Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece

by Gustav Schwab

  “We shall do as you say,” Orestes exclaimed. “Let us hide through the day, and may night bring us success!”

  The sun was high in the heavens when a herdsman came running from the shore, straight toward the priestess of Artemis, standing on the threshold of her temple. He brought her the news that two youths, welcome victims for the goddess, had landed on that coast. “Prepare for the sacred rites, priestess,” he said. “The sooner the better!”

  “Where do the strangers come from?” Iphigenia asked mournfully.

  “They are Argives,” answered the herdsman. “That is all we know so far, except that one of them is called Pylades. They are our captives.”

  “Tell me about it,” said the priestess. “How did it happen, and where did you capture them?”

  “We were just bathing our cattle in the sea. One after another we drove into the swirling waters. There is a grotto there, wave-washed, where the fishers go to collect purple snails. Here one of us saw two young men. They seemed so radiant to him that he took them for gods and wanted to throw himself on the ground before them. But another who stood near, a pert, inquisitive fellow, was not so foolish. He laughed when he saw his companion bending his knees, and said: ‘Don’t you see that these are shipwrecked strangers who have hidden in the cave because they know of our custom of sacrificing all who reach these shores?’ Most of us agreed with him, and we prepared to seize the two men. Just then, one of the strangers came out of the grotto, shook his head wildly, and flung out his arms. He groaned aloud in the throes of madness and cried: ‘Pylades, Pylades, look over there! See the dark huntress, the dragon from Hades, who wants to murder me! She is coming at me, and her head is ringed with hissing snakes. And there—another—she is breathing fire! She is carrying my own mother in her arms, and now she is threatening to hurl a rock at me! Help! She is killing me!’ But we could see nothing of all the horrors he raved about,” the herdsman continued. “He must have taken the bellowing of our cattle and the barking of the dogs for the voices of the Furies. And now we were alarmed, because the stranger drew his sword, rushed at our cows, and slashed right and left until the sea was red with their blood. At last we managed to gather our wits, blew into our conch shells to summon the peasants, and advanced on the armed stranger in a solid mass. His madness was slowly leaving him, and he fell on the ground, foaming at the mouth. We threw stones at him while his companion wiped the froth from his lips and put his own mantle around him. In another instant the youth seemed to be fully conscious of what was happening. He jumped up and defended himself and his comrade. But there were so many of us that soon the two strangers had to give up. We surrounded them and made them drop their weapons, and finally they yielded in sheer weariness. Then we captured them and took them to Thoas, our king. He had barely glanced at them when he ordered us to take them to you. O priestess, pray for many more such splendid victims, for if you sacrifice these men of Argos, Greece will atone for all the pain you were forced to suffer, and you will be avenged for their attempt to kill you as an offering for Artemis at Aulis.”

  The herdsman had ended and awaited the commands of the priestess. She told him to bring her the strangers, but when she was alone, she said to herself: “I have always felt pity for my countrymen and wept whenever Argives fell into my hands. But now that a dream has given me the certainty that Orestes, my beloved brother, no longer sees the light of day, now all Achaeans who approach this coast shall find me merciless. For the unhappy are always hostile to the happy. The Argives dragged me like a lamb to the altar where my own father was willing to see me slaughtered! Never shall I forget my terror! If Zeus drove Menelaus, who urged that I be sacrificed, and Helen, who caused the siege of Troy, to these shores, I should rejoice, and—”

  But here she was interrupted by the approach of the captives. “Loosen their hands,” she commanded. “The consecration they are to receive demands that they be free of all bonds. And now go into the temple and make the necessary preparations.” Then she turned to the strangers and asked: “Who is your father, your mother, your sister, if you have a sister, who is to be robbed of such strong, fine brothers? Where have you come from? You must have a long journey behind you, but now you must prepare for one still longer, for you are going to the underworld.”

  Orestes answered her: “Whoever you may be, do not speak to us in so compassionate a voice. It is not fitting for the executioner to comfort his victim before he strikes him dead. If death is inevitable, then lament is useless. No tears, either from you or from us! Let Fate take her course.”

  “Which of you two is Pylades? Tell me that first of all,” said the priestess.

  “This is he,” said Orestes, pointing to his friend.

  “Are you brothers?”

  “Through friendship, not by birth,” Orestes replied.

  “And what is your name?”

  “Call me an exile,” he answered. “Better I die nameless, for then no one can taunt me.”

  The priestess was vexed by his defiance and pressed him at least to tell her what city he came from. When she heard the name of “Argos,” she trembled and exclaimed excitedly: “By Zeus, do you really come from there?”

  “Yes,” said Orestes. “I come from Mycenae, where Fortune once favored my house.”

  “If you come from Argos, stranger,” cried Iphigenia with growing suspense, “you must have news of Troy. Is it true that the city lies in ruins? Did Helen return to her husband?”

  “It is as you say.”

  “And how is the commander of all Argives—I think his name is Agamemnon, son of Atreus?”

  Orestes shuddered at her question. He turned his head from her and said: “I do not wish to speak of him, O priestess.” But she begged him in such pleading words that he gave in to her. “He is dead,” he said in a low voice. “His own wife killed him.”

  The priestess of Artemis uttered a cry of distress. But she collected herself and continued questioning the stranger. “And is that woman still living?”

  “She is no longer alive,” was his reply. “Her own son killed her. He took on himself the burden of avenging his father, but he is suffering for it.”

  “Is any other child of Agamemnon’s alive?”

  “Two daughters, Electra and Chrysothemis.”

  “And what is known of his eldest daughter, of the one who was sacrificed?”

  “That a hind died in her stead. She herself vanished. She must be dead long since.”

  “And is the son of murdered Agamemnon still alive?” the girl asked hesitatingly.

  “Yes,” said Orestes. “He is an exile, and wanders without rest through all of Greece.”

  “Away with you, beguiling dream!” Iphigenia said to herself. Then she bade the servants withdraw, and when she was alone with the two youths, turned to Orestes and said in a low voice: “Listen to what will be of profit to you and me. I shall save your life if you agree to take to Mycenae, which is both your home and mine, a letter I shall write to my people.”

  “I do not care to save myself unless my friend is also saved,” said Orestes. “He did not leave me in my misery, and I shall never leave him!”

  “How noble and brotherly a friend!” Iphigenia exclaimed.

  “If only my brother were like you! For you must know that I too have a brother, only that he is very far away. But I have not the power to save both of you. The king would never permit it. So let your friend Pylades return to Greece in your stead.”

  “Who will sacrifice me to Artemis?” asked Orestes.

  “I myself. Such is the command of the goddess,” Iphigenia replied.

  “Will you, a frail girl, slay men?”

  “No. My office is to sprinkle your hair with sacred water. The temple servants take care of the rest. Your body will be burned in a rocky gorge.”

  “Oh, that my sister could bury my bones!” sighed Orestes.

  “That cannot be, since she lives in far away Argos,” answered the girl, much moved. “But I myself shall quench t
he glowing ashes of your pyre and pour on it offerings of oil and honey. I shall adorn your grave as though I were, indeed, your sister.” With that she left them to write the letter.

  When the two friends were alone—for the men who guarded them stood at some distance—Pylades could no longer restrain himself. “No!” he cried. “I cannot live if you die! Do not ask me to consent to so disgraceful a proposal. I shall follow you to death, just as I followed you across the sea. Phocis and Argos would brand me a coward. All the world would say that I betrayed and killed you to inherit your realm—and all the more so because I am to become your brother-in-law and courted Electra without asking a dowry. But aside from all this, I cannot live without you. If you die, I die!”

  Orestes tried to dissuade him from his purpose, and they were still disputing when Iphigenia returned with the letter in her hand. First she made Pylades swear to deliver it and in return she gave her word to save him. Then she decided to tell him the contents, in case the letter were lost in the course of the journey, in an accident perhaps, and the bearer himself survive. “Tell Orestes, son of Agamemnon,” she said, “that Iphigenia was taken from the altar in Aulis by Artemis, that she is alive, and—”

  “Where is she?” broke in Orestes. “Can the dead awaken?”

  “She stands before you,” said the priestess, “but do not interrupt me.” Then she continued her message: “My dear brother shall take me home to Argos, away from these barbarians, from this altar where I am forced to murder strangers. If he does not do this, a curse shall rest on him and his house.”

  The friends were speechless with amazement. At last Pylades took the letter, turned to his friend, and gave it to him with the words: “I shall immediately perform what I have sworn to carry out. Here, Orestes, take the letter your sister Iphigenia sends you!” Orestes let it fall to the ground and locked his sister in his arms. She pushed him from her, unable to believe the truth, until he told her incidents from the history of her house which only one of the family could know. Then she cried out joyously: “So you are here and mine, my only brother! How young you were when I left you in the arms of your nurse, how carefree and happy! Yes, as happy as we are now that we have found each other again!”

  But Orestes’ brow had clouded. He had remembered the danger threatening him and his friend. “We are happy now,” he said. “But for how long? Are we not faced with death?”

  And now Iphigenia too was seized with terror. “What can I do to save you?” she asked. “How can I send you back to Argos? How rescue you and your friend from falling as victims at the altar? Oh, that the gods would give me counsel! But quickly now—before Thoas becomes impatient at the delay in sacrificing you. Tell me, tell me everything that has happened at home.”

  Orestes hastily told her the tale of horror, lightened by only one piece of good news, the betrothal of Electra to Pylades. While she listened, the girl cast about for some possibility of saving her brother. When he had ended she had found a way. “I have thought of a plan,” she said. “The madness which attacked you when you were taken captive on the shore shall serve me as a pretext. I shall tell the king what is entirely true: that you have come from Argos, where you murdered your mother; that you are unclean because you have not atoned, and are therefore not acceptable to the goddess; that you must first be purified in the sea to wash the blood of murder from your body. And I shall tell him that because you touched the image of the goddess with supplicating hands, it too is unclean and must be cleansed in the waves. Since I, the priestess, am the only one allowed to handle the image, I myself shall carry it down to the shore, and you shall both accompany me, for I shall say that Pylades is an accomplice in your crime. I must convince the king of all this with crafty words, for he is too shrewd to be deceived easily. And once we reach the shore and board your ship, you and your men must do the rest.”

  They had been talking in the court of the temple, far from the servants and guards. Now the captives were again handed over to the attendants, and Iphigenia conducted them into the interior of the temple. Shortly afterwards, Thoas, the king of the Tauri, arrived with his retinue and asked for the priestess, for he could not understand why the bodies of the strangers were not already burning at the altar of the goddess. As he reached the doors of the temple, Iphigenia crossed the threshold with the image of Artemis in her arms. “What are you doing, daughter of Agamemnon?” the king exclaimed in surprise. “Why have you taken the image from its sacred pedestal? Why are you carrying it away?”

  “A terrible thing has happened, O king,” said the priestess, her face drawn with emotion. “The victims who were captured near the shore are not pure. When they approached the goddess to clasp her in supplication, the image turned of itself and lowered its lids. For these two are guilty of an awful crime.” And now she told her tale which in all essentials was the truth, and asked the king’s permission to purify the image of the taint the strangers had put on it, and to cleanse the victims themselves, that they might be fit for sacrifice. To make her story seem more plausible, she had the strangers fettered again and their faces veiled from the rays of the sun, as it was customary to do with those who were unclean. She also begged the king to leave with her the slaves he had brought in his retinue, for greater security. He—so she said with shrewd forethought—was to send a messenger to the town, bidding the citizens remain within the walls until the purification was over, so that they might not be exposed to the contaminating presence of guilty men. The king himself was to stay in the temple during her absence and see to it that the entire building was filled with cleansing fumes, so that on her return she might find it ready for the sacred rites. The moment the strangers issued from the gates of the temple, the ruler was to hide his face in his robe, lest the mere sight of them should stain him. “And if I stay down at the shore for a long time, O king,” she said, “do not grow impatient. Remember that it is a very great and terrible crime which must be washed from the victims.”

  The king consented to everything. He veiled his face when Orestes and Pylades were led out of the temple, and soon Iphigenia, together with the captives and some of the king’s slaves, was on her way to the sea. Thoas entered the temple and had it purified, as the priestess had demanded.

  Several hours passed, and suddenly a messenger came running from the direction of the shore. He was panting. “Faithless women!” he gasped to himself, as he knocked at the closed gates. “Ho there, inside!” he cried. “Open! And tell the king that I am the bearer of bad news!”

  The gates swung open, and Thoas himself stood on the threshold. “Who dares disturb the peace of these halls with such clamor?” he asked with a frown.

  “Hear, O king, what I have to tell you,” the man replied. “The priestess of this temple, that Argive woman, has fled with the captives, and they have stolen the image of the revered patron goddess of our country! Her long tale of needed purification was nothing but lies!”

  “What is this you say!” cried the king who could not believe his ears. “What evil spirit possessed this woman? Who are the men with whom she fled?”

  “She has fled with her brother Orestes,” said the messenger. “With the very man whom she pretended to purify as a victim. Listen to the whole story, and then find a way to pursue the fugitives, for they have a long distance to go and are still within reach of your revenge! When we came to the shore, Iphigenia motioned us to halt, for we were not to stand too close to the sacred rites. She herself loosed the bonds of the strangers and bade them precede her. This in itself seemed suspicious to us, but we thought we had to obey the commands of your priestess, O king! And then it seemed that the rites of purification were really under way, for Iphigenia chanted magic spells and prayed in solemn tones and with curious words. We lay on the sand and waited. But all at once it occurred to us that the captives, who were no longer shackled, might have killed the unarmed priestess and escaped. So we jumped up and rounded the wall of rocks which had hidden Iphigenia and the victims from our sight. And then
we saw an Argive ship with fifty rowers sitting at the oars! On the shore, not far from the stern, stood the strangers, no longer captive! Some of the crew weighed anchor, others coiled the ropes, and still others were letting down ladders for the two youths. We no longer hesitated. We saw through the whole web of lies and seized the woman who was still on the shore. But Orestes, loudly proclaiming his identity and purpose, defended his sister with Pylades. We could not succeed in dragging her off. Since neither we nor the strangers were armed, we fought with our fists. But in the end we were forced to retreat, for the men in the ship were launching arrows at us. At the same instant, a huge wave drove the ship still nearer the shore, and it was all but shattered. At that Orestes took the priestess in his arms—she still carrying the image—waded through the water, and quickly climbed the ladder into the ship. There he laid his sister with her sacred burden down on the deck. Pylades came close after, and when all were safely aboard, the crew broke into triumphant cries and began to row swiftly away. While the ship was crossing the bay, it glided gently through the water, but as soon as it reached the open sea, a gust of wind drove it back to the shore, in spite of the straining of the oarsmen. Then Agamemnon’s daughter rose and pleaded aloud: ‘O Artemis, daughter of Leto, you yourself, through the oracle of Apollo, your brother, demanded to return to Greece. Take me there with you, and forgive your priestess the bold deceit I practiced against the ruler of this country whom I was forced to obey for so many years. You too have a brother whom you love! Then be gracious to the mortal brother and sister who love each other!’ And when she had ended, all the crew at her command stopped rowing and sang the song of supplication which they call a paean. But the ship continued to drive toward the shore, and I hurried to tell you what had happened. If you send men to the coast at once, you will recapture them. For unless the angry sea grows quickly calm, the strangers cannot escape. Poseidon is angry. He remembers the destruction of Troy, his favorite city. He is the sworn enemy of all Argives and of the line of Atreus in particular. Unless I am very much mistaken, he will put Agamemnon’s children in your power this very day.”