Euripides (Collier trans)’s “Medea”
MEDEA
Women of Corinth, here I am, as you wish
and not as you might think, uncaring.
All of us
know women who no matter the occasion
remain decorous, or because they stay at home
are thought to be cold and implacable,
indifferent to their neighbors’ needs.
All of us judge by sight and not by knowledge.
Because I’m an outsider I know this better than most,
and have worked hard to fit in,
but not, like some, I hope,
in a prideful or aggressive way-
even so I’m a target of suspicion,
especially since Jason, yes, my faithless husband,
tore out the threads I’d stitched to hold
our life together. So quickly and suddenly
was it done, I wasn’t given time to console
myself or build alliances with friends.
A brutal man whom I once loved has smashed me
in the face so hard I wear the face of death.
What other creatures are bred so exquisitely
and purposefully for mistreatment as women are?
Think of how we buy ourselves husbands,
power and alliances for them, slavery
and conquest over us. Bad enough
to have no choice in servitude—
but to pay for it and then celebrate
a wedding feast adds salt to the wound.
Try refusing the arrangement, or later
petition for divorce—the first is impossible
while the second is like admitting
you’re a whore.
And who ever warned us
of a husband’s rough hands,
breath a flame on our neck, or the inscrutable
customs of his house?
Some of you will say, “It’s not
that bad”; and with work can learn the rules
and maybe find a meager happiness.
But as hard as we try to do the pleasing thing,
it usually leads to resentment,
complaints about our moods.
That’s why when they seek out friends
for entertainment, death looks so good to us,
much better than our husbands who think
we adore only them, grateful that they,
not us, go off to war. But they’re wrong!
deluded by soldier fantasies.
If they like pain and danger let them take
a turn at bearing children and for every birth
I’ll fight three wars.
But I’ve been talking as if our lives
are the same. They’re not. You are Corinthians
with ancestral homes, childhood friends,
while I, stripped of that already,
am now even more exposed by Jason's cruelties.
Remember how I came here, a war bride,
plundered from my country, an orphan?
Now who’s obligated to shelter me? Not you,
I know. As you watch my plans for justice unfold,
keep them secret, that’s all I ask. I’ve never felt
this threatened nor fearless: men win their battles
on the field but women are ruthless when the bed
becomes the battleground. We’ve lain
in our own blood before ... and have survived.
CHORUS
Medea, now I understand your grief
and why your husband’s treachery
must be revenged. Go ahead. I won’t tell.
[Medea has been granted one final day in Corinth before being sent into exile. Jason comes out to discuss her plans for the future and the two ex-lovers trade increasingly hostile insults.]
JASON
Even before I met you, I knew rage
and anger were their own worst enemies.
Generous terms wore offered you: the house,
protection, and privileges, but could you bear
these gifts without complaint? Now exile
is your reward. Keep railing at me.
Call me vile and disgusting. It doesn’t matter.
But keep it up about Creon and his family
and exile will be a kindness.
And just so you know—I’ve been your advocate
with him because I wanted you to stay.
But could you stop your rant against the king?
You’ve bought your exile with your foolish mouth.
Still, after all the trouble you’ve caused
I won’t be accused of neglect. I’m here
to do the right thing, to ensure the children
and you have the means and money to endure
the worst exile will bring. For this I’m sure
you’ll hate me, but it’s a hate I won’t return.
MEDEA
How can I say what you are! Curses
won’t answer your vileness and names
don’t exist for your cowardice. In fact,
I doubt you’re real. What real man,
so offensive to everyone, would think it
courageous to face the family
he’s betrayed, and lie to them again?
But I’m glad you’re here. I’ll catalog your sins
and feel better for it while you feel worse.
I’ll start at the beginning, and if you don’t
remember, ask any Argonaut—they
saw how I saved your life when my father
challenged you to harness the fire-breathing bulls,
plough the field of death, and sow the monster seeds.
I killed the insomniac serpent coiled
inseparably around the Golden Fleece,
whose light and shimmer raised by me
brought your success instead of death.
More eager than wise, I abandoned
my country and father to follow you
to Iolcus where I engineered your uncle’s
murder, wasting that house, too, with grief
and death. All this I did for you!
And in return you honored me
with contempt, betrayal, a replacement wife.
I might understand your disappointment
if I’d been barren but I gave you sons!
Now your promises are worthless.
Or have the gods allowed you
to make new rules that govern oaths?
See my right hand, how often you spoke
in pledge to it, how often you bowed
your head—an earnest supplicant.
You lied then as you lie now,
a thief of all my better hopes.
Come then, if you want, I’ll speak to you
as a friend and ask the questions a friend
would ask. And when you can’t respond,
I’ll have shown what kind of friend you are.
So, as an exile where should I go? Home
to my father whom I betrayed for you?
To the cousins who stewed your uncle
with my recipe? I’m sure they'd set
an extra place so I could eat with them.
That’s how' things stand, friend.
For you, I became my family’s worst enemy.
For you, I set my fatal traps
and in return you made a spectacle of me
for all of Greece to see. What do they imagine
as I’m sent from my home, alone, except
with the children you’ve abandoned? That Jason
is a faithful, honest husband? Surely
your new wife is reassured to see
your sons poor and homeless, and me—
the former wife—who betrayed herself
to save you, destroyed again.
Why has Zeus given us the alchemy
that detects true gold from false
and yet withheld the means
to expose evil in men?
CHORUS
Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate.
Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
JASON
I suppose I should stand here
and ride out the tiresome storm
of your complaint, put on my captain’s hat,
reef sail, and drag anchor to your mood.
But I can’t bear how you exaggerate
your selfless role in my success.
I know how I was saved. Powerful Aphrodite!
She led me to the Golden Fleece and back.
And you, yes, you have a mind for plots
and treachery, but Eros had to wound you
with his darts before you moved. Go ahead,
remind me I’m ungrateful.
I won’t say your passion wasn’t real. I won’t say
you didn’t help. You did. And for it
You’ve been paid more than you deserve. Listen,
and I’ll prove it.
Now, you live in Greece—
the center of the world. Justice, not force,
rules here. Here your cleverness has brought you
fame. Out beyond the Black Sea, no one sings
in praise of you.
To me, fame is the important thing.
I'd give up all I owned for it.
What good is a voice like Orpheus’
if no one knows it belongs to you?
Remember who started this war of words.
That's all I’ll say to counter your account.
As for my royal marriage, if your reproaches
weren’t so blind, you’d see it as a plan -
ingenious, disciplined, farsighted—
to support you and the children.
(MEDEA grows furious)
JASON (continuing):
If you’d just listen, for once, maybe you'd
remember we fled Iolcus and washed up here,
broken refugees. So what better reversal
than to marry the daughter of a king?
That I grew bored with you in bed and wanted
a younger wife? These thoughts drive your anger.
Or that I want to father more sons?
The ones I have—yours and mine¬
are more than adequate. I remarried
so we might prosper and live in the comfort
we deserve, surrounded by true friends.
If I should have more sons, they’ll be
brothers to ours, not rivals.
I’ve forged an alliance that protects
and elevates us all. Children are more important
to fathers than to mothers. My unborn sons
will save our living ones.
Is this plan bad? No, you’d admire what I’ve done if sex
wasn’t your obsession. It’s folly
that women measure their happiness
with the pleasures of the bed, but they do.
And when the pleasure cools or their man goes
missing, all they once lived for turns dark and hateful.
If I could remake the world, I'd banish women,
send them away with all their trouble.
Then children would come from a purer source.
[Her heart set on revenge, Medea sends her children into the palace with gifts for Jason's new bride. A messenger returns to recount the terrible results to Medea and the chorus.]
MESSENGER
The moment your sons with their father
entered his bride’s house, all of us,
who once served you and who mourned
your fate, were heartened. A shout went up
that you and Jason had called a truce.
This was like music to our ears. Suddenly,
we wanted to kiss the children, touch their
lovely hair. Overwhelmed by happiness
I followed them inside the princess's chambers.
Understand, she’s the woman we must serve
instead of you.
At first she saw' only Jason,
but when the children came into view,
she veiled her eyes, and turned away.
Impatient with this display,
your husband scolded her, saying:
“Look at us. Don’t revile your friends.
Your job is to love those your husband loves.
They’ve brought gifts. Accept them graciously
and for my sake ask your father to release
these children from their exile.”
The gifts astonished her with their beauty
She agreed to what her husband asked.
So eager was she to wear the treasures,
even before Jason and the boys had reached
the road, she put on the colorful dress,
set the gold crown on her head,
and in a bright mirror arranged her hair.
She laughed with pleasure at the beautiful
but lifeless image. Then as if the gifts
had cast a spell, she stood up, dancing
through her rooms, giddy with the feel of the gown
twirling so she could see repeatedly
her shapely feet and pointed toes.
But soon her face changed color. She staggered,
legs trembling, almost collapsing
before she reached a chair. One of the older, wiser
servants believed some wrathful god possessed her
and so cried out in prayer to Pan,
until she saw the mouth foaming,
eyes wild and rolling, and skin leached of blood.
Then the prayers turned shrill with horror
and we servants raced to find Creon
and Jason to tell them the piteous news,
filling the house with the sound
of our panicked feet.
All of this happened in less time
than a sprinter takes to run the dash
and quicker still was the way the princess
from her terrible trance woke, eyes
wider than before, screaming
in anguish. For now a second torture
wracked her. The gold crown exploded
in a fiery ring about her head, while
the delicate gown, brought by your sons,
ate into her sweet flesh. Consumed by flames,
she stood and ran, shaking her head
as if to throw the fire off, but the crown tangled
tighter in her hair and the blaze roared higher
as she fell to the floor and rolled
in the unquenchable flames.
Only her father could have known
who she was. The eyes had melted.
The face no more a face, while flaming blood
leaking from her head fueled the blaze.
But worse was how the flesh like tallow
pitch sloughed off her bones.
All of this because the viperous poison
had locked her in its invisible jaws.
Schooled by what we'd witnessed, none of us
would touch the body, but her father,
rushed to her side, not knowing what he’d find.
Nothing could prepare him for his daughter’s
corpse. Misery broke from his voice.
He embraced and kissed her, lamenting,
“Unhappy child, murdered so shamefully,
why do the gods torture an old man like me?
Daughter, let me die with you.”
But when his sobbing ceased
and old Creon wanted to rise, he found
he was woven to the fatal dress, stitched
to it like ivy to laurel, unable
even as he wrestled furiously
to free himself. The living father,
who felt his flesh ripping from his bones,
could not match the strength of his dead daughter
and so he gave up and died, a victim
of her hideous fortune. Together now they lie,
an old man and his daughter. Who wouldn't weep?
As for you, Medea, and your fate,
hear my silence. From it will come your punishment,
swift and sure. As for our brief lives. I’ve learned
once more we are mere shadows. No longer
do I fear to say the truth: Fine words
and clever plans breed folly.
No man can count on his happiness.
Some have luck and fortune on their side
but never happiness
Exit MESSENGER.
CHORUS
Today the gods delivered the justice
Jason deserved and seized him with calamity.
But the princess, a victim of marriage,
now passing through the halls of death,
we lament her terrible misfortune.
MEDEA
Nothing will undo my resolve
to kill my children and escape
—but it must be quick.
If I hesitate now someone else
will murder them more cruelly.
There’s no way out. They must die.
And I who gave them life will take it.
Come, heart, shield yourself.
Why doubt what must be done?
Come, unlucky hand,
grip the sword, carry it to where
unhappiness begins and ends.
Do not weaken.
Forget you love your sons.
Forget you gave them life.
Today, remember nothing.
Tomorrow, mourn them.
For even if you kill your sons,
you once loved them dearly.
My life has been all grief!
Exit MEDEA into the house.
CHORUS
Earth, hear us! Bright sun, Helios,
look down, expose Medea,
before her sons are murdered
by her bloody hands. Remember,
they are your radiant children. Remember,
when men wound gods, fear and darkness rule
over us.
Brilliant, heavenly light, burn up
this murdering Fury. Banish her
from the house, cast out
this servant of vengeance!
Wasted, the pain of bearing sons.
Futile, their brief dear lives.
Better not to have sailed the Black Sea,
escaped the Clashing Rocks. Why, Medea,
does rage cloud your mind?
Why must murder follow murder?
When families kill their own, they spill
no darker blood, leave no fouler stain.
And the gods drawn to its stench
punish all who bear the family name.
Women of Corinth, here I am, as you wish
and not as you might think, uncaring.
All of us
know women who no matter the occasion
remain decorous, or because they stay at home
are thought to be cold and implacable,
indifferent to their neighbors’ needs.
All of us judge by sight and not by knowledge.
Because I’m an outsider I know this better than most,
and have worked hard to fit in,
but not, like some, I hope,
in a prideful or aggressive way-
even so I’m a target of suspicion,
especially since Jason, yes, my faithless husband,
tore out the threads I’d stitched to hold
our life together. So quickly and suddenly
was it done, I wasn’t given time to console
myself or build alliances with friends.
A brutal man whom I once loved has smashed me
in the face so hard I wear the face of death.
What other creatures are bred so exquisitely
and purposefully for mistreatment as women are?
Think of how we buy ourselves husbands,
power and alliances for them, slavery
and conquest over us. Bad enough
to have no choice in servitude—
but to pay for it and then celebrate
a wedding feast adds salt to the wound.
Try refusing the arrangement, or later
petition for divorce—the first is impossible
while the second is like admitting
you’re a whore.
And who ever warned us
of a husband’s rough hands,
breath a flame on our neck, or the inscrutable
customs of his house?
Some of you will say, “It’s not
that bad”; and with work can learn the rules
and maybe find a meager happiness.
But as hard as we try to do the pleasing thing,
it usually leads to resentment,
complaints about our moods.
That’s why when they seek out friends
for entertainment, death looks so good to us,
much better than our husbands who think
we adore only them, grateful that they,
not us, go off to war. But they’re wrong!
deluded by soldier fantasies.
If they like pain and danger let them take
a turn at bearing children and for every birth
I’ll fight three wars.
But I’ve been talking as if our lives
are the same. They’re not. You are Corinthians
with ancestral homes, childhood friends,
while I, stripped of that already,
am now even more exposed by Jason's cruelties.
Remember how I came here, a war bride,
plundered from my country, an orphan?
Now who’s obligated to shelter me? Not you,
I know. As you watch my plans for justice unfold,
keep them secret, that’s all I ask. I’ve never felt
this threatened nor fearless: men win their battles
on the field but women are ruthless when the bed
becomes the battleground. We’ve lain
in our own blood before ... and have survived.
CHORUS
Medea, now I understand your grief
and why your husband’s treachery
must be revenged. Go ahead. I won’t tell.
[Medea has been granted one final day in Corinth before being sent into exile. Jason comes out to discuss her plans for the future and the two ex-lovers trade increasingly hostile insults.]
JASON
Even before I met you, I knew rage
and anger were their own worst enemies.
Generous terms wore offered you: the house,
protection, and privileges, but could you bear
these gifts without complaint? Now exile
is your reward. Keep railing at me.
Call me vile and disgusting. It doesn’t matter.
But keep it up about Creon and his family
and exile will be a kindness.
And just so you know—I’ve been your advocate
with him because I wanted you to stay.
But could you stop your rant against the king?
You’ve bought your exile with your foolish mouth.
Still, after all the trouble you’ve caused
I won’t be accused of neglect. I’m here
to do the right thing, to ensure the children
and you have the means and money to endure
the worst exile will bring. For this I’m sure
you’ll hate me, but it’s a hate I won’t return.
MEDEA
How can I say what you are! Curses
won’t answer your vileness and names
don’t exist for your cowardice. In fact,
I doubt you’re real. What real man,
so offensive to everyone, would think it
courageous to face the family
he’s betrayed, and lie to them again?
But I’m glad you’re here. I’ll catalog your sins
and feel better for it while you feel worse.
I’ll start at the beginning, and if you don’t
remember, ask any Argonaut—they
saw how I saved your life when my father
challenged you to harness the fire-breathing bulls,
plough the field of death, and sow the monster seeds.
I killed the insomniac serpent coiled
inseparably around the Golden Fleece,
whose light and shimmer raised by me
brought your success instead of death.
More eager than wise, I abandoned
my country and father to follow you
to Iolcus where I engineered your uncle’s
murder, wasting that house, too, with grief
and death. All this I did for you!
And in return you honored me
with contempt, betrayal, a replacement wife.
I might understand your disappointment
if I’d been barren but I gave you sons!
Now your promises are worthless.
Or have the gods allowed you
to make new rules that govern oaths?
See my right hand, how often you spoke
in pledge to it, how often you bowed
your head—an earnest supplicant.
You lied then as you lie now,
a thief of all my better hopes.
Come then, if you want, I’ll speak to you
as a friend and ask the questions a friend
would ask. And when you can’t respond,
I’ll have shown what kind of friend you are.
So, as an exile where should I go? Home
to my father whom I betrayed for you?
To the cousins who stewed your uncle
with my recipe? I’m sure they'd set
an extra place so I could eat with them.
That’s how' things stand, friend.
For you, I became my family’s worst enemy.
For you, I set my fatal traps
and in return you made a spectacle of me
for all of Greece to see. What do they imagine
as I’m sent from my home, alone, except
with the children you’ve abandoned? That Jason
is a faithful, honest husband? Surely
your new wife is reassured to see
your sons poor and homeless, and me—
the former wife—who betrayed herself
to save you, destroyed again.
Why has Zeus given us the alchemy
that detects true gold from false
and yet withheld the means
to expose evil in men?
CHORUS
Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate.
Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
JASON
I suppose I should stand here
and ride out the tiresome storm
of your complaint, put on my captain’s hat,
reef sail, and drag anchor to your mood.
But I can’t bear how you exaggerate
your selfless role in my success.
I know how I was saved. Powerful Aphrodite!
She led me to the Golden Fleece and back.
And you, yes, you have a mind for plots
and treachery, but Eros had to wound you
with his darts before you moved. Go ahead,
remind me I’m ungrateful.
I won’t say your passion wasn’t real. I won’t say
you didn’t help. You did. And for it
You’ve been paid more than you deserve. Listen,
and I’ll prove it.
Now, you live in Greece—
the center of the world. Justice, not force,
rules here. Here your cleverness has brought you
fame. Out beyond the Black Sea, no one sings
in praise of you.
To me, fame is the important thing.
I'd give up all I owned for it.
What good is a voice like Orpheus’
if no one knows it belongs to you?
Remember who started this war of words.
That's all I’ll say to counter your account.
As for my royal marriage, if your reproaches
weren’t so blind, you’d see it as a plan -
ingenious, disciplined, farsighted—
to support you and the children.
(MEDEA grows furious)
JASON (continuing):
If you’d just listen, for once, maybe you'd
remember we fled Iolcus and washed up here,
broken refugees. So what better reversal
than to marry the daughter of a king?
That I grew bored with you in bed and wanted
a younger wife? These thoughts drive your anger.
Or that I want to father more sons?
The ones I have—yours and mine¬
are more than adequate. I remarried
so we might prosper and live in the comfort
we deserve, surrounded by true friends.
If I should have more sons, they’ll be
brothers to ours, not rivals.
I’ve forged an alliance that protects
and elevates us all. Children are more important
to fathers than to mothers. My unborn sons
will save our living ones.
Is this plan bad? No, you’d admire what I’ve done if sex
wasn’t your obsession. It’s folly
that women measure their happiness
with the pleasures of the bed, but they do.
And when the pleasure cools or their man goes
missing, all they once lived for turns dark and hateful.
If I could remake the world, I'd banish women,
send them away with all their trouble.
Then children would come from a purer source.
[Her heart set on revenge, Medea sends her children into the palace with gifts for Jason's new bride. A messenger returns to recount the terrible results to Medea and the chorus.]
MESSENGER
The moment your sons with their father
entered his bride’s house, all of us,
who once served you and who mourned
your fate, were heartened. A shout went up
that you and Jason had called a truce.
This was like music to our ears. Suddenly,
we wanted to kiss the children, touch their
lovely hair. Overwhelmed by happiness
I followed them inside the princess's chambers.
Understand, she’s the woman we must serve
instead of you.
At first she saw' only Jason,
but when the children came into view,
she veiled her eyes, and turned away.
Impatient with this display,
your husband scolded her, saying:
“Look at us. Don’t revile your friends.
Your job is to love those your husband loves.
They’ve brought gifts. Accept them graciously
and for my sake ask your father to release
these children from their exile.”
The gifts astonished her with their beauty
She agreed to what her husband asked.
So eager was she to wear the treasures,
even before Jason and the boys had reached
the road, she put on the colorful dress,
set the gold crown on her head,
and in a bright mirror arranged her hair.
She laughed with pleasure at the beautiful
but lifeless image. Then as if the gifts
had cast a spell, she stood up, dancing
through her rooms, giddy with the feel of the gown
twirling so she could see repeatedly
her shapely feet and pointed toes.
But soon her face changed color. She staggered,
legs trembling, almost collapsing
before she reached a chair. One of the older, wiser
servants believed some wrathful god possessed her
and so cried out in prayer to Pan,
until she saw the mouth foaming,
eyes wild and rolling, and skin leached of blood.
Then the prayers turned shrill with horror
and we servants raced to find Creon
and Jason to tell them the piteous news,
filling the house with the sound
of our panicked feet.
All of this happened in less time
than a sprinter takes to run the dash
and quicker still was the way the princess
from her terrible trance woke, eyes
wider than before, screaming
in anguish. For now a second torture
wracked her. The gold crown exploded
in a fiery ring about her head, while
the delicate gown, brought by your sons,
ate into her sweet flesh. Consumed by flames,
she stood and ran, shaking her head
as if to throw the fire off, but the crown tangled
tighter in her hair and the blaze roared higher
as she fell to the floor and rolled
in the unquenchable flames.
Only her father could have known
who she was. The eyes had melted.
The face no more a face, while flaming blood
leaking from her head fueled the blaze.
But worse was how the flesh like tallow
pitch sloughed off her bones.
All of this because the viperous poison
had locked her in its invisible jaws.
Schooled by what we'd witnessed, none of us
would touch the body, but her father,
rushed to her side, not knowing what he’d find.
Nothing could prepare him for his daughter’s
corpse. Misery broke from his voice.
He embraced and kissed her, lamenting,
“Unhappy child, murdered so shamefully,
why do the gods torture an old man like me?
Daughter, let me die with you.”
But when his sobbing ceased
and old Creon wanted to rise, he found
he was woven to the fatal dress, stitched
to it like ivy to laurel, unable
even as he wrestled furiously
to free himself. The living father,
who felt his flesh ripping from his bones,
could not match the strength of his dead daughter
and so he gave up and died, a victim
of her hideous fortune. Together now they lie,
an old man and his daughter. Who wouldn't weep?
As for you, Medea, and your fate,
hear my silence. From it will come your punishment,
swift and sure. As for our brief lives. I’ve learned
once more we are mere shadows. No longer
do I fear to say the truth: Fine words
and clever plans breed folly.
No man can count on his happiness.
Some have luck and fortune on their side
but never happiness
Exit MESSENGER.
CHORUS
Today the gods delivered the justice
Jason deserved and seized him with calamity.
But the princess, a victim of marriage,
now passing through the halls of death,
we lament her terrible misfortune.
MEDEA
Nothing will undo my resolve
to kill my children and escape
—but it must be quick.
If I hesitate now someone else
will murder them more cruelly.
There’s no way out. They must die.
And I who gave them life will take it.
Come, heart, shield yourself.
Why doubt what must be done?
Come, unlucky hand,
grip the sword, carry it to where
unhappiness begins and ends.
Do not weaken.
Forget you love your sons.
Forget you gave them life.
Today, remember nothing.
Tomorrow, mourn them.
For even if you kill your sons,
you once loved them dearly.
My life has been all grief!
Exit MEDEA into the house.
CHORUS
Earth, hear us! Bright sun, Helios,
look down, expose Medea,
before her sons are murdered
by her bloody hands. Remember,
they are your radiant children. Remember,
when men wound gods, fear and darkness rule
over us.
Brilliant, heavenly light, burn up
this murdering Fury. Banish her
from the house, cast out
this servant of vengeance!
Wasted, the pain of bearing sons.
Futile, their brief dear lives.
Better not to have sailed the Black Sea,
escaped the Clashing Rocks. Why, Medea,
does rage cloud your mind?
Why must murder follow murder?
When families kill their own, they spill
no darker blood, leave no fouler stain.
And the gods drawn to its stench
punish all who bear the family name.