Orestes. 
A kind of banishment, half forced, half sought.

Iphigenia. 
Wouldst thou but tell me all I need of thee!

Orestes. 
’Twere not much added to my misery.

Iphigenia. 
From Argos! ...  Oh, how sweet to see thee here!

Orestes. 
Enjoy it, then.  To me ’tis sorry cheer.

Iphigenia. 
Thou knowest the name of Troy?  Far doth it flit.

Orestes. 
Would God I had not; nay, nor dreamed of it.

Iphigenia. 
Men fable it is fallen beneath the sword?

Orestes. 
Fallen it is.  Thou hast heard no idle word.

Iphigenia. 
Fallen!  At last!—­And Helen taken too?

Orestes. 
Aye; on an evil day for one I knew.

Iphigenia. 
Where is she?  I too have some anger stored ...

Orestes. 
In Sparta!  Once more happy with her lord!

Iphigenia. 
Oh. hated of all Greece, not only me!

Orestes. 
I too have tasted of her wizardry.

Iphigenia. 
And came the armies home, as the tales run?

Orestes. 
To answer that were many tales in one.

Iphigenia. 
Oh, give me this hour full!  Thou wilt soon die.

Orestes. 
Ask, if such longing holds thee.  I will try.

Iphigenia. 
A seer called Calchas!  Did he ever come ...?

Orestes.

Calchas is dead, as the news went at home.

Iphigenia.

Good news, ye gods!—­Odysseus, what of him?

Orestes.

Not home yet, but still living, as men deem.

Iphigenia.

Curse him!  And may he see his home no more.

Orestes.

Why curse him?  All his house is stricken sore.

Iphigenia.

How hath the Nereid’s son, Achilles, sped?

Orestes.

Small help his bridal brought him!  He is dead.

Iphigenia.

A fierce bridal, so the sufferers tell!

Orestes.

Who art thou, questioning of Greece so well?

Iphigenia.

I was Greek.  Evil caught me long ago.

Orestes. 
Small wonder, then, thou hast such wish to know.

Iphigenia. 
That war-lord, whom they call so high in bliss...

Orestes. 
None such is known to me.  What name was his?

Iphigenia. 
They called him Agamemnon, Atreus’ son.

Orestes. 
I know not.  Cease.—­My questioning is done.

Iphigenia. 
’Twill be such joy to me!  How fares he?  Tell!

Orestes. 
Dead.  And hath wrecked another’s life as well.

Iphigenia. 
Dead?  By what dreadful fortune?  Woe is me!