Hippolytus: Summary and Conflict Analysis

Summary

This play opens with word from the goddess of love, Aphrodite. She introduces Hippolytus, the illegitimate son of Theseus and Hippolyta, and explains that his contempt for her and disregard of her caused her to curse him, making him lose the ability to love or have anything to do with sex (Aphrodite will curse those who don’t revere her, and bless those who do). With this life of chastity and purity, he claims his piety to be in honor of the goddess of the hunt, Artemis, and refuses to respect Aphrodite.

Now, Phaedra, the wife of Theseus, and the stepmother of Hippolytus has fallen ill, and it is then revealed that she is plagued with love for her stepson; she is simply lovesick. Because she feels that she has disgraced the gods with her lust, she decides to starve herself and die. The nurse who cares for her advices her to give in to her desires, as that would be the only thing which can save her from her illness. But Phaedra refuses to give in, and proceeds to a speech expressing how man was born to be miserable, as many pleasures delight in evil. She explains that she is unfortunately powerless to the strength of her own passions, a weakness of a woman, and because of her profound shame for her own lovesickness, she has no other option but to die. She asked the chorus to vow to silence about her sin.

When Phaedra confessed her love to Hippolytus, he then when on a rant of how women and their untamed passions are a plague to the society of reasonable men, and then he turned her in for incest. After this, Phaedra hanged herself, and in her note explained her predicament concerning Hippolytus. When Theseus found out about her suicide and the note, he misinterpreted it, and thought that the cause of her death was directly the fault of Hippolytus, and blamed him for raping her. Hippolytus swore to his father that he is chaste, and has never done any such thing, but because of his vow to silence, he could not tell the whole truth about Phaedra. Theseus then exiled him to an island and laid a curse on him through the Sea god, Poseidon. When he arrived at the island of exile, a sea monster rose up from the water, in the form of a bull, and tangled him in the reigns of his chariot as his chariot team went insane, dragging him across the rocks. Nearly dead, Hippolytus begged for mercy pleading his innocence, and was freed from the chariot team’s ropes, and brought back to the palace, barely walking. Theseus had no feeling towards the mangling of his son, for he respected the gods, but when Artemis revealed the truth, he had great regret and was sorry to his son. Hippolytus, with his last breath, absolved his father of the guilt of his death.

The Conflict

Phaedra was horribly lovesick for her stepson, and ashamed for this reason. When her nurse and the chorus pitied her, telling her to give in to her desires so that she could live without pain, she responded with a venerable speech on the nature of man, particularly women and their passions, and concluded that because of her weakness over this desire, it would be better to die. Theseus also showed that the passion of a man could lead to bad as well; his loyalty to honor and power caused him to disbelieve in his son’s claims to chastity and immediately assume that he had violated Phaedra. With these examples, it seems to me that this play has a conflict that is mostly “man versus self,” or “man versus supernatural,” for like most tragedies, there is no immediate protagonist or antagonist, but rather the inner conflicts with the passions and battles with will of the gods and fate.

Each character was led in some way by an irrational passion. Hippolytus was driven by his hatred for Aphrodite and women, which was inspired by his illegitimacy. Phaedra was driven by the passion of love, and Theseus by the passion of honor. All of these led the characters to irrational actions. but the one who seemed most rational, I would say is Phaedra. One would accuse her of being the cause of all of the conflicts which later occurred, but poor Phaedra was the one who was ashamed of her uncontrollable desires and admitted her wrongness, and then got rid of them, in a tragic way. It was Hippolytus and Theseus who in their own ideas of piety were prideful, and what Hippolytus considered piety, was really hatred and pride in it masked with an irrational reverence for Artemis and a claim to chastity and piety.

Phaedra’s speech gave a good insight to the idea of the passions in man. She stated how the satisfaction of the passions often delights in evil, and to resist the passions results in great pain (in this play it was shown as a physical pain). Her conclusion was that man was born to suffer. This reminds me of the song in Plato’s Protagoras, which expresses that “Becoming good is hard.” The struggles of Phaedra in Hippolytus showed that becoming good is no easy task, for it requires one to control and dominate the passions, which Phaedra was powerless against, particularly because she was a woman (according to Euripides, that is).

Theseus, was prideful in his judgement of Hippolytus, and sent him to exile and cursed him because of his own false accusations. The tragedy was that he could not admit to his wrongness until it was too late, another theme in many Greek plays. One’s pride will usually lead him to his doom, but by the time he realizes his folly, the wheel of fate will have already made its turn. Overall, the conflict of this tragedy seems to revolve around the power of the passions of love and hate, and how powerful they are.

Antigone: Summary and Analysis of Conflict

Summary

Antigone and Ismene, sisters, and daughters of Oedipus, have both suffered many losses in their family. Oedipus had gouged out his eyes and banished himself, and both of their brothers, Eteocles and Polyneices, have perished in battle. Although Eteocles was buried and given a proper funeral by the state, Polyneices was fighting for the enemy, and King Creon forbade his burial. Antigone, with a strong will to be loyal to her own blood decides to defy the commands of the King, although disobeying him would result in public stoning. Ismene protests, as she cannot even begin to entertain the thought of going against public authority. Antigone simply tells her that these actions are in favor of piety, and her loyalty to her family is what the gods want more than her loyalty to the state.

Creon receives notice that the corpse of the enemy, Polyneices, has been found with dust on its chest. Creon immediately demands the guilty man, for someone had tried to bury the enemy. Antigone is then brought into the palace, and she presents no denial to the accusations; she does not have guilt nor does she fear the punishment. Creon theorizes that Ismene and Antigone are conspiring against him and planning to overthrow him by these acts of rebellion, and accuses them of anarchy. However, he does later release Ismene, because she is innocent. Still, Antigone is held guilty of the crime and must face the penalty.  In disappointment, the chorus and choragos rebuke the stubbornness of Antigone, for they do not want her to be killed because of  her own irrational, headstrong character. Creon, though, is much the same, for he does not want to let go of his belief that he is doing what is right. Haemon, Creon’s son, who is engaged to Antigone, believes that his father is wrong, and that Antigone was simply doing what the gods would will. Creon, in his own stubbornness, dismisses his son.

The blind prophet, Teiresias appears on the stage, and basically advises Creon to let go, for he is causing much more pain by his unwillingness to yield. He also foretells the bitter end to this story, and explains that all of this will only result in the death of his loved ones, a great payback. To this, Creon admits that this stubborn pride is not worth the life of any of those he loves, and he goes to release Antigone from her vault, but alas, he was too late. The prophet had been right: He found his son weeping by the woman who was to be his wife, now dead, for she had hanged herself. When Creon sees his son in this hysterical grief, he becomes sorrowful himself, and tries to coax him and repent, but Haemon spits in his face. In his sorrow, Haemon grabs a sword and takes his own life, right in front of his father. Creon then makes his way back only to receive the word that his wife had also killed herself, using her last breath to curse the murderer of her son. To this, Creon confesses his pride and its consequences, and accepts that this sin led to his dreadful fate. The choragos ends the play with the line, “There is no happiness where there is no wisdom; No wisdom but in submission to the gods. Big words are always punished, And proud men in old age learn to be wise.”

The Conflict

When I first read this play, the conflict seemed to me to be between loyalty to the family or the state, but that seemed too simple for a Greek play, of course there had to be more. The battle of loyalties is only part of it, but I also considered that it could be between justice and consequences. What Antigone and Creon have in common is that they both thought that they were doing what was holy, and were willing to accept whatever consequences that act of justice (what they believed to be) may have brought. After talking about it, it seemed clear that the conflict was based upon pride; that is, between pride in one’s idea of piety  and piety itself. Creon forbade Polyneices burial because he thought it to be unholy to show any respect for an enemy of the state, and Antigone broke the law of the King and buried her brother because she thought it to be holy to be faithful to family. Both had some reason behind their stances, but what brought upon the death and suffering in the end was simply their pride in themselves and their rightness. As Teiresias said, “the only crime is pride.” It was not the piety which led them to their bitter endings, but rather their pride in their own piety. It enlightens the question of whether piety must come along with strong feelings, motivating one to kill or die.

The ending quote declares that there is no wisdom but in submission to the gods, and it seems that the true piety would be in exactly that. Creon and Antigone were both very strong in their ideas of the holy, but in Creon’s pride, he disobeyed the gods, for Teiresias had told him to swallow his pride because it is that which inevitably led to the tragedy in the end. Now, it makes one ask if he or Antigone were right in their claims of piety in the first place. They were trying to please the gods in their actions, but they also could’ve just been trying to please themselves. They had strong feelings; Antigone’s love for her brother inspired hate for the law, an Creon’s love for his state gave light to his hatred of the enemy. Since the things that they loved seemed like the right things to love, the most venerable, they thought that their feelings were justified by piety and were therefore worthy of pride. Considering the ending, it seems that the reason for the demise of Antigone, Haemon, and Creon’s wife was trusting the passion-driven perceptions of piety over what the gods wanted, which was the loss of pride.

Oedipus Rex: Summary and Reflection on Nature of Fate

Summary

As the city of Thebes is plagued with great strife,  company of priests make a visit to the king, Oedipus, who had once saved the city from the power of the Sphinx, to ask him to once again save the city from this plague. Oedipus asks his brother-in-law, Creon to go to Apollo and find out what can be done to save Thebes, and he returns with an answer. (Now, Laius, was the king before Oedipus, who was mysteriously killed, and his wife, Jocasta, who became a widow, is now married to Oedipus.)  In order to defeat that which plagues the city, the cause of Laius’s death must be found out, then punished.

Oedipus curses whoever it is who was the murderer, promising a great punishment of banishment to the guilty man. He beckons the blind prophet, Tiresias, who does not give in to his requests for information. Tiresias is afraid that the prophecy will make Oedipus angry, and motivate him to punish him. After being forced to, he tells him that the prophecy shows that he, Oedipus, is the murderer. Oedipus is less than pleased at this news, and makes claims that Tiresias and Creon are plotting to overthrow him. Jocasta and the chorus prove Oedipus’s fear to be irrational and untrue, and he relents, albeit he is still convinced of the plot in his own head.

What really haunts Oedipus, and makes him worry that the prophecy is true, is the fact that Laius was killed at a three-way crossroad, a place where Oedipus remembers fighting a battle, killing many. The prophecy which has dictated Oedipus’s life was one that said he would kill his father and marry his mother, which drove him to flee Corinth in the first place in an attempt to avoid his fate. He tried to completely isolate himself from all situations where the prophecy would show itself to be true.

A messenger enters into the palace to bring news; he tells Oedipus that his father, Polybus, has died of natural causes. This seems to lighten a load off of him, proving the prophecy of him killing his father is false. He still worries, though, since his mother is alive, but the messenger informs him that the parents who he thought were his own, are actually not. Rather, Laius and Jocasta had a baby, who was ordered to be killed (for Laius had known of the prophecy too, and he was hoping that by destroying his child he would not have to fear his fate.), but a shepherd disobeyed this order and gave him to the messenger. The shepherd admitted this under threats of death. Jocasta begged of him not to try to find his roots, but he did, and he found that he did kill his father and marry his mother. He had fulfilled the prophecy, and also cursed himself, for he had killed Laius, and was the guilty man. Jocasta killed herself and in a fit a grief Oedipus gouged out his eyes. He was blinded, and cursed, and Creon did what he was ordered to do, and banished Oedipus from Thebes.

The Nature of Fate in Oedipus Rex

This Greek tragedy plays greatly on the nature of fate, and causes one to truly question their own free will. The prophecy that Laius would be killed by his son drove him to the actions of ordering his son to be destroyed, which then caused him to be picked up by a shepherd and raised elsewhere. However it seemed to have an effect when the actions were taken, it was exactly those actions which led to his death. Oedipus most likely wouldn’t have intended to kill Laius if he had grown up knowing him as his father. Likewise, Oedipus fled Corinth to avoid the fulfillment of the prophecy as well, hoping that in distance he would not be able to kill who he thought was his father. He thought that he had won when he found that Polybus had died from natural causes, but his fate was inevitable. This gives rise to another idea present in Oedipus Rex; that is that fate is always inevitable. No matter what one does, one is always subject to his own fate. It seems as if he has no control to begin with. The nature of fate in this play is that it is set in stone; the point of it is its inevitability, it is not subject to change, nor is it a mere possibility. Now, if the end result is predetermined, then what is all which is in between?

Now, in order to even begin to discuss any of these questions, we must first define fate, and figure out what it is. One may say that fate doesn’t exist to begin with, and that we have total control over our own future, as long as our actions are timed right. Like in the classic cinema, “Back to the Future,” Doc knew of the event where he would be shot by the terrorists, thanks to Marty’s letter. Because of this knowledge, he was able to take the right precautions, and wear a bulletproof vest. His death by the terrorists was his future, but it was flexible to his prior precautions, thanks to time travel. If the death by terrorists was his fate, he could’ve taken all of the same precautions, but they would have inevitably been the cause of his death. The problem of fate is that if one were to know about it ahead of time, no matter what actions they decide to take, it would not change their fate. This requires that fate is the work of an outside entity, which can predetermine the outcome of one’s actions, or simply sees the results outside the laws of time, and knows exactly where ones will may lead him.  

I have discussed this with a couple of friends when addressing predestination. Is it that we are truly predestined for Heaven or Hell, or does God simply know where our will is to lead us in the end? Whatever it is that He knows (or destines) can be considered “fate,” and the exact kind of fate dealt with in Oedipus Rex. All of this reflecting alludes to the question of our free will. The theme of fate in this play is based on the fear that we are mere pawns in a bigger scheme, and our free will is an illusion. Fate could be destined to us, or it could simply be the knowledge of  a greater deity living outside the laws of time, who sees the full tapestry, beyond the random trails of thread and knots.

Dialogue in the Style of Plato

Cassandra, Arthemis, Perseus exit the church.

Arthemis: Great sermon today, don’t you say, Perseus?

Perseus: I do say! It has always been in the back of my head, but I’m just now realizing what an important part of being a Christian confession is. It is kind of a beautiful thing, the fact that all which weighs on our souls can be lifted  by the forgiveness of God; but it seems no easy task to get yourself to confess.

Arthemis: Very true, one must really swallow his pride to make himself confess. You know I might just go to Private Absolution, it would be a great burden lifted.

Cassandra: Why, Arthemis, are you guilty or ashamed about something?

Arthemis: You could say that.

Cassandra: You must’ve done something really despisable, for it to burden you so badly. I tend not to feel shame unless whatever I did was really awful. It’s kind of a flaw of mine, but it’s who I am. I’m just naturally stubborn.

Arthemis: Does that mean that you shouldn’t confess your sins? Even if they are small and don’t necessarily weigh down on you?

Cassandra: Confession is nice because it gives you closure and assures you that your faults are forgiven, as long as you are repentant, but if you don’t feel burdened then I don’t see the need.

Arthemis: What does it mean to confess?

Perseus: Confession literally means to acknowledge. Also to express a truth or reality.

Arthemis: Are your sins not a reality?

Cassandra: They are.

Arthemis: What is more of a truth, the sin, or how the sin makes you feel?

Cassandra: Objectively, the sin, I guess.

Arthemis: So even if the sin doesn’t necessarily burden you, it is worth being confessed, right?

Cassandra: I guess. But we confess during the Divine Service every week. Why would we need to go to private absolution for sins that don’t weigh us down? Isn’t the purpose of confession to hear the words, “you are forgiven,” and have the burden lifted from your heart?

Arthemis: You might be onto something, there. I think we need to establish one thing first, though. Even if the sins don’t burden us, should they be confessed if they should cause us guilt?

Perseus: I think that is one of the greatest sins. We have knowledge of our sins but often refuse to repent of them or even acknowledge them. Our lack of guilt  may as well be worse than the sin which causes guilt.

Cassandra:   Why?

Perseus: Because, it is guilt and contrition which causes one to seek forgiveness. Without that drive the sins just fester in the soul without any acknowledgment.

Cassandra: Oh, I see. That makes sense. So confession is for confessing what should be confessed, not what feels  like it needs to be confessed?

Perseus: That follows.

Cassandra: So that makes sense. My question is, what sins are worthy of guilt–like why should one feel guilty? What constitutes a sin? I am well aware that I can keep asking questions and it will just make us more confused, but this is kind of fun.

Perseus: It truly is. I love these conversations. Well, plain and simple, sin is what is against the Law; that is, the Ten Commandments.

Arthemis: I think we’re trying to figure out what is common among those Ten Commandments. To violate them means to violate what, exactly?

Perseus: Well, God, of course.

Cassandra: I would agree.

Arthemis: You don’t say. But really, there must be a certain principle which is being violated, though!

Cassandra: I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say, Arthemis.

Arthemis: Alright consider this: One violates a rule, let’s say they cheat on a test. We’ll use small-scale things. When one cheats on a test, he is violating the rules, yes. He is committing an injustice against the student his is cheating off of and the school system. But all of that is given. He is also violating the principle of earning your own benefits.  That right there is what I’m looking for.

Cassandra: Oh, I see. Well sin is to violate the law of being kind to your neighbor, and honoring God; all of the Ten Commandments are based on the reverence of God and others.

Arthemis: “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart and mind,” and “Love your neighbor as yourself” are both the major laws. To define the underlying principle of the law as a part of the law is just circular.

Perseus: Arthemis, you’re onto something! The main underlying principle of the Law is simply “love,” so could it be that a sin is simply neglecting to love?

Arthemis: That is a possibility, but why are these things worthy of love?

Perseus: You just love dividing things further and further, don’t you? Can you not be content with the principle of love?

Arthemis: Well, not necessarily why are these things worthy of love, but more like what is worthy of love, and why is that way?

Perseus: I will suggest this: Could it all fall into place given the explanation of the First article of the Creed? “He has given me my eyes, ears, and all of my members…” Since God is the Divine Goodness, and there is no “principle” underlying within him, all that is made by him holds his divinity, which means it is worthy of love.  

Arthemis: This is true, so God and all that contains his divinity is deserving of love, for he loves it as well. Meaning that all which is loved by him should be loved too?

Perseus: That follows.

Cassandra: Okay, so a sin is something which violates the love which we are supposed to have for all things of God?

Arthemis: That seems to follow.

Perseus: So contrition should be felt for all sins which violate this love, right?

Arthemis: Should be, yes. But it is often not recognized unless one feels that they have hurt someone, or committed an injustice upon them.

Cassandra: Why is that, you think? Why do some people feel repentant but some just have no guilt?

Perseus: That’s usually linked to psychology; it has to do with empathy. Some people just naturally have more of it than others.

Cassandra: Doesn’t that mean that in order to feel guilty about something you must feel empathy?

Arthemis: Not necessarily. A lot of the times that is the case, but sometimes you feel guilty because you feel that you have gone against your own standard; you feel that as yourself you should know and do better.

Perseus: Like when you are on a team in a sport and because of your continuous error, you lose?

Cassandra: Well, that would be a good example as long as it expresses that the rest of the team really doesn’t care. One can be completely uncompetitive and still feel bad about losing; because you have let yourself down.

Arthemis: So guilt is usually caused by either an engagement of the empathy or a feeling of failure to your own ability.

Perseus: I would say that.

Cassandra: Guilt is merely a feeling. If guilt should be felt for every sin, then it requires the engagement of some kind of emotion. Our feelings aren’t really controlled, though. They’re chemical reactions in the brain.

Arthemis: C.S. Lewis talks about how we can use reason to train the emotions; so that we feel venerance towards soldiers, happiness around children, and guilt when we have done wrong. Like everything in the brain, they can be trained, so does that mean that we still must feel guilt necessarily at all of these sins?

Perseus: No, unless you think that heavy guilt is required in order for one to seek forgiveness.

Arthemis: You are right. Confession means to acknowledge; one does not have to feel anything.  I think that is the point. The only reason why we desire forgiveness when we are guilty is so that we ourselves can be relieved and seek closure. Even if we do not feel guilt, it is still good to confess, for all that we confess is a truth. That is why the liturgy has us confess. Do any of us really feel genuinely guilty that we are poor, miserable sinners? I don’t think so, but we still confess the truth of it. It does not require our emotional pain for it to be worthy of confession. But of course, since we have so many, we cover them all in the confession during the service.

Cassandra: I think you are right. None of it has anything to do with guilt or shame, although we technically should feel guilt and shame for violating the love that we are to have. It simply is repeating a truth, a reality. “I have nothing burdening my mind,” is not equivalent to “I have no sins to confess.”

Perseus: True. So is it wrong to make someone feel ashamed for something? So many have told me that it is hurtful and bad to “shame” somebody for their actions.

Arthemis: Would you say that shame is a good or a bad thing?

Perseus: Well it’s not a good feeling, but it plays an important role in one’s life.

Arthemis: Why would you say that?

Perseus: Well, Arthemis, we all want the best, do we not? Although the best may not be the most pleasurable, so we may not immediately desire the best per se, but ultimately it is our goal, no?

Arthemis: That is right.

Perseus: Albeit shame is not a pleasurable feeling, it makes us better willing to be better, right?

Arthemis: Yes.

Perseus: And you would say that sin is bad rather than good, right?

Arthemis: Of course.

Perseus: So, having an unpleasant feeling towards the bad is reasonable, right?

Arthemis: Yes.

Perseus: And what is reasonable is what is good, therefore important, right?

Arthemis: True.

Perseus: So shame is important to one’s life.

Arthemis: I see.

Cassandra: But is it not wrong to judge people?

Arthemis: Depends on what you mean by that, Cassandra.

Cassandra: Well, it is not our place to judge people, right?

Arthemis: Differentiate between judging and criticizing; Only God can judge us for where we go to live the rest of eternity, but to criticize is merely to show people their error.

Cassandra: True.

Arthemis: Criticism, like confession causes someone to acknowledge their wrongdoing so that they can repent too. If anything I think it is the job of any fellow man, as it also promotes what is good.

Cassandra: I see.

Perseus: Arthemis, I have a problem with our idea of the cause of guilt.

Arthemis: What is it?

Perseus: If the cause is empathy, then we would feel guilt for hurting someone in defense, because they do feel just as much pain, but because they seem more deserving, we dismiss their pain. If the cause is then a failure to meet ones own standards, one would feel guilty for silly things like failing a test, or failing to do something right at your own expense.

Cassandra: What do you suggest?

Perseus: I would say that guilt comes from feeling that you are responsible for some kind of injustice.

Arthemis: I can see that, would you care to further elaborate?

Perseus: Let us say that you lose your temper and strike one of your friends, even though they are innocent, and the reason that you lost your temper is inside of your own head. You do not feel bad because it is painful, for if the friend had struck you first, and you struck back, guilt would not even be in you. You feel guilty because you realize that they did not deserve it, and you feel that you have done an injustice. Doesn’t the soul crave justice?

Arthemis: Not always, remember in Plato’s Republic, how Glaucon proposed that if one were to give a man a magic ring which would make him invisible, he would use that to his advantage and go and commit injustices, since he has fear of no consequences.

Perseus: Arthemis, that is just an unjust man, with little moral strength who lacks the ability to feel shame; a sociopath or something. I’m sure that most normal people would feel guilt after doing something horrible, even if there were no consequences. In fact, they would feel the need of consequences; the “Here, you can hit me back,” mentality.

Arthemis: Only a man trained by good reason has that ability, going back to what we said earlier about how guilt is reasonable. But I agree that it comes from a good sense of injustice. One either feels like they need to be punished or they want forgiveness. To put it simply, a good man desires justice.

Perseus: I would agree.

Cassandra: Why does forgiveness satisfy the guilty soul, then? It is not making it even. There is no eye for eye or anything. It definitely doesn’t dismiss the sin, right?

Arthemis: It doesn’t satisfy the want for justice, it relieves one of the fear of consequence.

Cassandra: Explain.

Arthemis: It is an act of mercy. The sin is acknowledged  by you through confession, and then the pain that you deserve in return is lifted from your chest. It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? Jesus Christ is our everlasting life and forgiveness, and because of him, we do not get what we deserve. I think that the gift of confession and absolution is well worth ones pride, wouldn’t you say?

Cassandra: It is. I will remember that when I’m being stubborn, Ha!

Perseus: It is truly amazing. Yet another example of how the passions lead us astray unless guided by Reason. We are ridiculously attached to our own pride and are somehow wired to think that if we break down and confess and receive forgiveness, or in any way own up to our faults we are expressing weakness and decreasing our own self worth. Why would you say that is?

Cassandra: Likely because of the Devil’s work in us, he wants us to do the opposite of what God wants us to do.

Arthemis: It is because sin is such a big part of our nature; it is a sinful nature, and to confess sin and say that it is wrong is the same as admitting that your own self is wrong.

Perseus: Oh, Arthemis, this conversation was so great, and I have high hopes for it to continue some other time, but I must go. Thank you for the insight.

Arthemis: Dearest Perseus, I do wish that you could stay, but I suppose that all good things must come to an end.

Perseus: Oh, this is no end, just a pause. I must go, but I will talk to you soon! Goodbye, Cassandra!

Cassandra: Goodbye, Perseus! What a pleasure it was!

Cassandra: Arthemis, I have to go help make dinner. We have guests coming tonight. Maybe I will bring this topic up at the table!

Arthemis: You do that for me, Cassandra.