Euripides

“ He, even he, Whom to know well was all the world to me, The man I loved, hath proved most evil.—Oh, Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, A herb most bruised is woman. We must pay Our store of gold, hoarded for that one day, To buy us some man's love; and lo, they bring A master of our flesh! There comes the sting Of the whole shame. And then the jeopardy, For good or ill, what shall that master be; Reject she cannot: and if he but stays His suit, 'tis shame on all that woman's days. ”

“ What more need hast thou Of children? And for me, it serves my star To link in strength the children that now are With those that shall be. Have I counselled ill? Not thine own self would say it, couldst thou still One hour thy jealous flesh.—'Tis ever so! Who looks for more in women? When the flow Of love runs plain, why, all the world is fair: But, once there fall some ill chance anywhere To baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trod Men's dearest aims and noblest. Would to God We mortals by some other seed could raise Our fruits, and no blind women block our ways! ”

“ I murdered Pelias, yea, in agony, By his own daughters' hands, for sake of thee; I swept their house like War.—And hast thou then Accepted all—O evil yet again!— And cast me off and taken thee for bride Another? And with children at thy side! One could forgive a childless man. But no: I have borne thee children . . . Is sworn faith so low And weak a thing? I understand it not. Are the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot, And new laws made? Since not my passioning, But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing Forsworn. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Is some word of wrath Here hidden that I knew not of? And hath My hope to give thee joy so cheated me? Medea.
Thou givest what thou givest: I blame not thee. Attendant.
Thy brows are all o'ercast: thine eyes are filled. . . . Medea.
For bitter need, Old Man! The gods have willed, And my own evil mind, that this should come. Attendant.
Take heart! Thy sons one day will bring thee home. Medea.
Home? . . . I have others to send home. Woe's me! Attendant.
Be patient. Many a mother before thee Hath parted from her children. We poor things Of men must needs endure what fortune brings. ”

“ But they within whose garden fair That gentle plant hath blown, they go Deep-written all their days with care— To rear the children, to make fast Their hold, to win them wealth; and then Much darkness, if the seed at last Bear fruit in good or evil men! And one thing at the end of all Abideth, that which all men dread: The wealth is won, the limbs are bred To manhood, and the heart withal Honest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled, Some change, and what hath fallen? Hark! 'Tis death slow winging to the dark, And in his arms what was thy child. ”

“ Wilt verily Spill with thine hand that life, the vintage stored Of thine own agony? The Other Women.
A Mother slew her babes in days of yore, One, only one, from dawn to eventide, Ino, god-maddened, whom the Queen of Heaven Set frenzied, flying to the dark: and she Cast her for sorrow to the wide salt sea, Forth from those rooms of murder unforgiven, Wild-footed from a white crag of the shore, And clasping still her children twain, she died. O Love of Woman, charged with sorrow sore, What hast thou wrought upon us? ”

“ Fond woman, why wilt empty thus thine hand Of treasure? Doth King Creon's castle stand In stint of raiment, or in stint of gold? Keep these, and make no gift. For if she hold Jason of any worth at all, I swear Chattels like these will not weigh more with her. Medea.
Ah, chide me not! 'Tis written, gifts persuade The gods in heaven; and gold is stronger made Than words innumerable to bend men's ways. Fortune is hers. God maketh great her days: Young and a crownèd queen! And banishment For those two babes. ”

“ A woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man, Is easier watching than the cold and still. Up, straight, and find thy road! Mock not my will With words. This doom is passed beyond recall; Nor all thy crafts shall help thee, being withal My manifest foe, to linger at my side. Medea (suddenly throwing herself down and clinging to Creon) .
Oh, by thy knees! By that new-wedded bride . . . Creon.
'Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me. Medea.
Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when I kneel to thee? Creon.
'Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou. [Pg 20] Medea. ”

“ Seek the king, and pray His pity, that he bid thy children stay! Jason.
He is hard to move. Yet surely 'twere well done. Medea.
Bid her—for thy sake, for a daughters boon. . . . Jason.
Well thought! Her I can fashion to my mind. Medea.
Surely. She is a woman like her kind. . . . Yet I will aid thee in thy labour; I Will send her gifts, the fairest gifts that lie In the hands of men, things of the days of old, Fine robings and a carcanet of gold, By the boys' hands.—Go, quick, some handmaiden, And fetch the raiment. ”

“ Every side, Every way, Lo, we kneel to thee and pray: By thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild! One at least thou canst not slay, Not thy child! Others.
Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it To thy breast, and make thee dead To thy children, to thine own spirit's pain? When the hand knows what it dares, When thine eyes look into theirs, Shalt thou keep by tears unblinded Thy dividing of the slain? These be deeds Not for thee: These be things that cannot be! Thy babes—though thine hardihood be fell, When they cling about thy knee, 'Twill be well! [Pg 50] Enter Jason. ”

“ Thou art sore In heart, being parted from thy lover's arms. And more, thou hast made menace . . . so the alarms [Pg 18] But now have reached mine ear . . . on bride and groom, And him who gave the bride, to work thy doom Of vengeance. Which, ere yet it be too late, I sweep aside. I choose to earn thine hate Of set will now, not palter with the mood Of mercy, and hereafter weep in blood. Medea.
'Tis not the first nor second time, O King, That fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bring My ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyes Are wholesome, seek to rear his children wise Beyond men's wont? ”

“ At the close of the Medea I actually find myself longing for a deus ex machinâ, for some being like Artemis in the Hippolytus or the good Dioscuri of the Electra, to speak a word of explanation or forgiveness, or at least leave some sound of music in our ears to drown that dreadful and insistent clamour of hate. The truth is that in this play Medea herself is the dea ex machinâ. The woman whom Jason and Creon intended simply to crush has been transformed by her injuries from an individual human being into a sort of living Curse. She is inspired with superhuman force. ”

“ My thoughts have roamed a cloudy land, And heard a fierier music fall Than woman's heart should stir withal: And yet some Muse majestical, Unknown, hath hold of woman's hand, Seeking for Wisdom—not in all: [Pg 62] A feeble seed, a scattered band, Thou yet shalt find in lonely places, Not dead amongst us, nor our faces Turned alway from the Muses' call. And thus my thought would speak: that she Who ne'er hath borne a child nor known Is nearer to felicity: Unlit she goeth and alone, With little understanding what A child's touch means of joy or woe, And many toils she beareth not. ”

“ Medea.
God, and God's Justice, and ye blinding Skies! At last the victory dawneth! Yea, mine eyes See, and my foot is on the mountain's brow. Mine enemies! Mine enemies, oh, now Atonement cometh! Here at my worst hour A friend is found, a very port of power To save my shipwreck. Here will I make fast Mine anchor, and escape them at the last In Athens' wallèd hill.—But ere the end 'Tis meet I show thee all my counsel, friend: Take it, no tale to make men laugh withal! Straightway to Jason I will send some thrall To entreat him to my presence. ”

“ Jason is a middle-aged man, with much glory, indeed, and some illusions; but a man entirely set upon building up a great career, to whom love and all its works, though at times he has found them convenient, are for the most part only irrational and disturbing elements in a world which he can otherwise mould to his will. And yet, most cruel touch of all, one feels this man to be the real Jason. It is not that he has fallen from his heroic past. It is that he was really like this always. And so with Medea. It is not only that her beauty has begun to fade ”

“ If thou wilt take from all that I possess Aid for these babes and thine own helplessness Of exile, speak thy bidding. Here I stand Full-willed to succour thee with stintless hand, And send my signet to old friends that dwell On foreign shores, who will entreat thee well. Refuse, and thou shalt do a deed most vain. But cast thy rage away, and thou shalt gain Much, and lose little for thine anger's sake. Medea.
I will not seek thy friends. I will not take Thy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stem Unholy bring no blessing after them. Jason. ”

“ Medea.
Women of Corinth, I am come to show My face, lest ye despise me. For I know Some heads stand high and fail not, even at night Alone—far less like this, in all men's sight: And we, who study not our wayfarings But feel and cry—Oh we are drifting things, And evil! For what truth is in men's eyes, Which search no heart, but in a flash despise [Pg 15] A strange face, shuddering back from one that ne'er Hath wronged them? . . . Sure, far-comers anywhere, I know, must bow them and be gentle. Nay, A Greek himself men praise not, who alway Should seek his own will recking not. ”

“ I will not score That count too close. 'Twas good help: and therefor I give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought. Howbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast got Far more than given. A good Greek land hath been Thy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seen Our ordered life, and justice, and the long Still grasp of law not changing with the strong Man's pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and near Hath learned thy wisdom, and in every ear Thy fame is. Had thy days run by unseen On that last edge of the world, where then had been The story of great Medea? ”

“ O dire and ghastly deed! Get thee away, Medea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stay One chariot's wing, one keel that sweeps the seas. . . . Medea.
And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these? Messenger.
The maiden princess lieth—and her sire, The king—both murdered by thy poison-fire. Medea. ”

“ So hath it been with me. A wise-woman I am; and for that sin To divers ill names men would pen me in; A seed of strife; an eastern dreamer; one Of brand not theirs; one hard to play upon . . . Ah, I am not so wondrous wise!—And now, To thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou? What dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path— Fear me not thou!—that I should brave the wrath Of princes? Thou: what has thou ever done To wrong me? Granted thine own child to one Whom thy soul chose.—Ah, him out of my heart I hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy part [Pg 19] Not ill. ”

“ O woman, woman of sorrow, Where wilt thou turn and flee? What town shall be thine to-morrow, What land of all lands that be, What door of a strange man's home? Yea, God hath hunted thee, Medea, forth to the foam Of a trackless sea. ”

“ Jason.
Thou, Zeus, wilt hear me. All is said For naught. I am but spurned away And trampled by this tigress, red With children's blood. Yet, come what may, So far as thou hast granted, yea, So far as yet my strength may stand, I weep upon these dead, and say Their last farewell, and raise my hand To all the daemons of the air In witness of these things; how she Who slew them, will not suffer me To gather up my babes, nor bear To earth their bodies; whom, O stone Of women, would I ne'er had known Nor gotten, to be slain by thee! [He casts himself upon the earth.
[Pg 80] Chorus. ”

“ Jason and the Children with their Attendant depart.
Chorus.
Now I have no hope more of the children's living; No hope more. They are gone forth unto death. The bride, she taketh the poison of their giving: She taketh the bounden gold and openeth; And the crown, the crown, she lifteth about her brow, Where the light brown curls are clustering. No hope now! O sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments golden! The robe, it hath clasped her breast and the crown her head. Then, then, she decketh the bride, as a bride of olden Story, that goeth pale to the kiss of the dead. ”

“ The sons of Erechtheus, the olden, Whom high gods planted of yore In an old land of heaven upholden, A proud land untrodden of war: They are hungered, and, lo, their desire With wisdom is fed as with meat: In their skies is a shining of fire, A joy in the fall of their feet: And thither, with manifold dowers, From the North, from the hills, from the morn, The Muses did gather their powers, That a child of the Nine should be born ”