Volume 6 / Act 4 — 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.]