Medea

Euripides

Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. I. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1906.

  1. Somewhat have I, too, to say in answer to thy words. Be not so hasty, friend, but tell the manner of their death, for thou wouldst give me double joy,
  2. if so they perished miserably.
Messenger
  1. When the children twain whom thou didst bear
    came with their father and entered the palace of the bride, right glad were we thralls who had shared thy griefs, for instantly from ear to ear a rumour spread
  2. that thou and thy lord had made up your former quarrel. One kissed thy children’s hands, another their golden hair, while I for very joy went with them in person to the women’s chambers. Our mistress, whom now we do revere in thy room,
  3. cast a longing glance at Jason, ere she saw thy children twain; but then she veiled her eyes and turned her blanching cheek away, disgusted at their coming; but thy husband
  4. tried to check his young bride’s angry humour with these words: O, be not angered ’gainst thy friends; cease from wrath and turn once more thy face this way, counting as friends whomso thy husband counts, and accept these gifts, and for my sake crave thy sire
  5. to remit these children’s exile. Soon as she saw the ornaments, no longer she held out, but yielded to her lord in all; and ere the father and his sons were far from the palace gone, she took the broidered robe and put it on,
  6. and set the golden crown about her tresses, arranging her hair at her bright mirror, with many a happy smile at her breathless counterfeit. Then rising from her seat she passed across the chamber, tripping lightly on her fair white foot,
  7. exulting in the gift, with many a glance at her uplifted ankle.[*](τένοντ’ ἐς ὀρθὸν σκοπουμένη, (1) she stretches out her foot to see how the robe falls over it (Paley), (2) she stands on tiptoe and looks back to see how the dress hangs behind = erecto pede (Pflugk)) When lo! a scene of awful horror did ensue. In a moment she turned pale, reeled backwards, trembling in every limb,
  8. and sinks upon a seat scarce soon enough to save herself from falling to the ground. An aged dame, one of her company, thinking belike it was a fit from Pan[*](Any sudden seizure was ascribed to Pan’s agency.) or some god sent, raised a cry of prayer, till from her mouth she saw the foam-flakes issue, her eyeballs
  9. rolling in their sockets, and all the blood her
    face desert; then did she raise a loud scream far different fiom her former cry. Forthwith one handmaid rushed to her father’s house, another to her new bridegroom to tell his bride’s sad fate,
  10. and the whole house echoed with their running to and fro.
  11. By this time would a quick walker have made the turn in a course of six plethra[*](The reading is doubtful, still more the meaning. The conjecture ἀνελθών is adopted here, with Musgrave’s ἂν ἥπτετο for ἀνθήπτετο, ἀνελθὼν κῶλον ἑκπλέθρου δρόμου. This would mean, her swoon lasted as long as a man would take to go and return the distance of six plethra. The κῶλον then must be the limb, lap of the course up to the turning post.) and reached the goal, when she with one awful shriek awoke, poor sufferer, from her speechless trance and oped her closed eyes,
  12. for against her a twofold anguish was warring. The chaplet of gold about her head was sending forth a wondrous stream of ravening flame, while the fine raiment, thy children’s gift, was preying on the hapless maiden’s fair white flesh;
  13. and she starts from her seat in a blaze and seeks to fly, shaking her hair and head this way and that, to cast the crown therefrom; but the gold held firm to its fastenings, and the flame, as she shook her locks, blazed forth the more with double fury.
  14. Then to the earth she sinks, by the cruel blow o’ercome, past all recognition now save to a father’s eye; for her eyes had lost their tranquil gaze, her face no more its natural look preserved, and from the crown of her head blood and fire in mingled stream ran down;
  15. and from her bones the flesh kept peeling off beneath the gnawing of those secret drugs, e’en as when the pine-tree weeps its tears of pitch, a fearsome sight to see. And all were afraid to touch the corpse, for we were warned by what had chanced. Anon came her hapless father
  16. unto the house, all unwitting of her doom, and stumbles o’er the dead, and loud he cried, and folding his arms about her kissed her, with words like these the while, O my poor,
    poor child, which of the gods hath destroyed thee thus foully? Who is robbing me of thee, old as I am and
  17. ripe for death? O my child, alas! would I could die with thee! He ceased his sad lament, and would have raised his aged frame, but found himself held fast by the finespun robe as ivy that clings to the branches of the bay, and then ensued a fearful struggle.
  18. He strove to rise, but she still held him back; and if ever he pulled with all his might, from off his bones his aged flesh he tore. At last he gave it up, and breathed forth his soul in awful suffering; for he could no longer master the pain.
  19. So there they lie, daughter and aged sire, dead side by side, a grievous sight that calls for tears. And as for thee, I leave thee out of my consideration, for thyself must discover a means to escape punishment. Not now for the first time I think this human life a shadow;