Medea of Euripides
of the world. And the last word upon these tragic things is most often
something not to be expressed by the sentences of even the wisest
articulate judge, but only by the unspoken _lacrimae rerum_.
G. M.
MEDEA
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
MEDEA, _daughter of Aietes, King of Colchis_.
JASON, _chief of the Argonauts; nephew of Pelias, King of Iolcos in
Thessaly_.
CREON, _ruler of Corinth_.
AEGEUS, _King of Athens_.
NURSE _of Medea_.
TWO CHILDREN _of Jason and Medea_.
ATTENDANT _on the children_.
A MESSENGER.
CHORUS of Corinthian Women, with their LEADER.
Soldiers and Attendants.
_The scene is laid in Corinth. The play was first acted when Pythodorus
was Archon, Olympiad 87, year_ 1 (B.C. 431). _Euphorion was first,
Sophocles second, Euripides third, with Medea, Philoctetes, Dictys, and
the Harvesters, a Satyr-play._
MEDEA
_The Scene represents the front of_ MEDEA'S _House in Corinth. A road to
the right leads towards the royal castle, one on the left to the
harbour. The_ NURSE _is discovered alone_.
NURSE.
Would God no Argo e'er had winged the seas
To Colchis through the blue Symplegades:
No shaft of riven pine in Pelion's glen
Shaped that first oar-blade in the hands of men
Valiant, who won, to save King Pelias' vow,
The fleece All-golden! Never then, I trow,
Mine own princess, her spirit wounded sore
With love of Jason, to the encastled shore
Had sailed of old Iolcos: never wrought
The daughters of King Pelias, knowing not,
To spill their father's life: nor fled in fear,
Hunted for that fierce sin, to Corinth here
With Jason and her babes. This folk at need
Stood friend to her, and she in word and deed
Served alway Jason. Surely this doth bind,
Through all ill days, the hurts of humankind,
When man and woman in one music move.
But now, the world is angry, and true love
Sick as with poison. Jason doth forsake
My mistress and his own two sons, to make
His couch in a king's chamber. He must wed:
Wed with this Creon's child, who now is head
And chief of Corinth. Wherefore sore betrayed
Medea calleth up the oath they made,
They two, and wakes the clasped hands again,
The troth surpassing speech, and cries amain
On God in heaven to mark the end, and how
Jason hath paid his debt.
All fasting now
And cold, her body yielded up to pain,
Her days a waste of weeping, she hath lain,
Since first she knew that he was false. Her eyes
Are lifted not; and all her visage lies
In the dust. If friends will speak, she hears no more
Than some dead rock or wave that beats the shore:
Only the white throat in a sudden shame
May writhe, and all alone she moans the name
Of father, and land, and home, forsook that day
For this man's sake, who casteth her away.
Not to be quite shut out from home . . . alas,
She knoweth now how rare a thing that was!
Methinks she hath a dread, not joy, to see
Her children near. 'Tis this that maketh me
Most tremble, lest she do I know not what.
Her heart is no light thing, and useth not
To brook much wrong. I know that woman, aye,
And dread her! Will she creep alone to die
Bleeding in that old room, where still is laid
Lord Jason's bed? She hath for that a blade
Made keen. Or slay the bridegroom and the king,
And win herself God knows what direr thing?
'Tis a fell spirit. Few, I ween, shall stir
Her hate unscathed, or lightly humble her.
Ha! 'Tis the children from their games again,
Rested and gay; and all their mother's pain
Forgotten! Young lives ever turn from gloom!
[_The_ CHILDREN _and their_ ATTENDANT _come in_.
ATTENDANT.
Thou ancient treasure of my lady's room,
What mak'st thou here before the gates alone,
And alway turning on thy lips some moan
Of old mischances? Will our mistress be
Content, this long time to be left by thee?
NURSE.
Grey guard of Jason's children, a good thrall
Hath his own grief, if any hurt befall
His masters. Aye, it holds one's heart! . . .
Meseems
I have strayed out so deep in evil dreams,
I longed to rest me here alone, and cry
Medea's wrongs to this still Earth and Sky.
ATTENDANT.
How? Are the tears yet running in her eyes?
NURSE.
'Twere good to be like thee! . . . Her sorrow lies
Scarce wakened yet, not half its perils wrought.
ATTENDANT.
Mad spirit! . . . if a man may speak his thought
Of masters mad.--And nothing in her ears
Hath sounded yet of her last cause for tears!
[_He moves towards the house, but the_ NURSE
_checks him_.
NURSE.
What cause, old man? . . . Nay, grudge me not one word.
ATTENDANT.
'Tis nothing. Best forget what thou hast heard.
NURSE.
Nay, housemate, by thy beard! Hold it not hid
From me. . . . I will keep silence if thou bid.
ATTENDANT.
I heard an old man talking, where he sate
At draughts in the sun, beside the fountain gate,
And never thought of me, there standing still
Beside him. And he said, 'Twas Creon's will,
Being lord of all this land, that she be sent,
And with her her two sons, to banishment.
Maybe 'tis all false. For myself, I know
No further, and I would it were not so.
NURSE.
Jason will never bear it--his own sons
Banished,--however hot his anger runs
Against their mother!
ATTENDANT.
Old love burneth low
When new love wakes, men say. He is not now
Husband nor father here, nor any kin.
NURSE.
But this is ruin! New waves breaking in
To wreck us, ere we are righted from the old!
ATTENDANT.
Well, hold thy peace. Our mistress will be told
All in good time. Speak thou no word hereof.
NURSE.
My babes! What think ye of your father's love?
God curse him not, he is my master still:
But, oh, to them that loved him, 'tis an ill
Friend. . . .
ATTENDANT.
And what man on earth is different? How?
Hast thou lived all these years, and learned but now
That every man more loveth his own head
Than other men's? He dreameth of the bed
Of this new bride, and thinks not of his sons.
NURSE.
Go: run into the house, my little ones:
All will end happily! . . . Keep them apart:
Let not their mother meet them while her heart
Is darkened. Yester night I saw a flame
Stand in her eye, as though she hated them,
And would I know not what. For sure her wrath
Will never turn nor slumber, till she hath . . .
Go: and if some must suffer, may it be
Not we who love her, but some enemy!
VOICE (_within_).
Oh shame and pain: O woe is me!
Would I could die in my misery!
[_The_ CHILDREN _and the_ ATTENDANT _go in_.
NURSE.
Ah, children, hark! She moves again
Her frozen heart, her sleeping wrath.
In, quick! And never cross her path,
Nor rouse that dark eye in its pain;
That fell sea-spirit, and the dire
Spring of a will untaught, unbowed.
Quick, now!--Methinks this weeping cloud
Hath in its heart some thunder-fire,
Slow gathering, that must flash ere long.
I know not how, for ill or well,
It turns, this uncontrollable
Tempestuous spirit, blind with wrong.
VOICE (_within_).
Have I not suffered? Doth it call
No tears? . . . Ha, ye beside the wall
Unfathered children, God hate you
As I am hated, and him, too,
That gat you, and this house and all!
NURSE.
For pity! What have they to do,
Babes, with their father's sin? Why call
Thy curse on these? . . . Ah, children, all
These days my bosom bleeds for you.
Rude are the wills of princes: yea,
Prevailing alway, seldom crossed,
On fitful winds their moods are tossed:
'Tis best men tread the equal way.
Aye, not with glory but with peace
May the long summers find me crowned:
For gentleness--her very sound
Is magic, and her usages.
All wholesome: but the fiercely great
Hath little music on his road,
And falleth, when the hand of God
Shall move, most deep and desolate.
[_During the last words the_ LEADER _of the Chorus
has entered. Other women follow her._
LEADER.
I heard a voice and a moan,
A voice of the eastern seas:
Hath she found not yet her ease?
Speak, O aged one.
For I stood afar at the gate,
And there came from within a cry,
And wailing desolate.
Ah, no more joy have I,
For the griefs this house doth see,
And the love it hath wrought in me.
NURSE.
There is no house! 'Tis gone. The lord
Seeketh a prouder bed: and she
Wastes in her chamber, not one word
Will hear of care or charity.
VOICE (_within_).
O Zeus, O Earth, O Light,
Will the fire not stab my brain?
What profiteth living? Oh,
Shall I not lift the slow
Yoke, and let Life go,
As a beast out in the night,
To lie, and be rid of pain?
CHORUS.
_Some Women_
A.
"O Zeus, O Earth, O Light:"
The cry of a bride forlorn
Heard ye, and wailing born
Of lost delight?
B.
Why weariest thou this day,
Wild heart, for the bed abhorred,
The cold bed in the clay?
Death cometh though no man pray,
Ungarlanded, un-adored.
Call him not thou.
C.
If another's arms be now
Where thine have been,
On his head be the sin:
Rend not thy brow!
D.
All that thou sufferest,
God seeth: Oh, not so sore
Waste nor weep for the breast
That was thine of yore.
VOICE (_within_).
Virgin of Righteousness,
Virgin of hallowed Troth,
Ye marked me when with an oath
I bound him; mark no less
That oath's end. Give me to see
Him and his bride, who sought
My grief when I wronged her not,
Broken in misery,
And all her house. . . . O God,
My mother's home, and the dim
Shore that I left for him,
And the voice of my brother's blood. . . .
NURSE.
Oh, wild words! Did ye hear her cry
To them that guard man's faith forsworn,
Themis and Zeus? . . . This wrath new-born
Shall make mad workings ere it die.
CHORUS.
_Other Women._
A.
Would she but come to seek
Our faces, that love her well,
And take to her heart the spell
Of words that speak?
B.
Alas for the heavy hate
And anger that burneth ever!
Would it but now abate,
Ah God, I love her yet.
And surely my love's endeavour
Shall fail not here.
C.
Go: from that chamber drear
Forth to the day
Lead her, and say, Oh, say