Chapter XIII: Act IV

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

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

MEDEA. My babes! My babes!

GORA. Forth must we flee ere night shall fall,
And already the twilight draweth down.
Up! Rouse thee, and gird thee for flight!
Swiftly they come to slay!

MEDEA. Alas, my children!

GORA. Nay, up! I say, unhappy one,
Nor kill me with thy cries of woe!
Hadst thou but heeded when I warned,
Still should we be at home
In Colchis, safe; thy kinsmen yet
Were living; all were well with us.
Rise up! What use are tears? Come, rise!

[MEDEA _drags herself half up and kneels on the steps._]

MEDEA. 'Twas so I knelt, 'twas so I lay
And stretched my hands for pity out
To mine own children; begged and wept
And prayed for one, for only one
Of my dear children! Death itself
Were not so bitter, as to leave
One of them here!--But to have none--!
And neither came! They turned away
With terror on their baby lips,
And fled for comfort to the breast
Of her--my bitterest enemy!

[_She springs up suddenly._]

But he,--he laughed to see, and she
Did laugh as well!

GORA. O, woe is me!
O, woe and heavy sorrow!

MEDEA. O gods, is this your vengeance, then,
Your retribution? All for love
I followed him, as wife should e'er
Follow her lord. My father died,
But was it I that slew him? No!
My brother fell. Was't, then, my hand
That dealt the stroke? I've wept for them
With heavy mourning, poured hot tears
To serve as sad libation for
Their resting-place so far away!
Ye gods! These woes so measureless
That I have suffered at your hands--
Call ye these justice,--retribution?

GORA. Thou didst leave thine own--
Thine own desert thee now!

MEDEA. Then will I visit punishment
On them, as Heaven on me!
There shall no deed of wickedness
In all the wide world scathless go!
Leave vengeance to my hand, O gods above!

GORA. Nay, think how thou mayst save thyself;
All else forget!

MEDEA. What fear is this
That makes thy heart so craven-soft?
First thou wert grim and savage, spak'st
Fierce threats of vengeance, now art full
Of fears and trembling!

GORA. Let me be!
That moment when I saw thy babes
Flee their own mother's yearning arms,
Flee from the arms of her that bare
And reared them, then I knew at last
'Twas the gods' hand had struck thee down!
Then brake my heart, my courage sank!
These babes, whom it was all my joy
To tend and rear, had been the last
Of all the royal Colchian line,
On whom I still could lavish all
My love for my far fatherland.
Long since, my love for thee was dead;
But in these babes I seemed to see
Again my homeland, thy dear sire,
Thy murdered brother, all the line
Of princely Colchians,--ay, thyself,
As once thou wert,--and art no more!
So, all my thought was how to shield
And rear these babes; I guarded them
E'en as the apple of mine eye,
And now--

MEDEA. They have repaid thy love
As thanklessness doth e'er repay!

GORA. Chide not the babes! They're innocent!

MEDEA. How, innocent? And flee their mother
Innocent? They are Jason's babes,
Like him in form, in heart, and in
My bitter hate! If I could hold them here,
Their life or death depending on my hand,
E'en on this hand I reach out, so, and one
Swift stroke sufficed to slay them, bring to naught
All that they were, or are, or e'er can be,--
Look! they should be no more!

GORA. O, woe to thee,
Cruel mother, who canst hate those little babes
Thyself didst bear!

MEDEA. What hopes have they, what hopes?
If here they tarry with their sire,
That sire so base and infamous,
What shall their lot be then?
The children of this latest bed
Will scorn them, do despite to them
And to their mother, that wild thing
From distant Colchis' strand!
Their lot will be to serve as slaves;
Or else their anger, gnawing deep
And ever deeper at their hearts,
Will make them bitter, hard,
Until they grow to hate themselves.
For, if misfortune often is begot
By crime, more often far are wicked deeds
The offspring of misfortune!--What have they
To live for, then? I would my sire
Had slain me long, long years agone
When I was small, and had not yet
Drunk deep of woe, as now I do--
Thought heavy thoughts, as now!

GORA. Thou tremblest! What dost think to do?

MEDEA. That I must forth, is sure; what else
May chance ere that, I cannot see.
My heart leaps up, when I recall
The foul injustice I have borne,
And glows with fierce revenge! No deed
So dread or awful but I would
Put hand to it!--
He loves these babes,
Forsooth, because he sees in them
His own self mirrored back again,
Himself--his idol!--Nay, he ne'er
Shall have them, shall not!--Nor will I!
I hate them!

GORA. Come within! Nay, why
Wouldst tarry here?

MEDEA. All empty is that house,
And all deserted! Desolation broods
Upon those silent walls, and all is dead
Within, save bitter memories and grief!

GORA. Look! They are coming who would drive us hence.
Come thou within!

MEDEA. Thou saidst the Argonauts
Found each and every one a grave unblest,
The wages of their treachery and sin?

GORA. Ay, sooth, and such a grave shall Jason find!

MEDEA. He shall, I promise thee, he shall, indeed!
Hylas was swallowed in a watery grave;
The gloomy King of Shades holds Theseus bound;
And how was that Greek woman called--the one
That on her own blood bloody vengeance took?
How was she called, then? Speak!

GORA. I do not know
What thou dost mean.

MEDEA. Althea was her name!

GORA. She who did slay her son

MEDEA. The very same!
How came it, then? Tell me the tale once more.

GORA. Unwitting, in the chase, he had struck down
Her brother.

MEDEA. Him alone? He did not slay
Her father, too? Nor fled his mother's arms,
Nor thrust her from him, spurned her scornfully?
And yet she struck him dead--that mighty man,
Grim Meleager, her own son! And she--
She was a Greek! Althea was her name.
Well, when her son lay dead--?

GORA. Nay, there the tale
Doth end.

MEDEA. Doth end! Thou'rt right, for death ends all!

GORA. Why stand we here and talk?

MEDEA. Dost think that I
Lack courage for the venture? Hark! I swear
By the high gods, if he had giv'n me both
My babes--But no! If I could take them hence
To journey with me, at his own behest,

If I could love them still, as deep as now
I hate them, if in all this lone, wide world
One single thing were left me that was not
Poisoned, or brought in ruin on my head--
Perchance I might go forth e'en now in peace
And leave my vengeance in the hands of Heaven.
But no! It may not be!
They name me cruel
And wanton, but I was not ever so;
Though I can feel how one may learn to be.
For dread and awful thoughts do shape themselves
Within my soul; I shudder--yet rejoice
Thereat! When all is finished--Gora, hither!

GORA. What wouldst thou?

MEDEA. Come to me!

GORA. And why?

MEDEA. Come hither!
See! There they lay, the babes--ay, and the bride,
Bleeding, and dead! And he, the bridegroom, stood
And looked and tore his hair! A fearful sight
And ghastly!

GORA. Heaven forfend! What mean these words?

MEDEA. Ha, ha! Thou'rt struck with terror then, at last?
Nay, 'tis but empty words that I did speak.
My old, fierce will yet lives, but all my strength
Is vanished. Oh, were I Medea still--!
But no, I am no more! O Jason, why,
Why hast thou used me so? I sheltered thee,
Saved thee, and gave thee all my heart to keep;
All that was mine, I flung away for thee!
Why wilt thou cast me off, why spurn my love,
Why drive the kindly spirits from my heart
And set fierce thoughts of vengeance in their place?
I dream of vengeance, when I have no more
The power to wreak revenge! The charms I had
From my own mother, that grim Colchian queen,
From Hecate, that bound dark gods to me
To do my bidding, I have buried them,
Ay, and for love of thee!--have sunk them deep
In the dim bosom of our mother Earth;
The ebon wand, the veil of bloody hue,
Gone!--and I stand here helpless, to my foes
No more a thing of terror, but of scorn!

GORA. Then speak not of them if they'll serve thee not!

MEDEA. I know well where they lie;
For yonder on the plashy ocean-strand
I coffined them and sank them deep in earth.
'Tis but to toss away a little mold,
And they are mine! But in my inmost soul
I shudder when I think on such a venture,
And on that blood-stained Fleece. Methinks the ghosts
Of father, brother, brood upon their grave
And will not let them go. Dost thou recall
How on the pavement lay my old, gray sire
Weeping for his dead son, and cursing loud
His daughter? But lord Jason swung the Fleece
High o'er his head, with fierce, triumphant shouts!
'Twas then I swore revenge upon this traitor
Who first did slay my best-beloved, now
Would slay me, too! Had I my bloody charms
And secret magic here, I'd keep that vow!
But no, I dare not fetch them, for I fear
Lest, shining through the Fleece's golden blaze,
Mine eyes should see my father's ghostly face
Stare forth at me--and oh! I should go mad!

GORA. What wilt thou do, then?

MEDEA (_wearily_).

Even let them come
And slay me, if they will! I can no more!
Not one step will I stir from where I stand;
My dearest wish is death! And when he sees
Me lying dead, mayhap he'll follow me,
Deep-smitten with remorse!

GORA. The King draws nigh;
Look to thyself!

MEDEA. Nay, all my strength is gone,
What can I do? If he would trample me
Beneath his feet--well, let him have his will!

_The _KING_ enters._

KING. Night falls apace, thine hours of grace are fled!

MEDEA. I know it.

KING. Art thou ready to go forth?

MEDEA. Thou tauntest me! If I were not prepared,
Must I the less go forth?

KING. My heart is glad
To find thee minded so. 'Twill make thee think
Less bitterly upon thy sorry fate,
And for thy children it doth spell great good:
For now they may remember who she was
That bare them.

MEDEA. May remember? If they will,
Thou meanest!

KING. That they shall, must be my care.
I'll rear them to be mighty heroes both;
And then--who knows?--on some far-distant day
Their hero-deeds may bring them to the shores.
Of Colchis, where they'll find thee once again,
Older in years, grown soft and gentle now,
And with fond love will press thee to their hearts.

MEDEA. Alas!

KING. What say'st thou?

MEDEA. Naught! I did but think
On happy days long vanished, and forgot
All that hath happened since.--Was this the cause
That brought thee here, or hast thou aught to say
Besides?

KING. Nay, I forgot one other word,
But I will speak it now. Thy husband brought
Much treasure when he fled to Corinth here
From far Iolcos, when his uncle died.

MEDEA. There in the house it lies, still guarded safe;
Go in and take it!

KING. And that trinket fair
Of dazzling gold, the Fleece--the gleaming prize
The Argo brought--is that within, as well?
Why turnest thou away, and wouldst depart?
Give answer! Is it there?

MEDEA. No!

KING. Where, then? Where?

MEDEA. I know not.

KING. Yet thyself didst bear it forth
From Pelias' chamber--so the Herald said.

MEDEA. Nay, if he said so, it must needs be true!

KING. Where is it?

MEDEA. Nay, I know not.

KING. Never think
To cheat us thus!

MEDEA. If thou wouldst give it me,
I would requite thee even with my life;
For, if I had it here, thou shouldst not stand
Before me, shouting threats!

KING. Didst thou not seize
And bear it with thee from Iolcos?

MEDEA. Yea!

KING. And now--?

MEDEA. I have it not.

KING. Who hath it, then?

MEDEA. The earth doth hold it.

KING. Ha! I understand!
So it was there, in sooth?

[_He turns to his attendants._]

Go, fetch me here
That which I bade you. What I mean, ye know!

[_The attendants go out._]

Ha! Didst thou think to cheat us with thy words
Of double meaning? Earth doth hold it! Now
I understand thee! Nay, look not away!
Look here at me, and harken!--Yonder there
Upon the seashore, where last night ye lay,
I gave command to raise a sacred fane
To Pelias' shades; and, as my henchmen toiled,
They found--thou palest!--freshly buried there
An ebon casket, marked with curious signs.

[_The attendants bring in the chest._]

Look! Is it thine?

MEDEA (_rushing eagerly to the chest_).
Yea, mine!

KING. And is the Fleece
Therein?

MEDEA. It is.

KING. Then give it me!

MEDEA. I will!

KING. Almost I do regret I pitied thee,
Since thou hast sought to cozen us!

MEDEA. Fear not!
For thou shalt have thy due! Once more I am
Medea! Thanks to thee, kind gods!

KING. Unlock
Thy casket, quick, and give the Fleece to me!

MEDEA. Not yet!

KING. But when?

MEDEA. Right soon, ay, all too soon!

KING. Send it to where Creusa waits.

MEDEA. To her?
This Fleece to thy fair daughter? Ay, I will!

KING. Holdeth this casket aught besides the Fleece?

MEDEA. Yea, many things!

KING. Thine own?

MEDEA. Mine own.
From these A gift I'd send her.

KING. Nay, I would demand
Naught else of thee. Keep that which is thine own.

MEDEA. Surely thou wilt permit me one small gift!
Thy daughter was so mild to me, so good,
And she will be a mother to my babes.
I fain would win her love! Thou dost desire
Naught but the Fleece; perchance some trinkets rare
Would please her eyes.

KING. Do even as thou wilt;
Only, bethink thee of thy needs. Thou knowest
Already how she loves thee. But an hour
Agone she begged to send thy babes to thee
That thou might'st see them once again, and take
A last farewell before thou settest forth
Upon thy weary way. I said her nay,
For I had seen thy fury. Now thou art
Quiet again, and so shalt have that grace.

MEDEA. Oh, thanks to thee, thou good and pious King!

KING. Wait here. I'll send the children to thee straight.

[_He departs._]

MEDEA. He's gone--and to his doom! Fool! Didst thou not
Tremble and shudder when thou took'st away
Her last possession from the woman thou
Hadst robbed already? Yet, I thank thee for it,
Ay, thank thee!
Thou hast given me back myself!
--Unlock the casket!

GORA (_fumbling at it_).

That I cannot do.

MEDEA. Nay, I forgot how I did lock it up!
The key is kept by friends I know full well.

[_She turns toward the chest._]

Up from below!
Down from o'erhead!
Open, thou secretest
Tomb of the dead!

The lid springs open, and I am no more
A weak and powerless woman! There they lie,
My staff, my veil of crimson! Mine! Ah, mine!

[_She takes them out of the casket._]

I take thee in my hands, thou mighty staff
Of mine own mother, and through heart and limbs
Unfailing strength streams forth from thee to me!
And thee, beloved wimple, on my brow
I bind once more!

[_She veils herself._]

How warm, how soft thou art,
How dost thou pour new life through all my frame!
Now come, come all my foes in close-set ranks,
Banded against me, banded for your doom!

GORA. Look! Yonder flares a light!

MEDEA. Nay, let it flare!
'Twill soon be quenched in blood!--
Here are the presents I would send to her;
And thou shalt be the bearer of my gifts!

GORA. I?

MEDEA. Thou! Go quickly to the chamber where
Creusa sits, speak soft and honied words,
Bring her Medea's greetings, and her gifts!

[_She takes the gifts out of the chest one by one._]

This golden box, first, that doth treasure up
Most precious ointments. Ah, the bride will shine
Like blazing stars, if she will ope its lid!
But bear it heedfully, and shake it not!

GORA. Woe's me!

[_She has grasped the ointment-box firmly in her left hand; as she steadies it with her right hand, she slightly jars the cover open, and a blinding flame leaps forth._]

MEDEA. I warned thee not to shake it, fool!
Back to thy house again,
Serpent with forked tongue!
Wait till the knell hath rung;
Thou shalt not wait in vain!
Now clasp it tightly, carry it with heed!

GORA. I fear some dreadful thing will come of this!

MEDEA. So! Thou wouldst warn me? 'Tis a wise old crone!

GORA. And I must bear it?

MEDEA. Yea! Obey, thou slave!
How darest thou presume to answer me?
Be silent! Nay, thou shalt, thou must!
And next
Here on this salver, high-embossed with gold,
I set this jeweled chalice, rich and fair
To see, and o'er it lay the best of all,
The thing her heart most craves--the Golden Fleece!--
Go hence and do thine errand. Nay, but first
Spread o'er these gifts this mantle--fair it is
And richly broidered, made to grace a queen--
To cover all from sight and keep them hid.--
Now, go, and do what I commanded thee,
And take these gifts, that foe doth send to foe!

[_A slave-woman enters with the children._]

SLAVE. My lord the king hath sent these children hither;
And when an hour is gone I take them back.

MEDEA. Sooth, they come early to the marriage feast!
Now to thy mistress lead my servant here;
She takes a message from me, bears rich gifts.

(_She turns to _GORA.)

And thou, remember what I told thee late!
Nay, not a word! It is my will!

(_To the slave-woman._)

Away!
And bring her to thy mistress.

[GORA _and the slave-woman depart together._]

Well begun,
But not yet ended! Easy is my path,
Now I see clearly what I have to do!

[_The children, hand in hand, make as if to follow the slave-woman._]

Where go ye?

BOY. In the house!

MEDEA. What seek ye there?

BOY. Our father told us we should stay with her.

MEDEA. Thy mother bids you tarry. Wait, I say!--
When I bethink me how they are my blood,
My very flesh, the babes I bore so long
In my own womb, and nourished at my breast,
When I bethink me 'tis my very self
That turns against me, in my inmost soul
Fierce anger stabs me knife-like, bloody thoughts
Rise fast within me!--

(_To the children._)

What hath mother done,
To make you flee her sight and run away
To hide in strangers' bosoms?

BOY. Thou dost seek
To steal us both away, and shut us up
Within thy boat again, where we were both
So sick and dizzy. We would rather stay
Here, would we not, my brother?

YOUNGER BOY. Yea!

MEDEA. Thou, too,
Absyrtus? But 'tis better, better so!
Come hither!

BOY. I'm afraid!

MEDEA. Come here, I say!

BOY. Nay, thou wilt hurt me!

MEDEA. Hurt thee? Thou hast done
Naught to deserve it!

Boy. Once thou flung'st me down
Upon the pavement, hard, because I looked
So like my father. But _he_ loves me for it!
I'd rather stay with him, and with that good
And gentle lady!

MEDEA. Thou shalt go to her,
E'en to that gentle lady!--How his mien
Is like to his, the traitor's! How his words
Are syllabled like Jason's!--Patience! Wait!

YOUNGER BOY. I'm sleepy!

BOY. Let's lie down and go to sleep.
It's late.

MEDEA. Ye'll have your fill of sleep ere long!
Go, lay you down upon those steps to rest,
While I take counsel with myself.--Ah, see
How watchfully he guides the younger one,
Takes off his little mantle, wraps it warm
And close about his shoulders, now lies down
Beside him, clasping hands!--He never was
A naughty child!--O children, children mine!

BOY (_starting up_).

Dost want us?

MEDEA. Nay, lie down, and go to sleep!
What would I give, if I could sleep as sound!

[_The boy lies down again, and both go to sleep._ MEDEA _seats herself on a bench opposite the children. It grows darker and darker._]

MEDEA. The night is falling, stars are climbing high,
Shedding their kindly beams on all below--
The same that shone there yestere'en, as though
All things today were as they were before.
And yet 'twixt now and yesterday there yawns
A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy
Made perfect and grim death! How change-less e'er
Is Nature--and man's life and happiness
How fitful, fleeting!
When I tell the tale
Of my unhappy life, it is as though
I listened, while another told it me,
And now would stop him: "Nay, that cannot be,
My friend! This woman here, that harbors dark
And murderous thoughts--how can she be the same
That once, long years agone, on Colchis' strand
Trod, free and happy, 'neath these very stars,
As pure, as mild, as free from any sin
As new-born child upon its mother's breast?"
Where goes she, then? She seeks the peasant's hut
To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops
Were trampled by her father's huntsmen late,
And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart.
Why trips she down the forest-path? She hastes
To meet her brother who is waiting there
In some green copse. Together then they wend
Homeward their way along the well-known path,
Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom.
Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned
With coronet of gold; he is the King,
Their royal father, and he lays his hand
In blessing on their heads, and names them both
His joy, his dearest treasure.--Welcome, then,
Most dear and friendly faces! Are ye come
To comfort me in this my loneliness?
Draw nearer, nearer yet! I fain would look
Into your eyes! Dear brother, dost thou smile
So friendly on me? Ah, how fair thou art,
My heart's best treasure! But my father's face
Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still,
Yea, loveth his good daughter!

[_She springs up suddenly._]

Good? Ha, good?
'Tis a false lie! For know, thou old, gray man,
She will betray thee, _hath_ betrayed thee, thee,
Ay, and herself! But thou didst curse her sore
"Know thou shalt be thrust forth
Like a beast of the wilderness," thou saidst;
"Friendless and homeless, with no place
To lay thy head! And he, for whom
Thou hast betrayed me, he will be
First to take vengeance on thee, first
To leave thee, thrust thee forth, and first
To slay thee!" See, thy words were true!
For here I stand, thrust forth indeed,
By all men like a monster shunned,
Deserted by the wretch for whom
I gave thee up, and with no place
To lay me down; alas! not dead;
Black thoughts of murder in my heart!--
Dost thou rejoice at thy revenge?
Com'st closer?--Children! O my babes!

[_She rushes across to where the children lie sleeping, and shakes them violently._]

My children, did ye hear? Awake!

BOY (_waking_).

What wouldst thou?

MEDEA (_pressing them fiercely to her_).

Clasp your arms about me close!

BOY. I slept so soundly.

MEDEA. Slept? How could ye sleep?
Thought ye, because your mother watched you here,
That ye were safe? Ye ne'er were in the hands
Of any foe more dangerous! Sleep? With me,
Your mother, near? How could ye?--Go within,
And there ye shall find rest, indeed!

[_The children sleepily mount the steps and disappear down the colonnade into the palace._]

They're gone,
And all is well again!--Yet, now they're gone,
How am I bettered? Must I aught the less
Flee forth, today, and leave them in the hands
Of these my bitter foes? Is Jason less
A traitor? Will the bride make aught the less
Of feasting on her bridal day, forsooth?
Tomorrow, when the sun shall rise,
Then shall I be alone,
The world a desert waste for me,
My babes, my husband--gone!
A wand'rer I, with weary feet
All torn and bleeding sore,
And bound for exile!--Whither, then
I know no more!
My foes stay here and make a joyous feast,
And laugh to think me gone;
My babes cling tightly to a stranger's breast,
Estranged from me forever, far away
From where I needs must come!
And wilt thou suffer that?
Is it not even now too late,
Too late to grant forgiveness?
Hath not Creusa even now the robes,
Ay, and the chalice, that fierce-flaming cup?
Hark! Nay, not yet!--But soon enough
Will come the shriek of agony
Ringing through all the palace halls!
Then they will come and slay me,
Nor spare the babes!
Hark! What a cry was that! Ha! Tongues of flame
Leap curling from the palace! It is done!
No more may I retreat, repent!
Let come what must! Set forward!

[GORA _bursts out of the palace in a frenzy._]

GORA. Oh, horror, horror!

MEDEA (_hurrying to her_).

So the deed is done!

GORA. Woe, woe! Creusa dead, the palace red
With mounting flames!

MEDEA. So, art thou gone at last,
Thou snow-white, spotless bride? Or seek'st thou still
To charm my children from me? Wouldst thou? Wouldst thou?
Wouldst take them whither thou art gone?
Nay, to the gods I give them now,
And not to thee, nay, not to thee!

GORA. What hast thou done?--Look, look, they come!

MEDEA. They come? Too late! Too late!

[_She vanishes down the colonnade._]

GORA. Alas that I, so old and gray, should aid,
Unknowing, such dark deeds! I counseled her
To take revenge: but such revenge--oh, gods!
Where are the babes? 'Twas here I left them late.
Where art thou, O Medea? And thy babes--
Ah, where are they?

[_She, too, disappears down the colonnade. Through the windows of the palace in the background the rapidly mounting flames now burst forth._]

JASON'S VOICE.

Creusa! O Creusa!

KING'S VOICE (_from within_).

O my daughter!

[GORA _bursts out of the palace and falls upon her knees in the middle of the stage, covering her face with her hands._]

GORA. What have I seen?--Oh, horror!

[MEDEA _appears at the entrance to the colonnade; in her left hand she brandishes a dagger; she raises her right hand to command silence._]

[_The curtain falls._]