Act III

[Medea is rushing out to seek vengeance, while the Nurse tries in vain to restrain her.]

NURSE.
My foster-daughter, whither speedest thou abroad?
Oh, stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force.
[Medea hastens by without answering. The Nurse soliloquizes.]
As some wild Bacchanal, whose fury's raging fire
The 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 strange
Of every passion may be seen: o'ertopping wrath,
Bewailings, bitter groans of anguish. Whither tends
This 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 ill
She meditates. Herself she will outvie. For well
I recognize the wonted marks of rage. Some deed
Is threatening, wild, profane, and hideous.
[Re-enter Medea.]
Behold
Her face betrays her madness. O ye gods, may these
Our fears prove vain forebodings!

MEDEA.
[not noticing the Nurse's presence]
For thy hate, poor soul,
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 bear
The 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 pole
The ocean-fearing bears revolve, and tumbling streams
Flow downward to the sea; my grief shall never cease
To seek revenge, and shall forever grow. What rage
Of savage beast can equal mine? What Scylla famed?
What sea-engulfing pool? What burning Aetna placed
On 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 will
Is set on limitless revenge!
Will Jason say
He feared the power of Creon and Acastus' threats?
True love is proof against the fear of man. But grant
He was compelled to yield, and pledged his hand in fear:
He might at least have sought his wife with one last word
Of comfort and farewell. But this, though brave in heart,
He feared to do. The cruel terms of banishment
Could Creon's son-in-law not soften? No. One day
Alone 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 heaven
But 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 rest
Until it sees all things o'erwhelmed in common doom.
All must go down with me! 'Tis sweet such death to die.

[Exit Medea.]

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

[Enter Jason.]

JASON.
O heartless fate, if frowns or smiles bedeck thy brow,
How often are thy cures far worse than the disease
They seek to cure! If, now, I wish to keep the troth
I plighted to my lawful bride, my life must pay
The forfeit; if I shrink from death, my guilty soul
Must 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 fate
Is 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.
[Enter Medea.]
At sight of me
Her 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 thing
To 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'st
From out thy home? Shall I the Colchians seek again,
My royal father's realm, whose soil is steeped in blood
My brother shed? What country dost thou bid me seek?
What way by sea is open? Shall I fare again
Where 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 back
To 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 forth
To 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 forgot
Mine own.
And now, by all thy fond paternal hopes,
By thine established house, by all the monsters slain
For thee, by these my hands which I have ever held
To work thy will, by all the perils past, by heaven
And 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 tribes
Of India, which filled our goodly vaults with wealth,
And decked our very trees with gold. This costly store
I 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 guilt
Must 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 gain
Has sinned.

JASON.
But gifts which sin has bought 'twere shame to take.

MEDEA.
Why keep'st thou then the gifts which it were shame to
take?

JASON.
Nay, curb thy fiery soul! Thy children--for their sake
Be calm.

MEDEA.
My children! Them I do refuse, reject,
Renounce! Shall then Creüsa brothers bear to these
My children?

JASON.
But the queen can aid thy wretched sons.

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 then
Involve me also in thy fall? Begone, I pray.

MEDEA.
Creon hath heard my prayer.

JASON.
What wouldst thou have me do?

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

JASON.
The royal power
Doth 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 king
Nor 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 self
To 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 flames
Of vengeance loose, and shake the lofty firmament
With rending storms! At random hurl thy vengeful bolts,
Selecting neither me nor Jason with thy aim;
That thus whoever falls may perish with the brand
Of guilt upon him; for thy hurtling darts can take
No erring flight.

JASON.
Recall thee and in calmness speak
With words of peace and reason. Then if any gift
From Creon's royal house can compensate thy woes,
Take that as solace of thy flight.

MEDEA.
My soul doth scorn
The wealth of kings. But let me have my little ones
As comrades of my flight, that in their childish breasts
Their 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 flaw
Reveals the place to strike.
[To Jason.]
At least, ere I depart,
Grant me this last request: let me once more embrace
My 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 remain
To rankle in thy heart. Remember happier things
Of 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.

[Exit Jason.]

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 strength
And 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 wakes
The least resistance. Now Medea, on! and do
And dare thine utmost, yea, beyond thine utmost power!
[To the Nurse.]
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 gift
Of Phoebus' self to king Aeëtes as a proof
Of fatherhood; a gleaming circlet, too, all wrought
With threads of gold, the yellow gold bespangled o'er
With gems, a fitting crown to deck a princess' head.
These treasures let Medea's children bear as gifts
To Jason's bride. But first infuse them with the power
Of 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 strong
Beats back the sea; nor when the snows,
Beneath the lengthening days of spring
And the sun's warm rays, melt down in streams
From Haemus' top.

Blind is the rage of passion's fire,
Will not be governed, brooks no reins,
And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swords
It 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 deep
Is wroth that his realm of the second lot
Should be subdued.

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

The beaten path has never proved
The way of danger. Walk ye then
Where your forefathers safely trod,
And keep great nature's holy laws
Inviolate.

Whoever dipped the famous oars
Of that bold bark in the rushing sea;
Whoe'er despoiled old Pelion
Of 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 way
The master of the golden fleece,
All by a fearful end appeased
The offended sea.

First Tiphys, tamer of the deep,
Abandoned to an untrained hand
His 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 king
Lost on the sea, did Aulis then
Within her sluggish harbor hold
The 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 hurled
In scattered fragments; but his head
Down Hebrus' grieving stream was borne.
The well-remembered Styx he reached,
And Tartarus, whence ne'er again
Would he return.

The wingéd sons of Boreas
Alcides slew, and Neptune's son
Who in a thousand changing forms
Could clothe himself. But after peace
On land and sea had been proclaimed,
And after savage Pluto's realm
Had 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, consumed
By Deianira's deadly gift,
The double blood.

A savage boar Ancaeus slew;
Thou, Meleager, impiously
Thy mother's brother in wrath didst slay,
And by that angry mother's hand
Didst 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 deep
Plow with your daring ships; but fear
The 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 wreck
The Argive ships by lying fires,
Shall headlong fall into the sea.
And for his father's daring crime
Shall 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 quest
Of 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 go
On ordered ways.