The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 22

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 G.o.ds 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 pa.s.s.

'Tis scarce one moon since the revolted sea Cast you ash.o.r.e, 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!

aetes' 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 pa.s.sionate, 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 G.o.d 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 sh.o.r.es And stranger folk a G.o.d 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?