Chapter XIV: Act V

_The outer court of_ CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act; the royal apartments in the background lie in blackened ruins whence smoke is still curling up; the court-yard is filled with various palace attendants busied in various ways. The dawn is just breaking.

The_ KING _appears, dragging_ GORA _out of the palace; a train of_ CREUSA'S _slave-women follows him._

KING. Away with thee! It was thy wicked hand
That to my daughter brought those bloody gifts
Which were her doom! My daughter! Oh, Creusa!
My child, my child!

[_He turns to the slave-women._]

'Twas she?

GORA. Yea, it was I!
I knew not that my hands bore doom of death
Within thy dwelling.

KING. Knew'st not. Never think
To 'scape my wrath on this wise!

GORA. Dost thou think
I shudder at thy wrath? Mine eyes have seen--
Woe's me!--the children weltering in their blood,
Slain by the hand of her that bore them, ay,
Medea's very hand! And after that,
All other horrors are to me but jest!

KING. Creusa! Oh, my child, my pure, true child!
Say, did thy hand not shake, thou grisly dame,
When to her side thou broughtest death?

GORA. I shed no tears for her! She had her due!
Why would she seek to snatch away the last
Possession of my most unhappy mistress?
I weep for these my babes, whom I did love
So tenderly, and whom I saw but now
Butchered--and by their mother! Ah, I would
Ye all were in your graves, and by your side
That traitor that doth call himself Lord Jason!
I would I were in Colchis with Medea
And these poor babes in safety! Would I ne'er
Had seen your faces, or your city here,
Whereon this grievous fate so justly falls!

KING. These insults thou wilt soon enough put by,
When thou shalt feel my heavy hand of doom!
But is it certain that my child is dead?
So many cry her dead, though I can find
None that did see her fall! Is there no way
To 'scape the fire? And can the flames wax strong
So quickly? See how slow they lick and curl
Along the fallen rafters of my house!
Do ye not see? And yet ye say she's dead?
An hour ago she stood before mine eyes
A blooming flower, instinct with happy life--
And now she's dead! Nay, I cannot believe,
And will not! 'Gainst my will I turn mine eyes
Now here, now there, and cannot but believe
That now, or now, or now at least, she must
Appear in all her stainless purity
And beauty, glide in safety to me here
Through those black, smoldering ruins!--Who was by?
Who saw her perish?--Thou?--Quick, speak!--Nay, then,
Roll not thine eyes in horror! Tell thy tale,
E'en though it kill me! Is she dead, indeed?

A SLAVE-WOMAN.

Dead!

KING. And thou saw'st it?

SLAVE-WOMAN.

With my very eyes!
Saw how the flames leaped forth from out that box
Of gold, and caught her flesh--

KING. Hold! Hold! Enough!
This woman saw it! Creusa is no more!
Creusa! Oh, my daughter, my dear child!
Once, many years agone, she burnt her hand
Against the altar; she was but a child,
And cried aloud with pain. I rushed to her
And caught her in my arms, and to my lips.
I put her poor scorched fingers, blowing hard
To ease the burning pain. The little maid
E'en through her bitter tears smiled up at me
And, softly sobbing, whispered in my ear,
"It is not much! I do not mind the pain!"
Gods! That she should be burned to death? Oh, gods!

[_He turns fiercely upon_ GORA.]

And as for thee,--if I should plunge my sword
Ten, twenty times, up to the hilt, clean through
Thy body, would that bring my daughter back?
Or, could I find that hideous witch-wife--Stay!
Where went she, that hath robbed me of my child?
I'll shake an answer straight from out thy mouth,
Ay, though thy soul come with it, if thou'lt not
Declare to me this instant where she's gone!

GORA. I know not--and I care no whit to know!
Let her go forth alone to her sure doom.
Why dost thou tarry? Slay me! For I have
No wish to live!

KING. We'll speak of that anon;
But first I'll have thy answer!

JASON (_behind the scenes_).

Where's Medea?
Bring her before my face! Medea!

[_He enters suddenly with drawn sword._]

Nay,
They told me she was caught! Where is she, then?

(_To_ GORA.)

Ha! Thou here? Where's thy mistress?

GORA. Fled away!

JASON. Hath she the children?

GORA. Nay!

JASON. Then they are--

GORA. Dead!
Yea, dead! thou smooth-tongued traitor, dead, I say!
She sought to put them where thine eyes could never
Take joy in them again; but, knowing well
No spot on earth so sacred was but thou
To find them wouldst break in, she hid them, safe
Forever, in the grave! Ay, stand aghast,
And stare upon the pavement! Thou canst never
Recall thy babes to life! They're gone for aye!
And, for their sake, I'm glad! No, I am not,
For their sake--but because thou dost despair,
That, smooth-tongued traitor, glads my heart indeed!
Was it not thou that drove her to this crime,
And thou, false King, with thine hypocrisy?
She was a noble creature-but ye drew
Your nets of shameful treachery too close
About her, till, in wild despair, cut off
From all escape else, she o'erleaped your snares,
And made thy crown, the kingly ornament
Of royal heads, to be the awful tool
Of her unnatural crime! Ay, wring your hands,
But wring them for your own most grievous fate!

(_Turning to the_ KING.)

Why sought thy child another woman's bed?

(_Turning to_ JASON.)

Why must thou steal her, bring her here to Greece,
If thou didst never love her? If thou didst
Right truly love her, why, then, thrust her forth?
Though others cry her murderess, yea, though I
Myself must name her so, yet none the less
Ye have but met your just deserts!--For me,
I have no wish to live another day!
Two of my babes are dead, the third I needs
Must hate forever! Take me, lead me hence
And slay me, if ye will! Fair hopes I have
At last, of justice in that other world,
Now I have seen Heaven's vengeance on you hurled!

[_She is led away by some of the _KING's _attendants._]

(_Pause._)

KING. Nay, if I wronged her,--by the gods in Heaven
I swear I meant it not!--Now haste we all
To search these smoking ruins for what trace
Remains of my poor girl, that we may lay
Her broken, bruised frame to rest at last
In Earth's kind bosom!

[_He turns to _JASON.]

But, for thee--straightway
Thou must go forth, where'er thy feet may choose
To carry thee! Pollution such as thine
Spells woe for all about thee, as I've proved.
Oh, had I never seen, never rescued thee,
Ne'er acted friendship's part and welcomed thee
Within my palace! And, for thanks, thou took'st
My daughter from me! Go, lest thou shouldst take
As well the only comfort left me now--
To weep her memory!

JASON. Wouldst thou thrust me forth?

KING. I banish thee my sight.

JASON. What shall I do?

KING. Some god will answer that!

JASON. Who, then, will guide
My wandering steps, who lend a helping hand?
For, see! my head is bleeding, wounded sore
By falling firebrands! How? All silent, then?
And none will guide me, none companion me,
None follow me, whom once so many joyed
To follow? Spirits of my babes, lead ye
The way, and guide your father to the grave
That waits him!

[_He goes slowly away._]

KING (_to his attendants_).

Quick, to work! And after that,
Mourning that hath no end!

[_He goes away in the other direction._]

_The curtain falls for a moment, and, when it rises again, discloses a wild and lonely region surrounded by forest and by lofty crags, at the foot of which lies a mean hut. A rustic enters._

RUSTIC. How fair the morning dawns! Oh, kindly gods,
After the storm and fury of the night,
Your sun doth rise more glorious than before!

[_He goes into the hut._]

(JASON _comes stumbling out of the forest and leaning heavily on his sword._)

JASON. Nay, I can go no farther! How my head
Doth burn and throb, the blood how boil within!
My tongue cleaves to the roof of my parched mouth!
Is none within there? Must I die of thirst,
And all alone?--Ha! Yon's the very hut
That gave me shelter when I came this way
Before, a rich man still, a happy father,
My bosom filled with newly-wakened hopes!

[_He knocks at the door._]

'Tis but a drink I crave, and then a place
To lay me down and die!

[_The peasant comes out of the house._]

RUSTIC. Who knocks?--Poor man,
Who art thou? Ah, poor soul, he's faint to death!

JASON. Oh, water, water! Give me but to drink!
See, Jason is my name, famed far and wide,
The hero of the wondrous Golden Fleece!
A prince--a king--and of the Argonauts
The mighty leader, Jason!

RUSTIC. Art thou, then,
In very sooth Lord Jason? Get thee gone
And quickly! Thou shalt not so much as set
A foot upon my threshold, to pollute
My humble dwelling! Thou didst bring but now
Death to the daughter of my lord the King!
Then seek not shelter at the meanest door
Of any of his subjects!

[_He goes into the hut again and shuts the door behind him._]

JASON. He is gone,
And leaves me here to lie upon the earth,
Bowed in the dust, for any that may pass
To trample on!--O Death, on thee I call!
Have pity on me! Take me to my babes!

[_He sinks down upon the ground._]

MEDEA _makes her way among some tumbled rocks, and stands suddenly before him, the Golden Fleece flung over her shoulders like a mantle._

MEDEA. Jason!

JASON (_half raising himself_).

Who calls me?--Ha! What spectral form
Is this before me? Is it thou, Medea?
Ha! Dost thou dare to show thyself again
Before mine eyes? My sword! My sword!

[_He tries to rise, but falls weakly back._]

Woe's me!
My limbs refuse their service! Here I lie,
A broken wreck!

MEDEA. Nay, cease thy mad attempts
Thou canst not harm me, for I am reserved
To be the victim of another's hand,
And not of thine!

JASON. My babes!--Where has thou them?

MEDEA. Nay, they are mine!

JASON. Where hast thou them, I say?

MEDEA. They're gone where they are happier far than thou
Or I shall ever be!

JASON. Dead! Dead! My babes!

MEDEA. Thou deemest death the worst of mortal woes?
I know a far more wretched one--to be
Alone, unloved! Hadst thou not prized mere life
Far, far above its worth, we were not now
In such a pass. But we must bear our weight
Of sorrow, for thy deeds! Yet these our babes
Are spared that grief, at least!

JASON. And thou canst stand
So patient, quiet, there, and speak such words?

MEDEA. Quiet, thou sayst, and patient? Were my heart
Not closed to thee e'en now, as e'er it was,
Then couldst thou see the bitter, smarting pain
Which, ever swelling like an angry sea,
Tosses, now here, now there, the laboring wreck
That is my grief, and, veiling it from sight
In awful desolation, sweeps it forth
O'er boundless ocean-wastes! I sorrow not
Because the babes are dead; my only grief
Is that they ever lived, that thou and I
Must still live on!

JASON. Alas!

MEDEA. Bear thou the lot
That fortune sends thee; for, to say the truth,
Thou richly hast deserved it!--Even as thou
Before me liest on the naked earth,
So lay I once in Colchis at thy feet
And craved protection--but thou wouldst not hear!
Nay, rather didst thou stretch thine eager hands
In blind unreason forth, to lay them swift
Upon the golden prize, although I cried,
"'Tis Death that thou dost grasp at!"--Take it, then,
That prize that thou so stubbornly didst seek,
Even Death!
I leave thee now, forevermore.
'Tis the last time-for all eternity
The very last--that I shall speak with thee,
My husband! Fare thee well! Ay, after all
The joys that blessed our happy, happy youth,
'Mid all the bitter woes that hem us in
On every side, in face of all the grief
That threatens for the future, still I say,
"Farewell, my husband!" Now there dawns for thee
A life of heavy sorrows; but, let come
What may, abide it firmly, show thyself
Stronger in suffering than in doing deeds
Men named heroic! If thy bitter woe
Shall make thee yearn for death, then think on me,
And it shall comfort thee to know how mine
Is bitterer far, because I set my hand
To deeds, to which thou only gav'st assent.
I go my way, and take my heavy weight
Of sorrow with me through the wide, wide world.
A dagger-stroke were blest release indeed;
But no! it may not be! It were not meet
Medea perish at Medea's hands.
My earlier life, before I stooped to sin,
Doth make me worthy of a better judge
Than I could be--I go to Delphi's shrine,
And there, before the altar of the god,
The very spot whence Phrixus long ago
Did steal the prize, I'll hang it up again,
Restore to that dark god what is his own--
The Golden Fleece--the only thing the flames
Have left unharmed, the only thing that 'scaped
Safe from the bloody, fiery death that slew
That fair Corinthian princess.--To the priests
I'll go, and I'll submit me to their will,
Ay, though they take my life to expiate
My grievous sins, or though they send me forth
To wander still through some far desert-waste,
My very life, prolonged, a heavier weight
Of sorrow than I ever yet have known!

_[She holds up the gleaming Fleece before his eyes.]_

Know'st thou the golden prize which thou didst strive
So eagerly to win, which seemed to thee
The shining crown of all thy famous deeds?
What is the happiness the world can give?--
A shadow! What the fame it can bestow?--
An empty dream! Poor man! Thy dreams were all
Of shadows! And the dreams are ended now,
But not the long, black Night!--Farewell to thee,
My husband, for I go! That was a day
Of heavy sorrows when we first did meet;
Today, 'mid heavier sorrows, we must part!
Farewell!

JASON. Deserted! All alone! My babes!

MEDEA. Endure!

JASON. Lost! Lost!

MEDEA. Be patient!

JASON. Let me die!

MEDEA. I go, and nevermore thine eyes shall see
My face again!

_[As she departs, winding her way among the tumbled rocks, the curtain falls.]_

* * * * *

THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO

AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS

By FRANZ GRILLPARZER

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ALFONSO VIII., _the Noble, King of Castile._

ELEANOR OF ENGLAND, _Daughter of Henry II., his Wife._

THE PRINCE, _their Son._

MANRIQUE, _Count of Lara, Governor of Castile._

DON GARCERAN, _his Son._

DOÑA CLARA, _Lady in Waiting to the Queen.

The Queen's Waiting Maid._

ISAAC, _the Jew._

ESTHER, }
} _his Daughters._
RACHEL, }

REINERO, _the King's Page.

Nobles, Court Ladies, Petitioners, Servants, and Other People.

Place, Toledo and Vicinity.

Time, about 1195 A.D._

THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO (1873)

TRANSLATED BY GEORGE HENRY DANTON AND ANNINA PERIAM DANTON