Medea of Euripides Part 4

MEDEA (_rising_).

For one day only leave me in thy land At peace, to find some counsel, ere the strain Of exile fall, some comfort for these twain, Mine innocents; since others take no thought, It seems, to save the babes that they begot.

Ah! Thou wilt pity them! Thou also art A father: thou hast somewhere still a heart That feels... . I reck not of myself: 'tis they That break me, fallen upon so dire a day.

CREON.

Mine is no tyrant's mood. Aye, many a time Ere this my tenderness hath marred the chime Of wisest counsels. And I know that now I do mere folly. But so be it! Thou Shalt have this grace ... But this I warn thee clear, If once the morrow's sunlight find thee here Within my borders, thee or child of thine, Thou diest! ... Of this judgment not a line Shall waver nor abate. So linger on, If thou needs must, till the next risen sun; No further... . In one day there scarce can be Those perils wrought whose dread yet haunteth me.

[_Exit_ CREON _with his suite_.

CHORUS.

O woman, woman of sorrow, Where wilt thou turn and flee?

What town shall be thine to-morrow, What land of all lands that be, What door of a strange man's home?

Yea, G.o.d hath hunted thee, Medea, forth to the foam Of a trackless sea.

MEDEA.

Defeat on every side; what else?--But Oh, Not here the end is: think it not! I know For bride and groom one battle yet untried, And goodly pains for him that gave the bride.

Dost dream I would have grovelled to this man, Save that I won mine end, and shaped my plan For merry deeds? My lips had never deigned Speak word with him: my flesh been never stained With touching... . Fool, Oh, triple fool! It lay So plain for him to kill my whole essay By exile swift: and, lo, he sets me free This one long day: wherein mine haters three Shall lie here dead, the father and the bride And husband--mine, not hers! Oh, I have tried So many thoughts of murder to my turn, I know not which best likes me. Shall I burn Their house with fire? Or stealing past unseen To Jason's bed--I have a blade made keen For that--stab, breast to breast, that wedded pair?

Good, but for one thing. When I am taken there, And killed, they will laugh loud who hate me... .

Nay, I love the old way best, the simple way Of poison, where we too are strong as men.

Ah me!

And they being dead--what place shall hold me then?

What friend shall rise, with land inviolate And trusty doors, to shelter from their hate This flesh? ... None anywhere! ... A little more I needs must wait: and, if there ope some door Of refuge, some strong tower to s.h.i.+eld me, good: In craft and darkness I will hunt this blood.

Else, if mine hour be come and no hope nigh, Then sword in hand, full-willed and sure to die, I yet will live to slay them. I will wend Man-like, their road of daring to the end.

So help me She who of all G.o.ds hath been The best to me, of all my chosen queen And helpmate, Hecate, who dwells apart, The flame of flame, in my fire's inmost heart: For all their strength, they shall not stab my soul And laugh thereafter! Dark and full of dole Their bridal feast shall be, most dark the day They joined their hands, and hunted me away.

Awake thee now, Medea! Whatso plot Thou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not.

On to the peril-point! Now comes the strain Of daring. Shall they trample thee again?

How? And with h.e.l.las laughing o'er thy fall While this thief's daughter weds, and weds withal Jason? ... A true king was thy father, yea, And born of the ancient Sun! ... Thou know'st the way; And G.o.d hath made thee woman, things most vain For help, but wondrous in the paths of pain.

[MEDEA _goes into the House_.

CHORUS.

Back streams the wave on the ever running river: Life, life is changed and the laws of it o'ertrod.

Man shall be the slave, the affrighted, the low-liver!

Man hath forgotten G.o.d.

And woman, yea, woman, shall be terrible in story: The tales too, meseemeth, shall be other than of yore.

For a fear there is that cometh out of Woman and a glory, And the hard hating voices shall encompa.s.s her no more!

The old bards shall cease, and their memory that lingers Of frail brides and faithless, shall be shrivelled as with fire.

For they loved us not, nor knew us: and our lips were dumb, our fingers Could wake not the secret of the lyre.

Else, else, O G.o.d the Singer, I had sung amid their rages A long tale of Man and his deeds for good and ill.

But the old World knoweth--'tis the speech of all his ages-- Man's wrong and ours: he knoweth and is still.

_Some Women._

Forth from thy father's home Thou camest, O heart of fire, To the Dark Blue Rocks, to the clas.h.i.+ng foam, To the seas of thy desire:

Till the Dark Blue Bar was crossed; And, lo, by an alien river Standing, thy lover lost, Void-armed for ever,

Forth yet again, O lowest Of landless women, a ranger Of desolate ways, thou goest, From the walls of the stranger.

_Others._

And the great Oath waxeth weak; And Ruth, as a thing outstriven, Is fled, fled, from the sh.o.r.es of the Greek, Away on the winds of heaven.

Dark is the house afar, Where an old king called thee daughter; All that was once thy star In stormy water,

Dark: and, lo, in the nearer House that was sworn to love thee, Another, queenlier, dearer, Is throned above thee.

_Enter from the right_ JASON.

JASON.

Oft have I seen, in other days than these, How a dark temper maketh maladies No friend can heal. 'Twas easy to have kept Both land and home. It needed but to accept Unstrivingly the pleasure of our lords.

But thou, for mere delight in stormy words, Wilt lose all! ... Now thy speech provokes not me.

Rail on. Of all mankind let Jason be Most evil; none shall check thee. But for these Dark threats cast out against the majesties Of Corinth, count as veriest gain thy path Of exile. I myself, when princely wrath Was hot against thee, strove with all good will To appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee still Beside me. But thy mouth would never stay From vanity, blaspheming night and day Our masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land.

Yet, even so, I will not hold my hand From succouring mine own people. Here am I To help thee, woman, pondering heedfully Thy new state. For I would not have thee flung Provisionless away--aye, and the young Children as well; nor lacking aught that will Of mine can bring thee. Many a lesser ill Hangs on the heels of exile... . Aye, and though Thou hate me, dream not that my heart can know Or fas.h.i.+on aught of angry will to thee.

MEDEA.

Evil, most evil! ... since thou grantest me That comfort, the worst weapon left me now To smite a coward... . Thou comest to me, thou, Mine enemy! (_Turning to the_ CHORUS.) Oh, say, how call ye this, To face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss Betrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these: 'Tis but of all man's inward sicknesses The vilest, that he knoweth not of shame Nor pity! Yet I praise him that he came ...

To me it shall bring comfort, once to clear My heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear.

I will begin with that, 'twixt me and thee, That first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee-- Let thine own Greeks be witness, every one That sailed on Argo--saved thee, sent alone To yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath, And sow that Acre of the Lords of Death; And mine own ancient Serpent, who did keep The Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep, And s.h.i.+ning coils, him also did I smite Dead for thy sake, and lifted up the light That bade thee live. Myself, uncounselled, Stole forth from father and from home, and fled Where dark Iolcos under Pelion lies, With thee--Oh, single-hearted more than wise!

I murdered Pelias, yea, in agony, By his own daughters' hands, for sake of thee; I swept their house like War.--And hast thou then Accepted all--O evil yet again!-- And cast me off and taken thee for bride Another? And with children at thy side!

One could forgive a childless man. But no: I have borne thee children ...

Is sworn faith so low And weak a thing? I understand it not.

Are the old G.o.ds dead? Are the old laws forgot, And new laws made? Since not my pa.s.sioning, But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing Forsworn.

[_She catches sight of her own hand which she has thrown out to denounce him._

Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom he Did cling to, and these knees, so cravingly, We are unclean, thou and I; we have caught the stain Of bad men's flesh ... and dreamed our dreams in vain.

Thou comest to befriend me? Give me, then, Thy counsel. 'Tis not that I dream again For good from thee: but, questioned, thou wilt show The viler. Say: now whither shall I go?

Back to my father? Him I did betray, And all his land, when we two fled away.

To those poor Peliad maids? For them 'twere good To take me in, who spilled their father's blood... .

Aye, so my whole life stands! There were at home Who loved me well: to them I am become A curse. And the first friends who sheltered me, Whom most I should have spared, to pleasure thee I have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laid My crown upon me, blest of many a maid In h.e.l.las, now I have won what all did crave, Thee, the world-wondered lover and the brave; Who this day looks and sees me banished, thrown Away with these two babes, all, all, alone ...

Oh, merry mocking when the lamps are red: "Where go the bridegroom's babes to beg their bread In exile, and the woman who gave all To save him?"

O great G.o.d, shall gold withal Bear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine, And o'er man's living visage runs no sign To show the lie within, ere all too late?

LEADER.

Dire and beyond all healing is the hate When hearts that loved are turned to enmity.

JASON.

In speech at least, meseemeth, I must be Not evil; but, as some old pilot goes Furled to his sail's last edge, when danger blows Too fiery, run before the wind and swell, Woman, of thy loud storms.--And thus I tell My tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous high Thy deeds of service in my jeopardy, To all my crew and quest I know but one Saviour, of G.o.ds or mortals one alone, The Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit, Yet underneath ... nay, all the tale of it Were graceless telling; how sheer love, a fire Of poison-shafts, compelled thee with desire To save me. But enough. I will not score That count too close. 'Twas good help: and therefor I give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought.