EURIPIDES

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EURIPIDES

IPHIGENEIA IN AULIS
(ІΦІΓΕΝΕΙΑ Η ΕΝ ΑΥΛІΔΙ)
Translated by
Carl R. Mueller

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

AGAMEMNON King of Argos and the allied Greek commander


OLD MAN slave of Agamemnon and Klytaimnêstra
MENELAOS king of Sparta and Agamemnon’s brother
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA wife of Agamemnon
IPHIGENEIA daughter of Agamemnon and Klytaimnêstra
ORESTÊS infant son of Agamemnon and Klytaimnêstra
ACHILLEUS leader of the Myrmidons
SLAVE of Klytaimnêstra
SOLDIER from the Greek army
CHORUS OF YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS
FIRST YOUNG WOMAN chorus leader
SOLDIERS, GUARDS, SLAVE ATTENDANTS

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IPHIGENEIA IN AULIS

Before dawn.
Aulis on the island of Euboia.
The harbor.
Outside the war tent of Agamemnon.
Enter AGAMEMNON pacing indecisively.
Music.

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
Come out, old man.
In front of the tent.

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


I’m coming,
coming, general.
What is it, my king?
Some new plan?

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
I’m waiting!

(Enter the OLD MAN from the tent.)

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


And I’m hurrying.
Fast as can be.
And wide awake, too.
The curse of old men
whose eyes won’t
stay shut.

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
What’s that star
sailing the night sky?

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


Sirius, master.

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AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
What a blazer!

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


Chasing down the
seven Pleiades.

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
Still riding high.

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


Dog star. Dog days.

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
Nothing moving.
No sound.
No birds, no sea.
All still. Winds
along the Euripos
moving silently.

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


Then why are you up,
general?
Back and forth in front
of your tent all night.
Not a voice stirring yet
in Aulis.
The guards standing like
statues on the walls.
Let’s go in.

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
Old man, I envy you.
I do. I envy any man
who slips through life
unnoticed, without fame.
It’s men with power and
authority I don’t envy.

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OLD MAN: (Chants.)
But they’re the ones
who live the good life.

AGAMEMNON: (Chants.)
Good? That? No!
It’s a trap!
It’s deadly!
Honors don’t come easy.
Sweet as honey at first,
till you taste the poison.
Glory is pain to the
man who wins it.

First the gods lay in


wait to destroy you,
then men,
never-satisfied men,
always changing,
rip your heart out.

OLD MAN: (Chants.)


No, no, I’m sorry,
Agamemnon, sorry to hear
my leader, my king,
talk like that. You’re the
son of Atreus, master, and
he didn’t put you in this
world to live a life of
carefree happiness. No.
You’re a man.
You have to expect pain
as well as joy,
like it or not.
The gods see to that
if no one else.

But look here.


You’ve lit your lamp,
you’ve written a letter.

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That one there,
there in your hand.
Then you rub out
what you’ve written,
write it again, then
rub it out once more.
And the seal!
One minute on,
one minute off,
then throw it to the ground,
tears flooding your eyes,
a river of tears.

These are the acts of a


madman, master, a man
loosing his reason out of
despair. What is it?
What makes you so unhappy?

O my king,
I’m a loyal servant,
I keep secrets, you know that.
And I’ve been with you
since you married.
Came with the bride, with
Klytaimnêstra, from the
house of Tyndareos,
part of the dowry.

You remember?
And served you well,
if I say so myself.

(Music out.)

AGAMEMNON:
Lêda the daughter of Thestios had
three daughters:
Phoibê, my wife
Klytaimnêstra, and

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Helen.

Helen, being the most beautiful, had


every wellborn, wealthy young man in
Greece for a suitor.
So jealous were they of each other
that they threatened violence,
murder, even,
if they failed to win her, throwing her father
Tyndareos into a quandary,
it seemed so hopeless.

Should he or shouldn’t he marry her off?

Then the idea struck him.

Each suitor would swear an oath,


all of them together,
clasping hands,
burnt-offerings,
wine-libations,
everything, solemn,
that whoever married Helen, all the rest would
come to his defense.

If anyone seduced or abducted her,


keeping her husband from her bed,
they would chase him down, no matter
who he was,
Greek or Barbarian, and
turn his city to rubble.

But once they had sworn,


Tyndareos showed how really cunning he was.
He left the choice of a husband up to Helen,
saying:

“Let the sweet winds of love


guide her desire!”

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And so it did.
And there’s the misery of it.
Her love made the worst possible
choice.
Menelaos.
My brother.

Time passed.

Then one day out of the East there


came to Sparta a man,
Paris,
who had once judged Aphroditê the
loveliest of goddesses,
a Trojan, son of King Priam,
dazzling in richly embroidered barbarian
robes,
stitched and trimmed in gold,
with opulent jewels.

A beautiful man.

He came as friend,
but left an enemy.
For Paris loved Helen, and
Helen, Paris, and one day,
Menelaos being away,
Paris stole off with
Helen back to Troy
and its pleasant pastures.

Frantic, goaded to madness by the insult,


Menelaos roared through Greece
reminding suitors of their
pledge.

And come they did, like


flies to the honey pot.
Scrambling to arms, mail clanking,
weapons newly honed, and ships

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a thousand strong lined up in the
bay.

Something to do.

So here we are at Aulis of the narrow straits.

And who to lead them,


who as commander-in-chief,
but yours truly?
An honor I’d gladly refuse.
But they voted me in.
He was, after all, my brother.

Well.

Once assembled and mustered,


the wind took off,
died down,
died altogether.

Nothing moving.

Most of all not us.

No ship, no sail.

We applied to Kalchas, our resident prophet.

“We’d have a wind,” he said,


“at the cost of a sacrifice.”

“To whom?” we asked.

“To Artemis,” he replied,


“goddess of the region.”

That sacrifice, it turned out,


was my own daughter,
Iphigeneia.

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This and this alone, according to Kalchas,
would send our ships’ sails
bellying onward to Troy,
and the city would fall before us.

Once I’d heard, I called Talthybios the herald.

“Sound the trumpet,” I said,


“sound it, and tell them to break camp!
We’re going home! I won’t be
guilty of killing my own daughter!”

Who should come then but Menelaos?


To “reason” with me, urging, coaxing,
wheedling,
sweet-talking,
to do this terrible thing.

I finally wrote my wife to bring her to


Aulis,
our daughter. I had arranged, I said,
her wedding to great Achilleus.

I went on to praise him, his honor,


reputation, worth,
saying he refused to sail with us
to Troy
unless he could send back home to his
seat in Pythia
a bride from our family.

I lied, of course, to persuade her of my story,


so she’d send the girl.

Of all of us, only Kalchas,


Odysseus and Menelaos knew.

But what I did was wrong, and


now I’m undoing it.

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This letter you see me sealing and
unsealing
under cover of darkness, old man,
take it now,
take it and hurry to Argos.

But wait, first I’ll read it to you.


You’re a loyal servant,
loyal to my wife and me.

OLD MAN:
Yes, read it. That way my words
and yours will agree.

(Music.)

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
“Klytaimnêstra,
this
letter
cancels the last
you received from me.
Do not send your
daughter to
Aulis.
The wind has died,
no waves strike the
shore the sea is so
calm. We’ll find a
better
time
for our daughter’s
wedding.”

OLD MAN: (Sings.)


But what of Achilleus?
When he hears he has
no bride, he’ll
raise

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a storm in the camp
against you and your wife.
What will you
tell him?

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
We’ve used his
name is all.
He knows nothing,
nothing of a
wedding,
a bride, a plan,
my willingness to
give him my
child in
marriage.

OLD MAN: (Sings.)


You’re playing with
fire, my lord.
It frightens me.
To bring your
daughter
here for the Greeks to
slaughter is a
dangerous move,
and then to
pretend
it’s all for her
marriage to
Achilleus.
I’m appalled.

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
OIMOIIIIIIII!
I’m loosing my mind!
You’re right!
My world
reeling
around me,

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heading me
straight to my
ruin!

AIIIIIII!

Go! Hurry!
Run!
Forget your old legs!

OLD MAN: (Sings.)


I’m going, master.

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
No stopping at springs
to rest or sleep.

OLD MAN: (Sings.)


You needn’t tell me.

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
Check every
fork
in the road.
No chariot gets
past you with my
daughter in it
bringing her to
Aulis.

OLD MAN: (Sings.)


Master, I will.

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
If she’s left
home,
and you meet
her carriage on the way,
turn them
back,

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turn them, even if
you take the reins
yourself, turn them
back to the
safety of
Mykenê’s walls
the Cyclopes built.

OLD MAN: (Sings.)


But how will they
trust me?
Why should they
believe me since you
sent for them to
Aulis?

AGAMEMNON: (Sings.)
The seal on the
letter.
They’ll know it.
Keep it safe.
Go now.
Day is breaking,
the sun’s
chariot
brings fire to the
sky.
Go.
You have a duty.
You can save me.

(Exit the OLD MAN.)

All men know pain,


all men know
sorrow.
Every man has
bitterness waiting
somewhere.

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(Exit AGAMEMNON into the tent.)
(Enter the CHORUS OF YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS.)
(Music. Song. Dance.)

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Sing.)


I have crossed the narrow straits of Euripos
to sandy Aulis,
to sandy-shored Aulis,
Aulis by the sea.
My city is Chalkis,
Chalkis where Arethousa’s waters
well from the earth and leaping headlong
run down to the sea.
I have come to see them,
the army,
the Greeks,
proud Greeks,
heroes,
to see them and their pine-prowed ships,
their wing-oared,
deep-sea ships a thousand strong,
ships manned by heroes headed for Troy.
Menelaos of the firebrand hair and
noble Agamemnon lead them in battle
to win back Helen,
beautiful Helen.
Love-goddess Aphroditê gave her to Paris,
shepherd-prince Paris,
a gift,
when beside the sparkling spring
she entered in strife with Athêna and Hera,
and won the prize for beauty.
And leaving his meadows and mountains behind,
Paris stole her,
Paris stole Helen from her home
beside the reedy Eurotas.

I hurry through the sacred grove of Artemis


where victims die,
are slaughtered,

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in sacrifice to the goddess.
And running,
I blush,
my cheeks like fire,
burning with the feverish shyness
of a young wife’s desire to see at last
the manly defense of the massed forces,
shields and armor and war tents,
and men,
strong men,
in their bare-legged beauty,
and horseflesh sweating with exertion.
I see the two Aiases,
the son of Oïleus,
and Telamon’s son,
the pride of Salamis.
And Protesilaos and Palamêdes,
Poseidon’s grandson,
sit together over a game of draughts,
lost in some difficult move.
And there is Diomêdes
showing his muscles at discus,
with Mêrionês,
Arês’ son,
beside him,
watching a marvel among men.
And Odysseus,
Laërtês’ son,
from his mountainous island,
and Nireus,
the most beautiful of all the Greeks.

And then Achilleus,


beautiful Achilleus,
Achilleus whose feet are swift as the wind,
Thetis’ son,
reared by Cheiron,
racing against a four-horse chariot,
along the beach in full battle armor,
across the sands,

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fleet-footed hero Achilleus,
racing hard on the curved track,
lap after lap,
straining for victory.
The charioteer shouted at his beautiful horses,
bridles and bits chased with gold;
the yoked pair,
dappled with gray in white manes,
the trace-horses bays with dappled fetlocks.
Pherês’ grandson Eumêlos goaded them on,
urging, shouting,
faster, faster,
trace-horses hugging the curves,
but Achilleus running in all his armor
never lagged,
never fell behind the rail and the axles.

(Enter MENELAOS and the OLD MAN.)


(Music out)

OLD MAN:
Menelaos, stop! You have no right!

MENELAOS:
Get away from me! You’re too loyal to your master!

OLD MAN:
There are some might think that a virtue!

MENELAOS:
I’ll show you what it means to meddle!

OLD MAN:
You shouldn’t have broken the seal on that letter!

MENELAOS:
And you had no right to have such a letter!
A threat to every Greek life here!

OLD MAN:

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Argue that with others! Give it back!

MENELAOS:
I won’t!

OLD MAN:
Then I won’t let go!

MENELAOS:
I’ll bloody your head for your insolence!

OLD MAN:
Do it! It’s an honor to die for my master!

MENELAOS:
Big words for a slave! Let go!

OLD MAN:
Master! Help! Help!
He stole your letter!
We’re being robbed! Help!

(Enter AGAMEMNON from the tent.)

AGAMEMNON:
Here! What’s the meaning of this! Brawling?

MENELAOS:
I have a better right to be heard than he!

(AGAMEMNON waves the OLD MAN into the tent.)

AGAMEMNON:
What’s the quarrel, Menelaos?
Why this violence?

MENELAOS:
I’ll tell you!
Just first look me in the eye!

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AGAMEMNON:
Look you in the eye?
Do you think I’m afraid?
I’m a son of Atreus.

MENELAOS:
All right!
This letter!
This is treason!

AGAMEMNON:
That letter—give it back to me.

MENELAOS:
Not till every Greek here knows what it says!

AGAMEMNON:
Really?
You broke the seal?
Then you know what you have no
business to know.

MENELAOS:
Oh, I broke the seal, all right. And
you’re the one to suffer for this betrayal.

AGAMEMNON:
How did you find the old man?
Gods, the impudence!

MENELAOS:
I was watching for your daughter’s arrival.

AGAMEMNON:
Who gave you that right?
Who are you to meddle in my affairs?
You impudent bastard!

MENELAOS:
I’m not your slave! I do as I choose!

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AGAMEMNON:
Bastard! It’s my family! I’ll do as I like!

MENELAOS:
No, you’re not to be trusted.
You’re steady as a mudslide.

AGAMEMNON:
How clever you are with your slanderous,
slippery tongue.

MENELAOS:
And you with your unsteady, wavering mind?
How difficult it must be to be just and
open, especially to friends.

But here are a few questions.

Just don’t turn a tantrum and storm away.


I won’t be too hard on you.

You remember, do you, how you


lusted for command of the forces at Troy?
You pretended reluctance,
but ambition burned at your
core.
How humble you presented yourself.
You sought out every man’s hand.
You threw wide your doors to any comer.
You accosted any- and everyone,
no matter their station, drew them into
talk whether they wanted it or not.
Everything about you was congeniality in your
bid for the big promotion in the
open market.

Lovely, lovely power, lovely life!

But once you’d snared it, once

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power was in your grip, you whistled a
different tune.
No more Mr. Friendly to one-time friends.

“Who did you say? Never heard of him!”


Ah, the new man!
“Wants to see me, you say?
Tell him I’m busy.”

Not an easy man to get to.

An honest man, Agamemnon, doesn’t


change when he changes station. He stays
steady as a rock. Especially now
when he has the means to help people most.

This is my first complaint;


the first bone of contention.
But there’s more.

You then led the allied armies here to


Aulis, and your luck bottoms out.
Including you and your self-importance.

No wind.

With no wind we don’t sail.

Then the men start banging their shields and


raising a racket to turn back home and
not waste more fucking time on this
nonsense.

At that you’re nearly paralyzed.


Commander of a thousand ships and
unable to blanket the plains of
Troy
with his valiant spearsmen!

So who do you send for?

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Me.

“What do I do, Menelaos?” you moan.


“Help me think—a plan—anything!”

Anything, that is, that can save your


face from losing your command, and with it your
precious glory!

Then up speaks Kalchas in the midst of a


ritual:

“Sacrifice your child to Artemis, Agamemnon,


and the winds will come!”

Your heart leaps up at that, I can tell you.


You couldn’t agree fast enough,
rushing off to your tent to write—
willingly, I must stress—
to your wife to bring your daughter
here to Aulis
to marry Achilleus.

All a pretext, of course—but your


precious glory was safe.

Now you’ve changed your mind, it seems.


The same spot,
the same sky,
but a new message.

No longer to be the killer of your daughter.

Well, you’re not the first.


Thousands of men have clambered and
scratched their way to power,
and then, all at once,
in the blink of an eye, it’s
over and they’re back to

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zero.

Sometimes the people are at fault,


too ignorant to know what’s
good for them.
But often the fault lies in the man himself,
unable to keep the city’s good in view.

Most of all, though, my grief is for


Greece.
It was a grand thing we set out to do.
Now the savage barbarian, those
nobodies, can laugh us to
scorn.
And all because of you—
you and your daughter.
No man should lead a city or an army
on the basis of his connections.
The highest value in a leader of anything is
mind.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Brother fighting brother—
a terrible thing;
words, insults, straining to violence.

AGAMEMNON:
It’s my turn now to criticize you.
The only difference,
I’ll be briefer and a bit more
restrained;
no huffing and puffing, no
bulging, bloodshot eyes, no
reeling off barefaced lies.
Brother to brother should be a respectful exchange,
sensible,
plainspoken.
Good men are considerate of one another.

So, tell me,

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what’s your problem?
Are you burning for a virtuous wife?
Can’t help you there, I’m afraid.
You made an awful mess with the one you had.

Am I, who have no complaint to speak of,


to pay through the nose for your
foolish blunders?
I don’t think so.
Nor is it my new-won distinction that’s bugging you.
The only thing on your mind
is a woman in your arms;
a beauty at that.
Discretion and honor go hang.

But, then,
a degenerate man toadies to
degenerate pleasures.
And if I happen to make a mistake, and
later take measures to correct it,
does that make me a
madman?

Again, I don’t think so.

Divine Justice unloaded you of a bad wife,


and all you can think of now is to
get her back.

Now, that’s madness.

And the suitors, all lusting to win the bride,


hence their oath to Tyndareos?

Madness, too.

The only thing leading them on was


itching crotches.

Make no mistake:

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Blind Hope brought them to Aulis
and not any military might of yours.

So take them!
Go fight your war!
Those men out there are just
stupid enough to follow you.

But the gods aren’t so foolish.


They know an honest oath from one got by force.

So.

I will not kill my child.


I see no justice in giving you the satisfaction
of punishing your wife,
when for me it means a lifetime of
remorse
for the unspeakable crime
committed against my own flesh.

Well, that’s about it.

That’s what I wanted to say.

Short. Sweet. To the point.

You can take it to heart or not.


That’s up to you.
But as for me,
I intend to put my life in proper order!

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


You’ve changed your mind, but for the
better:
refusing to do harm to your child.

MENELAOS:
AIIIIIIII!
Then I have no friends!

25
AGAMEMNON:
You have, when you don’t set out to destroy them!

MENELAOS:
I thought we were brothers! When will you show it?

AGAMEMNON:
Brothers in sanity, not in madness!

MENELAOS:
Brothers share everything, even sorrow!

AGAMEMNON:
Than act like a brother, instead of hurting me!

MENELAOS:
Your country needs you, now!

AGAMEMNON:
But Greece, like you, is infected by some mad god!

MENELAOS:
All right, you’re the general,
strut your peacock’s pride!
I’ll make other plans with other friends.
And I know where they are.

You’ve betrayed your own brother.

(Enter in haste a SOLDIER.)

SOLDIER:
Agamemnon,
king and commander of the allied armies!
I’ve brought them, sir!
Iphigeneia your daughter,
and your wife Klytaimnêstra!
And with them your infant son,
Orestês.

26
Your wife said you’d been gone from
home for so long, it would please you to
see him again.

It was a long journey, sir;


difficult, too,
but now they’re cooling their
feet in a nearby stream;
the horses, too.
After they’d drunk, we set them loose
to graze in the green meadow, and
I came on ahead so as not to surprise you.

Oh, and by the way, sir,


the whole army knows of your
daughter’s arrival.
Word travels fast around here,
as you probably know. They’re
crowding from every direction,
pushing, shoving, for a good spot
to catch sight of the girl; every
man and his brother wants a
look.
Well, people blessed by fortune are always famous.

But everyone’s asking what she’s doing here.

“Is it a wedding?
What’s going on? Did the
general miss her so much
he sent for her?”

Others are saying she’ll be consecrated to Artemis,


goddess of Aulis,
to prepare for her coming marriage.

“But who’s the bridegroom,” they say?

We have to get a move on, sir.


The sacrificial basket needs preparing.

27
And then you’ll lead the procession
around the altar. And wreaths for your
heads, too.
There’s to be a wedding feast!
Flutes piping!
Dancing to make the earth
shake with stamping feet!
Your daughter will be a happy bride today, sir!

AGAMEMNON:
Thank you.
You may leave us.
Let Fortune take its course
and turn out well.

(Exit the SOLDIER.)

OIMIIIIIIIII!

What do I say?
Where do I begin?
How do I answer
the misery my life has become?
I’m fate’s victim. My every move
outwitted by the cunning of
destiny.
Life is at least livable if you’re
born with no advantage—
a nobody.
And yet they have advantage.
They can give way to their grief, they have
freedom to speak whatever they please.

But the man born with a scepter in his grip,


born in the harsh gaze of the public eye,
has no such luxury.
He has no right to indignity.
The slave of the common rabble he rules.
The victim
of pomp, of circumstance, of decorum.

28
Duties! Obligations!

A prison!

I’m ashamed of my tears,


ashamed to show my sorrow.
And yet my shame is greater
for not showing, for
I have such cause to shed tears that
not to shed them
is to make my misery greater.

But what will I tell my wife?


How will I face her, greet her,
look her in the eye, and not
betray the horror behind these eyes?

Why did she come?


Why did she have to,
like this, now, unasked?
It was bad enough before,
now the disaster is
unspeakable.

But how could she not—how could she


not have come, not have wanted to
give her daughter in marriage, her own
child, her belovèd,
her darling?

And in coming she will uncover the


depth of my treachery.

O my child,
my poor, dear, innocent child!

Innocent?

No.

29
Death, it seems, will soon be her bridegroom.

Not innocent.

How I pity you, my dear!

I hear her now:

“Father! Why are you killing me?


I wish you and everyone you love
such a marriage!”

Orestês will be there.


Barely able to walk,
no words yet,
he’ll scream his inarticulate horror,
but my heart will read their
meaning.

O Priam, what ruin your son has


brought me with his lust!

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


I pity you, though I may be a foreigner
and a woman,
and these are a king’s troubles.

MENELAOS:
Brother, give me your hand.

AGAMEMNON:
Here. You’ve won.
The loss is mine.

MENELAOS:
I swear to you, brother,
by Pelops and by his son,
our father, Atreus,
that what I am about to say
comes from my heart,

30
unvarnished,
unpremeditated, but simply what I
feel and think—
no more, no less.

As I watched you just now,


and saw tears flowing from your eyes,
your voice faltering,
I felt my own tears come
and a lump rise in my throat,
and I pitied you.

You mustn’t kill your child.


I’m with you now.
Side by side.
No longer your enemy.
I take back everything I said,
everything.
I support you.

There is no justice allows your child to


die for my sake. No justice that
allows me to put my interests over yours.
And surely no justice that condemns you to
live with your child’s death
while my children
enjoy the light of day.

What could I possibly need?

A wife?

I can get one, anyone, every bit as good


as Helen ever was.

Is the loss of a brother, whom I should


cherish, worth winning back Helen?

An evil bargain at any price!

31
I was rash just now; I acted like a child.

But I’ve pulled back, looked


closely at the situation, and see now
just how terrible a thing it is
to kill one’s child.
I was overwhelmed by pity,
pity for the girl, by the family bond
between her and me, and to think
I condemned her to death on the altar,
for me,
for my own petty sake,
for the sake of my marriage!

What is Helen to her,


that dear, sweet, innocent child?

No.

Let them go, send them back,


the soldiers.
Back to where they belong.
Away from Aulis.

And no more tears, Agamemnon.


No more tears, brother, do you hear?
Your tears bring on mine.

And whatever the oracles may say regarding


your daughter, it’s your concern,
not mine.
I make my share over to you.
I want no part of it.

“What’s happened to all his


threats?” I hear you thinking.

Love is what’s happened.


Love for a brother.
Is that so unusual?

32
No, just a change in heart for the better.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Those are noble words.
Worthy of Tantalos, son of Zeus.
You do your ancestors proud.

AGAMEMNON:
Thank you, Menelaos.
I never expected to hear such
words from you. You do yourself
honor; it shows your true
nature.

Conflict sometimes arises between


brothers over a woman or even a
throne.
I despise such feuds.
But I have come to a place where I have no
choice, locked in by Fate and Necessity.

Blood.

Blood is the only way.

Her blood.
My daughter’s.

MENELAOS:
Why? Who can force you to kill her?

AGAMEMNON:
The allied forces of the entire Greek army.

MENELAOS:
Not if you’ve sent her back to Argos.

AGAMEMNON:
I could do that, yes. But it would come out.

33
MENELAOS:
Why are you in such fear of the mob?

AGAMEMNON:
Kalchas will spread the word, be sure—the prophecy.

MENELAOS:
The dead don’t talk. That’s easily arranged.

AGAMEMNON:
Then there’s that other. Aren’t you afraid?

MENELAOS:
Who? Tell me. Then I’ll know.

AGAMEMNON:
The slimy son of Sisyphos. He knows it all.

MENELAOS:
Odysseus? He can’t touch us. He’s nobody.

AGAMEMNON:
But he’s cunning. He sides with the mob.

MENELAOS:
He suffers from a disease:
Ambition.

AGAMEMNON:
Can’t you see him now,
circled by the assembled armies,
spinning out the tale:
what Kalchas said, what I promised—
to sacrifice my daughter—
and then reneged on it, betraying even
myself, and them.

He’ll have the whole army on his side,


telling them to kill us, you and me,

34
and then slaughter the child!

And what if I escape to Argos?


What good would that do?
They’d descend on the city,
raze it to the ground,
even the invincible walls built by the
Cyclopes.

You see where this puts me.


How do I survive?
How do I live through this nightmare?

Why have the gods done this to me?

I want you to do one thing for me, Menelaos.


When you make your way through the troops,
be certain that Klytaimnêstra knows nothing
till I’ve handed over our daughter
to the god of the dead.
That way at least I’ll endure my torment
with the fewest tears possible.

And you, too, women of Chalkis,


I ask for your silence.

(Exeunt AGAMEMNON to his tent and MENELAOS to his camp.)


(Music. Song. Dance.)

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Sing.)


Great is Aphroditê,
goddess of love,
and great is her power,
and they who know her in moderation are blest.
Touched lightly by love,
not burned in a sea of passion,
of lust,
that drives men mad,
is a blissful state.
When Eros,

35
blond Eros,
lets fly his arrows of love and desire,
there is one that brings rapture,
the other ruin and confusion.
From this one,
Kypris,
goddess Aphroditê,
from this one,
loveliest of immortals,
protect me,
protect my house and bed.
Let love lie gently on me,
let love come kindly.
Let me know Aphroditê purely,
not in a rage of despair.

Many are the ways of man,


many are man’s natures,
but one thing is set,
one thing is known and clear as day,
and that is kindness and goodness of soul,
that is the noble,
and that is nurtured by teaching what is right,
and knowing,
and that leads in the end to virtue.
Modesty is wisdom,
leading us down the proper path and
knowing it as beautiful.
And out of beauty comes honor
and a life of unending fame.
To pursue virtue is a noble thing.
In women it is sheltered,
to keep love pure at home;
in men it is discipline in its countless forms,
and discipline makes great cities.

You came,
Paris,
to the slopes of Mount Ida,
to Ida where they reared you to tend your cattle,

36
herds of white heifers,
playing on your reed-pipe barbarous tunes,
aping the Phrygian pipe of Olympos.
And then they came,
the goddesses came,
all three,
and while the cattle grazed,
the heavy-uddered cattle,
the goddesses revealed their charms,
and you judged whose beauty was greatest.
Your choice was madness,
and madness led you to Greece,
to Helen’s palace,
her ivory palace,
and there you saw Helen,
and Helen saw you,
and she received your love-gift,
and you received hers,
and it is love has brought strife and armies and Greeks
in their proud ships to tear down Troy.

(Enter KLYTAIMNÊSTRA, IPHIGENEIA, and the infant ORESTÊS in a horse-


drawn carriage. Another carriage follows with SLAVE ATTENDANTS and piled
high with wedding gifts.)

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Chant.)


They’re here!
Look!
The great ones!
Iphigeneia,
Agamemnon’s princess daughter.
And Klytaimnêstra,
queen,
daughter of Tyndareos.
How great,
how great is their family!
Illustrious house!
The great,
the fortunate,
are like gods to mere mortals.

37
FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Chants.)
Let us wait here, women.
Let us greet the queen
as she steps from
her chariot.
Don’t let her stumble.
Give her your hands.
Give them gently.

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Chant.)


Gently.
Gently.
Gently.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Chants.)


Down to the firm earth.
Wish them well.
Agamemnon’s
child must
not be afraid.
We, too, are
strangers, strangers.
Welcome to the
strangers from Argos.

(Music out.)

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I thank you,
thank you for your words.
How kindly spoken.
I will take them as a good omen.
I come here bringing my daughter to her
destiny,
to a marriage that I hope will be happy.

Come, unload these gifts from the carriage.


Wedding gifts for the bride.
Her dowry.

38
Carry them into the tent carefully
and set them down.

Come, daughter.
Down from the carriage.

Help her, women, help her dainty


feet onto the hard earth.
Take her on your arms and let her down
gently.

And someone do the same for me?

O but first the baby.


Take him.
Now your arm.
Thank you.
That’s better.
You’ve saved me from an unsightly
descent.

And someone see to the horses.


They frighten easily when no one is
there to comfort them.

Here, I’ll take him now.


This is Orestês. Agamemnon’s son.
Still a baby.
Asleep, my sweet?
The carriage lulled him, I think.
No, there, he’s awake.
It’s your sister’s wedding, dear one,
you must be happy for her.
And for yourself.
You, who were born a king’s son,
are to have a noble kinsman for a
brother.
The son of a sea-nymph and as
god-like as his ancestors the gods.
You’ll see.

39
Now sit here at my feet, child.
And you come, too, Iphigeneia.
Stand beside your mother and show these
women how much I have to be happy for.

(Enter AGAMEMNON from the tent.)

But here comes your father, my dear.


Say something.

IPHIGENEIA:
O mother, I’m sorry,
don’t be angry if I run from you.
I want to be the first to hold him!
O father, I’ve missed you so!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
My lord and revered king,
Agamemnon,
great joy of my life,
you summoned us here to Aulis,
and we are come,
your obedient servants.

IPHIGENEIA:
I want to hug you so badly, father!
I just want to look at you!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
It’s only natural, child.
Of all the children I bore your father,
you always loved him most.

IPHIGENEIA:
I’m so happy to see you, father! It’s been so long!

AGAMEMNON:
And I’m happy, too, my dear. What can I say?

40
IPHIGENEIA:
Dear, dear, father! Thank you for bringing me here!

AGAMEMNON:
Perhaps, my child. I don’t know. We’ll see.

IPHIGENEIA:
But why do you look so troubled? How sad your eyes are.

AGAMEMNON:
A king and army commander has much on his mind.

IPHIGENEIA:
But I want you to forget them. Be with me now.

AGAMEMNON:
I am, my dear, I am—nowhere else.

IPHIGENEIA:
Then smooth away that frown and be happy for me.

AGAMEMNON:
All right. There. How’s that? I couldn’t be happier.

IPHIGENEIA:
And yet I see tears pouring from your eyes.

AGAMEMNON:
Don’t try to understand. It would make me feel worse.

IPHIGENEIA:
Well, then, I’ll talk nonsense to make you laugh!

AGAMEMNON:
O god, how can I bear this!—There’s a good girl.

IPHIGENEIA:
Stay at home with me, father, with your children.

AGAMEMNON:

41
I want it so much it tears my heart apart.

IPHIGENEIA:
Then curse the war! Curse Menelaos’ ills!

AGAMEMNON:
What has already ruined me will ruin others.

IPHIGENEIA:
Why have you been stranded so long in this bay?

AGAMEMNON:
Something must happen before we’re allowed to sail.

IPHIGENEIA:
Father, where is this famous town of Troy?

AGAMEMNON:
Where Paris lives. Paris who should never have been born.

IPHIGENEIA:
Will you be going far when you leave me?

AGAMEMNON:
Far? Yes. But we’ll meet again, my child.

IPHIGENEIA:
If only it were proper for me to sail with you!

AGAMEMNON:
You, too, have a long voyage, and you’ll think of your father.

IPHIGENEIA:
Will mother come with me, or will I travel alone?

AGAMEMNON:
Alone, all alone, no mother, no father.

IPHIGENEIA:
Do you mean you’ve found me another home, father?

42
AGAMEMNON:
No more questions. You’re a girl. You can’t know everything.

IPHIGENEIA:
Hurry back to me soon, father, when you’re done at Troy.

AGAMEMNON:
There’s a sacrifice I must first make here in Aulis.

IPHIGENEIA:
Yes, with holy rites. Have you planned it out?

AGAMEMNON:
You’ll see. You’ll have a place by the lustral water.

IPHIGENEIA:
And dance for you, father, around the altar?

AGAMEMNON:
How I envy your blessèd ignorance!

Go inside now.
It’s better that young girls not be seen.
But kiss me. Give me your hand.
Your journey will take you from your
father
for a long time.

Sweet body, dear cheeks, blonde head,


what a weight of sorrow Troy and Helen
have laid on you!

No, I mustn’t touch you anymore.


It makes my tears flow.
Go in.

(Exit IPHIGENEIA into the tent.)

Forgive me, Klytaimnêstra,

43
for this display of a father’s
grief
at what should be a happy moment.
I’m about to hand over my daughter
to Achilleus to have as his bride.
And then I think of all the pain and
anxiety of raising her and this
parting,
it tears at my heart.
It’s not easy for a father.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I know. I feel it, too.
The same pain,
the same anxiety of loss.
I’ll know it no less than you when I
lead my daughter out into the
sound of wedding
hymns.
I understand.
But time heals.
Time dries tears.
We’ll get used to it.

But tell me now of this young


husband.
I know his name, but not the man.
Not his family.
Who are they?
Where are they from?
I want to know more.

AGAMEMNON:
Asopos had a daughter. Aigina.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Who married whom? God or a mortal?

AGAMEMNON:
Zeus. Their son was Aiakos, King of Oinone.

44
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And who was the son of Aiakos?

AGAMEMNON:
Pêleus, who married Thetis, the sea-god’s daughter.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Did Zeus give her, or did Pêleus take her despite him?

AGAMEMNON:
Zeus betrothed them and gave the bride in marriage.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And where were they married? Beneath the deep blue sea?

AGAMEMNON:
At the foot of Mount Pêlion, where Cheiron lives.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Cheiron, yes, that’s where the centaurs play.

AGAMEMNON:
And all the gods came to their wedding feast.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Who raised Achilleus, Thetis or his father?

AGAMEMNON:
No, Cheiron. To keep him free of the evils of men.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
A wise teacher, and an even wiser father.

AGAMEMNON:
And this is the man who will be your daughter’s husband.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Excellent, I must say. Where is he from?

45
AGAMEMNON:
Phthia, on the banks of the Apidanos.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Is that where he’ll take our daughter?

AGAMEMNON:
That must be the business of the one who wins her.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I wish them both well. When is the wedding?

AGAMEMNON:
When the moon is full.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Have you sacrificed to the goddess for the girl?

AGAMEMNON:
I will. I was occupied with that when you came.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And following that we hold the wedding feast?

AGAMEMNON:
Yes, after the sacrifice.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And where will I hold the women’s banquet?

AGAMEMNON:
Here beside the sterns of the high ships.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
By the tackle and stinking fish? Whatever you say.

AGAMEMNON:
You know what you must do. I wished you’d do it.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:

46
Do? Do what? I do everything you say.

AGAMEMNON:
I’ll stay here in Aulis with the bridegroom, while—

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
While? While what? Where will I be? A mother has duties—

AGAMEMNON:
While you go back to Argos and see to your daughters.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And abandon my child? But who will raise the bridal torch?

AGAMEMNON:
The fire will be lit, you can trust me.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
This is against custom. It demands seriousness.

AGAMEMNON:
An army camp is not the place for a woman!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
It’s a mother’s right to give her children in marriage!

AGAMEMNON:
It’s a mother’s duty to look after her daughters!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
They are being seen to in the women’s quarters!

AGAMEMNON:
Do as I say!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
No!
No, by the sovereign goddess
who reigns in Argos!

47
Very well, husband,
we each have our tasks,
and much to do.
You have much to arrange outside the tent,
and I’ll see to matter inside.
My daughter will have a proper
wedding.

(Exit KLYTAIMNÊSTRA into the tent.)

AGAMEMNON:
Will nothing go right?
I try and I try and I fail.
I try to spare her the sight of my onerous
duty,
and it comes to nothing.
I plot, I contrive, I deceive even those
I love most—
and nothing.

I must go to Kalchas to arrange the


sacrifice just as the goddess demands.
This deed that revolts me.
This deed that will be an agony to all of Greece.
A wise man has a wife who listens to him,
or no wife at all.

(Exit AGAMEMNON.)
(Music. Song. Dance.)

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Sing.)


They will sail now,
sail,
the Greeks set sail,
in their proud ships,
to where Simoïs’ swirling waters spin silver,
Greeks,
armed Greeks,
with their fleets,
their weapons,

48
their spears and pikes,
to the land Apollo holds dear,
the plains of Troy,
the citadel of Ilion,
where Kassandra tosses her sun-bright hair,
crowned in laurel,
gripped by the god,
by Apollo’s might,
Apollo who drives her reeling, spinning,
into unknown time,
to see the unknown.

On Troy’s proud towers,


on her circling walls,
Trojans will watch as the war-god nears,
war-god Arês,
with his sturdy bronze shield,
Arês,
in his gleaming battle gear of bronze.
And with him,
in his wake,
the pine-winged ships,
ships sped on by bellied sails,
plow the seas,
nearing the silvery streams of Simoïs.
War-god and Greeks coming,
coming,
to win back Helen,
sister of the sky-twin Dioskouroi,
sons of Zeus,
Helen,
to be won by the clashing bronze shields,
by the deadly spears of Argive warriors.

War-god Arês will circle Pergamos,


the Phrygians’ city,
girdle her battlements,
her stone-built towers,
with war,
slaughter and war,

49
with blood,
death,
destruction,
and Priam’s head will be hacked,
and every Trojan warrior butchered,
every house be brought low.
Then Troy’s women,
then Priam’s wife,
will weep hot tears,
and Zeus’ daughter will know tears,
bitter tears,
for deserting her husband.

I hope never,
never to see,
I hope my children,
my children’s children,
will never behold so dark a day
as will fall on those Lydian women,
wives resplendent in gold,
the women of Troy,
as they sit at their looms,
among themselves,
wailing:

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Sings.)


“What man will
rip me
from my native soil,
my ruined
city,
like a flower uprooted
from the earth,
and drag me by my
flowing
hair?”

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Sing.)


It is to you,
Helen,

50
to you, daughter of the long-necked swan,
they owe their fate,
these women,
if the story is more than a fable,
that Zeus came to Lêda as a great-winged bird.
Or is it a lying tale without truth,
diversion dreamed up by poets?

(Enter ACHILLEUS.)
(Music out.)

ACHILLEUS:
Is General Agamemnon anywhere near?
If not, where can I find him?
Will one of you slaves go after him,
and tell him that Pêleus’ son Achilleus
is at his tent, waiting to see him.

(Exit a SLAVE.)

I’m afraid I have a complaint, you see.


We’ve been here beside the Euripos for a
long while, and it’s not the same for
all of us.
Those who are unmarried and
without families have abandoned our
houses with no protection.
Others,
men who are married, have wives and
children at home. It’s odd, but
the passion for this war that has swept
Greece must be the work of some
god.
How else to explain it?

But all things considered, I feel it’s only


right to have my say on the way things
stand.
Anyone else who wants to is
free to speak for himself.

51
Well.

When I left Pharsalos and my father Pêleus,


I didn’t expect to be wasting my time
here beside the Euripos doing nothing,
waiting for a breath of wind to blow up.

Besides, I have my men to deal with,


my Myrmidons. They’re forever pestering me
with questions.
“How much longer, Achilleus?
All we do is sit here counting off days!
When do we sail for Troy?
Do something!
If not, then lead us home, and stop
waiting for the sons of Atreus
to act!”

(Enter KLYTAIMNÊSTRA from the tent.)

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Achilleus, son of Thetis,
I heard your voice from inside the tent,
and have come out to greet you.

ACHILLEUS:
And who is this beautiful woman?
So gracious!
So charming!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
We’ve never met;
there’s no way you could
know me.
But I thank you for your courtesy.

ACHILLEUS:
Who are you?
Why have you come?

52
This is no place for a woman.
Fenced in with men in armor,
weapons, shields!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I’m Klytaimnêstra, daughter of
Lêda. Agamemnon’s wife.

ACHILLEUS:
Brief and to the point.
But, dear lady, I shouldn’t be seen
talking with a woman.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Wait!
Don’t run off! Don’t be
frightened.
Give me your right hand.
Here’s mine.
A happy prologue to a
happy marriage.

ACHILLEUS:
What must I—?
Touch your hand?
But how could I face Agamemnon
having touched what I should not!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Should not? But, son of
Thetis, you’re marrying
my daughter!

ACHILLEUS:
Marrying your—?
But—!
I don’t understand!
How do I answer this?
Is this some delusion?

53
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I’m sorry, I’ve offended you.
I know that men are shy when it comes to
talk of marriage and new relatives.

ACHILLEUS:
Kind lady, I never courted your daughter.
Nor have the sons of Atreus mentioned
marriage.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
If what you say is true, I don’t
understand either. I can well
imagine how shocking my words must be.
Yours are as shocking to me.

ACHILLEUS:
Yes, but we can work this out, I’m sure.
I suspect we’ve both been equally
misled.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Who would have done this to me?
This outrage?
I’m here to arrange a marriage,
but there is no marriage.
Except in my mind, it seems.
I’m deeply ashamed.

ACHILLEUS:
Perhaps we’re both being made
fools of.
I think we’d do best to ignore it.
It’s not important.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I’m sorry. I have to leave now.
I can’t face you, I’m so humiliated.
I’ve been made out to be a
liar.

54
ACHILLEUS:
Good-bye, then.
I’ll go in
to see your husband.

(The OLD MAN calls from the half-opened entrance to the tent.)

OLD MAN:
Achilleus, son of Thetis!
Stop!
Wait!
It’s you I’m calling!
And you, daughter of Lêda!
Please!

ACHILLEUS:
Who is that?
Why are you hiding?
He sounds terrified.

OLD MAN:
I’m a slave. It’s true,
so why not say it.
It’s all fortune dealt me.

ACHILLEUS:
A slave? Whose?
Not mine.
We keep our property apart—
Agamemnon and I.

OLD MAN:
No, that lady’s slave.
The lady there with you.
Her father gave me to her once.

ACHILLEUS:
All right, I’m here.
Why did you stop me?

55
OLD MAN:
Is it just the two of you there?
No one else?

ACHILLEUS:
Yes, only the two of us.
Come out.

OLD MAN:
It’s happened,
what I feared!
I pray fortune spare those
I want to save!

(Enter the OLD MAN from the tent.)

ACHILLEUS:
Your message, old man.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
You’re safe. I’ll see to that. Tell us.

OLD MAN:
I’m a friend, lady, to you and your children.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I know you for an old slave of my house.

OLD MAN:
And came to Argos as part of your dowry.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And have been with me ever since.

OLD MAN:
A friend to you, but less a friend to your husband.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Why are you hesitating?

56
OLD MAN:
Your daughter, mistress. Your husband is going to kill her.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What? How dare you! You’re mad!

OLD MAN:
With his own hand. A knife in her white throat.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Stop! Stop, I can’t bear it! Is my husband insane?

OLD MAN:
Just not where you and your child are concerned.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What demon could drive him to such a horror?

OLD MAN:
An oracle, according to Kalchas. So the fleet can sail.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Sail where? How can he do this, how can he kill her?

OLD MAN:
To Troy, for Menelaos to win back Helen.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And for that he kills my daughter?

OLD MAN:
He’s sacrificing her to Artemis.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And the false marriage that brought me here?

OLD MAN:
He knew you’d accept it.

57
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I’ve delivered her to death, and her mother, too.

OLD MAN:
I pity you both. This is dreadful.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I’m lost. Only tears are left me.

OLD MAN:
Let them come. It’s a bad blow.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Where did you learn this?

OLD MAN:
He sent me with a second letter.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Telling me to bring the girl to her death?

OLD MAN:
Warning you not to. He was in his right mind then.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
But why didn’t you deliver it?

OLD MAN:
Menelaos took it. He caused all this.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Achilleus, do you hear this?

ACHILLEUS:
I hear of your cruel suffering, and the insult to me.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
They’re killing my child.
The marriage was the snare.
Son of Thetis,

58
I’m only a mortal and your
mother is a goddess, so I feel no
shame in falling at your knees.
What good is pride now?
She’s my child.
She’s all that matters. What else can I
do but fight for her?

Son of great Thetis, save me, save my


girl in our misery, the same girl who was
meant to be your wife, though it was
all a cruel joke—
but even so.

I decked her out in garlands of flowers for you.


I brought her here to become your bride. But
all I’ve done is bring her to her
death.

The shame and dishonor will be


yours, Achilleus, if you fail to defend her.
You may not have been her
husband, but you were called her
husband;
the dear husband of my poor, unfortunate girl.

I implore you by your chin, by your


strong right arm, by your goddess
mother—
I implore you by your name,
for it is your name that has destroyed me,
the same name that should have
defended me.

I have no altar to flee to as a refuge,


only your knees. I have no
friend to help.
You’ve heard of Agamemnon’s vicious
cruelty,
how he stops at nothing. And here I am,

59
a woman, in a camp of unruly men
ready to commit any
evil.

If you have the boldness to stretch your


hand out over me, then we’re saved.
If not, we’re lost.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Motherhood is a powerful
magic that possesses all mothers.
They will risk any danger for the sake a child.

ACHILLEUS:
Pride rises in me and urges me on.
And yet I learned moderation from my
master,
moderation in grief and triumph,
for such men
live a life of balance and reason.

I admit, there are times when not to be wise


is a pleasure, but there are also times
when good judgment is the best
course.

I was raised in the house of Cheiron the centaur,


that most holy of men. He taught me
always to be honest and straight
dealing in all I did.
So as long as the sons of Atreus lead us
justly,
I’ll follow; but let them lead us
badly, I’ll refuse.
Whatever happens, whether
here or in Troy, I will be my own man,
my nature free and uncommitted,
and in doing so honor Arês, war-god,
the best I’m able.

60
As for you, who have been so cruelly treated
by those who are nearest to you,
I will show you as much pity and
fight for you as roundly as a
soldier’s duty permits.
More than that
I cannot do.

Your daughter, who has been


referred to as my bride, I assure you
will never be slaughtered by her father.
I won’t allow it.
I will not permit myself to be used
dishonorably by him or
anyone.
For if I do, my name will be your
daughter’s executioner as surely
as if it had wielded the
knife itself.

Your husband may be the cause of this,


but my body is the one would be
polluted
if your child dies because of my name.
The brutality of the use they’ve put her to
appalls me, an outrage so
monstrous
it beggars imagination. If he has his way,
I would be ranked the lowest of cowards
in the entire Greek army,
a nothing,
and Menelaos a hero.
I would no longer be the son of Pêleus,
but the whelp of some ravening demon
if your husband is allowed to
use my name
to do his killing.

I swear by my grandfather Nêreus,


sea-god,

61
and my mother Thetis,
King Agamemnon will lay no hand,
not a finger, on your daughter,
not even to
graze her gown.

Let their prophet Kalchas


begin the sacrifice with his barley and
lustral water and he’ll regret it.
What is a seer anyway but a man who
mouths a single truth
in a pack of lies, and
that’s only when he’s lucky. When
luck deserts him, he’s forgotten.

I say this not because of the marriage.


There are countless girls who want to
share my bed. But I’ve been misused
brutally by King Agamemnon, and the
insult stings.
I won’t have it.

If he wanted to use my name as a


lure to trap the girl, he should have asked.
After all, it was mainly because of me
you agreed to bring your
daughter.

If use of my name had sped our ships to


Troy, I’d have lent it.
Why not?
We’re all Greeks.
We have a common
interest, we’re all in the same war.
Why should I have refused?
As it is,
these generals regard me as a nobody,
indifferent whether I’m treated with
honor or ignored.

62
Let anyone try to take your daughter from me
and this sword will do more than
mirror his reflection.

So, be calm.
I realize I appeared at a difficult time
like some all-powerful god,
even though I’m not one.
But I assure you, to save the girl,
I will become one.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Every word you’ve said, son of Pêleus,
is worthy of the great sea-goddess,
your mother.
Her words live in you.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Dear man, how can I ever find words
to praise you that are neither too
much nor too meager, and so
offend you
one way or the other?
Men worthy of praise hate those who
praise them to excess.

It shames me to drag you into my


sufferings when they have nothing to
do with you.
And yet,
when a good man comes to the
aid of someone even
remote from him, whose troubles are
none of his own, his is a
noble action.
I ask for your pity only because my
troubles are pitiable.

First I thought you would be my daughter’s


bridegroom, and so my son.

63
But that proved an empty hope.
And now my daughter’s death may
serve as an evil omen for your own marriage
whenever it comes,
and that you must guard against.
Everything you said, from first to
last, was nobly said. If you decide
to save her, my child will be
saved.

Would it please you if she came here to


embrace your knees as a suppliant?
This isn’t the way of a young girl, of course,
but she’ll come if you wish,
with dignity and humble
modesty.

And yet, if my own supplication


can move you to pity,
I’d rather we didn’t call her.
She’s shy, you see. But modesty
is worth honoring in any form.

ACHILLEUS:
No, don’t bring her out.
Better not to invite ignorant
gossip.
Soldiers crammed together,
away from home and domestic
cares, revel in malicious slander and
back-biting filth.
Supplicate me or not, it comes out the same.
My greatest concern is to save you from
disaster.
You may rest assured of one thing:
I don’t lie. And if I do,
if I deceive you,
then may I die.
If I live, she lives;
if she dies, I die.

64
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Fortune bless you for caring for the unfortunate.

ACHILLEUS:
Listen to me. We have to plan.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Listen? You’re my only hope.

ACHILLEUS:
We’ll persuade her father to see reason.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
He’s a coward, he’s afraid of the army.

ACHILLEUS:
Talk to him. Beat down his arguments.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
That’s cold comfort. Tell me what to do.

ACHILLEUS:
Reason with him first,
convince him not to kill the child.
If he refuses, then come to me.
But only then.
For if you persuade him yourself,
there will be no need for
my involvement.
You’ll be safe, as will your daughter.
This way there will be no rift between us,
Agamemnon and me,
we remain friends,
and the army will have no cause for
censure.
I’d have pulled it off by reason
rather than force. This way, things would
turn out well for all of you,
even without my help.

65
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
How wisely you see these matters.
I’ll do as you say.
But what if I don’t succeed?
Where will I
find you? Where shall I come
searching for you in my
misery?

ACHILLEUS:
I’ll be there when you need me.
Above all,
you mustn’t be seen
rushing through the troops
frantically searching me out.
Do nothing to disgrace your father’s
house.
Tyndareos was a great man in Greece,
don’t shame his
honor.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Whatever you say.
I trust you.
If there are gods, you’ll be rewarded.
If not,
then what does any of this matter?

(Exeunt KLYTAIMNÊSTRA and the OLD MAN into the tent and ACHILLEUS to
his camp.)
(Music. Song. Dance.)

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Sing.)


What songs they sang,
what joyous songs,
at the marriage of Peleus on Pêlion,
songs sung to the Libyan flute,
to the dance-loving lyre,
the shrill pipe of the reeds,

66
when the Muses, the Muses came dancing,
dancing, stomping,
stomping in sandals of gold,
dancing,
rejoicing to the feast of the gods,
and their voices rang out through the groves and glens,
through the centaurs’ mountain home,
rang in praise of Thetis and the son of Aiakos.
And there,
drawing wine from golden bowls,
Dardanos’ son,
the favorite, loved plaything of Zeus’ bed,
nubile Ganymede,
Phrygian Ganymede,
while on the shore,
along the bright sands,
the fifty Nereïds in celebration,
Nêreus’ daughters danced their whirling,
weaving dance.

And then came the centaurs,


man-horse centaurs,
riding, thudding from their forest home,
their heads crowned with fresh leaves,
sporting pine spears,
riding,
rushing to Bakkhos’ wine-bowl.
And they cried aloud:

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Sings.)


“Daughter of Nêreus,
Thetis,
goddess,
your son will be
great,
a mighty man,
a light, a beacon,
to all of Thessaly.
Cheiron knows,
Cheiron, wise centaur,

67
Cheiron reads
Apollo’s
oracles.
He will come one day
leading his Myrmidons,
armed with spear and
great bronze
shield,
armed himself in
war-gear of gold,
fashioned by Hephaistos,
fire-god,
his mother’s gift,
Thetis’ gift to her warrior
son who will set Troy’s
citadel
ablaze.”

YOUNG WOMEN OF CHALKIS: (Sing.)


And the gods in celebration,
in joy,
blessed the marriage of the first-born Nereïd
and Aiakos’ son.

Your head, Iphigeneia,


your radiant hair,
the Greeks will crown like the head of a heifer,
a spotted heifer led down from the mountains,
an unstained heifer led down to the sacrifice,
down to the altar,
and there the knife will pierce your throat,
and your blood will wash the goddess’ altar.
But you were not raised to the tune of the pipe,
the shepherd’s tune,
nor to the whistle of the vigilant herdsman
guarding his flocks.
You were raised up at your mother’s side,
one day to be the bride of a great man’s son.
Where is modesty,
where is virtue,

68
now blasphemy rules,
now anarchy leads,
and lawlessness wins the day?
Where is fear of the gods
when the gods are dismissed?

(Enter KLYTAIMNÊSTRA from the tent.)


(Music out.)

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Where could he be?
I’ve come out looking for him.
He went out some time ago
and hasn’t returned.
My daughter has learned, poor child,
that her father plans to kill her.
She’s
shaken to the core with sobbing and tears.
Ah, but here he comes. He’ll soon stand
convicted of planning an
evil act
against his child.

(Enter AGAMEMNON.)

AGAMEMNON:
Ah, daughter of Lêda, how convenient
to find you here.
I have matters to discuss.
Better if the bride doesn’t hear.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And what would these matters be?

AGAMEMNON:
No—
call her from the tent.
Say her father wants her.
The lustral waters are prepared,
as is the barley to cast into the

69
flame.
The cattle stand ready, too, that must
spill their dark blood to Artemis
before the marriage.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What honeyed words, husband.
But there are no words vile enough
for your plan.

Come out, child, come out to your father,


since you already know his intention.
And bring Orestês.
Wrap him in your robe.

(IPHIGENEIA enters from the tent carrying ORESTÊS.)

Here she is, the obedient daughter.

Very well.

Now I’ll speak for us both.

AGAMEMNON:
Child, why are you weeping?
Where’s that smile I know?
Why are you hiding your
face with your robe,
your eyes cast down?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Where do I begin?
Where do I start my tale
of misery and distress?
It is bitter grief throughout:
beginning, middle, end.

AGAMEMNON:
What is it?
What?

70
Why are you all looking at me
with such pain and distress?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Husband,
try to be honorable for once,
and answer like a man.

AGAMEMNON:
You have no cause
to speak to me that way.
Ask your question.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Is it your intention to kill our daughter?

AGAMEMNON:
How dare you!
These vile suspicions!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Answer the question.

AGAMEMNON:
Ask a reasonable question, I’ll answer!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Answer. This is the one I’m asking.

AGAMEMNON:
O gods! Why is everything against me?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And against me—
and her!
All three of us!

AGAMEMNON:
How have you been wronged?

71
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
How can you ask that?
Have you lost your mind?

AGAMEMNON:
And so I’m ruined.
I’ve been betrayed.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I know it all.
Everything.
I know what you’re about to do.
Your silence alone condemns you.
Don’t waste your breath.

AGAMEMNON:
No more words.
Why add lies
that only enlarge my disgrace?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
You’ll listen to me now.
And no more riddles, no more
words doubling back and
back on themselves,
but just plain talk—
the truth.

In the first place,


you married me by force,
against my will,
by murdering my first husband,
Tantalos.
And you tore my baby from my breast and
dashed its brains out
on the floor with your heel.

And then my brothers came,


two sons of Zeus,
on their glistening horses,

72
to war against you.
They saved me from you.
But you crawled,
tail between your legs,
to beg protection from my old father,
Tyndareos,
and he rescued you.

So I was your wife, again.


I reconciled myself to you,
to your house,
I was an irreproachable wife,
as you yourself can bear
witness.
In matters of sex,
I made few demands,
but was always compliant.
I saw to it that your house grew
in wealth and influence,
so that when you entered it
you did so joyously, and when leaving,
you left with pride and
satisfaction.
Good wives are rare.
Bad ones are no trouble to find.

I also bore you this son,


after first giving birth
to three daughters, and now
you’re taking one of them from me,
cruelly depriving me.

How would you answer if someone asked


why you’re killing her?

No.

I’ll answer for you.


So that Menelaos can have back his
precious Helen.

73
The life of an innocent child
for the life of a whore.
Buying back what we loathe
with what we love most.

Think about this for once.


You go off to your war.
Sail away. To Troy. For years.
What do I do?
In a house empty of one part of my heart?
What do I do when I see her special
places,
where she stood, where she sat,
her girl’s room, empty? What?
Alone with endless grieving and a
broken heart, moaning laments
for her who will never
return.

“He killed you, dear child,


the father who gave you life,
killed you. He held the knife.”

What a motive for hatred


you will have left behind in your house.
But you’ll return.
And the deserved welcome
you will receive from me and my children
will be no cause for surprise.

By everything that’s holy,


don’t force me to betray you and my
duty to you
by betraying me.

Tell me.
What prayers will fall from your lips
when you kill her?
What blessing will you call down on yourself
as you butcher your child?

74
A homecoming to match the shame of your
setting out?
And what am I to pray for?
A blessing on your head?

When the world calls down blessings on


murderers,
the whole world is mad,
including the gods.

And when you come home to Argos,


will you sweep your children up in your
arms and kiss them?

No.

Heaven won’t allow it.


And which of your children will even
dare look at you,
terrified that the one you kiss you will
also kill?
Has any of this ever crossed your mind?
Or is your mind fixed on one thing only?
Parading around with your scepter and
playing the general.

As general, you should have addressed your men


with these words:
“Men of Argos!
You want to sail to Troy, you say!
Then let us draw lots and see whose
daughter will die!”

There would have been justice in such words,


as there was no justice
in your choice of your daughter as victim.

And what of Menelaos?


This is his war, after all.
Why not offer up his own daughter?

75
His own, his dear, beloved Hermionê.
A pawn in his game to win back whorish Helen.

But no,
it’s my child who will be ripped from my arms,
mine, despite my faithfulness to you,
while she who made a sty of her husband’s bed
will have her daughter safe at home in Sparta,
and be happy.

Tell me.
Is there anything I’ve said here that is not true?
If not, and if I speak justly and truly,
then do not kill your daughter,
your daughter and mine.
Prove yourself a man of wisdom and judgment.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Listen to her, Agamemnon.
Saving a child is a noble act.
No one would deny that.

IPHIGENEIA:
If I had the gift of Orpheus, father,
a voice whose song had the
power to charm even stones to
rise up and
follow him; if I had words to
persuade anyone of anything,
I’d use them,
I would use all my arts.
But my only art at this moment is my tears.
I offer them to you.
I press my body against your knees
like a torn suppliant’s branch,
the body that this woman once bore you.

Don’t send me to death before my time, father.


It’s sweet to see day’s holy
light.

76
Don’t force me to face the gloom in
Death’s Dark Kingdom.

I was the first to call you father,


the first you called your child;
the first to sit on your knees and
hug and kiss you and be hugged and
kissed by you.
And you’d say to me:

“Will I see you living and


happy in your husband’s house,
a sight to make your old father
rejoice?”

And I would answer,


reaching to touch your chin,
as I do now:

“And you, father?


What will I do for you when
you are old? You’ll come and be
welcome in my house, and I’ll
look after you, and nurse you in your age,
for all the dear, sweet things you’ve
done for me.”

I remember,
remember it all, but you’ve
forgotten and now want to kill me.

Father, in the name of Pelops and


your father Atreus and my mother here
suffering an agony worse than at my birth,
don’t do it.

What have Paris and Helen to do with me,


or I with them? Why should Paris’
coming to Sparta mean my death?

77
Look at me.
No, in my eyes.
Kiss me.
At least
I’ll have that to remember as I’m dying,
if you refuse to listen.

(AGAMEMNON and IPHIGENEIA kiss. IPHIGENEIA takes ORESTÊS from


KLYTAIMNÊSTRA.)

Little brother,
too small to be any help to your friends,
weep with me, cry out to your father
not to kill your sister.

You see?
Even babies sense the injustice of life.
He has no words,
but still he pleads with you.

Be merciful.
Pity me.
Don’t kill me.
Both of us beg you,
our hands at your chin,
your dears, one just a baby,
the other a grown girl.

Well.

A few words can say it all.


The light of the dear sun was made for life,
and in death there is
nothing.
Only a madman longs for death.
The life of a dog is better than a
noble death.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Cruel Helen, this is your doing.

78
You and your shameful love have caused
the deadly struggle between the
sons of Atreus
and their children.

AGAMEMNON:
I know what is pitiable,
and I know what is not.
I love my children. I would be a
madman if I didn’t.
It is as terrible, wife, to do what I
must do,
as not to do it, but do it I must,
I have no choice.

Look around you, child.


A vast army, an armada of war-ships,
men heavy in bronze mail and weapons,
all Greeks,
all Hellenes,
from every part of the land.
And they can’t sail,
can’t sail to Ilion,
can’t pull down the famous
towers of Troy,
unless I offer you up as sacrifice,
as the prophet Kalchas says the gods demand.

Some fierce mad lust has seized the army


to sail at once to the barbarian’s land and
end this rape of Greek wives.
And if they don’t sail,
if I refuse to sacrifice you,
they will come to Argos,
they will kill us all,
my girls back home,
the three of you, me.

I’m no slave to Menelaos,


it’s not his will I’m made to

79
accomplish,
no, but the will of Greece.

It’s Greece has made me its slave.


It’s Greece has expunged my will.
Necessity is my master.

Greece must be free.

And if you and I can make it so, child,


then we must.
As Greeks we must not be subject to
barbarians,
but defend ourselves against the
plunder and
rape of Greek wives by brute force.

(Exit AGAMEMNON.)
(Music. Song. Dance.)

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA: (Chants.)
O child, daughter,
women, her death
destroys me.
Your father, child,
your father has deserted you
and leaves you to die.

IPHIGENEIA: (Chants.)
The same sad
song of misery
serves us both.
The sound,
the song of
weeping.
The sun’s
sweet light,
the light
of
day,

80
are no
longer mine.

(Sings.)

IOOOO!
IOOOO!
O unhappy
snowbound
valley of
Phrygia,
unhappy
slopes of
Ida,
Ida where
once Priam,
Troy’s king,
cast out his son,
the tender baby,
Paris,
Paris torn
rudely from his
mother’s breast,
Paris left
to
die,
Priam’s child,
known in
time, known
in Troy at
his return,
as the son
of Ida,
Paris of
Ida,
left to die
on Ida’s
slopes.

If only,

81
o
if only that
herdsman
had never
found,
never
raised him,
Paris of Ida,
to tend his
oxen on
Ida’s
slopes,
to tend his
herds in
meadows,
lush
meadows,
where waters
sparkle, and
springs
gush
bright from
the earth,
fountains
of the
Nymphs,
meadows
alive with
flowers,
where
roses
and
hyacinths
grow to be
gathered by
goddesses.

It was here
one day that
Athêna

82
came,
and devious
Aphroditê,
and Hera
and Hermês,
messenger of
Zeus.
Aphroditê,
proud of the
lust she
wakens,
Athêna, proud
of her martial
spear, and
Hera proud
of Zeus’
bed.
These three
came,
came for a
judgment, a
deadly
judgment,
a contest
in
beauty
that meant
my
death,
but for the
Greeks
glory and
renown.
And this,
this is the
offering to
Artemis,
the sacrifice,
my life
for a wind

83
to Troy.

O mother,
he has
left me,
my father has
left me,
deserted,
betrayed me.
And Helen,
cursed
Helen,
I curse you,
curse you,
Helen
who has
cost me
my life,
killed
by my
father, my
ungodly
father,
by my father’s
ungodly
knife.

And I
curse you,
Aulis,
for your
welcoming
bay,
safe
harbor
for the
bronze-beaked
ships,
proud
fleet

84
speeding
the Greeks
to Troy.
And
Zeus
I curse for
winds of
no
help;
Zeus and
his treasury
of winds:
for one
a fair
wind
to billow
his sails;
for another
a stern wind
to drop
his
sails;
some set
sail, and
some make
port.
Others are
cursed with
waiting,
waiting.

(Music out.)

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


I pity you for your cruel fate;
nothing you have done
deserves it.

IPHIGENEIA:
Mother! Mother,

85
there are men coming!

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And Achilleus, child, son of the
sea-goddess, Achilleus, in whose
name you came here.

IPHIGENEIA:
I want to hide, mother.
Open the doors.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
But, child, why?

IPHIGENEIA:
I’m ashamed to see him.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Why?

IPHIGENEIA:
The marriage. This doomed,
hopeless marriage.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
This is no time for delicacy.
Stay. Don’t be shy.
We do what we can.

(Sounds of shouting offstage. Enter ACHILLEUS followed by SLAVE


ATTENDANTS carrying his armor and weapons.)

ACHILLEUS:
Unhappy daughter of Lêda—

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Yes, unhappy—

ACHILLEUS:
The Greeks. They’re shouting. Terrible things.

86
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
About what?

ACHILLEUS:
Your daughter.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I know what’s coming.

ACHILLEUS:
They demand she be slaughtered.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And no one defends her?

ACHILLEUS:
They’re shouting about me, too.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What? Tell me.

ACHILLEUS:
“Stone him to death!”

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
For defending my daughter?

ACHILLEUS:
For that.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Who would dare such a thing?

ACHILLEUS:
Every Greek out there.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And your own men? Your Myrmidons?

87
ACHILLEUS:
They were the first to turn on me.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Dear child, we’re lost.

ACHILLEUS:
They called me the slave of my hoped-for marriage.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And how did you answer?

ACHILLEUS:
That they were not to kill my bride.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And you were right.

ACHILLEUS:
That Agamemnon had promised her.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
And had her brought from Argos.

ACHILLEUS:
The force of their shouts drowned me out.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
A mob is a monstrous thing.

ACHILLEUS:
I’ll defend you all the same.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Against the whole army? Single-handed?

ACHILLEUS:
Do you see these men with my armor?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:

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Bless you, but—

ACHILLEUS:
I’ll earn that blessing.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Will my daughter not be sacrificed?

ACHILLEUS:
Not without my consent.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Will they come to take her?

ACHILLEUS:
Hordes of them, led on by Odysseus.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
On orders or by his own choice?

ACHILLEUS:
The men chose him, but he was pleased.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
A vile man to do a vile thing.

ACHILLEUS:
I’ll stop him.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Will he drag her away by force?

ACHILLEUS:
By her golden hair.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What will I do?

ACHILLEUS:
Hang on. Don’t let go of her.

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KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
That’s all? And she won’t die?

ACHILLEUS:
The least we can expect is a struggle.

IPHIGENEIA:
Mother, listen to me;
listen to me both of you.
You, mother, are angry with your husband.
But that shouldn’t be;
it makes no sense:
it’s no easy task to fight the
inevitable.
And it’s right we thank this stranger
for his generous and courageous heart.

But we must also consider his


reputation,
and do nothing to tarnish that.
It would do us no good,
and might even bring him to harm.

Listen to me now, mother,


and the way I’ve worked things out,
for I’ve thought about it carefully.

I have made up my mind to die.


But to die in glory.
I’ve put behind me all petty
considerations,
all meanness of spirit.

If you come to see it my way, mother,


you’ll see how right I am.
All of Greece,
all of Greece in its greatness,
looks to me.
It depends on me whether the ships sail

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and whether Troy is
destroyed.

It is for me to see that in future


our women are safe from abduction
by barbarians.
And the way to that is to make Troy pay for
Paris’ cruel rape of Helen.

My death can accomplish all this.


And with it I will be known as the
one who gave Greece her freedom, and my
name will be blessed for all time.

It isn’t right for me to cling too dearly to


life.
You gave me life not only for your sake,
but for the sake of Greece, for the
common good.

Countless thousands of men have


strapped on their shields,
countless thousands have
taken up oars, ready, every one of them,
to fight, to die, for a Greece cruelly
wronged.
Am I to destroy all that?
Is my single life so important?
How could I answer them if this were to happen?

But there’s something more.

How can it be right for this man


to battle the whole Greek army and
die for the sake of a woman?
It’s more important that one
man live in light than
ten thousand women.

And if Artemis demands that I be

91
sacrificed,
I’m only mortal,
who am I to oppose the goddess?
That must never happen.
My life belongs to Greece.

Offer me up, then, kill me,


and bring down Troy.
That will be my monument.
That will be my marriage, my children,
and my glory for all time.

Greeks were destined to rule, mother,


not to serve, but to rule others,
other countries, other people;
to be
ruled by others would be to make
slaves of Greeks; and Greeks were
born to be free.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


Young woman, who could find fault in you?
You play your part nobly. It is destiny
and the goddess are to blame.

ACHILLEUS:
Daughter of Agamemnon,
if I won you for my wife,
I would know that some god chose
to make me happy.
I envy Greece.
You belong to Greece and Greece to you,
and both are blessed.

Your words are noble and


worthy of your land. You have
recognized that the gods are
stronger and given up your
struggle.
You have made a virtue of

92
Necessity.

The more I know you, the more I see


your nobility and greatness of spirit,
the more I long to have you as my bride.

I want you to live.


I want to save you.
I want to take you home,
to serve you.

And with Thetis as my witness,


I swear that I will be grieved if I
fail to do battle for you against every
man of the Greeks.
Death—death is a terrible thing.

IPHIGENEIA:
What I say now I say in fear of no one.
Helen’s beauty has stirred up enough
strife,
and will cause battles and murders
because of her body.
But as for you, stranger,
promise me you will kill no one,
nor be killed yourself,
for the sake of me.
Allow me to save Greece if that is my
mission.

ACHILLEUS:
What a noble spirit! It puts me to shame.
What more can I say? You’ve chosen, and
chosen from a courageous
heart.
Why should a man not confess it?
And yet, it may be, you’ll think
differently.
So listen to my plan.

93
I’ll place my arms close by the altar.
I refuse to let you die.
And when the knife is at your throat,
if you think differently than you
do at this moment, accept my offer.
I won’t let you die because of
one reckless impulse.

I’m going to the goddess’ temple now


with these arms, and wait till you come.

(Exeunt ACHILLEUS and his SLAVE ATTENDANTS.)

IPHIGENEIA:
Mother, why these tears?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
This sorrow in my heart.

IPHIGENEIA:
Don’t make me a coward. Do as I say.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I won’t fail you.

IPHIGENEIA:
Don’t cut your hair or dress in mourning.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
But I’ll have lost you.

IPHIGENEIA:
No. I’ll be saved. My name is your glory.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
But how can I not mourn you?

IPHIGENEIA:
Not one tear. I won’t have a grave.

94
KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
But we mourn the dead, not the tomb.

IPHIGENEIA:
The goddess’ altar will be my tomb.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Yes, I’ll do as you say.

IPHIGENEIA:
I’m happy. I’ll have saved Greece.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What shall I tell your sisters?

IPHIGENEIA:
Good-bye. And raise up Orestês to splendid manhood.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Hug him now. The last time.

IPHIGENEIA:
Sweet boy, you helped the best you could.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
What can I do to please you in Argos?

IPHIGENEIA:
Don’t hate father. He’s your husband.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
He’ll run a fearful race because of you.

IPHIGENEIA:
He had no choice. He killed me to save Greece.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
He killed you by treachery. Cowardice unworthy of Atreus.

(Enter several SLAVE ATTENDANTS.)

95
IPHIGENEIA:
Will someone lead me there before they drag me?

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I’ll be with you.

IPHIGENEIA:
No, that wouldn’t be right.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Holding tight to your robes.

IPHIGENEIA:
No, mother, please.
Please stay here. It’s better for both of us.
Father’s slaves will lead me to the meadow
where I’m to be slaughtered.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Child, you’re not going—?

IPHIGENEIA:
Never to come back.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Leaving your mother?

IPHIGENEIA:
Yes, with hope in my heart.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
No. Don’t leave me—

IPHIGENEIA:
There must be no tears.
And you, young women,
raise a hymn of rejoicing to
Artemis,
a song in praise of my fate to virgin

96
Artemis, Zeus’ daughter.
Let there be silence throughout the camp.

Take up the baskets,


begin the sacrifice.
Let the fire blaze high with barleycorns.
Father will lead the procession
from left to right around the altar.
I come bringing salvation,
salvation to Greece,
and victory.

Lead me.

(One of the SLAVE ATTENDANTS takes her hand and begins to lead IPHIGENEIA
off.)
(Music. Song. Dance.)

(Sings.)

Lead the
destroyer, the
conqueror of
Troy,
I who will
tear down
the fabled
towers of
Ilion.
Bring me,
bring me
garlands,
garlands to
wreath my head.
And water,
streams of
water,
purifying
waters.
Dance your

97
dances, women,
dance for
Artemis,
around her
temple,
dance,
dance around
her altar,
virgin
Artemis,
blessèd
Artemis,
dance in
honor of
Artemis.
With my
blood I will
wash away,
wash, if I
must,
wash
the oracle
out of our
path.

Dear, dear
mother,
dearest of
mothers,
I can
give you
no tears,
no
tears.
Tears are
not meant
for the altar
of
Artemis,
not meant

98
for holy
rites.

Sing, women,
sing in
praise of
Artemis,
whose
temple looks
eastward
to Chalkis,
to
Chalkis
across the
strait, where
warships wait
in the narrows
of
Aulis,
and men
burn,
burn for a
wind to
begin the
end,
the destruction,
the fall
of
Troy,
because
of me.
O Argos
that bore me!
Mykenê,
my home!

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Sings.)


Sing praise
to the
city,

99
the Cyclopes-built
city.
Praise to the city of
Perseus.

IPHIGENEIA: (Sings.)
You raised me
to be a
beacon of
hope.
My death
is a
light
in the
darkness.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Sings.)


And you,
you will be our
glory
for ever.

IPHIGENEIA: (Sings.)
Bright
radiance of
Zeus,
farewell.
Great star
of day that
lights the
earth,
farewell.
Another
destiny is
mine,
another
life.
Farewell
dear light,
dear

100
light
I love.

(Exeunt IPHIGENEIA with the SLAVE ATTENDANTS and KLYTAIMNÊSTRA,


carrying ORESTÊS, enters the tent.)

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Chants.)


IOOOO!
IOOOO!
Blessings on you,
sacker of Troy.
Blessings on you
who will level Troy’s
towers.
She lowers her head
for the victim’s garlands;
she bows her head for
streams of holy waters.
She walks to the altar,
she walks to the slaughter,
to shed her blood,
her blood to the goddess,
blood that will flow at the
thrust of the knife
in her lovely throat.

Your father awaits you


with purifying waters,
the army awaits you
to set sail for Troy.
But let us praise Artemis,
goddess, queen, daughter
of Zeus, and beg her
to turn this defeat to victory,
this death to triumph.

Great Artemis
who delights in this
human slaughter,
send them on,

101
send them to Troy,
the army to Troy,
to deceitful,
treacherous Troy,
and there let Agamemnon
crown Greek spears
with victory,
garlands of triumph,
and to his own glory
win undying fame.

(Enter a SLAVE ATTENDANT.)


(Music out.)

SLAVE ATTENDANT:
Daughter of Tendareos,
Klytaimnêstra,
come out of the tent,
I have news.

(Enter from the tent KLYTAIMNÊSTRA carrying ORESTÊS.)

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
I heard your voice. Here I am.
Please, please don’t bring me a worse
disaster than that I already bear.
I can’t endure it.

SLAVE ATTENDANT:
It’s your daughter.
A miracle has happened.
Something strange and wonderful.

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA:
Tell me.

SLAVE ATTENDANT:
Belovèd queen and mistress,
I’ll tell you everything as I saw it,
unless words fail me in the reeling

102
confusion of my mind.

When we arrived with your daughter at the


grove sacred to Artemis, and the meadow
sprinkled with blossoms, the army of the
Greeks rushed to us, men
pressing
tightly all around, crowding, shoving,
shoulders colliding, yelling their
excitement.

When King Agamemnon saw her approaching


through the grove to the place where
she was to die, he groaned from
deep inside him, turned aside his
head to hide his tears and covered his
face with his robe.

Coming up close to her father,


she said to him:

“Father, I’ve come.


I gladly give my body as a sacrifice
for my country and for all of Greece.
Lead me to the altar if this is my
destiny.
I pray that what I do here will
make you prosper, will give you success,
and bring you safely to your homes
after a splendid
victory.
But no Greek must lay a hand on me.
I offer up my neck to your knife,
here, now,
proudly and in silence.”

Those were her words, and the entire


army marveled at the girl’s
nobility and heroism.
Then Talthybios, whose office it was,

103
called for a reverent silence from the army,
and the prophet Kalchas drew from its
sheath
a whetted knife, placed it in a gold-worked
basket, and
crowned the girl with a garland.

Then the son of Peleus, Achilleus,


took in his hand the basket and the
lustral
water and, sprinkling the altar,
circled it,
intoning:

“Goddess Artemis,
daughter of Zeus and slayer of wild
beasts,
goddess of the moon’s great light
in the darkness,
hear our prayer.
Accept this sacrifice which the
army of the Greeks and King Agamemnon
offer to you:
undefiled blood from the throat of a beautiful
virgin.
Grant, now, that our ships may
safely set sail and our weapons
destroy
the looming towers of Troy.”

The sons of Atreus and the assembled


army of the Greeks stood silent,
looking at the ground,
as the priest,
praying, took up the knife and
looked for the place to
strike.

My soul was so heavy with


anguish that I stood there,

104
my eyes cast to the ground.
And then it happened.
The greatest of wonders.

We all heard the thud of the blow,


but what had happened to her?
The girl was nowhere to be seen.

She had vanished.

The priest and the entire army


cried out, echoing each other,
at the miracle sent by some god.
There on the ground,
there in front of our scarcely believing eyes,
lay a deer, gasping,
a vast and glorious animal whose
blood
washed across the goddess’ altar.

Kalchas then,
his face radiant with joy and
relief,
shouted out:

“Commanders of the allied armies of Greece!


Behold this victim, laid by the
goddess at her altar in place of the girl,
this wild deer of the
mountains!
She happily accepts this sacrifice
rather than pollute her altar
with noble blood,
and promises a favoring wind on the voyage to
Troy!

Let every man lift up his spirits and


board the ships, for today
we leave the hollow bay of Aulis
and sail out across the Aegean!”

105
When the fire-god’s flames had
burned the victim to ashes,
Kalchas raised a suitable prayer to
bring the army back safely.

Agamemnon has sent me to tell you


of the good fortune the gods have
given him,
and the undying glory he has
won among the Greeks.
I was there. I saw it.
There can be no doubt:
your daughter was taken up to join the gods.

So you must end your grief and


set aside your anger against your husband.
No man knows what the gods intend,
but those they love, they
protect.
On this same day your daughter died
and was brought to life again.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN:


How glad I am for you, lady. Your daughter
is alive and living among the gods.

(Music. Song. Dance.)

KLYTAIMNÊSTRA: (Chants.)
O my child, what
god has stolen you away?
How am I to speak your
name and know
you will hear?
How do I know, how,
how can I be sure
this is not some lie,
some evil tale,
made up to end my

106
cruel grief and
mourning for you?

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Chants.)


Look! Agamemnon!
Come to tell you
the same story.

(Enter AGAMEMNON.)

AGAMEMNON:
Wife, our daughter has given us
reason to rejoice. She’s with the gods.
Now take this young calf of a son of mine
and turn back home.
The army will sail soon.

Good-bye.

It will be a long time before my


next greeting.
Word travels slowly from Troy.
I wish you well in all things.

FIRST YOUNG WOMAN: (Chants.)


Sail safely and with
joy, son of Atreus,
to the land of the Trojans,
and safely and joyously
home again when you have
loaded your proud ships
with plunder from Troy.

(Exeunt AGAMEMNON, then the CHORUS.)


(KLYTAIMNÊSTRA remains standing silently holding ORESTÊS.)

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