Part 1
The Scene represents the front of Medea’s House in Corinth. A road to the right leads towards the royal castle, one on the left to the harbour. The Nurse is discovered alone.
Nurse
Would God no Argo e’er had winged the 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.
Attendant
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?
Nurse
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.
Attendant
How? Are the tears yet running in her eyes?
Nurse
’Twere good to be like thee! … Her sorrow liesScarce wakened yet, not half its perils wrought.
Attendant
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.
Nurse
What cause, old man? … Nay, grudge me not one word.
Attendant
’Tis nothing. Best forget what thou hast heard.
Nurse
Nay, housemate, by thy beard! Hold it not hidFrom me…. I will keep silence if thou bid.
Attendant
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.
Nurse
Jason will never bear it—his own sonsBanished,—however hot his anger runsAgainst their mother!
Attendant
Old love burneth lowWhen new love wakes, men say. He is not nowHusband nor father here, nor any kin.
Nurse
But this is ruin! New waves breaking inTo wreck us, ere we are righted from the old!
Attendant
Well, hold thy peace. Our mistress will be toldAll in good time. Speak thou no word hereof.
Nurse
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….
Attendant
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.
Nurse
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!
Voice
Within
Oh shame and pain: O woe is me!Would I could die in my misery!
The Children and the Attendant go in.
Nurse
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.
Voice
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!
Nurse
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.
Leader
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.
Nurse
There is no house! ’Tis gone. The lordSeeketh a prouder bed: and sheWastes in her chamber, not one wordWill hear of care or charity.
Voice
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?
Chorus
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.
Voice
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….
Nurse
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.
Chorus
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.
Nurse
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.
Chorus
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.
Medea
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.
Leader
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.
Creon
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.
Medea
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?
Creon
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.
Medea
’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.
Creon
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 down and clinging to Creon
Oh, by thy knees! By that new-wedded bride …
Creon
’Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me.
Medea
Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when I kneel to thee?
Creon
’Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou.
Medea
Home, my lost home, how I desire thee now!
Creon
And I mine, and my child, beyond all things.
Medea
O Loves of man, what curse is on your wings!
Creon
Blessing or curse, ’tis as their chances flow.
Medea
Remember, Zeus, the cause of all this woe!
Creon
Oh, rid me of my pains! Up, get thee gone!
Medea
What would I with thy pains? I have mine own.
Creon
Up: or, ‘fore God, my soldiers here shall fling …
Medea
Not that! Not that! … I do but pray, O King …
Creon
Thou wilt not? I must face the harsher task?
Medea
I accept mine exile. ’Tis not that I ask.
Creon
Why then so wild? Why clinging to mine hand?
Medea
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.
Creon
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.
Chorus
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.
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Jason
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.
Medea
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?
Leader
Dire and beyond all healing is the hateWhen hearts that loved are turned to enmity.
Jason
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.
Leader
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.
Medea
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.
Jason
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!
Medea
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.
Jason
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.
Medea
God shelter me from prosperous days of pain,And wealth that maketh wounds about my heart.
Jason
Wilt change that prayer, and choose a wiser part?Pray not to hold true sense for pain, nor rateThyself unhappy, being too fortunate.
Medea
Aye, mock me; thou hast where to lay thine head,But I go naked to mine exile.
Jason
TreadThine own path! Thou hast made it all to be.
Medea
How? By seducing and forsaking thee?
Jason
By those vile curses on the royal hallsLet loose….
Medea
On thy house also, as chance falls,I am a living curse.
Jason
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.
Medea
I will not seek thy friends. I will not takeThy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stemUnholy bring no blessing after them.
Jason
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.
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Aegeus
Have joy, Medea! ’Tis the homeliestWord that old friends can greet with, and the best.
Medea
Looking up, surprised
Oh, joy on thee, too, Aegeus, gentle kingOf Athens!—But whence com’st thou journeying?
Aegeus
From Delphi now and the old encaverned stair….
Medea
Where Earth’s heart speaks in song? What mad’st thou there?
Aegeus
Prayed heaven for children—the same search alway.
Medea
Children? Ah God! Art childless to this day?
Aegeus
So God hath willed. Childless and desolate.
Medea
What word did Phoebus speak, to change thy fate?
Aegeus
Riddles, too hard for mortal man to read.
Medea
Which I may hear?
Aegeus
Assuredly: they needA rarer wit.
Medea
How said he?
Aegeus
Not to spillLife’s wine, nor seek for more….
Medea
Until?
Aegeus
UntilI tread the hearth-stone of my sires of yore.
Medea
And what should bring thee here, by Creon’s shore?
Aegeus
One Pittheus know’st thou, high lord of Trozen?
Medea
Aye, Pelops’ son, a man most pure of sin.
Aegeus
Him I would ask, touching Apollo’s will.
Medea
Much use in God’s ways hath he, and much skill.
Aegeus
And, long years back he was my battle-friend,The truest e’er man had.
Medea
Well, may God sendGood hap to thee, and grant all thy desire.
Aegeus
But thou … ? Thy frame is wasted, and the fireDead in thine eyes.
Medea
Aegeus, my husband isThe falsest man in the world.
Aegeus
What word is this?Say clearly what thus makes thy visage dim?
Medea
He is false to me, who never injured him.
Aegeus
What hath he done? Show all, that I may see.
Medea
Ta’en him a wife; a wife, set over meTo rule his house.
Aegeus
He hath not dared to do,Jason, a thing so shameful?
Medea
Aye, ’tis true:And those he loved of yore have no place now.
Aegeus
Some passion sweepeth him? Or is it thouHe turns from?
Medea
Passion, passion to betrayHis dearest!
Aegeus
Shame be his, so fallen awayFrom honour!
Medea
Passion to be near a throne,A king’s heir!
Aegeus
How, who gives the bride? Say on.
Medea
Creon, who o’er all Corinth standeth chief.
Aegeus
Woman, thou hast indeed much cause for grief.
Medea
’Tis ruin.—And they have cast me out as well.
Aegeus
Who? ’Tis a new wrong this, and terrible.
Medea
Creon the king, from every land and shore….
Aegeus
And Jason suffers him? Oh, ’tis too sore!