Six Tragedies
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now to stretch out the ropes with the round sails full,
now to take hold of the crosswinds with foot set forward,
now safely to set out the yards
in the mist of the mast,
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medea
now to fasten them tight at the top
at the time when the sailor too eagerly yearns
for the full gusts of wind and above the high sail
the scarlet topsails quiver.
Glorious were the ages our forefathers saw
when deception was far distant.
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Each person lived an unambitious life, at home,
then growing old on ancestral farmland,
rich with a little, they knew no wealth
except what their native soil brought forth.
The world was once divided into strict partitions,
but those were broken by the pinewood ship,
which ordered the ocean to suffer a beating
and the sea, once inviolate, to turn into
one of our reasons to fear.
That wicked boat was given rough treatment,
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sailing on and on through endless terrors,
when the two mountains, gates of the deep,
driven this way and that by impetuous force
groaned with a noise which sounded like thunder
and the sea was struck and it sprinkled the stars, right up
to the clouds.
Brave Tiphys grew pale and his slackening hand
relinquished all hold of the tiller.
Orpheus was silent, his lyre lying idle,
and even the Argo lost her voice.
Remember Scylla,* the Sicilian monster,
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bound at her belly with ravening dogs,
opening together all her wide-gaping mouths?
Who did not shudder and tremble all over
at the multiple howlings of this single threat?
What of the time when those dangerous females
brought peace to the sea, with melodious voices,
when, singing to his own Pierian lyre,
Thracian Orpheus
almost compelled the Siren to follow him —
although her habit was to trap ships with her voice?
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What was the prize for this journey?
The Golden Fleece,
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medea
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and Medea, greater evil than the sea,
a worthy cargo for the world’s first boat.
Now at last the sea has yielded and obeys all laws.
Now there is no need of a ship made by Pallas’ hand,
rowed back by kings, a well-renowned vessel — an Argo.
Any old skiff can wander the deep.
All boundaries are gone and the cities
have set up their walls in new lands:
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the world is a thoroughfare, nothing remains
where it was.
The Indian drinks from the chilly Araxes,
the Persians can drink from the Elbe and the Rhine.
The ages will come, in faraway years
when Ocean will set free the links of Nature
and the great earth lie open, and Tethys will open,
new worlds, and Thule* will be no longer
the end of the earth.
ACT THREE
nurse Mistress, why are you rushing away from the house?
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Stop, suppress your anger, control yourself.
As a Maenad staggers on uncertain feet,
mad with the inspiration of the god,
on the peak of snowy Pindus or Mount Nysa,
so she runs to and fro, her movements wild,
her face displays her crazy passion’s marks.
Her cheeks are flaming and she draws deep breaths,
she shouts, her eyes are wet with tears, she smiles;
she shows the signs of every kind of passion.
Hesitant, aggressive, raging, bitter, full of grief.
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Where will the weight of her angry heart tip down?
Where will this wave break? Her madness froths over.
The crime she contemplates is complex and extreme:
she will outdo herself; I recognize this passion.
She intends some terrible deed, wild and unnatural.
I see the face of Passion. Gods, prove my fear false!
medea Poor woman, do you want to know where hatred ends?
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medea
Look to love. Should I endure this royal wedding,
and fail to take revenge? Will I waste the day
I tried so hard to get, got at such cost?
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No, while earth lies in the centre and supports the sky,
while shining heaven in fixed circles turns,
while sands are numberless, while night brings forth
the stars, and day the sun, while the North Pole
revolves the unsinking Bears, while rivers flow to the sea —
never will my bitter rage fall short of total vengeance;
no, it will always grow. What vast wild beast,
what Scylla or Charybdis,* who drained deep
the seas, or Etna, crushing the panting Titan,*
will boil up with threats as vast as mine?
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No rushing river, gusty sea, or ocean wild
whipped up with wind, or force of fire helped on
by hurricanes, could stop my fixed intention,
or my rage. I will destroy and ruin everything.
Was he afraid of Creon, and of war with Lord Acastus?
True love is afraid of nobody.
But grant that he was forced to yield and to surrender;
he surely could have come to talk for the last time
with his wife. That was exactly what this mighty hero feared…
Surely as son-in-law he could have put off the time
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of cruel exile: I got just one day
for two children. — I do not mind that the time is brief.
It will go far. This very day I will do
a deed of which all days will speak. I will attack the gods.
I will shake the world.
nurse
Lady, you are upset;
yes, things are bad, but calm down!
medea
Peace can only be mine
if I see everything ruined along with me.
Let fall the world with me. How sweet to destroy when you die.
nurse See all the dangers you face if you persist.
Attacking those in power is never safe.
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jason My luck is always bad, and fate is always cruel:
just as bad to me, in kindness or in anger.
How often god finds for us antidotes
worse than the threatened pain. If I wanted to be faithful
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medea
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to my wife — she had earned it — I had to forfeit my life.
If I did not want to die, I had to give up — poor me! —
fidelity. It was not fear that conquered faith
but quaking duty; she killed her parents; it was likely
the children would be next. O Holy Power, if you,
Justice, inhabit heaven, I call to you as witness:
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love for my children defeated me. Though she is fierce,
spirited, she will not bear the yoke,
she still, I think, cares more for her children than her marriage.
I have made up my mind to beseech her, though she is angry.
and look, now she sees me, she jumps, in a towering rage.
She shows
how much she hates me: all her bitterness is in her face.<
br />
medea Jason, I have fled before, and now I flee again.
Exile is nothing new to me; only the cause has changed.
Once I fled for your sake. Now I leave, I go away,
because you force me to abandon your home, your hearth,
your gods.
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You are sending me back, but to whom? Should I go to the
people of Colchis,
my father’s kingdom, and the fields which we soaked with
the blood
of my brother? Tell me, what country should I go and seek?
What seas do you point me towards? The mouth of the Pontic
strait,
through which I led back home that glorious band of kings,
when I followed you — adulterer! — through the Clashing Rocks?*
Or should I go to your uncle’s lands * — to Iolchos, or Tempe?
All the paths I opened up for you, I closed for me.
Where are you sending me back to? You impose exile on an exile,
but grant me no place to go. — I must go. The king’s son-in-law
says so.
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I do not resist. Pile up horrible punishments on me;
I have earned them. Let the king in his anger crush this concubine,
torture me, make me bleed, weigh down my hands with chains,
shut me up in a stony jail for an unending night.
My guilt will still outweigh my punishment. — Ungrateful!
wind back your mind to the bull,* and its fiery gusts of breath,
and to all the barbarian terrors of a never-conquered race,*
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medea
the flaming herd of Aeetes in the field of armoured men, *
and the weapons of the enemy which suddenly sprang up,
when at my command the earthborn soldiers fell, in a
mutual slaughter.
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Remember the prize of your whole long quest, the Phrixean ram,*
and the sleepless monster,* whom I ordered to close his eyes
in mysterious sleep, and my brother,* betrayed to death,
a crime not achieved in a single criminal act, but many;
and the daughters deceived by my trickery, who dared
to chop up the limbs of that old man* who never would
live again.
[I left my realm behind to come to someone else’s.]*
By your hopes for your children, by your nice safe home,
by the monsters I defeated, by my hands,
which I wore out for you, by all our dangers past,
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by sky and sea, witnesses of my marriage,
have pity. In your good fortune, reward me, please, I beg you.
From all that wealth the Colchian pirates win
from distant lands, the sunburnt Indians,
treasure that crams our house full up to bursting,
and we deck our trees with gold — from this wealth in my
exile I took nothing,
except my brother’s body; and I spent even that for you.
For you I gave up my kingdom, my father, my brother,
my shame —
this was my dowry when I married you. I am leaving; give
me back what is mine.
jason When Creon was against you and wanted to destroy you, 490
my tears persuaded him to grant you exile.
medea Exile, it seems, is a gift. I thought it was punishment.
jason Go while you still can, run, take yourself far from here:
the anger of kings is always dangerous.
medea Your
advice
is given to be loyal to Creusa. You banish her hated rival.
jason Medea blames me for love?
medea
And murder, and betrayal.
jason What crime, in the end, can you charge me with?
medea All I have done.
jason
Ah, that was all I needed;
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medea
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that your crimes would be treated as my fault.
medea They are yours, yours! If you gain from a crime,
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you did it. If your wife is disgraced, everyone is against her,
you alone must protect her, you shout out her innocence.
One who sinned for your sake should look clean to you.
jason A life of which one feels ashamed is an unwelcome gift.
medea One who feels ashamed of life need not cling to it.
jason I disagree. You need to tame your heart, too quick to anger:
make peace with our sons.
medea
They are no sons of mine!
Will Creusa give my children brothers?
jason Yes, though she is a queen, to the wretched children of
exiles.
medea May such an evil day never come to my poor boys,
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for that filthy bloodline to taint my glorious stock,
the children of Phoebus joined to the sons of Sisyphus.*
jason Why, poor woman, are you dragging us both into ruin?
Leave, I beg you.
medea
Creon heard my supplication.
jason Tell me what I can do.
medea
A crime for me; my turn.
jason Hemmed in by two kings…
medea
And by worse danger:
Medea. It is time for a face-off: let us fi ght,
and let the prize be Jason.
jason
I am tired; I give in.
You, too, should be afraid: you have seen so many dangers.
medea I have always stood above each turn of Fortune.
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jason Acastus is pursuing us.
medea
Creon is the nearer enemy:
flee both. Do not take up arms against your father-in-law
nor stain yourself with your own kinsman’s blood.
Medea does not force you to. Be guiltless, run with me.
jason But what defence is there, against a double war,
if Creon and Acastus join their arms together?
medea Add the Colchians, and Lord Aeetes too,
with Scythians and Greeks: I will destroy them all.
jason I shudder at great power.
medea
Be careful not to want it.
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medea
jason Talking too long looks suspicious; time to break off.
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medea Now, King Jupiter, thunder your loudest across the sky,
stretch out your arm, prepare the flames of vengeance,
let the clouds be split, make tremble all the world.
Weigh your weapons in both hands, do not distinguish
between me and him: whichever of us falls
will die guilty. Your thunderbolt against us
cannot strike wrong.
jason
Now make your thoughts more wholesome,
and act more calmly. If anything from my in-laws’ home
can comfort you in exile, now is the time to ask.
medea My heart, as you know, can despise the wealth of kings; 540
and it does. But let me have the children in my exile,
for company, so when my tears fall fast,
I may hold them in my arms. You will have new children.
jason Certainly, I would like to say yes to your prayers,
but fatherly devotion must say no. To endure such a thing! —
not even the king, my father-in-law, himself could make me do it.
They are my reason for living; my scorched heart finds in them
my comfort for my pain. I would rather lose my breath,
my body, or the light.
medea
— Does he love his children so mu
ch?
Good! I have him trapped: there is a place to hurt him. —
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But of course you will allow me, as I take my leave,
to give the children my final words, and hug them for the last time?
Thank you. And this, now, is my very last request:
that if, in my distress, I have spoken out of turn,
forget about it: let your memory of me
be of my better self: let what I said in anger
be totally erased.
jason
I have driven those words from my mind.
I, too have a request: control the fire in your heart,
and take things easy: peace makes sorrows soft.
medea He has gone. Is that it? You go off and forget about me 560
and all that I achieved? Do you see me as finished?
I will never be finished. Come on now, summon all
your strength and skill. The reward you have won from your
crimes
is to think nothing a crime. There is little chance of deceit:
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medea
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people suspect me. So choose a point to attack
which nobody could suspect. Go on, be daring, begin
to do whatever Medea can do, and even more than that.
You, faithful nurse, companion of my sorrow
and of my changing fortune, help with my grim plan.
I have a cloak, a gift from the house in the sky,
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the kingdom’s glory, given to Aeetes as proof
that he was the child of the Sun. I also have a necklace
shining with plaited gold, and I tie up my hair with a band
of solid gold set off by brilliant gems.
Let my children carry these things as gifts from me to the bride,
but first, let them be smeared and daubed with deadly poison.
Let Hecate* be summoned, prepare the rites of death:
let the altars be set up, let the flames ring through the halls.
chorus* Force of flame, wind’s turbulent buffet, javelins,
none of these come down with a force so mighty,
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none as fearful as when an ex-wife, rejected,
hates with hot passion.
Nor the wintry storms of the cloudy South Wind
nor when Hister* floods in a rush, torrential,
forcing bridges down, letting none be mended,
vagabond river.
Nor the Rhone’s crash into the deep of ocean,
nor when snows have melted and turned to small streams,
under hot sun, when in the midst of springtime
Haemus* is melting.
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Anger goaded on is a fire in darkness,
will not be controlled, will not suffer harness,