LP0095 -XXI ARGO- The Messenger (Part 6) of Euripides' Medea

Legendary Passages - Greek/Roman Myths

Legendary Passages #0095 -XXI ARGO-
The Messenger (Part 6) of Euripides' Medea.
Previously, Medea sent her children with a poisoned crown & robes to the daughter of Creon. In this passage, she debates just how far to take her vengeance, when a messenger arrives and reveals the ill fates of Creon and his daughter.
http://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/medea.htm
The Messenger (Part 6),
a Legendary Passage,
from Euripides' Medea,
trans. by E. P. Coleridge.
(MEDEA turns to the children.)
MEDEA O my babes, my babes, ye have still a city and a home,
where far from me and my sad lot you will live your lives, reft of
your mother for ever; while I must to another land in banishment,
or ever I have had my joy of you, or lived to see you happy, or ever
I have graced your marriage couch, your bride, your bridal bower,
or lifted high the wedding torch. Ah me! a victim of my own self-will.
So it was all in vain I reared you, O my sons; in vain did suffer,
racked with anguish, enduring the cruel pangs of childbirth. 'Fore
Heaven I once had hope, poor me! high hope of ye that you would nurse
me in my age and deck my corpse with loving hands, a boon we mortals
covet; but now is my sweet fancy dead and gone; for I must lose you
both and in bitterness and sorrow drag through life. And ye shall
never with fond eyes see your mother more for o'er your life there
comes a change. Ah me! ah me! why do ye look at me so, my children?
why smile that last sweet smile? Ah me! what am I to do? My heart
gives way when I behold my children's laughing eyes. O, I cannot;
farewell to all my former schemes; I will take the children from the
land, the babes I bore. Why should I wound their sire by wounding
them, and get me a twofold measure of sorrow? No, no, I will not do
it. Farewell my scheming! And yet what possesses me? Can I consent
to let those foes of mine escape from punishment, and incur their
mockery? I must face this deed. Out upon my craven heart! to think
that I should even have let the soft words escape my soul. Into the
house, children! (The children go into the house.) And whoso feels
he must not be present at my sacrifice, must see to it himself; I
will not spoil my handiwork. Ah! ah! do not, my heart, O do not do
this deed! Let the children go, unhappy one, spare the babes! For
if they live, they will cheer thee in our exile there. Nay, by the
fiends of hell's abyss, never, never will I hand my children over
to their foes to mock and flout. Die they must in any case, and since
'tis so, why I, the mother who bore them, will give the fatal blow.
In any case their doom is fixed and there is no escape. Already the
crown is on her head, the robe is round her, and she is dying, the
royal bride; that do I know full well. But now since I have a piteous
path to tread, and yet more piteous still the path I send my children
on, fain would I say farewell to them. (The children come out at
her call. She takes them in her arms.) O my babes, my babes, let
your mother kiss your hands. Ah! hands I love so well, O lips most
dear to me! O noble form and features of my children, I wish ye joy,
but in that other land, for here your father robs you of your home.
O the sweet embrace, the soft young cheek, the fragrant breath! my
children! Go, leave me; I cannot bear to longer look upon ye; my sorrow
wins the day. At last I understand the awful deed I am to do; but
passion, that cause of direst woes to mortal man, hath triumphed o'er
my sober thoughts. (She goes into the house with the children.)
CHORUS (chanting) Oft ere now have I pursued subtler themes and
have faced graver issues than woman's sex should seek to probe; but
then e'en we aspire to culture, which dwells with us to teach us wisdom;
I say not all; for small is the class amongst women-(one maybe shalt
thou find 'mid many)-that is not incapable of wisdom. And amongst
mortals I do assert that they who are wholly without experience and
have never had children far surpass in happiness those who are parents.
The childless, because they have never proved whether children grow
up to be a blessing or curse to men are removed from all share in
many troubles; whilst those who have a sweet race of children growing
up in their houses do wear away, as I perceive, their whole life through;
first with the thought how they may train them up in virtue, next
how they shall leave their sons the means to live; and after all this
'tis far from clear whether on good or bad children they bestow their
toil. But one last crowning woe for every mortal man now will name;
suppose that they have found sufficient means to live, and seen their
children grow to man's estate and walk in virtue's path, still if
fortune so befall, comes Death and bears the children's bodies off
to Hades. Can it be any profit to the gods to heap upon us mortal
men beside our other woes this further grief for children lost, a
grief surpassing all? (MEDEA comes out of the house.)
MEDEA Kind friends, long have I waited expectantly to know how things
would at the palace chance. And lo! I see one of Jason's servants
coming hither, whose hurried gasps for breath proclaim him the bearer
of some fresh tidings. (A MESSENGER rushes in.)
MESSENGER Fly, fly, Medea! who hast wrought an awful deed, transgressing
every law: nor leave behind or sea-borne bark or car that scours the
plain.
MEDEA Why, what hath chanced that calls for such a flight of mine?
MESSENGER The princess is dead, a moment gone, and Creon too, her
sire, slain by those drugs of thine.
MEDEA Tidings most fair are thine! Henceforth shalt thou be ranked
amongst my friends and benefactors.
MESSENGER Ha! What? Art sane? Art not distraught, lady, who hearest
with joy the outrage to our royal house done, and art not at the horrid
tale afraid?
MEDEA 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, if so they perished miserably.
MESSENGER 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 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, 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 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 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, 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, exulting in the gift, with
many a glance at her uplifted ankle. When lo! a scene of awful horror
did ensue. In a moment she turned pale, reeled backwards, trembling
in every limb, 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 or some god sent, raised a cry of prayer,
till from her mouth she saw the foam-flakes issue, her eyeballs rolling
in their sockets, and all the blood her face desert; then did she
raise a loud scream far different from her former cry. Forthwith one
handmaid rushed to her father's house, another to her new bridegroom
to tell his bride's sad fate, and the whole house echoed with their
running to and fro. By this time would a quick walker have made the
turn in a course of six plethra and reached the goal, when she with
one awful shriek awoke, poor sufferer, from her speechless trance
and oped her closed eyes, 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; 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. 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; 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 haples father 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 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 fine-spun robe as ivy
that clings to the branches of the bay, and then ensued a fearful
struggle. 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. 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; yea, and without
shrinking I will say that they amongst men who pretend to wisdom and
expend deep thought on words do incur a serious charge of folly; for
amongst mortals no man is happy; wealth may pour in and make one luckier
than another, but none can happy be.
(The MESSENGER departs.)
http://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/medea.htm
This passage concludes next episode, as Medea makes her escape on a flying chariot.