Kitabı oku: «The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06», sayfa 19

 
             Take my words
             To those that sent thee hither. Go in peace!
             The blessing of the gods be on thy head!
 

[The HERALD goes.]

 
KING (turning to MEDEA).
             This woman, whom the wilderness spewed up
             To be a bane to thee and all good men,
             Her that hath wrought the crimes men lay to thee,
             Her do I banish forth from out this land
             And all its borders. Death shall be her lot
             And portion, if the morrow find her here!
 

(To MEDEA.)

 
             Depart from out my fathers' pious town,
             And make the air thou poisonest pure again!
 
 
MEDEA. Is that thy sentence? Falls it, then, on me,
             And me alone? And yet I say to thee,
             O king, I did it not!
 
 
KING. Nay, thou hast done
             Enough of evil since he saw thee first.
             Away with thee from out my house and town!
MEDEA (_turning to _JASON).
             Say, must I go? So be it—but follow me!
             We bear the blame together, let us bear
             The punishment as well! Dost thou not know
             The ancient proverb: "None shall die alone?"
             One home for both, one body—and one death!
             Long since, when Death stared grimly in our eyes,
             We sware that oath. Now keep it! Follow me!
 
 
JASON. Nay, touch me not! Begone from me, thou curse
             Of all my days, who hast robbed me of my life
             And happiness, from whom, when first mine eyes
             Met thine, I shrank and shuddered, though I thought
             Those fearful struggles in my very soul
             Were but the signs of rash and foolish love.
             Hence, to that wilderness that cradled thee!
             Back to that bloody folk whose child thou art
             In very thought and deed! But, ere thou go,
             Give back to me what thou hast stol'n away,
             Thou wanton! Give Prince Jason back to me!
 
 
MEDEA. Is't Jason thou desirest? Take him, then!
             But who shall give Medea back to me?
             Was't I that in thy homeland sought thee out?
             Was't I that lured thee from thy father's house?
             Was't I that forced, ay, forced my love on thee?
             Was't I that wrenched thee from thy fatherland,
             Made thee the butt of strangers' haughty scorn,
             Or dragged thee into wantonness and crime?
             Thou nam'st me Wanton?—Woe is me! I am!
             Yet—how have I been wanton, and for whom?
             Let these pursue me with their venomous hate,
             Ay, drive me forth and slay me! 'Tis their right,
             Because I am in truth a dreadful thing
             And hateful unto them, and to myself
             A deep abyss of evil, terrible!
             Let all the world heap curses on my head,
             Save only thee alone! Nay, thou shalt not!
             'Twas thou inspiredst all these horrid deeds,
             Yea, thou alone. Dost thou not call to mind
             How I did clasp my hands about thy knees
             That day thou bad'st me steal the Golden Fleece?
             And, though I sooner far had slain myself,
             Yet thou, with chilly scorn, commandedst me
             To take it. Dost remember how I held
             My brother in my bosom, faint to death
             From that fierce stroke of thine that laid him low,
             Until he tore him from his sister's arms
             To 'scape thy frenzied vengeance, and leaped swift
             Into the sea, to find a kinder death
             Beneath its waves? Dost thou remember?—Nay,
             Come here to me, and shrink not so away
             To shelter thee behind that maiden there!
 

JASON (coming forward).

I hate thee,—but I fear thee not!

 
MEDEA. Then come!
 

[She addresses him earnestly in low tones.]

 
             Dost thou remember—Nay, look not on me
             So haughtily!—how, on that very day
             Before thine uncle died, his daughters went
             So sorrowful and hopeless forth from me,
             Because I sent them back at thy behest,
             And would not aid them? Then thou cam'st, alone,
             Unto my chamber, looking in mine eyes
             So earnestly, as though some purpose grim,
             Deep hidden in thy heart, would search my soul
             To find its like therein? And how thou saidst
             That they were come to me for healing balms
             To cure their old, sick father? 'Twas thy wish
             That I should brew a cool, refreshing draught
             To cure him of his ills forevermore—
             And thee as well! Hast thou forgotten that?
             Nay, look at me, eye straight to eye, if thou
             Dost dare!
 
 
JASON. Thou demon! Why these frantic words,
             This rage against me? Why recall to life
             These shadows of my dreams and make them real,
             Why hold a mirror up to me wherein
             Naught but thine own vile thoughts do show, and say
             'Tis I that look therefrom? Why call my thoughts
             From out the past to charge me with thy crimes?
             Naught know I of thy plans and plottings, naught!
             From the beginning I have hated thee,
             I've cursed the day when first I saw thy face;
             'Tis pity only held me at thy side!
             But now I cast thee off forevermore
             With bitter curses, e'en as all the world
             Doth curse thee!
 

MEDEA (throwing herself at his feet with a cry of agony).

No! My love, my husband! No!

JASON (roughly).

Begone!

 
MEDEA. That day my old, gray father cursed
             My name, thou gay'st thy promise, nevermore
             To leave me, nevermore! Now keep thy word!
 
 
JASON. Thine own rash deeds have made that promise naught,
             And here I give thee to thy father's curse.
 

MEDEA. I hate thee!—Come! Come, O my husband!

JASON. Back!

MEDEA. Come to my loving arms! 'Twas once thy wish!

 
JASON. Back! See, I draw my sword. I'll strike thee dead,
             Unless thou yield, and go!
 

MEDEA (approaching him fearlessly).

Then strike me, strike!

CREUSA (to JASON).

Hold! Let her go in peace, and harm her not!

 
MEDEA. Ha! Thou here, too, thou snow-white, silvery snake?
             Oh, hiss no more, nor shoot thy forked tongue
             With honied words upon it! Thou hast got
             What thou didst wish—a husband at the last!
             For this, then, didst thou show thyself so soft
             And smooth-caressing, for this only wind
             Thy snaky coils so close about my neck?
             Oh, if I had a dagger, I would smite
             Thee, and thy father, that so righteous king!
             For this, then, hast thou sung those winsome songs,
             Taught me to play the lyre, and tricked me out
             In these rich garments?
 

[She suddenly rends her mantle in twain.]

 
             Off with you! Away
             With the vile gifts of that accursed jade!
 

[_She turns to _JASON.]

 
             See! As I tear this mantle here in twain,
             Pressing one part upon my throbbing breast,
             And cast the other from me at thy feet,
             So do I rend my love, the common tie
             That bound us each to each. What follows now
             I cast on thee, thou miscreant, who hast spurned
             The holy claims of an unhappy wife!—
             Give me my children now, and let me go!
 

KING. The children stay with us.

 
MEDEA. They may not go
             With their own mother?
 

KING. With a wanton, no!

MEDEA (to JASON).

Is it thy will, too?

JASON. Ay!

 
MEDEA (hastening to the door).
             Come forth, my babes!
             Your mother calls you!
 

KING. Back!

 
MEDEA. 'Tis, then, thy will
             That I go forth alone?—'Tis well, so be it!
             I say but this, O king: Before the gray
             Of evening darken, give me back my babes!
             Enough for now!
 

(Turning to CREUSA.)

 
             But thou, who standest there
             In glistering raiment, cloaking thy delight,
             In thy false purity disdaining me,
             I tell thee, thou wilt wring those soft, white hands
             In agony, and envy me my lot,
             Hard though it seemeth now!
 

JASON. How dar'st thou?

KING. Hence!

 
MEDEA. I go, but I will come again, to take
             What is mine own, and bring what ye deserve.
 
 
KING. Ha! Wouldst thou threaten us before our face?
             If words will not suffice—
 

(To his attendants.)

 
             Then teach ye her
             How she should bear herself before a king!
 
 
MEDEA. Stand back! Who dares to block Medea's path?
             Mark well, O king, this hour when I depart.
             Trust me, thou never saw'st a blacker one!
             Make way! I go,—and take with me revenge!
 

[She goes out.]

 
KING. Our punishment, at least, will follow thee!
 

(To CREUSA.)

 
Nay, tremble not. We'll keep thee safe from her!
 
 
CREUSA. I wonder only, whether what we do
             Be right? If so, no power can work us harm!
 

(The curtain falls.)

ACT III

The outer court of CREON'S palace. In the background the entrance to the royal apartments; on the right at the side a colonnade leading to MEDEA's apartments.

MEDEA _is standing in the foreground, behind her at a distance _GORA is seen speaking to a servant of the king.

 
GORA. Say to the king:
             Medea takes no message from a slave.
             Hath he aught to say to her,
             He must e'en come himself.
             Perchance she'll deign to hear him.
 

[The slave departs.]

(GORA _comes forward and addresses _MEDEA.)

 
             They think that thou wilt go,
             Taming thy hate, forgetting thy revenge.
             The fools!
             Or wilt thou go? Wilt thou?
             I could almost believe thou wilt.
             For thou no longer art the proud Medea,
             The royal seed of Colchis' mighty king,
             The wise and skilful daughter of a wise
             And skilful mother.
             Else hadst thou not been patient, borne their gibes
             So long, even until now!
 
 
MEDEA. Ye gods! O hear her! Borne! Been patient!
             So long, even until now!
 
 
GORA. I counseled thee to yield, to soften,
             When thou didst seek to tarry yet awhile;
             But thou wert blind, ensnared;
             The heavy stroke had not yet fallen,
             Which I foresaw, whereof I warned thee first.
             But, now that it is fall'n, I bid thee stay!
             They shall not laugh to scorn this Colchian wife,
             Heap insult on the blood of our proud kings!
             Let them give back thy babes,
             The offshoots of that royal oak, now felled,
             Or perish, fall themselves,
             In darkness and in night!
             Is all prepared for flight?
             Or hast thou other plans?
 
 
MEDEA. First I will have my children. For the rest,
             My way will be made plain.
 

GORA. Then thou wilt flee?

MEDEA. I know not, yet.

GORA. Then they will laugh at thee!

MEDEA. Laugh at me? No!

GORA. What is thy purpose, then?

 
MEDEA. I have no heart to plan or think at all.
             Over the silent abyss
             Let dark night brood!
 

GORA. If thou wouldst flee, then whither?

MEDEA (sorrowfully).

Whither? Ah, whither?

 
GORA. Here in this stranger-land
             There is no place for us. They hate thee sore,
             These Greeks, and they will slay thee!
 
 
MEDEA. Slay me? Me?
             Nay, it is I will slay them!
 
 
GORA. And at home,
             There in far Colchis, danger waits us, too!
 

MEDEA. O Colchis, Colchis! O my fatherland!

 
GORA. Thou hast heard the tale, how thy father died
             When thou wentest forth, and didst leave thy home,
             And thy brother fell? He died, says the tale,
             But methinks 'twas not so? Nay, he gripped his grief,
             Sharper far than a sword, and, raging 'gainst Fate,
             'Gainst himself, fell on death!
 
 
MEDEA. Dost thou, too, join my foes?
             Wilt thou slay me?
 
 
GORA. Nay, hark! I warned thee. I said:
             "Flee these strangers, new-come; most of all flee this man,
             Their leader smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor!"
 
 
MEDEA. "Smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor"
             —were these thy words?
 

GORA. Even these.

MEDEA. And I would not believe?

 
GORA. Thou wouldst not; but into the deadly net
             Didst haste, that now closes over thine head.
 
 
MEDEA. "A smooth-tongued traitor!" Yea, that is the word!
             Hadst thou said but that, I had known in time;
             But thou namedst him foe to us, hateful, and dread,
             While friendly he seemed and fair, and I hated him not.
 

GORA. Thou lovest him, then?

 
MEDEA. I? Love?
             I hate and shudder at him
             As at falsehood, treachery,
             Black horrors—as at myself!
 
 
GORA. Then punish him, strike him low!
             Avenge thy brother, thy sire,
             Our fatherland and our gods,
             Our shame-yea, mine, and thine!
 
 
MEDEA. First I will have my babes;
             All else is hidden in night.
             What think'st thou of this?—When he comes
             Treading proud to his bridal with her,
             That maid whom I hate,
             If, from the roof of the palace above him,
             Medea crash down at his feet and lie there,
             A ghastly corpse?
 

GORA. 'Twere a sweet revenge!

 
MEDEA. Or if, at the bridal-chamber's door,
             I lay her dead in her blood,
             Beside her the children—Jason's children—dead?
 

GORA. But thyself such revenge would hurt, and not him.

 
MEDEA. Ah, I would that he loved me still,
             That I might slay myself, and make him groan!
             But what of that maid, so false, so pure?
 

GORA. Ha! There thou strikest nearer to the mark!

 
MEDEA. Peace, peace! Back, whence ye came, ye evil thoughts!
             Back into silence, into darkest night!
 

[She covers her face with her veil.]

 
GORA. Those heroes all, who made with him
             The wanton Argo-voyage hence,
             The gods above have recompensed
             With just requital, swift revenge.
             Death and disgrace have seized them all
             Save one—how long shall he go free?
             Each day I listen greedily,
             And joy to hear how they have died,
             How fell these glorious sons of Greece,
             The robber-band that fought their way
             Back from far Colchis. Thracian maids
             Rent limb from limb sweet Orpheus' frame;
             And Hylas found a watery grave;
             Pirithoüs and Theseus pierced
             Even to Hades' darksome realm
             To rob that mighty lord of shades
             Of his radiant spouse, Persephone;
             But then he seized, and holds them there
             For aye in chains and endless night.
 
 
MEDEA (swiftly snatching her veil from before her face).
             Because they came to steal his wife?
             Good! Good! 'Twas Jason's crime, nay, less!
 
 
GORA. Great Heracles forsook his wife,
             For he was snared by other charms,
             And in revenge she sent to him
             A linen tunic, which he took
             And clad himself therewith—and sank
             To earth in hideous agonies;
             For she had smeared it secretly
             With poison and swift death. He sank
             To earth, and Oeta's wooded heights
             Were witness how he died in flames!
 
 
MEDEA. She wove it, then, that tunic dire
             That slew him?
 

GORA. Ay, herself.

MEDEA. Herself!

 
GORA. Althea 'twas—his mother—smote
             The mighty Meleager down
             Who slew the Calydonian boar;
             The mother slew her child.
 
 
MEDEA. Was she
             Forsaken by her husband, too?
 

GORA. Nay, he had slain her brother.

 
MEDEA. Who?
             The husband
 

GORA. Nay, her son, I mean.

MEDEA. And when the deed was done, she died?

GORA. She liveth yet.

 
MEDEA. To do a deed
             Like that—and live! Oh, horrible!
             Thus much do I know, thus much I see clear
             Not unavenged shall I suffer wrong;
             What that vengeance shall be, I know not,—would not know.
             Whatso'er I can do, he deserves,—ay, the worst!
             But—mankind are so weak,
             So fain to grant time for the sinner to feel remorse!
 
 
GORA. Remorse? Ask thy lord if he rue his deed!
             For, see! He draws nigh with hasty steps.
 
 
MEDEA. And with him the king, my bitter foe,
             Whose counsel hath led my lord astray.
             Him must I flee, for I cannot tame
             My hatred.
 

[She goes swiftly toward the palace.]

 
             But if lord Jason wish
             To speak with me, then bid him come in,
             To my side in the innermost chambers—there
             I would parley with him, not here
             By the side of the man who is my foe.
             They come. Away!
 

[She disappears into the palace.]

 
GORA. Lo, she is gone!
             And I am left to deal with the man
             Who is killing my child, who hath brought it to pass
             That I lay my head on a foreign soil,
             And must hide my tears of bitter woe,
             Lest I see a smile on the lips of these strangers here.
 

The KING _and _JASON enter.

KING. Why hath thy mistress fled? 'Twill serve her not

GORA. Fled? Nay, she went, because she hates thy face

KING. Summon her forth!

GORA. She will not come.

KING. She shall!

 
GORA. Then go thou in thyself and call her forth,
             If thou dost dare.
 
 
KING (angrily).
             Where am I, then, and who,
             That this mad woman dares to spite me thus?
             The servant mirrors forth the mistress' soul—
             Servant and mistress mirror forth that land
             Of darkness that begat them! Once again
             I tell thee, call her forth!
 
 
GORA (pointing to Jason).
             There stands the man
             That she would speak with. Let him go within—
             If he hath courage for it.
 
 
JASON. Get thee gone,
             Old witch, whom I have hated from the first!
             Tell her, who is so like thee, she must come.
 
 
GORA. Ah, if she were like me, thou wouldst not speak
             In such imperious wise! I promise thee
             That she shall know of it, and to thy dole!
 

JASON. I would have speech with her.

GORA. Go in!

 
JASON. Not I!
             'Tis she that shall come forth. Go thou within
             And tell her so!
 
 
GORA. Well, well, I go, if but
             To rid me of the sight of you, my lords;
             Ay, and I'll bear your summons, but I know
             Full well she will not come, for she is weak
             And feels her sickness all too grievously.
 

[She goes into the palace.]

 
KING. Not one day longer will I suffer her
             To stay in Corinth. This old dame but now
             Gave utterance to the dark and fell designs
             On which yon woman secretly doth brood.
             Methinks her presence is a constant threat.
             Thy doubts, I hope, are laid to rest at last?
 
 
JASON. Fulfil, O King, thy sentence on my wife!
             She can no longer tarry where I am,
             So, let her go; the sentence is not harsh.
             Forsooth, though I am less to blame than she,
             My lot is bitt'rer, harder far than hers.
             She but returns to that grim wilderness
             Where she was born, and, like a restive colt
             From whom the galling yoke is just removed,
             Will rush to freedom, and become once more
             Untamed and stubborn.
             But my place is here;
             Here must I sit and while away the days
             In meek inaction, burdened with the scorn
             And scoffing of mankind, mine only task
             Dully to muse upon my vanished past.
 
 
KING. Thou wilt be great and famous yet again,
             Believe me. Like the bow which, once set free
             From the fierce strain, doth speed the arrow swift
             And straight unto its mark, whenso the hand
             Is loosed that bent it, so wilt thou spring back
             And be thyself again, once she is gone.
JASON. Naught feel I in my breast to feed such hopes!
             Lost is my name, my fame; I am no more
             Than Jason's shadow, not that prince himself.
 
 
KING. The world, my son, is not so harsh as thou:
             An older man's misstep is sin and crime;
             The youth's, a misstep only, which he may
             Retrace, and mend his error. All thy deeds
             In Colchis, when thou went a hot-head boy,
             Will be forgot, if thou wilt show thyself
             Henceforth a man.
 
 
JASON. O, might I trust thy words,
             I could be happy once again!
 
 
KING. Let her
             But leave thy side, and thou wilt say I'm right.
             Before the Amphictyons' judgment-seat I'll go
             And speak for thee, defend thy righteous cause,
             And prove that it was she alone, Medea,
             Who did those horrid deeds wherewith thou'rt charged,
             Prove her the wanton, her the darksome witch.
             Lifted shall be the doom of banishment
             From off thy brow. If not, then thou shalt rise
             In all thy stubborn strength, and to the breeze
             Unfurl the glorious banner of pure gold
             Which thou didst bring from earth's most distant land,
             And, like a rushing torrent, all the youth
             Of Greece will stream to serve thee once again
             And rally 'round thy standard to oppose
             All foes that come, rally 'round thee, now purged
             Of all suspicion, starting life anew,
             The glorious hope of Greece, and of the Fleece
             The mighty hero!—Thou hast got it still?
 

JASON. The Fleece?

KING. Ay.

JASON. Nay, not I.

 
KING. And yet thy wife
             Bore it away from old King Pelias' house.
 

JASON. Then she must have it still.

 
KING. If so, then she
             Shall straightway yield it up, perforce. It is
             The pledge and symbol of thy power to come.
             Ay, thou shalt yet be strong and great again,
             Thou only son of my old friend! A king
             Am I, and have both wealth and power, the which
             With mine own daughter's spouse I'll gladly share.
 
 
JASON. And I will go to claim the heritage
             My fathers left me, of that false man's son
             That keeps it from me. For I, too, am rich,
             Could I but have my due.
 
 
KING. Peace! Look, she comes
             Who still doth vex us. But our task is brief.
 

MEDEA comes out of the palace, attended by GORA.

MEDEA. What wouldst thou with me?

 
KING. I did send thee late
             Some slaves to speak my will, whom thou didst drive
             With harsh words forth, and didst demand to hear
             From mine own lips whate'er I had to say,
             What my commands and what thou hadst to do.
 

MEDEA. Say on!

 
KING. Naught strange or new have I to tell.
             I would but speak once more the doom I set
             Upon thy head, and add thereto that thou
             Must forth today.
 

MEDEA. And why today?

 
KING. The threats
             That thou halt uttered 'gainst my daughter's life—
             For those against mine own I do not care:
             The savage moods that thou of late hast shown,
             All these do warn me how thy presence here
             Bodes ill. Wherefore, today thou must begone!
 

MEDEA. Give me my babes, and I will go—perhaps!

 
KING. Nay, no "Perhaps!" Thou goest! But the babes
             Stay here!
 
 
MEDEA. How? Mine own babes? But I forget
             To whom I speak. Let me have speech with him,
             My husband, standing there.
 

KING. Nay, hear her not!

MEDEA (_to _JASON).

I pray thee, let me speak with thee!

 
JASON. Well, well,
             So be it, then, that thou may'st see I have
             No fear of any words of thine to me.
 

(To the KING.)

 
Leave us, my lord! I'll hear what she would say.
 
 
KING. I go, but I am fearful. She is sly
             And cunning! [He departs.]
 
 
MEDEA. So, he's gone! No stranger now
             Is here to vex us, none to come between
             Husband and wife, and, what our hearts do feel,
             That we can speak out clear.—Say first, my lord,
             What are thy plans, thy wishes?
 

JASON. Thou dost know.

 
MEDEA. I guess thy will, but all thy secret thoughts
             I know not.
 
 
JASON. Be contented with the first,
             For they are what decide.
 

MEDEA. Then I must go?

JASON. Go!

MEDEA. And today?

JASON. Today!

 
MEDEA. And thou canst stand
             So calm before me and speak such a word,
             Nor drop thine eyes for shame, nor even blush?
 

JASON. I must needs blush, if I should say aught else!

 
MEDEA. Ha! Good! Well done! Speak ever words like these
             When thou wouldst clear thyself in others' eyes,
             But leave such idle feigning when thou speak'st
             With me!
 
 
JASON. Dost call my dread of horrid deeds
             Which thou hast done, a sham, and idle, too?
             Thou art condemned by men; the very gods
             Have damned thee! And I give thee up to them
             And to their judgment! 'Tis a fate, in sooth,
             Thou richly hast deserved!
 
 
MEDEA. Who is this man,
             This pious, virtuous man with whom I speak?
             Is it not Jason? Strives he to seem mild?
             O, mild and gentle one, didst thou not come
             To Colchis' strand, and win in bloody fight
             The daughter of its king? O, gentle, mild,
             Didst thou not slay my brother, was it not
             At thine own hands mine aged father fell,
             Thou gentle, pious man? And now thou wouldst
             Desert the wife whom thou didst steal away!
             Mild? No, say rather hateful, monstrous man!
 
 
JASON. Such wild abuse I will not stay to hear.
             Thou knowest now what thou must do. Farewell!
 
 
MEDEA. Nay, nay, I know not! Stay until I learn!
             Stay, and I will be quiet even as thou.—
             So, I am banished, then? But what of thee?
             Methinks the Herald's sentence named thee, too.
 
 
JASON. When it is known that I am innocent
             Of all these horrid deeds, and had no hand
             In murdering mine uncle, then the ban
             Will be removed from me.
 
 
MEDEA. And thou wilt live
             Peaceful and happy, for long years to come?
 
 
JASON. I shall live quietly, as doth become
             Unhappy men like me.
 

MEDEA. And what of me?

 
JASON. Thou dost but reap the harvest thine own hands
             Have sown.
 

MEDEA. My hands? Hadst thou no part therein?

JASON. Nay, none.

 
MEDEA. Didst never pray thine uncle's death
             Might speedily be compassed?
 
 
JASON. No command
             At least I gave.
 
 
MEDEA. Ne'er sought to learn if I
             Had heart and courage for the deed?
 
 
JASON. Thou know'st
             How, in the first mad burst of rage and hate,
             A man speaks many hot, impetuous threats
             Which calm reflection never would fulfil.
 
 
MEDEA. Once thou didst blame thyself for that mad deed;
             Now thou hast found a victim who can bear
             The guilt in place of thee!
 
 
JASON. 'Tis not the thought
             Of such a deed that merits punishment;
             It is the deed itself.
 

MEDEA (quickly).

I did it not!

JASON. Who, then, is guilty?

 
MEDEA. Not myself, at least!
             Listen, my husband, and be thou the first
             To do me justice.
             As I stood at the chamber door, to enter
             And steal away the Fleece,
             The king lay there on his couch;
             Sudden I heard a cry! I turned,
             And lo! I saw the aged king
             Leap from his couch with frightful shrieks,
             Twisting and writhing; and he cried,
             "Com'st thou, O brother, to take revenge,
             Revenge on me? Ha! Thou shalt die
             Again, and yet again!" And straight
             He sprang at me, to grip me fast,
             For in my hands I held the Fleece.
             I shook with fear, and cried aloud
             For help to those dark gods I know;
             The Fleece before me like a shield
             I held. His face was twisted swift
             To maniac grins, and leered at me!
             Then, with a shriek, he madly tore
             At the clothes that bound his aged veins;
             They rent; the blood gushed forth in streams,
             And, even as I looked, aghast
             And full of horror, there he lay,
             The king, at my very feet, all bathed
             In his own blood-lay cold and dead!
 
 
JASON. And thou canst stand and tell me such a tale,
             Thou hateful witchwife? Get thee gone from me!
             Away! I shudder at thee! Would that I
             Had ne'er beheld thy face!
 
 
MEDEA. Thou knewest well
             That I was skilled in witchcraft, from that day
             When first thou saw'st me at my magic arts,
             And still didst yearn and long to call me thine!
 
 
JASON. I was a youth then, and an arrant fool!
             What boys are pleased with, men oft cast away.
 
 
MEDEA. O, say no word against the golden days
             Of youth, when heads are hot, but hearts are pure!
             O, if thou wert but now what once thou wast,
             Then were I happier far! Come back with me
             Only a little step to that fair time
             When, in our fresh, green youth, we strayed together
             By Phasis' flowery marge. How frank and clear
             Thy heart was then, and mine how closely sealed
             And sad! But thou with thy soft, gentle light
             Didst pierce my darkness, drive away the clouds,
             And make me bright and happy. Thine I was,
             And thou wert mine; O, Jason, is it then
             Vanished forever, that far, happy time?
             Or hath the bitter struggle for a hearth
             And home, for name and fame, forever killed
             The blooms of fairest promise on the tree
             Of thy green youth? Oh, compassed though I be
             With woe and heavy sorrows all about,
             Yet I think often on that springtime sweet
             Whence soft and balmy breezes o'er the years
             Are wafted to me! If Medea then
             Seemed fair to thee and lovely, how today
             Can she be dread and hateful? What I was
             Thou knewest, and didst seek me none the less.
             Thou took'st me as I was; O, keep me, as I am!
 
 
JASON. Thou hast forgot the dreadful deeds that since
             Have come to pass.
 
 
MEDEA. Ay, dread they are, in sooth,
             And I confess it! 'Gainst mine aged sire
             I sinned most deeply, 'gainst my brother, too,
             And none condemns me more than I myself.
             I'll welcome punishment, and I'll repent
             In joy and gladness; only thou shalt not
             Pronounce the doom upon me, nay, not thou!
             For all my deeds were done for love of thee.—
             Come, let us flee together, once again
             Made one in heart and soul! Some distant land
             Will take us to its bosom.
 
 
JASON. What land, then?
             And whither should we flee?
 

MEDEA. Whither!