Iphigenia Among the Tauri (552-609)

Yes, for he was dreadfully murdered by a woman.

O miserable the slayer . . . and the slain!

Stop now, and do not ask further.

Only this much, if the wife of the wretched man is alive.

She is not; she was killed by the son that she bore.

O house thrown into confusion! What was his intent?

To avenge on her the death of his father.

Ah! How well he exacted an evil justice!

Though he is just, he does not have good fortune from the gods.

Did Agamemnon leave any other children in his house?

He left one virgin daughter, Electra.

What else? Is there any report of the daughter who was sacrificed?

None, except that she is dead and does not see the light.

Unhappy girl, and also the father that killed her!

As a thankless favor to an evil woman, she died.

Does the dead father’s son live at Argos?

He lives, the miserable one, both nowhere and everywhere.

False dreams, farewell; after all, you were nothing.

And those who are called wise divinities are not less false than winged dreams. These is much confusion, both in divine affairs and in human; but only this is a grief to the one who was not foolish, but trusted in the words of prophets

and died—as he died to those that know.

Ah! What about me, and my parents? Are they alive? Are they not? Who can say?

Listen to me; I have come to a subject which means benefit both to you, strangers,

and to me, by your efforts. A good action is especially so, if the same matter is pleasing to all. Would you, if I should save you, go to Argos and take a report of me to my friends there, and bring a tablet,

which a captive wrote for me in pity? He did not think my hand murderous, but that the victims of the goddess, who holds these things just, die under the law. For I have had no one to go back to Argos with that message, who,

being saved, would send my letter to one of my friends. But you—if, as it seems, you are not hostile to me, and you know Mycenae and those whom I want you to know—be rescued, and have this reward, not a shameful one, safety for the sake of this small letter.

But let him, since the city exacts it, be the offering to the goddess, separated from you.

Stranger, you have spoken all well but this: to sacrifice him would be a heavy grief to me. I am the pilot of these misfortunes,

he sailed with me for the sake of my troubles. For it is not right for me to do you a favor and get out of danger, on condition of his death. But let it happen this way: give him the letter and he will take it to to Argos, for your well-being;

let anyone who wishes kill me. It is most shameful for anyone to save himself by hurling his friends’ affairs into catastrophe. That man is my friend, and I wish him to live, no less than myself.

O brave spirit! How you were born from some noble