MEDEA (to the children).

Now go, and be good children. Go, I say.

[The children go.]

JASON. Think not, Medea, I am cold and hard. I feel thy grief as deeply as mine own. Thou'rt a brave comrade, and dost toil as truly As I to roll away this heavy stone That, ever falling backwards, blocks all paths, All roads to hope. And whether thou'rt to blame, Or I, it matters not. What's done is done.

[He clasps her hands in one of his, and with the other lovingly strokes her brow.]

Thou lov'st me still, I know it well, Medea. In thine own way, 'tis true; but yet thou lov'st me. And not this fond glance only—all thy deeds Tell the same tale of thine unending love.

[MEDEA hides her face on his shoulder.]

I know how many griefs bow this dear head, How love and pity in thy bosom sit Enthroned.—Come, let us counsel now together How we may 'scape this onward-pressing fate That threatens us so near. Here Corinth lies; Hither, long years agone, a lonely youth, I wandered, fleeing my uncle's wrath and hate; And Creon, king of Corinth, took me in,— A guest-friend was he of my father's house— And cherished me ev'n as a well-loved son. Full many a year I dwelt here, safe and happy. And now—

MEDEA. Thou'rt silent!

JASON. Now, when all the world Flouts me, avoids me, now, when each man's hand In blind, unreasoning rage is raised to strike, I hope to find a refuge with this king.— One fear I have, though, and no idle one.

MEDEA. And what is that?

JASON. Me he will shelter safe— That I hold certain—and my children, too, For they are mine. But thee—

MEDEA. Nay, have no fear. If he take them, as being thine, then me, Who am thine as well, he will not cast away.

JASON. Hast thou forgotten all that lately chanced There in my home-land, in my uncle's house, When first I brought thee from dark Colchis' shores? Hast thou forgot the scorn, the black distrust In each Greek visage when it looked on thee, A dark barbarian from a stranger-land? They cannot know thee as I do,—true wife And mother of my babes;—homekeepers they, Nor e'er set foot on Colchis' magic strand As I.

MEDEA. A bitter speech. What is the end?

JASON. The worst misfortune of mankind is this: Calm and serene and unconcerned to court Fate's heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen, To whine and cringe, bewailing one's sad lot.— Such folly we will none of, thou and I. For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim My right as guest-friend, and to clear away These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.— Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence Without the city walls. There wait, until—

MEDEA. Till when?

JASON. Until—Why hidest thou thy face?

MEDEA. Ah, say no more! This is that bitter fate Whereof my father warned me! Said he not We should torment each other, thou and I? But no!—My spirit is not broken yet! All that I was, all that I had, is gone, Save this: I am thy wife! To that I'll cling Even to death.

JASON. Why twist my kindly words To a false meaning that I never dreamed of?

MEDEA. Prove that I twist thy words! I'll thank thee for it. Quick, quick! The king draws nigh.—Let thy heart speak!

JASON. So, wait we here the breaking of the storm.

[GORA comes out of the tent with the two children; MEDEA places herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, watching anxiously all that passes. The KING enters with his daughter and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the sacrifice.]

KING. Where is this stranger?—Who he is, my heart, By its wild beating, warns me; wanderer, And banished from his homeland, nay, mayhap E'en guilty of those crimes men charge him with.— Where is the stranger?

JASON. Here, my lord, bowed low Before thee, not a stranger, though estranged. A suppliant I, and come to pray thine aid. Thrust forth from house and home, by all men shunned, I fly to thee, my guest-friend, and beseech In confidence the shelter of thy roof.

CREUSA. Ay, it is he! Look, father, 'tis Prince Jason!

[She takes a step toward him.]

JASON. Yea, it is I. And is this thou, Creusa, Crowned with a yet more gentle, radiant grace, But still the same? O, take me by the hand And lead me to thy father, where he stands With thoughtful brow, fixing his steady gaze Upon my face, and dallies with his doubt Whether to greet me kindly. Is he wroth At me, or at my guilt, which all men cry?

CREUSA (taking JASON's hand and leading him to her father).

See, father, 'tis Prince Jason!

KING. He is welcome.

JASON. Thy distant greeting shows me clear what place Now best beseems me. Here at thy feet I fall And clasp thy knees, and stretch a timid hand To touch thy chin. Grant me my prayer, O King! Receive and shelter a poor suppliant wretch!

KING. Rise, Jason.

JASON. Never, till thou—

KING. Rise, I say.

[Jason rises to his feet.]

KING. So, from thine Argo-quest thou art returned?

JASON. 'Tis scarce one moon since I set foot on land.

KING. What of the golden prize ye sought? Is't won?

JASON. The king who set the task—he hath it now.

KING. Why art thou banished from thy fatherland?

JASON. They drove me forth—homeless I wander now.

KING. Ay, but why banished? I must see this clear.

JASON. They charged me with a foul, accursed crime.

KING. Truly or falsely? Answer me this first.

JASON. A false charge! By the gods I swear, 'tis false!

KING (swiftly grasping JASON's hand and leading him forward).

Thine uncle perished?

JASON. Yea, he died.

KING. But how?

JASON. Not at my hands! As I do live and breathe, I swear that bloody deed was none of mine!

KING. Yet Rumor names thee Murderer, and the word Through all the land is blown.

JASON. Then Rumor lies, And all that vile land with it!

KING. Dream'st thou then I can believe thy single tale, when all The world cries, "Liar!"

JASON. 'Tis the word of one Thou knowest well, against the word of strangers.

KING. Say, then, how fell the king?

JASON. 'Twas his own blood, The children of his flesh, that did the deed.

KING. Horror of horrors! Surely 'tis not true? It cannot be!

JASON. The gods know it is truth. Give ear, and I will tell thee how it chanced.

KING. Nay, hold. Creusa comes. This is no tale For gentle ears. I fain would shield the maid From knowledge of such horror. (Aloud.) For the moment I know enough. We'll hear the rest anon. I will believe thee worthy while I can.

CREUSA (coming up to KING CREON).

Hast heard his tale? He's innocent, I know.

KING. Go, take his hand. Thou canst without disgrace.

CREUSA. Didst doubt him, father? Nay, I never did! My heart told me these tales were never true, These hideous stories that men tell of him. Gentle he was, and kind; how could he, then, Show him so base and cruel? Couldst thou know How they have slandered thee, heaped curse on curse! I've wept, to think our fellow-men could be So bitter, false. For thou hadst scarce set sail, When, sudden, all men's talk throughout the land Was of wild deeds and hideous midnight crimes— The fruit of witchcraft on far Colchis' shores— Which thou hadst done.—And, last, a woman, dark And dreadful, so they said, thou took'st to wife, Brewer of poisons, slayer of her sire. What was her name? It had a barbarous sound—

MEDEA (stepping forward with the children).

Medea! Here am I.

KING. Is 't she?

JASON (dully).

It is.

CREUSA (pressing close to her father).

O, horror!

MEDEA (to CREUSA).

Thou'rt wrong. I never slew my sire. My brother died, 'tis true; but ask my lord If 'twas my doing.

[She points to JASON.]

True it is, fair maid, That I am skilled to mix such magic potions As shall bring death or healing, as I will. And many a secret else I know. Yet, see! I am no monster, no, nor murderess.

CREUSA. Oh, dreadful, horrible.

KING. And is she thy—wife?

JASON. My wife.

KING. Those children there?

JASON. They are mine own.

KING. Unhappy man!

JASON. Yea, sooth!—Come, children, bring Those green boughs in your hands, and reach them out To our lord the King, and pray him for his help,

[He leads them up by the hand.]

Behold, my lord, these babes. Thou canst not spurn them!

ONE CHILD (holding out a bough timidly to the KING).

See, here it is.

KING (laying his hands gently on the children's heads).

Poor tiny birdlings, snatched from out your nest!

CREUSA (kneeling compassionately beside the children).

Come here to me, poor, homeless, little orphans! So young, and yet misfortune bows you down So soon! So young, and oh! so innocent!— And look, how this one has his father's mien!

[She kisses the smaller boy.]

Stay here with me. I'll be your mother, sister.

MEDEA (with sudden fierceness).

They are not orphans, do not need thy tears Of pity! For Prince Jason is their father; And while Medea lives, they have no need To seek a mother!

(To the children.)

Come to me-come here.

CREUSA (glancing at her father).

Shall I let them go?

KING. She is their mother.

CREUSA. Run To mother, children.

MEDEA (to children).

Come! Why stand ye there And wait?

CREUSA (to the children, who are clasping her about the neck).

Your mother calls, my little ones. Run to her quick!

[The children go to MEDEA.]

JASON (to the KING).

My lord, what is thy will?

KING. Thou hast my promise.

JASON. Thou wilt keep me safe?

KING. I have said it.

JASON. Me and mine thou wilt receive?

KING. Nay, thee I said, not thine.—Now follow on, First to the altar, to our palace then.

JASON (as he follows the king, to CREUSA).

Give me thy hand, Creusa, as of yore!

CREUSA. Thou canst not take it as of old thou didst.

MEDEA. They go,—and I am left, forgot! Oh, children, Run here and clasp me close. Nay, closer, tighter!

CREUSA (to herself, turning as they go).

Where is Medea? Why does she not follow?

[She comes back, but stands at a distance from MEDEA.]

Com'st thou not to the sacrifice, then home With us?

MEDEA. Unbidden guests must wait without.

CREUSA. Nay, but my father promised shelter, help.

MEDEA. Thy words and his betokened no such aid!

CREUSA (approaching nearer).

I've grieved thee, wounded thee! Forgive, I pray.

MEDEA. Ah, gracious sound! Who spake that gentle word? Ay, many a time they've stabbed me to the quick, But none e'er paused, and, pitying, asked himself If the wound smarted! Thanks to thee, sweet maid! Oh, when thou art thyself in sore distress, Then may'st thou find some tender, pitying soul To whisper soft and gracious words to thee, To give one gentle glance—as thou to me!

[MEDEA tries to grasp CREUSA's hand, but the princess draws back timidly.]

Nay, shudder not! 'Tis no plague-spotted hand.— Oh, I was born a princess, even as thou. For me the path of life stretched smooth and straight As now for thee; blindly thereon I fared, Content, where all seemed right.—Ah, happy days! For I was born a princess, even as thou. And as thou stand'st before me, fair and bright And happy, so I stood beside my father, The idol of his heart, and of his folk. O Colchis! O my homeland! Dark and dread They name thee here, but to my loving eyes Thine is a shining shore!

CREUSA (taking her hand).

Poor, lonely soul!

MEDEA. Gentle art thou, and mild, and gracious too; I read it in thy face. But oh, beware! The way seems smooth.—One step may mean thy fall! Light is the skiff that bears thee down the stream, Advance upon the silvery, shining waves, Past gaily-flowered banks, where thou would'st pause.— Ah, gentle pilot, is thy skill so sure? Beyond thee roars the sea! Oh, venture not To quit these flowery banks' secure embrace, Else will the current seize thy slender craft And sweep thee out upon the great gray sea.— Why that fixed gaze? Dost shudder at me still? There was a time when I had shuddered, too, At thought of such a thing as I'm become!

[She hides her face on CREUSA's neck.]

CREUSA. She is no wild thing! Father, see, she weeps!

MEDEA. I am a stranger, from a far land come, Naught knowing of this country's ancient ways; And so they flout me, look at me askance As at some savage, untamed animal. I am the lowest, meanest of mankind, I, the proud child of Colchis' mighty king!— Teach me what I must do. Oh, I will learn Gladly from thee, for thou art gentle, mild. 'Tis patient teaching, and not angry scorn, Will tame me.— Is't thy wont to be so calm And so serene? To me that happy gift The gods denied. But I will learn of thee! Thou hast the skill to know what pleases him, What makes him glad. Oh, teach me how I may Once more find favor in my husband's sight, And I will thank thee, thank thee!

CREUSA. Look, my father!

KING. Ay, bring her with thee.

CREUSA. Wilt thou come, Medea?

MEDEA. I'll follow gladly, whereso'er thou goest. Have pity on me, lone, unfriended, sad, And hide me from the king's stern, pitiless eyes!

(To the KING.)

Now may'st thou gaze thy fill. My fears are fled, E'en while I know thy musings bode me ill. Thy child is tenderer than her father.

CREUSA. Come! He would not harm thee. Come, ye children, too.

[CREUSA leads MEDEA and the children away.]

KING. Hast heard?

JASON. I have.

KING. And so, that is thy wife! That thou wert wedded, Rumor long since cried, But I believed not. Now, when I have seen, Belief is still less easy. She—thy wife?

JASON. 'Tis but the mountain's peak thou seest, and not The toilsome climb to reach it, nor those steps By which alone the climber guides his feet.— I sailed away, a hot, impetuous youth, O'er distant seas, upon the boldest quest That e'er within the memory of man Was ventured. To this life I said farewell, And, the world well forgot, I fixed my gaze Solely upon that radiant Golden Fleece That, through the night, a star in the storm, shone out. And none thought on return, but one and all, As though the hour that saw the trophy won Should be their last, strained every nerve to win. And so, a valorous band, we sailed away, Boastful and thirsting deep for daring deeds, O'er sea and land, through storm and night and rocks, Death at our heels, Death beckoning us before. And what at other times we had thought full Of terror, now seemed gentle, mild, and good; For Nature was more awful than the worst That man could do. And, as we strove with her, And with barbarian hordes that blocked our path, The hearts of e'en the mildest turned to flint. Lost were those standards whereby men at home Judge all things calmly; each became a law Unto himself amid these savage sights.— But that which all men deemed could never be Came finally to pass, and we set foot On Colchis' distant and mysterious strand. Oh, hadst thou seen it, wrapped in murky clouds! There day is night, and night a horror black, Its folk more dreadful even than the night. And there I found—her, who so hateful seems To thee. In sooth, O king, she shone on me Like the stray sunbeam that some prisoner sees Pierce through the crannies of his lonely cell! Dark though she seem to thee, in that black land Like some lone, radiant star she gleamed on me.

KING. Yet wrong is never right, nor evil good.

JASON. It was some god that turned her heart to me. Fast friend was she in many a dangerous pass. I saw how in her bosom love was born, Which yet her royal pride bade firm restrain; No word she spake betrayed her—'twas her looks, Her deeds that told the secret. Then on me A madness came, like to a rushing wind. Her silence but inflamed me; for a new And warlike venture then I girded me, For love I struggled with her—and I won! Mine she became.—Her father cursed his child; But mine she was, whether I would or no. 'Twas she that won me that mysterious Fleece; She was my guide to that dank horror-cave Where dwelt the dragon, guardian of the prize, The which I slew, and bore the Fleece away. Since then I see, each time I search her eyes, That hideous serpent blinking back at me, And shudder when I call her wife!— At last We sailed away. Her brother fell.

KING (quickly).

She slew him?

JASON. The gods' hand smote him down. Her aged father, With curses on his lips for her, for me, For all our days to come, with bleeding nails Dug his own grave, and laid him down to die, So goes the tale—grim victim of his own Rash passion.

KING. Dread beginning of your life Together!

JASON. Ay, and, as the days wore on, More dreadful still.

KING. Thine uncle—what of him?

JASON. For four long years some god made sport of us And kept us wandering far from hearth and home O'er land and sea. Meanwhile, pent up with her Within the narrow confines of our bark, Seeing her face each moment of the day, The edge of my first shuddering fear grew blunt. The past was past.—So she became my wife.

KING. When home thou camest, what befell thee there?

JASON. Time passed; the memory of those ghastly days In Colchis dimmer grew and mistier. I, the proud Greek, now half barbarian grown, Companioned by my wife, barbarian too, Sought once again my home-land. Joyfully The people cried Godspeed! as forth I fared Long years agone. Of joyfuller greetings now, When I returned a victor, I had dreamed. But lo, the busy streets grew still as death When I approached, and whoso met me, shrank Back in dismay! The tale, grown big with horrors, Of all that chanced in Colchis had bred fear And hatred in this foolish people's hearts. They fled my face, heaped insults on my wife— Mine she was, too; who flouted her, struck me! This evil talk my uncle slily fed; And when I made demand that he yield up The kingdom of my fathers, stolen by him And kept from me by craft, he made reply That I must put away this foreign wife, For she was hateful in his eyes, he feared Her dark and dreadful deeds! If I refused, My fatherland, his kingdom, I must flee.

KING. And thou—?

JASON. What could I? Was she not my wife, That trusted to my arm to keep her safe? Who challenged her, was he not then my foe? Why, had he named some easier behest, By Heaven, I had obeyed not even that! Then how grant this? I laughed at his command.

KING. And he—?

JASON. Spake doom of banishment for both. Forth from Iolcos on that selfsame day We must depart, he said. But I would not, And stayed. Forthwith a grievous illness seized The king, and through the town a murmur ran Whisp'ring strange tidings: How the aged king, Seated before his household shrine, whereon They had hung the Fleece in honor of the god, Gazed without ceasing on that golden prize, And oft would cry that thence his brother's face Looked down on him,—my father's, whom he slew By guile, disputing of the Argo-quest. Ay, that dead face peered down upon him now From every glittering lock of that bright Fleece, In search of which, false man! he sent me forth To distant lands, in hope that I should perish! At last, when all the king's house saw their need, To me for succor his proud daughters came, Begging my wife to heal him by her skill. But I cried, "No! Am I to save the man Who plotted certain death for me and mine?" And those proud maidens turned again in tears. I shut me up within my house, unheeding Aught else that passed. Weeping, they came again, And yet again; each time I said them nay. And then one night, as I lay sleeping, came A dreadful cry before my door! I waked To find Acastus, my false uncle's son, Storming my portal with loud, frenzied blows, Calling me murderer, slayer of his sire! That night the aged king had passed from life. Up from my couch I sprang, and sought to speak, But vainly, for the people's howls of rage Drowned my weak cries. Then one among them cast A stone, then others. But I drew my blade And through the mob to safety cut my way. Since then I've wandered all fair Hellas o'er, Reviled of men, a torment to myself. And, if thou, too, refuse to succor me, Then am I lost indeed!

KING. Nay, I have sworn And I will keep my oath. But this thy wife—

JASON. Hear me, O king, before thou end that speech! Needs must thou take us both, or none at all! I were a happy man,—ay, born anew— Were she but gone forever. But no, no! I must protect her—for she trusted me.

KING. These magic arts she knows—'tis them I fear. The power to injure, spells the will to do it. Besides, these strange, suspicious deeds of hers— These are not all her guilt.

JASON. Give her one chance. Then, if she stay not quiet, hound her forth, Hunt her, and slay her, me, and these my babes. Yet, till that time, I pray thee let her try If she can live at peace with this thy folk. This boon I crave of thee by mightiest Zeus, The god of strangers—ay, and call upon The ancient bond of friendship that, long since, Our fathers formed, mine in Iolcos, thine In Corinth here. On that long-vanished day They dreamed there might fall need of such a tie. And, now that need is here, do thou thy part And succor me, lest in like evil pass Thou make the same request, and meet denial.

KING. 'Tis the gods' will; I yield, against my judgment, And she shall stay. But, look you, if she show One sign that those wild ways are not forgot, I drive her forth from out this city straight And yield her up to those who seek her life! Here in this meadow, where I found thee first, A sacred altar shall be raised, to Zeus, The god of strangers, consecrate and to Thy murdered uncle Pelias' bloody shades. Here will we kneel together and pray the gods To send their blessing on thy coming here, And turn to mercy that which bodes us ill.— Now to my royal city follow swift.

[He turns to his attendants, who approach.]

See my behests are faithfully obeyed.

[As they turn to depart, the curtain falls.]



ACT II

A chamber in CREON'S royal palace at Corinth. CREUSA is discovered seated, while MEDEA occupies a low stool before her, and holds a lyre in her arm. She is clad in the Greek fashion.

CREUSA. Now pluck this string—the second—this one here.

MEDEA. So, this way?

CREUSA. Nay, thy fingers more relaxed.

MEDEA. I cannot.

CREUSA. 'Tis not hard, if thou'lt but try.

MEDEA. I have tried, patiently; but 'tis no use!

[She lays the lyre aside and rises.]

Were it a spear-haft, or the weapons fierce Of the bloody hunt, these hands were quick enough.

[She raises her right hand and gazes at it reproachfully.]

Rebellious fingers! I would punish them!

CREUSA. Perverse one! When my heart was filled with joy At thinking how 'twould gladden Jason's heart To hear this song from thee!

MEDEA. Ay, thou art right. I had forgot that. Let me try once more. The song will please him, think'st thou, truly please him?

CREUSA. Nay, never doubt it. 'Tis the song he sang When he dwelt here with us in boyhood days. Each time I heard it, joyfully I sprang To greet him, for it meant he was come home.

MEDEA (eagerly).

Teach me the song again!

CREUSA. Come, listen, then. 'Tis but a short one, nor so passing sweet; But then—he knew to sing it with such grace, Such joy, such lordly pride—ay, almost scorn!

[She sings.]

"Ye gods above, ye mighty gods, Anoint my head, I pray; Make strong my heart to bear my part Right kingly in the fray, To smite all foes, and steal the heart Of all fair maids away!"

MEDEA. Yea, yea, all these the gods bestowed on him!

CREUSA. All what?

MEDEA. These gifts, of which the song doth tell.

CREUSA. What gifts?

MEDEA. "To smite all foes, and steal the heart Of all fair maids away!"

CREUSA. Is't so? I never thought on that before; I did but sing the words I heard him sing.

MEDEA. 'Twas so he stood on Colchis' hostile strand; Before his burning glance our warriors cringed, And that same glance kindled a fatal fire In the soft breast of one unhappy maid; She struggled, fled—until at last those flames, So long hid deep within her heart, burst forth, And rest and joy and peace to ashes burned In one fierce holocaust of smoky flame. 'Twas so he stood, all shining strength and grace, A hero, nay, a god—and drew his victim And drew and drew, until the victim came To its own doom; and then he flung it down Careless, and there was none would take it up.

CREUSA. Art thou his wife, and speak'st such things of him?

MEDEA. Thou know'st him not; I know his inmost soul.— In all the wide world there is none but he, And all things else are naught to him but tools To shape his deeds. He harbors no mean thoughts Of paltry gain, not he; yet all his thoughts Are of himself alone. He plays a game with Fortune—now his own, and now another's. If bright Fame beckon, he will slay a man And do it gaily. Will he have a wife? He goes and takes one. And though hearts should break And lives be wasted—so he have his will, What matters it to him? Oh, he does naught That is not right—but right is what he wants! Thou knowest him not; I've probed his inmost soul. And when I think on all that he has wrought, Oh, I could see him die, and laugh the while!

CREUSA. Farewell!

MEDEA. Thou goest?

CREUSA. Can I longer stay To list such words?—Ye gods! to hear a wife Revile her husband thus!

MEDEA. She should speak truth, And mine is such an one as I have said.

CREUSA. By Heaven, if I were wedded to a man, E'en one so base and vile as thou hast named— 'Though Jason is not so—and had I babes, His gift, each bearing in his little face His father's likeness, oh, I would love them dear, Though they should slay me!

MEDEA. Ay, an easy task To set, but hard to do.

CREUSA. And yet, methinks, If easier, 'twere less sweet.—Have thou thy way And say whate'er thou wilt; but I must go. First thou dost charm my heart with noble words And seek'st my aid to win his love again; But now thou breakest forth in hate and scorn. I have seen many evils among men, But worst of all these do I count a heart That knows not to forgive. So, fare thee well! Learn to be better, truer!

MEDEA. Art thou angry

CREUSA. Almost.

MEDEA. Alas, thou wilt not give me up, Thou, too? Thou wilt not leave me? Be my help, My friend, my kind protector!

CREUSA. Now thou'rt gentle, Yet, but a moment since, so full of hate!

MEDEA. Hate for myself, but only love for him!

CREUSA. Dost thou love Jason?

MEDEA. Should I else be here?

CREUSA. I've pondered that, but cannot understand.— Yet, if thou truly lov'st him, I will take thee Back to my heart again, and show thee means Whereby thou mayst regain his love.—I know Those bitter moods of his, and have a charm To scatter the dark clouds. Come, to our task! I marked this morning how his face was sad And gloomy. Sing that song to him; thou'lt see How swift his brow will clear. Here is the lyre; I will not lay it down till thou canst sing The song all through. [She seats herself.] Nay, come! Why tarriest there

MEDEA. I gaze on thee, and gaze on thee again, And cannot have my fill of thy sweet face. Thou gentle, virtuous maid, as fair in soul As body, with a heart as white and pure As are thy snowy draperies! Like a dove, A pure, white dove with shining, outspread wings, Thou hoverest o'er this life, nor yet so much As dipp'st thy wing in this vile, noisome slough Wherein we wallow, struggling to get free, Each from himself. Send down one kindly beam From out thy shining heaven, to fall in pity Upon my bleeding breast, distraught with pain; And all those ugly scars that grief and hate And evil fortune e'er have written there, Oh, cleanse thou these away with thy soft hands, And leave thine own dear picture in their place! That strength, that ever was my proudest boast From youth, once tested, proved but craven weakness. Oh, teach me how to make my weakness strong!

[She seats herself on the low stool at CREUSA's feet.]

Here to thy feet for refuge will I fly, And pour my tale of suffering in thine ear; And thou shalt teach me all that I must do. Like some meek handmaid will I follow thee, Will pace before the loom from early morn, Nay, set my hand to all those lowly tasks Which maids of noble blood would scorn to touch In Colchis, as but fit for toiling serfs, Yet here they grace a queen. Oh, I'll forget My sire was Colchis' king, and I'll forget My ancestors were gods, and I'll forget The past, and all that threatens still!

[She springs up and leaves CREUSA's side.]

But no! That can I not forget!

CREUSA (following her).

Why so distressed? Men have forgotten many an evil deed That chanced long since, ay, even the gods themselves Remember not past sorrows.

MEDEA (embracing her).

Say'st thou so? Oh, that I could believe it, could believe it!

JASON enters.

CREUSA (turning to him).

Here is thy wife. See, Jason, we are friends!

JASON. 'Tis well.

MEDEA. Greetings, my lord.—She is so good, Medea's friend and teacher she would be.

JASON. Heaven speed her task!

CREUSA. But why these sober looks? We shall enjoy here many happy days! I, sharing 'twixt my sire and you my love And tender care, while thou and she, Medea,—

JASON. Medea!

MEDEA. What are thy commands, my lord?

JASON. Hast seen the children late?

MEDEA. A moment since; They are well and happy.

JASON. Look to them again!

MEDEA. I am just come from them.

JASON. Go, go, I say!

MEDEA. If 'tis thy wish—

JASON. It is.

MEDEA. Then I obey.

[She departs.]

CREUSA. Why dost thou bid her go? The babes are safe.

JASON. Ah..! ho, a mighty weight is rolled away From off my soul, and I can breathe again! Her glance doth shrivel up my very heart, And all that bitter hate, hid deep within My bosom, well nigh strangles me to death!

CREUSA. What words are these? Oh, ye all-righteous gods! He speaks now even as she a moment since. Who was it told me, wife and husband ever Do love each other?

JASON. Ay, and so they do, When some fair, stalwart youth hath cast his glance Upon a maid, whom straightway he doth make The goddess of his worship. Timidly He seeks her eyes, to learn if haply she Seek his as well; and when their glances meet, His soul is glad. Then to her father straight And to her mother goes he, as is meet, And begs their treasure, and they give consent. Comes then the bridal day; from far and near Their kinsmen gather; all the town has part In their rejoicing. Richly decked with wreaths And dainty blossoms, to the altar then He leads his bride; and there a rosy flush, Of maiden shyness born, plays on her cheek The while she trembles with a holy fear At what is none the less her dearest wish. Upon her head her father lays his hands And blesses her and all her seed to come. Such happy wooing breeds undying love 'Twixt wife and husband.—'Twas of such I dreamed. Alas, it came not! What have I done, ye gods! To be denied what ye are wont to give Even to the poorest? Why have I alone No refuge from the buffets of the world At mine own hearth, no dear companion there, My own, in truth, my own in plighted troth?

CREUSA. Thou didst not woo thy wife as others, then? Her father did not raise his hand to bless?

JASON. He raised it, ay, but armed with a sword; And 'twas no blessing, but a curse he spake. But I—I had a swift and sweet revenge! His only son is dead, and he himself Lies dumb in the grave. His curse alone lives still— Or so it seems.

CREUSA. Alas, how strange to think Of all the change a few brief years have wrought! Thou wert so soft and gentle, and art now So stern. But I am still the selfsame maid As then, have still the selfsame hopes and fears, And what I then thought right, I think right still, What then I blamed, cannot think blameless now.— But thou art changed.

JASON. Ay, thou hast hit the truth! The real misfortune in a hapless lot Is this: that man is to himself untrue. Here one must show him master, there must cringe And bow the knee; here Justice moves a hair, And there a grain; and, at his journey's end, He stands another man than he who late Set out upon that journey. And his loss Is twofold—for the world has passed him by In scorn, and his own self-respect is dead. Naught have I done that in itself was bad, Yet have had evil hopes, bad wishes, ay, Unholy aspirations; and have stood And looked in silence, while another sinned; Or here have willed no evil, yet joined hands With sin, forgetful how one wicked deed Begets another.—Now at last I stand, A sea of evils breaking all about, And cannot say, "My hand hath done no wrong!"— O happy Youth, couldst thou forever stay! O joyous Fancy, blest Forgetfulness, Time when each moment cradles some great deed And buries it! How, in a swelling tide Of high adventure, I disported me, Cleaving the mighty waves with stalwart breast! But manhood comes, with slow and sober steps; And Fancy flees away, while naked Truth Creeps soft to fill its place and brood upon Full many a care. No more the present seems A fair tree, laden down with luscious fruits, 'Neath whose cool shadows rest and joy are found, But is become a tiny seedling which, When buried in the earth, will sprout and bud And bloom, and bear a future of its own. What shall thy task in life be? Where thy home? What of thy wife and babes? What thine own fate, And theirs?—Such constant musings tantalize the soul. [He seats himself.]

CREUSA. What should'st thou care for such? 'Tis all decreed, All ordered for thee.

JASON. Ordered? Ay, as when Over the threshold one thrusts forth a bowl Of broken meats, to feed some begging wretch! I am Prince Jason. Spells not that enough Of sorrow? Must I ever henceforth sit Meek at some stranger's board, or beg my way, My little babes about me, praying pity From each I meet? My sire was once a king, And so am I; yet who would care to boast He is like Jason? Still—[He rises.] I passed but now Down through the busy market-place and through Yon wide-wayed city. Dost remember how I strode in my young pride through those same streets What time I came to take farewell of thee Long since, ere sailed the Argo? How the folk Came thronging, surging, how each street was choked With horses, chariots, men—a dazzling blaze Of color? How the eager gazers climbed Up on the house-tops, swarmed on every tower, And fought for places as they would for gold? The air rang with the cymbals' brazen crash And with the shouts of all that mighty throng Crying, "Hail, Jason!" Thick they crowded round That gallant band attired in rich array, Their shining armor gleaming in the sun, The least of them a hero and a king, And in their midst the leader they adored. I was the man that captained them, that brought Them safe to Greece again; and it was I That all this folk did greet with loud acclaim.— I trod these selfsame streets an hour ago, But no eye sought me, greeting heard I none; Only, the while I stood and gazed about, I heard one rudely grumbling that I had No right to block the way, and stand and stare.

CREUSA. Thou wilt regain thy proud place once again, If thou but choose.

JASON. Nay, all my hopes are dead; My fight is fought, and I am down, to rise No more.

CREUSA. I have a charm will save thee yet.

JASON. Ay, all that thou would'st say, I know before: Undo the past, as though it ne'er had been. I never left my fatherland, but stayed With thee and thine in Corinth, never saw The Golden Fleece, nor stepped on Colchis' strand, Ne'er saw that woman that I now call wife! Send thou her home to her accursed land, Cause her to take with her all memory That she was ever here.—Do thou but this, And I will be a man again, and dwell With men.

CREUSA. Is that thy charm? I know a better; A simple heart, I mean, a mind at peace.

JASON. Ah, thou art good! Would I could learn this peace Of thee!

CREUSA. To all that choose, the gods will give it. Thou hadst it once, and canst have yet again.

JASON. Dost thou think often on our happy youth?

CREUSA. Ay, many a time, and gladly.

JASON. How we were One heart, one soul?

CREUSA. I made thee gentler, thou Didst give me courage.—Dost remember how I set thy helm upon my head?

JASON. And how Because it was too large, thy tiny hands Did hold it up, the while it rested soft Upon thy golden curls? Creusa, those Were happy days!

CREUSA. Dost mind thee how my father Was filled with joy to see it, and, in jest, Did name us bride and bridegroom?

JASON. Ay—but that Was not to be.

CREUSA. Like many another hope That disappoints us.—Still, what matters it? We mean to be no less good friends, I trust!

[MEDEA reenters.]

MEDEA. I've seen the children. They are safe.

JASON (absently).

'Tis well.

(Continuing his revery.)

All those fair spots our happy youth once knew, Linked to my memory with slender threads, All these I sought once more, when first I came Again to Corinth, and I cooled my breast And dipped my burning lips in that bright spring Of my lost childhood. Once again, methought, I drove my chariot through the market-place, Guiding my fiery steeds where'er I would, Or, wrestling with some fellow of the crowd, Gave blow for blow, while thou didst stand to watch, Struck dumb with terror, filled with angry fears, Hating, for my sake, all who raised a hand Against me. Or again I seemed to be Within the solemn temple, where we knelt Together, there, and there alone, forgetful Each of the other, our soft-moving lips Up-sending to the gods from our two breasts A single heart, made one by bonds of love.

CREUSA. Dost thou remember all these things so well?

JASON. They are the cup from which, in greedy draughts, I drink the only comfort left me now.

MEDEA (who has gone silently up-stage and taken up again the discarded lyre).

Jason, I know a song!

JASON (not noticing her).

And then the tower! Know'st thou that tower upon the sea-strand there, Where by thy father thou didst stand and weep, What time I climbed the Argo's side, to sail On that far journey? For thy falling tears I had no eyes, my heart but thirsted deep For deeds of prowess. Lo, there came a breeze That loosed the wimple bound about thy locks And dropped it on the waves. Straightway I sprang Into the sea, and caught it up, to keep In memory of thee when far away.

CREUSA. Hast thou it still?

JASON. Nay, think how many years Are gone since then, and with them this, thy token, Blown far by some stray breeze.

MEDEA. I know a song!

JASON (ignoring her).

Then didst thou cry to me, "Farewell, my brother!"

CREUSA. And now my cry is, "Brother, welcome home!"

MEDEA (plaintively).

Jason, I know a song.

CREUSA. She knows a song That thou wert wont to sing. I pray thee, listen, And she will sing it thee.

JASON. A song? Well, well! Where was I, then?—From childhood I was wont To dream and dream, and babble foolishly Of things that were not and could never be. That habit clung to me, and mocks me now. For, as the youth lives ever in the future, So the grown man looks alway to the past, And, young or old, we know not how to live Within the present. In my dreams I was A mighty hero, girded for great deeds, And had a loving wife, and gold, and much Goodly possessions, and a peaceful home Wherein slept babes of mine.

(To MEDEA.)

What is it thou Wouldst have with me?

CREUSA. She asks to sing a song That thou in youth wert wont to sing to us.

JASON (to MEDEA).

And thou hast learned it?

MEDEA. I have done my best.

JASON. Go to! Dost think to give me back my youth, Or happiness to win again for me, By singing me some paltry, childish tune? Give o'er! We will not part, but live together; That is our fate, it seems, as things have chanced; But let me bear no word of foolish songs Or suchlike nonsense!

CREUSA. Let her sing, I pray. She hath conned it o'er and o'er, to know it well, Indeed she hath!

JASON. Well, sing it, sing it then!

CREUSA (to MEDEA).

So, pluck the second string. Thou know'st it still?

MEDEA (drawing her hand across her brow as if in pain).

I have forgotten!

JASON. Ay, said I not so? She cannot sing it.—Other songs are hers, Like that which, with her magic arts, she sang Unto the dragon, that he fell asleep. That was no pure, sweet strain, like this of thine!

CREUSA (whispering in MEDEA's ear).

"Ye gods above, ye mighty gods—."

MEDEA (repeating it after her).

"Ye gods above—" O gods in heaven, O righteous, mighty gods!

[She lets the lyre fall to the ground, and clasps both hands before her eyes.]

CREUSA. She weeps! Canst be so stern and hard?

JASON (holding CREUSA back from MEDEA).

Thou art A child, and canst not know us, what we are! The hand she feels upon her is the gods', That reacheth her e'en here, with bloody gripe! Then strive not thou to balk the gods' just doom. O, hadst thou seen her in the dragon's cave, Seen how she leaped to meet that serpent grim, Shot forth the poisonous arrows of her tongue, And darted hate and death from blazing eyes, Then were thy bosom steeled against her tears!— Take thou the lyre, sing thou to me that song, And exorcise the hateful demon here That strangles, chokes me! Thou canst sing the song, Mayhap, though she cannot.

CREUSA. Ay, that I will.

[She stoops to take up the lyre.]

MEDEA (gripping CREUSA's arm with one hand and holding her back, while with the other she herself picks up the lyre).

Let be!

CREUSA. Right gladly, if thou'lt play.

MEDEA. Not I!

JASON. Thou wilt not give it her?

MEDEA. No!

JASON. Nor to me?

MEDEA. No!

JASON (striding up to her and grasping at the lyre).

I will take it, then!

MEDEA (without moving from her place, but drawing the lyre away from him).

No!

JASON. Give it me!

MEDEA (crushing the lyre, so that it breaks with a loud, cracking sound).

Here, take it! Broken! Thy fair lyre is broken!

[She flings the pieces down in front of CREUSA.]

CREUSA (starting back in horror).

Dead!

MEDEA (looking swiftly about her as in a daze).

Dead? Who speaks of death? I am alive!

[She stands there violently agitated and staring dazedly before her. A trumpet-blast sounds without.]

JASON. Ha, what is that?

(To MEDEA.)

Why standest silent there? Thou'lt rue this moment, that I know full well!

[Another trumpet-blast without. The KING appears suddenly at the door.]

JASON (hurrying to meet him).

What means that warlike trumpet-blast without?

KING. Unhappy man, canst ask?

JASON. I do, my lord!

KING. The stroke that I so feared is fall'n at last.— Before my palace gates a herald stands, Sent hither from the Amphictyons' holy seat, Seeking for news of thee and of thy wife, Crying to Heaven the doom of banishment On both!

JASON. This, too?

KING. So is it—. Peace, he comes.

[The palace doors swing open and a HERALD enters, followed by two trumpeters and, at a little distance, by a numerous suite.]

HERALD. The blessing of the gods upon this house!

KING (solemnly).

Who art thou? On what errand art thou come?

HERALD. A herald of the gods am I, sent forth From the ancient council of the Amphictyons That speaks its judgments in that holy town Of freedom, Delphi. And I follow close, With cries of vengeance, on the guilty tracks Of those false kinsmen of King Pelias, Who ruled Iolcos, ere he fell in death.

KING. Thou seek'st the guilty? Seek in his own house, 'Mongst his own children seek them—but not here!

HERALD. Here have I found them. Here I'll speak my charge: Thou art accursed, Jason, thou, and she, Thy wife! With evil magic are ye charged, Wherewith thine uncle darkly ye did slay.

JASON. A lie! Naught know I of mine uncle's death!

HERALD. Then ask thy wife, there; she will know, perchance.

JASON. Was 't she that slew him?

HERALD. Not with her own hand, But by those magic arts ye know so well, Which ye have brought here from that foreign land. For, when the king fell sick—perchance e'en then A victim, for the signs of his disease Were strange and dreadful—to Medea then His daughters came, and begged for healing balms From her who knew so well to heal. And she Gave swift consent, and followed them.

JASON. Nay, hold! She went not! I forbade it, and she stayed.

HERALD. The first time, yes. But when, unknown to thee, They came again, she companied them back, Only demanding, if she healed the king, The Golden Fleece in payment for her aid; It was a hateful thing to her, she said; And boded evil. And those foolish maids, All joyful, promised. So she came with them To the king's chamber, where he lay asleep. Straightway she muttered strange and secret words Above him, and his sleep grew ever deep And deeper. Next, to let the bad blood out, She bade them ope his veins. And even this They did, whereat his panting breath grew still And tranquil; then the gaping wounds were bound, And those sad maids were glad to think him healed. Forth went Medea then, as she hath said; His daughters, too, departed, for he slept. But, on a sudden, came a fearful cry From out his chamber! Swift his daughters sped To aid him, and—oh, ghastly, horrible!— There on the pavement lay the aged king, His body twisted in a hideous knot, The cloths that bound his veins all torn away From off his gaping wounds, whence, in a black And sluggish stream, his blood came welling forth. He lay beside the altar, where the Fleece For long was wont to hang—and that was gone! But, in that selfsame hour, thy wife was seen, The golden gaud upon her shoulder flung, Swift hasting through the night.

MEDEA (dully, staring straight before her).

'Twas my reward!— I shudder still, when'er I think upon The old man's furious rage!

HERALD. Now, that no longer Such horrors bide here, poisoning this land With their destructive breath, I here proclaim The solemn doom of utter banishment On Jason, the Thessalian, Aeson's son, Spouse of a wicked witch-wife, and himself An arrant villain; and I drive him forth From out this land of Greece, wherein the gods Are wont to walk with men; to exile hence, To flight and wandering I drive him forth, And with him, this, his wife, ay, and his babes, The offspring of his marriage-bed. Henceforth No rood of this, his fatherland, be his, No share in her protection or her rights!

[He raises his hand and three times makes solemn proclamation, turning to different quarters.]

Banished are Jason and Medea! Medea and Jason are banished! Banished are Jason and Medea!

And whoso harbors him, or gives him aid, After three days and nights are come and gone, Upon that man I here declare the doom Of death, if he be burgher; if a king, Or city-state, then war shall be proclaimed. So runs the Amphictyons' reverend decree, The which I here proclaim, as is most meet, That each may know its terms, and so beware.— The blessing of the gods upon this house!

[He turns to depart.]

JASON. Why stand ye there, ye walls, and crash not down To save this king the pains of slaying me?

KING. A moment yet, sir Herald. Hear this, too.

[He turns to JASON.]

Think'st thou I rue the promise I have made? If I could think thee guilty, ay, wert thou My very son, I'd give thee up to these That seek thee. But thou art not! Wherefore, I Will give thee shelter. Stay thou here.—Who dares To question Creon's friend, whose innocence Stands pledged by mine own words? Who dares, I say, To lay a hand upon my son to be? Yea, Herald, on my son to be, the spouse Of this my daughter! 'Twas my dearest wish In happy days long past, when Fortune smiled; Now, when he's compassed round by stormy waves Of evil fortune, it shall come to pass. Ay, she shall be thy wife, and thou shalt stay Here, with thy father. And I will myself Make answer for it to the Amphictyons. Who now will cry him guilty, when the king Hath sworn him free from blame, and given him The hand of his own daughter?

(To the HERALD.)

Take my words To those that sent thee hither. Go in peace! The blessing of the gods be on thy head!

[The HERALD goes.]

KING (turning to MEDEA).

This woman, whom the wilderness spewed up To be a bane to thee and all good men, Her that hath wrought the crimes men lay to thee, Her do I banish forth from out this land And all its borders. Death shall be her lot And portion, if the morrow find her here!

(To MEDEA.)

Depart from out my fathers' pious town, And make the air thou poisonest pure again!

MEDEA. Is that thy sentence? Falls it, then, on me, And me alone? And yet I say to thee, O king, I did it not!

KING. Nay, thou hast done Enough of evil since he saw thee first. Away with thee from out my house and town!

MEDEA (turning to JASON).

Say, must I go? So be it—but follow me! We bear the blame together, let us bear The punishment as well! Dost thou not know The ancient proverb: "None shall die alone?" One home for both, one body—and one death! Long since, when Death stared grimly in our eyes, We sware that oath. Now keep it! Follow me!

JASON. Nay, touch me not! Begone from me, thou curse Of all my days, who hast robbed me of my life And happiness, from whom, when first mine eyes Met thine, I shrank and shuddered, though I thought Those fearful struggles in my very soul Were but the signs of rash and foolish love. Hence, to that wilderness that cradled thee! Back to that bloody folk whose child thou art In very thought and deed! But, ere thou go, Give back to me what thou hast stol'n away, Thou wanton! Give Prince Jason back to me!

MEDEA. Is't Jason thou desirest? Take him, then! But who shall give Medea back to me? Was't I that in thy homeland sought thee out? Was't I that lured thee from thy father's house? Was't I that forced, ay, forced my love on thee? Was't I that wrenched thee from thy fatherland, Made thee the butt of strangers' haughty scorn, Or dragged thee into wantonness and crime? Thou nam'st me Wanton?—Woe is me! I am! Yet—how have I been wanton, and for whom? Let these pursue me with their venomous hate, Ay, drive me forth and slay me! 'Tis their right, Because I am in truth a dreadful thing And hateful unto them, and to myself A deep abyss of evil, terrible! Let all the world heap curses on my head, Save only thee alone! Nay, thou shalt not! 'Twas thou inspiredst all these horrid deeds, Yea, thou alone. Dost thou not call to mind How I did clasp my hands about thy knees That day thou bad'st me steal the Golden Fleece? And, though I sooner far had slain myself, Yet thou, with chilly scorn, commandedst me To take it. Dost remember how I held My brother in my bosom, faint to death From that fierce stroke of thine that laid him low, Until he tore him from his sister's arms To 'scape thy frenzied vengeance, and leaped swift Into the sea, to find a kinder death Beneath its waves? Dost thou remember?—Nay, Come here to me, and shrink not so away To shelter thee behind that maiden there!

JASON (coming forward).

I hate thee,—but I fear thee not!

MEDEA. Then come!

[She addresses him earnestly in low tones.]

Dost thou remember—Nay, look not on me So haughtily!—how, on that very day Before thine uncle died, his daughters went So sorrowful and hopeless forth from me, Because I sent them back at thy behest, And would not aid them? Then thou cam'st, alone, Unto my chamber, looking in mine eyes So earnestly, as though some purpose grim, Deep hidden in thy heart, would search my soul To find its like therein? And how thou saidst That they were come to me for healing balms To cure their old, sick father? 'Twas thy wish That I should brew a cool, refreshing draught To cure him of his ills forevermore— And thee as well! Hast thou forgotten that? Nay, look at me, eye straight to eye, if thou Dost dare!

JASON. Thou demon! Why these frantic words, This rage against me? Why recall to life These shadows of my dreams and make them real, Why hold a mirror up to me wherein Naught but thine own vile thoughts do show, and say 'Tis I that look therefrom? Why call my thoughts From out the past to charge me with thy crimes? Naught know I of thy plans and plottings, naught! From the beginning I have hated thee, I've cursed the day when first I saw thy face; 'Tis pity only held me at thy side! But now I cast thee off forevermore With bitter curses, e'en as all the world Doth curse thee!

MEDEA (throwing herself at his feet with a cry of agony).

No! My love, my husband! No!

JASON (roughly).

Begone!

MEDEA. That day my old, gray father cursed My name, thou gay'st thy promise, nevermore To leave me, nevermore! Now keep thy word!

JASON. Thine own rash deeds have made that promise naught, And here I give thee to thy father's curse.

MEDEA. I hate thee!—Come! Come, O my husband!

JASON. Back!

MEDEA. Come to my loving arms! 'Twas once thy wish!

JASON. Back! See, I draw my sword. I'll strike thee dead, Unless thou yield, and go!

MEDEA (approaching him fearlessly).

Then strike me, strike!

CREUSA (to JASON).

Hold! Let her go in peace, and harm her not!

MEDEA. Ha! Thou here, too, thou snow-white, silvery snake? Oh, hiss no more, nor shoot thy forked tongue With honied words upon it! Thou hast got What thou didst wish—a husband at the last! For this, then, didst thou show thyself so soft And smooth-caressing, for this only wind Thy snaky coils so close about my neck? Oh, if I had a dagger, I would smite Thee, and thy father, that so righteous king! For this, then, hast thou sung those winsome songs, Taught me to play the lyre, and tricked me out In these rich garments?

[She suddenly rends her mantle in twain.]

Off with you! Away With the vile gifts of that accursed jade!

[She turns to JASON.]

See! As I tear this mantle here in twain, Pressing one part upon my throbbing breast, And cast the other from me at thy feet, So do I rend my love, the common tie That bound us each to each. What follows now I cast on thee, thou miscreant, who hast spurned The holy claims of an unhappy wife!— Give me my children now, and let me go!

KING. The children stay with us.

MEDEA. They may not go With their own mother?

KING. With a wanton, no!

MEDEA (to JASON).

Is it thy will, too?

JASON. Ay!

MEDEA (hastening to the door).

Come forth, my babes! Your mother calls you!

KING. Back!

MEDEA. 'Tis, then, thy will That I go forth alone?—'Tis well, so be it! I say but this, O king: Before the gray Of evening darken, give me back my babes! Enough for now!

(Turning to CREUSA.)

But thou, who standest there In glistering raiment, cloaking thy delight, In thy false purity disdaining me, I tell thee, thou wilt wring those soft, white hands In agony, and envy me my lot, Hard though it seemeth now!

JASON. How dar'st thou?

KING. Hence!

MEDEA. I go, but I will come again, to take What is mine own, and bring what ye deserve.

KING. Ha! Wouldst thou threaten us before our face? If words will not suffice—

(To his attendants.)

Then teach ye her How she should bear herself before a king!

MEDEA. Stand back! Who dares to block Medea's path? Mark well, O king, this hour when I depart. Trust me, thou never saw'st a blacker one! Make way! I go,—and take with me revenge!

[She goes out.]

KING. Our punishment, at least, will follow thee!

(To CREUSA.)

Nay, tremble not. We'll keep thee safe from her!

CREUSA. I wonder only, whether what we do Be right? If so, no power can work us harm!

(The curtain falls.)



ACT III

The outer court of CREON'S palace. In the background the entrance to the royal apartments; on the right at the side a colonnade leading to MEDEA's apartments.

MEDEA is standing in the foreground, behind her at a distance GORA is seen speaking to a servant of the king.

GORA. Say to the king: Medea takes no message from a slave. Hath he aught to say to her, He must e'en come himself. Perchance she'll deign to hear him.

[The slave departs.]

(GORA comes forward and addresses MEDEA.)

They think that thou wilt go, Taming thy hate, forgetting thy revenge. The fools! Or wilt thou go? Wilt thou? I could almost believe thou wilt. For thou no longer art the proud Medea, The royal seed of Colchis' mighty king, The wise and skilful daughter of a wise And skilful mother. Else hadst thou not been patient, borne their gibes So long, even until now!

MEDEA. Ye gods! O hear her! Borne! Been patient! So long, even until now!

GORA. I counseled thee to yield, to soften, When thou didst seek to tarry yet awhile; But thou wert blind, ensnared; The heavy stroke had not yet fallen, Which I foresaw, whereof I warned thee first. But, now that it is fall'n, I bid thee stay! They shall not laugh to scorn this Colchian wife, Heap insult on the blood of our proud kings! Let them give back thy babes, The offshoots of that royal oak, now felled, Or perish, fall themselves, In darkness and in night! Is all prepared for flight? Or hast thou other plans?

MEDEA. First I will have my children. For the rest, My way will be made plain.

GORA. Then thou wilt flee?

MEDEA. I know not, yet.

GORA. Then they will laugh at thee!

MEDEA. Laugh at me? No!

GORA. What is thy purpose, then?

MEDEA. I have no heart to plan or think at all. Over the silent abyss Let dark night brood!

GORA. If thou wouldst flee, then whither?

MEDEA (sorrowfully).

Whither? Ah, whither?

GORA. Here in this stranger-land There is no place for us. They hate thee sore, These Greeks, and they will slay thee!

MEDEA. Slay me? Me? Nay, it is I will slay them!

GORA. And at home, There in far Colchis, danger waits us, too!

MEDEA. O Colchis, Colchis! O my fatherland!

GORA. Thou hast heard the tale, how thy father died When thou wentest forth, and didst leave thy home, And thy brother fell? He died, says the tale, But methinks 'twas not so? Nay, he gripped his grief, Sharper far than a sword, and, raging 'gainst Fate, 'Gainst himself, fell on death!

MEDEA. Dost thou, too, join my foes? Wilt thou slay me?

GORA. Nay, hark! I warned thee. I said: "Flee these strangers, new-come; most of all flee this man, Their leader smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor!"

MEDEA. "Smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor" —were these thy words?

GORA. Even these.

MEDEA. And I would not believe?

GORA. Thou wouldst not; but into the deadly net Didst haste, that now closes over thine head.

MEDEA. "A smooth-tongued traitor!" Yea, that is the word! Hadst thou said but that, I had known in time; But thou namedst him foe to us, hateful, and dread, While friendly he seemed and fair, and I hated him not.

GORA. Thou lovest him, then?

MEDEA. I? Love? I hate and shudder at him As at falsehood, treachery, Black horrors—as at myself!

GORA. Then punish him, strike him low! Avenge thy brother, thy sire, Our fatherland and our gods, Our shame-yea, mine, and thine!

MEDEA. First I will have my babes; All else is hidden in night. What think'st thou of this?—When he comes Treading proud to his bridal with her, That maid whom I hate, If, from the roof of the palace above him, Medea crash down at his feet and lie there, A ghastly corpse?

GORA. 'Twere a sweet revenge!

MEDEA. Or if, at the bridal-chamber's door, I lay her dead in her blood, Beside her the children—Jason's children—dead?

GORA. But thyself such revenge would hurt, and not him.

MEDEA. Ah, I would that he loved me still, That I might slay myself, and make him groan! But what of that maid, so false, so pure?

GORA. Ha! There thou strikest nearer to the mark!

MEDEA. Peace, peace! Back, whence ye came, ye evil thoughts! Back into silence, into darkest night!

[She covers her face with her veil.]

GORA. Those heroes all, who made with him The wanton Argo-voyage hence, The gods above have recompensed With just requital, swift revenge. Death and disgrace have seized them all Save one—how long shall he go free? Each day I listen greedily, And joy to hear how they have died, How fell these glorious sons of Greece, The robber-band that fought their way Back from far Colchis. Thracian maids Rent limb from limb sweet Orpheus' frame; And Hylas found a watery grave; Pirithoues and Theseus pierced Even to Hades' darksome realm To rob that mighty lord of shades Of his radiant spouse, Persephone; But then he seized, and holds them there For aye in chains and endless night.

MEDEA (swiftly snatching her veil from before her face).

Because they came to steal his wife? Good! Good! 'Twas Jason's crime, nay, less!

GORA. Great Heracles forsook his wife, For he was snared by other charms, And in revenge she sent to him A linen tunic, which he took And clad himself therewith—and sank To earth in hideous agonies; For she had smeared it secretly With poison and swift death. He sank To earth, and Oeta's wooded heights Were witness how he died in flames!

MEDEA. She wove it, then, that tunic dire That slew him?

GORA. Ay, herself.

MEDEA. Herself!

GORA. Althea 'twas—his mother—smote The mighty Meleager down Who slew the Calydonian boar; The mother slew her child.

MEDEA. Was she Forsaken by her husband, too?

GORA. Nay, he had slain her brother.

MEDEA. Who? The husband

GORA. Nay, her son, I mean.

MEDEA. And when the deed was done, she died?

GORA. She liveth yet.

MEDEA. To do a deed Like that—and live! Oh, horrible! Thus much do I know, thus much I see clear Not unavenged shall I suffer wrong; What that vengeance shall be, I know not,—would not know. Whatso'er I can do, he deserves,—ay, the worst! But—mankind are so weak, So fain to grant time for the sinner to feel remorse!

GORA. Remorse? Ask thy lord if he rue his deed! For, see! He draws nigh with hasty steps.

MEDEA. And with him the king, my bitter foe, Whose counsel hath led my lord astray. Him must I flee, for I cannot tame My hatred.

[She goes swiftly toward the palace.]

But if lord Jason wish To speak with me, then bid him come in, To my side in the innermost chambers—there I would parley with him, not here By the side of the man who is my foe. They come. Away!

[She disappears into the palace.]

GORA. Lo, she is gone! And I am left to deal with the man Who is killing my child, who hath brought it to pass That I lay my head on a foreign soil, And must hide my tears of bitter woe, Lest I see a smile on the lips of these strangers here.

The KING and JASON enter.

KING. Why hath thy mistress fled? 'Twill serve her not

GORA. Fled? Nay, she went, because she hates thy face

KING. Summon her forth!

GORA. She will not come.

KING. She shall!

GORA. Then go thou in thyself and call her forth, If thou dost dare.

KING (angrily).

Where am I, then, and who, That this mad woman dares to spite me thus? The servant mirrors forth the mistress' soul— Servant and mistress mirror forth that land Of darkness that begat them! Once again I tell thee, call her forth!

GORA (pointing to Jason).

There stands the man That she would speak with. Let him go within— If he hath courage for it.

JASON. Get thee gone, Old witch, whom I have hated from the first! Tell her, who is so like thee, she must come.

GORA. Ah, if she were like me, thou wouldst not speak In such imperious wise! I promise thee That she shall know of it, and to thy dole!

JASON. I would have speech with her.

GORA. Go in!

JASON. Not I! 'Tis she that shall come forth. Go thou within And tell her so!

GORA. Well, well, I go, if but To rid me of the sight of you, my lords; Ay, and I'll bear your summons, but I know Full well she will not come, for she is weak And feels her sickness all too grievously.

[She goes into the palace.]

KING. Not one day longer will I suffer her To stay in Corinth. This old dame but now Gave utterance to the dark and fell designs On which yon woman secretly doth brood. Methinks her presence is a constant threat. Thy doubts, I hope, are laid to rest at last?

JASON. Fulfil, O King, thy sentence on my wife! She can no longer tarry where I am, So, let her go; the sentence is not harsh. Forsooth, though I am less to blame than she, My lot is bitt'rer, harder far than hers. She but returns to that grim wilderness Where she was born, and, like a restive colt From whom the galling yoke is just removed, Will rush to freedom, and become once more Untamed and stubborn. But my place is here; Here must I sit and while away the days In meek inaction, burdened with the scorn And scoffing of mankind, mine only task Dully to muse upon my vanished past.

KING. Thou wilt be great and famous yet again, Believe me. Like the bow which, once set free From the fierce strain, doth speed the arrow swift And straight unto its mark, whenso the hand Is loosed that bent it, so wilt thou spring back And be thyself again, once she is gone.

JASON. Naught feel I in my breast to feed such hopes! Lost is my name, my fame; I am no more Than Jason's shadow, not that prince himself.

KING. The world, my son, is not so harsh as thou: An older man's misstep is sin and crime; The youth's, a misstep only, which he may Retrace, and mend his error. All thy deeds In Colchis, when thou went a hot-head boy, Will be forgot, if thou wilt show thyself Henceforth a man.

JASON. O, might I trust thy words, I could be happy once again!

KING. Let her But leave thy side, and thou wilt say I'm right. Before the Amphictyons' judgment-seat I'll go And speak for thee, defend thy righteous cause, And prove that it was she alone, Medea, Who did those horrid deeds wherewith thou'rt charged, Prove her the wanton, her the darksome witch. Lifted shall be the doom of banishment From off thy brow. If not, then thou shalt rise In all thy stubborn strength, and to the breeze Unfurl the glorious banner of pure gold Which thou didst bring from earth's most distant land, And, like a rushing torrent, all the youth Of Greece will stream to serve thee once again And rally 'round thy standard to oppose All foes that come, rally 'round thee, now purged Of all suspicion, starting life anew, The glorious hope of Greece, and of the Fleece The mighty hero!—Thou hast got it still?

JASON. The Fleece?

KING. Ay.

JASON. Nay, not I.

KING. And yet thy wife Bore it away from old King Pelias' house.

JASON. Then she must have it still.

KING. If so, then she Shall straightway yield it up, perforce. It is The pledge and symbol of thy power to come. Ay, thou shalt yet be strong and great again, Thou only son of my old friend! A king Am I, and have both wealth and power, the which With mine own daughter's spouse I'll gladly share.

JASON. And I will go to claim the heritage My fathers left me, of that false man's son That keeps it from me. For I, too, am rich, Could I but have my due.

KING. Peace! Look, she comes Who still doth vex us. But our task is brief.

MEDEA comes out of the palace, attended by GORA.

MEDEA. What wouldst thou with me?

KING. I did send thee late Some slaves to speak my will, whom thou didst drive With harsh words forth, and didst demand to hear From mine own lips whate'er I had to say, What my commands and what thou hadst to do.

MEDEA. Say on!

KING. Naught strange or new have I to tell. I would but speak once more the doom I set Upon thy head, and add thereto that thou Must forth today.

MEDEA. And why today?

KING. The threats That thou halt uttered 'gainst my daughter's life— For those against mine own I do not care: The savage moods that thou of late hast shown, All these do warn me how thy presence here Bodes ill. Wherefore, today thou must begone!

MEDEA. Give me my babes, and I will go—perhaps!

KING. Nay, no "Perhaps!" Thou goest! But the babes Stay here!

MEDEA. How? Mine own babes? But I forget To whom I speak. Let me have speech with him, My husband, standing there.

KING. Nay, hear her not!

MEDEA (to JASON).

I pray thee, let me speak with thee!

JASON. Well, well, So be it, then, that thou may'st see I have No fear of any words of thine to me.

(To the KING.)

Leave us, my lord! I'll hear what she would say.

KING. I go, but I am fearful. She is sly And cunning! [He departs.]

MEDEA. So, he's gone! No stranger now Is here to vex us, none to come between Husband and wife, and, what our hearts do feel, That we can speak out clear.—Say first, my lord, What are thy plans, thy wishes?

JASON. Thou dost know.

MEDEA. I guess thy will, but all thy secret thoughts I know not.

JASON. Be contented with the first, For they are what decide.

MEDEA. Then I must go?

JASON. Go!

MEDEA. And today?

JASON. Today!

MEDEA. And thou canst stand So calm before me and speak such a word, Nor drop thine eyes for shame, nor even blush?

JASON. I must needs blush, if I should say aught else!

MEDEA. Ha! Good! Well done! Speak ever words like these When thou wouldst clear thyself in others' eyes, But leave such idle feigning when thou speak'st With me!

JASON. Dost call my dread of horrid deeds Which thou hast done, a sham, and idle, too? Thou art condemned by men; the very gods Have damned thee! And I give thee up to them And to their judgment! 'Tis a fate, in sooth, Thou richly hast deserved!

MEDEA. Who is this man, This pious, virtuous man with whom I speak? Is it not Jason? Strives he to seem mild? O, mild and gentle one, didst thou not come To Colchis' strand, and win in bloody fight The daughter of its king? O, gentle, mild, Didst thou not slay my brother, was it not At thine own hands mine aged father fell, Thou gentle, pious man? And now thou wouldst Desert the wife whom thou didst steal away! Mild? No, say rather hateful, monstrous man!

JASON. Such wild abuse I will not stay to hear. Thou knowest now what thou must do. Farewell!

MEDEA. Nay, nay, I know not! Stay until I learn! Stay, and I will be quiet even as thou.— So, I am banished, then? But what of thee? Methinks the Herald's sentence named thee, too.

JASON. When it is known that I am innocent Of all these horrid deeds, and had no hand In murdering mine uncle, then the ban Will be removed from me.

MEDEA. And thou wilt live Peaceful and happy, for long years to come?

JASON. I shall live quietly, as doth become Unhappy men like me.

MEDEA. And what of me?

JASON. Thou dost but reap the harvest thine own hands Have sown.

MEDEA. My hands? Hadst thou no part therein?

JASON. Nay, none.

MEDEA. Didst never pray thine uncle's death Might speedily be compassed?

JASON. No command At least I gave.

MEDEA. Ne'er sought to learn if I Had heart and courage for the deed?

JASON. Thou know'st How, in the first mad burst of rage and hate, A man speaks many hot, impetuous threats Which calm reflection never would fulfil.

MEDEA. Once thou didst blame thyself for that mad deed; Now thou hast found a victim who can bear The guilt in place of thee!

JASON. 'Tis not the thought Of such a deed that merits punishment; It is the deed itself.

MEDEA (quickly).

I did it not!

JASON. Who, then, is guilty?

MEDEA. Not myself, at least! Listen, my husband, and be thou the first To do me justice. As I stood at the chamber door, to enter And steal away the Fleece, The king lay there on his couch; Sudden I heard a cry! I turned, And lo! I saw the aged king Leap from his couch with frightful shrieks, Twisting and writhing; and he cried, "Com'st thou, O brother, to take revenge, Revenge on me? Ha! Thou shalt die Again, and yet again!" And straight He sprang at me, to grip me fast, For in my hands I held the Fleece. I shook with fear, and cried aloud For help to those dark gods I know; The Fleece before me like a shield I held. His face was twisted swift To maniac grins, and leered at me! Then, with a shriek, he madly tore At the clothes that bound his aged veins; They rent; the blood gushed forth in streams, And, even as I looked, aghast And full of horror, there he lay, The king, at my very feet, all bathed In his own blood-lay cold and dead!

JASON. And thou canst stand and tell me such a tale, Thou hateful witchwife? Get thee gone from me! Away! I shudder at thee! Would that I Had ne'er beheld thy face!

MEDEA. Thou knewest well That I was skilled in witchcraft, from that day When first thou saw'st me at my magic arts, And still didst yearn and long to call me thine!

JASON. I was a youth then, and an arrant fool! What boys are pleased with, men oft cast away.

MEDEA. O, say no word against the golden days Of youth, when heads are hot, but hearts are pure! O, if thou wert but now what once thou wast, Then were I happier far! Come back with me Only a little step to that fair time When, in our fresh, green youth, we strayed together By Phasis' flowery marge. How frank and clear Thy heart was then, and mine how closely sealed And sad! But thou with thy soft, gentle light Didst pierce my darkness, drive away the clouds, And make me bright and happy. Thine I was, And thou wert mine; O, Jason, is it then Vanished forever, that far, happy time? Or hath the bitter struggle for a hearth And home, for name and fame, forever killed The blooms of fairest promise on the tree Of thy green youth? Oh, compassed though I be With woe and heavy sorrows all about, Yet I think often on that springtime sweet Whence soft and balmy breezes o'er the years Are wafted to me! If Medea then Seemed fair to thee and lovely, how today Can she be dread and hateful? What I was Thou knewest, and didst seek me none the less. Thou took'st me as I was; O, keep me, as I am!

JASON. Thou hast forgot the dreadful deeds that since Have come to pass.

MEDEA. Ay, dread they are, in sooth, And I confess it! 'Gainst mine aged sire I sinned most deeply, 'gainst my brother, too, And none condemns me more than I myself. I'll welcome punishment, and I'll repent In joy and gladness; only thou shalt not Pronounce the doom upon me, nay, not thou! For all my deeds were done for love of thee.— Come, let us flee together, once again Made one in heart and soul! Some distant land Will take us to its bosom.

JASON. What land, then? And whither should we flee?

MEDEA. Whither!

JASON. Thou'rt mad, And dost revile me, that I do not choose To share thy raving! No! Our life together Is done! The gods have cursed our union long, As one with deeds of cruelty begun, That since hath waged and found its nourishment In horrid crimes. E'en granting thou didst not Thyself slay Pelias, who was there to see? Or who would trust thy tale?

MEDEA. Thou!

JASON. Even then, What can I do, how clear thee?—It were vain! Come, let us yield to Fate, not stubbornly Defy it! Let us each repentance seek, And suffer our just doom, thou fleeing forth Because thou may'st not stay, I tarrying here When I would flee.

MEDEA. Methinks thou dost not choose The harder lot!

JASON. Is it so easy, then, To live, a stranger, in a stranger's house, Subsisting on a stranger's pitying gifts?

MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not choose To fly with me?

JASON. But whither? Ay, and how?

MEDEA. There was a time thou hadst not shown thyself So over-prudent, when thou camest first To Colchis from the city of thy sires, Seeking the glitter of an empty fame In distant lands.

JASON. I am not what I was; Broken my strength, the courage in my breast A dead thing. And 'tis thou I have to thank For such misfortune! Bitter memories Of days long past lie like a weight of lead Upon my anxious soul; I cannot raise Mine eyes for heaviness of heart. And, more, The boy of those far days is grown a man, No longer, like a wanton, sportive child, Gambols amid bright flow'rs, but reaches out For ripened fruit, for what is real and sure. Babes I have got, but have no place where they May lay their heads; my task it is to make An heritage for these. Shall Jason's stock Be but a withered weed beside the road, By all men spurned and trampled? If thou e'er Hast truly loved me, if I e'er was dear To thee, oh, give me proof thereof, restore Myself to me again, and yield a grave To me in this, my homeland!

MEDEA. And in this Same homeland a new marriage-bed, forsooth I Am I not right?

JASON. What idle talk is this?

MEDEA. Have I not heard how Creon named thee son, And husband of his daughter? She it is, Creusa, that doth charm thee, hold thee fast In Corinth! 'Tis for her that thou wouldst stay! Confess, I have thee there!

JASON. Thou hast me not, And never hadst me.

MEDEA. So, thou wilt repent, And I, thy wife Medea, I must go Away?—I stood beside you there and wept As thou didst trace with her your happy days Of youth together, tarrying at each step In sweet remembrance, till thou didst become Naught but an echo of that distant past.— I will not go, no, will not!

JASON. Thou'rt unjust, And hard and wild as ever!

MEDEA. I unjust! Thou dost not seek her, then, to wife? Say no!

JASON. I do but seek a place to lay me down And rest. What else will come, I do not know!

MEDEA. Ay, but I know full well, and it shall be My task to thwart thee, with the help of heaven!

JASON. Thou canst not speak with calmness, so, farewell!

[He takes a step toward the door.]

MEDEA. Jason!

JASON (turning back).

What wouldst thou?

MEDEA. 'Tis, perchance, the last, Last time that we shall speak together!

JASON. True; Then let us without hate or rancor part.

MEDEA. Thou mad'st me love thee deeply. Wouldst thou now Flee from my face?

JASON. I must!

MEDEA. Hast robbed me, too, Of my dear father; and wouldst steal away Mine husband?

JASON. I am helpless!

MEDEA. At thy hands My brother met his death untimely. Him Thou hast taken from me, too, and now wouldst fly And leave me?

JASON. He was innocent; he fell. And I am blameless, too; but I must flee thee.

MEDEA. I left my fatherland to follow thee!

JASON. Thou didst but follow thine own will, not me. Gladly would I, if thou hadst rued thy deed, Have sent thee back again.

MEDEA. I am accurst, And damned by all the world,—and all for thee! And, for thy sake, I even hate myself! Wilt thou forsake me still?

JASON. 'Tis not my will, Nay; but a higher bidding tells me plain That I must leave thy side. Thy fate seems hard, But what of mine? And yet, I pity thee, If that be any comfort!

MEDEA (falling upon her knees to him).

Jason!

JASON. Well? What wouldst thou further?

MEDEA (rising suddenly).

Nothing! It is past And done with! O proud sires, O mighty gods Of Colchis, grant forgiveness to thy child Who hath so humbled and dishonored you, (Ay, and herself as well)—for I was pressed And needs must do it. Now, receive me back!

[JASON turns to leave her.]

Jason!

JASON. Hope not that thou canst soften me!

MEDEA. Nay, never think I wished it! Give me back My babes!

JASON.

Thy children? Never!

MEDEA (wildly).

They are mine!

JASON. Men call them by their father's name; and that Shall never grace barbarians! Here in Greece I'll rear them, to be Greeks!

MEDEA. To be despised And scorned by offspring of thy later bed? I tell thee, they are mine!

JASON. Nay, have a care, Lest thou shouldst turn my pity unto hate! And keep a quiet mien, since that is all Can soften thy hard fate.

MEDEA. To prayers and tears I needs must humble me! My husband!—No, For that thou art no more! Beloved!—No, For that, thou never wert! Man, shall I say? He is no man who breaks his solemn oath! Lord Jason!—Pah! It is a traitor's name! How shall I name thee? Devil!—Gentle! Good! Give me my babes, and let me go in peace!

JASON. I cannot, I have told thee, cannot do it.

MEDEA. Hard heart! Thou tak'st the husband from the wife, And robb'st the mother of her babes as well?

JASON. Nay, then, that thou may'st know how I have yet Some kindness left, take with thee when thou goest One of the babes.

MEDEA. But one? Say, only one?

JASON. Beware thou ask too much! The little I Have just now granted, oversteps the right.

MEDEA. Which shall it be?

JASON. We'll leave the choice to them, The babes themselves; and whichsoever will, Him thou shalt take.

MEDEA. O thanks a thousand times, Thou gentle, kindly man! He lies who calls Thee traitor!

[The KING appears at the door.]

JASON. Come, my lord!

KING. Is't settled, then?

JASON. She goes; and I have granted her to take One of the children with her.

(To one of the slaves who has accompanied the KING.)

Hasten swift And bring the babes before us!

KING. What is this? Here they shall stay, ay, both of them!

MEDEA. This gift That in mine eyes so small is, seemeth it So great a boon to thee? Hast thou no fear Of Heaven's fell anger, harsh and violent man?

KING. The gods deal harshly with such wanton crimes As thou hast done!

MEDEA. Yea, but they see the cause That drove us to such deeds!

KING. 'Tis wicked thoughts, Deep in the heart, beget such crimes as thine!

MEDEA. All causes else thou count'st for naught?

KING. With stern And iron justice mine own self I rule, And so, with right, judge others.

MEDEA. In the act Of punishing my crimes, thou dost commit A worse thyself!

JASON. She shall not say of me That I am all hard-hearted; wherefore I One of the babes have promised her, to be His mother's dearest comfort in her woe.

CREUSA enters with the children.

CREUSA. One told me that these babes were summoned here. What will ye have? What deeds are now afoot? Behold how they do love me, though they were But now brought here to Corinth! 'Tis as if Long years already we had seen and known Each one the other. 'Twas my gentle words That won them; for, poor babes, they were not used To loving treatment; and their sore distress, Their loneliness did straightway win my heart.

MEDEA. One of the babes goes with me!

CREUSA. What is this? Leaves us?

KING. E'en so. It is their father's will!

(To MEDEA, who stands in deep meditation.)

Here are thy children. Let them make their choice!

MEDEA (wildly).

The babes! My children! Ay, 'tis they, in sooth! The one thing left me in this bitter world! Ye gods, forget those dark and wicked thoughts That late I harbored; grant me both my babes, Yea, both, and I'll go forth from out this land Praising your mercy! Yea, I'll e'en forgive My husband there, and her—No! Her I'll not Forgive—nor Jason, either! Come to me, Come here, my babes!—Why stand ye silent there And cling upon the breast of my false foe? Ah, could ye know how she hath humbled me, Ye would arm your tiny hands, curve into claws Those little, weakling fingers, rend and tear That soft and tender form, whereto ye cling So lovingly!—Wouldst hold my children back From coming to me? Let them go!

CREUSA. In sooth, Unhappy woman, I restrain them not!

MEDEA. Not with thy hand, I know, but with thy glance, Thy false, deceitful face, that seems all love, And holds my husband from me, too! Thou laugh'st? I promise thee thou'lt weep hot tears in days To come!

CREUSA. Now may the gods chastise me if I had A thought of laughing!

KING. Woman, break not forth In insults and in anger! Do what thou Hast yet to do, or go!

MEDEA. Thou'rt right, O king, Most just of kings! Not so much kind of heart As just! How do thy bidding? Yet will I Strive to do both. Hark, children! List to me! They send your mother forth, to wander wide O'er sea and land. Who knows where she shall come? These kindly folk, thy father, and that just And gentle king that standeth there, have said That I may take, to share my lonely fate, One of my babes, but only one. Ye gods, Hear ye this sentence? One, and one alone! Now, whichsoever of you loves me more, Let that one come to join me, for I may Not have you both; the other here must stay Beside his father, and with that false king's Still falser daughter!—Hear ye what I say? Why linger there?

KING. Thou seest they will not come!

MEDEA. Thou liest, false and wicked king! They would, Save that thy daughter hath enchanted them And keeps them from me!—Heard ye not, my babes?— Accurst and monstrous children, bane and curse Of your poor mother, image of your sire!

JASON. They will not come!

MEDEA (pointing to CREUSA).

Let her but go away! They love me! Am I not their mother? Look How she doth beckon, nod to them, and draw Them further from me!

CREUSA. I will go away, Though I deserve not thy suspicious hate.

MEDEA. Come to me, children!—Come!—O viper brood!

[She advances toward them threateningly; the children fly to CREUSA for protection.]

MEDEA. They fly from me! They fly!

KING. Thou seest, Medea, The children will not come—so, get thee gone!

MEDEA. They will not? These my babes do fear to come Unto their mother?—No, it is not true, It cannot be!—Aeson, my elder son, My best beloved! See, thy mother calls! Come to her! Nay, no more will I be harsh, No more enangered with thee! Thou shalt be Most precious in mine eyes, the one thing left I call mine own! Hark to thy mother! Come!— He turns his face away, and will not! O Thou thankless child, thou image of thy sire, Like him in each false feature, in mine eyes Hateful, as he is! Stay, then, where thou art! I know thee not!—But thou, Absyrtus, child Of my sore travail, with the merry face Of my lost brother whom with bitter tears I mourn, and mild and gentle as was he, See how thy mother kneels upon the ground And, weeping, calls thee! O let not her prayers Be all in vain! Absyrtus, come to me, My little son! Come to thy mother!—What? He tarries where he is! Thou, too? Thou, too? Give me a dagger, quick, that I may slay These whelps, and then myself!

[She springs up.]



JASON. Nay, thou must thank thyself that thy wild ways Have startled them, estranged them, turned their hearts Unto that mild and gentle maid they love. They do but echo what the gods decree!— Depart now; but the babes, they tarry here.

MEDEA. O children, hear me!

JASON. See, they hearken not!

MEDEA. O children, children!

KING (to CREUSA).

Lead them back again Into the palace! 'Tis not meet they hate The mother that did bear them.

[CREUSA moves away with the children.]

MEDEA. Woe is me! They flee! My children flee before my face!

KING (to JASON).

Come we away! To weep for what must be Is fruitless!

[They depart.]

MEDEA. O my babes, my little babes!

GORA enters quickly.

GORA. Come, calm thyself, nor grant to these thy foes The joy of seeing how they've conquered thee!

MEDEA (flinging herself upon the ground).

Conquered I am, at last, made nothing worth, Trampled beneath my foes' triumphant feet! They flee me, flee me! Mine own children flee me!

GORA (bending over her).

Thou must not die!

MEDEA. Nay, let me die! My babes, My little babes!



ACT IV

_The outer court of _CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act. It is twilight._ MEDEA lies prone upon the steps that lead to her apartments; _GORA_ is standing before her._

GORA. Up, Medea, speak! Why liest thou there so silent, staring Blindly before thee? Rise, and speak! O, help our sore distress!