1The scene
[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.]
2Nurse
Would God no Argo e'er had winged the seasTo Colchis through the blue Symplegades:No shaft of riven pine in Pelion's glenShaped that first oar-blade in the hands of menValiant, who won, to save King Pelias' vow,The fleece All-golden! Never then, I trow,Mine own princess, her spirit wounded soreWith love of Jason, to the encastled shoreHad sailed of old Iolcos: never wroughtThe daughters of King Pelias, knowing not,To spill their father's life: nor fled in fear,Hunted for that fierce sin, to Corinth hereWith Jason and her babes. This folk at needStood friend to her, and she in word and deedServed 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 loveSick as with poison. Jason doth forsakeMy mistress and his own two sons, to makeHis couch in a king's chamber. He must wed:Wed with this Creon's child, who now is headAnd chief of Corinth. Wherefore sore betrayedMedea calleth up the oath they made,They two, and wakes the clasped hands again,The troth surpassing speech, and cries amainOn God in heaven to mark the end, and howJason hath paid his debt.All fasting nowAnd 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 eyesAre lifted not; and all her visage liesIn the dust. If friends will speak, she hears no moreThan some dead rock or wave that beats the shore:Only the white throat in a sudden shameMay writhe, and all alone she moans the nameOf father, and land, and home, forsook that dayFor 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 seeHer children near. 'Tis this that maketh meMost tremble, lest she do I know not what.Her heart is no light thing, and useth notTo brook much wrong. I know that woman, aye,And dread her! Will she creep alone to dieBleeding in that old room, where still is laidLord Jason's bed? She hath for that a bladeMade keen. Or slay the bridegroom and the king,And win herself God knows what direr thing?'Tis a fell spirit. Few, I ween, shall stirHer hate unscathed, or lightly humble her.Ha! 'Tis the children from their games again,Rested and gay; and all their mother's painForgotten! Young lives ever turn from gloom!
[The CHILDREN and their ATTENDANT come in.
3Attendant
Thou ancient treasure of my lady's room,What mak'st thou here before the gates alone,And alway turning on thy lips some moanOf old mischances? Will our mistress beContent, this long time to be left by thee?
4Nurse
Grey guard of Jason's children, a good thrallHath his own grief, if any hurt befallHis masters. Aye, it holds one's heart! . . .MeseemsI have strayed out so deep in evil dreams,I longed to rest me here alone, and cryMedea's wrongs to this still Earth and Sky.
5Attendant
How? Are the tears yet running in her eyes?
6Nurse
'Twere good to be like thee! . . . Her sorrow liesScarce wakened yet, not half its perils wrought.
7Attendant
Mad spirit! . . . if a man may speak his thoughtOf masters mad.--And nothing in her earsHath sounded yet of her last cause for tears!
[He moves towards the house, but the NURSE checks him.
8Nurse
What cause, old man? . . . Nay, grudge me not one word.
9Attendant
'Tis nothing. Best forget what thou hast heard.
10Nurse
Nay, housemate, by thy beard! Hold it not hidFrom me. . . . I will keep silence if thou bid.
11Attendant
I heard an old man talking, where he sateAt draughts in the sun, beside the fountain gate,And never thought of me, there standing stillBeside him. And he said, 'Twas Creon's will,Being lord of all this land, that she be sent,And with her her two sons, to banishment.Maybe 'tis all false. For myself, I knowNo further, and I would it were not so.
12Nurse
Jason will never bear it--his own sonsBanished,--however hot his anger runsAgainst their mother!
13Attendant
Old love burneth lowWhen new love wakes, men say. He is not nowHusband nor father here, nor any kin.
14Nurse
But this is ruin! New waves breaking inTo wreck us, ere we are righted from the old!
15Attendant
Well, hold thy peace. Our mistress will be toldAll in good time. Speak thou no word hereof.
16Nurse
My babes! What think ye of your father's love?God curse him not, he is my master still:But, oh, to them that loved him, 'tis an illFriend. . . .
17Attendant
And what man on earth is different? How?Hast thou lived all these years, and learned but nowThat every man more loveth his own headThan other men's? He dreameth of the bedOf this new bride, and thinks not of his sons.
18Nurse
Go: run into the house, my little ones:All will end happily! . . . Keep them apart:Let not their mother meet them while her heartIs darkened. Yester night I saw a flameStand in her eye, as though she hated them,And would I know not what. For sure her wrathWill never turn nor slumber, till she hath . . .Go: and if some must suffer, may it beNot we who love her, but some enemy!
19Voice (within)
Oh shame and pain: O woe is me!Would I could die in my misery!
[The CHILDREN and the ATTENDANT go in.
20Nurse
Ah, children, hark! She moves againHer frozen heart, her sleeping wrath.In, quick! And never cross her path,Nor rouse that dark eye in its pain;
That fell sea-spirit, and the direSpring of a will untaught, unbowed.Quick, now!--Methinks this weeping cloudHath in its heart some thunder-fire,
Slow gathering, that must flash ere long.I know not how, for ill or well,It turns, this uncontrollableTempestuous spirit, blind with wrong.
21Voice (within)
Have I not suffered? Doth it callNo tears? . . . Ha, ye beside the wallUnfathered children, God hate youAs I am hated, and him, too,That gat you, and this house and all!
22Nurse
For pity! What have they to do,Babes, with their father's sin? Why callThy curse on these? . . . Ah, children, allThese days my bosom bleeds for you.
Rude are the wills of princes: yea,Prevailing alway, seldom crossed,On fitful winds their moods are tossed:'Tis best men tread the equal way.
Aye, not with glory but with peaceMay the long summers find me crowned:For gentleness--her very soundIs magic, and her usages.
All wholesome: but the fiercely greatHath little music on his road,And falleth, when the hand of GodShall move, most deep and desolate.
[During the last words the LEADER of the Chorus has entered. Other women follow her.
23Leader
I heard a voice and a moan,A voice of the eastern seas:Hath she found not yet her ease?Speak, O aged one.For I stood afar at the gate,And there came from within a cry,And wailing desolate.Ah, no more joy have I,For the griefs this house doth see,And the love it hath wrought in me.
24Nurse
There is no house! 'Tis gone. The lordSeeketh a prouder bed: and sheWastes in her chamber, not one wordWill hear of care or charity.
25Voice (within)
O Zeus, O Earth, O Light,Will the fire not stab my brain?What profiteth living? Oh,Shall I not lift the slowYoke, and let Life go,As a beast out in the night,To lie, and be rid of pain?
26Chorus
[Some Women.]
A.
"O Zeus, O Earth, O Light:"The cry of a bride forlornHeard ye, and wailing bornOf lost delight?
B.
Why weariest thou this day,Wild heart, for the bed abhorred,The cold bed in the clay?Death cometh though no man pray,Ungarlanded, un-adored.Call him not thou.
C.
If another's arms be nowWhere thine have been,On his head be the sin:Rend not thy brow!
D.
All that thou sufferest,God seeth: Oh, not so soreWaste nor weep for the breastThat was thine of yore.
27Voice (within)
Virgin of Righteousness,Virgin of hallowed Troth,Ye marked me when with an oathI bound him; mark no lessThat oath's end. Give me to seeHim and his bride, who soughtMy grief when I wronged her not,Broken in misery,And all her house. . . . O God,My mother's home, and the dimShore that I left for him,And the voice of my brother's blood. . . .
28Nurse
Oh, wild words! Did ye hear her cryTo them that guard man's faith forsworn,Themis and Zeus? . . . This wrath new-bornShall make mad workings ere it die.
29Chorus
[Other Women.]
A.
Would she but come to seekOur faces, that love her well,And take to her heart the spellOf words that speak?
B.
Alas for the heavy hateAnd anger that burneth ever!Would it but now abate,Ah God, I love her yet.And surely my love's endeavourShall fail not here.
C.
Go: from that chamber drearForth to the dayLead her, and say, Oh, sayThat we love her dear.
D.
Go, lest her hand be hardOn the innocent: Ah, let be!For her grief moves hitherward,Like an angry sea.
30Nurse
That will I: though what words of mineOr love shall move her? Let them lieWith the old lost labours! . . . Yet her eye--Know ye the eyes of the wild kine,
The lion flash that guards their brood?So looks she now if any thrallSpeak comfort, or draw near at allMy mistress in her evil mood.
[The NURSE goes into the house.
31Chorus
[A Woman.]
Alas, the bold blithe bards of oldThat all for joy their music made,For feasts and dancing manifold,That Life might listen and be glad.
But all the darkness and the wrong,Quick deaths and dim heart-aching things,Would no man ease them with a songOr music of a thousand strings?
Then song had served us in our need.What profit, o'er the banquet's swellThat lingering cry that none may heed?The feast hath filled them: all is well!
[Others.]
I heard a song, but it comes no more.Where the tears ran over:A keen cry but tired, tired:A woman's cry for her heart's desired,For a traitor's kiss and a lost lover.But a prayer, methinks, yet riseth soreTo God, to Faith, God's ancient daughter--The Faith that over sundering seasDrew her to Hellas, and the breezeOf midnight shivered, and the doorClosed of the salt unsounded water.
[During the last words MEDEA has come out from the house.
32Medea
Women of Corinth, I am come to showMy face, lest ye despise me. For I knowSome heads stand high and fail not, even at nightAlone--far less like this, in all men's sight:And we, who study not our wayfaringsBut feel and cry--Oh we are drifting things,And evil! For what truth is in men's eyes,Which search no heart, but in a flash despiseA strange face, shuddering back from one that ne'erHath wronged them? . . . Sure, far-comers anywhere,I know, must bow them and be gentle. Nay,A Greek himself men praise not, who alwayShould seek his own will recking not. . . . But I--This thing undreamed of, sudden from on high,Hath sapped my soul: I dazzle where I stand,The cup of all life shattered in my hand,Longing to die--O friends! He, even he,Whom to know well was all the world to me,The man I loved, hath proved most evil.--Oh,Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow,A herb most bruised is woman. We must payOur store of gold, hoarded for that one day,To buy us some man's love; and lo, they bringA master of our flesh! There comes the stingOf the whole shame. And then the jeopardy,For good or ill, what shall that master be;Reject she cannot: and if he but staysHis suit, 'tis shame on all that woman's days.So thrown amid new laws, new places, why,'Tis magic she must have, or prophecy--Home never taught her that--how best to guideToward peace this thing that sleepeth at her side.And she who, labouring long, shall find some wayWhereby her lord may bear with her, nor frayHis yoke too fiercely, blessed is the breathThat woman draws! Else, let her pray for death.Her lord, if he be wearied of the faceWithindoors, gets him forth; some merrier placeWill ease his heart: but she waits on, her wholeVision enchained on a single soul.And then, forsooth, 'tis they that face the callOf war, while we sit sheltered, hid from allPeril!--False mocking! Sooner would I standThree times to face their battles, shield in hand,Than bear one child.But peace! There cannot beEver the same tale told of thee and me.Thou hast this city, and thy father's home,And joy of friends, and hope in days to come:But I, being citiless, am cast asideBy him that wedded me, a savage brideWon in far seas and left--no mother near,No brother, not one kinsman anywhereFor harbour in this storm. Therefore of theeI ask one thing. If chance yet ope to meSome path, if even now my hand can winStrength to requite this Jason for his sin,Betray me not! Oh, in all things but this,I know how full of fears a woman is,And faint at need, and shrinking from the lightOf battle: but once spoil her of her rightIn man's love, and there moves, I warn thee well,No bloodier spirit between heaven and hell.
33Leader
I will betray thee not. It is but just,Thou smite him.--And that weeping in the dustAnd stormy tears, how should I blame them? . . .Stay:'Tis Creon, lord of Corinth, makes his wayHither, and bears, methinks, some word of weight.
[Enter from the right CREON, the King, with armed Attendants.]
34Creon
Thou woman sullen-eyed and hot with hateAgainst thy lord, Medea, I here commandThat thou and thy two children from this landGo forth to banishment. Make no delay:Seeing ourselves, the King, are come this dayTo see our charge fulfilled; nor shall againLook homeward ere we have led thy children twainAnd thee beyond our realm's last boundary.
35Medea
Lost! Lost!Mine haters at the helm with sail flung freePursuing; and for us no beach nor shoreIn the endless waters! . . . Yet, though stricken sore,I still will ask thee, for what crime, what thingUnlawful, wilt thou cast me out, O King?
36Creon
What crime? I fear thee, woman--little needTo cloak my reasons--lest thou work some deedOf darkness on my child. And in that fearReasons enough have part. Thou comest hereA wise-woman confessed, and full of loreIn unknown ways of evil. Thou art soreIn heart, being parted from thy lover's arms.And more, thou hast made menace . . . so the alarmsBut now have reached mine ear . . . on bride and groom,And him who gave the bride, to work thy doomOf vengeance. Which, ere yet it be too late,I sweep aside. I choose to earn thine hateOf set will now, not palter with the moodOf mercy, and hereafter weep in blood.
37Medea
'Tis not the first nor second time, O King,That fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bringMy ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyesAre wholesome, seek to rear his children wiseBeyond men's wont? Much helplessness in artsOf common life, and in their townsmen's heartsEnvy deep-set . . . so much their learning brings!Come unto fools with knowledge of new things,They deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye,And men that erst for wisdom were held high,Feel thee a thorn to fret them, privilyHeld higher than they. So hath it been with me.A wise-woman I am; and for that sinTo divers ill names men would pen me in;A seed of strife; an eastern dreamer; oneOf brand not theirs; one hard to play upon . . .Ah, I am not so wondrous wise!--And now,To thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou?What dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path--Fear me not thou!--that I should brave the wrathOf princes? Thou: what has thou ever doneTo wrong me? Granted thine own child to oneWhom thy soul chose.--Ah, him out of my heartI hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy partNot ill. And for thine houses' happinessI hold no grudge. Go: marry, and God blessYour issues. Only suffer me to restSomewhere within this land. Though sore oppressed,I will be still, knowing mine own defeat.
38Creon
Thy words be gentle: but I fear me yetLest even now there creep some wickednessDeep hid within thee. And for that the lessI trust thee now than ere these words began.A woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man,Is easier watching than the cold and still.Up, straight, and find thy road! Mock not my willWith words. This doom is passed beyond recall;Nor all thy crafts shall help thee, being withalMy manifest foe, to linger at my side.
MEDEA (suddenly throwing herself downand clinging to CREON).
Oh, by thy knees! By that new-wedded bride . . .
39Creon
'Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me.
40Medea
Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when I kneel to thee?
41Creon
'Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou.
42Medea
Home, my lost home, how I desire thee now!
43Creon
And I mine, and my child, beyond all things.
44Medea
O Loves of man, what curse is on your wings!
45Creon
Blessing or curse, 'tis as their chances flow.
46Medea
Remember, Zeus, the cause of all this woe!
47Creon
Oh, rid me of my pains! Up, get thee gone!
48Medea
What would I with thy pains? I have mine own.
49Creon
Up: or, 'fore God, my soldiers here shall fling . . .
50Medea
Not that! Not that! . . . I do but pray, O King . . .
51Creon
Thou wilt not? I must face the harsher task?
52Medea
I accept mine exile. 'Tis not that I ask.
53Creon
Why then so wild? Why clinging to mine hand?
54Medea (rising)
For one day only leave me in thy landAt peace, to find some counsel, ere the strainOf exile fall, some comfort for these twain,Mine innocents; since others take no thought,It seems, to save the babes that they begot.Ah! Thou wilt pity them! Thou also artA father: thou hast somewhere still a heartThat feels. . . . I reck not of myself: 'tis theyThat break me, fallen upon so dire a day.
55Creon
Mine is no tyrant's mood. Aye, many a timeEre this my tenderness hath marred the chimeOf wisest counsels. And I know that nowI do mere folly. But so be it! ThouShalt have this grace . . . But this I warn thee clear,If once the morrow's sunlight find thee hereWithin my borders, thee or child of thine,Thou diest! . . . Of this judgment not a lineShall waver nor abate. So linger on,If thou needs must, till the next risen sun;No further. . . . In one day there scarce can beThose perils wrought whose dread yet haunteth me.
[Exit CREON with his suite.
56Chorus
O woman, woman of sorrow,Where wilt thou turn and flee?What town shall be thine to-morrow,What land of all lands that be,What door of a strange man's home?Yea, God hath hunted thee,Medea, forth to the foamOf a trackless sea.
57Medea
Defeat on every side; what else?--But Oh,Not here the end is: think it not! I knowFor bride and groom one battle yet untried,And goodly pains for him that gave the bride.Dost dream I would have grovelled to this man,Save that I won mine end, and shaped my planFor merry deeds? My lips had never deignedSpeak word with him: my flesh been never stainedWith touching. . . . Fool, Oh, triple fool! It laySo plain for him to kill my whole essayBy exile swift: and, lo, he sets me freeThis one long day: wherein mine haters threeShall lie here dead, the father and the brideAnd husband--mine, not hers! Oh, I have triedSo many thoughts of murder to my turn,I know not which best likes me. Shall I burnTheir house with fire? Or stealing past unseenTo Jason's bed--I have a blade made keenFor that--stab, breast to breast, that wedded pair?Good, but for one thing. When I am taken there,And killed, they will laugh loud who hate me. . . .Nay,I love the old way best, the simple wayOf poison, where we too are strong as men.Ah me!And they being dead--what place shall hold me then?What friend shall rise, with land inviolateAnd trusty doors, to shelter from their hateThis flesh? . . . None anywhere! . . . A little moreI needs must wait: and, if there ope some doorOf refuge, some strong tower to shield me, good:In craft and darkness I will hunt this blood.Else, if mine hour be come and no hope nigh,Then sword in hand, full-willed and sure to die,I yet will live to slay them. I will wendMan-like, their road of daring to the end.So help me She who of all Gods hath beenThe best to me, of all my chosen queenAnd helpmate, Hecate, who dwells apart,The flame of flame, in my fire's inmost heart:For all their strength, they shall not stab my soulAnd laugh thereafter! Dark and full of doleTheir bridal feast shall be, most dark the dayThey joined their hands, and hunted me away.Awake thee now, Medea! Whatso plotThou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not.On to the peril-point! Now comes the strainOf daring. Shall they trample thee again?How? And with Hellas laughing o'er thy fallWhile this thief's daughter weds, and weds withalJason? . . . A true king was thy father, yea,And born of the ancient Sun! . . . Thou know'st the way;And God hath made thee woman, things most vainFor help, but wondrous in the paths of pain.
[MEDEA goes into the House.
58Chorus
Back streams the wave on the ever running river:Life, life is changed and the laws of it o'ertrod.Man shall be the slave, the affrighted, the low-liver!Man hath forgotten God.And woman, yea, woman, shall be terrible in story:The tales too, meseemeth, shall be other than of yore.For a fear there is that cometh out of Woman and a glory,And the hard hating voices shall encompass her no more!
The old bards shall cease, and their memory that lingersOf frail brides and faithless, shall be shrivelled as with fire.For they loved us not, nor knew us: and our lips were dumb, our fingersCould wake not the secret of the lyre.Else, else, O God the Singer, I had sung amid their ragesA long tale of Man and his deeds for good and ill.But the old World knoweth--'tis the speech of all his ages--Man's wrong and ours: he knoweth and is still.
[Some Women.]
Forth from thy father's homeThou camest, O heart of fire,To the Dark Blue Rocks, to the clashing foam,To the seas of thy desire:
Till the Dark Blue Bar was crossed;And, lo, by an alien riverStanding, thy lover lost,Void-armed for ever,
Forth yet again, O lowestOf landless women, a rangerOf desolate ways, thou goest,From the walls of the stranger.
[Others.]
And the great Oath waxeth weak;And Ruth, as a thing outstriven,Is fled, fled, from the shores of the Greek,Away on the winds of heaven.
Dark is the house afar,Where an old king called thee daughter;All that was once thy starIn stormy water,
Dark: and, lo, in the nearerHouse that was sworn to love thee,Another, queenlier, dearer,Is throned above thee.
[Enter from the right JASON.]
59Jason
Oft have I seen, in other days than these,How a dark temper maketh maladiesNo friend can heal. 'Twas easy to have keptBoth land and home. It needed but to acceptUnstrivingly the pleasure of our lords.But thou, for mere delight in stormy words,Wilt lose all! . . . Now thy speech provokes not me.Rail on. Of all mankind let Jason beMost evil; none shall check thee. But for theseDark threats cast out against the majestiesOf Corinth, count as veriest gain thy pathOf exile. I myself, when princely wrathWas hot against thee, strove with all good willTo appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee stillBeside me. But thy mouth would never stayFrom vanity, blaspheming night and dayOur masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land.Yet, even so, I will not hold my handFrom succouring mine own people. Here am ITo help thee, woman, pondering heedfullyThy new state. For I would not have thee flungProvisionless away--aye, and the youngChildren as well; nor lacking aught that willOf mine can bring thee. Many a lesser illHangs on the heels of exile. . . . Aye, and thoughThou hate me, dream not that my heart can knowOr fashion aught of angry will to thee.
60Medea
Evil, most evil! . . . since thou grantest meThat comfort, the worst weapon left me nowTo smite a coward. . . . Thou comest to me, thou,Mine enemy! (Turning to the CHORUS.) Oh, say, how call ye this,To face, and smile, the comrade whom his kissBetrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these:'Tis but of all man's inward sicknessesThe vilest, that he knoweth not of shameNor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . .To me it shall bring comfort, once to clearMy heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear.I will begin with that, 'twixt me and thee,That first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee--Let thine own Greeks be witness, every oneThat sailed on Argo--saved thee, sent aloneTo yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath,And sow that Acre of the Lords of Death;And mine own ancient Serpent, who did keepThe Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep,And shining coils, him also did I smiteDead for thy sake, and lifted up the lightThat bade thee live. Myself, uncounselled,Stole forth from father and from home, and fledWhere dark Iolcos under Pelion lies,With thee--Oh, single-hearted more than wise!I murdered Pelias, yea, in agony,By his own daughters' hands, for sake of thee;I swept their house like War.--And hast thou thenAccepted all--O evil yet again!--And cast me off and taken thee for brideAnother? And with children at thy side!One could forgive a childless man. But no:I have borne thee children . . .Is sworn faith so lowAnd weak a thing? I understand it not.Are the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot,And new laws made? Since not my passioning,But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thingForsworn.
[She catches sight of her own hand which she has thrown out to denounce him.
Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom heDid cling to, and these knees, so cravingly,We are unclean, thou and I; we have caught the stainOf bad men's flesh . . . and dreamed our dreams in vain.Thou comest to befriend me? Give me, then,Thy counsel. 'Tis not that I dream againFor good from thee: but, questioned, thou wilt showThe viler. Say: now whither shall I go?Back to my father? Him I did betray,And all his land, when we two fled away.To those poor Peliad maids? For them 'twere goodTo take me in, who spilled their father's blood. . . .Aye, so my whole life stands! There were at homeWho loved me well: to them I am becomeA curse. And the first friends who sheltered me,Whom most I should have spared, to pleasure theeI have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laidMy crown upon me, blest of many a maidIn Hellas, now I have won what all did crave,Thee, the world-wondered lover and the brave;Who this day looks and sees me banished, thrownAway with these two babes, all, all, alone . . .Oh, merry mocking when the lamps are red:"Where go the bridegroom's babes to beg their breadIn exile, and the woman who gave allTo save him?"O great God, shall gold withalBear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine,And o'er man's living visage runs no signTo show the lie within, ere all too late?
61Leader
Dire and beyond all healing is the hateWhen hearts that loved are turned to enmity.
62Jason
In speech at least, meseemeth, I must beNot evil; but, as some old pilot goesFurled to his sail's last edge, when danger blowsToo fiery, run before the wind and swell,Woman, of thy loud storms.--And thus I tellMy tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous highThy deeds of service in my jeopardy,To all my crew and quest I know but oneSaviour, of Gods or mortals one alone,The Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit,Yet underneath . . . nay, all the tale of itWere graceless telling; how sheer love, a fireOf poison-shafts, compelled thee with desireTo save me. But enough. I will not scoreThat count too close. 'Twas good help: and thereforI give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought.Howbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast gotFar more than given. A good Greek land hath beenThy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seenOur ordered life, and justice, and the longStill grasp of law not changing with the strongMan's pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and nearHath learned thy wisdom, and in every earThy fame is. Had thy days run by unseenOn that last edge of the world, where then had beenThe story of great Medea? Thou and I . . .What worth to us were treasures heaped highIn rich kings' rooms; what worth a voice of goldMore sweet than ever rang from Orpheus old,Unless our deeds have glory?Speak I so,Touching the Quest I wrought, thyself did throwThe challenge down. Next for thy cavillingOf wrath at mine alliance with a king,Here thou shalt see I both was wise, and freeFrom touch of passion, and a friend to theeMost potent, and my children . . . Nay, be still!When first I stood in Corinth, clogged with illFrom many a desperate mischance, what blissCould I that day have dreamed of, like to this,To wed with a king's daughter, I exiledAnd beggared? Not--what makes thy passion wild--From loathing of thy bed; not over-fraughtWith love for this new bride; not that I soughtTo upbuild mine house with offspring: 'tis enough,What thou hast borne: I make no word thereof:But, first and greatest, that we all might dwellIn a fair house and want not, knowing wellThat poor men have no friends, but far and nearShunning and silence. Next, I sought to rearOur sons in nurture worthy of my race,And, raising brethren to them, in one placeJoin both my houses, and be all from nowPrince-like and happy. What more need hast thouOf children? And for me, it serves my starTo link in strength the children that now areWith those that shall be.Have I counselled ill?Not thine own self would say it, couldst thou stillOne hour thy jealous flesh.--'Tis ever so!Who looks for more in women? When the flowOf love runs plain, why, all the world is fair:But, once there fall some ill chance anywhereTo baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trodMen's dearest aims and noblest. Would to GodWe mortals by some other seed could raiseOur fruits, and no blind women block our ways!Then had there been no curse to wreck mankind.
63Leader
Lord Jason, very subtly hast thou twinedThy speech: but yet, though all athwart thy willI speak, this is not well thou dost, but ill,Betraying her who loved thee and was true.
64Medea
Surely I have my thoughts, and not a fewHave held me strange. To me it seemeth, whenA crafty tongue is given to evil men'Tis like to wreck, not help them. Their own brainTempts them with lies to dare and dare again,Till . . . no man hath enough of subtlety.As thou--be not so seeming-fair to meNor deft of speech. One word will make thee fall.Wert thou not false, 'twas thine to tell me all,And charge me help thy marriage path, as IDid love thee; not befool me with a lie.
65Jason
An easy task had that been! Aye, and thouA loving aid, who canst not, even now,Still that loud heart that surges like the tide!
66Medea
That moved thee not. Thine old barbarian bride,The dog out of the east who loved thee sore,She grew grey-haired, she served thy pride no more.
67Jason
Now understand for once! The girl to meIs nothing, in this web of sovrantyI hold. I do but seek to save, even yet,Thee: and for brethren to our sons begetYoung kings, to prosper all our lives again.
68Medea
God shelter me from prosperous days of pain,And wealth that maketh wounds about my heart.
69Jason
Wilt change that prayer, and choose a wiser part?Pray not to hold true sense for pain, nor rateThyself unhappy, being too fortunate.
70Medea
Aye, mock me; thou hast where to lay thine head,But I go naked to mine exile.
71Jason
TreadThine own path! Thou hast made it all to be.
72Medea
How? By seducing and forsaking thee?
73Jason
By those vile curses on the royal hallsLet loose. . . .
74Medea
On thy house also, as chance falls,I am a living curse.
75Jason
Oh, peace! EnoughOf these vain wars: I will no more thereof.If thou wilt take from all that I possessAid for these babes and thine own helplessnessOf exile, speak thy bidding. Here I standFull-willed to succour thee with stintless hand,And send my signet to old friends that dwellOn foreign shores, who will entreat thee well.Refuse, and thou shalt do a deed most vain.But cast thy rage away, and thou shalt gainMuch, and lose little for thine anger's sake.
76Medea
I will not seek thy friends. I will not takeThy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stemUnholy bring no blessing after them.
77Jason
Now God in heaven be witness, all my heartIs willing, in all ways, to do its partFor thee and for thy babes. But nothing goodCan please thee. In sheer savageness of moodThou drivest from thee every friend. WhereforeI warrant thee, thy pains shall be the more.
[He goes slowly away.
78Medea
Go: thou art weary for the new delightThou wooest, so long tarrying out of sightOf her sweet chamber. Go, fulfil thy pride,O bridegroom! For it may be, such a brideShall wait thee,--yea, God heareth me in this--As thine own heart shall sicken ere it kiss.
* * * * *
79Chorus
Alas, the Love that falleth like a flood,Strong-winged and transitory:Why praise ye him? What beareth he of goodTo man, or glory?Yet Love there is that moves in gentleness,Heart-filling, sweetest of all powers that bless.Loose not on me, O Holder of man's heart,Thy golden quiver,Nor steep in poison of desire the dartThat heals not ever.
The pent hate of the word that cavilleth,The strife that hath no fill,Where once was fondness; and the mad heart's breathFor strange love panting still:O Cyprian, cast me not on these; but sift,Keen-eyed, of love the good and evil gift.Make Innocence my friend, God's fairest star,Yea, and abate notThe rare sweet beat of bosoms without war,That love, and hate not.
[Others.]
Home of my heart, land of my own,Cast me not, nay, for pity,Out on my ways, helpless, alone,Where the feet fail in the mire and stone,A woman without a city.Ah, not that! Better the end:The green grave cover me rather,If a break must come in the days I know,And the skies be changed and the earth below;For the weariest road that man may wendIs forth from the home of his father.
Lo, we have seen: 'tis not a songSung, nor learned of another.For whom hast thou in thy direst wrongFor comfort? Never a city strongTo hide thee, never a brother.Ah, but the man--cursed be he,Cursed beyond recover,Who openeth, shattering, seal by seal,A friend's clean heart, then turns his heel,Deaf unto love: never in meFriend shall he know nor lover.
[While MEDEA is waiting downcast, seated upon her door-step, there passes from the left a traveller with followers. As he catches sight of MEDEA he stops.
80Aegeus
Have joy, Medea! 'Tis the homeliestWord that old friends can greet with, and the best.
81Medea (looking up, surprised)
Oh, joy on thee, too, Aegeus, gentle kingOf Athens!--But whence com'st thou journeying?
82Aegeus
From Delphi now and the old encaverned stair. . . .
83Medea
Where Earth's heart speaks in song? What mad'st thou there?
84Aegeus
Prayed heaven for children--the same search alway.
85Medea
Children? Ah God! Art childless to this day?
86Aegeus
So God hath willed. Childless and desolate.
87Medea
What word did Phoebus speak, to change thy fate?
88Aegeus
Riddles, too hard for mortal man to read.
89Medea
Which I may hear?
90Aegeus
Assuredly: they needA rarer wit.
91Medea
How said he?
92Aegeus
Not to spillLife's wine, nor seek for more. . . .
93Medea
Until?
94Aegeus
UntilI tread the hearth-stone of my sires of yore.
95Medea
And what should bring thee here, by Creon's shore?
96Aegeus
One Pittheus know'st thou, high lord of Trozen?
97Medea
Aye, Pelops' son, a man most pure of sin.
98Aegeus
Him I would ask, touching Apollo's will.
99Medea
Much use in God's ways hath he, and much skill.
100Aegeus
And, long years back he was my battle-friend,The truest e'er man had.
101Medea
Well, may God sendGood hap to thee, and grant all thy desire.
102Aegeus
But thou . . . ? Thy frame is wasted, and the fireDead in thine eyes.
103Medea
Aegeus, my husband isThe falsest man in the world.
104Aegeus
What word is this?Say clearly what thus makes thy visage dim?
105Medea
He is false to me, who never injured him.
106Aegeus
What hath he done? Show all, that I may see.
107Medea
Ta'en him a wife; a wife, set over meTo rule his house.
108Aegeus
He hath not dared to do,Jason, a thing so shameful?
109Medea
Aye, 'tis true:And those he loved of yore have no place now.
110Aegeus
Some passion sweepeth him? Or is it thouHe turns from?
111Medea
Passion, passion to betrayHis dearest!
112Aegeus
Shame be his, so fallen awayFrom honour!
113Medea
Passion to be near a throne,A king's heir!
114Aegeus
How, who gives the bride? Say on.
115Medea
Creon, who o'er all Corinth standeth chief.
116Aegeus
Woman, thou hast indeed much cause for grief.
117Medea
'Tis ruin.--And they have cast me out as well.
118Aegeus
Who? 'Tis a new wrong this, and terrible.
119Medea
Creon the king, from every land and shore. . . .
120Aegeus
And Jason suffers him? Oh, 'tis too sore!
121Medea
He loveth to bear bravely ills like these!But, Aegeus, by thy beard, oh, by thy knees,I pray thee, and I give me for thine own,Thy suppliant, pity me! Oh, pity oneSo miserable. Thou never wilt stand thereAnd see me cast out friendless to despair.Give me a home in Athens . . . by the fireOf thine own hearth! Oh, so may thy desireOf children be fulfilled of God, and thouDie happy! . . . Thou canst know not; even nowThy prize is won! I, I will make of theeA childless man no more. The seed shall be,I swear it, sown. Such magic herbs I know.
122Aegeus
Woman, indeed my heart goes forth to showThis help to thee, first for religion's sake,Then for thy promised hope, to heal my acheOf childlessness. 'Tis this hath made mine wholeLife as a shadow, and starved out my soul.But thus it stands with me. Once make thy wayTo Attic earth, I, as in law I may,Will keep thee and befriend. But in this land,Where Creon rules, I may not raise my handTo shelter thee. Move of thine own essayTo seek my house, there thou shalt alway stay,Inviolate, never to be seized again.But come thyself from Corinth. I would fainEven in foreign eyes be alway just.
123Medea
'Tis well. Give me an oath wherein to trustAnd all that man could ask thou hast granted me.
124Aegeus
Dost trust me not? Or what thing troubleth thee?
125Medea
I trust thee. But so many, far and near,Do hate me--all King Pelias' house, and hereCreon. Once bound by oaths and sanctitiesThou canst not yield me up for such as theseTo drag from Athens. But a spoken word,No more, to bind thee, which no God hath heard. . .The embassies, methinks, would come and go:They all are friends to thee. . . . Ah me, I knowThou wilt not list to me! So weak am I,And they full-filled with gold and majesty.
126Aegeus
Methinks 'tis a far foresight, this thine oath.Still, if thou so wilt have it, nothing loathAm I to serve thee. Mine own hand is soThe stronger, if I have this plea to showThy persecutors: and for thee withalThe bond more sure.--On what God shall I call?
127Medea
Swear by the Earth thou treadest, by the Sun,Sire of my sires, and all the gods as one. . . .
128Aegeus
To do what thing or not do? Make all plain.
129Medea
Never thyself to cast me out again.Nor let another, whatsoe'er his plea,Take me, while thou yet livest and art free.
130Aegeus
Never: so hear me, Earth, and the great starOf daylight, and all other gods that are!
131Medea
'Tis well: and if thou falter from thy vow . . . ?
132Aegeus
God's judgment on the godless break my brow!
133Medea
Go! Go thy ways rejoicing.--All is brightAnd clear before me. Go: and ere the nightMyself will follow, when the deed is doneI purpose, and the end I thirst for won.
[AEGEUS and his train depart.
134Chorus
Farewell: and Maia's guiding SonBack lead thee to thy hearth and fire,Aegeus; and all the long desireThat wasteth thee, at last be won:Our eyes have seen thee as thou art,A gentle and a righteous heart.
135Medea
God, and God's Justice, and ye blinding Skies!At last the victory dawneth! Yea, mine eyesSee, and my foot is on the mountain's brow.Mine enemies! Mine enemies, oh, nowAtonement cometh! Here at my worst hourA friend is found, a very port of powerTo save my shipwreck. Here will I make fastMine anchor, and escape them at the lastIn Athens' walled hill.--But ere the end'Tis meet I show thee all my counsel, friend:Take it, no tale to make men laugh withal!Straightway to Jason I will send some thrallTo entreat him to my presence. Comes he here,Then with soft reasons will I feed his ear,How his will now is my will, how all thingsAre well, touching this marriage-bed of kingsFor which I am betrayed--all wise and rareAnd profitable! Yet will I make one prayer,That my two children be no more exiledBut stay. . . . Oh, not that I would leave a childHere upon angry shores till those have laughedWho hate me: 'tis that I will slay by craftThe king's daughter. With gifts they shall be sent,Gifts to the bride to spare their banishment,Fine robings and a carcanet of gold.Which raiment let her once but take, and foldAbout her, a foul death that girl shall dieAnd all who touch her in her agony.Such poison shall they drink, my robe and wreath!Howbeit, of that no more. I gnash my teethThinking on what a path my feet must treadThereafter. I shall lay those children dead--Mine, whom no hand shall steal from me away!Then, leaving Jason childless, and the dayAs night above him, I will go my roadTo exile, flying, flying from the bloodOf these my best-beloved, and having wroughtAll horror, so but one thing reach me not,The laugh of them that hate us.Let it come!What profits life to me? I have no home,No country now, nor shield from any wrong.That was my evil hour, when down the longHalls of my father out I stole, my willChained by a Greek man's voice, who still, oh, still,If God yet live, shall all requited be.For never child of mine shall Jason seeHereafter living, never child begetFrom his new bride, who this day, desolateEven as she made me desolate, shall dieShrieking amid my poisons. . . . Names have IAmong your folk? One light? One weak of hand?An eastern dreamer?--Nay, but with the brandOf strange suns burnt, my hate, by God above,A perilous thing, and passing sweet my love!For these it is that make life glorious.
136Leader
Since thou has bared thy fell intent to usI, loving thee, and helping in their needMan's laws, adjure thee, dream not of this deed!
137Medea
There is no other way.--I pardon theeThy littleness, who art not wronged like me.
138Leader
Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore!
139Medea
Yes: if the man I hate be pained the more.
140Leader
And thou made miserable, most miserable?
141Medea
Oh, let it come! All words of good or illAre wasted now.
[She claps her hands: the NURSE comes out from the house.
Ho, woman; get thee goneAnd lead lord Jason hither. . . . There is noneLike thee, to work me these high services.But speak no word of what my purpose is,As thou art faithful, thou, and bold to tryAll succours, and a woman even as I!
[The NURSE departs.
* * * * *
142Chorus
The sons of Erechtheus, the olden,Whom high gods planted of yoreIn an old land of heaven upholden,A proud land untrodden of war:They are hungered, and, lo, their desireWith wisdom is fed as with meat:In their skies is a shining of fire,A joy in the fall of their feet:And thither, with manifold dowers,From the North, from the hills, from the morn,The Muses did gather their powers,That a child of the Nine should be born;And Harmony, sown as the flowers,Grew gold in the acres of corn.
And Cephisus, the fair-flowing river--The Cyprian dipping her handHath drawn of his dew, and the shiverOf her touch is as joy in the land.For her breathing in fragrance is written,And in music her path as she goes,And the cloud of her hair, it is littenWith stars of the wind-woven rose.So fareth she ever and ever,And forth of her bosom is blown,As dews on the winds of the river,An hunger of passions unknown.Strong Loves of all godlike endeavour,Whom Wisdom shall throne on her throne.
[Some Women.]
But Cephisus the fair-flowing,Will he bear thee on his shore?Shall the land that succours all, succour thee,Who art foul among thy kind,With the tears of children blind?Dost thou see the red gash growing,Thine own burden dost thou see?Every side, Every way,Lo, we kneel to thee and pray:By thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild!One at least thou canst not slay,Not thy child!
[Others.]
Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind itTo thy breast, and make thee deadTo thy children, to thine own spirit's pain?When the hand knows what it dares,When thine eyes look into theirs,Shalt thou keep by tears unblindedThy dividing of the slain?These be deeds Not for thee:These be things that cannot be!Thy babes--though thine hardihood be fell,When they cling about thy knee,'Twill be well!
[Enter JASON.]
143Jason
I answer to thy call. Though full of hateThou be, I yet will not so far abateMy kindness for thee, nor refuse mine ear.Say in what new desire thou hast called me here.
144Medea
Jason, I pray thee, for my words but nowSpoken, forgive me. My bad moods. . . . Oh, thouAt least wilt strive to bear with them! There beMany old deeds of love 'twixt me and thee.Lo, I have reasoned with myself apartAnd chidden: "Why must I be mad, O heartOf mine: and raging against one whose wordIs wisdom: making me a thing abhorredTo them that rule the land, and to mine ownHusband, who doth but that which, being done,Will help us all--to wed a queen, and getYoung kings for brethren to my sons? And yetI rage alone, and cannot quit my rage--What aileth me?--when God sends harbourageSo simple? Have I not my children? KnowI not we are but exiles, and must goBeggared and friendless else?" Thought upon thoughtSo pressed me, till I knew myself full-fraughtWith bitterness of heart and blinded eyes.So now--I give thee thanks: and hold thee wiseTo have caught this anchor for our aid. The foolWas I; who should have been thy friend, thy tool;Gone wooing with thee, stood at thy bed-sideServing, and welcomed duteously thy bride.But, as we are, we are--I will not sayMere evil--women! Why must thou to-dayTurn strange, and make thee like some evil thing,Childish, to meet my childish passioning?See, I surrender: and confess that thenI had bad thoughts, but now have turned againAnd found my wiser mind. [She claps her hands.Ho, children! RunQuickly! Come hither, out into the sun,
[The CHILDREN come from the house, followed by their ATTENDANT.
And greet your father. Welcome him with us,And throw quite, quite away, as mother does,Your anger against one so dear. Our peaceIs made, and all the old bad war shall ceaseFor ever.--Go, and take his hand. . . .
[As the CHILDREN go to JASON, she suddenly bursts into tears. The CHILDREN quickly return to her: she recovers herself, smiling amid her tears.
Ah me,I am full of hidden horrors! . . . Shall it beA long time more, my children, that ye liveTo reach to me those dear, dear arms? . . . Forgive!I am so ready with my tears to-day,And full of dread. . . . I sought to smooth awayThe long strife with your father, and, lo, nowI have all drowned with tears this little brow!
[She wipes the child's face.
145Leader
O'er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear:Let the evil rest, O God, let it rest here!
146Jason
Woman, indeed I praise thee now, nor sayIll of thine other hour. 'Tis nature's way,A woman needs must stir herself to wrath,When work of marriage by so strange a pathCrosseth her lord. But thou, thine heart doth wendThe happier road. Thou hast seen, ere quite the end,What choice must needs be stronger: which to doShows a wise-minded woman. . . . And for you,Children; your father never has forgotYour needs. If God but help him, he hath wroughtA strong deliverance for your weakness. Yea,I think you, with your brethren, yet one dayShall be the mightiest voices in this land.Do you grow tall and strong. Your father's handGuideth all else, and whatso power divineHath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be mineTo see you yet in manhood, stern of brow,Strong-armed, set high o'er those that hate me. . . .How?Woman, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is sweptWith pallor of strange tears. Dost not acceptGladly and of good will my benisons?
147Medea
'Tis nothing. Thinking of these little ones. . . .
148Jason
Take heart, then. I will guard them from all ill.
149Medea
I do take heart. Thy word I never willMistrust. Alas, a woman's bosom bearsBut woman's courage, a thing born for tears.
150Jason
What ails thee?--All too sore thou weepest there.
151Medea
I was their mother! When I heard thy prayerOf long life for them, there swept over meA horror, wondering how these things shall be.But for the matter of my need that thouShould speak with me, part I have said, and nowWill finish.--Seeing it is the king's behestTo cast me out from Corinth . . . aye, and best,Far best, for me--I know it--not to stayLonger to trouble thee and those who swayThe realm, being held to all their house a foe. . . .Behold, I spread my sails, and meekly goTo exile. But our children. . . . Could this landBe still their home awhile: could thine own handBut guide their boyhood. . . . Seek the king, and prayHis pity, that he bid thy children stay!
152Jason
He is hard to move. Yet surely 'twere well done.
153Medea
Bid her--for thy sake, for a daughters boon. . . .
154Jason
Well thought! Her I can fashion to my mind.
155Medea
Surely. She is a woman like her kind. . . .Yet I will aid thee in thy labour; IWill send her gifts, the fairest gifts that lieIn the hands of men, things of the days of old,Fine robings and a carcanet of gold,By the boys' hands.--Go, quick, some handmaiden,And fetch the raiment.
[A handmaid goes into the house.
Ah, her cup shall thenBe filled indeed! What more should woman crave,Being wed with thee, the bravest of the brave,And girt with raiment which of old the sireOf all my house, the Sun, gave, steeped in fire,To his own fiery race?
[The handmaid has returned bearing the Gifts.
Come, children, liftWith heed these caskets. Bear them as your giftTo her, being bride and princess and of rightBlessed!--I think she will not hold them light.
156Jason
Fond woman, why wilt empty thus thine handOf treasure? Doth King Creon's castle standIn stint of raiment, or in stint of gold?Keep these, and make no gift. For if she holdJason of any worth at all, I swearChattels like these will not weigh more with her.
157Medea
Ah, chide me not! 'Tis written, gifts persuadeThe gods in heaven; and gold is stronger madeThan words innumerable to bend men's ways.Fortune is hers. God maketh great her days:Young and a crowned queen! And banishmentFor those two babes. . . . I would not gold were spent,But life's blood, ere that come.My children, goForth into those rich halls, and, bowing low,Beseech your father's bride, whom I obey,Ye be not, of her mercy, cast awayExiled: and give the caskets--above allMark this!--to none but her, to hold withalAnd keep. . . . Go quick! And let your mother knowSoon the good tiding that she longs for. . . . Go!
[She goes quickly into the house. JASON and the CHILDREN with their ATTENDANT depart.
* * * * *
158Chorus
Now I have no hope more of the children's living;No hope more. They are gone forth unto death.The bride, she taketh the poison of their giving:She taketh the bounden gold and openeth;And the crown, the crown, she lifteth about her brow,Where the light brown curls are clustering. No hope now!
O sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments golden!The robe, it hath clasped her breast and the crown her head.Then, then, she decketh the bride, as a bride of oldenStory, that goeth pale to the kiss of the dead.For the ring hath closed, and the portion of death is there;And she flieth not, but perisheth unaware.
[Some Women.]
O bridegroom, bridegroom of the kiss so cold,Art thou wed with princes, art thou girt with gold,Who know'st not, suingFor thy child's undoing,And, on her thou lovest, for a doom untold?How art thou fallen from thy place of old!
[Others.]
O Mother, Mother, what hast thou to reap,When the harvest cometh, between wake and sleep?For a heart unslaken,For a troth forsaken,Lo, babes that call thee from a bloody deep:And thy love returns not. Get thee forth and weep!
[Enter the ATTENDANT with the two CHILDREN: MEDEA comes out from the house.
159Attendant
Mistress, these children from their banishmentAre spared. The royal bride hath mildly bentHer hand to accept thy gifts, and all is nowPeace for the children.--Ha, why standest thouConfounded, when good fortune draweth near?
160Medea
Ah God!
161Attendant
This chimes not with the news I bear.
162Medea
O God, have mercy!
163Attendant
Is some word of wrathHere hidden that I knew not of? And hathMy hope to give thee joy so cheated me?
164Medea
Thou givest what thou givest: I blame not thee.
165Attendant
Thy brows are all o'ercast: thine eyes are filled. . . .
166Medea
For bitter need, Old Man! The gods have willed,And my own evil mind, that this should come.
167Attendant
Take heart! Thy sons one day will bring thee home.
168Medea
Home? . . . I have others to send home. Woe's me!
169Attendant
Be patient. Many a mother before theeHath parted from her children. We poor thingsOf men must needs endure what fortune brings.
170Medea
I will endure.--Go thou within, and layAll ready that my sons may need to-day.
[The ATTENDANT goes into the house.
O children, children mine: and you have foundA land and home, where, leaving me discrownedAnd desolate, forever you will stay,Motherless children! And I go my wayTo other lands, an exile, ere you bringYour fruits home, ere I see you prosperingOr know your brides, or deck the bridal bed,All flowers, and lift your torches overhead.Oh cursed be mine own hard heart! 'Twas allIn vain, then, that I reared you up, so tallAnd fair; in vain I bore you, and was tornWith those long pitiless pains, when you were born.Ah, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in you,How you would tend me in mine age, and doThe shroud about me with your own dear hands,When I lay cold, blessed in all the landsThat knew us. And that gentle thought is dead!You go, and I live on, to eat the breadOf long years, to myself most full of pain.And never your dear eyes, never again,Shall see your mother, far away being thrownTo other shapes of life. . . . My babes, my own,Why gaze ye so?--What is it that ye see?--And laugh with that last laughter? . . . Woe is me,What shall I do?Women, my strength is gone,Gone like a dream, since once I looked uponThose shining faces. . . . I can do it not.Good-bye to all the thoughts that burned so hotAforetime! I will take and hide them far,Far, from men's eyes. Why should I seek a warSo blind: by these babes' wounds to sting againTheir father's heart, and win myself a painTwice deeper? Never, never! I forgetHenceforward all I laboured for.And yet,What is it with me? Would I be a thingMocked at, and leave mine enemies to stingUnsmitten? It must be. O coward heart,Ever to harbour such soft words!--DepartOut of my sight, ye twain. [The CHILDREN go in.And they whose eyesShall hold it sin to share my sacrifice,On their heads be it! My hand shall swerve not now.
Ah, Ah, thou Wrath within me! Do not thou,Do not. . . . Down, down, thou tortured thing, and spareMy children! They will dwell with us, aye, thereFar off, and give thee peace.Too late, too late!By all Hell's living agonies of hate,They shall not take my little ones aliveTo make their mock with! Howsoe'er I striveThe thing is doomed; it shall not escape nowFrom being. Aye, the crown is on the brow,And the robe girt, and in the robe that highQueen dying.I know all. Yet . . . seeing that IMust go so long a journey, and these twainA longer yet and darker, I would fainSpeak with them, ere I go.
[A handmaid brings the CHILDREN out again.
Come, children; standA little from me. There. Reach out your hand,Your right hand--so--to mother: and good-bye!
[She has kept them hitherto at arm's length: but at the touch of their hands, her resolution breaks down, and she gathers them passionately into her arms.
Oh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye,And royal mien, and bright brave faces clear,May you be blessed, but not here! What hereWas yours, your father stole. . . . Ah God, the glowOf cheek on cheek, the tender touch; and Oh,Sweet scent of childhood. . . . Go! Go! . . . Am I blind? . . .Mine eyes can see not, when I look to findTheir places. I am broken by the wingsOf evil. . . . Yea, I know to what bad thingsI go, but louder than all thought doth cryAnger, which maketh man's worst misery.
[She follows the CHILDREN into the house.
171Chorus
My thoughts have roamed a cloudy land,And heard a fierier music fallThan woman's heart should stir withal:And yet some Muse majestical,Unknown, hath hold of woman's hand,Seeking for Wisdom--not in all:A feeble seed, a scattered band,Thou yet shalt find in lonely places,Not dead amongst us, nor our facesTurned alway from the Muses' call.
And thus my thought would speak: that sheWho ne'er hath borne a child nor knownIs nearer to felicity:Unlit she goeth and alone,With little understanding whatA child's touch means of joy or woe,And many toils she beareth not.
But they within whose garden fairThat gentle plant hath blown, they goDeep-written all their days with care--To rear the children, to make fastTheir hold, to win them wealth; and thenMuch darkness, if the seed at lastBear fruit in good or evil men!And one thing at the end of allAbideth, that which all men dread:The wealth is won, the limbs are bredTo manhood, and the heart withalHonest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled,Some change, and what hath fallen? Hark!'Tis death slow winging to the dark,And in his arms what was thy child.
What therefore doth it bring of gainTo man, whose cup stood full before,That God should send this one thing moreOf hunger and of dread, a doorSet wide to every wind of pain?
[MEDEA comes out alone from the house.
172Medea
Friends, this long hour I wait on Fortune's eyes,And strain my senses in a hot surmiseWhat passeth on that hill.--Ha! even nowThere comes . . . 'tis one of Jason's men, I trow.His wild-perturbed breath doth warrant meThe tidings of some strange calamity.
[Enter MESSENGER.
173Messenger
O dire and ghastly deed! Get thee away,Medea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stayOne chariot's wing, one keel that sweeps the seas. . . .
174Medea
And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these?
175Messenger
The maiden princess lieth--and her sire,The king--both murdered by thy poison-fire.
176Medea
Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefersHenceforth among my friends and well-wishers.
177Messenger
What say'st thou? Woman, is thy mind withinClear, and not raving? Thou art found in sinMost bloody wrought against the king's high head,And laughest at the tale, and hast no dread?
178Medea
I have words also that could answer wellThy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell,How died they? Hath it been a very foulDeath, prithee? That were comfort to my soul.
179Messenger
When thy two children, hand in hand entwined,Came with their father, and passed on to findThe new-made bridal rooms, Oh, we were glad,We thralls, who ever loved thee well, and hadGrief in thy grief. And straight there passed a wordFrom ear to ear, that thou and thy false lordHad poured peace offering upon wrath foregone.A right glad welcome gave we them, and oneKissed the small hand, and one the shining hair:Myself, for very joy, I followed whereThe women's rooms are. There our mistress . . . sheWhom now we name so . . . thinking not to seeThy little pair, with glad and eager browSate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and slowShrouded her eyes, and backward turned again,Sick that thy children should come near her. ThenThy husband quick went forward, to entreatThe young maid's fitful wrath. "Thou will not meetLove's coming with unkindness? Nay, refrainThy suddenness, and turn thy face again,Holding as friends all that to me are dear,Thine husband. And accept these robes they bearAs gifts: and beg thy father to unmakeHis doom of exile on them--for my sake."When once she saw the raiment, she could stillHer joy no more, but gave him all his will.And almost ere the father and the twoChildren were gone from out the room, she drewThe flowered garments forth, and sate her downTo her arraying: bound the golden crownThrough her long curls, and in a mirror fairArranged their separate clusters, smiling thereAt the dead self that faced her. Then asideShe pushed her seat, and paced those chambers wideAlone, her white foot poising delicately--So passing joyful in those gifts was she!--And many a time would pause, straight-limbed, and wheelHer head to watch the long fold to her heelSweeping. And then came something strange. Her cheekSeemed pale, and back with crooked steps and weakGroping of arms she walked, and scarcely foundHer old seat, that she fell not to the ground.Among the handmaids was a woman oldAnd grey, who deemed, I think, that Pan had holdUpon her, or some spirit, and raised a keenAwakening shout; till through her lips was seenA white foam crawling, and her eyeballs backTwisted, and all her face dead pale for lackOf life: and while that old dame called, the cryTurned strangely to its opposite, to dieSobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flewTo seek her father's rooms, one for the newBridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the placeWas loud with hurrying feet.So long a spaceAs a swift walker on a measured wayWould pace a furlong's course in, there she laySpeechless, with veiled lids. Then wide her eyesShe oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise,Shrieked: for two diverse waves upon her rolledOf stabbing death. The carcanet of goldThat gripped her brow was molten in a direAnd wondrous river of devouring fire.And those fine robes, the gift thy children gave--God's mercy!--everywhere did lap and laveThe delicate flesh; till up she sprang, and fled,A fiery pillar, shaking locks and headThis way and that, seeking to cast the crownSomewhere away. But like a thing nailed downThe burning gold held fast the anadem,And through her locks, the more she scattered them,Came fire the fiercer, till to earth she fellA 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?Only from crown and temples came faint bloodShot through with fire. The very flesh, it stoodOut from the bones, as from a wounded pineThe gum starts, where those gnawing poisons fineBit in the dark--a ghastly sight! And touchThe dead we durst not. We had seen too much.But that poor father, knowing not, had sped,Swift to his daughter's room, and there the deadLay at his feet. He knelt, and groaning low,Folded her in his arms, and kissed her: "Oh,Unhappy child, what thing unnatural hathSo hideously undone thee? Or what wrathOf gods, to make this old grey sepulchreChildless of thee? Would God but lay me thereTo die with thee, my daughter!" So he cried.But after, when he stayed from tears, and triedTo uplift his old bent frame, lo, in the foldsOf those fine robes it held, as ivy holdsStrangling among your laurel boughs. Oh, thenA ghastly struggle came! Again, again,Up on his knee he writhed; but that dead breastClung still to his: till, wild, like one possessed,He dragged himself half free; and, lo, the liveFlesh parted; and he laid him down to striveNo more with death, but perish; for the deepHad risen above his soul. And there they sleep,At last, the old proud father and the bride,Even as his tears had craved it, side by side.For thee--Oh, no word more! Thyself will knowHow best to baffle vengeance. . . . Long agoI looked upon man's days, and found a greyShadow. And this thing more I surely say,That those of all men who are counted wise,Strong wits, devisers of great policies,Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life began,Hath there in God's eye stood one happy man?Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or lessOf fortune, but to no man happiness.
[Exit MESSENGER.
180Chorus
[Some Women.]
Wrath upon wrath, meseems, this day shall fallFrom God on Jason! He hath earned it all.
[Other Women.]
O miserable maiden, all my heartIs torn for thee, so sudden to departFrom thy king's chambers and the light aboveTo darkness, all for sake of Jason's love!
181Medea
Women, my mind is clear. I go to slayMy children with all speed, and then, awayFrom hence; not wait yet longer till they standBeneath another and an angrier handTo die. Yea, howsoe'er I shield them, dieThey must. And, seeing that they must, 'tis IShall slay them, I their mother, touched of noneBeside. Oh, up and get thine armour on,My heart! Why longer tarry we to winOur crown of dire inevitable sin?Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine,Thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn lineWhere life turns agony. Let there be naughtOf softness now: and keep thee from that thought,'Born of thy flesh,' 'thine own beloved.' Now,For one brief day, forget thy children: thouShalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yetSweet were they. . . . I am sore unfortunate.
[She goes into the house.
182Chorus
[Some Women.]
O Earth, our mother; and thouAll-seer, arrowy crownOf Sunlight, manward nowLook down, Oh, look down!Look upon one accurst,Ere yet in blood she twineRed hands--blood that is thine!O Sun, save her first!She is thy daughter still,Of thine own golden line;Save her! Or shall man spillThe life divine?Give peace, O Fire that diest not! Send thy spellTo stay her yet, to lift her afar, afar--A torture-changed spirit, a voice of HellWrought of old wrongs and war!
[Others.]
Alas for the mother's painWasted! Alas the dearLife that was born in vain!Woman, what mak'st thou here,Thou from beyond the GateWhere dim SymplegadesClash in the dark blue seas,The shores where death doth wait?Why hast thou taken on thee,To make us desolate,This anger of miseryAnd guilt of hate?For fierce are the smitings back of blood once shedWhere love hath been: God's wrath upon them that kill,And an anguished earth, and the wonder of the deadHaunting as music still. . . .
[A cry is heard within.
[A Woman.]
Hark! Did ye hear? Heard ye the children's cry?
[Another.]
O miserable woman! O abhorred!
[A Child within.]
What shall I do? What is it? Keep me fastFrom mother!
[The Other Child.]
I know nothing. Brother! Oh,I think she means to kill us.
[A Woman.]
Let me go!I will--Help! Help!--and save them at the last.
[A Child.]
Yes, in God's name! Help quickly ere we die!
[The Other Child.]
She has almost caught me now. She has a sword.
[Many of the Women are now beating at the barred door to get in. Others are standing apart.
[Women at the door.]
Thou stone, thou thing of iron! Wilt verilySpill with thine hand that life, the vintage storedOf thine own agony?
[The Other Women.]
A Mother slew her babes in days of yore,One, only one, from dawn to eventide,Ino, god-maddened, whom the Queen of HeavenSet frenzied, flying to the dark: and sheCast her for sorrow to the wide salt sea,Forth from those rooms of murder unforgiven,Wild-footed from a white crag of the shore,And clasping still her children twain, she died.
O Love of Woman, charged with sorrow sore,What hast thou wrought upon us? What besideResteth to tremble for?
[Enter hurriedly JASON and Attendants.
183Jason
Ye women by this doorway clusteringSpeak, is the doer of the ghastly thingYet here, or fled? What hopeth she of flight?Shall the deep yawn to shield her? Shall the heightSend wings, and hide her in the vaulted skyTo work red murder on her lords, and flyUnrecompensed? But let her go! My careIs but to save my children, not for her.Let them she wronged requite her as they may.I care not. 'Tis my sons I must some waySave, ere the kinsmen of the dead can winFrom them the payment of their mother's sin.
184Leader
Unhappy man, indeed thou knowest notWhat dark place thou art come to! Else, God wot,Jason, no word like these could fall from thee.
185Jason
What is it?--Ha! The woman would kill me?
186Leader
Thy sons are dead, slain by their mother's hand.
187Jason
How? Not the children. . . . I scarce understand. . . .O God, thou hast broken me!
188Leader
Think of those twainAs things once fair, that ne'er shall bloom again.
189Jason
Where did she murder them? In that old room?
190Leader
Open, and thou shalt see thy children's doom.
191Jason
Ho, thralls! Unloose me yonder bars! Make moreOf speed! Wrench out the jointing of the door.And show my two-edged curse, the children dead,The woman. . . . Oh, this sword upon her head. . . .
[While the Attendants are still battering at the door MEDEA appears on the roof, standing on a chariot of winged Dragons, in which are the children's bodies.
192Medea
What make ye at my gates? Why batter yeWith brazen bars, seeking the dead and meWho slew them? Peace! . . . And thou, if aught of mineThou needest, speak, though never touch of thineShall scathe me more. Out of his firmamentMy fathers' father, the high Sun, hath sentThis, that shall save me from mine enemies' rage.
193Jason
Thou living hate! Thou wife in every ageAbhorred, blood-red mother, who didst killMy sons, and make me as the dead: and stillCanst take the sunshine to thine eyes, and smellThe green earth, reeking from thy deed of hell;I curse thee! Now, Oh, now mine eyes can see,That then were blinded, when from savageryOf eastern chambers, from a cruel land,To Greece and home I gathered in mine handThee, thou incarnate curse: one that betrayedHer home, her father, her . . . Oh, God hath laidThy sins on me!--I knew, I knew, there layA brother murdered on thy hearth that dayWhen thy first footstep fell on Argo's hull. . . .Argo, my own, my swift and beautifulThat was her first beginning. Then a wifeI made her in my house. She bore to lifeChildren: and now for love, for chamberingAnd men's arms, she hath murdered them! A thingNot one of all the maids of Greece, not one,Had dreamed of; whom I spurned, and for mine ownChose thee, a bride of hate to me and death,Tigress, not woman, beast of wilder breathThan Skylla shrieking o'er the Tuscan sea.Enough! No scorn of mine can reach to thee,Such iron is o'er thine eyes. Out from my road,Thou crime-begetter, blind with children's blood!And let me weep alone the bitter tideThat sweepeth Jason's days, no gentle brideTo speak with more, no child to look uponWhom once I reared . . . all, all for ever gone!
194Medea
An easy answer had I to this swellOf speech, but Zeus our father knoweth well,All I for thee have wrought, and thou for me.So let it rest. This thing was not to be,That thou shouldst live a merry life, my bedForgotten and my heart uncomforted,Thou nor thy princess: nor the king that plannedThy marriage drive Medea from his land,And suffer not. Call me what thing thou please,Tigress or Skylla from the Tuscan seas:My claws have gripped thine heart, and all things shine.
195Jason
Thou too hast grief. Thy pain is fierce as mine.
196Medea
I love the pain, so thou shalt laugh no more.
197Jason
Oh, what a womb of sin my children bore!
198Medea
Sons, did ye perish for your father's shame?
199Jason
How? It was not my hand that murdered them.
200Medea
'Twas thy false wooings, 'twas thy trampling pride.
201Jason
Thou hast said it! For thy lust of love they died.
202Medea
And love to women a slight thing should be?
203Jason
To women pure!--All thy vile life to thee!
204Medea
Think of thy torment. They are dead, they are dead!
205Jason
No: quick, great God; quick curses round thy head!
206Medea
The Gods know who began this work of woe.
207Jason
Thy heart and all its loathliness they know.
208Medea
Loathe on. . . . But, Oh, thy voice. It hurts me sore.
209Jason
Aye, and thine me. Wouldst hear me then no more?
210Medea
How? Show me but the way. 'Tis this I crave.
211Jason
Give me the dead to weep, and make their grave.
212Medea
Never! Myself will lay them in a stillGreen sepulchre, where Hera by the HillHath precinct holy, that no angry menMay break their graves and cast them forth againTo evil. So I lay on all this shoreOf Corinth a high feast for evermoreAnd rite, to purge them yearly of the stainOf this poor blood. And I, to Pallas' plainI go, to dwell beside Pandion's son,Aegeus.--For thee, behold, death draweth on,Evil and lonely, like thine heart: the handsOf thine old Argo, rotting where she stands,Shall smite thine head in twain, and bitter beTo the last end thy memories of me.
[She rises on the chariot and is slowly borne away.
213Jason
May They that hear the weeping childBlast thee, and They that walk in blood!
214Medea
Thy broken vows, thy friends beguiledHave shut for thee the ears of God.
215Jason
Go, thou art wet with children's tears!
216Medea
Go thou, and lay thy bride to sleep.
217Jason
Childless, I go, to weep and weep.
218Medea
Not yet! Age cometh and long years.
219Jason
My sons, mine own!
220Medea
Not thine, but mine . . .
221Jason
. . . Who slew them!
222Medea
Yes: to torture thee.
223Jason
Once let me kiss their lips, once twineMine arms and touch. . . . Ah, woe is me!
224Medea
Wouldst love them and entreat? But nowThey were as nothing.
225Jason
At the last,O God, to touch that tender brow!
226Medea
Thy words upon the wind are cast.
227Jason
Thou, Zeus, wilt hear me. All is saidFor naught. I am but spurned awayAnd trampled by this tigress, redWith children's blood. Yet, come what may,So far as thou hast granted, yea,So far as yet my strength may stand,I weep upon these dead, and sayTheir last farewell, and raise my hand
To all the daemons of the airIn witness of these things; how sheWho slew them, will not suffer meTo gather up my babes, nor bearTo earth their bodies; whom, O stoneOf women, would I ne'er had knownNor gotten, to be slain by thee!
[He casts himself upon the earth.
228Chorus
Great treasure halls hath Zeus in heaven,From whence to man strange dooms be given,Past hope or fear.And the end men looked for cometh not,And a path is there where no man thought:So hath it fallen here.