Chapter X: Act I

_Before the walls of Corinth. At the left, halfway up stage, a tent is pitched; in the background lies the sea, with a point of land jutting out into it, on which is built a part of the city. The time is early morning, before daybreak; it is still dark.

At the right in the foreground a slave is seen standing in a pit digging and throwing up shovelfuls of earth; on the opposite side of the pit stands MEDEA, before a black chest which is strangely decorated with gold; in this chest she keeps laying various utensils during the following dialogue.

MEDEA. Is it, then, done?

SLAVE. A moment yet, my mistress.

[GORA _comes out of the tent and stands at a distance_.]

MEDEA. Come! First the veil, and then the goddess' staff.
I shall not need them more; here let them rest.
Dark night, the time for magic, is gone by,
And what is yet to come, or good or ill,
Must happen in the beamy light of day.--
This casket next; dire, secret flames it hides
That will consume the wretch who, knowing not,
Shall dare unlock it. And this other here,
Full-filled with sudden death, with many an herb,
And many a stone of magic power obscure,
Unto that earth they sprang from I commit.

[_She rises_.]

So! Rest ye here in peace for evermore.
Now for the last and mightiest thing of all!

[_The slave, who has meanwhile climbed out of the pit and taken his stand behind the princess awaiting the conclusion of her enterprise, now turns to help her, and grasps at an object covered with a veil and hanging from a lance that has been resting against a tree behind MEDEA; the veil falls, revealing the banner, with the Golden Fleece glowing radiantly through the darkness._]

SLAVE (_grasping the Fleece_). 'Tis this?

MEDEA. Nay, hold thy hand! Unveil it not.

(_Addressing the Fleece_.)

Once more let me behold thee, fatal gift
Of trusting guest-friend! Shine for one last time,
Thou witness of the downfall of my house,
Bespattered with my father's, brother's blood,
Sign of Medea's shame and hateful crime!

[_She stamps upon the lance-haft and breaks it in two_.]

So do I rend thee now, so sink thee deep
In earth's dark bosom, whence, a bane to men,
Thou sprang'st.

[_She lays the broken standard in the chest with the other objects and shuts down the cover_.]

GORA (_comes down_).

What does my mistress here?

MEDEA. Thou seest.

GORA. Wilt thou, then, bury in the earth that Fleece,
The symbol of thy service to the gods,
That saved thee, and shall save thee yet again?

MEDEA (_scornfully_).

That saved me? 'Tis because it saved me not,
That here I lay it. I am safe enough.

GORA (_ironically_).

Thanks to thy husband's love?

MEDEA (_to the slave, ignoring Gora's taunt_).

Is all prepared?

SLAVE. Yea, mistress.

MEDEA. Come!

[_She grasps one handle of the chest, the slave the other, and together they carry it to the pit._]

GORA (_observing them from a distance_).

Oh, what a task is this
For a proud princess, daughter of a king!

MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not help?

GORA. Lord Jason's handmaid am I--and not thine!
Nor is it meet one slave another serve.

MEDEA (_to the slave_).

Now lay it in, and heap the earth upon it.

[_The slave lets the chest down into the pit and shovels in the earth upon it. MEDEA kneels at one side of the pit as he works._]

GORA (_standing in the foreground_).

Oh, let me die, ye gods of Colchis, now,
That I may look no more on such a sight!
Yet, first hurl down your lightning-stroke of wrath
Upon this traitor who hath wrought us woe.
Let me but see him die; then slay me too!

MEDEA (_to the slave_).

'Tis finished. Stamp the earth about it close,
And go.--I charge thee, guard my secret well.
Thou art a Colchian, and I know thee true.

[_The slave departs._]

GORA (_calling after him with grim scorn_).

If thou shalt tell thy master, woe to you both!

(_To MEDEA._)

Hast finished?

MEDEA. Ay. At last I am at peace!

GORA. The Fleece, too, didst thou bury?

MEDEA. Even the Fleece.

GORA. Thou didst not leave it in Iolcos, with
Thine husband's uncle?

MEDEA. Nay, thou saw'st it here.

GORA. Thou hadst it still--and now hast buried it!
Gone, gone! And naught is left; all thy past life
Vanished, like wreaths of vapor in the breeze!
And naught's to come, and naught has been, and all
Thou seest is but this present fleeting hour!
There _was_ no Colchis! All the gods are dead!
Thou hadst no father, never slew thy brother I
Thou think'st not of it; lo, it never happened!--
Think, then, thou art not wretched. Cheat thyself
To dream Lord Jason loves thee yet. Perchance
It may come true!

MEDEA (angrily).

Be silent, woman!

GORA.
Nay!
Let her who knows her guilty lock her lips,
But I _will_ speak. Forth from my peaceful home
There in far Colchis, thou hast lured me here,
To be thine haughty paramour's meek slave.
Freeborn am I, yet see! mine arms are chained!--
Through the long, troubled nights, upon my couch
I lie and weep; each morn, as the bright sun
Returns, I curse my gray hairs and my weight
Of years. All scorn me, flout me. All I had
Is gone, save heavy heart and scalding tears.--
Nay, I will speak, and thou shalt listen, too!

MEDEA. Say on.

GORA. All I foretold has come to pass.
'Tis scarce one moon since the revolted sea
Cast you ashore, seducer and seduced;
And yet e 'en now these folk flee from thy face,
And horror follows wheresoe'er thou goest.
The people shudder at the Colchian witch
With fearful whispers of her magic dark.
Where thou dost show thyself, there all shrink back
And curse thee. May the same curse smite them all!--
As for thy lord, the Colchian princess' spouse,
Him, too, they hate, for his sake, and for thine.
Did not his uncle drive him from his palace?
Was he not banished from his fatherland
What time that uncle perished, none knows how?
Home hath he none, nor resting-place, nor where
To lay his head. What canst thou hope from him?

MEDEA. I am his wife!

GORA. And hop'st--?

MEDEA. To follow him
In need and unto death.

GORA. Ay, need and death!
Ætes' daughter in a beggar's hut!

MEDEA. Let us pray Heaven for a simple heart;
So shall our humble lot be easier borne.

GORA. Ha!--And thy husband--?

MEDEA. Day breaks. Let us go.

GORA. Nay, thou shalt not escape my questioning!--One
comfort still is left me in my grief,
And only one: our wretched plight shows clear
That gods still rule in Heaven, and mete out
To guilty men requital, late or soon.
Weep for thy bitter lot; I'll comfort thee.
Only presume not rashly to deny
The gods are just, because thou dost deny
This punishment they send, and all this woe.--
To cure an evil, we must see it clear.
Thy husband--tell me--is he still the same?

MEDEA. What should he be?

GORA. O, toy not so with words!
Is he the same impetuous lover still
Who wooed thee once; who braved a hundred swords
To win thee; who, upon that weary voyage,
Laughed at thy fears and kissed away thy grief,
Poor maid, when thou wouldst neither eat nor drink,
But only pray to die? Ay, all too soon
He won thee with his passionate, stormy love.
Is he thy lover still?--I see thee tremble.
Ay, thou hast need; thou knowest he loves thee not,
But shudders at thee, dreads thee, flees thee, _hates_ thee!
And as thou didst betray thy fatherland,
So shalt thou be betrayed--and by thy lover.
Deep in the earth the symbols of thy crime
Lie buried;--but the crime thou canst not hide.

MEDEA. Be silent!

GORA. Never!

MEDEA (_grasping her fiercely by the arm _).

Silence, dame, I say!
What is this madness? Cease these frantic cries!
'Tis our part to await whate'er may come,
Not bid it hasten.--Thou didst say but now
There is no past, no future; when a deed
Is done, 'tis done for all time; we can know
Only this one brief present instant, Now.
Say, if this Now may cradle a dim future,
Why may it not entomb the misty past?
My past! Would God that I could change it--now!
And bitter tears I weep for it, bitterer far
Than thou dost dream of.--Yet, that is no cause
To seek destruction. Rather is there need
Clearly to know myself, face honestly
The thing I am. Here to these foreign shores
And stranger folk a god hath driven us;
And what seemed right in Colchis, here is named
Evil and wickedness; our wonted ways
Win hatred here in Corinth, and distrust.
So, it is meet we change our ways and speech;
If we may be no longer what we would,
Let us at least, then, be e'en what we can.--
The ties that bound me to my fatherland
Here in earth's bosom I have buried deep;
The magic rites my mother taught me, all
Back to the Night that bare them I have given.
Now, but a woman, weak, alone, defenseless,
I throw me in my husband's open arms!
He shuddered at the Colchian witch! But now
I am his true, dear wife; and surely he
Will take me to his loving, shelt'ring arms.--
Lo, the day breaks, fair sign of our new life
Together! The dark past has ceased to be,
The happy future beckons!--Thou, O Earth,
The kind and gentle mother of us all,
Guard well my trust, that in thy bosom lies.

[_As she and_ GORA _approach the tent, it opens, and _JASON _appears, talking with a Corinthian rustic, and followed by a slave._]

JASON. Thou saw'st the king himself?

RUSTIC. I did, my lord.

JASON. How went thy tale?

RUSTIC. I Said, "One waits without,
A guest-friend of thy house, well-known to thee,
Yet so hedged round is he with traitorous foes,
He dares not enter, ere thou promise him
Peace and protection."

JASON. And his answer?--Speak!

RUSTIC. He comes, my lord, to meet thee. All this folk
Make pious offering to Poseidon here
Upon the seashore. Soon in festal train
They come with garlands and fair gifts, the king
Leading his daughter by the hand. 'Tis then,
As they pass by, that he will speak with thee.

JASON. Thou hast done well. I thank thee.

MEDEA (_coming up to him_).

Jason, hail!

JASON. Hail to thee, too!

(_To the slave._)

Go, thou, and all the others,
And pluck green branches from the budding trees
To mark you suppliants. 'Tis the custom here.
And keep a quiet, peaceful mien. Dost hear?
Now go.

[_They depart._]

MEDEA. Thou'rt full of thought?

JASON. Ay, full.

MEDEA. Thou givest
Thyself no rest.

JASON. A fugitive--and rest?
There is no rest for such, but only flight.

MEDEA. Last night thou didst not close thine eyes in sleep,
But wand'redst forth in the murky night, alone.

JASON. I love the night; the sunlight hurts my eyes.

MEDEA. And thou hast sent a message to the king.
Will he receive us kindly?

JASON. That I wait
To hear.

MEDEA. He is thy friend?

JASON. He was.

MEDEA. Then sure
His heart will soften.

JASON. Even the kindest men
Shun friendship with the accurst. And thou dost know
How all the world doth flee us, since the death
Of my false uncle, Pelias, whom some god
In devilish sport caused to be strangled. Thus
The people whisper that I slew him, I,
Thy husband, from that land of magic come.
Dost thou not know this?

MEDEA. Yea.

JASON. Here's cause enough
To wake and wander all the dark night through.--
But what hath brought thee forth, before the sun
Is up? What seek'st thou in this darkling hour?
Calling old friends from Colchis?

MEDEA. Nay.

JASON. Speak truth!

MEDEA. I say, I am not.

JASON. And I say to thee,
Better for thee if thou forget all such.
Pluck no more herbs, brew no more poison-drinks,
Nor commune with the moon, let dead men's bones
Rot in their graves at peace! Such magic arts
This folk here love not,--and I hate them, too!
This is not Colchis dark,--but sunny Greece;
Not hideous monsters, but our fellow-men
Dwell round about us. Come, henceforth, I know,
Thou wilt give o'er these rites and magic spells;
I have thy promise, and I know thee true.--
That crimson wimple bound about thy hair
Calls long-forgotten scenes to memory.
Why wilt not wear our country's wonted dress?
I was a Colchian on thy Colchian soil;
Be thou a Greek, now I have brought thee home.
The past is dead. Why call it back to life?
Alas! It haunts us yet, do what we will!

[MEDEA _silently removes the veil and gives it to_ GORA.]

GORA (_whispering_).

Scorn'st thou thy homeland thus--and all for him?

JASON (_catching sight of _GORA).

What! Art thou here, thou ancient beldame? Ha!
I hate thee most of all this Colchian crew.
One glance at thy dim eyes and wrinkled brow,
And lo! before my troubled sight there swims
The dusky shore of Colchis! Why must thou
Be ever hovering close beside my wife?
Begone!

GORA (_grumblingly_).

Why should I?

JASON. Go!

MEDEA. Begone, I pray.

GORA (_sullenly to _JASON).

Am I thy purchased slave, that thou shouldst speak
So lordly?

JASON. Go! My hand, of its own will,
Is on my sword! Go, while there yet is time!
Often ere this I have thought to make essay
If that stern brow be softer than it seems!

[MEDEA _leads the reluctant_ GORA _away, whispering words of comfort as they go._ JASON _throws himself on a grass-bank, and strikes his breast._]

JASON. O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house,
And drink the air!--
Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth's lofty towers,
Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand,
The cradle of my happy, golden youth!
Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun
As then. 'Tis I am altered, and not they.
Ye gods! The morning of my life was bright
And sunny; wherefore is my eventide
So dark and gloomy? Would that it were night!

[MEDEA _has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them by the hand to_ JASON.]

MEDEA. See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee.
Come, children, give your sire your little hands.

[_The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side._]

JASON (_stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group._)

Is this the end, then? Do I find myself
Husband and father of a savage brood?

MEDEA. Go, children.

ONE CHILD. Father, is it true thou art
A Greek?

JASON. And why?

CHILD. Old Gora says thou art,
And calls the Greeks bad names.

JASON. What names, my boy?

CHILD. Traitors she says they are, and cowards, too.

JASON (_to_ MEDEA).

Dost hear?

MEDEA. 'Tis Gora's foolish tales that they
Have heard, and treasured, child-like. Mark them not.

[_She kneels beside the two children, whispering in the ear now of one, now of the other._]

JASON. I will not.

[_He rises from the grass._]

There she kneels--unhappy fate!--
Bearing two burdens, hers, and mine as well.

[_He paces up and down, then addresses_ MEDEA.]

There, leave the babes awhile, and come to me.

MEDEA (_to the children_).

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

[_The children go._]

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

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

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

[MEDEA _hides her face on his shoulder._]

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

MEDEA. Thou'rt silent!

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

MEDEA. And what is that?

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

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

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

MEDEA. A bitter speech. What is the end?

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

MEDEA. Till when?

JASON. Until--Why hidest thou thy face?

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

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

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

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

[GORA _comes out of the tent with the two children_; MEDEA _places herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, watching anxiously all that passes. The_ KING _enters with his daughter and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the sacrifice._]

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

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

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

[_She takes a step toward him._]

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

CREUSA (_taking_ JASON's _hand and leading him to her father_).

See, father, 'tis Prince Jason!

KING. He is welcome.

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

KING. Rise, Jason.

JASON. Never, till thou--

KING. Rise, I say.

[_Jason rises to his feet._]

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

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

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

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

KING. Why art thou banished from thy fatherland?

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

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

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

KING. Truly or falsely? Answer me this first.

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

KING (_swiftly grasping_ JASON's _hand and leading him forward_).

Thine uncle perished?

JASON. Yea, he died.

KING. But how?

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

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

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

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

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

KING. Say, then, how fell the king?

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

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

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

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

CREUSA (_coming up to _KING CREON).

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

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

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

MEDEA (_stepping forward with the children_).

Medea! Here am I.

KING. Is 't she?

JASON (_dully_).

It is.

CREUSA (_pressing close to her father_).

O, horror!

MEDEA (_to_ CREUSA).

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

[_She points to _JASON.]

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

CREUSA. Oh, dreadful, horrible.

KING. And is she thy--wife?

JASON. My wife.

KING. Those children there?

JASON. They are mine own.

KING. Unhappy man!

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

[_He leads them up by the hand._]

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

ONE CHILD (_holding out a bough timidly to the _KING).

See, here it is.

KING (_laying his hands gently on the children's heads_).

Poor tiny birdlings, snatched from out your nest!

CREUSA (_kneeling compassionately beside the children_).

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

[_She kisses the smaller boy._]

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

MEDEA (_with sudden fierceness_).

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

(_To the children._)

Come to me-come here.

CREUSA (_glancing at her father_).

Shall I let them go?

KING. She is their mother.

CREUSA. Run
To mother, children.

MEDEA (to children).

Come! Why stand ye there
And wait?

CREUSA (_to the children, who are clasping her about the neck_).

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

[_The children go to_ MEDEA.]

JASON (_to the_ KING).

My lord, what is thy will?

KING. Thou hast my promise.

JASON. Thou wilt keep me safe?

KING. I have said it.

JASON. Me and mine thou wilt receive?

KING. Nay, _thee_ I said, not _thine_.--Now follow on,
First to the altar, to our palace then.

JASON (_as he follows the king, to _CREUSA).

Give me thy hand, Creusa, as of yore!

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

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

CREUSA (_to herself, turning as they go_).

Where is Medea? Why does she not follow?

[_She comes back, but stands at a distance from_ MEDEA.]

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

MEDEA. Unbidden guests must wait without.

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

MEDEA. Thy words and his betokened no such aid!

CREUSA (_approaching nearer_).

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

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

[MEDEA _tries to grasp _CREUSA's _hand, but the princess draws back timidly._]

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

CREUSA _(taking her hand)_.

Poor, lonely soul!

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

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

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

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

CREUSA. Look, my father!

KING. Ay, bring her with thee.

CREUSA. Wilt thou come, Medea?

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

(_To the_ KING.)

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

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

[CREUSA _leads_ MEDEA _and the children away_.]

KING. Hast heard?

JASON. I have.

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

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

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

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

KING (_quickly_).

She slew him?

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

KING. Dread beginning of your life
Together!

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

KING. Thine uncle--what of him?

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

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

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

KING. And thou--?

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

KING. And he--?

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_He turns to his attendants, who approach._]

See my behests are faithfully obeyed.

[_As they turn to depart, the curtain falls._]