The
Oresteia: Bringing Structure and Unity to a Core Course"
Janice
Siegel, Temple University
orginally presented
at
The Association of
Core Texts and Courses
Third Annual Conference
Tradition
and Innovation: The Full and Open Discussion
DoubleTree Hotel
Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania
April 10-13,
1997
Today I will speak
about using the Oresteia to bring structure and unity to a core
course. The comments presented here are connections and ideas generated
in discussion among my students, my colleagues and myself in honest and
open interaction with texts and ideas, in class and out, this past year
at Temple University. The particular texts these discussions involved this
past term are: Aeschylus' Oresteia, Sophocles' Oedipus Rex and Antigone,
Pericles' Funeral Oration (from Thucydides' Peloponnesian War),
Plato's Apology and Crito, selected poems by Sappho, Genesis
and Exodus (Old Testament), Gospel of Matthew (New Testament),
selected surahs of the Koran, Sundiata: An Epic of Old Mali,
Galileo's "Starry Messenger," Machiavelli's Prince, and Shakespeare's
Othello. As with any investigation, since the original conception
of these ideas, many themes and threads identified here have become apparent
in other texts. In a course such as ours, which purports to be an intellectual
history/history of ideas/survey course of various genres of literature
from antiquity through the Renaissance - otherwise known as Intellectual
Heritage 51 - I don't believe that anyone would question the need for a
Greek drama on the syllabus. But I hope to prove its particular usefulness
as a foundation-builder for the rest of the course. I invite the perspicacious
reader to use this study only as a point of departure.
The Oresteia
offers many great teaching opportunities, especially for those of us
who have an extensive Greek slide collection and know how to use it! I
like to take my students on the Orestes Trek, tracing his footsteps from
the Lion Gate at Mycenae to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, to the Aeropagus
at Athens, site of the culminating scene of the trilogy. Included in such
a slide show, of course, is a tour of ancient theaters so they can view
the orchestra of the theater from the vantage point of an audience member,
see a Greek chorus in action, and stare at the breath-taking sight of the
sylvan vistas which surround all Greek theaters, a primary structural requirement
since they are all carved into mountainsides. But before our students can
absorb the Oresteia as ancient theatergoers would have, they must
become familiar with the story known to every person in the Theater of
Dionysus that day in 458 BC when Aeschylus' trilogy won first prize: the
story of Clytemnestra's murder of
her husband Agamemnon, commander-in-chief
of the victorious Greek attack on Troy, father of Orestes. He is also the
next recipient of the Curse of the House of Atreus. Because the Oresteia
is based on a legend that would have been known to the Greek audience through
Homer and others, we now have a reasonable excuse - and need - for introducing
material from Homer's Odyssey, for which there is, alas, no room
on our syllabus. Officially. Sophocles' Theban Plays offer no such
opportunity. Providing information now about Homer's poem and the tradition
of epic poetry helps not only in terms of filling in plot details, but
will come in handy later when we present the Sundiata, another epic
which springs from an oral tradition (in this case, the Mandingo tradition
of Old Mali). The Oresteia is knit from thematic threads which run
throughout the fabric of courses such as we all teach: we shall see similar
themes and plot developments in texts from other cultures, as well as direct
reflections/imitations of Aeschylus' art in diverse works in the Western
tradition. Since the Oresteia is, in fact, about the founding of
a new order and a new system of justice, there is no better place for us
to start than with the subject of crime and punishment.
In the Oresteia,
the Furies are presented as the goddesses of vengeance born of the intergenerational
violence perpetrated by son upon father (we recall they are born from the
drops of blood that hit the ground after the castration of Ouranos by Cronos):
And the
blood that Mother Earth consumes clots hard, it won't seep through, it
breeds revenge and frenzy goes through the guilty, seething like infection,
swarming through the brain. (LB, 66-69)
The libation bearers
of the second play attempt to convince Orestes that murdering his mother
is the right course to take in order to avenge his own father's death at
her hands. They remind Orestes that in the world of Mycenean justice, a
brutal world ruled by Zeus' Law, the spilling of kindred blood demands
a literally retributive response, the spilling of more blood:
It is the law:
when the blood of slaughter
wets the ground
it wants more blood.
Slaughter cries
for the Fury
of those long
dead to bring destruction
on destruction
churning in its wake! (LB, 394-398)
The image of spilled
blood crying out for vengeance is powerful...and familiar. We also recall
that all the trouble for the House of Atreus began when Atreus punished
his brother Thyestes for raping his wife by tricking his brother into eating
his own children. Aegisthus, Thyestes' son, will help Clytemnestra plot
the murder of her husband Agamemnon, Atreus' son. These two murderers will
then be killed by Orestes, son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, who will
then send the Furies after her son for the crime of spilling parental blood.
But it all began the generation before with brother-on-brother violence...
which also rings a bell. It is, of course, in Genesis where we read
of two other brothers, the one spilling the blood of the other. That victim's
blood, too, cries out for vengeance. After Cain murders Abel, God asks,
"'What have you done? Listen; your brother's blood is crying out to me
from
the ground!'" (Gen. 4:10)
In both stories
we have a divine power responding to the spilling of kindred human blood.
Even the metaphor of a ground that drinks in spilled human blood appears
in both texts:
the mother's blood
that wets the ground,
you can never
bring it back, dear god,
the Earth drinks,
and the running life is gone.
(Furies, Eum.
259-261)
(And
the Lord said,) "And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened
its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand."
(Gen.
4:11)
This brings us to
the question of punishment. Cain is exiled for his crime,
(And
the Lord said,) "When you till the ground, it will no longer yield to you
its strength; you will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.
(Gen.
4:12)
and the Furies argue
that Orestes should be too:
Can a
son spill his mother's blood on the ground, then settle into his father's
halls in Argos? Where are the public altars he can use? Can the kinsmen's
holy water touch his hand? (Furies, Eum. 661-664)
When one of my students
wrote in an essay, "killing is a form of banishment," I almost slashed
it through with a red pen, assuring myself that proofreading would have
caught such an obvious blunder. But the line stayed with me, and it slowly
dawned on me that, as misled as this student might have been in her articulation
of the point, the basic idea was sound: both killing and banishment serve
the same purpose, to remove the perpetrator of a crime from his community.
Ostracism is an admittedly severe punishment for anyone with a sense of
community identity, and we see the same suggestion of a choice between
death and banishment as appropriately equivalent punishments in many of
the texts on our syllabus, beginning with the Oresteia. Toward the
end of the first play, Clytemnestra is justifiably outraged when the chorus,
composed of old men of Argos, sentence her to banishment for murdering
Agamemnon who received not even a word of chastisement for sacrificing
their daughter, the crime she is avenging:
"And
now you sentence me? - you banish me from the city, curses breathing
down my neck? But he - name one charge you brought against him then.
He thought no more of it than killing a beast, and his flocks were rich,
teeming in their fleece, but he sacrificed his own child, our daughter,
the agony I labored into love to charm away the savage winds of Thrace.
Didn't the law demand you banish him? - hunt him from the land for all
his guilt? But now you witness what I've done and you are ruthless judges.
(Ag. 1437-1448)
She will, in fact,
be murdered by her own son instead. But surprisingly, those punished thus
generally consider banishment to be the more hurtful of the two options:
when God banishes Cain instead of killing him, he cries out, "My punishment
is greater than I can bear!" (4:13) Cain's lament will be echoed by Shakespeare's
Romeo, also banished instead of sentenced to death, a reduction in sentence
deemed clement by all but Romeo: "Ha, banishment! Be merciful, say 'death';
for exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death. Do not say
'banishment'!" (Romeo and Juliet, III.iii.13-15) This, of course,
is the opposite ploy of the innocent Desdemona, who negotiates unsuccessfully
with her husband Othello: "O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!" (Othello,
V.ii.94). We note that only innocent victims plead for any chance at life
over death (except, of course, Socrates!).
In the pseudo-mythological
era of the Trojan War, Mycenean Greeks live violent yet poetically justified
existences, as presented in the Oresteia: each perpetrator claims
to have "right" on his side; each perpetrator is reacting to a past wrong;
even those who are committed to end the cycle with "one last death" only
perpetuate it (the closing words of the Agamemnon, the first play of the
trilogy, are Clytemnestra's immediately following her murder of Agamemnon:
"We will set the house in order once and for all."). And each character
believes his retributive act of justice is appropriate (we recall Clytemnestra's
cry of "act for act, wound for wound" as she slays Agamemnon for the murder
of their daughter, and Orestes' stony response to Clytemnestra's cry for
mercy: "You killed and it was outrage - suffer outrage now.") Orestes'
situation is an unresolvable paradox: the law states that the murder of
a parent must be avenged, and that children may under no circumstances
murder their own parents. What, then, can Orestes do, since his mother
murdered his father? As a system of justice, these Mycenean laws - created
and executed by a divinity - accomplish nothing positive at all in terms
of the society, community or even family: crimes breed retaliation, intergenerational
curses visit the sins of the father upon the son, families are decimated.
The cycle of violence inexorably turns, with no end to the carnage in sight.
Orestes' unresolvable conflict causes this system to collapse under its
own weight, thus breaking its stranglehold on the people, allowing them
to develop laws of their own, to learn and grow, to become the Greeks of
the Golden Age, governed by the laws of the polis. Before the law-givers
and law-enforcers can use their judgment to administer the law, however,
there must be an agreement concerning what the law is, so it must be written
down. Only then can interpretation be allowed, as opposed to the Furies'
rigid and uncompromising attitude toward all rule-breakers, justified or
not.
We see the same
progression in the Old Testament: in the Five Books of Moses we can trace
the progression from divine punishment to human-delivered punishment and
in regard to human punishment, a movement away from violent reactionary
justice toward compensatory retribution. God himself punishes the first
murderer, Cain. But soon enough God delegates that responsibility to men:
in Genesis 9:6 (the covenant with Noah), God says, "Whoever sheds
the blood of a human, by a human shall that person's blood be shed" (which
presumably is why Moses does not get into trouble for killing that Egyptian
in Exodus 2:12). Then we get the "thou shalt not murder" commandment
(which still appears to be different from "kill" as God himself commands
the community to kill a man who breaks the Sabbath (Numbers 15:35).
It is in Exodus that the laws are written down and codified and it is in
Exodus that we are presented with the "eye for an eye" proposal:
If any
harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for
tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe
for stripe. (Ex. 21:23-24)
The very next verse
makes it clear that this code of behavior is presented as compensatory
retribution, not literal retaliation:
When
a slaveowner strikes the eye of a male or female slave, destroying it,
the owner shall let the slave go, a free person, to compensate for the
tooth. (Ex. 21:26)
This is a big step
in the development of a justice system, for what good is your attacker's
tooth or eye to you, even if you have lost your own? The perpetrator is
now responsible for paying appropriate compensation (the idea "eye for
an eye" can also be read to mean "only an eye for an eye"), and
the community and its citizens reap the rewards.
On to the New
Testament. We note Jesus' rejection of any kind of violent response to
violence: "You have heard it said , 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for
a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes
you on the right cheek, turn the other also..." (Matthew 5:38-39)
Is this meant to be understood literally? No, for Jesus communicates in
metaphor ("Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without
a parable he told them nothing." (Matthew 13:34) So too are we to
understand this advice in a figurative sense: "If your right eye causes
you to sin, tear it out and throw it away." (Matthew 5:27)
In these parallel
traditions, we see a similar development of law and justice, complete with
a paralleled system of authority increasingly delegated to the people:
Mycenean Law yields to a written law code and a human-staffed jury-system
to enforce it. In Genesis, God's will is Law - he has just to utter
his desire and it is so: "Let there be Light!" This power of God, by the
way, explains Islam's rejection of Jesus as the son of God: "When He decrees
a thing, he need only say: 'Be,' and it is. (Surah 19:36). God's law becomes
the law of the polity in Exodus, and Moses writes down the rules so he
and other just men can serve as judges of the people. Jesus comes "not
to abolish the law, but to fulfill it" (Matthew 5:17), and he too
delegates responsibility, charging his apostles with the mission of spreading
the words and acts of God (Matthew 10:7-8). In the Book of John,
we see the Biblical progression concerning the development of law most
clearly articulated: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with
God, and the Word was God...and the Word became flesh." (John 1:1-14)
Then there is
the Koran. Born of a different time and place, the ideas we so easily
relegated to the realm of metaphor take on startlingly new significance:
"We decreed for them a life for a life, an eye for an eye, a nose for a
nose, an ear for an ear, a tooth for a tooth, and a wound for a wound.
But if a man charitably forbears from retaliation, his remission shall
atone for him." (5:46) Are we to understand that retributive vengeance
is acceptable, although not encouraged? The Koran outlines very specific,
real punishments for particular crimes: "Those that make war against God
and His apostle and spread disorder in the land shall be put to death or
crucified or have their hands and feet cut off on alternate sides, or be
banished from the land." (5:34) And, "As for the man or woman who is guilty
of theft, cut off their hands to punish them for their crimes." (5:38)
In the West African Mandingo tradition, which celebrates the thirteenth
century AD Islamic foundations of the Empire of Old Mali, the epic hero
Sundiata, who wears "the robes of a great Muslim king" (73) rules over
a land in which "a thief would have his right hand chopped off and if he
stole again he would be put to the sword." (82) Although appearing harsh,
the asperity of these punishments is a good match for Old Testament punishments
levied against certain sinners, among them death for adulterers (Lev. 20:10)
and homosexuals (Lev. 20:13).
In the Oresteia,
we realize that a system of justice which offers no viable options to an
otherwise innocent man is a system that will eventually destroy its society.
Orestes' attempt to satisfy Mycenean Law is a lose-lose proposition. Sophocles'
Antigone courts death to break an unjust law, Pericles calls for unthinking
loyalty to the state in his Funeral Oration, Socrates claims a tacit
covenant with the Laws of the State as explanation why he can't break them
now that they are inconvenient for him. Socrates also says that there are
no unjust laws, just unjust men. Plato excludes written law from his Just
City because just people don't need it and wicked people won't read it.
In terms of the history of Greek law in the literature on our syllabus,
we see the Mycenean Age of the Oresteia give way to the Archaic
Age Law Codes of Draco and Solon and Cleisthenes, to be replaced by fifth
century law courts, the abuse of which is documented in Plato's Apology.
In Genesis, the people are told to live by God's Law, in Exodus
the Law of God is imposed on the polity, and in the New Testament, the
stress is on Jesus fulfilling and teaching the law. Galileo will learn
the hard way that the Law of Nature and the Law of the Land are not necessarily
compatible (at this point we look back at the Apology, in which
Socrates recalls Anaxagoras' similar predicament - like many others he
was expelled from Periclean Athens for suggesting natural explanations
for the celestial bodies), and Machiavelli will suggest that laws are only
as good as they allow princes to achieve their goals. By the way, many
of my students have written very good papers on whether Machiavelli would
have considered Clytemnestra a successful leader or not.
But who is the
law, and how is it manifested in these texts? In the Oresteia, Orestes
seeks retribution for his father's murder at the hands of his mother, his
true parents, but he must turn to Father Apollo for guidance and protection.
The argument in the Eumenides allows Orestes to deny parenthood
status to his mother, Clytemnestra, thus freeing him from the vindictiveness
of the Furies, goddesses devoted to the avenging of the spilling of parental
blood. Then the power of the Furies is transferred to the law courts of
men. Thus the power of the law becomes parental itself, acting as the guide/protector
Orestes originally sought in Apollo. This is the exact relationship identified
by Socrates in the Crito when he argues that laws are guiding principles,
and that we owe to the Laws an even more solid allegiance than we do to
our own parents, based on the same respect and necessity. To Socrates,
the sanctity of Law is inviolable, for Laws are the truest manifestations
of Forms in our world.
In the Bible,
too, God is presented as Father of All. But God must learn to be a parent,
just as we need to learn to be good children. In his parental role, God
begins by giving the gift of life. Then the teaching process begins. God
sets down rules and demands unconditional adherence. God strikes out with
anger when his children break their word, or fail to treat him according
to his station. In the Old Testament, God is often portrayed as vindictive,
temper-driven, only occasionally remorseful. His responses often call to
mind a harried parent faced with crayon-covered walls and a recalcitrant
three-year old. "Where are you?," God asked Adam (Gen. 3:9), knowing
full well that Adam was hiding in the Garden. "What have you done?," God
asked Cain (Gen. 4:10), knowing full well that he had killed his
brother. The crayon-besmudged child has an opportunity to admit guilt,
the parent metes out a punishment, and the learning process continues.
There is the idea,
too, that law stands for more than order - it stands for humanity, a sense
of community, a moral rightness. Pericles makes this point when he discusses
laws which "although unwritten, yet cannot be broken without disgrace."
(58) When certain inviolable laws are broken, there can be no going back.
It is the law of xenia - guest/host relations - that is broken most
frequently and most dramatically in the Oresteia. The violation
of this law fills Greeks with such panic because the law stands for order,
civilization, humanity, while violations and perversions of if threaten
all things Greek. In Greek literature, cannibalism and child-feasting have
always represented this threat most dramatically. The Curse of the House
of Atreus actually begins with the Feast of Tantalus, four generations
back, when he attempted to feed his own child to the gods. But closer to
home is Agamemnon's father Atreus who invited his brother to dinner and
served him his own children at banquet, the grossest perversion of guest/host
relations, and related in all its gory detail by Aegisthus in the first
play of the trilogy. It is no coincidence that there are breaches of this
same hospitality rule in every one of the plays composing the Oresteia:
Agamemnon is killed at his ritual welcome-home bath in the first play,
Orestes can kill Clytemnestra and Aegisthus in The Libation Bearers
only by abusing his privilege as a guest to gain access, and the Furies
- charged with enforcing these very rules - are themselves turned away
from Apollo's Temple in the Eumenides. Order can be re-established
only because Orestes is absolved of his crime.
Understanding
the metaphor of broken xenia as a threat to order and law, especially
as reflected in such practices as cannibalism and guest treachery, comes
in handy for students when we tackle the Sundiata later in the semester.
Not far removed from the horrors of the cannibalism of Homer's Cyclops
and Laestrygonians or the treacheries of the House of Atreus (Cassandra:
"the babies wailing, skewered on the sword, their flesh charred, the father
gorging oin their parts..." Ag. 1094-1097) lies Suamoro, the evil ruler
in the Sundiata: he wears a robe and footwear made from human skin,
reigns from a throne whose seat is human skin, and surrounds himself with
the decapitated heads of his dead enemies. In each of these stories we
see the same metaphor for threat to society, civilization, order and law.
It is either escaped but not eradicated (Odyssey), breeds further
injustices until the system breaks down and is replaced (Oresteia),
or is triumphed over by the forces of Good (Sundiata).
Students who have
read Homer's Odyssey may notice that Aeschylus' description of Agamemnon
being killed at bath is not the story of murder at banquet Agamemnon himself
tells Odysseus as a warning when they meet in the Underworld. Essentially
Aeschylus and Homer make the same point: in both instances, the king is
cut down while receiving the traditional displays of xenia - the laws of
hospitality - in a time and place of supposed safety. So why the discrepancy?
Because Aeschylus the dramatist, by painting a picture of Agamemnon having
his arms pinned helplessly to his side by his entangling robe, seizes this
opportunity to introduce the metaphor of the entangling web of deceit,
pervasive throughout the trilogy. Fagles' translation perfectly captures
its figurative meaning, rendering Clytemnestra's reference to it during
her victory speech as "black-widow's web," with all appropriate ramifications.
Instead of the weaving a proper Greek wife must attend to as head of the
oikos - and we cannot help but think of Penelope here - Clytemnestra
spins a web designed to catch her own husband. Thankfully, we also read
Shakespeare's Othello, where we see another great dramatist play
with the same imagery, but this time in the untranslated original. Although
Othello is not the only place Shakespeare dabbles with web imagery
to capture the complexities of human involvement ("Oh what a tangled web
we weave when at first we practice to deceive"), it is in Othello
that he pursues the web metaphor with a vengeance. In Othello Iago
weaves an intricate plot, and then lies in wait for his victims to become
his prey, hopelessly entangled, completely at his mercy. After arranging
for Roderigo to provoke Cassio into a fight, he announces "With as little
a web as this I will ensnare as great a fly as Cassio" (II.i.190). Web
imagery becomes net imagery as Iago sets the snare by planting seeds of
suspicion in Othello that cause him to see Desdemona's innocent comments
as proof of an illicit love:
"So will I turn
her virtue into pitch,
And out of her
goodness make the net
That shall enmesh
them all." (Iago, Othello, II.iii.364)
The fact that
the two tragedies that bracket this syllabus (Agamemnon and Othello)
are both vengeance plays allows a basis for comparing classical and Renaissance
theater, too, with a nod to Aristotle's Poetics. A closer look also
reveals that both Iago and Clytemnestra have multi-layered motives: each
claims as his primary motivation the desire to right a wrong (Iago wants
his promotion; Clytemnestra, vengeance for Iphigenia's death), but each
also has significant jealousy issues: Clytemnestra kills Cassandra, too,
and Iago suspects that the "lusty Moor hath leap'd into my seat" (II.i.295)
and "twixt my sheets has done my office" (I.i.387-388). Clytemnestra's
speech in the Agamemnon concerning men's behavior regarding their
wives makes a wonderful introduction to Emilia's famous speech in Othello
Act IV. Although my last point is not directly concerned with Othello,
I cannot resist the opportunity to prove an Oresteian model for one of
Shakespeare's other great metaphors. Both Macbeth's and Lady Macbeth's
tortured admissions of bloodguilt draw on the image originally used to
illustrate Orestes' innocence::
"Will all
great Neptune's oceans wash this blood clean from my hand? No this my hand
will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red."
(Macbeth, Macbeth
II.ii.60-62)
"Out, damn'd spot!
out, I say!"
(Lady Macbeth,
Macbeth V.i.35)
"What, will these
hands ne'er be clean?"
(Lady Macbeth,
Macbeth V.i.43)
"The blood sleeps,
it is fading on my hands,
the stain of
a mother's murder washing clean."
(Orestes, Eumenides
278-279)
In conclusion, tracing
the threads of the Oresteia through the fabric of Intellectual Heritage
051 helps bring structure and unity to a course whose syllabus includes
authors as far-ranging as Sappho and Shakespeare. As the sole surviving
trilogy of antiquity, the Oresteia supremely represents the genre
of classical tragedy, and its plot provides us with an opportunity to introduce
our generally uninitiated students to Homer (one benefit not offered by
Sophocles' Theban plays). This brief introduction to the epic genre both
offers a foil to the lyric (in Sappho here, and in the next course in the
sequence - IH52 - in Blake, Wordsworth, Whitman and Dickinson) and will
facilitate students' later understanding of the Sundiata. In the
Eumenides students see the shift from Mycenean justice to the Athenian
democracy known to us through two other texts, Thucydides' Funeral Oration
and Plato's Apology. Religion (gods or God, concept of afterlife,
code of morality), politics (laws written and unwritten, codes of justice,
social system) and sex (gender issues concerning culturally determined
roles and interaction of men and women) are fundamental themes of the Bible
and Koran as well. The gender of Clytemnestra, the main and aggressive
character of the first play of this trilogy, interests our students and
provokes discussion of women's roles in antiquity and modern society. In
terms of the Humanist portion of our syllabus, the thematic similarity
between the Oresteia and Othello makes it easy to contrast
production techniques, literary conventions and rhetorical nuances in the
two dramatic traditions (classical and Renaissance). The Oresteia,
then, addresses the need for both tradition and innovation in a core curriculum
course, and a study of the trilogy itself as well as its resonances in
later literature serves both practical and creative purposes.
comments to: jsiegel@nimbus.ocis.temple.edu
Editions Cited:
Student Guide
to IH, Marra and Zelnick, edd. (new edition)
Aeschylus, Oresteia,
tr. Fagles (Penguin)
Plato, Last Days
of Socrates, tr. Treddenick (Penguin)
Holy Bible (New
Revised Standard Version)
Koran, tr. Dawood
(Penguin)
Sundiata: An
Epic of Old Mali, tr. Niane (Longman)
Galileo, Discoveries
and Opinions, tr. Drake (Doubleday)
Machiavelli,
The Prince, tr. Wootton (Hackett)
Shakespeare,
Othello (Folger Library)
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1999 Janice Siegel
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