Iphigenia Among the Tauri (916-965)

What country is he from, and who is his father?

Strophius of Phocis is the name of his father.

He is related to me, by the daughter of Atreus?

He is a cousin, and my only true friend.

He was not born when my father tried to kill me.

He was not; for Strophius was childless for some time.

Welcome, husband of my sister!

And also my savior, not only a relation.

But how did you dare that dreadful deed with our mother?

Let us be silent on that; I was avenging my father.

What reason did she have to kill her husband?

Let our mother’s affairs be; nor is it good for you to hear.

I am silent; does Argos now look to you?

Menelaus rules there; I am an exile from my country

Our uncle has surely not maltreated our afflicted house, has he?

No, but fear of the Furies drives me out of the land.

That was the madness that they reported there on the shore?

That was not the first time that I was seen to be wretched.

I know; the goddesses were driving you for the sake of your mother.

So as to put a bloody bit in my mouth.

Why have you made a journey to this land?

I have come at the commands of Phoebus’ oracles.

To do what? Can you speak of it, or must you be silent?

I will tell you; this is the beginning of my many troubles.

When my mother’s evil deeds, that I cannot speak of, came into my hands, I was driven to flight by the Furies’ pursuit; then Loxias sent me to Athens, to stand trial with the goddesses who may not be named.

For there is a holy tribunal there, which Zeus once established for Ares, when his hands were stained with blood-pollution. I came there . . . at first, no host would willingly take me in, as one hated by the gods; then some who felt shame offered me a table apart, as a guest,

themselves being under the same roof, and in silence they kept me from speaking, so that I might be apart from them in food and drink, and into each private cup they poured an equal measure of wine and had their delight.

And I did not think it right to blame my hosts, but I grieved in silence and seemed not to know, while I sighed deeply, that I was the murderer of my mother. I hear that my misfortunes have become a festival at Athens, and they still hold this custom

and the people of Pallas honor the cup that belongs to the Feast of Pitchers. When I came to the hill of Ares to stand my trial, I took one seat, and the eldest of the Furies took the other. I spoke and heard arguments on the murder of my mother,

and Phoebus saved me by bearing witness; Pallas counted out equal votes for me; and I went away victorious in my ordeal of blood. Some of the Furies who sat there, persuaded by the judgment, marked out a holy place for themselves beside this very tribunal;