Group 1: 207-243 |
Group 2: 892-925 |
Group 3: 926-957 |
Group 4: 982-1013 |
Group 1: 207-243 (Medea to Creon)
Though pitiless disaster overwhelms me,
though exiled, abandoned, abject, and alone,
troubled on every side, once I shone bright,
born from a glorious father, descended from the Sun.
Lands made wet by Phasis, gently winding through,
places seen by Scythian Pontus behind its back,
and where the seas grow sweet with marshland water,
and where the riverbanks of Thermodon enclose
the ranks of women warriors, terrifying,
with their crescent shields—all this my father ruled.
I had high birth, good luck, and royal power;
I shone in glory; suitors sought my hand
who now are sought by me. Fortune is swift and fickle,
headlong, she snatched me from my kingdom and gave me to exile.
Put trust in royal power, when fickle chance
carries your treasure to the winds! The greatest wealth of kings,
a joy forever, is to help the weak,
and shelter suppliants, give them a home.
This is the only thing I brought from all my kingdom:
that it was I who saved the glorious flower of Greece,
the guardians of Achaea, sons of gods:
I am their saviour. Orpheus is my gift,
who softens stones with song and leads the woods;
Castor and Pollux, double gift, are mine,
mine are the sons of Boreas, and he whose darting eye
can see across the Pontus, Lynceus,
and all the Argonauts. Their leader—I pass by.
No thanks are due for him, no debt is owed;
I brought back all the rest for you, just him for me.
Go on, heap all my misdeeds on my head:
I will confess: but this is my one crime:
the Argo's safe return. Should that girl stay a virgin,
obey her father? Then the whole Greek land
is lost, as are its leaders, and he first—your son-in-law—
will die, in the flaming jaws of the savage bull.
Let Fortune press what charge she will upon me,
to have saved such heroes needs no saying sorry.
GROUP 2: 892-925 (Medea to Nurse before killing her children)
I? Would I run? Would I yield? If I had fled before
I would return for this, to watch a new type of wedding.
Why hesitate, my soul? Follow your lucky strike.
This is a tiny fraction of your triumph.
You are still in love, mad heart, if this is enough:
to see Jason unmarried. Look for new punishment,
unprecedented, and prepare yourself:
let all morality be gone, and exile shame;
that vengeance is too light which clean hands can perform.
Spur on your anger, rouse your weary self,
from the depths of your heart draw up your former passions
with even greater violence. Whatever I did before,
name it dutiful love. Come now! I will reveal
how trivial and ordinary they were,
those crimes I did before. With them, my bitterness
was only practising: how could my childish hands
do something truly great? Could the rage of a girl do this?
Now, I am Medea. My nature has grown with my suffering.
I am happy that I ripped my brother's head away,
I am glad I sliced his limbs, and glad I stripped my father
of his ancestral treasure, I am glad I set on the daughters
to murder the old man. Now, pain, find your new chance.
You bring to every action a hand that knows its way.
Where then, my anger, shall I point you? Fire what weapons
at that traitor? My savage heart has made a plan,
a secret one, stored deep inside, and does not dare
reveal it yet, even to itself. Fool! I went too fast.
I wish my enemy had had some children
by that concubine of his.—Whatever was yours by him,
Creusa was its mother. That kind of punishment
is what I want; yes, good. My great heart must do
the final wickedness. Children—once my children—
you must give yourselves as payback for your father's crimes.
GROUP 3: 926-957 (Medea to Nurse before killing her children, cont.)
Awful! It hits my heart, my body turns to ice,
my chest is heaving. Anger has departed,
the wife in me is gone, I am all mother again.
Is this me? Could I spill my own children's blood,
flesh of my flesh? No, no, what terrible madness!
Let that horrible deed, that dreadful crime, be unthought of,
even by me. Poor things! What crime have they ever done?—
Jason is their father: that is their crime. And worse:
Medea is their mother. Let them die; they are not mine.
Let them die; they are mine. They did nothing wrong, they are blameless,
they are innocent: I admit it. So was my brother.
Why, my soul, do you waver? Why are my cheeks blotched with tears,
why am I led in two directions, now by anger,
now by love? My double inclination tears me apart.
As when the wild winds make their brutal wars
and on both sides the seas lift up discordant waves,
and the unstable water boils: even so my heart
tosses and churns: love is chased out by rage
and rage by love. Resentment, yield to love.
Here to me, darling children, only comfort
for this troubled house, bring yourselves here, embrace me,
fold yourselves in my arms. Let your father have you safe,
as long as your mother has you too.—But I must go in exile.
Any minute, they will be ripped from my arms,
weeping and wailing. Let their father lose their kisses,
their mother has already lost them. Again, my anger grows,
my hatred boils. My ancient Fury seeks
my reluctant hands again—anger, I follow your lead.
I wish as many children as proud Niobe bore
had come from my womb, I wish I had
twice-seven sons! I was infertile for revenge:
but my two are just enough to pay for brother and father.
GROUP 4: 982-1013 (Medea to Jason as she prepares to kill first child)
MEDEA Now, now I have regained my throne, my brother, and my father.
The Colchians keep the treasure of the Golden Ram.
My kingdom comes back to me, my stolen virginity returns.
O gods, you favour me at last, O happy day,
O wedding day! Now leave, the crime is complete:
I am not yet revenged. Go on, while you are at it:
Why do you hesitate now, my soul? Why are you doubtful?
Does your powerful anger now subside? I am sorry for what I have done,
I am ashamed. What, wretch, have you done? Wretch? Even if I regret it,
I have done it. Great pleasure steals over me against my will,
and see! now it grows. This was all I was missing,
that Jason should be watching. I think I have so far done nothing:
crimes committed without him were wasted.
JASON Look, she is hovering on the outermost part of the roof.
Somebody, bring fire, and burn her up, let her fall
consumed by her own flames.
MEDEA
Heap up a funeral pyre
for your own sons, Jason, and strew the burial mound.
your wife and father-in-law now have their proper rites:
I have buried them. This son has already met his fate;
this one will die the same, but you will watch.
JASON By all the gods, by the exile we shared,
and by our marriage bed, which I did not betray,
now spare this child. If wrong was done, I did it.
I give myself to death: slaughter this guilty man.
MEDEA I will drive my sword into that very spot which hurts you most.
Now, proud man, go off and marry virgins.
Leave mothers alone.
JASON One boy is enough for revenge.
MEDEA If my hand had been able to find satisfaction in just one murder,
I should have done none. Although I shall kill two,
the number is too small to satisfy my pain.
If my womb even now contains any pledge of our love, I, the mother,
will scrape my insides with my sword, I will bring it out with the blade.