Iphigenia In Tauris

An adaption of Euripides Iphigenia in Tauris, by Petros

Vouris. Set as a Monologue. 2015

By this altar, the sanctuary of Artemis, rich in

innocent blood.
I Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon, glare
into the vastness of this ocean.

Oh Thalassa, no familiar faces, or distant

horizons, do you bring to me by night. Only
blackened dreams and the echoes of the
innocent ones.

Those Hellenes, men of my fatherland, fathers

and sons - all will be sacrificed to the goddess
of the night, their blood will colour the walls
of this sanctuary.

I their bride will take them to this altar, where

they will meet the same fate that brought me
here.

I was not the first to fulfil this sacrament - if

men desire to be remembered, they must first
give up their lives.

This is how the one I was falsely betrothed to,

met his fate.
For the will of the gods will cast him amongst
the stars - scattered in the never-ending wake.

Ah Helen, the house of Atreus, so bitter by

your hurtful act. For sake of pride, a thousand
ships would sail, to avenge your shame.

What havoc wrought, those boundless men, so

hungry for the spoils, to be led by my fatherking, oh prideful one!
His ambition to ruin Troy.

Yet left idle, by the shores of Aulis, no winds

would stir to aid my fathers glory.
Left with no resolve but to seek divination,
adamant king Agamemnon called on artful
Calcus.

What a mournful decision he made that day,

such a dissonance to fate alone, for nature
cannot stand against the shrewdness of such
men.

So was foretold by Calcus, that not a breeze

would come, to fill their sails, till harmony
was restored. From you my King he said,
a vow is still owed, to the sacred huntress;
Artemis.

Long ago you made an oath, to pay a price

for your mistake, for you killed the hallowed
stag of Artemis,
For that a hefty sacrifice must you make.

So my king, the cure you seek, calls for the

blood of your first-born. For only such a
sacrament, can secure our glory over Troy.

It was at such pains that tore at the sanity of

my father, by the ills of his conceit, and the
cunning of Odysseus.
I was taken from my mothers arms under the
pretence of marriage - to the god-like
Achilles.

I Iphigenia, daughter of Clytemnestra, fell

instead into the arms of butcher priests. They
held me above the pyre and the winds began
to sing, but as soon as the iron sword touched
my throat, I was rapt away from mortal eyes,
and taken away by the light of Artemis.

O my dearest Hellas, I was torn from you, by

the cruel consequence of war.
Now here I am, among the Tauri, where king
Thalos rules the rock breaking shores.
4

Here in the house of Artemis, I am in

servitude to my host. For her I purify the illfated ones, with the cleansing waters from this
sea.

A ritual pure, but in name only, for what other

selfish interpretations has man cast on the
divine a veil for their own selfish deceit!

[Sigh] Such is life, for beneath every heroic

act, there is a hidden crime. Though, I cannot
bury the crimes of my father - They still echo
in my mind - A haunted myriad of restless
dreams, and the longing for my family.

Tormented by my own judgement, I even

yearn to feel my fathers embrace - His bushy
beard against my brow - when he holds me As if awoken from a bad dream *Just a bad
dream.

So who is it that speaks such visions, to

mortals of my kind, is it she who wears the
saffron veil? The daughter of Hegemone,
graced with the gift of providence, she
quavers through her earthen womb by dawn a gift of dreams divine.

But how to hold without the fear, the dream

she brought me last night, such foresight
haunts me in my wake, and cruellest of all is
my curiosity Now before daybreak I dread
to review what I saw.

In my dream, in the kingdom of Argos, an

immense quake heaved in waves. By flight of
panic! When fear overtook me, I ran to make
my escape... Only when dear calm held me
close, I hesitantly turned to see the waste.

What once was great is now all ruin - Cracked

foundations, and roof, now shards of clay. For
the capitals of the house of Atreus have fallen
- the devastation of my family name.

Now surrounded by unsettling silence, an

emptied vessel that was once my home.
I noticed only one lonely column standing,
from which a plume of hair began to grow.

Such an irrational sight, but stranger still! Its

voice! a mans! With breathless tones
reflecting but to which direction? I could
not tell.

But what had come over me, when I started to

act out my cruel rite, treating the pillar instead
like a Greek sailor, preparing it for the
sacrifice.

For when I sprinkled its ornate face with

water, only tears would stream down mine, as
I watched on helplessly, as it withered in my
arms, and died.

Arx kako ohnero me epiphanies, this dream, it

hits me too hard! For what is the strength of a
Greek household? But the pillars of its sons.

This dream is a dark omen, an agent of cruel

news. For the one I performed the ritual on the oldest of the sons, is my beloved brother
Orestes - the heir of Agamemnon.

Why!? My loss is too surreal to accept, and

the pain of it too hard to bear awake. The
oracles of such dreams have been my only
portals to my beloved kin, for dreams do not
deceive in the house of the divine.

Such hurt boils even the coldest of hearts,

how helpless in my longing I now am To hold his lifeless hands in mine; to press my
tear stained lips across his brow, to grieve for
him in his presence.

There the warm sands of Hellas, would sift

through my tempered fingers - scattering
across his lifeless body A sisters humble
duty and at this time, my only concern.

Instead due to my pitiful fate I can only

prepare libations and prayers here for my
brother such a mean conciliation for my fate
alone.

Oh my rosy-cheeked little brother Orestes, at

such a loss am I. Separated from you by the
vastness of this dark blue ocean, a far stretch
that not even my sorrow could reach. I instead
for solace pray to the voiceless ones.

[Sitting up or moving to perform a prayer

towards audience, with hands upturned and
looking out to the sea/audience]

You great Pontus, ocean of the Greeks, it is

through you, I speak to him, on this shore,
In reverence of the life and death you bring, I
voice out to you, against these winds, my
prayers like ripples along your breast, in hope
that your waters will echo my words, guided
homeward achingly, across this cruel sea.

END
Que.
[*slowing down, emphasis on syllables]

10