From Iphigenia Among the Taurians: A New Translation

In this excerpt from Euripides’s melodramatic and suspenseful play (more romance than tragedy), Iphigenia, rescued from being sacrificed to the goddess Artemis at Aulis, has (irony of ironies) become a priestess of Artemis in a remote Black Sea outpost, where her duty is to sacrifice any Greek man who ventures into the sacred precinct. Unrecognized by Iphigenia, her brother Orestes and his companion Pylades have been arrested and are now being brought before Iphigenia.

Suspense and irony, sharp characterization, wry humor, and a powerful current of homesickness and sheer longing imbue this play, and the section I’ve chosen is no exception. I’ve rhymed loosely. The Chorus speak in a cadenced but fairly free verse; the dialogue is generally iambic pentameter.

(Orestes and Pylades, guarded, enter)

Chorus:

But look—two men are coming near, hands tied together with bonds they share. Fresh sacrifice for the goddess there! Hush. Keep still. A gift from Greece walks toward the temple of this place. What the herdsman said is true. Take them, lady, if they please you, the victims your city celebrates but our own law abominates: holy here, a horror there.

Iphigenia:

So. My first care is to safeguard the goddess’s property. Untie these strangers’ hands; let them go free, for they are holy victims. Then go in; make preparations for what must be done.

(Attendants unshackle Orestes and Pylades and go into the temple, leaving the two men with Iphigenia.)

You poor young men, who was your mother? Who was your father? And if you had a sister, then she too will be bereft of you— of both of you. Who can foresee, who knows the paths that fate may choose? What the gods send is murky and obscure. Where trouble first arose, and how, is never clear; nor is it ever clear where things may go from here. Chance leads us into dense confusion.

Miserable strangers, where have you come from? You must have voyaged far across the sea; and even lengthier will be your stay away from home eternally in the world below.

Orestes:

Woman, whoever you may be, why moan, grieving for troubles that are ours alone? If you plan to kill someone, it makes no sense to try to ease their dread of death with sympathy. And why, when close to death, when no escape is possible, should anybody weep? Scorned as a fool yet dying all the same, he doubles all the trouble he is in. What will be, will be. So let it be. And do not weep for us. We clearly see and understand the custom of this place. We know that we will be a sacrifice.

Iphigenia:

Which of you is Pylades? That is my first question.

Orestes:

He is—if that gives you any joy.

Iphigenia:

And which Greek city is home to Pylades?

Orestes:

Why ask us? How does it benefit you to know this?

Iphigenia:

Did one mother give birth to you two?

Orestes:

We’re bound by ties of love, not family.

Iphigenia:

The name your father gave you—what is it?

Orestes:

“Unlucky” would have been appropriate.

Iphigenia:

I ask your name, but you describe your fate.

Orestes:

You’ll sacrifice my body, not my name.

Iphigenia:

All the same, why not tell me? Why are you so reluctant, so grudging, so haughty?

Orestes:

If I die nameless, no one can laugh at me.

Iphigenia:

So you will not even name your city?

Orestes:

What good would that do me? I am about to die.

Iphigenia:

But as a favor to me? Tell me, please.

Orestes:

Glorious Argos—that’s where I was raised.

Iphigenia:

Oh god—can there be truth in that claim?

Orestes:

Mycenae, wealthy once—that was my home.

Iphigenia:

Oh, your arrival here was longed for so!

Orestes:

I never longed to come here. Maybe you for some reason longed for me to come.

Iphigenia:

So were you exiled from your native land?

Orestes:

Yes. No. It’s hard to understand. I did choose exile. Also I did...