Medea: Act III

Nurse: My foster-daughter, whither speedest thou abroad?Oh, stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force.As some wild Bacchanal, whose fury's raging fireThe god inflames, now roams distraught on Pindus' snows,And now on lofty Nysa's rugged slopes; so she,Now here, now there, with frenzied step is hurried on,Her face revealing every mark of stricken woe,With flushing cheek and sighs deep drawn, wild cries, and tears,And laughter worse than tears. In her a medley strangeOf every passion may be seen: o'ertopping wrath,Bewailings, bitter groans of anguish. Whither tendsThis overburdened soul? What mean her frenzied threats?When will the foaming wave of fury spend itself?No common crime, I fear, no easy deed of illShe meditates. Herself she will outvie. For wellI recognize the wonted marks of rage. Some deedIs threatening, wild, profane, and hideous.BeholdHer face betrays her madness. O ye gods, may theseOur fears prove vain forebodings!

Medea [not noticing the Nurse's presence]: For thy hate, poorsoul,Dost thou a measure seek? Let it be deep as love.And shall I tamely view the wedding torches's glare?And shall this day go uneventful by, this day,So hardly won, so grudgingly bestowed? Nay, nay,While, poised upon her heights, the central earth shall bearThe heavens up; while seasons run their endless round,And sands unnumbered lie; while days, and nights, and sun,And stars in due procession pass; while round the poleThe ocean-fearing bears revolve, and tumbling streamsFlow downward to the sea; my grief shall never ceaseTo seek revenge, and shall forever grow. What rageOf savage beast can equal mine? What Scylla famed?What sea-engulfing pool? What burning Aetna placedOn impious Titan's heaving breast? No torrent stream,Nor storm-tossed sea, nor breath of flame fanned by the gale,Can check or equal my wild storm of rage. My willIs set on limitless revenge!Will Jason sayHe feared the power of Creon and Acastus' threats?True love is proof against the fear of man. But grantHe was compelled to yield, and pledged his hand in fear:He might at least have sought his wife with one last wordOf comfort and farewell. But this, though brave in heart,He feared to do. The cruel terms of banishmentCould Creon's son-in-law not soften? No. One dayAlone was giv'n for last farewell to both my babes.But time's short space I'll not bewail; though brief in hours,In consequence it stretches out eternally.This day shall see a deed that ne'er shall be forgot.But now I'll go and pray the gods, and move high heavenBut I shall work my will!

Nurse: Thy heart all passion-tossed,I pray thee, mistress, soothe, and calm thy troubled soul.

Medea: My troubled soul can never know a time of restUntil it sees all things o'erwhelmed in common doom.All must go down with me! 'Tis sweet such death to die.

Nurse [calling after her]: Oh, think what perils thou must meetif thou persist!No one with safety may defy a sceptered king.

Jason: O heartless fate, if frowns or smiles bedeck thy brow,How often are thy cures far worse than the diseaseThey seek to cure! If, now, I wish to keep the trothI plighted to my lawful bride, my life must payThe forfeit; if I shrink from death, my guilty soulMust perjured be. I fear no power that man can wield;But in my heart paternal love unmans me quite;For well I know that in my death my children's fateIs sealed. O sacred Justice, if in heaven thou dwell'st,Be witness now, that for my children's sake I act.Nay, sure am I that even she, Medea's self,Though fierce she is of soul and brooking no restraint,Will see her children's good outweighing all her wrongs.With this good argument my purpose now is fixed,In humble wise to brave her wrath.At sight of meHer raging fury flames anew! Hate, like a shield,She bears, and in her face is pictured all her woe.

Medea: Thou see'st, Jason, that we flee. 'Tis no new thingTo suffer exile, but the cause of flight is strange;For with thee I was wont to flee, not from thee. Yes,I go. But whither dost thou send me whom thou driv'stFrom out thy home? Shall I the Colchians seek again,My royal father's realm, whose soil is steeped in bloodMy brother shed? What country dost thou bid me seek?What way by sea is open? Shall I fare againWhere once I saved the noble kings of Greece, and thee,Thou wanton, through the threatening jaws of Pontus' strait,The blue Symplegades? Or shall I hie me backTo fair Thessalia's realms? Lo, all the doors which I,For thee, have opened wide, I've closed upon myself.But whither dost thou send me now? Thou bid'st me flee,But show'st no way or means of flight.But 'tis enough:The king's own son-in-law commands and I obey.Come, heap thy torments on me; I deserve them all.Let royal wrath oppress me, wanton that I am,With cruel hand, and load my guilty limbs with chains;And let me be immured in dungeons black as night:Still will my punishment be less than my offense.O ingrate! hast thou then forgot the brazen bull,And his consuming breath? the fear that smote thee, when,Upon the field of Mars, the earth-born brood stood forthTo meet thy single sword? 'Twas by my arts that they,The monsters, fell by mutual blows. Remember, too,The long-sought fleece of gold I won for thee, whose guard,The dragon huge, was lulled to rest at my command;My brother slain for thee. For thee old Pelias fell,When, taken by my guile, his daughters slew their sire,Whose life could not return. All this I did for thee.In quest of thine advantage have I quite forgotMine own.And now, by all thy fond paternal hopes,By thine established house, by all the monsters slainFor thee, by these my hands which I have ever heldTo work thy will, by all the perils past, by heavenAnd sea that witnessed at my wedlock, pity me!Since thou art blessed, restore me what I lost for thee:That countless treasure plundered from the swarthy tribesOf India, which filled our goodly vaults with wealth,And decked our very trees with gold. This costly storeI left for thee, my native land, my brother, sire,My reputation--all; and with this dower I came.If now to homeless exile thou dost send me forth,Give back the countless treasures which I left for thee.

Jason: Though Creon in a vengeful mood would have thy life,I moved him by my tears to grant thee flight instead.

Medea: I thought my exile punishment; 'tis now, I see,A gracious boon!

Jason: Oh, flee while still the respite holds;Provoke him not, for deadly is the wrath of kings.

Medea: Not so. 'Tis for Creüsa's love thou sayest this;Thou wouldst remove the hated wanton once thy wife.Jason: Dost thou reproach me with a guilty love?

Medea: Yea, that,And murder too, and treachery.

Jason: But name me now,If so thou canst, the crimes that I have done.

Medea: Thy crimes--Whatever I have done.

Jason: Why then, in truth, thy guiltMust all be mine, if all thy crimes are mine.

Medea: They are,They are all thine; for who by sin advantage gains,Commits the sin. All men proclaim thy wife defiled.Do thou thyself protect her, and condone her sin.Let her be guiltless in thine eyes who for thy gainHas sinned.

Jason: Nay, curb thy fiery soul! Thy children--for their sakeBe calm.

Medea: My children! Them I do refuse, reject,Renounce! Shall then Creüsa brothers bear to theseMy children?

Medea: May that day never dawn, that day of shame and woe,When in one house are joined the low born and the high,The sons of that foul robber Sisyphus, and these,The sons of Phoebus.

Jason: Wretched one, and wilt thou thenInvolve me also in thy fall? Begone, I pray.Medea: Creon hath heard my prayer.

Medea: For me? I'd have thee dare the law.

Jason: The royal powerDoth compass me.

Medea: A greater than the king is here:Medea. Set us front to front and let us strive;And of this royal strife let Jason be the prize.

Jason: O'erwearied by my woes I yield. But be thou ware,Medea, lest too often thou shouldst tempt thy fate.

Medea: Yet fortune's mistress have I ever been.

Jason: But see,With hostile front Acastus comes, on vengeance bent,While Creon threatens instant death.

Medea: Then flee them both.I ask thee not to draw thy sword against the kingNor yet to stain thy pious hands with kindred blood.Come, flee with me.

Jason: But what resistance can we make,If war with double visage rear his horrid front,If Creon and Acastus join in common cause?

Medea: Add, too, the Colchian armies with my father's selfTo lead them; join the Scythian and Pelasgian hordes:In one deep gulf of ruin will I whelm them all.Jason: Yet on the scepter do I look with fear.

Medea: Beware,Lest not the fear, but lust of power prevail with thee.

Jason: Too long we strive: have done, lest we suspicion breed.

Medea: Now Jove, throughout thy heavens let the thunders roll!Thy mighty arm in wrath make bare! Thy darting flamesOf vengeance loose, and shake the lofty firmamentWith rending storms! At random hurl thy vengeful bolts,Selecting neither me nor Jason with thy aim;That thus whoever falls may perish with the brandOf guilt upon him; for thy hurtling darts can takeNo erring flight.

Jason: Recall thee and in calmness speakWith words of peace and reason. Then if any giftFrom Creon's royal house can compensate thy woes,Take that as solace of thy flight.

Medea: My soul doth scornThe wealth of kings. But let me have my little onesAs comrades of my flight, that in their childish breastsTheir mother's tears may flow. New sons await thy home.

Jason: My heart inclines to yield to thee, but love forbids.For these my sons shall never from my arms be reft,Though Creon's self demand. My very spring of life,My sore heart's comfort, and my joy are these my sons;And sooner could I part with limbs or vital breath,Or light of life.

Medea [aside]: Doth he thus love his sons? 'Tis well;Then is he bound, and in his armored strength this flawReveals the place to strike.At least, ere I depart,Grant me this last request: let me once more embraceMy sons. E'en that small boon will comfort my sad heart.And this my latest prayer to thee: if, in my grief,My tongue was over bold, let not my words remainTo rankle in thy heart. Remember happier thingsOf me and let my bitter words be straight forgot.

Jason: Not one shall linger in my soul; and curb, I pray,Thy too impetuous heart, and gently yield to fate.For resignation ever soothes the woeful soul.

Medea: He's gone! And can it be? And shall he thus depart,Forgetting me and all my service? Must I drop,Like some discarded toy, out of his faithless heart?It shall not be. Up then, and summon all thy strengthAnd all thy skill! And, this the fruit of former crime,Count nothing criminal that works thy will. But lo,We're hedged about; scant room is left for our designs.Now must the attack be made where least suspicion wakesThe least resistance. Now Medea, on! and doAnd dare thine utmost, yea, beyond thine utmost power!Do thou, my faithful nurse, the comrade of my grief,And all the devious wanderings of my checkered course,Assist me now in these my plans. There is a robe,The glory of our Colchian realm, the precious giftOf Phoebus' self to king Aeëtes as a proofOf fatherhood; a gleaming circlet, too, all wroughtWith threads of gold, the yellow gold bespangled o'erWith gems, a fitting crown to deck a princess' head.These treasures let Medea's children bear as giftsTo Jason's bride. But first infuse them with the powerOf magic, and invoke the aid of Hecate;The woe-producing sacrifices then prepare,And let the sacred flames through all our courts resound.

Chorus: No force of flame or raging gale,Or whizzing bolt so fearful is,As when a wife, by her lord betrayed,Burns hot with hate.

Not such a force is Auster's blast,When he marshals forth the wintry storms;Nor Hister's headlong rushing stream,Which, wrecking bridges in its course,Pours reckless on;

Nor yet the Rhone, whose current strongBeats back the sea; nor when the snows,Beneath the lengthening days of springAnd the sun's warm rays, melt down in streamsFrom Haemus' top.

Blind is the rage of passion's fire,Will not be governed, brooks no reins,And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swordsIt gladly courts.

Spare, O ye gods, be merciful,That he who tamed the sea may live.But much we fear, for the lord of the deepIs wroth that his realm of the second lotShould be subdued.

The thoughtless youth who dared to driveHis father's sacred chariot,Was by those fires, which o'er the heavensHe scattered in his mad career,Himself consumed.

The beaten path has never provedThe way of danger. Walk ye thenWhere your forefathers safely trod,And keep great nature's holy lawsInviolate.

Whoever dipped the famous oarsOf that bold bark in the rushing sea;Whoe'er despoiled old PelionOf the thick, dark shade of his sacred groves;Whoever dared the clashing rocks,And, after countless perils passed,His vessel moored on a barbarous shore,Hoping to fare on his homeward wayThe master of the golden fleece,All by a fearful end appeasedThe offended sea.

First Tiphys, tamer of the deep,Abandoned to an untrained handHis vessel's helm. On a foreign shore,Far from his native land he died;And now within a common tomb,'Midst unknown ghosts, he lies at rest.In wrathful memory of her kingLost on the sea, did Aulis thenWithin her sluggish harbor holdThe impatient ships.

Then he, the tuneful Muse's son,At whose sweet strains the streams stood still,The winds were silent, and the birds,Their songs forgotten, flocked to him,The whole wood following after--he,Over the Thracian fields was hurledIn scattered fragments; but his headDown Hebrus' grieving stream was borne.The well-remembered Styx he reached,And Tartarus, whence ne'er againWould he return.

The wingéd sons of BoreasAlcides slew, and Neptune's sonWho in a thousand changing formsCould clothe himself. But after peaceOn land and sea had been proclaimed,And after savage Pluto's realmHad been revealed to mortal eyes,Then did Alcides' self, alive,On burning Oeta's top lie down,And give his body to the flames;For sore distressed was he, consumedBy Deianira's deadly gift,The double blood.

A savage boar Ancaeus slew;Thou, Meleager, impiouslyThy mother's brother in wrath didst slay,And by that angry mother's handDidst die. All these deserved their death.But for what crime did Hylas die,A tender lad whom Hercules

Long time but vainly sought? For he,'Mid waters safe was done to death.Go then, and fearlessly the deepPlow with your daring ships; but fearThe peaceful pools.

Idmon, though well be knew the fates,A serpent slew on Afric sands;And Mopsus, to all others true,False to himself, died far from Thebes.If he with truth the future sang,Then Nauplius, who strove to wreckThe Argive ships by lying fires,Shall headlong fall into the sea.And for his father's daring crimeShall Ajax, that Oïleus' son,Make full atonement, perishing'Midst flame and flood.

And thou, Admetus' faithful mate,Shalt for thy husband pay thy life,Redeeming his from death. But he,Who bade the first ship sail in questOf the golden spoil, King Pelias,Seethed in a boiling cauldron, swam'Mid those restricted waves. Enough,O gods, have ye avenged the sea:Spare him, we pray, who did but goOn ordered ways.