Penny Dreadfuls, 1912 · page 82 of 118
The Medea — page 82: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Content Analysis This is a page of running prose poetry, numbered 66, titled "EURIPIDES" at the top. The text describes a woman's violent death by fire—her body convulsing with foam at her lips, her eyes rolling back, then a period of unconsciousness. Upon waking, she discovers that a golden crown (carcanet) fused to her head is burning her flesh, and fine robes are igniting. She writhes about attempting to remove the crown, but the burning gold holds fast; the fire only intensifies until she collapses and dies, leaving her face and features unrecognizable. The passage is written in blank verse and appears to be a dramatic translation or adaptation from classical Greek drama.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
66 EURIPIDES Upon her, or some spirit, and raised a xeen Awakening shout; till through her lips was seen A white foam crawling, and her eyeballs back Twisted, and all her face dead pale for lack Of life: and while that old dame called, the cry Turned strangely to its opposite, to die Sobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flew To seek her father’s rooms, one for the new Bridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the place Was loud with hurrying feet. So long a space As a swift walker on a measured way Would pace a furlong’s course in, there she lay Speechless, with veiled lids. ‘Then wide her eyes She oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise, Shrieked : for two diverse waves upon her rolled Of stabbing death. The carcanet of gold That gripped her brow was molten in a dire And wondrous river of devouring fire. And those fine robes, the gift thy children gave— God’s mercy !—everywhere did lap and lave The delicate flesh; till up she sprang, and fled, A fiery pillar, shaking locks and head This way and that, seeking to cast the crown Somewhere away. But like a thing nailed down The burning gold held fast the anadem, And through her locks, the more she scattered them, Came fire the fiercer, till to earth she fell A thing—save to her sire—scarce nameable, And strove no more. That cheek of royal mien, Where was it—or the place where eyes had been? =} Eomicbooks:.co