Euripides

Medea of Euripides


Скачать книгу

opinion by the sort of criticisms which we still find attributed to Aristotle and Dicæarchus.

      At the present time it is certainly not the newness of the subject: I do not think it is Aegeus, nor yet the dragon chariot, much less Medea's involuntary burst of tears in the second scene with Jason, that really produces the feeling of dissatisfaction with which many people must rise from this great play. It is rather the general scheme on which the drama is built. It is a scheme which occurs again and again in Euripides, a study of oppression and revenge. Such a subject in the hands of a more ordinary writer would probably take the form of a triumph of oppressed virtue. But Euripides gives us nothing so sympathetic, nothing so cheap and unreal. If oppression usually made people virtuous, the problems of the world would be very different from what they are. Euripides seems at times to hate the revenge of the oppressed almost as much as the original cruelty of the oppressor; or, to put the same fact in a different light, he seems deliberately to dwell upon the twofold evil of cruelty, that it not only causes pain to the victim, but actually by means of the pain makes him a worse man, so that when his turn of triumph comes, it is no longer a triumph of justice or a thing to make men rejoice. This is a grim lesson; taught often enough by history, though seldom by the fables of the poets.

      Seventeen years later than the Medea Euripides expressed this sentiment in a more positive way in the Trojan Women, where a depth of wrong borne without revenge becomes, or seems for the moment to become, a thing beautiful and glorious. But more plays are constructed like the Medea. The Hecuba begins with a noble and injured Queen, and ends with her hideous vengeance on her enemy and his innocent sons. In the Orestes all our hearts go out to the suffering and deserted prince, till we find at last that we have committed ourselves to the blood-thirst of a madman. In the Electra, the workers of the vengeance themselves repent.

      The dramatic effect of this kind of tragedy is curious. No one can call it undramatic or tame. Yet it is painfully unsatisfying. 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. Her wrongs and her hate fill all the sky. And the judgment pronounced on Jason comes not from any disinterested or peace-making God, but from his own victim transfigured into a devil.

      From any such judgment there is an instant appeal to sane human sympathy. Jason has suffered more than enough. But that also is the way of the world. And the last word upon these tragic things is most often something not to be expressed by the sentences of even the wisest articulate judge, but only by the unspoken lacrimæ rerum.

      G. M.

       Table of Contents

      CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

      Medea, daughter of Aiêtês, King of Colchis.

      Jason, chief of the Argonauts; nephew of Pelias, King of Iôlcos in Thessaly.

      Creon, ruler of Corinth.

      Aegeus, King of Athens.

      Nurse of Medea.

      Two Children of Jason and Medea.

      Attendant on the children.

      A Messenger.

      Chorus of Corinthian Women, with their Leader.

       Soldiers and Attendants.

      The scene is laid in Corinth. The play was first acted when Pythodôrus was Archon, Olympiad 87, year 1 (B.C. 431). Euphorion was first, Sophocles second, Euripides third, with Medea, Philoctêtes, Dictys, and the Harvesters, a Satyr-play.

       Table of Contents

      The Scene represents the front of Medea's House in Corinth. A road to the right leads towards the royal castle, one on the left to the harbour. The Nurse is discovered alone.

      Nurse.

      Would God no Argo e'er had winged the seas

       To Colchis through the blue Symplêgades:

       No shaft of riven pine in Pêlion's glen

       Shaped that first oar-blade in the hands of men

       Valiant, who won, to save King Pelias' vow,

       The fleece All-golden! Never then, I trow,

       Mine own princess, her spirit wounded sore

       With love of Jason, to the encastled shore

       Had sailed of old Iôlcos: never wrought

       The daughters of King Pelias, knowing not,

       To spill their father's life: nor fled in fear,

       Hunted for that fierce sin, to Corinth here

       With Jason and her babes. This folk at need

       Stood friend to her, and she in word and deed

       Served alway Jason. Surely this doth bind,

       Through all ill days, the hurts of humankind,

       When man and woman in one music move.

       But now, the world is angry, and true love

       Sick as with poison. Jason doth forsake

       My mistress and his own two sons, to make

       His couch in a king's chamber. He must wed:

       Wed with this Creon's child, who now is head

       And chief of Corinth. Wherefore sore betrayed

       Medea calleth up the oath they made,

       They two, and wakes the claspèd hands again,

       The troth surpassing speech, and cries amain

       On God in heaven to mark the end, and how

       Jason hath paid his debt.

       All fasting now

       And cold, her body yielded up to pain,

       Her days a waste of weeping, she hath lain,

       Since first she knew that he was false. Her eyes

       Are lifted not; and all her visage lies

       In the dust. If friends will speak, she hears no more

       Than some dead rock or wave that beats the shore:

       Only the white throat in a sudden shame

       May writhe, and all alone she moans the name

       Of father, and land, and home, forsook that day

       For this man's sake, who casteth her away.

       Not to be quite shut out from home … alas,

       She knoweth now how rare a thing that was!

       Methinks she hath a dread, not joy, to see

       Her children near. 'Tis this that maketh me

       Most tremble, lest she do I know not what.

       Her heart is no light thing, and useth not

       To brook much wrong. I know that woman, aye,

       And dread her! Will she creep alone to die