Kitabı oku: «The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06», sayfa 20

 
JASON. Thou'rt mad,
             And dost revile me, that I do not choose
             To share thy raving! No! Our life together
             Is done! The gods have cursed our union long,
             As one with deeds of cruelty begun,
             That since hath waged and found its nourishment
             In horrid crimes. E'en granting thou didst not
             Thyself slay Pelias, who was there to see?
             Or who would trust thy tale?
 

MEDEA. Thou!

 
JASON. Even then,
             What can I do, how clear thee?—It were vain!
             Come, let us yield to Fate, not stubbornly
             Defy it! Let us each repentance seek,
             And suffer our just doom, thou fleeing forth
             Because thou may'st not stay, I tarrying here
             When I would flee.
 
 
MEDEA. Methinks thou dost not choose
             The harder lot!
 
 
JASON. Is it so easy, then,
             To live, a stranger, in a stranger's house,
             Subsisting on a stranger's pitying gifts?
 
 
MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not choose
             To fly with me?
 

JASON. But whither? Ay, and how?

 
MEDEA. There was a time thou hadst not shown thyself
             So over-prudent, when thou camest first
             To Colchis from the city of thy sires,
             Seeking the glitter of an empty fame
             In distant lands.
 
 
JASON. I am not what I was;
             Broken my strength, the courage in my breast
             A dead thing. And 'tis thou I have to thank
             For such misfortune! Bitter memories
             Of days long past lie like a weight of lead
             Upon my anxious soul; I cannot raise
             Mine eyes for heaviness of heart. And, more,
             The boy of those far days is grown a man,
             No longer, like a wanton, sportive child,
             Gambols amid bright flow'rs, but reaches out
             For ripened fruit, for what is real and sure.
             Babes I have got, but have no place where they
             May lay their heads; my task it is to make
             An heritage for these. Shall Jason's stock
             Be but a withered weed beside the road,
             By all men spurned and trampled? If thou e'er
             Hast truly loved me, if I e'er was dear
             To thee, oh, give me proof thereof, restore
             Myself to me again, and yield a grave
             To me in this, my homeland!
 
 
MEDEA. And in this
             Same homeland a new marriage-bed, forsooth I
             Am I not right?
 

JASON. What idle talk is this?

 
MEDEA. Have I not heard how Creon named thee son,
             And husband of his daughter? She it is,
             Creusa, that doth charm thee, hold thee fast
             In Corinth! 'Tis for her that thou wouldst stay!
             Confess, I have thee there!
 
 
JASON. Thou hast me not,
             And never hadst me.
 
 
MEDEA. So, thou wilt repent,
             And I, thy wife Medea, I must go
             Away?—I stood beside you there and wept
             As thou didst trace with her your happy days
             Of youth together, tarrying at each step
             In sweet remembrance, till thou didst become
             Naught but an echo of that distant past.—
             I will not go, no, will not!
 
 
JASON. Thou'rt unjust,
             And hard and wild as ever!
 
 
MEDEA. I unjust!
             Thou dost not seek her, then, to wife? Say no!
 
 
JASON. I do but seek a place to lay me down
             And rest. What else will come, I do not know!
 
 
MEDEA. Ay, but I know full well, and it shall be
             My task to thwart thee, with the help of heaven!
 

JASON. Thou canst not speak with calmness, so, farewell!

[He takes a step toward the door.]

MEDEA. Jason!

JASON (turning back).

What wouldst thou?

 
MEDEA. 'Tis, perchance, the last,
             Last time that we shall speak together!
 
 
JASON. True;
             Then let us without hate or rancor part.
 
 
MEDEA. Thou mad'st me love thee deeply. Wouldst thou now
             Flee from my face?
 

JASON. I must!

 
MEDEA. Hast robbed me, too,
             Of my dear father; and wouldst steal away
             Mine husband?
 

JASON. I am helpless!

 
MEDEA. At thy hands
             My brother met his death untimely. Him
             Thou hast taken from me, too, and now wouldst fly
             And leave me?
 
 
JASON. He was innocent; he fell.
             And I am blameless, too; but I must flee thee.
 

MEDEA. I left my fatherland to follow thee!

 
JASON. Thou didst but follow thine own will, not me.
             Gladly would I, if thou hadst rued thy deed,
             Have sent thee back again.
 
 
MEDEA. I am accurst,
             And damned by all the world,—and all for thee!
             And, for thy sake, I even hate myself!
             Wilt thou forsake me still?
 
 
JASON. 'Tis not my will,
             Nay; but a higher bidding tells me plain
             That I must leave thy side. Thy fate seems hard,
             But what of mine? And yet, I pity thee,
             If that be any comfort!
 

MEDEA (falling upon her knees to him).

Jason!

 
JASON. Well?
             What wouldst thou further?
 
 
MEDEA (rising suddenly).
             Nothing! It is past
             And done with! O proud sires, O mighty gods
             Of Colchis, grant forgiveness to thy child
             Who hath so humbled and dishonored you,
             (Ay, and herself as well)—for I was pressed
             And needs must do it. Now, receive me back!
 

[JASON turns to leave her.]

 
Jason!
 

JASON. Hope not that thou canst soften me!

 
MEDEA. Nay, never think I wished it! Give me back
             My babes!
 

JASON.

Thy children? Never!

MEDEA (wildly).

They are mine!

 
JASON. Men call them by their father's name; and that
             Shall never grace barbarians! Here in Greece
             I'll rear them, to be Greeks!
 
 
MEDEA. To be despised
             And scorned by offspring of thy later bed?
             I tell thee, they are mine!
 
 
JASON. Nay, have a care,
             Lest thou shouldst turn my pity unto hate!
             And keep a quiet mien, since that is all
             Can soften thy hard fate.
 
 
MEDEA. To prayers and tears
             I needs must humble me! My husband!—No,
             For that thou art no more! Beloved!—No,
             For that, thou never wert! Man, shall I say?
             He is no man who breaks his solemn oath!
             Lord Jason!—Pah! It is a traitor's name!
             How shall I name thee? Devil!—Gentle! Good!
             Give me my babes, and let me go in peace!
 

JASON. I cannot, I have told thee, cannot do it.

 
MEDEA. Hard heart! Thou tak'st the husband from the wife,
             And robb'st the mother of her babes as well?
 
 
JASON. Nay, then, that thou may'st know how I have yet
             Some kindness left, take with thee when thou goest
             One of the babes.
 

MEDEA. But one? Say, only one?

 
JASON. Beware thou ask too much! The little I
             Have just now granted, oversteps the right.
 

MEDEA. Which shall it be?

 
JASON. We'll leave the choice to them,
             The babes themselves; and whichsoever will,
             Him thou shalt take.
 
 
MEDEA. O thanks a thousand times,
             Thou gentle, kindly man! He lies who calls
             Thee traitor!
 

[The KING_ appears at the door._]

JASON. Come, my lord!

KING. Is't settled, then?

 
JASON. She goes; and I have granted her to take
             One of the children with her.
 

(_To one of the slaves who has accompanied the _KING.)

 
             Hasten swift
             And bring the babes before us!
 
 
KING. What is this?
             Here they shall stay, ay, both of them!
 
 
MEDEA. This gift
             That in mine eyes so small is, seemeth it
             So great a boon to thee? Hast thou no fear
             Of Heaven's fell anger, harsh and violent man?
 
 
KING. The gods deal harshly with such wanton crimes
             As thou hast done!
 
 
MEDEA. Yea, but they see the cause
             That drove us to such deeds!
 
 
KING. 'Tis wicked thoughts,
             Deep in the heart, beget such crimes as thine!
 

MEDEA. All causes else thou count'st for naught?

 
KING. With stern
             And iron justice mine own self I rule,
             And so, with right, judge others.
 
 
MEDEA. In the act
             Of punishing my crimes, thou dost commit
             A worse thyself!
 
 
JASON. She shall not say of me
             That I am all hard-hearted; wherefore I
             One of the babes have promised her, to be
             His mother's dearest comfort in her woe.
 

CREUSA enters with the children.

 
CREUSA. One told me that these babes were summoned here.
             What will ye have? What deeds are now afoot?
             Behold how they do love me, though they were
             But now brought here to Corinth! 'Tis as if
             Long years already we had seen and known
             Each one the other. 'Twas my gentle words
             That won them; for, poor babes, they were not used
             To loving treatment; and their sore distress,
             Their loneliness did straightway win my heart.
 

MEDEA. One of the babes goes with me!

 
CREUSA. What is this?
             Leaves us?
 
 
KING. E'en so. It is their father's will!
 

(To MEDEA, who stands in deep meditation.)

 
Here are thy children. Let them make their choice!
 
 
MEDEA (wildly).
             The babes! My children! Ay, 'tis they, in sooth!
             The one thing left me in this bitter world!
             Ye gods, forget those dark and wicked thoughts
             That late I harbored; grant me both my babes,
             Yea, both, and I'll go forth from out this land
             Praising your mercy! Yea, I'll e'en forgive
             My husband there, and her—No! Her I'll not
             Forgive—nor Jason, either! Come to me,
             Come here, my babes!—Why stand ye silent there
             And cling upon the breast of my false foe?
             Ah, could ye know how she hath humbled me,
             Ye would arm your tiny hands, curve into claws
             Those little, weakling fingers, rend and tear
             That soft and tender form, whereto ye cling
             So lovingly!—Wouldst hold my children back
             From coming to me? Let them go!
 
 
CREUSA. In sooth,
             Unhappy woman, I restrain them not!
 
 
MEDEA. Not with thy hand, I know, but with thy glance,
             Thy false, deceitful face, that seems all love,
             And holds my husband from me, too! Thou laugh'st?
             I promise thee thou'lt weep hot tears in days
             To come!
 
 
CREUSA. Now may the gods chastise me if I had
             A thought of laughing!
 
 
KING. Woman, break not forth
             In insults and in anger! Do what thou
             Hast yet to do, or go!
 
 
MEDEA. Thou'rt right, O king,
             Most just of kings! Not so much kind of heart
             As just! How do thy bidding? Yet will I
             Strive to do both. Hark, children! List to me!
             They send your mother forth, to wander wide
             O'er sea and land. Who knows where she shall come?
             These kindly folk, thy father, and that just
             And gentle king that standeth there, have said
             That I may take, to share my lonely fate,
             One of my babes, but only one. Ye gods,
             Hear ye this sentence? One, and one alone!
             Now, whichsoever of you loves me more,
             Let that one come to join me, for I may
             Not have you both; the other here must stay
             Beside his father, and with that false king's
             Still falser daughter!—Hear ye what I say?
             Why linger there?
 

KING. Thou seest they will not come!

 
MEDEA. Thou liest, false and wicked king! They would,
             Save that thy daughter hath enchanted them
             And keeps them from me!—Heard ye not, my babes?—
             Accurst and monstrous children, bane and curse
             Of your poor mother, image of your sire!
 

JASON. They will not come!

 
MEDEA (_pointing to _CREUSA).
             Let her but go away!
             They love me! Am I not their mother? Look
             How she doth beckon, nod to them, and draw
             Them further from me!
 
 
CREUSA. I will go away,
             Though I deserve not thy suspicious hate.
 

MEDEA. Come to me, children!—Come!—O viper brood!

[She advances toward them threateningly; the children fly to CREUSA for protection.]

MEDEA. They fly from me! They fly!

 
KING. Thou seest, Medea,
             The children will not come—so, get thee gone!
 
 
MEDEA. They will not? These my babes do fear to come
             Unto their mother?—No, it is not true,
             It cannot be!—Aeson, my elder son,
             My best beloved! See, thy mother calls!
             Come to her! Nay, no more will I be harsh,
             No more enangered with thee! Thou shalt be
             Most precious in mine eyes, the one thing left
             I call mine own! Hark to thy mother! Come!—
             He turns his face away, and will not! O
             Thou thankless child, thou image of thy sire,
             Like him in each false feature, in mine eyes
             Hateful, as he is! Stay, then, where thou art!
             I know thee not!—But thou, Absyrtus, child
             Of my sore travail, with the merry face
             Of my lost brother whom with bitter tears
             I mourn, and mild and gentle as was he,
             See how thy mother kneels upon the ground
             And, weeping, calls thee! O let not her prayers
             Be all in vain! Absyrtus, come to me,
             My little son! Come to thy mother!—What?
             He tarries where he is! Thou, too? Thou, too?
             Give me a dagger, quick, that I may slay
             These whelps, and then myself!
 

[She springs up.]

 
JASON. Nay, thou must thank thyself that thy wild ways
             Have startled them, estranged them, turned their hearts
             Unto that mild and gentle maid they love.
             They do but echo what the gods decree!—
             Depart now; but the babes, they tarry here.
 

MEDEA. O children, hear me!

JASON. See, they hearken not!

MEDEA. O children, children!

 
KING (to CREUSA).
             Lead them back again
             Into the palace! 'Tis not meet they hate
             The mother that did bear them.
 

[CREUSA moves away with the children.]

 
MEDEA. Woe is me!
             They flee! My children flee before my face!
 
 
KING (to JASON).
             Come we away! To weep for what must be
             Is fruitless!
 

[They depart.]

MEDEA. O my babes, my little babes!

GORA enters quickly.

 
GORA. Come, calm thyself, nor grant to these thy foes
             The joy of seeing how they've conquered thee!
 
 
MEDEA (flinging herself upon the ground).
             Conquered I am, at last, made nothing worth,
             Trampled beneath my foes' triumphant feet!
             They flee me, flee me! Mine own children flee me!
 

GORA (bending over her).

Thou must not die!

 
MEDEA. Nay, let me die! My babes,
             My little babes!
 

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!