The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06

She slew him?

JASON. The gods' hand smote him down. Her aged father,             With curses on his lips for her, for me,             For all our days to come, with bleeding nails             Dug his own grave, and laid him down to die,             So goes the tale—grim victim of his own             Rash passion.KING. Dread beginning of your life             Together!JASON. Ay, and, as the days wore on,             More dreadful still.

KING. Thine uncle—what of him?

JASON. For four long years some god made sport of us             And kept us wandering far from hearth and home             O'er land and sea. Meanwhile, pent up with her             Within the narrow confines of our bark,             Seeing her face each moment of the day,             The edge of my first shuddering fear grew blunt.             The past was past.—So she became my wife.

KING. When home thou camest, what befell thee there?

JASON. Time passed; the memory of those ghastly days             In Colchis dimmer grew and mistier.             I, the proud Greek, now half barbarian grown,             Companioned by my wife, barbarian too,             Sought once again my home-land. Joyfully             The people cried Godspeed! as forth I fared             Long years agone. Of joyfuller greetings now,             When I returned a victor, I had dreamed.             But lo, the busy streets grew still as death             When I approached, and whoso met me, shrank             Back in dismay! The tale, grown big with horrors,             Of all that chanced in Colchis had bred fear             And hatred in this foolish people's hearts.             They fled my face, heaped insults on my wife—             Mine she was, too; who flouted her, struck me!             This evil talk my uncle slily fed;             And when I made demand that he yield up             The kingdom of my fathers, stolen by him             And kept from me by craft, he made reply             That I must put away this foreign wife,             For she was hateful in his eyes, he feared             Her dark and dreadful deeds! If I refused,             My fatherland, his kingdom, I must flee.

KING. And thou—?

JASON. What could I? Was she not my wife,             That trusted to my arm to keep her safe?             Who challenged her, was he not then my foe?             Why, had he named some easier behest,             By Heaven, I had obeyed not even that!             Then how grant this? I laughed at his command.

KING. And he—?

JASON. Spake doom of banishment for both.             Forth from Iolcos on that selfsame day             We must depart, he said. But I would not,             And stayed.                        Forthwith a grievous illness seized             The king, and through the town a murmur ran             Whisp'ring strange tidings: How the aged king,             Seated before his household shrine, whereon             They had hung the Fleece in honor of the god,             Gazed without ceasing on that golden prize,             And oft would cry that thence his brother's face             Looked down on him,—my father's, whom he slew             By guile, disputing of the Argo-quest.             Ay, that dead face peered down upon him now             From every glittering lock of that bright Fleece,             In search of which, false man! he sent me forth             To distant lands, in hope that I should perish!             At last, when all the king's house saw their need,             To me for succor his proud daughters came,             Begging my wife to heal him by her skill.             But I cried, "No! Am I to save the man             Who plotted certain death for me and mine?"             And those proud maidens turned again in tears.             I shut me up within my house, unheeding             Aught else that passed. Weeping, they came again,             And yet again; each time I said them nay.             And then one night, as I lay sleeping, came             A dreadful cry before my door! I waked             To find Acastus, my false uncle's son,             Storming my portal with loud, frenzied blows,             Calling me murderer, slayer of his sire!             That night the aged king had passed from life.             Up from my couch I sprang, and sought to speak,             But vainly, for the people's howls of rage             Drowned my weak cries. Then one among them cast             A stone, then others. But I drew my blade             And through the mob to safety cut my way.             Since then I've wandered all fair Hellas o'er,             Reviled of men, a torment to myself.             And, if thou, too, refuse to succor me,             Then am I lost indeed!KING. Nay, I have sworn             And I will keep my oath. But this thy wife—JASON. Hear me, O king, before thou end that speech!             Needs must thou take us both, or none at all!             I were a happy man,—ay, born anew—             Were she but gone forever. But no, no!             I must protect her—for she trusted me.KING. These magic arts she knows—'tis them I fear.             The power to injure, spells the will to do it.             Besides, these strange, suspicious deeds of hers—             These are not all her guilt.JASON. Give her one chance.             Then, if she stay not quiet, hound her forth,             Hunt her, and slay her, me, and these my babes.             Yet, till that time, I pray thee let her try             If she can live at peace with this thy folk.             This boon I crave of thee by mightiest Zeus,             The god of strangers—ay, and call upon             The ancient bond of friendship that, long since,             Our fathers formed, mine in Iolcos, thine             In Corinth here. On that long-vanished day             They dreamed there might fall need of such a tie.             And, now that need is here, do thou thy part             And succor me, lest in like evil pass             Thou make the same request, and meet denial.KING. 'Tis the gods' will; I yield, against my judgment,             And she shall stay. But, look you, if she show             One sign that those wild ways are not forgot,             I drive her forth from out this city straight             And yield her up to those who seek her life!             Here in this meadow, where I found thee first,             A sacred altar shall be raised, to Zeus,             The god of strangers, consecrate and to             Thy murdered uncle Pelias' bloody shades.             Here will we kneel together and pray the gods             To send their blessing on thy coming here,             And turn to mercy that which bodes us ill.—             Now to my royal city follow swift.

[He turns to his attendants, who approach.]

See my behests are faithfully obeyed.[As they turn to depart, the curtain falls.]

ACT II

A chamber in CREON'S royal palace at Corinth. CREUSA is discovered seated, while MEDEA occupies a low stool before her, and holds a lyre in her arm. She is clad in the Greek fashion.

CREUSA. Now pluck this string—the second—this one here.

MEDEA. So, this way?

CREUSA. Nay, thy fingers more relaxed.

MEDEA. I cannot.

CREUSA. 'Tis not hard, if thou'lt but try.

MEDEA. I have tried, patiently; but 'tis no use!

[She lays the lyre aside and rises.]

             Were it a spear-haft, or the weapons fierce             Of the bloody hunt, these hands were quick enough.

[She raises her right hand and gazes at it reproachfully.]

Rebellious fingers! I would punish them!CREUSA. Perverse one! When my heart was filled with joy             At thinking how 'twould gladden Jason's heart             To hear this song from thee!MEDEA. Ay, thou art right.             I had forgot that. Let me try once more.             The song will please him, think'st thou, truly             please him?CREUSA. Nay, never doubt it. 'Tis the song he sang             When he dwelt here with us in boyhood days.             Each time I heard it, joyfully I sprang             To greet him, for it meant he was come home.

MEDEA (eagerly).

Teach me the song again!

CREUSA. Come, listen, then.             'Tis but a short one, nor so passing sweet;             But then—he knew to sing it with such grace,             Such joy, such lordly pride—ay, almost scorn!

[She sings.]

  "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods,      Anoint my head, I pray;   Make strong my heart to bear my part      Right kingly in the fray,   To smite all foes, and steal the heart      Of all fair maids away!"

MEDEA. Yea, yea, all these the gods bestowed on him!

CREUSA. All what?

MEDEA. These gifts, of which the song doth tell.

CREUSA. What gifts?

MEDEA. "To smite all foes, and steal the heart             Of all fair maids away!"CREUSA. Is't so? I never thought on that before;             I did but sing the words I heard him sing.MEDEA. 'Twas so he stood on Colchis' hostile strand;             Before his burning glance our warriors cringed,             And that same glance kindled a fatal fire             In the soft breast of one unhappy maid;             She struggled, fled—until at last those flames,             So long hid deep within her heart, burst forth,             And rest and joy and peace to ashes burned             In one fierce holocaust of smoky flame.             'Twas so he stood, all shining strength and grace,             A hero, nay, a god—and drew his victim             And drew and drew, until the victim came             To its own doom; and then he flung it down             Careless, and there was none would take it up.

CREUSA. Art thou his wife, and speak'st such things of him?

MEDEA. Thou know'st him not; I know his inmost soul.—             In all the wide world there is none but he,             And all things else are naught to him but tools             To shape his deeds. He harbors no mean thoughts             Of paltry gain, not he; yet all his thoughts             Are of himself alone. He plays a game             with Fortune—now his own, and now another's.             If bright Fame beckon, he will slay a man             And do it gaily. Will he have a wife?             He goes and takes one. And though hearts should break             And lives be wasted—so he have his will,             What matters it to him? Oh, he does naught             That is not right—but right is what he wants!             Thou knowest him not; I've probed his inmost soul.             And when I think on all that he has wrought,             Oh, I could see him die, and laugh the while!

CREUSA. Farewell!

MEDEA. Thou goest?

CREUSA. Can I longer stay             To list such words?—Ye gods! to hear a wife             Revile her husband thus!MEDEA. She should speak truth,             And mine is such an one as I have said.CREUSA. By Heaven, if I were wedded to a man,             E'en one so base and vile as thou hast named—             'Though Jason is not so—and had I babes,             His gift, each bearing in his little face             His father's likeness, oh, I would love them dear,             Though they should slay me!MEDEA. Ay, an easy task             To set, but hard to do.CREUSA. And yet, methinks,             If easier, 'twere less sweet.—Have thou thy way             And say whate'er thou wilt; but I must go.             First thou dost charm my heart with noble words             And seek'st my aid to win his love again;             But now thou breakest forth in hate and scorn.             I have seen many evils among men,             But worst of all these do I count a heart             That knows not to forgive. So, fare thee well!             Learn to be better, truer!

MEDEA. Art thou angry

CREUSA. Almost.

MEDEA. Alas, thou wilt not give me up,             Thou, too? Thou wilt not leave me? Be my help,             My friend, my kind protector!CREUSA. Now thou'rt gentle,             Yet, but a moment since, so full of hate!

MEDEA. Hate for myself, but only love for him!

CREUSA. Dost thou love Jason?

MEDEA. Should I else be here?

CREUSA. I've pondered that, but cannot understand.—             Yet, if thou truly lov'st him, I will take thee             Back to my heart again, and show thee means             Whereby thou mayst regain his love.—I know             Those bitter moods of his, and have a charm             To scatter the dark clouds. Come, to our task!             I marked this morning how his face was sad             And gloomy. Sing that song to him; thou'lt see             How swift his brow will clear. Here is the lyre;             I will not lay it down till thou canst sing             The song all through. [She seats herself.]                              Nay, come! Why tarriest thereMEDEA. I gaze on thee, and gaze on thee again,             And cannot have my fill of thy sweet face.             Thou gentle, virtuous maid, as fair in soul             As body, with a heart as white and pure             As are thy snowy draperies! Like a dove,             A pure, white dove with shining, outspread wings,             Thou hoverest o'er this life, nor yet so much             As dipp'st thy wing in this vile, noisome slough             Wherein we wallow, struggling to get free,             Each from himself. Send down one kindly beam             From out thy shining heaven, to fall in pity             Upon my bleeding breast, distraught with pain;             And all those ugly scars that grief and hate             And evil fortune e'er have written there,             Oh, cleanse thou these away with thy soft hands,             And leave thine own dear picture in their place!             That strength, that ever was my proudest boast             From youth, once tested, proved but craven weakness.             Oh, teach me how to make my weakness strong!

[She seats herself on the low stool at CREUSA's feet.]

             Here to thy feet for refuge will I fly,             And pour my tale of suffering in thine ear;             And thou shalt teach me all that I must do.             Like some meek handmaid will I follow thee,             Will pace before the loom from early morn,             Nay, set my hand to all those lowly tasks             Which maids of noble blood would scorn to touch             In Colchis, as but fit for toiling serfs,             Yet here they grace a queen. Oh, I'll forget             My sire was Colchis' king, and I'll forget             My ancestors were gods, and I'll forget             The past, and all that threatens still!

[_She springs up and leaves _CREUSA's side.]

             But no!             That can I not forget!CREUSA (following her).             Why so distressed?             Men have forgotten many an evil deed             That chanced long since, ay, even the gods themselves             Remember not past sorrows.MEDEA (embracing her).             Say'st thou so?             Oh, that I could believe it, could believe it!

JASON enters.

CREUSA (turning to him).

Here is thy wife. See, Jason, we are friends!

JASON. 'Tis well.

MEDEA. Greetings, my lord.—She is so good,             Medea's friend and teacher she would be.

JASON. Heaven speed her task!

CREUSA. But why these sober looks?             We shall enjoy here many happy days!             I, sharing 'twixt my sire and you my love             And tender care, while thou and she, Medea,—

JASON. Medea!

MEDEA. What are thy commands, my lord?

JASON. Hast seen the children late?

MEDEA. A moment since;             They are well and happy.

JASON. Look to them again!

MEDEA. I am just come from them.

JASON. Go, go, I say!

MEDEA. If 'tis thy wish—

JASON. It is.

MEDEA. Then I obey.

[She departs.]

CREUSA. Why dost thou bid her go? The babes are safe.

JASON. Ah..! ho, a mighty weight is rolled away             From off my soul, and I can breathe again!             Her glance doth shrivel up my very heart,             And all that bitter hate, hid deep within             My bosom, well nigh strangles me to death!CREUSA. What words are these? Oh, ye all-righteous gods!             He speaks now even as she a moment since.             Who was it told me, wife and husband ever             Do love each other?JASON. Ay, and so they do,             When some fair, stalwart youth hath cast his glance             Upon a maid, whom straightway he doth make             The goddess of his worship. Timidly             He seeks her eyes, to learn if haply she             Seek his as well; and when their glances meet,             His soul is glad. Then to her father straight             And to her mother goes he, as is meet,             And begs their treasure, and they give consent.             Comes then the bridal day; from far and near             Their kinsmen gather; all the town has part             In their rejoicing. Richly decked with wreaths             And dainty blossoms, to the altar then             He leads his bride; and there a rosy flush,             Of maiden shyness born, plays on her cheek             The while she trembles with a holy fear             At what is none the less her dearest wish.             Upon her head her father lays his hands             And blesses her and all her seed to come.             Such happy wooing breeds undying love             'Twixt wife and husband.—'Twas of such I dreamed.             Alas, it came not! What have I done, ye gods!             To be denied what ye are wont to give             Even to the poorest? Why have I alone             No refuge from the buffets of the world             At mine own hearth, no dear companion there,             My own, in truth, my own in plighted troth?CREUSA. Thou didst not woo thy wife as others, then?             Her father did not raise his hand to bless?JASON. He raised it, ay, but armèd with a sword;             And 'twas no blessing, but a curse he spake.             But I—I had a swift and sweet revenge!             His only son is dead, and he himself             Lies dumb in the grave. His curse alone lives still—             Or so it seems.CREUSA. Alas, how strange to think             Of all the change a few brief years have wrought!             Thou wert so soft and gentle, and art now             So stern. But I am still the selfsame maid             As then, have still the selfsame hopes and fears,             And what I then thought right, I think right still,             What then I blamed, cannot think blameless now.—             But thou art changed.JASON. Ay, thou hast hit the truth!             The real misfortune in a hapless lot             Is this: that man is to himself untrue.             Here one must show him master, there must cringe             And bow the knee; here Justice moves a hair,             And there a grain; and, at his journey's end,             He stands another man than he who late             Set out upon that journey. And his loss             Is twofold—for the world has passed him by             In scorn, and his own self-respect is dead.             Naught have I done that in itself was bad,             Yet have had evil hopes, bad wishes, ay,             Unholy aspirations; and have stood             And looked in silence, while another sinned;             Or here have willed no evil, yet joined hands             With sin, forgetful how one wicked deed             Begets another.—Now at last I stand,             A sea of evils breaking all about,             And cannot say, "My hand hath done no wrong!"—             O happy Youth, couldst thou forever stay!             O joyous Fancy, blest Forgetfulness,             Time when each moment cradles some great deed             And buries it! How, in a swelling tide             Of high adventure, I disported me,             Cleaving the mighty waves with stalwart breast!             But manhood comes, with slow and sober steps;             And Fancy flees away, while naked Truth             Creeps soft to fill its place and brood upon             Full many a care. No more the present seems             A fair tree, laden down with luscious fruits,             'Neath whose cool shadows rest and joy are found,             But is become a tiny seedling which,             When buried in the earth, will sprout and bud             And bloom, and bear a future of its own.             What shall thy task in life be? Where thy home?             What of thy wife and babes? What thine own fate,             And theirs?—Such constant musings tantalize             the soul. [He seats himself.]CREUSA. What should'st thou care for such? 'Tis all decreed,             All ordered for thee.JASON. Ordered? Ay, as when             Over the threshold one thrusts forth a bowl             Of broken meats, to feed some begging wretch!             I am Prince Jason. Spells not that enough             Of sorrow? Must I ever henceforth sit             Meek at some stranger's board, or beg my way,             My little babes about me, praying pity             From each I meet? My sire was once a king,             And so am I; yet who would care to boast             He is like Jason? Still—[He rises.]             I passed but now             Down through the busy market-place and through             Yon wide-wayed city. Dost remember how             I strode in my young pride through those same streets             What time I came to take farewell of thee             Long since, ere sailed the Argo? How the folk             Came thronging, surging, how each street was choked             With horses, chariots, men—a dazzling blaze             Of color? How the eager gazers climbed             Up on the house-tops, swarmed on every tower,             And fought for places as they would for gold?             The air rang with the cymbals' brazen crash             And with the shouts of all that mighty throng             Crying, "Hail, Jason!" Thick they crowded round             That gallant band attired in rich array,             Their shining armor gleaming in the sun,             The least of them a hero and a king,             And in their midst the leader they adored.             I was the man that captained them, that brought             Them safe to Greece again; and it was I             That all this folk did greet with loud acclaim.—             I trod these selfsame streets an hour ago,             But no eye sought me, greeting heard I none;             Only, the while I stood and gazed about,             I heard one rudely grumbling that I had             No right to block the way, and stand and stare.CREUSA. Thou wilt regain thy proud place once again,             If thou but choose.JASON. Nay, all my hopes are dead;             My fight is fought, and I am down, to rise             No more.

CREUSA. I have a charm will save thee yet.

JASON. Ay, all that thou would'st say, I know before:             Undo the past, as though it ne'er had been.             I never left my fatherland, but stayed             With thee and thine in Corinth, never saw             The Golden Fleece, nor stepped on Colchis' strand,             Ne'er saw that woman that I now call wife!             Send thou her home to her accursed land,             Cause her to take with her all memory             That she was ever here.—Do thou but this,             And I will be a man again, and dwell             With men.CREUSA. Is that thy charm? I know a better;             A simple heart, I mean, a mind at peace.JASON. Ah, thou art good! Would I could learn this peace             Of thee!CREUSA. To all that choose, the gods will give it.             Thou hadst it once, and canst have yet again.

JASON. Dost thou think often on our happy youth?

CREUSA. Ay, many a time, and gladly.

JASON. How we were             One heart, one soul?CREUSA. I made thee gentler, thou             Didst give me courage.—Dost remember how             I set thy helm upon my head?JASON. And how             Because it was too large, thy tiny hands             Did hold it up, the while it rested soft             Upon thy golden curls? Creusa, those             Were happy days!CREUSA. Dost mind thee how my father             Was filled with joy to see it, and, in jest,             Did name us bride and bridegroom?JASON. Ay—but that             Was not to be.CREUSA. Like many another hope             That disappoints us.—Still, what matters it?             We mean to be no less good friends, I trust!

[MEDEA reënters.]

MEDEA. I've seen the children. They are safe.

JASON (absently).'Tis well.

(Continuing his revery.)