts to hint at the truth, at Oedipus's origins, but Oedipus simply mocks him for speaking in riddles-- solving such riddles is his strength, after all.  So in a final speech before exiting, Tiresias tells it to him straight (though without actually mentioning his name): the murderer was no stranger, but a native of Thebes, is his children's brother, his mother's husband, and will die in disgrace.

The Chorus is greatly upset from the argument.  And they don't want to think of the implications of Tiresias's accusation.

Creon enters and gets an earful from Oedipus, being accused of attempting to usurp the throne.  Oedipus knows he's in cahoots with the prophet-- otherwise the prophet would have fingered Oedipus for the murder when it actually happened instead of waiting until now.  Creon pleads his case: in the current arrangement, as brother-in-law to the king, he has an equal say in the affairs of the state without the hassle of actually being the monarch.  Why would he want to give that up?  Oedipus is not settled, and the conflict escalates.

Jocasta the queen enters: "Everybody, cool out.  COOL OUT!"  The chorus pleads with Oedipus to simmer down.  Paranoia now seems to be catching up with him, as he lashes out at everyone around him.  Jocasta just wants to know what all the fuss was about, and Oedipus explains that the prophet had accused him of the murder.  I mean, it's preposterous!

Jocasta chuckles about it.  "Silly, long ago Apollo foretold that Laius would be killed by his firstborn.  And yeah, he was killed at a three-way crossroads.  But that was in a faraway land, by a band of marauders!  And we had abandoned our firstborn on a hillside as soon as he was born!  So, no worries!"

Oedipus: "Yeah, I mean.... wait, what?"




---------------------

Heh.

One very cool bit of irony in this part is Creon pleading his innocence and claiming to be free from the temptations of power.  One, because the audience already knows the rest of his story, and two, because Sophocles already wrote that play himself.  You're not fooling anyone, you know.

The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby (Tom Wolfe)

Las Vegas... demolition derby... self-promoting DJs... Jersey teeny-boppers... Phil Spector... custom cars... Cassius Clay... NASCAR country... Cary Grant... seedy gossip tabloids... the IT girl... urban archetypes... public trendsetters... conservative aesthetic crusaders... the Art Scene... men's fashion... nanny culture... the generation gap... Sunday leisure... rich divorcées...women's prison... doormen... status in the city.

America rocks.*

What I got out of this book is utter delight in and celebration of the strands of American culture.  I could also see Tom Wolfe dipping his toe into the stream-of-consciousness style.  Most importantly, he treats all of his subjects with glowing, genuine respect.  Only when he's writing about the ultra-rich does a wink sneak in to acknowledge the utter ridiculousness of their behavior.  (As opposed to his portrayal of the hippies in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, in which he never stopped winking.)

*(Except for Phil Spector.  On the other hand, anyone who could write this:



can't be all bad.)

Ajax, 2

Ajax emerges, now sane, but distraught, while the Chorus and Tecmessa look on, terrified.  He lashes out at all who have slighted him-- especially Odysseus, Agamemnon, and Menelaus.  He feels abandoned by the gods, disgusted by the war, unappreciated by the army, resentful of his hero father whose standard he can no longer fulfill.  He cannot return home in shame.  He considers going out in a blaze of glory on a suicide charge into the Trojans, but thinks that will give the sons of Atreus too much pleasure.  He is utterly broken.

Tecmessa attempts to bring him back from the brink.  Life surely has more in store-- look at her own improvement after her household had been destroyed!  He owes it to her, and to his mother and father, and his son, to push through the misery and pain.

Ajax calls for his son, to give him his final advice, and states his final testament.  He bestows his great shield, but says his other weaponry must be buried with him-- they will not be distributed among the Greeks, now his enemies.  His son Eurysaces will be raised by Ajax's brother, Teucer.  The business done, he shuts himself away.

The Chorus is in more of a panic than ever.  But Ajax emerges, and announces his next move.  The closeness of death has softened his edge, he says.  He does not want to die.  Let his weapons be buried, as asked.  Meanwhile, he will go to the sea to do penance to the gods.  He will submit to the Greek kings-- it is the honorable and dutiful thing to do.  He goes.  The Chorus is ecstatic.  Wisdom has prevailed.  They celebrate the turn in his behavior, and look forward only to positive outcomes ahead.

-----------------------

Of course, we're only halfway through the play. Things are bound to get worse.

I was hoping to see Ajax go through the classic five stages of grief-- couldn't find it, though.  At least, no clear instance of Bargaining.

I was surprised to see the daddy issues crop up here.  But it reminded me of that other classic of the Western literary tradition:

Let's see.  Emilio Estevez as Ajax, Ally Sheedy as Tecmessa, Anthony Michael Hall as the Chorus, John Bender as Odysseus, and Principal Vernon as Agamemnon Menelaus.  With special guest Larry Lester's Buns as the slaughtered animals.  

I think I may have something here.

(Note for future reference: I actually just wanted the clip where Emilio Estevez starts crying about his old man telling him to be a winner.  That clip doesn't exist on YouTube.  This "Andy Tribute" montage is soooooo much better.)

Sophocles

A bit of research shows that only seven of Sophocles' 123 plays have survived.  Somehow, I managed to collect the whole set.  Huzzah!

The first book contains Ajax, The Women of Trachis, Electra, and Philoctetes.  Translations are by John Moore, Michael Jameson, and David Greene-- all unknown to me, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  I'm pretty sure I originally bought this for my freshman seminar, but it's possible that I got it for my Ancient Philosophy course at the University of Chicago, along with the Iliad.  In either case, I can't remember actually reading anything out of it.  Shame on me.

The second book contains the Theban plays: Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus, and Antigone.  I picked this up at Half Price Books when I bought my Aeschylus.  Translations are by Paul Roche again.  Solid.

The overall chronology of authorship, it seems, is Ajax - Antigone - Women of Trachis - Oedipus the King - Electra - Philoctetes - Oedipus at Colonus, so that's the order I'm going in.  That means I'm reading the book with the Theban plays out of order, but they weren't written together anyway, so what's the dif?  We'll see what Roche's introduction has to say about it, though.

Incidentally, what I do remember from freshman seminar is watching a bizarre video  in the library on a crummy VHS and old tube TV starring Morgan Freeman in some sort of retelling of the Oedipus saga in a church or something.  (Which would seem to imply that I got the first Sophocles book there-- but that book doesn't have the Oedipus plays in it.  So now I don't know what happened.)  Anyway, I finally managed to track down what in the hell that was all about.  Feast your eyes on "The Gospel at Colonus" starring, indeed, Morgan Freeman.

Well this is just depressing

Review of a critic of Classics translations (via The Fortnightly Review).  Apparently, Lattimore sucks.

To which I can only say

The Eumenides, 3

Athena starts the trial, and Apollo enters for the defense.  The Furies question Orestes, and he admits killing his mother, but under the instructions of Apollo.  He claims justification also because Clytemnestra had killed Agamemnon without suffering from the gods for it.  The trial turns on the question of whether the closeness between son and mother makes the killing automatically a ghastly crime, regardless of circumstances.

Apollo argues to the jury.  He claims his instructions came from Zeus, in part because of the greatness of Agamemnon who was struck down.  He further claims that the child is closer to his father than his mother, who is merely a caretaker even during pregnancy.  As proof, he points to Athena, who was not born of a mother but sprung whole from Zeus.  As fathers are necessary, but mothers are contingent, the weight of the argument is in Orestes' favor.

Athena calls for the jury's verdict.  As the votes come in, trash-talking between the Furies and Apollo.  Athena announces her tie-breaking vote, and it indeed comes down to that: Orestes is acquitted.  Apollo exits, and Orestes praises Athena, pledging devotion to her and to her city of Athens for the remainder of his life.

The Furies are pissed.  Athena tries to calm them down, pointing out that they did well if the verdict came out tied, but they won't hear it.  Athena keeps at it, eventually promising a promotion for them into the keepers and apportioners of justice for the people of Athens [I think].  The Furies, now called the Eumenides, are overjoyed at their new station, and eventually parade out in peace.

---------------------------

This was not how I expected this to end at all.  I was sure the verdict was going the other way.  And upon first reading, I couldn't follow the final conversation between Athena and the Furies.  But the second reading opened it up a bit.

First of all, Athena is heaping much praise on the people of Athens, and their traditions of doing justice to each other and to the gods.  It reads like a whole lot of flattery Aeschylus is heaping on his fellow-citizens.  Perhaps this is how the playwrights won the drama prizes?

But Athena is doing more here when she promotes the Furies.  She is allowing them to dole out punishment, but also to dole out positive justice.  That has been missing from the Furies actions throughout the play-- they chased Orestes to inflict divine retribution, and could not be satisfied until the task was finished.  But as it turns out, that is a very one-sided view of justice.  In fact, that may be the crux of the failure of justice through the entire trilogy.  Each character was seeking revenge, seeking to do violence as the only way to achieve satisfaction.  True justice requires the possibility of other kinds of responses.

Update, 20 minutes later:  Looked up some interpretations.  Nailed it.

The Libation Bearers, 3

The Chorus tells of Clytemnestra's dream: that she gave birth to and nursed a serpent that kills her in the end.  Orestes is encouraged by the good omen, seeing success in his plan to kill her.  He hatches his plot: he'll gain entrance to the palace disguised as a traveling stranger.  Then he'll walk up to Aegisthus and kill him.  [Yes, it's really that simple.]

The Chorus contemplates the pattern of history, of women killing the men they're closest to and being killed in return.  Althea, who killed her son; Scylla, who killed her father; the women of Lemnos, who all killed their husbands.  And now the pattern looks to be repeated again.

Orestes, in disguise, enters the palace and is met by Clytemnestra.  He says he brings the message of the death of Orestes to his family.  Clytemnestra appears distraught, and goes to tell the household while the stranger is accommodated.  But the Chorus of women speaks to Orestes' old nurse Cilissa, who says Clytemnestra is secretly pleased, for the one threat against her power is no more.  The Chorus, barely able to contain their excitement, tell her to make sure Aegisthus comes to meet the stranger unarmed, but won't tell what's about to happen next.  Chorus, to themselves: "It's finally happening!  We're about to see the murder we've been waiting for.  Everything is gonna be awesome now!"

About Last Night...
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The Agamemnon, 3

Clytemnestra urges Cassandra to come into the palace for the (thankful) sacrifices to the gods.  But she shudders in silence and stays put.  The Chorus urges her to go, but in confusion over her state.  Clytemnestra leaves in frustration.

At this, Cassandra speaks, and cries out to Apollo over prophetic visions.  First recognizing the spilling of much blood in the palace-- past, present, and future.  Points the finger especially at a "wretched woman".  But she's babbling, and the Chorus can't keep up.  They're totally freaked out.  She sees Clytemnestra killing her husband.  She sees her own death, and rues her fate.  She sees the destruction brought on by Paris, her own home, and a similar home by the rivers in Hades.  She sees the original ancient familial murders in the palace, and those of Atreus, Agamemnon's father.

The Chorus asks for explanation.  Cassandra tells of her seduction by Apollo, then his curse when she wouldn't have his child: she will not be believed in her prophecies.

Now sees specifically the murdered children of Thyestes, murdered by his brother Atreus and then fed to their father.  She sees Aegisthus and Clytemnestra plotting Agamemnon's murder in his bed.  The Chorus recognize the old story of Thyestes and are amazed, but lost on the rest.  She specifically calls Agamemnon's death.  She sees Clytemnestra plotting against her, and throws off her wench's clothing in disgust.  She sees an ultimate avenger (Orestes) arriving to do in Clytemnestra.  She resigns herself to her fate, and moves to enter the palace.

The Chorus ask why the change, and admire her as an "undaunted soul".  She rebukes the compliment, saying it is only given to the doomed.  She recoils again from entering, predicting future deaths, and stating a final wish before her own death: that her slayers also be put to death.

The Chorus lament Agamemnon's imminent and untimely death, questioning the benefit of being born a king if it leads to such a fate.

----------------------

Once again, it's unclear to me how much of the story is already understood by the audience.  Cassandra speaks without naming names, as it were.  But I easily picked up on exactly whom she's talking about on every line-- and the footnotes weren't necessary most of the time.  Good to see the Chorus isn't entirely stupid-- they caught some of it as well.

Funny line that has gained a ridiculous new connotation:

(Clytemnestra speaking of Cassandra's reluctance to come in): Perhaps she only understands some outlandish twittering.

I really enjoyed Cassandra's scenes.  I was hoping to find a video of a really good version of a performance in English somewhere.  Instead, this is the best I found.  This is creepy as hell.





I don't understand theater at all.

Common Sense, I - Of The Origin And Design Of Government In General, With Concise Remarks On The English Constitution

Society is a natural developement necessary to the survival and prosperity of man.  Government, on the other hand, is necessary only to counter the vices that arise in a natural society.  As society grows, the most natural organization for a government is of representatives elected from the various regions or groups that make up society.  Of utmost importance is that the Elected do not view themselves as a separate class from the Electors.

The only advantage of an absolute governmental authority is its simplicity of organization.  The English system cannot even boast of that, given the complex system of checks between the monarch, the peers in the House of Lords, and the republicans in the House of Commons.  The hereditary positions contribute nothing to legitimate government, because they necessarily separate the class of government apart from the governed.

An absurdity: The House of Commons has check on the monarch either because the monarch cannot be trusted, or the commons are wiser than the monarch.  Yet somehow the monarch can reject the bills of the commons as well-- even though the monarch is shut off from knowledge of the world.  Any investigation of this system leads to the question: Whence the power of the king?

Whatever improvements England has introduced beyond a traditional monarchy are for nought while that question remains unaddressed.  IF England is a superior nation, it is due to the superior people, not the superior system.  We must now look at the system objectively, so as not to prejudice ourselves against its failings.

------------------------

The American system has the same internal inconsistencies, with every house checking every office.  The difference, of course, is the election of every office-- so no part of it is inherently the "first moving power".  Likewise, the Presidency possesses the danger of devolving into a tyranny, but for periodic elections of a new President.

New vocabulary: "felo de se" -- a suicide, considered a crime against oneself.  Used as a metaphor for the internal contradictions of the English system of checks against the monarch.

Embarrassing history I had to look up: Charles the First

Paine: "For the fate of Charles the first, hath only made kings more subtle-- not more just."

King at the start of the English Civil War in 1642, ultimately over the king's defiance of Parliament.  Put on trial for high treason by the Rump Parliament in 1649; defiant, claiming the divine right to rule; beheaded.

In the aftermath, a new republic was declared: the Commonwealth of England.  Shortly after, in 1653, Oliver Cromwell was declared Lord Protector of the Commonwealth.  Died in 1658.  Posthumously beheaded in 1661 after the restoration of the monarchy...

Which led me to this (note: this is ridiculous):

The Odyssey, Book 24

Hermes leads the souls of the suitors in a chain-gang down to Hades.  There, the heroes of Ilion meet and converse.  Achilleus regrets the ultimately lowly death of Agamemnon.  Agamemnon, meanwhile, tells Achilleus the circumstances and grieving after his own death in battle.  Hermes arrives.  Agamemnon, to the suitor Amphimedon: "What are you guys doing here?"  Amphimedon quickly tells the history of their wooing Penelope, of her deceit with the weaving, and her stalling until the arrival of and slaughter by Odysseus.  Agamemnon: "Good for Penelope."

Odysseus and Telemachos arrive at Laertes house.  Odysseus approaches alone, playing again the disguise game to see if his father will recognize him.  He says he is Eperitos of Alybas, a one-time acquaintance of Odysseus, whom he met in passing five years earlier.  Laertes, distraught and not hopeful of his son's survival, wails.  Odysseus feels horribly, and reveals himself, showing his scar.  Weeping.  Telmachos comes in with Dolios, an old servant.  More weeping.

Rumor sweeps through the town, spreading news of the slaughter.  Eupeithes, father of Antinoos, speaks for all, urging that they chase down Odysseus for striking down so many good men.  Medon and the singer (the two Odysseus spared) try to talk them down, saying he was doing the business of the gods, who were there.  Eupeithes leads a march anyway.

Athene, to Zeus: "Crap.  Now what?"  Zeus: "Still your fault, sweetheart.  You figure it out."  Odysseus sees the marchers coming, and the ten that are there armor up.  Athene comes in the form of Mentor to urge valor.  She inspires strength in Laertes, who kills Eupeithes with one throw of the spear.  Odysseus leads a charge and kills many on the front line, while Athene prompts a retreat.  Odysseus tries to chase after, but Zeus strikes the ground in front of him with lightning.

Athene: "All right, sonny.  That's enough.  Just pack that in."

End.

-------------------------

The final scene really is Monty Python-esque.  In case the reference above isn't clear:

The Odyssey, Book 12

Return to Aiaia.  Burial of Elpenor.  Circe takes Odysseus aside and prepares him for his next adventures.  First, he must stop the ears of his companions with wax to avoid the lure of the Sirens, while they lash him to the mast to keep him from following the song.

Next, they must sail through the Roving Rocks, between the monsters Skylla-- a six-headed man-eating she-beast-- and Charybdis-- a great sucking whirlpool offering no escape.  Circe advises to err on the side of Skylla, for it is better to lose six men than all.

Finally, they will come to the island of Thrinakia where Helios keeps his immortal cattle.  If they resist feasting on the cattle, all might return to Ithaka.  If not, only Odysseus may make it home.

They sail.  The waters are calm by the Sirens, and the men row as Odysseus is tempted by their song.  Only the lashings hold him.

The storm rises as they approach the Rocks.  Odysseus warns them to avoid falling into Charybdis's maw, neglecting to tell them of Skylla's appetite.  Six are killed.

Next they near Thrinakia, while Odysseus begs them not to land there.  Eurylochos convinces them to stay overnight.  They land; Zeus sends up a storm and strands them on the island for a month.  They eat their reserves of food while Odysseus instructs them not to kill the cattle.  But while he is out and falls asleep, Eurylochos leads them to kill the best of the cattle.  Odysseus learns of this, and knows they are doomed.

Helios complains (threatening to shine on Hades instead of the world) to Zeus, who promises to avenge the loss on the open sea.  The dead meat groans as the men eat it.  A week later, the storm calms, and the ship sets sail again.  Away from all land, the mast is struck by lightning and the men drown.  Odysseus climbs on the wreckage and drifts toward Charybdis.  He holds onto a branch while the wreckage is sucked down, waits all day for the waters to return, then drifts again, saved from Skylla.  He lands finally on the island of Ogygia, home of Kalypso.

"But you've heard that one already."

-----------------------------

Song of the Sirens, xii.184-191:

"Come this way, honored Odysseus, great glory of the Achaians,
and stay your ship, so that you can listen here to our singing;
for no one else has ever sailed past this place in his black ship
until he has listened to the honey-sweet voice that issues
from our lips; then goes on, well pleased, knowing more than ever
he did; for we know everything that the Argives and Trojans
did and suffered in wide Troy through the gods' despite.
Over all the generous earth we know everything that happens."

Was Odysseus tempted by their beauty, or by their promise of knowledge?  Surely after a ten-plus-year siege of Troy, he would ask himself what purpose it served, what meaning the gods took from the sacrifice of so many good men, whether it was all a cruel joke or a mistake, or whether his and the others' deeds would be remembered for good.  "Your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God."  Clever, clever Sirens.

And even if it's mostly unrelated, I can't pass up linking this: