Part 2
Medea
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.
Aegeus
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.
Medea
’Tis well. Give me an oath wherein to trustAnd all that man could ask thou hast granted me.
Aegeus
Dost trust me not? Or what thing troubleth thee?
Medea
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.
Aegeus
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?
Medea
Swear by the Earth thou treadest, by the Sun,Sire of my sires, and all the gods as one….
Aegeus
To do what thing or not do? Make all plain.
Medea
Never thyself to cast me out again.Nor let another, whatsoe’er his plea,Take me, while thou yet livest and art free.
Aegeus
Never: so hear me, Earth, and the great starOf daylight, and all other gods that are!
Medea
’Tis well: and if thou falter from thy vow … ?
Aegeus
God’s judgment on the godless break my brow!
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Medea
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.
Leader
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!
Medea
There is no other way.—I pardon theeThy littleness, who art not wronged like me.
Leader
Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore!
Medea
Yes: if the man I hate be pained the more.
Leader
And thou made miserable, most miserable?
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Jason
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.
Medea
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.
Leader
O’er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear:Let the evil rest, O God, let it rest here!
Jason
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?
Medea
’Tis nothing. Thinking of these little ones….
Jason
Take heart, then. I will guard them from all ill.
Medea
I do take heart. Thy word I never willMistrust. Alas, a woman’s bosom bearsBut woman’s courage, a thing born for tears.
Jason
What ails thee?—All too sore thou weepest there.
Medea
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!
Jason
He is hard to move. Yet surely ’twere well done.
Medea
Bid her—for thy sake, for a daughters boon….
Jason
Well thought! Her I can fashion to my mind.
Medea
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.
Jason
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.
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Attendant
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?
Medea
Ah God!
Attendant
This chimes not with the news I bear.
Medea
O God, have mercy!
Attendant
Is some word of wrathHere hidden that I knew not of? And hathMy hope to give thee joy so cheated me?
Medea
Thou givest what thou givest: I blame not thee.
Attendant
Thy brows are all o’ercast: thine eyes are filled….
Medea
For bitter need, Old Man! The gods have willed,And my own evil mind, that this should come.
Attendant
Take heart! Thy sons one day will bring thee home.
Medea
Home? … I have others to send home. Woe’s me!
Attendant
Be patient. Many a mother before theeHath parted from her children. We poor thingsOf men must needs endure what fortune brings.
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Medea
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.
Messenger
O dire and ghastly deed! Get thee away,Medea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stayOne chariot’s wing, one keel that sweeps the seas….
Medea
And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these?
Messenger
The maiden princess lieth—and her sire,The king—both murdered by thy poison-fire.
Medea
Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefersHenceforth among my friends and well-wishers.
Messenger
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?
Medea
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.
Messenger
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.
Chorus
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!
Medea
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.
Chorus
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.
Jason
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.
Leader
Unhappy man, indeed thou knowest notWhat dark place thou art come to! Else, God wot,Jason, no word like these could fall from thee.
Jason
What is it?—Ha! The woman would kill me?
Leader
Thy sons are dead, slain by their mother’s hand.
Jason
How? Not the children…. I scarce understand….O God, thou hast broken me!
Leader
Think of those twainAs things once fair, that ne’er shall bloom again.
Jason
Where did she murder them? In that old room?
Leader
Open, and thou shalt see thy children’s doom.
Jason
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.
Medea
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.
Jason
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!
Medea
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.
Jason
Thou too hast grief. Thy pain is fierce as mine.
Medea
I love the pain, so thou shalt laugh no more.
Jason
Oh, what a womb of sin my children bore!
Medea
Sons, did ye perish for your father’s shame?
Jason
How? It was not my hand that murdered them.
Medea
’Twas thy false wooings, ’twas thy trampling pride.
Jason
Thou hast said it! For thy lust of love they died.
Medea
And love to women a slight thing should be?
Jason
To women pure!—All thy vile life to thee!
Medea
Think of thy torment. They are dead, they are dead!
Jason
No: quick, great God; quick curses round thy head!
Medea
The Gods know who began this work of woe.
Jason
Thy heart and all its loathliness they know.
Medea
Loathe on…. But, Oh, thy voice. It hurts me sore.
Jason
Aye, and thine me. Wouldst hear me then no more?
Medea
How? Show me but the way. ’Tis this I crave.
Jason
Give me the dead to weep, and make their grave.
Medea
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.
Jason
May They that hear the weeping childBlast thee, and They that walk in blood!
Medea
Thy broken vows, thy friends beguiledHave shut for thee the ears of God.
Jason
Go, thou art wet with children’s tears!
Medea
Go thou, and lay thy bride to sleep.
Jason
Childless, I go, to weep and weep.
Medea
Not yet! Age cometh and long years.
Jason
My sons, mine own!
Medea
Not thine, but mine …
Jason
… Who slew them!
Medea
Yes: to torture thee.
Jason
Once let me kiss their lips, once twineMine arms and touch…. Ah, woe is me!
Medea
Wouldst love them and entreat? But nowThey were as nothing.
Jason
At the last,O God, to touch that tender brow!
Medea
Thy words upon the wind are cast.
Jason
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.
Chorus
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.