How Low Will Clytemnestra Go? On Editing Aeschylus

 

My edition of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon has finally been published, and I’m relieved to say that the paperback edition is currently priced at ‘only’ £31.99. It has taken me twenty years, on and off, to complete. It feels strange not to be talking to Aeschylus on a daily basis any more.

One major challenge has been the domination of Agamemnon studies for three-quarters of a century by the colossal three-volume edition of Eduard Fraenkel. This astonishing work is deservedly held in higher esteem than almost any commentary on a Greek tragedy.

Fraenkel was a Jewish refugee from Nazism, but the sole explicit reference I have found to this experience is his comment on the choral ode which describes how an allegorical pet lion cub grows up to slaughter the livestock of the very people who have tenderly raised it. Fraenkel dispassionately reminds us that Marshal Hermann Göring kept pet lions (vol. 2, 342), as can be seen in this striking film.

Fraenkel discusses his choices in assembling his Greek text from varied manuscripts in exhaustive detail. I, too, made such choices, but my comments on the reasons for them are kept to a minimum to allow more space for literary criticism.  In the case, however, of Clytemnestra, two passages reveal how editors have made choices about the Greek they print based on what they feel is appropriate language for the terrifyingly eloquent Queen of Argos.

First, Clytemnestra mendaciously claims she had been upset to hear frequent reports from Troy that Agamemnon had been killed there. If he had died as often as was alleged, he’d be able to claim that he had been covered with earth three times, like the triple-bodied (or triple-headed) monster Geryon. In the Greek manuscripts she then adds in parenthesis, ‘a large amount of earth needed for his upper half, although I can’t tell about the lower’ (870). Most scholars delete this line as just too crude: I have left it in. Clytemnestra, with savage humour, is inviting speculation about the lower half of Geryon’s body.

Two-Legged Geryon

Heracles’ fight with Geryon was a popular theme in Athenian sixth-century vase-painting, for example in these vases. Geryon has three heads, but in one vase his lower torso and legs are those of a single individual; in the other he has six legs and apparently three bottoms. Clytemnestra wonders very publicly about the logistics of killing and burying such a creature. She implies that all three of Geryon’s upper bodies needed to be killed/buried but she is not sure about his lower half—a flamboyantly gruesome train of thought in any context, let alone an ostensibly joyful speech of welcome to a loved one.

Six-Legged Geryon

Second, after she has killed Agamemnon and Cassandra, Clytemnestra says that the Trojan prophetess on the voyage to Argos ‘was pounded by the sailors’ masts beside their benches’ (1442-3). This is my attempt to translate the Greek, which in all manuscripts literally reads ‘mast-rubber/rubbed [istotribēs] of the sailors’ benches’.

This is more obscene than anything anywhere in Greek tragedy. It is not surprising that so many editors (not including Fraenkel) have accepted a nineteenth-century emendation to isotribēs, ‘equally consorting with’, which would mean that Cassandra indiscriminately 'hung out' with the lads on the rowing deck.  The trib- element, however, often has a physical sexual overtone of ‘grinding’ or ‘pounding’; moreover, one Corinthian prostitute spoke of her work as ‘lowering masts’ (Strabo 8.6.20). I'm leaving the masts in there.

I have preferred to let Clytemnestra (a) wonder publicly about Geryon’s nether regions and (b) envisage Cassandra rubbing/rubbed by the sailors ‘masts’. There are other arguments, of more linguistic kinds, for and against these readings. But the central question is whether Clytemnestra is explicit about the bottoms of both Geryon and Cassandra. It is crucial to bear in mind that textual criticism is sometimes an ideological process.