Iphigenia, the first-born

A gentle wind ripples the wheat field with a watery movement. In the late afternoon sun, the colour of the ears of wheat changes from brown to golden.

"Iphigenia, Iphigenia, Iphigenia...!"

The maiden's voice flies through the air crashes against the mountain and returns:

"Iphigenia, Iphigenia, Iphigenia...!"

Iphigenia runs through the field, the air perfumed with grapes and olives, citrus and bittersweet, envelops her.

"Iphigenia, come back, we must return to the palace, your mother is getting restless!"
"Your mother is restless!" repeats the echo.

The girl, wrapped in a short robe, her eyes bright, her cheeks rosy, her hair in the air, approaches.

"Come, princess! The sun is setting..."

"Can you make the echo speak again, Alysa?"

The maid laughs.

"What do you want me to repeat?"

My name!

"Iphigenia, Iphigenia, Iphigenia!" cries the maid.

"Iphigenia, Iphigenia, Iphigenia!" repeats Echo to please King Agamemnon's daughter.

Soon they are in the palace. They pass through the spacious halls. Alysa cleans the body of the tender princess with motherly love. After a while, when the night blurs the scenery outside, she takes her to the room where she sleeps with her younger sisters. There comes Clytemnestra to kiss her daughters and to tell the stories of her gods and the epics.

Iphigenia always wants to hear the story of the feasts of her birth.

"Tell it again, Máter! "

"Never, until the time of your birth, was there in Mycenae such a happy day. Feasts and songs shared by palace and people, emissaries who set out to bring the news of the birth of Agamemnon's daughter to the other cities of the Helad. Caravans of visitors arriving with the finest gifts for you. Never before was so much wealth gathered and never was there a happier father in the world than yours. He stood in your cradle to speak to you, he told you that he would live to see you become a woman and to throw better parties than those of your birth on the day when he would give you, as a bride, to a prince or a king."

Iphigenia smiles, between soft gauzes she surrenders herself to the arms of Morpheus, who will fill her with gentle images night after night, while the princess changes from a girl to a woman.

"Iphigenia, Iphigenia, Iphigenia...!" It is the voice of Clytemnestra that calls her.

The carriage that will take her to Achilles, as his wife, will leave very soon.

Agamemnon has ordered Clytemnestra to remain in Mycenae.

A dark destiny hangs over the life of the candid princess.

On the seashore, Agamemnon's ships are stranded, while in the royal camp Agamemnon waits for the moment when the life of his first-born daughter, offered in sacrifice to Artemis, will turn the stormy winds into favourable airs to reach Argos.

Iphigenia already knows that neither a prince nor a bridal crown of flowers awaits her, but the convenience of an insolent and despotic king who will bring her to the hard sacrificial stone to snub Artemis, the goddess of war.

Prostrate before her father she pleads.

"Look at me, father, it is I, your Iphigenia, your favourite daughter. Return to my eyes your tender glances, keep me the life you gave me".

Agamemnon is silent, he has much to lose if he loses the war because of stormy airs.

The oracle has commanded it. He must give up his first daughter.

Iphigenia looks her fate in the face.

"Morpheus has deceived me. My life has been only a dream. I can only decide the manner of my death. Farewell to the sunshine of barley fields, olive trees, groves and vineyards. Farewell sweet airs of my childhood."

Iphigenia lies on the stone, gazing sweetly at the blue sky. As a last memory she recalls the echoes that shouted her name. She surrenders her soul.

Artemis, who is looking at her, is amazed by her courage, her beauty, her purity, her youth. Suspends the angry winds, blinds the troops, stops the hand of Agamemnon ... She places on the sacrificial stone a stag.

She lifts the princess and carries her away.