(to the children) Take this bridal gift in your arms, sons,
and give it to the happy bride, the daughter
of the king. The gift she’ll get is no mean thing.
JASON: You’re foolish to deprive yourself of these.
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Do you imagine the king’s house lacks clothing,
or has no gold? Keep them; don’t give them away.
If my wife considers me of any value,
she’ll put me before objects, I’m sure.
MEDEA: Don’t stop me. Gifts persuade even the gods,
and gold has more power over men than words.
Some god it is who lifts this woman’s fortunes;*69
she comes to power young. I’d give my life,
not gold alone, to save my sons from exile.
But you, my sons, go to her prosperous house
970
and throw yourselves at the feet of your father’s bride,
who now rules me; give her these gifts
and beg her not to exile you. Be sure she takes
this gift in her own hands. This is most important.
Go quickly and do well! Bring me good news
that I have achieved what I long for.
strophe
CHORUS:
Now I can hope no longer for the children’s lives,
hope no longer. Now they go to their death.
The bride will take the golden band,
will take her doom, her misery.
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She’ll put on the diadem with her two hands,
put Death around her golden hair.
antistrophe
Their grace, their heavenly glow will coax her
to wrap the robe around her, put on the golden crown.
The bride will adorn herself, already one of the dead.
Into the trap she’ll fall:
her lot, her death, her misery;
she won’t elude this doom.
strophe
990
You poor man, cursed bridegroom,
suitor of kings,
you do not know
you lead your sons to destruction,
bring awful death to your wife.
Miserable man, how you mistake your destiny.
antistrophe
I weep then for your pain,
unhappy mother
of children you will kill
in the name of your marriage,
1000
the bed your husband unlawfully fled
to live with another bedmate.
(The tutor enters with the children from the direction of the royal house.)
TUTOR: Mistress, your sons are released from exile!
The royal bride has received your gifts
with pleasure: there’s peace there for the children.
What’s this?*70 Why are you shocked by your good fortune?
MEDEA: aiai!
TUTOR: Your cry doesn’t harmonize with the news I’ve brought.
MEDEA: aiai, aiai!
TUTOR: Surely I haven’t unwittingly
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reported some misfortune? Isn’t this good news?
MEDEA: You’ve brought the news you’ve brought; I do not blame you.
TUTOR: But why cast your eyes to the ground? Why weep?
MEDEA: I must, old man. Because of what the gods,
and I, in my folly, have designed.
TUTOR: Take heart. In time your sons will turn your fortune.*71
MEDEA: First I’ll turn the fortunes of others, wretched me.
TUTOR: You’re not alone in being parted from children.
You’re mortal; you must bear misfortune lightly.
MEDEA: This I will do. Now go into the house
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and look to the children’s needs.
(The tutor starts to exit with the children; Medea delays them by suddenly addressing the children.)*72
Oh, children, my two children, you have a city
and a home in which you’ll live on, always,
without your mother, once you’ve left me in misery.
I, in exile, will travel to another land
before I have delight in seeing you happy,
before tending to your wedding bath, your bride,
your nuptial bed, or holding the marriage torches.
Oh, misery born of my stubborn will!
I’ve brought you up to no purpose then;
1030
to no purpose I toiled, wore myself out,
bore the harsh pains of childbirth.
I’m wretched now, but once was full of hope
that you would care for me in my old age,
lay me out on my death bed with your own hands.
Men would have envied me. But now this sweet
thought is shattered. Without the two of you
I will lead a life of pain and misery.
And your sweet eyes will see your mother
no longer. Your lives will take another course.
1040
pheu, pheu, why do your eyes rest on me, children?
Why smile one last smile when you see me?
(to the Chorus) aiai, what should I do? I’m losing heart
as I look on my children’s bright faces.
I couldn’t…Let me say goodbye to plans
I made before! I’ll take my sons from here.
Why must I hurt their father with their pain
and so give myself double their suffering?
I will not. Goodbye to those plans!
But no, what’s happening to me? Do I want
1050
to be mocked while my enemies go unpunished?
I must steel myself. What cowardice even
to let melting words into my mind.
Go into the house, sons. If anyone thinks
it wrong to attend my sacrifices, let him
look out for himself. I will not stay my hand.
(Medea starts to exit with the children and the tutor. She stops suddenly while they continue slowly toward the house, out of earshot.)
ah, ah!
Don’t. Don’t do this, you, my strong spirit.
Leave them be, miserable heart; spare these children.
They’ll bring you joy, living there with you…
By the spirits of vengeance who dwell in Hades,
1060
I will not hand over my sons to my enemies
to be abused. This will never be.*73
It’s done, all done, and she will not escape.
Already the golden band sits on her head;
the royal bride dies in her robes, I know.
So I will walk a road most pitiable;
more pitiable yet the road I send these on.
(Medea hurries toward the children as they are about to enter the house and stops them from entering.)
(to herself) I want to talk to my children. (to her children) Give me,
1070
my sons, give me your right hands to kiss.
Dearest hand, dear mouth, body and shape
most dear to me, and fine, noble face!
May you both be happy—if not here, then there.
What’s here your father takes for himself.
Oh, sweet to touch, soft skin, and sweetest breath
of my children. Go, go. I can no longer look at them;
I’m overcome by what we must suffer.
I understand the ruin I’m about to cause,*74
and yet my spirit is stronger than my plans.
Here is the cause of mankind’s greatest ills.
(Medea stands at the door as the children go inside.)
CHORUS: (chanting)
Often before this I’ve engaged
in talk more subtle and
problems more difficult
than a woman should explore.
But we, too, have a Muse,
and on wisdom’s behalf she joins
with us�
��not all of us—but a few,
a small group, a woman here and there
you’d find, women the Muse touches.
1090
And I claim that anyone—man
or woman—who has no experience,
has never had a child, exceeds
every parent in happiness.
The childless are spared many troubles
by their inexperience;
they never find out if children
are sweetness or distress.
But those whose houses blossom
sweetly with children
1100
are all the time worn down with care
First they worry how to bring them up well
and at their death leave behind enough to live.
On top of this it isn’t clear
whether they labor for children
who are worthless or good.
And now I’ll name the last horror,
worst of all for any mortal woman or man:
let’s say you’ve found a good enough
livelihood and your child has come
to adulthood healthy and good.
Then, if this should be its destiny,
1110
Death goes off to Hades
with your child’s body in his arms.
What profit then for mortals
that, for the sake of children,
they suffer this most dreadful pain
the gods pile on to all their other troubles?
MEDEA: Dear women, I’ve waited long for the outcome,
anxious to know how it will turn out there,
in the palace. Now I see a man approaching,
Jason’s attendant. His jagged breathing tells me
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he’s going to announce some fresh disaster.
(The messenger runs onto the stage from the direction of the royal palace.)
MESSENGER: Medea, take flight, go by land or by sea;*75
use any boat or cart to get away.
MEDEA: What’s happened that demands my flight?
MESSENGER: The young girl, royal bride, and Creon her father
are dead—killed just now, and by your poisons!
MEDEA: The story you’ve told couldn’t be better. Hereafter
you’ll be among my close allies and friends.
MESSENGER: What are you saying? Are you insane, woman?
1130
You must be mad to rejoice at this, to feel
no fear, when you’ve defiled the royal hearth.
MEDEA: I have my own tale to tell in response
to yours. But hold nothing back, friend.
Tell me all. How did they die? You’d give me
double the joy if their death was horrible.
MESSENGER: When your two sons arrived with their father
and entered the house of the newlyweds,
we were glad, we household slaves who felt
distress at your troubles. Word spread fast that you
1140
and your husband had resolved your differences.
One slave kisses the children’s hands, another
their golden heads. I myself in my pleasure
followed the children into the women’s quarters.
My mistress—the one we honor now instead
of you—held Jason in her eager gaze,
until she saw the pair of children, your sons.
Then she covered her eyes with her veil
and turned away her white cheek: she felt
such disgust at their coming in there.
1150
Your husband tried to soothe the young girl’s anger:
“Don’t be unkind to people dear to us,
don’t be angry. Won’t you turn your face back
to me? Hold dear the ones dear to your husband?
Take their gifts, beg your father for my sake
to release these children from exile.”
When she saw their gifts, she didn’t resist;
she agreed to everything, and, before
your children and their father were far away,
she took the gorgeous robes and put them on.
1160
She placed the golden band around her curls
and looked in a bright mirror to arrange her hair,
laughing at the lifeless image she saw there.
Then she stood up from her chair and walked
around the room, her white feet stepping softly.
She loved the gifts; she kept looking behind
as she stretched her ankle out below the robe.
What happened then was terrible to see.
Her skin changed color. She lurched backward,
trembling in every limb; she barely reached
1170
a chair to sit on, so she wouldn’t fall.
A slave, an old woman, gave a ritual cry, thinking
her frenzy had come from Pan or another god.*76
Then she saw the white foam bubbling
from her mouth, her pupils turned back
in the sockets of her eyes, her bloodless skin.
The cry turned into a great wailing shriek,
and the old woman rushed straight away
to the king’s house. Another ran to the new groom
to inform him of his bride’s misfortune.
1180
The rafters echoed with the running of feet.
It took the time a sprinter takes to fly
to the finish of a one-stade course*77
for the wretched girl to rouse herself and cry out
in horror, her eyes and mouth no longer shut.
The pain was attacking her on a double front:
the band of gold she’d placed around her head
shot out an astounding stream of devouring fire;
the delicate robe, your children’s gift, was gnawing
the white flesh of the doomed girl. On fire
1190
she rises from the chair and runs about,
shaking her head and hair in all directions.
She was trying to throw off the golden band,
but it stayed tightly bound as the fire flared out,
now twice as fierce when she shook her hair.
Overcome by suffering she falls to the floor.
No one could recognize her, only
her father could: her eyes and fine-boned face
no longer had a clear shape; blood and fire
mingled together, fell dripping from her head.
1200
Her skin like the sap of a fir tree oozed off
her bones, loosed by the jaws of the unseen poison.
An awful sight. Everyone feared to touch the corpse,
taking our instruction from what had happened.
Her wretched father knew nothing of the disaster.
In ignorance he entered the room and ran to the body.
At once he cried out and folded her in his arms;
kissing her, he moaned: “Oh, my poor child,
which of the gods has destroyed you without honor?
Who takes you from me, an old man as good
1210
as dead? oimoi, let me die with you, child.”
When he’d finished wailing and groaning
we wanted to lift up his aged body,
but he was stuck to the delicate robe like ivy
to a laurel branch. His struggle was desperate.
He tried and tried to get up on his knees,
but the corpse kept pulling him back. If he moved
with force, he ripped his ageing flesh from the bone.
In time, he gave it up and breathed his last,
rising no longer above calamity.
1220
The bodies of the child and aged father lie
side by side, a misfortune calling for tears.*78
Your situation I won’t address. You’ll know
yourself the p
enalty that answers this.*79
Once again I’m led to think what’s mortal
is but a shadow. I wouldn’t hesitate to say
those who seem wise and use fine words
are the ones who earn the charge of idiocy.
No human being, not one, is happy.
If wealth flows in, one man might be luckier
1230
than another—but he still would not be happy.
CHORUS: Heaven, it seems, has fastened Jason
to great suffering on this day—and justly.*80
MEDEA: Friends, my course is set: quick as I can
I kill the children and leave this land.
I mustn’t delay or give over to some other
harsher hand the killing of the children.
1240
They must die, they must. And, since they must,
I, who gave them birth, will kill them.
Come then, my heart, and arm yourself. Why wait
to do this terrible but necessary wrong?
Take hold of the sword, you, my wretched hand,
take it. Move to the start of a life of misery.
Don’t turn coward, don’t think of the children.
Don’t remember that you bore them, that they’re
most loved. Forget for this short day they are
your children, and then grieve. Though you’ll kill them,
1250
they’re your dear flesh and blood. I’m a luckless woman.
(Medea exits into the house.)
strophe
CHORUS:*81 iō, Earth and Sun’s radiant light
look down, look on this accursed
woman before she casts
her murderous hand on her own children.
They are flowers grown from your golden seed;
a fearful thing that a god’s blood spill
to the ground through human hands.
You then, Zeus-born light, hold her back,
stop her, drive this vengeful Fury, bloody
1260
and pitiless, from the house.*82
antistrophe
Your labor for your children gone in vain,
in vain you bore them, beloved offspring,
you who left behind the unwelcoming pass
between the dark rocks of the Symplegades.*83
Desperate woman, why does anger
that weighs upon the mind fall on you, and rabid murder
follow murder?
The stain of kin’s blood is a hard thing for mortals;
sorrow follows on it, falling from the gods,
1270
its song in harmony with murder of kin.
(The children’s voices are heard from within the house.)*84
FIRST CHILD: iō moi!
The Greek Plays Page 62
