Stasimon 2
[Episode]
I know; the goddesses were driving you for the sake of your mother.
Orestes
So as to put a bloody bit in my mouth.
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Iphigenia
Why have you made a journey to this land?
Orestes
I have come at the commands of Phoebus’ oracles.
Iphigenia
To do what? Can you speak of it, or must you be silent?
Orestes
I will tell you; this is the beginning of my many troubles.
When my mother’s evil deeds, that I cannot speak of, came into my hands, I was driven to flight by the Furies’ pursuit; then Loxias sent me to Athens, to stand trial with the goddesses who may not be named.
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For there is a holy tribunal there, which Zeus once established for Ares, when his hands were stained with blood-pollution. I came there . . . at first, no host would willingly take me in, as one hated by the gods; then some who felt shame offered me a table apart, as a guest,
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themselves being under the same roof, and in silence they kept me from speaking, so that I might be apart from them in food and drink, and into each private cup they poured an equal measure of wine and had their delight.
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And I did not think it right to blame my hosts, but I grieved in silence and seemed not to know, while I sighed deeply, that I was the murderer of my mother. I hear that my misfortunes have become a festival at Athens, and they still hold this custom
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and the people of Pallas honor the cup that belongs to the Feast of Pitchers. When I came to the hill of Ares to stand my trial, I took one seat, and the eldest of the Furies took the other. I spoke and heard arguments on the murder of my mother,
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and Phoebus saved me by bearing witness; Pallas counted out equal votes for me; and I went away victorious in my ordeal of blood. Some of the Furies who sat there, persuaded by the judgment, marked out a holy place for themselves beside this very tribunal;
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but others were not persuaded by the law, and drove me always in vagabond courses until I came to the holy plain of Phoebus in turn. Stretched out before his shrine and fasting, I swore to break off my life and die there,
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if Phoebus, who had destroyed me, did not save me. And then Phoebus cried out a golden voice from the tripod, and sent me here, to get the image Zeus hurled down, and set it up in Athena’s land. But what he marked out for my safety
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you must help me with; for if we possess the statue of the goddess, I will be released from madness and will put you on my ship of many oars and establish you again in Mycenae. But, my beloved sister, save our father’s house and save me;
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for so I perish and all the race of Pelops, unless we take the heavenly image of the goddess.
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Chorus Leader
A terrible anger from the gods has boiled up against the race of Tantalus and drives them through torments.
Iphigenia
Before you came here, I was eager
to be in Argos and see you, my brother. Your wish is mine: to release you from torment, and restore our father’s afflicted house, for I am not angry at the one who killed me; it is my wish. I would set my hand free from your slaughter
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and save our house. But I worry about concealment from the goddess and the king, when he finds the stone pedestal empty of the statue. How will I escape death? What argument will I have? But if this one thing happens all together,
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that you take the statue and bear me away on your lovely ship, the venture is a noble one. If I am separated from this, I am lost, but you might settle your affairs well and have a safe return. Indeed, I do not shrink from it, not even if I must die
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to save you. No, for when a man dies and is gone from the home, he is longed for; but women are powerless.
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Orestes
I would not be the murderer of you as well as my mother; her blood is enough; I would rather have an equal share of life or death, in common with you.
I will bring you home, if I myself escape from here, or if I die, I will remain here with you. Listen to what I think: if Artemis were hostile to this, how could Loxias have prophesied that I would take the statue of the goddess to Pallas’ city . . .
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and see your face. Putting all these things together, I have hope of our return.
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Iphigenia
But how may we live, and take what we want? For our return home suffers from this; but the will is present.
Orestes
Could we murder the king?
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Iphigenia
A fearful suggestion, for foreigners to kill their host!
Orestes
But we must dare it, if it brings our safety.
Iphigenia
I could not; yet I approve your eagerness.
