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Medea
From the house I have come forth, Corinthian ladies,
for fear lest you be blaming me;
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for well I know that amongst men many by showing pride have gotten them an ill name and a reputation for indifference, both those who shun men’s gaze and those who move amid the stranger crowd, and likewise they who choose a quiet walk in life. For there is no just discernment in the eyes of men,
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for they, or ever they have surely learnt their neighbour’s heart, loathe him at first sight, though never wronged by him; and so a stranger most of all should adopt a city’s views; nor do I commend that citizen, who, in the stubbornness of his heart, from churlishness resents the city’s will.
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But on me hath fallen this unforeseen disaster, and sapped my life; ruined I am, and long to resign the boon of existence, kind friends, and die. For he who was all the world to me, as well thou knowest, hath turned out the veriest villain, my own husband.
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Of all things that have life and sense we women are the most hapless creatures; first must we buy a husband at an exorbitant price, and o’er ourselves a tyrant set which is an evil worse than the first;
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and herein lies the most important issue, whether our choice be good or bad. For divorce is discreditable to women, nor can we disown our lords. Next must the wife, coming as she does to ways and customs new, since she hath not learnt the lesson in her home, have a diviner’s eye to see
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how best to treat the partner of her life. If haply we perform these tasks with thoroughness and tact, and the husband live with us, without resenting the yoke, our life is a happy one; if not, ’twere best to die. But when a man is vexed with what he finds indoors,
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he goeth forth and rids his soul of its disgust, betaking him to some friend or comrade of like age; whilst we must needs regard his single self.
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And yet they say we live secure at home, while they are at the wars,
with their sorry reasoning, for I would gladly take my stand in battle array three times o’er, than once give birth.
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But enough! this language suits not thee as it does me; thou hast a city here, a father’s house, some joy in life, and friends to share thy thoughts,
but I am destitute, without a city, and therefore scorned by my husband, a captive I from a foreign shore, with no mother, brother, or kinsman in whom to find a new haven of refuge from this calamity. Wherefore this one boon and only this I wish to win from thee,—
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thy silence, if haply I can some way or means devise to avenge me on my husband for this cruel treatment, and on the man who gave to him his daughter, and on her who is his wife. For though a woman be timorous enough in all else, and as regards courage, a coward at the mere sight of steel,
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yet in the moment she finds her honour wronged, no heart is filled with deadlier thoughts than hers.
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From the house I have come forth, Corinthian ladies,
for fear lest you be blaming me;
1
for well I know that amongst men many by showing pride have gotten them an ill name and a reputation for indifference, both those who shun men’s gaze and those who move amid the stranger crowd, and likewise they who choose a quiet walk in life. For there is no just discernment in the eyes of men,
215
for they, or ever they have surely learnt their neighbour’s heart, loathe him at first sight, though never wronged by him; and so a stranger most of all should adopt a city’s views; nor do I commend that citizen, who, in the stubbornness of his heart, from churlishness resents the city’s will.
220
But on me hath fallen this unforeseen disaster, and sapped my life; ruined I am, and long to resign the boon of existence, kind friends, and die. For he who was all the world to me, as well thou knowest, hath turned out the veriest villain, my own husband.
225
Of all things that have life and sense we women are the most hapless creatures; first must we buy a husband at an exorbitant price, and o’er ourselves a tyrant set which is an evil worse than the first;
230
and herein lies the most important issue, whether our choice be good or bad. For divorce is discreditable to women, nor can we disown our lords. Next must the wife, coming as she does to ways and customs new, since she hath not learnt the lesson in her home, have a diviner’s eye to see
235
how best to treat the partner of her life. If haply we perform these tasks with thoroughness and tact, and the husband live with us, without resenting the yoke, our life is a happy one; if not, ’twere best to die. But when a man is vexed with what he finds indoors,
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he goeth forth and rids his soul of its disgust, betaking him to some friend or comrade of like age; whilst we must needs regard his single self.
245
And yet they say we live secure at home, while they are at the wars,
with their sorry reasoning, for I would gladly take my stand in battle array three times o’er, than once give birth.
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But enough! this language suits not thee as it does me; thou hast a city here, a father’s house, some joy in life, and friends to share thy thoughts,
but I am destitute, without a city, and therefore scorned by my husband, a captive I from a foreign shore, with no mother, brother, or kinsman in whom to find a new haven of refuge from this calamity. Wherefore this one boon and only this I wish to win from thee,—
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thy silence, if haply I can some way or means devise to avenge me on my husband for this cruel treatment, and on the man who gave to him his daughter, and on her who is his wife. For though a woman be timorous enough in all else, and as regards courage, a coward at the mere sight of steel,
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yet in the moment she finds her honour wronged, no heart is filled with deadlier thoughts than hers.
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Chorus
This will I do; for thou wilt be taking a just vengeance on thy husband, Medea. That thou shouldst mourn thy lot surprises me not. But lo! I see Creon, king of this land coming hither,
to announce some new resolve.
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This will I do; for thou wilt be taking a just vengeance on thy husband, Medea. That thou shouldst mourn thy lot surprises me not. But lo! I see Creon, king of this land coming hither,
to announce some new resolve.
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Creon
Hark thee, Medea, I bid thee take those sullen looks and angry thoughts against thy husband forth from this land in exile, and with thee take both thy children and that without delay, for I am judge in this sentence,
and I will not return unto my house till I banish thee beyond the borders of the land.
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Hark thee, Medea, I bid thee take those sullen looks and angry thoughts against thy husband forth from this land in exile, and with thee take both thy children and that without delay, for I am judge in this sentence,
and I will not return unto my house till I banish thee beyond the borders of the land.
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Medea
Ah, me! now is utter destruction come upon me, unhappy that I am! For my enemies are bearing down on me full sail, nor have I any landing-place to come at in my trouble.
Yet for all my wretched plight I will ask thee, Creon, wherefore dost thou drive me from the land?
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Ah, me! now is utter destruction come upon me, unhappy that I am! For my enemies are bearing down on me full sail, nor have I any landing-place to come at in my trouble.
Yet for all my wretched plight I will ask thee, Creon, wherefore dost thou drive me from the land?
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Creon
I fear thee,—no longer need I veil my dread ’neath words,—lest thou devise against my child some cureless ill. Many things contribute to this fear of mine;
thou art a witch by nature, expert in countless sorceries, and thou art chafing for the loss of thy husband’s affection. I hear, too, so they tell me, that thou dost threaten the father of the bride, her husband, and herself with some mischief; wherefore I will take precautions ere our troubles come.
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For ’tis better for me to incur thy hatred now, lady, than to soften my heart and bitterly repent it hereafter.
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I fear thee,—no longer need I veil my dread ’neath words,—lest thou devise against my child some cureless ill. Many things contribute to this fear of mine;
thou art a witch by nature, expert in countless sorceries, and thou art chafing for the loss of thy husband’s affection. I hear, too, so they tell me, that thou dost threaten the father of the bride, her husband, and herself with some mischief; wherefore I will take precautions ere our troubles come.
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For ’tis better for me to incur thy hatred now, lady, than to soften my heart and bitterly repent it hereafter.
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Medea
Alas! this is not now the first time, but oft before, O Creon, hath my reputation injured me and caused sore mischief. Wherefore whoso is wise in his generation ought
never to have his children taught to be too clever; for besides the reputation they get for idleness, they purchase bitter odium from the citizens. For if thou shouldst import new learning amongst dullards, thou will be thought a useless trifler, void of knowledge;
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while if thy fame in the city o’ertops that of the pretenders to cunning knowledge, thou wilt win their dislike. I too myself share in this ill-luck. Some think me clever and hate me,
others say I am too reserved, and some the very reverse;
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others find me hard to please and not so very clever after all. Be that as it may, thou dost fear me lest I bring on thee something to mar thy harmony. Fear me not, Creon, ray position scarce is such that I should seek to quarrel with princes. Why should I, for how hast thou injured me? Thou hast betrothed thy daughter
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where thy fancy prompted thee. No, ’tis my husband I hate, though I doubt not thou hast acted wisely herein. And now I grudge not thy prosperity; betroth thy child, good luck to thee, but let me abide in this land, for though I have been wronged
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I will be still and yield to my superiors.
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Alas! this is not now the first time, but oft before, O Creon, hath my reputation injured me and caused sore mischief. Wherefore whoso is wise in his generation ought
never to have his children taught to be too clever; for besides the reputation they get for idleness, they purchase bitter odium from the citizens. For if thou shouldst import new learning amongst dullards, thou will be thought a useless trifler, void of knowledge;
295
while if thy fame in the city o’ertops that of the pretenders to cunning knowledge, thou wilt win their dislike. I too myself share in this ill-luck. Some think me clever and hate me,
others say I am too reserved, and some the very reverse;
2
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others find me hard to please and not so very clever after all. Be that as it may, thou dost fear me lest I bring on thee something to mar thy harmony. Fear me not, Creon, ray position scarce is such that I should seek to quarrel with princes. Why should I, for how hast thou injured me? Thou hast betrothed thy daughter
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where thy fancy prompted thee. No, ’tis my husband I hate, though I doubt not thou hast acted wisely herein. And now I grudge not thy prosperity; betroth thy child, good luck to thee, but let me abide in this land, for though I have been wronged
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I will be still and yield to my superiors.
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Creon
Thy words are soft to hear, but much I dread lest thou art devising some mischief in thy heart, and less than ever do I trust thee now; for a cunning woman, and man likewise,
is easier to guard against when quick-tempered than when taciturn. Nay, begone at once! speak me no speeches, for this is decreed, nor hast thou any art whereby thou shalt abide amongst us, since thou hatest me.
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Thy words are soft to hear, but much I dread lest thou art devising some mischief in thy heart, and less than ever do I trust thee now; for a cunning woman, and man likewise,
is easier to guard against when quick-tempered than when taciturn. Nay, begone at once! speak me no speeches, for this is decreed, nor hast thou any art whereby thou shalt abide amongst us, since thou hatest me.
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Medea
O, say not so! by thy knees and by thy daughter newly-wed, I do implore!
O, say not so! by thy knees and by thy daughter newly-wed, I do implore!
Creon
Thou wastest words; thou wilt never persuade me.
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Thou wastest words; thou wilt never persuade me.
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Medea
What, wilt thou banish me, and to my prayers no pity yield?
What, wilt thou banish me, and to my prayers no pity yield?
Creon
I will, for I love not thee above my own family.
I will, for I love not thee above my own family.
Medea
O my country! what fond memories I have of thee in this hour!
O my country! what fond memories I have of thee in this hour!
Creon
Yea, for I myself love my city best of all things save my children.
Yea, for I myself love my city best of all things save my children.
Medea
Ah me! ah me! to mortal man how dread a scourge is love!
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Ah me! ah me! to mortal man how dread a scourge is love!
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Creon
That, I deem, is according to the turn our fortunes take.
That, I deem, is according to the turn our fortunes take.
Medea
O Zeus! let not the author of these my troubles escape thee.
O Zeus! let not the author of these my troubles escape thee.
Creon
Begone, thou silly woman, and free me from my toil.
Begone, thou silly woman, and free me from my toil.
Medea
The toil is mine, no lack of it.
The toil is mine, no lack of it.
Creon
Soon wilt thou be thrust out forcibly by the hand of servants.
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Soon wilt thou be thrust out forcibly by the hand of servants.
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Medea
Not that, not that, I do entreat thee, Creon!
Not that, not that, I do entreat thee, Creon!
Creon
Thou wilt cause disturbance yet, it seems.
Thou wilt cause disturbance yet, it seems.
Medea
I will begone; I ask thee not this boon to grant.
I will begone; I ask thee not this boon to grant.
Creon
Why then this violence? why dost thou not depart?
Why then this violence? why dost thou not depart?
Medea
Suffer me to abide this single day and devise some plan for the manner of my exile, and means of living for my children, since their father cares not to provide his babes therewith. Then pity them; thou too hast children of thine own;
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thou needs must have a kindly heart. For my own lot I care naught, though I an exile am, but for those babes I weep, that they should learn what sorrow means.
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Suffer me to abide this single day and devise some plan for the manner of my exile, and means of living for my children, since their father cares not to provide his babes therewith. Then pity them; thou too hast children of thine own;
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thou needs must have a kindly heart. For my own lot I care naught, though I an exile am, but for those babes I weep, that they should learn what sorrow means.
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Creon
Mine is a nature anything but harsh; full oft by showing pity have I suffered shipwreck;
and now albeit I clearly see my error, yet shalt thou gain this request, lady; but I do forewarn thee, if to-morrow’s rising sun shall find thee and thy children within the borders of this land, thou diest; my word is spoken and it will not lie.
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So now, if abide thou must, stay this one day only, for in it thou canst not do any of the fearful deeds I dread.
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Mine is a nature anything but harsh; full oft by showing pity have I suffered shipwreck;
and now albeit I clearly see my error, yet shalt thou gain this request, lady; but I do forewarn thee, if to-morrow’s rising sun shall find thee and thy children within the borders of this land, thou diest; my word is spoken and it will not lie.
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So now, if abide thou must, stay this one day only, for in it thou canst not do any of the fearful deeds I dread.
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Chorus
Ah! poor lady, woe is thee! Alas, for thy sorrows! Whither wilt thou turn? What protection,
what home or country to save thee from thy troubles wilt thou find? O Medea, in what a hopeless sea of misery heaven hath plunged thee!
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Ah! poor lady, woe is thee! Alas, for thy sorrows! Whither wilt thou turn? What protection,
what home or country to save thee from thy troubles wilt thou find? O Medea, in what a hopeless sea of misery heaven hath plunged thee!
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Medea
On all sides sorrow pens me in. Who shall gainsay this?
But all is not yet lost! think not so. Still are there troubles in store for the new bride, and for her bridegroom no light toil. Dost think I would ever have fawned on yonder man, unless to gain some end or form some scheme?
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Nay, I would not so much as have spoken to him or touched him with my hand. But he has in folly so far stepped in that, though he might have checked my plot by banishing me from the land, he hath allowed me to abide this day, in which I will lay low in death three of my enemies—
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a father and his daughter and my husband too. Now, though I have many ways to compass their death, I am not sure, friends, which I am to try first. Shall I set fire to the bridal mansion, or plunge the whetted sword through their hearts,
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softly stealing into the chamber where their couch is spread? One thing stands in my way. If I am caught making my way into the chamber, intent on my design, I shall be put to death and cause my foes to mock. ’Twere best to take the shortest way—the way we women are
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most skilled in—by poison to destroy them. Well, well, suppose them dead; what city will receive me? What friendly host will give me a shelter in his land, a home secure, and save my soul alive? None. So I will wait yet a little while
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in case some tower of defence rise up for me; then will I proceed to this bloody deed in crafty silence; but if some unexpected mischance drive me forth, I will with mine own hand seize the sword, e’en though I die for it, and slay them, and go forth on my bold path of daring.
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By that dread queen whom I revere before all others and have chosen to share my task, by Hecate who dwells within my inmost chamber, not one of them shall wound my heart and rue it not. Bitter and sad will I make their marriage for them;
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bitter shall be the wooing of it, bitter my exile from the land. Up, then, Medea, spare not the secrets of thy art in plotting and devising; on to the danger. Now comes a struggle needing courage. Dost see what thou art suffering? ’Tis not for thee to be a laughing-stock
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to the race of Sisyphus
3
by reason of this wedding of Jason, sprung, as thou art, from a noble sire, and of the Sun-god’s race. Thou hast cunning; and, more than this, we women, though by nature little apt for virtuous deeds, are most expert to fashion any mischief.
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On all sides sorrow pens me in. Who shall gainsay this?
But all is not yet lost! think not so. Still are there troubles in store for the new bride, and for her bridegroom no light toil. Dost think I would ever have fawned on yonder man, unless to gain some end or form some scheme?
365
Nay, I would not so much as have spoken to him or touched him with my hand. But he has in folly so far stepped in that, though he might have checked my plot by banishing me from the land, he hath allowed me to abide this day, in which I will lay low in death three of my enemies—
370
a father and his daughter and my husband too. Now, though I have many ways to compass their death, I am not sure, friends, which I am to try first. Shall I set fire to the bridal mansion, or plunge the whetted sword through their hearts,
375
softly stealing into the chamber where their couch is spread? One thing stands in my way. If I am caught making my way into the chamber, intent on my design, I shall be put to death and cause my foes to mock. ’Twere best to take the shortest way—the way we women are
380
most skilled in—by poison to destroy them. Well, well, suppose them dead; what city will receive me? What friendly host will give me a shelter in his land, a home secure, and save my soul alive? None. So I will wait yet a little while
385
in case some tower of defence rise up for me; then will I proceed to this bloody deed in crafty silence; but if some unexpected mischance drive me forth, I will with mine own hand seize the sword, e’en though I die for it, and slay them, and go forth on my bold path of daring.
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By that dread queen whom I revere before all others and have chosen to share my task, by Hecate who dwells within my inmost chamber, not one of them shall wound my heart and rue it not. Bitter and sad will I make their marriage for them;
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bitter shall be the wooing of it, bitter my exile from the land. Up, then, Medea, spare not the secrets of thy art in plotting and devising; on to the danger. Now comes a struggle needing courage. Dost see what thou art suffering? ’Tis not for thee to be a laughing-stock
400
to the race of Sisyphus
3
by reason of this wedding of Jason, sprung, as thou art, from a noble sire, and of the Sun-god’s race. Thou hast cunning; and, more than this, we women, though by nature little apt for virtuous deeds, are most expert to fashion any mischief.
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Medea. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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