What country is he from, and who is his father? Orestes Strophius of Phocis is the name of his father. Iphigenia He is related to me, by the daughter of Atreus? Orestes He is a cousin, and my only true friend. Iphigenia He was not born when my father tried to kill me. Orestes He was not; for Strophius was childless for some time. Iphigenia Welcome, husband of my sister! Orestes And also my savior, not only a relation. Iphigenia But how did you dare that dreadful deed with our mother? Orestes Let us be silent on that; I was avenging my father. Iphigenia What reason did she have to kill her husband? Orestes Let our mother’s affairs be; nor is it good for you to hear. Iphigenia I am silent; does Argos now look to you? Orestes Menelaus rules there; I am an exile from my country Iphigenia Our uncle has surely not maltreated our afflicted house, has he? Orestes No, but fear of the Furies drives me out of the land. Iphigenia That was the madness that they reported there on the shore? Orestes That was not the first time that I was seen to be wretched. Iphigenia I know; the goddesses were driving you for the sake of your mother. Orestes So as to put a bloody bit in my mouth. Iphigenia Why have you made a journey to this land? Orestes I have come at the commands of Phoebus’ oracles. Iphigenia To do what? Can you speak of it, or must you be silent? Orestes 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;