Second Episode

(Enter from the right JASON.)

JASON.Oft have I seen, in other days than these,How a dark temper maketh maladiesNo friend can heal. 'Twas easy to have keptBoth land and home. It needed but to acceptUnstrivingly 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 beMost evil; none shall check thee. But for theseDark threats cast out against the majestiesOf Corinth, count as veriest gain thy pathOf exile. I myself, when princely wrathWas hot against thee, strove with all good willTo appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee stillBeside me. But thy mouth would never stayFrom vanity, blaspheming night and dayOur masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land.Yet, even so, I will not hold my handFrom succouring mine own people. Here am ITo help thee, woman, pondering heedfullyThy new state. For I would not have thee flungProvisionless away--aye, and the youngChildren as well; nor lacking aught that willOf mine can bring thee. Many a lesser illHangs on the heels of exile. . . . Aye, and thoughThou hate me, dream not that my heart can knowOr fashion aught of angry will to thee.

MEDEA.Evil, most evil! . . . since thou grantest meThat comfort, the worst weapon left me nowTo 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 kissBetrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these:'Tis but of all man's inward sicknessesThe vilest, that he knoweth not of shameNor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . .To me it shall bring comfort, once to clearMy 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 oneThat sailed on Argo--saved thee, sent aloneTo yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath,And sow that Acre of the Lords of Death;And mine own ancient Serpent, who did keepThe Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep,And shining coils, him also did I smiteDead for thy sake, and lifted up the lightThat bade thee live. Myself, uncounselled,Stole forth from father and from home, and fledWhere 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 thenAccepted all--O evil yet again!--And cast me off and taken thee for brideAnother? And with children at thy side!One could forgive a childless man. But no:I have borne thee children . . .Is sworn faith so lowAnd weak a thing? I understand it not.Are the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot,And new laws made? Since not my passioning,But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thingForsworn.

(She catches sight of her own hand which she has thrown out to denounce him.)

Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom heDid cling to, and these knees, so cravingly,We are unclean, thou and I; we have caught the stainOf 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 againFor good from thee: but, questioned, thou wilt showThe 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 goodTo take me in, who spilled their father's blood. . . .Aye, so my whole life stands! There were at homeWho loved me well: to them I am becomeA curse. And the first friends who sheltered me,Whom most I should have spared, to pleasure theeI have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laidMy crown upon me, blest of many a maidIn Hellas, now I have won what all did crave,Thee, the world-wondered lover and the brave;Who this day looks and sees me banished, thrownAway with these two babes, all, all, alone . . .Oh, merry mocking when the lamps are red:"Where go the bridegroom's babes to beg their breadIn exile, and the woman who gave allTo save him?"O great God, shall gold withalBear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine,And o'er man's living visage runs no signTo show the lie within, ere all too late?

LEADER.Dire and beyond all healing is the hateWhen hearts that loved are turned to enmity.

JASON.In speech at least, meseemeth, I must beNot evil; but, as some old pilot goesFurled to his sail's last edge, when danger blowsToo fiery, run before the wind and swell,Woman, of thy loud storms.--And thus I tellMy tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous highThy deeds of service in my jeopardy,To all my crew and quest I know but oneSaviour, of Gods or mortals one alone,The Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit,Yet underneath . . . nay, all the tale of itWere graceless telling; how sheer love, a fireOf poison-shafts, compelled thee with desireTo save me. But enough. I will not scoreThat count too close. 'Twas good help: and thereforI give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought.Howbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast gotFar more than given. A good Greek land hath beenThy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seenOur ordered life, and justice, and the longStill grasp of law not changing with the strongMan's pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and nearHath learned thy wisdom, and in every earThy fame is. Had thy days run by unseenOn that last edge of the world, where then had beenThe story of great Medea? Thou and I . . .What worth to us were treasures heaped highIn rich kings' rooms; what worth a voice of goldMore sweet than ever rang from Orpheus old,Unless our deeds have glory?Speak I so,Touching the Quest I wrought, thyself did throwThe challenge down. Next for thy cavillingOf wrath at mine alliance with a king,Here thou shalt see I both was wise, and freeFrom touch of passion, and a friend to theeMost potent, and my children . . . Nay, be still!When first I stood in Corinth, clogged with illFrom many a desperate mischance, what blissCould I that day have dreamed of, like to this,To wed with a king's daughter, I exiledAnd beggared? Not--what makes thy passion wild--From loathing of thy bed; not over-fraughtWith love for this new bride; not that I soughtTo upbuild mine house with offspring: 'tis enough,What thou hast borne: I make no word thereof:But, first and greatest, that we all might dwellIn a fair house and want not, knowing wellThat poor men have no friends, but far and nearShunning and silence. Next, I sought to rearOur sons in nurture worthy of my race,And, raising brethren to them, in one placeJoin both my houses, and be all from nowPrince-like and happy. What more need hast thouOf children? And for me, it serves my starTo link in strength the children that now areWith those that shall be.Have I counselled ill?Not thine own self would say it, couldst thou stillOne hour thy jealous flesh.--'Tis ever so!Who looks for more in women? When the flowOf love runs plain, why, all the world is fair:But, once there fall some ill chance anywhereTo baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trodMen's dearest aims and noblest. Would to GodWe mortals by some other seed could raiseOur fruits, and no blind women block our ways!Then had there been no curse to wreck mankind.

LEADER.Lord Jason, very subtly hast thou twinedThy speech: but yet, though all athwart thy willI speak, this is not well thou dost, but ill,Betraying her who loved thee and was true.

MEDEA.Surely I have my thoughts, and not a fewHave held me strange. To me it seemeth, whenA crafty tongue is given to evil men'Tis like to wreck, not help them. Their own brainTempts them with lies to dare and dare again,Till . . . no man hath enough of subtlety.As thou--be not so seeming-fair to meNor deft of speech. One word will make thee fall.Wert thou not false, 'twas thine to tell me all,And charge me help thy marriage path, as IDid love thee; not befool me with a lie.

JASON.An easy task had that been! Aye, and thouA loving aid, who canst not, even now,Still that loud heart that surges like the tide!

MEDEA.That moved thee not. Thine old barbarian bride,The dog out of the east who loved thee sore,She grew grey-haired, she served thy pride no more.

JASON.Now understand for once! The girl to meIs nothing, in this web of sovrantyI hold. I do but seek to save, even yet,Thee: and for brethren to our sons begetYoung kings, to prosper all our lives again.

MEDEA.God shelter me from prosperous days of pain,And wealth that maketh wounds about my heart.

JASON.Wilt change that prayer, and choose a wiser part?Pray not to hold true sense for pain, nor rateThyself unhappy, being too fortunate.

MEDEA.Aye, mock me; thou hast where to lay thine head,But I go naked to mine exile.

JASON.TreadThine own path! Thou hast made it all to be.

MEDEA.How? By seducing and forsaking thee?

JASON.By those vile curses on the royal hallsLet loose. . . .

MEDEA.On thy house also, as chance falls,I am a living curse.

JASON.Oh, peace! EnoughOf these vain wars: I will no more thereof.If thou wilt take from all that I possessAid for these babes and thine own helplessnessOf exile, speak thy bidding. Here I standFull-willed to succour thee with stintless hand,And send my signet to old friends that dwellOn foreign shores, who will entreat thee well.Refuse, and thou shalt do a deed most vain.But cast thy rage away, and thou shalt gainMuch, and lose little for thine anger's sake.

MEDEA.I will not seek thy friends. I will not takeThy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stemUnholy bring no blessing after them.

JASON.Now God in heaven be witness, all my heartIs willing, in all ways, to do its partFor thee and for thy babes. But nothing goodCan please thee. In sheer savageness of moodThou drivest from thee every friend. WhereforeI warrant thee, thy pains shall be the more.

(He goes slowly away.)

MEDEA.Go: thou art weary for the new delightThou wooest, so long tarrying out of sightOf her sweet chamber. Go, fulfil thy pride,O bridegroom! For it may be, such a brideShall wait thee,--yea, God heareth me in this--As thine own heart shall sicken ere it kiss.