Euripides, Orestes 1353–1425: The Phrygian slave: his escape and his account begins

Oh, oh, friends! raise a din, a din and shouting before the house, that the murder when done may not inspire the Argives with wild alarm, to make them bring aid to the palace, before I see for certain that Helen’s corpse lies bloody in the house, or hear the news from one of her attendants; for I know a part of the tragedy, of the rest I am not sure. In justice, retribution from the gods has come to Helen; for she filled all Hellas with tears, through that accursed, accursed Paris of Ida, who drew Hellas to Troy.

Phrygian I have escaped from death by Argive sword, in my Asian slippers, by clambering over the cedar-beams that roof the porch and the Doric triglyphs, away, away! O Earth, Earth! in barbaric flight! Alas! You foreign women, where can I escape, flying through the clear sky or over the sea, which bull-headed Ocean rolls about as he circles the world in his embrace?

Chorus Leader What is it, Helen’s slave, creature from Ida?

Phrygian Ilium, Ilium, oh me! city of Phrygia, and Ida’s holy hill with fruitful soil, how I mourn for your destruction with barbarian cry; destroyed through her beauty, born from a bird, swan-feathered, Leda’s cub, hellish Helen! to be a curse to Apollo’s tower of polished stone. Ah! Alas! woe to Dardania, its wailing, wailing, for the horsemanship of Ganymede, bedfellow of Zeus.

Chorus Leader Tell us clearly each event within the house.

Phrygian Ah, for Linus! Ah, for Linus! That is what barbarians say, alas, in their eastern tongue as a prelude to death, whenever royal blood is spilled upon the ground by deadly iron blades. To tell you everything in turn, they came into the house, two twin lions of Hellas; one was called the general’s son; the other was the son of Strophius, a crafty plotter, like Odysseus, treacherous in silence, but true to his friends, bold for the fight, clever in war and a deadly serpent. Curse him for his quiet plotting, the villain! In they came to the throne of the wife of Paris the archer, faces wet with tears, and took their seats in all humility, one on this side, one on that, each with weapons. They threw, they threw their suppliant arms round the knees of Helen. Her Phrygian servants sprang up frantic, frantic; they called to each other in terror that there was treachery. To some there seemed no cause, but others thought that the viper who killed his mother was entangling the daughter of Tyndareus in the snare of his plot.

And where were you? fled long before in terror?