The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides

Author: Euripides

Translator: Gilbert Murray

Release date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #5063]

Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

Credits: This eBook was produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS OF EURIPIDES ***

This eBook was produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team.

THE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS OF EURIPIDES

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY

GILBERT MURRAY, LL.D., D. Litt.

REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

PREFACE

The Iphigenia in Tauris is not in the modern sense a tragedy; it is a romantic play, beginning in a tragic atmosphere and moving through perils and escapes to a happy end. To the archaeologist the cause of this lies in the ritual on which the play is based. All Greek tragedies that we know have as their nucleus something which the Greeks called an Aition—a cause or origin. They all explain some ritual or observance or commemorate some great event. Nearly all, as a matter of fact, have for this Aition a Tomb Ritual, as, for instance, the Hippolytus has the worship paid by the Trozenian Maidens at that hero's grave. The use of this Tomb Ritual may well explain both the intense shadow of death that normally hangs over the Greek tragedies, and also perhaps the feeling of the Fatality, which is, rightly or wrongly, supposed to be prominent in them. For if you are actually engaged in commemorating your hero's funeral, it follows that all through the story, however bright his prospects may seem, you feel that he is bound to die; he cannot escape. A good many tragedies, however, are built not on Tomb Rituals but on other sacred Aitia: on the foundation of a city, like the Aetnae, the ritual of the torch- race, like the Prometheus; on some great legendary succouring of the oppressed, like the Suppliant Women of Aeschylus and Euripides. And the rite on which the Iphigenia is based is essentially one in which a man is brought to the verge of death but just does not die.

The rite is explained in 11. 1450 ff. of the play. On a certain festival at Halae in Attica a human victim was led to the altar of Artemis Tauropolos, touched on the throat with a sword and then set free: very much what happened to Orestes among the Tauri, and exactly what happened to Iphigenia at Aulis. Both legends have doubtless grown out of the same ritual.

Like all the great Greek legends, the Iphigenia myths take many varying forms. They are all of them, in their essence, conjectural restorations, by poets or other 'wise men,' of supposed early history. According to the present play, Agamemnon, when just about to sail with all the powers of Greece against Troy, was bound by weather at Aulis. The medicine-man Calchas explained that Artemis demanded the sacrifice of his daughter, Iphigenia, who was then at home with her mother, Clytemnestra. Odysseus and Agamemnon sent for the maiden on the pretext that she was to be married to the famous young hero, Achilles; she was brought to Aulis and treacherously slaughtered—or, at least, so people thought.

There is a subject for tragedy there; and it was brilliantly treated in Euripides' Iphigenia in Aulis, which was probably left unfinished at his death. But our play chooses a later moment of the story.

In reality Artemis at the last moment saved Iphigenia, rapt her away from mortal eyes and set her down in the land of the Tauri to be her priestess. (In Tauris is only the Latin for "among the Tauri.") These Tauri possessed an image of Artemis which had fallen from heaven, and kept up a savage rite of sacrificing to it all strangers who were cast on their shores. Iphigenia, obedient to her goddess, and held by "the spell of the altar," had to consecrate the victims as they went in to be slain. So far only barbarian strangers had come: she waited half in horror, half in a rage of revenge, for the day when she should have to sacrifice a Greek. The first Greek that came was her own brother, Orestes, who had been sent by Apollo to take the image of Artemis and bear it to Attica, where it should no more be stained with human sacrifice.

If we try to turn from these myths to the historical facts that underlay them, we may conjecture that there were three goddesses of the common Aegean type, worshipped in different places. At Brauron and elsewhere there was Iphigenia ('Birth-mighty'); at Halae there was the Tauropolos ('the Bull-rider,' like Europa, who rode on the horned Moon); among the savage and scarcely known Tauri there was some goddess to whom shipwrecked strangers were sacrificed. Lastly there came in the Olympian Artemis. Now all these goddesses (except possibly the Taurian, of whom we know little) were associated with the Moon and with child-birth, and with rites for sacrificing or redeeming the first-born. Naturally enough, therefore, they were all gradually absorbed by the prevailing worship of Artemis. Tauropolis became an epithet of Artemis, Iphigenia became her priestess and 'Keybearer.' And the word 'Tauropolis,' which had become obscure, was explained as a reference to the Tauri. The old rude image of Tauropolis had come from the Tauri, and the strange ritual was descended from their bloody rites. So the Taurian goddess must be Artemis too. The tendency of ancient polytheism, when it met with some alien religion, was not to treat the alien gods as entirely new persons, but assuming the real and obvious existence of their own gods, to inquire by what names and with what ritual the strangers worshipped them.

As usual in Euripides, the central character of this play is a woman, and a woman most unsparingly yet lovingly studied. Iphigenia is no mere 'sympathetic heroine.' She is a worthy member of her great but sinister house; a haggard and exiled woman, eating out her heart in two conflicting emotions: intense longing for home and all that she had loved in childhood, and bitter self- pitying rage against 'her murderers.' The altar of Aulis is constantly in her thoughts. She does not know whether to hate her father, but at least she can with a clear conscience hate all the rest of those implicated, Calchas, Odysseus, Menelaus, and most fiercely, though somewhat unjustly, Helen. All the good women in Euripides go wild at the name of Helen. Iphigenia broods on her wrongs till she can see nothing else; she feels as if she hated all Greeks, and lived only for revenge, for the hope of some day slaughtering Greeks at her altar, as pitilessly as they slaughtered her at Aulis. She knows how horrible this state of mind is, but she is now "turned to stone, and has no pity left in her." Then the Greeks come; and even before she knows who they really are, the hard shell of her bitterness slowly yields. Her heart goes out to them; she draws Orestes against his will into talk; she insists on pitying him, insists on his pitying her; and eventually determines, come what may, that she will save at least the one stranger that she has talked with most. Presently comes the discovery who the strangers are; and she is at once ready to die with them or for them.

As for the scene in which Iphigenia befools Thoas, my moral feelings may be obtuse, but I certainly cannot feel the slightest compunction or shock at the heavy lying. Which of us would not expect at least as much from his own sister, if it lay with her to save him from the altars of Benin or Ashanti? I suspect that the good people who lament over "the low standard of truthfulness shown by even the most enlightened pagans" have either forgotten the days when they read stories of adventure, or else have not, in reading this scene, realised properly the strain of hairbreadth peril that lies behind the comedy of it. A single slip in Iphigenia's tissue of desperate improvisations would mean death, and not to herself alone. One feels rather sorry for Thoas, certainly, and he is a very fine fellow in his way; but a person who insists on slaughtering strangers cannot expect those strangers or their friends to treat him with any approach to candour.

The two young men come nearer to mere ideal heroes de roman than any other characters in Euripides. They are surprisingly handsome and brave and unselfish and everything that they should be; and they stand out like heroes against the mob of cowardly little Taurians in the Herdsman's speech. Yet they have none of the unreality that is usual in such figures. The shadow of madness and guilt hanging over Orestes makes a difference. At his first entrance, when danger is still far off, he is a mass of broken nerves; he depends absolutely on Pylades. In the later scenes, when they are face to face with death, the underlying strength of the son of the Great King asserts itself and makes one understand why, for all his madness, Orestes is the chief, and Pylades only the devoted follower.

Romantic plays with happy endings are almost of necessity inferior in artistic value to true tragedies. Not, one would hope, simply because they end happily; happiness in itself is certainly not less beautiful than grief; but because a tragedy in its great moments can generally afford to be sincere, while romantic plays live in an atmosphere of ingenuity and make-believe. The Iphigenia is not of the same order as The Trojan Women. Yet it is a delightful play; subtle, ever-changing, full of movement and poignancy. The recognition scene became to Aristotle a model of what such a scene should be; and the long passage before it, from the entrance of the two princes onward, seems to me one of the most skilful and fascinating in Greek drama.

And after all the adventure of Euripides is not quite like that of the average romantic writer. It is shot through by reflection, by reality and by sadness. There is a shadow that broods over the Iphigenia, though it is not the shadow of death. It is exile, homesickness. Iphigenia, Orestes, the Women of the Chorus, are all exiles, all away from their heart's home, among savage people and cruel gods. They wait on the shore while the sea-birds take wing for Hellas, out beyond the barrier of the Dark-Blue Rocks and the great stretches of magical and 'unfriended' sea. Nearly all the lyrics are full of sea-light and the clash of waters, and the lyrics are usually the very soul of Euripidean tragedy.

G. M.

CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

IPHIGENIA, eldest daughter of Agamemnon, King of Argos; supposed to have been sacrificed by him to Artemis at Aulis.

ORESTES, her brother; pursued by Furies for killing his mother,

Clytemnestra, who had murdered Agamemnon.

PYLADES, Prince of Phocis, friend to Orestes.

THOAS, King of Tauris, a savage country beyond the Symplegades.

A HERDSMAN.

A MESSENGER.

CHORUS of Captive Greek Women, handmaids to Iphigenia.

The Goddess PALLAS ATHENA.

The play was first performed between the years 414 and 412 B.C.

THE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS

[The Scene shows a great and barbaric Temple on a desolate sea-coast. An altar is visible stained with blood. There are spoils of slain men hanging from the roof. IPHIGENIA, in the dress of a Priestess, comes out from the Temple.]

IPHIGENIA.

Child of the man of torment and of pride

Tantalid Pelops bore a royal bride

On flying steeds from Pisa. Thence did spring

Atreus: from Atreus, linked king with king,

Menelaus, Agamemnon. His am I

And Clytemnestra's child: whom cruelly

At Aulis, where the strait of shifting blue

Frets with quick winds, for Helen's sake he slew,

Or thinks to have slain; such sacrifice he swore

To Artemis on that deep-bosomed shore.

For there Lord Agamemnon, hot with joy

To win for Greece the crown of conquered Troy,

For Menelaus' sake through all distress

Pursuing Helen's vanished loveliness,

Gathered his thousand ships from every coast

Of Hellas: when there fell on that great host

Storms and despair of sailing. Then the King

Sought signs of fire, and Calchas answering

Spake thus: "O Lord of Hellas, from this shore

No ship of thine may move for evermore,

Till Artemis receive in gift of blood

Thy child, Iphigenia. Long hath stood

Thy vow, to pay to Her that bringeth light

Whatever birth most fair by day or night

The year should bring. That year thy queen did bear

A child—whom here I name of all most fair.

See that she die."

So from my mother's side

By lies Odysseus won me, to be bride

In Aulis to Achilles. When I came,

They took me and above the altar flame

Held, and the sword was swinging to the gash,

When, lo, out of their vision in a flash

Artemis rapt me, leaving in my place

A deer to bleed; and on through a great space

Of shining sky upbore and in this town

Of Tauris the Unfriended set me down;

Where o'er a savage people savagely

King Thoas rules. This is her sanctuary

And I her priestess. Therefore, by the rite

Of worship here, wherein she hath delight—

Though fair in naught but name. … But Artemis

Is near; I speak no further. Mine it is

To consecrate and touch the victim's hair;

Doings of blood unspoken are the care

Of others, where her inmost chambers lie.

Ah me!

But what dark dreams, thou clear and morning sky,

I have to tell thee, can that bring them ease!

Meseemed in sleep, far over distant seas,

I lay in Argos, and about me slept

My maids: and, lo, the level earth was swept

With quaking like the sea. Out, out I fled,

And, turning, saw the cornice overhead

Reel, and the beams and mighty door-trees down

In blocks of ruin round me overthrown.

One single oaken pillar, so I dreamed,

Stood of my father's house; and hair, meseemed,

Waved from its head all brown: and suddenly

A human voice it had, and spoke. And I,

Fulfilling this mine office, built on blood

Of unknown men, before that pillar stood,

And washed him clean for death, mine eyes astream

With weeping.

And this way I read my dream.

Orestes is no more: on him did fall

My cleansing drops.—The pillar of the hall

Must be the man first-born; and they, on whom

My cleansing falls, their way is to the tomb.

Therefore to my dead brother will I pour

Such sacrifice, I on this bitter shore

And he beyond great seas, as still I may,

With all those maids whom Thoas bore away

In war from Greece and gave me for mine own.

But wherefore come they not? I must be gone

And wait them in the temple, where I dwell.

[She goes into the Temple.]

VOICE.

Did some one cross the pathway? Guard thee well.

ANOTHER VOICE.

I am watching. Every side I turn mine eye.

(Enter ORESTES and PYLADES. Their dress shows fhey are travellers ORESTES is shaken and distraught.)

ORESTES.

How, brother? And is this the sanctuary

At last, for which we sailed from Argolis?

PYLADES.

For sure, Orestes. Seest thou not it is?

ORESTES.

The altar, too, where Hellene blood is shed.

PYLADES.

How like long hair those blood-stains, tawny red!

ORESTES.

And spoils of slaughtered men—there by the thatch.

PYLADES.

Aye, first-fruits of the harvest, when they catch

Their strangers!—'Tis a place to search with care

[He searches, while ORESTES sits.]

ORESTES.

O God, where hast thou brought me? What new snare

Is this?—I slew my mother; I avenged

My father at thy bidding; I have ranged

A homeless world, hunted by shapes of pain,

And circling trod in mine own steps again.

At last I stood once more before thy throne

And cried thee question, what thing should be done

To end these miseries, wherein I reel

Through Hellas, mad, lashed like a burning wheel;

And thou didst bid me seek … what land but this

Of Tauri, where thy sister Artemis

Her altar hath, and seize on that divine

Image which fell, men say, into this shrine

From heaven. This I must seize by chance or plot

Or peril—clearer word was uttered not—

And bear to Attic earth. If this be done,

I should have peace from all my malison.

Lo, I have done thy will. I have pierced the seas

Where no Greek man may live.—Ho, Pylades,

Sole sharer of my quest: hast seen it all?

What can we next? Thou seest this circuit wall

Enormous? Must we climb the public stair,

With all men watching? Shall we seek somewhere

Some lock to pick, some secret bolt or bar—

Of all which we know nothing? Where we are,

If one man mark us, if they see us prize

The gate, or think of entrance anywise,

'Tis death.—We still have time to fly for home:

Back to the galley quick, ere worse things come!

PYLADES.

To fly we dare not, brother. 'Twere a thing

Not of our custom; and ill work, to bring

God's word to such reviling.—Let us leave

The temple now, and gather in some cave

Where glooms the cool sea ripple. But not where

The ship lies; men might chance to see her there

And tell some chief; then certain were our doom.

But when the fringed eye of Night be come

Then we must dare, by all ways foul or fine,

To thieve that wondrous Image from its shrine.

Ah, see; far up, between each pair of beams

A hollow one might creep through! Danger gleams

Like sunshine to a brave man's eyes, and fear

Of what may be is no help anywhere.

ORESTES.

Aye; we have never braved these leagues of way

To falter at the end. See, I obey

Thy words. They are ever wise. Let us go mark

Some cavern, to lie hid till fall of dark.

God will not suffer that bad things be stirred

To mar us now, and bring to naught the word

Himself hath spoke. Aye, and no peril brings

Pardon for turning back to sons of kings.

[They go out towards the shore. After they are gone, enter gradually the WOMEN]

OF THE CHORUS.

CHORUS.

Peace! Peace upon all who dwell

By the Sister Rocks that clash in the swell

Of the Friendless Seas.

O Child of Leto, thou,

Dictynna mountain-born,

To the cornice gold-inlaid

To the pillared sanctities,

We come in the cold of morn,

We come with virgin brow,

Pure as our oath was sworn,

Handmaids of thine handmaid

Who holdeth the stainless keys,

From Hellas, that once was ours,

We come before thy gate,

From the land of the western seas,

The horses and the towers,

The wells and the garden trees,

And the seats where our fathers sate.

LEADER.

What tidings, ho? With what intent

Hast called me to thy shrine and thee,

O child of him who crossed the sea

To Troy with that great armament,

The thousand prows, the myriad swords?

I come, O child of Atreid Lords.

[IPHIGENIA, followed by ATTENDANTS, comes from the Temple.]

IPHIGENIA.

Alas, O maidens mine,

I am filled full of tears:

My heart filled with the beat

Of tears, as of dancing feet,

A lyreless joyless line,

And music meet for the dead.

For a whisper is in mine ears,

By visions borne on the breath

Of the Night that now is fled,

Of a brother gone to death.

Oh sorrow and weeping sore,

For the house that no more is,

For the dead that were kings of yore

And the labour of Argolis!

[She begins the Funeral Rite.]

O Spirit, thou unknown,

Who bearest on dark wings

My brother, my one, mine own,

I bear drink-offerings,

And the cup that bringeth ease

Flowing through Earth's deep breast;

Milk of the mountain kine,

The hallowed gleam of wine,

The toil of murmuring bees:

By these shall the dead have rest.

To an ATTENDANT.

The golden goblet let me pour,

And that which Hades thirsteth for.

O branch of Agamemnon's tree

Beneath the earth, as to one dead,

This cup of love I pour to thee.

Oh, pardon, that I may not shed

One lock of hair to wreathe thy tomb,

One tear: so far, so far am I

From what to me and thee was home,

And where in all men's fantasy,

Butchered, O God! I also lie.

CHORUS.

Woe; woe: I too with refluent melody,

An echo wild of the dirges of the Asian,

I, thy bond maiden, cry to answer thee:

The music that lieth hid in lamentation,

The song that is heard in the deep hearts of the dead,

That the Lord of dead men 'mid his dancing singeth,

And never joy-cry, never joy it bringeth;

Woe for the house of Kings in desolation,

Woe for the light of the sceptre vanished.

From kings in Argos of old, from joyous kings,

The beginning came:

Then peril swift upon peril, flame on flame:

The dark and wheeling coursers, as wild with wings,

The cry of one betrayed on a drowning shore,

The sun that blanched in heaven, the world that

changed—

Evil on evil and none alone!—deranged

By the Golden Lamb and the wrong grown ever more;

Blood following blood, sorrow on sorrow sore!

So come the dead of old, the dead in wrath,

Back on the seed of the high Tantalidae;

Surely the Spirit of Life an evil path

Hath hewed for thee.

IPHIGENIA.

From the beginning the Spirit of my life

Was an evil spirit. Alas for my mother's zone,

And the night that bare me! From the beginning

Strife,

As a book to read, Fate gave me for mine own.

They wooed a bride for the strikers down of Troy—

Thy first-born, Mother: was it for this, thy prayer?—

A hind of slaughter to die in a father's snare,

Gift of a sacrifice where none hath joy.

They set me on a royal wane;

Down the long sand they led me on,

A bride new-decked, a bride of bane,

In Aulis to the Nereid's son.

And now estranged for evermore

Beyond the far estranging foam

I watch a flat and herbless shore,

Unloved, unchilded, without home

Or city: never more to meet

For Hera's dance with Argive maids,

Nor round the loom 'mid singing sweet

Make broideries and storied braids,

Of writhing giants overthrown

And clear-eyed Pallas … All is gone!

Red hands and ever-ringing ears:

The blood of men that friendless die,

The horror of the strangers' cry

Unheard, the horror of their tears.

But now, let even that have rest:

I weep for him in Argos slain,

The brother whom I knew, Ah me,

A babe, a flower; and yet to be—

There on his mother's arms and breast—

The crowned Orestes, lord of men!

LEADER OF THE CHORUS.

Stay, yonder from some headland of the sea

There comes—methinks a herdsman, seeking thee.

(Enter a HERDSMAN. IPHIGENIA is still on her knees.)

HERDSMAN.

Daughter of Clytemnestra and her king,

Give ear! I bear news of a wondrous thing.

IPHIGENIA.

What news, that should so mar my obsequies?

HERDSMAN.

A ship hath passed the blue Symplegades,

And here upon our coast two men are thrown,

Young, bold, good slaughter for the altar-stone

Of Artemis!

[SHE RISES.]

Make all the speed ye may;

'Tis not too much. The blood-bowl and the spray!

IPHIGENIA.

Men of what nation? Doth their habit show?

HERDSMAN.

Hellenes for sure, but that is all we know.

IPHIGENIA.

No name? No other clue thine ear could seize?

HERDSMAN.

We heard one call his comrade "Pylades."

IPHIGENIA.

Yes. And the man who spoke—his name was what?

HERDSMAN.

None of us heard. I think they spoke it not.

IPHIGENIA.

How did ye see them first, how make them fast?

HERDSMAN.

Down by the sea, just where the surge is cast …

IPHIGENIA.

The sea? What is the sea to thee and thine?

HERDSMAN.

We came to wash our cattle in the brine.

IPHIGENIA.

Go back, and tell how they were taken; show

The fashion of it, for I fain would know

All.—'Tis so long a time, and never yet,

Never, hath Greek blood made this altar wet.

HERDSMAN.

We had brought our forest cattle where the seas

Break in long tides from the Symplegades.

A bay is there, deep eaten by the surge

And hollowed clear, with cover by the verge

Where purple-fishers camp. These twain were there

When one of mine own men, a forager,

Spied them, and tiptoed whispering back: "God save

Us now! Two things unearthly by the wave

Sitting!" We looked, and one of pious mood

Raised up his hands to heaven and praying stood:

"Son of the white Sea Spirit, high in rule,

Storm-lord Palaemon, Oh, be merciful:

Or sit ye there the warrior twins of Zeus,

Or something loved of Him, from whose great thews

Was-born the Nereids' fifty-fluted choir."

Another, flushed with folly and the fire

Of lawless daring, laughed aloud and swore

'Twas shipwrecked sailors skulking on the shore,

Our rule and custom here being known, to slay

All strangers. And most thought this was the way

To follow, and seek out for Artemis

The blood-gift of our people.

Just at this

One of the strangers started from his seat,

And stood, and upward, downward, with a beat

His head went, and he groaned, and all his arm

Trembled. Then, as a hunter gives alarm,

He shrieked, stark mad and raving: "Pylades,

Dost see her there?—And there—Oh, no one sees!—

A she-dragon of Hell, and all her head

Agape with fanged asps, to bite me dead.

She hath no face, but somewhere from her cloak

Bloweth a wind of fire and bloody smoke:

The wings' beat fans it: in her arms, Ah see!

My mother, dead grey stone, to cast on me

And crush … Help, help! They crowd on me

behind …"

No shapes at all were there. 'Twas his sick mind

Which turned the herds that lowed and barking hounds

That followed, to some visionary sounds

Of Furies. For ourselves, we did but sit

And watch in silence, wondering if the fit

Would leave him dead. When suddenly out shone

His sword, and like a lion he leaped upon

Our herds, to fight his Furies! Flank and side

He stabbed and smote them, till the foam was dyed

Red at the waves' edge. Marry, when we saw

The cattle hurt and falling, no more law

We gave, but sprang to arms and blew the horn

For help—so strong they looked and nobly born

For thralls like us to meet, that pair unknown.

Well, a throng gathered ere much time was gone;

When suddenly the whirl of madness slips

From off him and he falls, quite weak, his lips

Dropping with foam. When once we saw him fall

So timely, we were at him one and all

To pelt and smite. The other watched us come,

But knelt and wiped those lips all dank with foam

And tended the sick body, while he held

His cloak's good web above him for a shield;

So cool he was to ward off every stone

And all the while care for that stricken one.

Then rose the fallen man, calm now and grave,

Looked, and saw battle bursting like a wave

That bursts, and knew that peril close at hand

Which now is come, and groaned. On every hand

We stood, and stoned and stoned, and ceased not. Aye,

'Twas then we heard that fearful battle-cry:

"Ho, Pylades, 'tis death! But let it be

A gallant death! Draw sword and follow me."

When those two swords came flashing, up the glen

Through the loose rocks we scattered back; but when

One band was flying, down by rocks and trees

Came others pelting: did they turn on these,

Back stole the first upon them, stone on stone.

'Twas past belief: of all those shots not one

Struck home. The goddess kept her fated prey

Perfect. Howbeit, at last we made our way

Right, left and round behind them on the sands,

And rushed, and beat the swords out of their hands,

So tired they scarce could stand. Then to the king

We bore them both, and he, not tarrying,

Sends them to thee, to touch with holy spray—

And then the blood-bowl!

I have heard thee pray,

Priestess, ere now for such a draft as this.

Aye, slay but these two chiefs to Artemis

And Hellas shall have paid thy debt, and know

What blood was spilt in Aulis long ago.

LEADER.

I marvel that one mad, whoe'er he be,

Should sail from Hellas to the Friendless Sea.

IPHIGENIA.

'Tis well. Let thy hand bring them, and mine own

Shall falter not till here God's will be done.

[EXIT HERDSMAN.]

O suffering heart, not fierce thou wast of old

To shipwrecked men. Nay, pities manifold

Held thee in fancy homeward, lest thy hand

At last should fall on one of thine own land.

But now, for visions that have turned to stone

My heart, to know Orestes sees the sun

No more, a cruel woman waits you here,

Whoe'er ye be, and one without a tear.

'Tis true: I know by mine own evil will:

One long in pain, if things more suffering still

Fall to his hand, will hate them for his own

Torment … And no great wind hath ever blown,

No ship from God hath passed the Clashing Gate,

To bring me Helen, who hath earned my hate,

And Menelaus, till I mocked their prayers

In this new Aulis, that is mine, not theirs:

Where Greek hands held me lifted, like a beast

For slaughter, and my throat bled. And the priest

My father! … Not one pang have I forgot.

Ah me, the blind half-prisoned arms I shot

This way and that, to find his beard, his knees,

Groping and wondering: "Father, what are these

For bridal rites? My mother even now

Mid Argive women sings for me, whom thou …

What dost thou? She sings happy songs, and all

Is dance and sound of piping in the hall;

And here … Is he a vampyre, is he one

That fattens on the dead, thy Peleus' son—

Whose passion shaken like a torch before

My leaping chariot, lured me to this shore

To wed—"

Ah me! And I had hid my face,

Burning, behind my veil. I would not press

Orestes to my arms … who now is slain! …

I would not kiss my sister's lips again,

For shame and fulness of the heart to meet

My bridegroom. All my kisses, all my sweet

Words were stored up and hid: I should come back

So soon to Argos!

And thou, too: alack,

Brother, if dead thou art, from what high things

Thy youth is outcast, and the pride of kings

Fallen!

And this the goddess deemeth good!

If ever mortal hand be dark with blood;

Nay, touch a new-made mother or one slain

In war, her ban is on him. 'Tis a stain

She driveth from her outer walls; and then

Herself doth drink this blood of slaughtered men?

Could ever Leto, she of the great King

Beloved, be mother to so gross a thing?

These tales be lies, false as those feastings wild

Of Tantalus and Gods that tore a child.

This land of murderers to its god hath given

Its own lust; evil dwelleth not in heaven.

[SHE GOES INTO THE TEMPLE.]

CHORUS.

Dark of the sea, dark of the sea, [STROPHE 1.]

Gates of the warring water,

One, in the old time, conquered you,

A winged passion that burst the blue,

When the West was shut and the Dawn lay free

To the pain of Inachus' daughter.

But who be these, from where the rushes blow

On pale Eurotas, from pure Dirce's flow,

That turn not neither falter,

Seeking Her land, where no man breaketh bread,

Her without pity, round whose virgin head

Blood on the pillars rusts from long ago,

Blood on the ancient altar.

[ANTISTROPHE 1.]

A flash of the foam, a flash of the foam,

A wave on the oarblade welling,

And out they passed to the heart of the blue:

A chariot shell that the wild winds drew.

Is it for passion of gold they come,

Or pride to make great their dwelling?

For sweet is Hope, yea, to much mortal woe

So sweet that none may turn from it nor go,

Whom once the far voice calleth,

To wander through fierce peoples and the gleam

Of desolate seas, in every heart a dream:

And these she maketh empty die, and, lo,

To that man's hand she falleth.

[STROPHE 2.]

Through the Clashing Rocks they burst:

They passed by the Cape unsleeping

Of Phineus' sons accurst:

They ran by the star-lit bay

Upon magic surges sweeping,

Where folk on the waves astray

Have seen, through the gleaming grey,

Ring behind ring, men say,

The dance of the old Sea's daughters.

The guiding oar abaft

It rippled and it dinned,

And now the west wind laughed

And now the south-west wind;

And the sail was full in flight,

And they passed by the Island White:

Birds, birds, everywhere,

White as the foam, light as the air;

And ghostly Achilles raceth there,

Far in the Friendless Waters.

[ANTISTROPHE 1.]

Ah, would that Leda's child …

(So prayeth the priestess maiden)

From Troy, that she beguiled,

Hither were borne, to know

What sin on her soul is laden!

Hair twisted, throat held low,

Head back for the blood to flow,

To die by the sword. … Ah no!

One hope my soul yet hideth.

A sail, a sail from Greece,

Fearless to cross the sea,

With ransom and with peace

To my sick captivity.

O home, to see thee still,

And the old walls on the hill!

Dreams, dreams, gather to me!

Bear me on wings over the sea;

O joy of the night, to slave and free,

One good thing that abideth!

LEADER.

But lo, the twain whom Thoas sends,

Their arms in bondage grasped sore;

Strange offering this, to lay before

The Goddess! Hold your peace, O friends.

Onward, still onward, to this shrine

They lead the first-fruits of the Greek.

'Twas true, the tale he came to speak,

That watcher of the mountain kine.

O holy one, if it afford

Thee joy, what these men bring to thee,

Take thou their sacrifice, which we,

By law of Hellas, hold abhorred.

[Enter ORESTES and PYLADES, bound, and guarded by

taurians. re-enter IPHIGENIA.]

IPHIGENIA.

So be it.

My foremost care must be that nothing harms

The temple's holy rule.—Untie their arms.

That which is hallowed may no more be bound.

You, to the shrine within! Let all be found

As the law bids, and as we need this day.

[ORESTES and PYLADES are set free; some

ATTENDANTS go into the temple.]

Ah me!

What mother then was yours, O strangers, say,

And father? And your sister, if you have

A sister: both at once, so young and brave

To leave her brotherless! Who knows when heaven

May send that fortune? For to none is given

To know the coming nor the end of woe;

So dark is God, and to great darkness go

His paths, by blind chance mazed from our ken.

Whence are ye come, O most unhappy men?

From some far home, methinks, ye have found this shore

And far shall stay from home for evermore.

ORESTES.

Why weepest thou, woman, to make worse the smart

Of that which needs must be, whoe'er thou art?

I count it not for gentleness, when one

Who means to slay, seeks first to make undone

By pity that sharp dread. Nor praise I him,

With hope long dead, who sheddeth tears to dim

The pain that grips him close. The evil so

Is doubled into twain. He doth but show

His feeble heart, and, as he must have died,

Dies.—Let ill fortune float upon her tide

And weep no more for us. What way this land

Worships its god we know and understand.

IPHIGENIA.

Say first … which is it men call Pylades?

ORESTES.

'Tis this man's name, if that will give thee ease.

IPHIGENIA.

From what walled town of Hellas cometh he?

ORESTES.

Enough!—How would the knowledge profit thee?

IPHIGENIA.

Are ye two brethren of one mother born?

ORESTES.

No, not in blood. In love we are brothers sworn.

IPHIGENIA.

Thou also hast a name: tell me thereof.

ORESTES.

Call me Unfortunate. 'Tis name enough.

IPHIGENIA.

I asked not that. Let that with Fortune lie.

ORESTES.

Fools cannot laugh at them that nameless die.

IPHIGENIA.

Why grudge me this? Hast thou such mighty fame?

ORESTES.

My body, if thou wilt, but not my name.

IPHIGENIA.

Nor yet the land of Greece where thou wast bred?

ORESTES.

What gain to have told it thee, when I am dead?

IPHIGENIA.

Nay: why shouldst thou deny so small a grace?

ORESTES.

Know then, great Argos was my native place.

IPHIGENIA.

Stranger! The truth! … From Argos art thou come?

ORESTES.

Mycenae, once a rich land, was my home.

IPHIGENIA.

'Tis banishment that brings thee here—or what?

ORESTES.

A kind of banishment, half forced, half sought.

IPHIGENIA.

Wouldst thou but tell me all I need of thee!

ORESTES.

'Twere not much added to my misery.

IPHIGENIA.

From Argos! … Oh, how sweet to see thee here!

ORESTES.

Enjoy it, then. To me 'tis sorry cheer.

IPHIGENIA.

Thou knowest the name of Troy? Far doth it flit.

ORESTES.

Would God I had not; nay, nor dreamed of it.

IPHIGENIA.

Men fable it is fallen beneath the sword?

ORESTES.

Fallen it is. Thou hast heard no idle word.

IPHIGENIA.

Fallen! At last!—And Helen taken too?

ORESTES.

Aye; on an evil day for one I knew.

IPHIGENIA.

Where is she? I too have some anger stored …

ORESTES.

In Sparta! Once more happy with her lord!

IPHIGENIA.

Oh. hated of all Greece, not only me!

ORESTES.

I too have tasted of her wizardry.

IPHIGENIA.

And came the armies home, as the tales run?

ORESTES.

To answer that were many tales in one.

IPHIGENIA.

Oh, give me this hour full! Thou wilt soon die.

ORESTES.

Ask, if such longing holds thee. I will try.

IPHIGENIA.

A seer called Calchas! Did he ever come …?

ORESTES.

Calchas is dead, as the news went at home.

IPHIGENIA.

Good news, ye gods!—Odysseus, what of him?

ORESTES.

Not home yet, but still living, as men deem.

IPHIGENIA.

Curse him! And may he see his home no more.

ORESTES.

Why curse him? All his house is stricken sore.

IPHIGENIA.

How hath the Nereid's son, Achilles, sped?

ORESTES.

Small help his bridal brought him! He is dead.

IPHIGENIA.

A fierce bridal, so the sufferers tell!

ORESTES.

Who art thou, questioning of Greece so well?

IPHIGENIA.

I was Greek. Evil caught me long ago.

ORESTES.

Small wonder, then, thou hast such wish to know.

IPHIGENIA.

That war-lord, whom they call so high in bliss…

ORESTES.

None such is known to me. What name was his?

IPHIGENIA.

They called him Agamemnon, Atreus' son.

ORESTES.

I know not. Cease.—My questioning is done.

IPHIGENIA.

'Twill be such joy to me! How fares he? Tell!

ORESTES.

Dead. And hath wrecked another's life as well.

IPHIGENIA.

Dead? By what dreadful fortune? Woe is me!

ORESTES.

Why sighst thou? Had he any link with thee?

IPHIGENIA.

I did but think of his old joy and pride.

ORESTES.

His own wife foully stabbed him, and he died.

IPHIGENIA.

O God!

I pity her that slew … and him that slew.

ORESTES.

Now cease thy questions. Add no word thereto.

IPHIGENIA.

But one word. Lives she still, that hapless wife?

ORESTES.

No. Her own son, her first-born, took her life.

IPHIGENIA.

O shipwrecked house! What thought was in his brain?

ORESTES.

Justice on her, to avenge his father slain.

IPHIGENIA.

Alas!

A bad false duty bravely hath he wrought.

ORESTES.

Yet God, for all his duty, helps him not.

IPHIGENIA.

And not one branch of Atreus' tree lives on?

ORESTES.

Electra lives, unmated and alone.

IPHIGENIA.

The child they slaughtered … is there word of her?

ORESTES.

Why, no, save that she died in Aulis there.

IPHIGENIA.

Poor child! Poor father, too, who killed and lied!

ORESTES.

For a bad woman's worthless sake she died.

IPHIGENIA.

The dead king's son, lives he in Argos still?

ORESTES.

He lives, now here, now nowhere, bent with ill.

IPHIGENIA.

O dreams, light dreams, farewell! Ye too were lies.

ORESTES.

Aye; the gods too, whom mortals deem so wise,

Are nothing clearer than some winged dream;

And all their ways, like man's ways, but a stream

Of turmoil. He who cares to suffer least,

Not blind, as fools are blinded, by a priest,

Goes straight… to what death, those who know him know.

LEADER.

We too have kinsmen dear, but, being low,

None heedeth, live they still or live they not.

IPHIGENIA (WITH SUDDEN IMPULSE).

Listen! For I am fallen upon a thought,

Strangers, of some good use to you and me,

Both. And 'tis thus most good things come to be,

When different eyes hold the same for fair.

Stranger, if I can save thee, wilt thou bear

To Argos and the friends who loved my youth

Some word? There is a tablet which, in truth

For me and mine ill works, a prisoner wrote,

Ta'en by the king in war. He knew 'twas not

My will that craved for blood, but One on high

Who holds it righteous her due prey shall die.

And since that day no Greek hath ever come

Whom I could save and send to Argos home

With prayer for help to any friend: but thou,

I think, dost loathe me not; and thou dost know

Mycenae and the names that fill my heart.

Help me! Be saved! Thou also hast thy part,

Sending Completed Page, Please Wait …

IPHIGENIA.

'Tis I. This altar's spell is over me.

ORESTES.

A grievous office and unblest, O maid.

IPHIGENIA.

What dare I do? The law must be obeyed.

ORESTES.

A girl to hold a sword and stab men dead!

IPHIGENIA.

I shall but sign the water on thy head.

ORESTES.

And who shall strike me, if I needs must ask?

IPHIGENIA.

There be within these vaults who know their task.

ORESTES.

My grave, when they have finished their desire?

IPHIGENIA.

A great gulf of the rock, and holy fire.

ORESTES.

Woe's me!

Would that my sister's hand could close mine eyes!

IPHIGENIA.

Alas, she dwelleth under distant skies,

Unhappy one, and vain is all thy prayer.

Yet, Oh, them art from Argos: all of care

That can be, I will give and fail thee not.

Rich raiment to thy burial shall be brought,

And oil to cool thy pyre in golden floods,

And sweet that from a thousand mountain buds

The murmuring bee hath garnered, I will throw

To die with thee in fragrance. …

I must go

And seek the tablet from the Goddess' room

Within.—Oh, do not hate me for my doom!

Watch them, ye servitors, but leave them free.

It may be, past all hoping, it may be,

My word shall sail to Argos, to his hand

Whom most I love. How joyous will he stand

To know, past hope, that here on the world's rim

His dead are living, and cry out for him!

[She goes into the Temple.]

CHORUS.

Alas, we pity thee; surely we pity thee: [Strophe.]

Who art given over to the holy water,

The drops that fall deadly as drops of blood.

ORESTES.

I weep not, ye Greek maidens: but farewell.

CHORUS.

[ANTISTROPHE.]

Aye, and rejoice with thee; surely rejoice with thee,

Thou happy rover from the place of slaughter;

Thy foot shall stand again where thy father's

stood.

PYLADES.

While he I love must die? 'Tis miserable.

DIVERS WOMEN OF THE CHORUS.

A. Alas, the deathward faring of the lost!

B. Woe, woe; thou too shalt move to misery.

C Which one shall suffer most?

D. My heart is torn by two words evenly,

For thee should I most sorrow, or for thee?

ORESTES.

By heaven, is THY thought, Pylades, like mine?

PYLADES.

O friend, I cannot speak.—But what is thine?

ORESTES.

Who can the damsel be? How Greek her tone

Of question, all of Ilion overthrown,

And how the kings came back, the wizard flame

Of Calchas, and Achilles' mighty name,

And ill-starred Agamemnon. With a keen

Pity she spoke, and asked me of his queen

And children … The strange woman comes from

there

By race, an Argive maid.—What aileth her

With tablets, else, and questionings as though

Her own heart beat with Argos' joy or woe?

PYLADES.

Thy speech is quicker, friend, else I had said

The same; though surely all men visited

By ships have heard the fall of the great kings.

But let that be: I think of other things …

ORESTES.

What? If thou hast need of me, let it be said.

PYLADES.

I cannot live for shame if thou art dead.

I sailed together with thee; let us die

Together. What a coward slave were I,

Creeping through Argos and from glen to glen

Of wind-torn Phocian hills! And most of men—

For most are bad—will whisper how one day

I left my friend to die and made my way

Home. They will say I watched the sinking breath

Of thy great house and plotted for thy death

To wed thy sister, climb into thy throne…

I dread, I loathe it.—Nay, all ways but one

Are shut. My last breath shall go forth with thine,

Thy bloody sword, thy gulf of fire be mine

Also. I love thee and I dread men's scorn.

ORESTES.

Peace from such thoughts! My burden can be borne;

But where one pain sufficeth, double pain

I will not bear. Nay, all that scorn and stain

That fright thee, on mine own head worse would be

If I brought death on him who toiled for me.

It is no bitter thing for such an one

As God will have me be, at last to have done

With living. THOU art happy; thy house lies

At peace with God, unstained in men's eyes;

Mine is all evil fate and evil life …

Nay, thou once safe, my sister for thy wife—

So we agreed:—in sons of hers and thine

My name will live, nor Agamemnon's line

Be blurred for ever like an evil scroll.

Back! Rule thy land! Let life be in thy soul!

And when thou art come to Hellas, and the plain

Of Argos where the horsemen ride, again—

Give me thy hand!—I charge thee, let there be

Some death-mound and a graven stone for me.

My sister will go weep thereat, and shear

A tress or two. Say how I ended here,

Slain by a maid of Argolis, beside

God's altar, in mine own blood purified.

And fare thee well. I have no friend like thee

For truth and love, O boy that played with me,

And hunted on Greek hills, O thou on whom

Hath lain the hardest burden of my doom!

Farewell. The Prophet and the Lord of Lies

Hath done his worst. Far out from Grecian skies

With craft forethought he driveth me, to die

Where none may mark how ends his prophecy!

I trusted in his word. I gave him all

My heart. I slew my mother at his call;

For which things now he casts me here to die.

PYLADES.

Thy tomb shall fail thee not. Thy sister I

Will guard for ever. I, O stricken sore,

Who loved thee living and shall love thee more

Dead. But for all thou standest on the brink,

God's promise hath not yet destroyed thee. Think!

How oft, how oft the darkest hour of ill

Breaks brightest into dawn, if Fate but will!

ORESTES.

Enough. Nor god nor man can any more

Aid me. The woman standeth at the door.

[enter IPHIGENIA from the Temple.]

IPHIGENIA.

Go ye within; and have all things of need

In order set for them that do the deed.

There wait my word.

[ATTENDANTS go in.]

Ye strangers, here I hold

The many-lettered tablet, fold on fold.

Yet … one thing still. No man, once unafraid

And safe, remembereth all the vows he made

In fear of death. My heart misgiveth me,

Lest he who bears my tablet, once gone free,

Forget me here and set my charge at naught.

ORESTES.

What wouldst thou, then? Thou hast some troubling thought.

IPHIGENIA.

His sworn oath let him give, to bear this same

Tablet to Argos, to the friend I name.

ORESTES.

And if he give this oath, wilt thou swear too?

IPHIGENIA.

What should I swear to do or not to do?

ORESTES.

Send him from Tauris safe and free from ill.

IPHIGENIA.

I promise. How else could he do my will?

ORESTES.

The King will suffer this?

IPHIGENIA.

Yes: I can bend

The King, and set upon his ship thy friend.

ORESTES.

Choose then what oath is best, and he will swear.

IPHIGENIA (to PYLADES, who has come up to her).

Say: "To thy friend this tablet I will bear."

PYLADES (TAKING THE TABLET).

Good. I will bear this tablet to thy friend.

IPHIGENIA.

And I save thee beyond this kingdom's end.

PYLADES.

What god dost thou invoke to witness this?

IPHIGENIA.

Her in whose house I labour, Artemis.

PYLADES.

And I the Lord of Heaven, eternal Zeus.

IPHIGENIA.

And if thou fail me, or thine oath abuse …?

PYLADES.

May I see home no more. And thou, what then?

IPHIGENIA.

May this foot never tread Greek earth again.

PYLADES.

But stay: there is one chance we have forgot.

IPHIGENIA.

A new oath can be sworn, if this serve not.

PYLADES.

In one case set me free. Say I be crossed

With shipwreck, and, with ship and tablet lost

And all I bear, my life be saved alone:

Let not this oath be held a thing undone,

To curse me.

IPHIGENIA.

Nay, then, many ways are best

To many ends. The words thou carriest

Enrolled and hid beneath that tablet's rim,

I will repeat to thee, and thou to him

I look for. Safer so. If the scrip sail

Unhurt to Greece, itself will tell my tale

Unaided: if it drown in some wide sea,

Save but thyself, my words are saved with thee.

PYLADES.

For thy sake and for mine 'tis fairer so.

Now let me hear his name to whom I go

In Argolis, and how my words should run.

IPHIGENIA (REPEATING THE WORDS BY HEART).

Say: "To Orestes, Agamemnon's son

She that was slain in Aulis, dead to Greece

Yet quick, Iphigenia sendeth peace:"

ORESTES.

Iphigenia! Where? Back from the dead?

IPHIGENIA.

'Tis I. But speak not, lest thou break my thread.—

"Take me to Argos, brother, ere I die,

Back from the Friendless Peoples and the high

Altar of Her whose bloody rites I wreak."

ORESTES (ASIDE).

Where am I, Pylades? How shall I speak?

IPHIGENIA.

"Else one in grief forsaken shall, like shame,

Haunt thee."

PYLADES (aside).

Orestes!

IPHIGENIA (overhearing him).

Yes: that is the name.

PYLADES.

Ye Gods above!

IPHIGENIA.

Why callest thou on God

For words of mine?

PYLADES.

'Tis nothing. 'Twas a road

My thoughts had turned. Speak on.—No need for us

To question; we shall hear things marvellous.

IPHIGENIA.

Tell him that Artemis my soul did save,

I wot not how, and to the altar gave

A fawn instead; the which my father slew,

Not seeing, deeming that the sword he drew

Struck me. But she had borne me far away

And left me in this land.—I charge thee, say

So much. It all is written on the scroll.

PYLADES.

An easy charge thou layest on my soul,

A glad oath on thine own. I wait no more,

But here fulfil the service that I swore.

Orestes, take this tablet which I bear

To thine own hand, thy sister's messenger.

ORESTES.

I take it, but I reck not of its scrip

Nor message. Too much joy is at my lip.

Sister! Beloved! Wildered though I be,

My arms believe not, yet they crave for thee.

Now, filled with wonder, give me my delight!

[he goes to embrace her. she stands speechless.]

LEADER.

Stranger, forbear! No living man hath right

To touch that robe. The Goddess were defiled!

ORESTES.

O Sister mine, O my dead father's child,

Agamemnon's child; take me and have no fear,

Beyond all dreams 'tis I thy brother here.

IPHIGENIA.

My brother? Thou? … Peace! Mock at me no more.

Argos is bright with him and Nauplia's shore.

ORESTES.

Unhappy one! Thou hast no brother there.

IPHIGENIA.

Orestes … thou? Whom Clytemnestra bare?

ORESTES.

To Atreus' firstborn son, thy sire and mine.

IPHIGENIA.

Thou sayst it: Oh, give me some proof, some sign!

ORESTES.

What sign thou wilt. Ask anything from home.

IPHIGENIA.

Nay, thou speak: 'tis from thee the sign should come.

ORESTES.

That will I.—First, old tales Electra told.

Thou knowest how Pelops' princes warred of old?

IPHIGENIA.

I know: the Golden Lamb that wrought their doom.

ORESTES.

Thine own hand wove that story on the loom…

IPHIGENIA.

How sweet! Thou movest near old memories.

ORESTES.

With a great Sun back beaten in the skies.

IPHIGENIA.

Fine linen threads I used. The memories come.

ORESTES.

And mother gave thee shrift-water from home

For Aulis …

IPHIGENIA.

I remember. Not so fair

A day did drink that water!

ORESTES.

And thine hair

They brought us for thy dying gift, and gave

To mother.

IPHIGENIA.

Yes: for record on the grave

I sent it, where this head should never lie.

ORESTES.

Another token, seen of mine own eye.

The ancient lance that leapt in Pelops' hand,

To win his bride, the virgin of the land,

And smite Oenomaus, in thy chamber hid …

IPHIGENIA (falling into his arms).

Beloved! Oh, no other, for indeed

Beloved art thou! In mine arms at last,

Orestes far away.

ORESTES.

And thou in mine, the evil dreaming past,

Back from the dead this day!

Yet through the joy tears, tears and sorrow loud

Are o'er mine eyes and thine eyes, like a cloud.

IPHIGENIA.

Is this the babe I knew,

The little babe, light lifted like a bird?

O heart of mine, too blest for any word,

What shall I say or do?

Beyond all wonders, beyond stories heard,

This joy is here and true.

ORESTES.

Could we but stay thus joined for evermore!

IPHIGENIA.

A joy is mine I may not understand,

Friends, and a fear, lest sudden from my hand

This dream will melt and soar

Up to the fiery skies from whence it came.

O Argos land, O hearth and holy flame

That old Cyclopes lit,

I bless ye that he lives, that he is grown,

A light and strength, my brother and mine own;

I bless your name for it.

ORESTES.

One blood we are; so much is well. But Fate,

Sister, hath not yet made us fortunate.

IPHIGENIA.

O most unfortunate! Did I not feel,

Whose father, misery-hearted, at my bare

Throat held the steel?

ORESTES.

Woe's me! Methinks even now I see thee there.

IPHIGENIA.

No love-song of Achilles! Crafty arms

Drew me to that cold sleep,

And tears, blind tears amid the altar psalms

And noise of them that weep—

That was my cleansing!

ORESTES.

My heart too doth bleed,

To think our father wrought so dire a deed.

IPHIGENIA.

My life hath known no father. Any road

To any end may run,

As god's will drives; else …

ORESTES.

Else, unhappy one,

Thyself had spilt this day thy brother's blood!

IPHIGENIA.

Ah God, my cruel deed! … 'Twas horrible.

'Twas horrible … O brother! Did my heart

Endure it? … And things fell

Right by so frail a chance; and here thou art.

Bloody my hand had been,

My heart heavy with sin.

And now, what end cometh?

Shall Chance yet comfort me,

Finding a way for thee

Back from the Friendless Strand,

Back from the place of death—

Ere yet the slayers come

And thy blood sink in the sand—

Home unto Argos, home? …

Hard heart, so swift to slay,

Is there to life no way? …

No ship! … And how by land? …

A rush of feet

Out to the waste alone.

Nay: 'twere to meet

Death, amid tribes unknown

And trackless ways of the waste …

Surely the sea were best.

Back by the narrow bar

To the Dark Blue Gate! …

Ah God, too far, too far! …

Desolate! Desolate!

What god or man, what unimagined flame,

Can cleave this road where no road is, and bring

To us last wrecks of Agamemnon's name,

Peace from long suffering?

LEADER.

Lo, deeds of wonder and beyond surmise,

Not as tales told, but seen of mine own eyes.

PYLADES.

Men that have found the arms of those they love

Would fain long linger in the joy thereof.

But we, Orestes, have no respite yet

For tears or tenderness. Let us forget

All but the one word Freedom, calling us

To live, not die by altars barbarous.

Think not of joy in this great hour, nor lose

Fortune's first hold. Not thus do wise men use.

ORESTES.

I think that Fortune watcheth o'er our lives,

Surer than we. But well said: he who strives

Will find his gods strive for him equally.

IPHIGENIA.

He shall not check us so, nor baffle me

Of this one word. How doth Electra move

Through life? Ye twain are all I have to love.

ORESTES.

A wife and happy: this man hath her hand.

IPHIGENIA.

And what man's son is he, and of what land?

ORESTES.

Son of King Strophios he is called of men.

IPHIGENIA.

Whom Atreus' daughter wed?—My kinsman then.

ORESTES.

Our cousin, and my true and only friend.

IPHIGENIA.

He was not born, when I went to mine end.

ORESTES.

No, Strophios had no child for many a year.

IPHIGENIA.

I give thee hail, husband of one so dear.

ORESTES.

My more than kinsman, saviour in my need!

IPHIGENIA.

But mother … Speak: how did ye dare that deed?

ORESTES.

Our father's wrongs … But let that story be.

IPHIGENIA.

And she to slay her king! What cause had she?

ORESTES.

Forget her! … And no tale for thee it is.

IPHIGENIA.

So be it.—And thou art Lord of Argolis?

ORESTES.

Our uncle rules. I walk an exile's ways.

IPHIGENIA.

Doth he so trample on our fallen days?

ORESTES.

Nay: there be those that drive me, Shapes of Dread.

IPHIGENIA.

Ah!

That frenzy on the shore! 'Tis as they said…

ORESTES.

They saw me in mine hour. It needs must be.

IPHIGENIA.

'Twas our dead mother's Furies hounding thee!

ORESTES.

My mouth is bloody with the curb they ride.

IPHIGENIA.

What brought thee here beyond the Friendless Tide?

ORESTES.

What leads me everywhere—Apollo's word.

IPHIGENIA.

Seeking what end?—Or may the tale be heard?

ORESTES.

Nay, I can tell thee all. It needs must be

The whole tale of my days of misery.

When this sore evil that we speak not of

Lit on my hand, this way and that they drove

My body, till the God by diverse paths

Led me to Athens, that the nameless Wraths

Might bring me before judgment. For that land

A pure tribunal hath, where Ares' hand,

Red from an ancient stain, by Zeus was sent

For justice. Thither came I; and there went

God's hate before me, that at first no man

Would give me shelter. Then some few began

To pity, and set out for me aloof

One table. There I sate within their roof,

But without word they signed to me, as one

Apart, unspoken to, unlocked upon,

Lest touch of me should stain their meat and sup.

And every man in measure filled his cup

And gave me mine, and took their joy apart,

While I sat silent; for I had no heart

To upbraid the hosts that fed me. On I wrought

In my deep pain, feigning to mark them not.

And now, men say, mine evil days are made

A rite among them and the cups are laid

Apart for each. The rule abideth still.

Howbeit, when I was come to Ares' Hill

They gave me judgment. On one stone I stood,

On one she that was eldest of the brood

That hunted me so long. And many a word

Touching my mother's death was spoke and heard,

Till Phoebus rose to save me. Even lay

The votes of Death and Life; when, lo, a sway

Of Pallas' arm, and free at last I stood

From that death grapple. But the Shapes of Blood—

Some did accept the judgment, and of grace

Consent to make their house beneath that place

In darkness. Others still consented not,

But clove to me the more, like bloodhounds hot

On the dying; till to Phoebus' house once more

I crept, and cast me starving on the floor

Facing the Holy Place, and made my cry:

"Lord Phoebus, here I am come, and here will die,

Unless thou save me, as thou hast betrayed."

And, lo, from out that dark and golden shade

A voice: "Go, seek the Taurian citadel:

Seize there the carven Artemis that fell

From heaven, and stablish it on Attic soil.

So comes thy freedom." [IPHIGENIA shrinks.]

Sister, in this toil

Help us!—If once that image I may win

That day shall end my madness and my sin:

And thou, to Argos o'er the sundering foam

My many-oared barque shall bear thee home.

O sister loved and lost, O pitying face,

Help my great peril; help our father's race.

For lost am I and perished all the powers

Of Pelops, save that heavenly thing be ours!

LEADER.

Strange wrath of God hath fallen, like hot rain,

On Tantalus' house: he leadeth them through pain.

IPHIGENIA.

Long ere you came my heart hath yearned to be

In Argos, brother, and so near to thee:

But now—thy will is mine. To ease thy pain,

To lift our father's house to peace again,

And hate no more my murderers—aye,'tis good.

Perchance to clean this hand that sought thy blood,

And save my people…

But the goddess' eyes,

How dream we to deceive them? Or what wise

Escape the King, when on his sight shall fall

The blank stone of the empty pedestal? …

I needs must die … What better can I do?

And yet, one chance there is: could I but go

Together with the image: couldst thou bear

Both on the leaping seas! The risk were fair.

But how?

Nay, I must wait then and be slain:

Thou shalt walk free in Argolis again,

And all life smile on thee … Dearest, we need

Nor shrink from that. I shall by mine own deed

Have saved thee. And a man gone from the earth

Is wept for. Women are but little worth.

ORESTES.

My mother and then thou? It may not be.

This hand hath blood enough. I stand with thee

One-hearted here, be it for life or death,

And either bear thee, if God favoureth,

With me to Greece and home, or else lie here

Dead at thy side.—But mark me: if thou fear

Lest Artemis be wroth, how can that be?

Hath not her brother's self commanded me

To bear to Greece her image?—Oh, he knew

Her will! He knew that in this land we two

Must meet once more. All that so far hath past

Doth show his work. He will not at the last

Fail. We shall yet see Argos, thou and I.

IPHIGENIA.

To steal for thee the image, yet not die

Myself! 'Tis that we need. 'Tis that doth kill

My hope. Else … Oh, God knows I have the will!

ORESTES.

How if we slew your savage king?

IPHIGENIA.

Ah, no:

He sheltered me, a stranger.

ORESTES.

Even so,

If it bring life for me and thee, the deed

May well be dared.

IPHIGENIA.

I could not … Nay; indeed

I thank thee for thy daring.

ORESTES.

Canst thou hide

My body in the shrine?

IPHIGENIA.

There to abide

Till nightfall, and escape?

ORESTES.

Even so; the night

Is the safe time for robbers, as the light

For just men.

IPHIGENIA.

There be sacred watchers there

Who needs must see us.

ORESTES.

Gods above! What prayer

Can help us then?

IPHIGENIA.

I think I dimly see

One chance.

ORESTES.

What chance? Speak out thy fantasy.

IPHIGENIA'.

On thine affliction I would build my way.

ORESTES.

Women have strange devices.

IPHIGENIA.

I would say

Thou com'st from Hellas with thy mother's blood

Upon thee.

ORESTES.

Use my shame, if any good

Will follow.

IPHIGENIA.

Therefore, an offence most high

It were to slay thee to the goddess!

ORESTES.

Why?

Though I half guess.

IPHIGENIA.

Thy body is unclean.—

Oh, I will fill them with the fear of sin!

ORESTES.

What help is that for the Image?

IPHIGENIA.

I will crave

To cleanse thee in the breaking of the wave.

ORESTES.

That leaves the goddess still inside her shrine,

And'tis for her we sailed.

IPHIGENIA.

A touch of thine

Defiled her. She too must be purified.

ORESTES.

Where shall it be? Thou knowest where the tide

Sweeps up in a long channel?

IPHIGENIA.

Yes! And where

Your ship, I guess, lies moored.

ORESTES.

Whose hand will bear—

Should it be thine?—the image from her throne?

IPHIGENIA.

No hand of man may touch it save mine own.

ORESTES.

And Pylades—what part hath he herein?

IPHIGENIA.

The same as thine. He bears the self-same sin.

ORESTES.

How wilt thou work the plan—hid from the king

Or known?

IPHIGENIA.

To hide it were a hopeless thing..

Oh, I will face him, make him yield to me.

ORESTES.

Well, fifty oars lie waiting on the sea.

IPHIGENIA.

Aye, there comes thy work, till an end be made.

ORESTES.

Good. It needs only that these women aid

Our secret. Do thou speak with them, and find

Words of persuasion. Power is in the mind

Of woman to wake pity.—For the rest,

God knoweth: may it all end for the best!

IPHIGENIA.

O women, you my comrades, in your eyes

I look to read my fate. In you it lies,

That either I find peace, or be cast down

To nothing, robbed for ever of mine own—

Brother, and home, and sister pricelessly

Beloved.—Are we not women, you and I,

A broken race, to one another true,

And strong in our shared secrets? Help me through

This strait; keep hid the secret of our flight,

And share our peril! Honour shineth bright

On her whose lips are steadfast … Heaven above!

Three souls, but one in fortune, one in love,

Thou seest us go—is it to death or home?

If home, then surely, surely, there shall come

Part of our joy to thee. I swear, I swear

To aid thee also home …

[she goes to one after another, and presently kneels embracing the knees of the LEADER.]

I make my prayer

By that right hand; to thee, too, by that dear

Cheek; by thy knees; by all that is not here

Of things beloved, by mother, father, child—

Thou hadst a child!—How say ye? Have ye smiled

Or turned from me? For if ye turn away,

I and my brother are lost things this day.

LEADER.

Be of good heart, sweet mistress. Only go

To happiness. No child of man shall know

From us thy secret. Hear me, Zeus on high!

IPHIGENIA (rising).

God bless you for that word, and fill your eye

With light!—

[turning to ORESTES and PYLADES.]

But now, to work! Go thou, and thou,

In to the deeper shrine. King Thoas now

Should soon be here to question if the price

Be yet paid of the strangers' sacrifice.

[ORESTES and PYLADES go in.]

Thou Holy One, that on the shrouded sand

Of Aulis saved me from a father's hand

Blood-maddened, save me now, and save these twain.

Else shall Apollo's lips, through thy disdain,

Be no more true nor trusted in men's eyes.

Come from the friendless shore, the cruel skies,

Come back: what mak'st thou here, when o'er the sea

A clean and joyous land doth call for thee?

[she follows the men into the temple.]

CHORUS.

[STROPHE I.]

Bird of the sea rocks, of the bursting spray,

O halcyon bird,

That wheelest crying, crying, on thy way;

Who knoweth grief can read the tale of thee:

One love long lost, one song for ever heard

And wings that sweep the sea.

Sister, I too beside the sea complain,

A bird that hath no wing.

Oh, for a kind Greek market-place again,

For Artemis that healeth woman's pain; '

Here I stand hungering.

Give me the little hill above the sea,

The palm of Delos fringed delicately,

The young sweet laurel and the olive-tree

Grey-leaved and glimmering;

O Isle of Leto, Isle of pain and love;

The Orbed Water and the spell thereof;

Where still the Swan, minstrel of things to be,

Doth serve the Muse and sing!

[ANTISTROPHE I.]

Ah, the old tears, the old and blinding tears

I gave God then,

When my town fell, and noise was in mine ears

Of crashing towers, and forth they guided me

Through spears and lifted oars and angry men

Out to an unknown sea.

They bought my flesh with gold, and sore afraid

I came to this dark East

To serve, in thrall to Agamemnon's maid,

This Huntress Artemis, to whom is paid

The blood of no slain beast;

Yet all is bloody where I dwell, Ah me!

Envying, envying that misery

That through all life hath endured changelessly.

For hard things borne from birth

Make iron of man's heart, and hurt the less.

'Tis change that paineth; and the bitterness

Of life's decay when joy hath ceased to be

That makes dark all the earth.

Behold, [STROPHE 2.]

Two score and ten there be

Rowers that row for thee,

And a wild hill air, as if Pan were there,

Shall sound on the Argive sea,

Piping to set thee free.

Or is it the stricken string

Of Apollo's lyre doth sing

Joyously, as he guideth thee

To Athens, the land of spring;

While I wait wearying?

Oh, the wind and the oar,

When the great sail swells before,

With sheets astrain, like a horse on the rein;

And on, through the race and roar,

She feels for the farther shore.

Ah me, [ANTISTROPHE 2.]

To rise upon wings and hold

Straight on up the steeps of gold

Where the joyous Sun in fire doth run,

Till the wings should faint and fold

O'er the house that was mine of old:

Or watch where the glade below

With a marriage dance doth glow,

And a child will glide from her mother's side

Out, out, where the dancers flow:

As I did, long ago.

Oh, battles of gold and rare

Raiment and starred hair,

And bright veils crossed amid tresses tossed

In a dusk of dancing air!

O Youth and the days that were!

[enter KING THOAS, with soldiers.]

THOAS.

Where is the warden of this sacred gate,

The Greek woman? Is her work ended yet

With those two strangers? Do their bodies lie

Aflame now in the rock-cleft sanctuary?

LEADER. Here is herself, O King, to give thee word. enter, from the temple, IPHIGENIA, carrying the image on high.

THOAS.

How, child of Agamemnon! Hast thou stirred

From her eternal base, and to the sun

Bearest in thine own arms, the Holy One?

IPHIGENIA.

Back Lord! No step beyond the pillared way.

THOAS.

But how? Some rule is broken?

IPHIGENIA.

I unsay

That word. Be all unspoken and unwrought!

THOAS.

What means this greeting strange? Disclose thy thought.

IPHIGENIA.

Unclean the prey was that ye caught, O King.

THOAS.

Who showed thee so? Thine own imagining?

IPHIGENIA.

The Image stirred and shuddered from its seat.

THOAS.

Itself? … Some shock of earthquake loosened it.

IPHIGENIA.

Itself. And the eyes closed one breathing space.

THOAS.

But why? For those two men's bloodguiltiness?

IPHIGENIA.

That, nothing else. For, Oh, their guilt is sore.

THOAS.

They killed some of my herdsmen on the shore?

IPHIGENIA.

Their sin was brought from home, not gathered here.

THOAS.

What? I must know this.—Make thy story clear.

IPHIGENIA. (she puts the image down and moves nearer to thoas.) The men have slain their mother.

THOAS.

God! And these

Be Greeks!

IPHIGENIA

They both are hunted out of Greece.

THOAS.

For this thou has brought the Image to the sun?

IPHIGENIA.

The fire of heaven can cleanse all malison.

THOAS.

How didst thou first hear of their deed of shame?

IPHIGENIA.

When the Image hid its eyes, I questioned them.

THOAS.

Good. Greece hath taught thee many a subtle art.

IPHIGENIA.

Ah, they too had sweet words to move my heart.

THOAS.

Sweet words? How, did they bring some news of Greece?

IPHIGENIA.

Orestes, my one brother, lives in peace.

THOAS.

Surely! Good news to make thee spare their lives …

IPHIGENIA.

My father too in Argos lives and thrives.

THOAS.

While thou didst think but of the goddess' laws!

IPHIGENIA.

Do I not hate all Greeks? Have I not cause?

THOAS.

Good cause. But now … What service should be paid?

IPHIGENIA.

The Law of long years needs must be obeyed.

THOAS.

To work then, with thy sword and handwashing!

IPHIGENIA.

First I must shrive them with some cleansing thing.

THOAS.

What? Running water, or the sea's salt spray?

IPHIGENIA.

The sea doth wash all the world's ills away.

THOAS.

For sure. 'Twill make them cleaner for the knife.

IPHIGENIA.

And my hand, too, cleaner for all my life.

THOAS.

Well, the waves lap close by the temple floor.

IPHIGENIA.

We need a secret place. I must do more.

THOAS.

Some rite unseen? 'Tis well. Go where thou wilt.

IPHIGENIA.

The Image likewise must be purged of guilt.

THOAS.

The stain hath touched it of that mother's blood?

IPHIGENIA.

I durst not move it else, from where it stood.

THOAS.

How good thy godliness and forethought! Aye,

Small wonder all our people holds thee high.

IPHIGENIA.

Dost know then what I fain would have?

THOAS.

'Tis thine to speak and it shall be.

IPHIGENIA.

Put bondage on the strangers both …

THOAS.

Why bondage? Whither can they flee?

IPHIGENIA.

Put not thy faith in any Greek.

THOAS (to ATTENDANTS).

Ho, men! Some thongs and fetters, go!

IPHIGENIA.

Stay; let them lead the strangers here, outside the shrine …

THOAS.

It shall be so.

IPHIGENIA.

And lay dark raiment on their heads …

THOAS.

To veil them, lest the Sun should see.

IPHIGENIA.

And lend me some of thine own spears.

THOAS.

This company shall go with thee.

IPHIGENIA.

Next, send through all the city streets a herald …

THOAS.

Aye; and what to say?

IPHIGENIA.

That no man living stir abroad.

THOAS.

The stain of blood might cross their way.

IPHIGENIA.

Aye, sin like theirs doth spread contagion.

THOAS (to an ATTENDANT).

Forth, and publish my command …

IPHIGENIA.

That none stir forth—nor look …

THOAS.

Nor look.—How well thou carest for the land!

IPHIGENIA.

For one whom I am bound to love.

THOAS.

Indeed, I think thou hat'st me not.

IPHIGENIA. And thou meanwhile, here at the temple, wait, O King, and …

THOAS.

Wait for what?

IPHIGENIA.

Purge all the shrine with fire.

THOAS.

'Twill all be clean before you come again.

IPHIGENIA. And while the strangers pass thee close, seeking the sea …

THOAS.

What wouldst thou then?

IPHIGENIA.

Put darkness on thine eyes.

THOAS.

Mine eyes might drink the evil of their crime?

IPHIGENIA.

And, should I seem to stay too long …

THOAS.

Too long? How shall I judge the time?

IPHIGENIA.

Be not dismayed.

THOAS.

Perform thy rite all duly. We have time to spare.

IPHIGENIA.

And God but grant this cleansing end as I desire!

THOAS.

I join thy prayer.

IPHIGENIA. The door doth open! See, they lead the strangers from the cell within, And raiment holy and young lambs, whose blood shall shrive the blood of Sin. And, lo, the light of sacred fires, and things of secret power, arrayed By mine own hand to cleanse aright the strangers, to cleanse Leto's Maid.

[she takes up the image again.]

There passeth here a holy thing: begone, I charge ye,

from the road,

O whoso by these sacred gates may dwell, hand-consecrate

to God,

What man hath marriage in his heart, what woman

goeth great with child,

Begone and tremble from this road: fly swiftly, lest ye

be defiled.—

O Queen and Virgin, Leto-born, have pity! Let me

cleanse this stain,

And pray to thee where pray I would: a clean house

shall be thine again,

And we at last win happiness.—Behold, I speak but as

I dare;

The rest … Oh, God is wise, and thou, my Mistress,

thou canst read my prayer.

[The procession passes out, THOAS and the bystanders veiled; Attendants in front, then IPHIGENIA with the Image, then veiled Soldiers, then ORESTES and PYLADES bound, the bonds held by other veiled Soldiers following them. THOAS goes into the Temple.]

CHORUS. [STROPHE.]

Oh, fair the fruits of Leto blow:

A Virgin, one, with joyous bow,

And one a Lord of flashing locks,

Wise in the harp, Apollo:

She bore them amid Delian rocks,

Hid in a fruited hollow.

But forth she fared from that low reef,

Sea-cradle of her joy and grief.

A crag she knew more near the skies

And lit with wilder water,

That leaps with joy of Dionyse:

There brought she son and daughter.

And there, behold, an ancient Snake,

Wine-eyed, bronze-gleaming in the brake

Of deep-leaved laurel, ruled the dell,

Sent by old Earth from under

Strange caves to guard her oracle—

A thing of fear and wonder.

Thou, Phoebus, still a new-born thing,

Meet in thy mother's arms to lie,

Didst kill the Snake and crown thee king,

In Pytho's land of prophecy:

Thine was the tripod and the chair

Of golden truth; and throned there,

Hard by the streams of Castaly,

Beneath the untrodden portal

Of Earth's mid stone there flows from thee

Wisdom for all things mortal.

[ANTISTROPHE.]

He slew the Snake; he cast, men say,

Themis, the child of Earth, away

From Pytho and her hallowed stream;

Then Earth, in dark derision,

Brought forth the Peoples of the Dream

And all the tribes of Vision.

And men besought them; and from deep

Confused underworlds of sleep

They showed blind things that erst had been

And are and yet shall follow

So did avenge that old Earth Queen

Her child's wrong on Apollo.

Then swiftly flew that conquering one

To Zeus on high, and round the throne

Twining a small indignant hand,

Prayed him to send redeeming

To Pytho from that troublous band

Sprung from the darks of dreaming.

Zeus laughed to see the babe, I trow,

So swift to claim his golden rite;

He laughed and bowed his head, in vow

To still those voices of the night.

And so from out the eyes of men

That dark dream-truth was lost again;

And Phoebus, throneed where the throng

Prays at the golden portal,

Again doth shed in sunlit song

Hope unto all things mortal.

[enter a MESSENGER, running.]

MESSENGER.

Ho, watchers of the fane! Ho, altar-guard,

Where is King Thoas gone? Undo the barred

Portals, and call the King! The King I seek.

LEADER.

What tidings—if unbidden I may speak?

MESSENGER.

The strangers both are gone, and we beguiled,

By some dark plot of Agamemnon's child:

Fled from the land! And on a barque of Greece

They bear the heaven-sent shape of Artemis.

LEADER.

Thy tale is past belief.—Go, swiftly on,

And find the King. He is but newly gone.

MESSENGER.

Where went he? He must know of what has passed!

LEADER.

I know not where he went. But follow fast

And seek him. Thou wilt light on him ere long.

MESSENGER.

See there! The treason of a woman's tongue!

Ye all are in the plot, I warrant ye!

LEADER.

Thy words are mad! What are the men to me? …

Go to the palace, go!

MESSENGER (seeing the great knocker on the

temple door.)

I will not stir

Till word be come by this good messenger

If Thoas be within these gates or no.—

[thundering at the door.]

Ho, loose the portals! Ye within! What ho!

Open, and tell our master one doth stand

Without here, with strange evil in his hand.

[enter THAOS from the temple.]

THOAS.

Who dares before this portal consecrate

Make uproar and lewd battering of the gate?

Thy noise hath broke the Altar's ancient peace.

MESSENGER.

Ye Gods! They swore to me—and bade me cease

My search—the King was gone. And all the while …!

THOAS.

These women? How? What sought they by such guile?

MESSENGER.

Of them hereafter!—Give me first thine ear

For greater things. The virgin minister

That served our altar, she hath fled from this

And stolen the dread Shape of Artemis,

With those two Greeks. The cleansing was a lie.

THOAS.

She fled?—What wild hope whispered her to fly?

MESSENGER.

The hope to save Orestes. Wonder on!

THOAS.

Orestes—how? Not Clytemnestra's son?

MESSENGER.

And our pledged altar-offering. 'Tis the same.

THOAS.

O marvel beyond marvel! By what name

More rich in wonder can I name thee right?

MESSENGER.

Give not thy mind to that. Let ear and sight

Be mine awhile; and when thou hast heard the whole

Devise how best to trap them ere the goal.

THOAS.

Aye, tell thy tale. Our Tauric seas stretch far,

Where no man may escape my wand of war.

MESSENGER.

Soon as we reached that headland of the sea,

Whereby Orestes' barque lay secretly,

We soldiers holding, by thine own commands,

The chain that bound the strangers, in our hands,

There Agamemnon's daughter made a sign,

Bidding us wait far off, for some divine

And secret fire of cleansing she must make.

We could but do her will. We saw her take

The chain in her own hands and walk behind.

Indeed thy servants bore a troubled mind,

O King, but how do else? So time went by.

Meanwhile to make it seem she wrought some high

Magic, she cried aloud: then came the long

Drone of some strange and necromantic song,

As though she toiled to cleanse that blood; and there

Sat we, that long time, waiting. Till a fear

O'ertook us, that the men might slip their chain

And strike the priestess down and plunge amain

For safety: yet the dread our eyes to fill

With sights unbidden held us, and we still

Sat silent. But at last all spoke as one,

Forbid or not forbid, to hasten on

And find them. On we went, and suddenly,

With oarage poised, like wings upon the sea,

An Argive ship we saw, her fifty men

All benched, and on the shore, with every chain

Cast off, our strangers, standing by the stern!

The prow was held by stay-poles: turn by turn

The anchor-cable rose; some men had strung

Long ropes into a ladder, which they swung

Over the side for those two Greeks to climb.

The plot was open, and we lost no time

But flew to seize the cables and the maid,

And through the stern dragged out the steering-blade,

To spoil her course, and shouted: "Ho, what way

Is this, to sail the seas and steal away

An holy image and its minister?

What man art them, and what man's son, to bear

Our priestess from the land?" And clear thereon

He spoke: "Orestes, Agamemnon's son,

And brother to this maid, whom here in peace

I bear, my long lost sister, back to Greece."

We none the less clung fast to her, and strove

To drag her to thy judgment-seat. Thereof

Came trouble and bruised jaws. For neither they

Nor we had weapons with us. But the way

Hard-beaten fist and heel from those two men

Rained upon ribs and flank—again, again…

To touch was to fall gasping! Aye, they laid

Their mark on all of us, till back we fled

With bleeding crowns, and some with blinded eyes,

Up a rough bank of rock. There on the rise

We found good stones and stood, and fought again.

But archers then came out, and sent a rain

Of arrows from the poop, and drove us back.

And just then—for a wave came, long and black,

And swept them shoreward—lest the priestess' gown

Should feel the sea, Orestes stooping down

Caught her on his left shoulder: then one stride

Out through the sea, the ladder at the side

Was caught, and there amid the benches stood

The maid of Argos and the carven wood

Of heaven, the image of God's daughter high.

And up from the mid galley rose a cry:

"For Greece! For Greece, O children of the shores

Of storm! Give way, and let her feel your oars;

Churn the long waves to foam. The prize is won.

The prize we followed, on and ever on,

Friendless beyond the blue Symplegades."

A roar of glad throats echoed down the breeze

And fifty oars struck, and away she flew.

And while the shelter lasted, she ran true

Full for the harbour-mouth; but ere she well

Reached it, the weather caught her, and the swell

Was strong. Then sudden in her teeth a squall

Drove the sail bellying back. The men withal

Worked with set teeth, kicking against the stream.

But back, still back, striving as in a dream,

She drifted. Then the damsel rose and prayed:

"O Child of Leto, save thy chosen maid

From this dark land to Hellas, and forgive

My theft this day, and let these brave men live.

Dost thou not love thy brother, Holy One?

What marvel if I also love mine own?"

The sailors cried a paean to her prayers,

And set those brown and naked arms of theirs,

Half-mad with strain, quick swinging chime on chime

To the helmsman's shout. But vainly; all the time

Nearer and nearer rockward they were pressed.

One of our men was wading to his breast,

Some others roping a great grappling-hook,

While I sped hot-foot to the town, to look

For thee, my Prince, and tell thee what doth pass.

Come with me, Lord. Bring manacles of brass

And bitter bonds. For now, unless the wave

Fall sudden calm, no mortal power can save

Orestes. There is One that rules the sea

Who grieved for Troy and hates her enemy:

Poseidon's self will give into thine hand

And ours this dog, this troubler of the land—

The priestess, too, who, recking not what blood

Ran red in Aulis, hath betrayed her god!

LEADER.

Woe, woe! To fall in these men's hands again,

Mistress, and die, and see thy brother slain!

THOAS.

Ho, all ye dwellers of my savage town

Set saddle on your steeds, and gallop down

To watch the heads, and gather what is cast

Alive from this Greek wreck. We shall make fast,

By God's help, the blasphemers.—Send a corps

Out in good boats a furlong from the shore;

So we shall either snare them on the seas

Or ride them down by land, and at our ease

Fling them down gulfs of rock, or pale them high

On stakes in the sun, to feed our birds and die.

Women: you knew this plot. Each one of you

Shall know, before the work I have to do

Is done, what torment is.—Enough. A clear

Task is afoot. I must not linger here.

[While THOAS is moving off, his men shouting and running before and behind him, there comes a sudden blasting light and thunder- roll, and ATHENA is seen in the air confronting them.]

ATHENA.

Ho, whither now, so hot upon the prey,

King Thoas? It is I that bid thee stay,

Athena, child of Zeus. Turn back this flood

Of wrathful men, and get thee temperate blood.

Apollo's word and Fate's ordained path

Have led Orestes here, to escape the wrath

Of Them that Hate. To Argos he must bring

His sister's life, and guide that Holy Thing

Which fell from heaven, in mine own land to dwell.

So shall his pain have rest, and all be well.

Thou hast heard my speech, O King. No death from thee

May share Orestes between rocks and sea:

Poseidon for my love doth make the sore

Waves gentle, and set free his labouring oar.

And thou, O far away—for, far or near

A goddess speaketh and thy heart must hear—

Go on thy ways, Orestes, bearing home

The Image and thy sister. When ye come

To god-built Athens, lo, a land there is

Half hid on Attica's last boundaries,

A little land, hard by Karystus' Rock,

But sacred. It is called by Attic folk

Halae. Build there a temple, and bestow

Therein thine Image, that the world may know

The tale of Tauris and of thee, cast out

From pole to pole of Greece, a blood-hound rout

Of ill thoughts driving thee. So through the whole

Of time to Artemis the Tauropole

Shall men make hymns at Halae. And withal

Give them this law. At each high festival,

A sword, in record of thy death undone,

Shall touch a man's throat, and the red blood run—

One drop, for old religion's sake. In this

Shall live that old red rite of Artemis.

And them, Iphigenia, by the stair

Of Brauron in the rocks, the Key shalt bear

Of Artemis. There shalt thou live and die,

And there have burial. And a gift shall lie

Above thy shrine, fair raiment undefiled

Left upon earth by mothers dead with child.

Ye last, O exiled women, true of heart

And faithful found, ye shall in peace depart,

Each to her home: behold Athena's will.

Orestes, long ago on Ares' Hill

I saved thee, when the votes of Death and Life

Lay equal: and henceforth, when men at strife

So stand, mid equal votes of Life and Death,

My law shall hold that Mercy conquereth.

Begone. Lead forth thy sister from this shore

In peace; and thou, Thoas, be wroth no more.

THOAS.

Most high Athena, he who bows not low

His head to God's word spoken, I scarce know

How such an one doth live. Orestes hath

Fled with mine Image hence … I bear no wrath.

Nor yet against his sister. There is naught,

Methinks, of honour in a battle fought

'Gainst gods. The strength is theirs. Let those two fare

Forth to thy land and plant mine Image there.

I wish them well.

These bondwomen no less

I will send free to Greece and happiness,

And stay my galleys' oars, and bid this brand

Be sheathed again, Goddess, at thy command.

ATHENA.

'Tis well, O King. For that which needs must be

Holdeth the high gods as it holdeth thee.

Winds of the north, O winds that laugh and run,

Bear now to Athens Agamemnon's son:

Myself am with you, o'er long leagues of foam

Guiding my sister's hallowed Image home.

[she floats away.]

CHORUS. SOME WOMEN.

Go forth in bliss, O ye whose lot

God shieldeth, that ye perish not!

OTHERS.

O great in our dull world of clay,

And great in heaven's undying gleam,

Pallas, thy bidding we obey:

And bless thee, for mine ears have heard

The joy and wonder of a word

Beyond my dream, beyond my dream.

NOTES TO IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS

P. 3, 1. 1.—Oenomaus, King of Elis, offered his daughter and his kingdom to any man who should beat him in a chariot race; those who failed he slew. Pelops challenged him and won the race through a trick of his servant, Myrtilus, who treacherously took the linchpins out of Oenomaus's chariot. Oenomaus was thrown out and killed; Pelops took the kingdom, but in remorse or indignation threw Myrtilus into the sea (1. 192, p. 11). In some stories Oenomaus killed the suitors by spearing them from behind when they passed him. Pelops was the son of Tantalus, renowned for his pride and its punishment.

P. 3, 1. 8, For Helen's sake.—i.e. in order to win Helen back from the Trojans.

P. 4, 1. 23, Whatever birth most fair.—Artemis Kalliste ("Most Fair") was apparently so called because, after a competition for beauty, that which won the prize ([Greek Text]) was selected and given to her. This rite is made by the story to lead to a sacrifice of the fairest maiden, and may very possibly have sometimes done so.

P. 4, 1. 42.—She tells her dream to the sky to get it off her mind, much as the Nurse does in the Medea (p. 5,1.57).

P. 5, 1. 50, One … pillar.—It is worth remembering that a pillar was among the earliest objects of worship in Crete and elsewhere. Cf. "the pillared sanctities" (1. 128, p. 9) and the "blood on the pillars" (1. 405, p. 20).

P. 8, 1. 113, A hollow one might creep through.—The metopes, or gaps between the beams. The Temple was therefore of a primitive Dorian type.

P. 8, 11. 124-125.—The land of Tauris is conceived as being beyond the Symplegades, or, as here, as being the country of the Symplegades.

As these semi-mythical names settled down in history, Tauris became the Crimea, the Symplegades, or "Clashing Rocks," or "Dark- Blue Rocks," became two rocks at the upper end of the Bosphorus, and the Friendless or Strangerless Sea became the Euxine. The word Axeinos, "Friendless," has often been altered in the MSS. of this play to Euxeinos, "Hospitable," which was the ordinary prose name of the Black Sea in historical times.

P. 9, l. 133, The horses and the towers.—The steppes of the

Taurians would have no gardens or city walls, but it is curious

that Hellas should seem specially a land of horses by comparison.

Cf. p. 86, l. 1423, where Thoas has horses.

P. 10, l. 168, The golden goblet, &c.—She evidently takes jars of libation from the Attendants and pours them during the next few lines into some Eschara, or Altar for the Dead. Most of the rite would probably be performed kneeling.

P. 11, ll. 192 ff., The dark and wheeling coursers.—i.e. those of Pelops. The cry of one betrayed: Myrtilus, when he was thrown into the sea. (See on l. 1.) For the Golden Lamb and the Sun turning in Heaven, see my translation of Electra, p. 47, l. 699 and note.

P. 12, l. 217, The Nereid's Son.—Achilles, son of Peleus and the

Nereid Thetis.

P. 13, l. 238, The Herdsman's entrance.—Observe how Iphigenia is first merely disturbed in her obsequies: then comes the sickening news that there are strangers to sacrifice: then lastly, her worst fear is realised; the men are Greeks. This explains her exasperated tone in l. 254, "The sea! What is the sea …" and "Go back!"—The Herdsman is merely jubilant and obtuse.

P. 15, l. 263.—The murex or purple-fish could only be collected in very late autumn or early spring; consequently the fishers made encampments for the winter and returned to Tyre and Sidon, or wherever else they came from, after the spring fishing. See Berard, Pheniciens et Odyssee, i. 415.

P. 15, 1. 270, Son of the White Sea Spirit, &c.—The man is, of course, made to use the names of Greek not of Taurian gods. He thinks first of Palaemon, a sea-god, son of Leucothea ("White- Goddess"), then of the Dioskori, Castor and Polydeuces; then vaguely of some spirits beloved of Nereus, the Ancient of the Sea.

P. 17, 1. 328 f., Of all those shots not one struck home.—The object of this statement must be to explain why the two heroes do not make their appearance bruised and dishevelled as the Second Messenger does after his fight with the Greeks. Of course there is no great harm in making the Taurians bad shots as well as cowards, and possibly there is some value in the suggestion of a supernatural protection which is only saving its object for a crueller death. But very likely the two lines are interpolations.

Pp. 17, 18, 11. 342 ff.—A wonderful speech, illustrating the gradual breaking-up of the ice in Iphigenia's nature.—The Herdsman's story has, of course, been horrible to her; all the more so because he expects her to enjoy it and recalls wild words she has uttered in the past, when brooding on her wrongs. She controls her feelings absolutely till the man is gone. Then she feels like one turned to stone, pitiless; then, if only it were Helen or Menelaus that she had to kill! Then vivid thoughts of the misery and horror of Aulis and the poor foolish hopes and tremors in which she had come there; then the thought that Orestes, the one man whom she could love without resentment, is dead. Then a rage of indignation against the bloody rites and the infamy of the thing she has to do. She goes into the Temple broken in nerve and almost ready for rebellion.

P. 19, 11. 385 ff.—Leto, beloved of Zeus, was the mother of

Artemis and Apollo, who were born in the holy island of Delos.—

One legend, already rejected by Pindar, said that the crime of

Tantalus was that he had given his child Pelops to the gods to

eat.

P. 19, 1. 392, Dark of the sea.—The Dark-Blue of the Symplegades is meant. Sometimes it is only the Argo that has ever passed through them; here it is only Io, daughter of Inachus, loved by Zeus and hunted by the gadfly, who fled outcast through the East. Her story is told in Aeschylus' Prometheus and in a magnificent chorus of his Suppliant Women. (See Rise of the Greek Epic, pp. 247 ff.)

The present lyric begins by wondering how and why the strangers have come: then come thoughts of the voyage and places they must have passed; the coast, where Phineus was haunted by the Harpies, the enchanted sea beyond the Symplegades, and the mysterious Isle of Leuce ("White") where Achilles lives after death.—Then comes a thought of Iphigenia's longing for revenge on Helen: but revenge is no use. It is home they crave, or, if that is impossible, then sleep and dreams of home.

P. 21, 1. 431, The steering oar abaft;—The steering was done by an oar, or sometimes two oars, projecting into the sea from a hole in the stern. Cf. 1. 1356, p. 83, "And through the stern dragged out the steering-blade." If this oar was left free, it would ripple and beat against the side.

P. 23, 1. 472, What mother then was yours, &c.—Not very like a woman "turned to stone" or "without a tear." She had miscalculated her own feelings.—Observe how Orestes sternly rejects her sentimental sympathy. He needs all his strength.

P. 25, 1. 512, A kind of banishment.—He was driven by his Furies, not legally banished.

Pp. 26, 27, 11. 515 and 529, "Oh how sweet to see thee here!" and "Oh, give me this hour full. Thou wilt soon die."—Iphigenia is more than tactless. She is so starving for home or anything that brings her into touch with home, that neither this Stranger's death nor anything else matters to her in comparison. A fine dramatic stroke.

The people of whom she asks are, first, her enemies—Helen; Calchas, the prophet, who had commanded her sacrifice; Odysseus, who had devised the plot by which she was brought to Aulis (11. 16, 24); then Achilles, who had been the hero of her dreams; then, with fear and hesitancy, those for whom she cares most.—Observe, at 1. 553, how, on hearing of her father's murder, her first thought is pity for her mother. Her father is already in her mind "he that slew." But in every line of this dialogue there is fine drama and psychology.

P. 28, 1. 538, "Small help his bridal brought him; he is dead."— It has been thought curious that the mention of Achilles should immediately suggest to Orestes the bridal at Aulis, though of course it does so to Iphigenia. But after all it was Orestes' sister that Achilles was to marry at Aulis; and secondly, a large part of Orestes' troubles came from the carrying off of his betrothed, Hermione, by Achilles' bastard son, Pyrrhus. If the marriage at Aulis had taken place and Achilles left a true-born son, that would all have been different.

P. 31, 1. 569, Light dreams farewell! Ye too were lies.—This does seem a wrong conclusion. The dreams only suggested that Orestes had died the day before, long after this man had left Argos. But perhaps it is not unnatural.

P. 32, 11. 576 f., We too have kinsmen dear.—A most characteristic Euripidean saying. It also leads up to the personal interest in the Chorus which we feel after 1. 1075, p. 63, when they are taken into the conspiracy and then abandoned.

P. 32, 1. 578, Listen; for I am fallen upon a thought.—It must not be supposed that this use of the tablet is an obvious or easy thing. It is a daring project that crosses her mind, as one possible way of avoiding the death of this Stranger. Her hesitation at 1. 742—where a pause is indicated in the Greek— shows that she is only trusting to her special influence over the King to get him to relax the law. Presumably merchants sometimes were admitted to the Tauri; for instance, those who brought the Chorus. The safe way to use the tablet would have been to make sure of the friendship of one of these. But such questions lie outside the play.

P. 34, 1. 618, This altar's spell is over me.—I translate the MS.

reading [Greek text]. In my text I accepted the usual emendation

[Greek text]. But [Greek text] means "spell" or "infection." See

Rise of the Greek Epic, p. 86.

P. 34, 1. 627, My sister's hand.—i.e. Electra's.

Pp. 35-39, 11. 645-724.—Observe that all through this scene it is Pylades who is broken and Orestes strong. Contrast their first entrance, pp. 6-8.

P. 45, 1. 804, Argos is bright with him.—Literally, "is full of him." I am not sure that I understand the expression, but I think she feels Orestes as a magnificent presence filling all his home.

P. 46, 11. 809 ff.—The "signs" are clear enough. He remembers that there was an embroidery of the Golden Lamb story worked by Iphigenia; that when she started for Aulis she had cut off her hair for her mother and her mother had given her some Inachus water to use in the sacred washing before her marriage; also, there was an old spear belonging to Pelops in Iphigenia's room.— Apparently Pelops carried a spear in the chariot race, just as Oenomaus did.

Pp. 47-50, 11. 827-900.—In this scene Iphigenia simply abandons herself to one emotion after another, while Orestes, amid all his joy, keeps his head and thinks about the danger that still surrounds them. When he reminds her that they are "not yet fortunate," she thinks only of Aulis and her old wrong. At last Orestes gets in the word, "Suppose you had murdered me to-day," and she is recalled by a rush of horror at her own conduct: she has nearly killed him, and he is still in imminent danger. She tries passionately and despairingly to think of ways of escape, but it needs the intervention of Pylades (which she rather resents) to bring her into a mood for sober thinking.

P. 51, 1. 915, A wife and happy.—The last we heard of Electra was that she lived "unmated and alone" (1. 562, p. 31). But that was said when Pylades was regarded as practically a dead man. Electra was apparently betrothed to Pylades, but was not actually his wife.—There is no mention of the Peasant husband of the Electra.

P. 52, 1. 818.—Anaxibia (?), sister of Agamemnon, was wife to

Strophios. See genealogical table.

P. 53, 11. 930 ff., That frenzy on the shore!—It is only now that Iphigenia fully realises her brother's madness. His narrative immediately following makes her feel it the more, and it is evidently in her mind while she speaks 11. 989 ff.

P. 54 f., 11. 940 ff., Orestes' Trial at Athens.—According to one legend Orestes was finally purified of his guilt by a trial at the Areopagus, in which Apollo championed him, and Athena, as President, gave a casting vote for mercy. (This is the story of Aeschylus' Eumenides.) By another, he was healed when he had brought this Image of Artemis to Attica. Euripides combines the two.—It must often have happened in a blood-feud that some of the kindred of the slain man would accept the result of a trial and obey the law, while some cared for no law but clung to their vengeance. Euripides makes the Furies do the same. Some accept the judgment and stay as "Eumenides" in Athens; others know no law nor mercy.

P. 55, 11. 949-960, Mine evil days are made a rite among them.—At the Feast of the Anthesteria, each family summoned its ghosts from the grave and after the feast sent them back again. While they were about, it was very important that each man should keep his ghosts to himself: there must be no infection of strange or baleful ghosts. Hence a rite in which each man ate and drank his own portion, holding no communication with his neighbour. The story then went that this was done in commemoration of Orestes' visit to Athens with the stain of blood upon him. (See Miss Harrison's Prolegomena, chap, ii.) There was a similar feast in Aegina.

P. 56, 11. 990-1006.—Iphigenia's speech. We must realise that Iphigenia has been suddenly confronted by a new and complicated difficulty. She was prepared to make some plot to save her brother's life. She now realises that he is on the verge of madness; that he is determined to commit an act of what will be considered desperate sacrilege by stealing the image of Artemis; and that he expects her to help him to get the image to his ship. —She might hope to send him away safe and be forgiven by the King: if she helps him to steal the image, she cannot possibly be forgiven. Again, she might very possibly fly with him secretly, if she went alone; but to steal the statue and fly seems impossible.

Confronted with this problem, she deliberately abandons both her thoughts of vengeance and her hope of escape, and agrees to give her life for Orestes.

P. 59, 1. 1029, I think I dimly see.—Compare Electra, translation, p. 42, where Electra suddenly solves the difficulty of slaying Clytemnestra.

P. 63, 11. 1075 ff., Be of good heart, sweet Mistress.—The women of the Chorus are indeed "true of heart and faithful found," as Athena says later. And one feels that Iphigenia, after her first gush of gratitude, does not think of them much. She will save her brother, and they will be left with very little hope of ever seeing Greece, if indeed they are not fatally compromised by their share in the plot.—One can hardly blame Iphigenia; but it is like her.

P. 64, 1. 1089, Bird of the sea rocks.—A wonderful lyric, as spoken by these exiles waiting on the shore.—In their craving for home the island of Delos becomes the symbol for all that is Greek. Delos, the birth-place of Apollo and of a kinder Artemis than that which they now serve, was the meeting-place of all the Ionians. The palm-tree, the laurel, the olive, and the Orbed Lake of Delos were all celebrated in ritual poetry. The singing Swan is not a myth; it is a migratory swan, with a bell-like cry, which comes in the winter down from South Russia to Greece.

Isle of Pain and Love.—Literally, "Beloved birth-pang of Leto." When Leto was about to give birth to her twin children and no land would receive her, the little rock of Delos pitied her and gave her a resting-place.

P. 64, 11. 1106 ff., Ah the old tears.—The singer's mind goes back to her old grief, when her city was taken and she sold as a slave from market to market till she reached Thoas. Then comes the thought of Iphigenia's happy voyage to Greece and freedom; then a dream-like longing to fly home, to watch the dances where once she danced for the prize of beauty.

P. 67, 1. 1156, Iphigenia enters, carrying the Image.—It would probably be a sort of Palladion—a rough figure with a shield (originally typifying the moon?), not very large. She would probably hold it in a robe of some sort, that her bare hand might not touch a thing so holy. At sight of Thoas she would probably cover it up altogether. It is not quite clear when she puts the image down.

P. 67, 1. 1161, I unsay that word.—It was a bad omen for Thoas to say at so critical a moment that a rule was broken. The priestess declares the word unsaid—just the opposite of "accepting" an omen.—Dr. Verrall, however, suggests to me that the line means, "I ask Hosia (the spirit of Holiness) to take in charge what I am going to say"; i.e. all the falsehoods into which she is about to plunge.

This scene of the fooling of Thoas is full of wit and double meanings. The end of it is rather like the famous scene in Forget- me-not, where the Corsican avenger is induced to turn his back in order to let a lady pass out of the room without being seen and compromised, the lady in question being really the person whom he has sworn to kill.

P. 72, 11. 1203 ff.—This change of metre denotes increasing tension of excitement.

Each individual invention of Iphigenia seems clearly to have its purpose. She wants to combine a great appearance of precaution against the escape of the strangers—hence the soldiers, the bonds, &c.—with the greatest possible reality of precaution against any one preventing their escape: hence she takes the soldiers without an officer, the townsfolk are forbidden to follow or even to look, and the King is left at the Temple. The exact motive of all the veiling I do not see; perhaps it adds to the effect to represent Thoas as deliberately hiding his eyes while he is deceived. But in any case her precautions all seem sound according to ancient theology.

P. 77, 11. 1235, 1282, Oh, fair the fruits of Leto blow, &c.—A curious and rather difficult little ritual hymn explaining how Apollo came from Delos to Delphi. It acts more as an interlude than anything else, to fill the time until we learn the issue of the attempt at escape.

All Delphi originally belonged to Mother Earth. The oracles were given by her daughter Themis, and the place guarded by an ancient earth-born Dragon. Apollo came, slew the Dragon, and turned Themis away. Earth took revenge upon him in a curious manner: she invented Dreams, which told the future freely, though, it would seem, confusedly, and, so to speak, spoiled the trade of Delphi until Apollo appealed to Zeus for protection.—The story is not very creditable to the gods, and is expressly denied by Aeschylus on that ground. According to them there was never any strife; Earth, Themis, Phoebe peacefully succeeded one another at Delphi, and Phoebe gave it as a birth-gift to Phoebus or Apollo.

I think the story is probably a case of the infant Sun slaying the Serpent of darkness. The ancient identification of Phoebus Apollo with the sun and Artemis Hecate with the moon seems to me to withstand all modern criticisms, though of course there are many other elements combined with the Sun and Moon elements.

P. 79, 1. 1284, Messenger.—This excited rush upon the stage of a man clamouring for the King is very clever as a next step in the story. One sees at once the sort of thing that has happened, and wants to know what exactly.

P. 80, 1. 1302, "This good messenger."—There is nothing to tell us what the good messenger is. Probably a large sacred knocker, such as were often on temple doors. (They served for suppliants to catch hold of as well as for summoning the people inside.) But it may be a gong or a horn hanging by the door, or the like.

P. 82, 1. 1325, Aye tell thy tale.—It is perhaps a little awkward that Thoas should ask for the whole story before taking any steps to pursue Iphigenia. But partly he is so amazed that he wants to hear all he can before moving; partly, he is represented as being really sure of his prey, as king of all the Taurian seas.

P. 83, 1. 1350, The prow was held by stay-poles.—The ship was afloat, having been just dragged off the shore, bow forwards. The men were raising the anchor, and holding the prow steady by long punt-poles. The ladder seems to have been a rope-ladder; but the Greek is difficult, and I do not know of any mention of a rope- ladder elsewhere in Greek literature.

P. 84, 1. 1384, The Maid of Argos and the carven wood of Heaven— Observe how closely Iphigenia and the image are united. She appears with it in her arms; she must fly together with it, or die; she and the image enter the ship together. There is religion behind this. Perhaps there was some old statue of the goddess carrying her own image, as Athena sometimes carries a Palladion; when Iphigenia became the priestess and Artemis the goddess, this was interpreted as the priestess carrying the goddess' image.

P. 85, 1. 1415, There is One who rules the sea.—Poseidon, the sea god, was traditionally a friend of Troy. See the first scene of The Trojan Women.

P. 86, 1. 1435, ATHENA.—Modern readers complain a good deal of this appearance of the God from the Machine. Some day I hope to discuss the Deus ex Machina at length, but in the meantime I would point out the following facts: 1. A theophany or appearance of a god seems to have been in the essence of the original conception of Greek Drama; a study of the fragments of Aeschylus will illustrate this. What Euripides did, apparently, was to invent, or use when invented, an improved kind of stage machinery for introducing the god in the air. 2. The theophany seems to have been effective with the Greek audience, and I believe it would usually be so with any audience that was not highly sophisticated and accustomed to associate such appearances with pantomime fairies. 3. In nearly all cases the god who appears not only speaks lines of great beauty and serenity, but also comes with counsel and comfort which have something of heaven about them. The Dioscori of the Electra are most typical, healing the agony of revenge by sheer forgiveness; the beautiful Artemis of the Hippolytus is different, but divine also. But every case needs its special treatment.

P. 87, 1. 1457, Artemis the Tauropole.—On the rite of Artemis Tauropolos at Halae, see Preface, p. vi. There is a play on words in "Tauropole"; it is interesting to see that Euripides has prepared for it as early as Orestes' first speech, 11. 84 f., though I did not think it worth representing in English there.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS OF EURIPIDES ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

PREFACE

CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

THE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS

NOTES TO IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE