Her presence genders, and her safety gain by flight.
(He sees Medea approaching)
But lo, she comes, with fierce and threatening mien, to seek
An audience with us.
(To attendants)
Slaves, defend us from her touch
And pestilential presence! Bid her silence keep,
And learn to yield obedience to the king’s commands.
(To Medea)
Go, speed thy flight, thou thing of evil, fell, and monstrous!
MEDEA: But tell me what the crime, my lord, or what the guilt
That merits exile?
CREON: Let the guiltless question thus.
MEDEA: If now thou judgest, hear me; if thou reign‘st, command.
CREON: The king’s command thou must abide, nor question aught.
MEDEA: Unrighteous sovereignty has never long endured.
CREON : Go hence, and to the Colchians complain.
MEDEA: I go,
But let him take me hence who brought me to thy shores.
CREON: Thy prayer has come too late, for fixed is my decree.
MEDEA: Who judges, and denies his ear to either side,
Though right his judgment, still is he himself unjust.
CREON: Didst lend thine ear to Pelias, ere thou judgedst him?
But come, I’ll give thee grace to plead thy goodly cause.
MEDEA: How hard the task to turn the soul from wrath, when once
To wrath inclined; how ‘tis the creed of sceptred kings
To swerve not from the purposed course they once have taken,
Full well I know, for I have tasted royalty.
For, though by present storms of ill I’m overwhelmed,
An exile, suppliant, lone, forsaken, all forlorn,
I once in happier times a royal princess shone,
And traced my proud descent from heavenly Phoebus’ self.
My father’s realm extended wide o‘er all the land
Where Phasis’ gentle waters flow, o‘er Scythia’s plains
Whose rivers sweeten Pontus’ briny waves; where, too,
Thermodon’s banks inclose the race of warlike maids,
Whose gleaming shields strike terror to their foes. All this
My father held in sway. And I, of noble birth,
And blessed of heaven, in royal state was high upraised.
Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine,
Who now must sue. 0 changeful fortune, thou my throne
Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead.
Trust not in kindly realms, since fickle chance may strew
Their treasures to the winds. Lo, this is regal, this
The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo:
To succor the afflicted, to provide at need
A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone
I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown,
This very flower of fame, that by my arts I saved
The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods.
My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard
Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt
The crag’s hard heart. Mine too are Boreas’ wingèd sons,
And Leda’s heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he
Whose glance can pierce the distant view—yea, all the Greeks,
Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings,
The leader of the leaders; he is mine alone,
My labour’s recompense; the rest I give to you.
Nay, come, 0 king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes.
But stay! for I’ll confess them all. The only crime
Of which I stand accused is this—the Argo saved.
Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed;
Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand:
Then had the mighty chieftains fall‘n, and in their fate
All Greece had been o‘erwhelmed; then this, thy son-in-law,
Had felt the bull’s consuming breath, and perished there.
Nay, nay, let fortune, when she will, my doom decree;
I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me.
But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds
Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin,
But give him back for whom I sinned. 0 Creon, see,
I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know,
When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant,
And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency.
Some little comer of thy kingdom now I ask,
In which to hide my grief. If I must flee again,
Oh, let some nook remote within thy broad domain
Be found for me!
CREON: That I my power in mercy wield,
And spurn not those who seek my aid let Jason’s self
My witness be, who, exiled, overwhelmed by fate,
And smitten sore with fear, a refuge found with me.
For lo, Thessalia’s monarch, bent on vengeance dire,
Seeks Jason at my hand. The cause, indeed, is just:
For that his sire, o‘erburdened with the weight of years,
Was foully taken off, while by the wicked guile
His guileless sisters’ hands were nerved to do the deed.
If now our Jason can unlink his cause from thine,
‘Tis easy his defense to make, for on his hands
No stain of blood is found. His arm no sword upraised,
And he has had no part nor lot in this thy crime.
No, thou and thou alone the arch contriver art,
Uniting in thy person woman’s fertile wit
And man’s effective strength; while in thy reckless heart
No thought of reputation dwells to check thy hand.
Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain;
Bear hence thy deadly poisons; free the citizens
From fear; abiding in some other land than this,
Outwear the patience of the gods.
MEDEA: Thou bid‘st me flee?
Then give me back my bark wherein to flee. Restore
The partner of my flight! Why should I flee alone?
I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear‘st,
Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me
From Jason? ‘Twas for him old Pelias was o’ercome;
For him the flight, the plunder of my father’s realm,
My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain,
And all the guilt that love suggests; ‘twas all for him.
Deep dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul
The sin of profit lieth not.
CREON: Why seek delay
By speech? Too long thou tarriest.
MEDEA: I go, but grant
This last request: let not the mother’s fall o‘erwhelm
Her hapless babes.
CREON: Then go in peace. For I to them
A father’s place will fill, and take them to my heart.
MEDEA: Now by the fair hopes born upon this wedding day,
And by thy hopes of lasting sovereignty secure
From changeful fate’s assault, I pray thee grant from flight
A respite brief, while I upon my children’s lips
A mother’s kiss imprint, perchance the last.
CREON: A time
Thou seek‘st for treachery.
MEDEA: What fraud can be devised
In one short hour?
CREON: To those on mischief bent, be sure,
The briefest time is fraught with mischief’s fatal power.
MEDEA: Dost thou refuse me, then, one little space for tears?
CREON: Though deep-ingrafted fear would fain resist thy plea,
A single day I’ll give thee ere my sentence holds.
MEDEA: Too gracious thou. But let my respite further shrink,
And I’ll depart content.
CREON: Thy life shall surely pay
The forfeit if tomorrow’s sun beholds thee still
In Corinth. But the voice of Hymen calls away
To solemnize the rites of this his festal day.
(Exeunt.)
CHORUS: Too bold the man who first upon the seas,
The treacherous seas, his fragile bark confided;
Who, as the well-known shore behind him glided, His life intrusted to the fickle breeze;
And, as his unknown seaward course he sped
Within his slender craft with foolish daring,
Midway ‘twixt life and death went onward faring,
Along the perilous narrow margin led.
Not yet were sparkling constellations known,
Or sky, all spangled with the starry glory;
Not yet could sailors read the warning story
By stormy Hyades upon the heavens thrown.
Not yet was Zeus’s foster-mother famed,
Nor slow Boötes round the north star wheeling;
Nor Boreas nor Zephyr gently stealing,
Each feared or welcomed, though as yet unnamed.
First Tiphys dared to spread his venturous sail,
The hidden lesson of the breezes learning,
Now all his canvas to the Zephyrs turning,
Now shifting all to catch the changing gale.
Now midway on the mast the yard remains,
Now at the head with all its canvas drawing,
While eager sailors lure the breezes blowing,
And over all the gleaming topsail strains.
The guiltless golden age our fathers saw,
When youth and age the same horizon bounded;
No greed of gain their simple hearts confounded;
Their native wealth enough, ‘twas all they knew.
But lo, the severed worlds have been brought near
And linked in one by Argo’s hand uniting;
While seas endure the oar’s unwonted smiting,
And add their fury to the primal fear.
This impious bark its guilt in dread atoned
When clashing mountains were together driven,
And sea, from sea in mighty conflict riven,
The stars besprinkled with the leaping foam.
Amid these perils sturdy Tiphys paled,
And from his nerveless hand the vessel bounded;
While stricken Orpheus’ lyre no more resounded,
And tuneful Argo’s warning message failed.
What sinking terror filled each quaking breast,
When near the borders of sea-girt Pelorus,
There smote upon their ears the horrid chorus
Of Scylla’s baying wolves around them pressed.
What terror when they neared the Sirens’ lair,
Who soothe the troubled waves with witching measures!
But Orpheus filled their souls with nobler pleasures,
And left the foe in impotent despair.
And of this wild adventure what the prize,
That lured the daring bark with heroes laden?
The fleece of gold, and this mad Colchian maiden,
Well fit to be the first ship’s merchandise.
The sea, subdued, the victor’s law obeys;
No vessel needs a goddess’ art in framing,
Nor oars in heroes’ hands, the ocean taming:
The frailest craft now dares the roughest waves.
Now, every bound removed, new cities rise
In lands remote, their ancient walls removing;
While men of Ind by Caspian shores are roving,
And Persia’s face now greets the western skies.
The time will come, as lapsing ages flee,
When every land shall yield its hidden treasure;
When men no more shall unknown courses measure,
For round the world no “farthest land” shall be.
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. 0 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’ 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 Ætna 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