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

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!

KING. But when?

MEDEA. Right soon, ay, all too soon!

KING. Send it to where Creusa waits.

MEDEA. To her?             This Fleece to thy fair daughter? Ay, I will!

KING. Holdeth this casket aught besides the Fleece?

MEDEA. Yea, many things!

KING. Thine own?

MEDEA. Mine own.             From these A gift I'd send her.KING. Nay, I would demand             Naught else of thee. Keep that which is thine own.MEDEA. Surely thou wilt permit me one small gift!             Thy daughter was so mild to me, so good,             And she will be a mother to my babes.             I fain would win her love! Thou dost desire             Naught but the Fleece; perchance some trinkets rare             Would please her eyes.KING. Do even as thou wilt;             Only, bethink thee of thy needs. Thou knowest             Already how she loves thee. But an hour             Agone she begged to send thy babes to thee             That thou might'st see them once again, and take             A last farewell before thou settest forth             Upon thy weary way. I said her nay,             For I had seen thy fury. Now thou art             Quiet again, and so shalt have that grace.

MEDEA. Oh, thanks to thee, thou good and pious King!

KING. Wait here. I'll send the children to thee straight.

[He departs.]

MEDEA. He's gone—and to his doom! Fool! Didst thou not             Tremble and shudder when thou took'st away             Her last possession from the woman thou             Hadst robbed already? Yet, I thank thee for it,             Ay, thank thee!             Thou hast given me back myself!             —Unlock the casket!

GORA (fumbling at it).

That I cannot do.

MEDEA. Nay, I forgot how I did lock it up!             The key is kept by friends I know full well.

[She turns toward the chest.]

  Up from below!  Down from o'erhead!  Open, thou secretest  Tomb of the dead!             The lid springs open, and I am no more             A weak and powerless woman! There they lie,             My staff, my veil of crimson! Mine! Ah, mine!

[She takes them out of the casket.]

             I take thee in my hands, thou mighty staff             Of mine own mother, and through heart and limbs             Unfailing strength streams forth from thee to me!             And thee, beloved wimple, on my brow             I bind once more!

[She veils herself.]

             How warm, how soft thou art,             How dost thou pour new life through all my frame!             Now come, come all my foes in close-set ranks,             Banded against me, banded for your doom!

GORA. Look! Yonder flares a light!

MEDEA. Nay, let it flare!             'Twill soon be quenched in blood!—             Here are the presents I would send to her;             And thou shalt be the bearer of my gifts!

GORA. I?

MEDEA. Thou! Go quickly to the chamber where             Creusa sits, speak soft and honied words,             Bring her Medea's greetings, and her gifts!

[She takes the gifts out of the chest one by one.]

             This golden box, first, that doth treasure up             Most precious ointments. Ah, the bride will shine             Like blazing stars, if she will ope its lid!             But bear it heedfully, and shake it not!

GORA. Woe's me!

[She has grasped the ointment-box firmly in her left hand; as she steadies it with her right hand, she slightly jars the cover open, and a blinding flame leaps forth.]

MEDEA. I warned thee not to shake it, fool!             Back to thy house again,             Serpent with forked tongue!             Wait till the knell hath rung;             Thou shalt not wait in vain!             Now clasp it tightly, carry it with heed!

GORA. I fear some dreadful thing will come of this!

MEDEA. So! Thou wouldst warn me? 'Tis a wise old crone!

GORA. And I must bear it?

MEDEA. Yea! Obey, thou slave!             How darest thou presume to answer me?             Be silent! Nay, thou shalt, thou must!                     And next             Here on this salver, high-embossed with gold,             I set this jeweled chalice, rich and fair             To see, and o'er it lay the best of all,             The thing her heart most craves—the Golden Fleece!—             Go hence and do thine errand. Nay, but first             Spread o'er these gifts this mantle—fair it is             And richly broidered, made to grace a queen—             To cover all from sight and keep them hid.—             Now, go, and do what I commanded thee,             And take these gifts, that foe doth send to foe!

[A slave-woman enters with the children.]

SLAVE. My lord the king hath sent these children hither;             And when an hour is gone I take them back.MEDEA. Sooth, they come early to the marriage feast!             Now to thy mistress lead my servant here;             She takes a message from me, bears rich gifts.

(_She turns to _GORA.)

             And thou, remember what I told thee late!             Nay, not a word! It is my will!

(To the slave-woman.)

             Away!             And bring her to thy mistress.

[GORA and the slave-woman depart together.]

             Well begun,             But not yet ended! Easy is my path,             Now I see clearly what I have to do!

[The children, hand in hand, make as if to follow the slave-woman.]

Where go ye?

BOY. In the house!

MEDEA. What seek ye there?

BOY. Our father told us we should stay with her.

MEDEA. Thy mother bids you tarry. Wait, I say!—             When I bethink me how they are my blood,             My very flesh, the babes I bore so long             In my own womb, and nourished at my breast,             When I bethink me 'tis my very self             That turns against me, in my inmost soul             Fierce anger stabs me knife-like, bloody thoughts             Rise fast within me!—

(To the children.)

             What hath mother done,             To make you flee her sight and run away             To hide in strangers' bosoms?BOY. Thou dost seek             To steal us both away, and shut us up             Within thy boat again, where we were both             So sick and dizzy. We would rather stay             Here, would we not, my brother?

YOUNGER BOY. Yea!

MEDEA. Thou, too,             Absyrtus? But 'tis better, better so!             Come hither!

BOY. I'm afraid!

MEDEA. Come here, I say!

BOY. Nay, thou wilt hurt me!

MEDEA. Hurt thee? Thou hast done             Naught to deserve it!Boy. Once thou flung'st me down             Upon the pavement, hard, because I looked             So like my father. But he loves me for it!             I'd rather stay with him, and with that good             And gentle lady!MEDEA. Thou shalt go to her,             E'en to that gentle lady!—How his mien             Is like to his, the traitor's! How his words             Are syllabled like Jason's!—Patience! Wait!

YOUNGER BOY. I'm sleepy!

BOY. Let's lie down and go to sleep.             It's late.MEDEA. Ye'll have your fill of sleep ere long!             Go, lay you down upon those steps to rest,             While I take counsel with myself.—Ah, see             How watchfully he guides the younger one,             Takes off his little mantle, wraps it warm             And close about his shoulders, now lies down             Beside him, clasping hands!—He never was             A naughty child!—O children, children mine!

BOY (starting up).

Dost want us?

MEDEA. Nay, lie down, and go to sleep!             What would I give, if I could sleep as sound!

[The boy lies down again, and both go to sleep. MEDEA seats herself on a bench opposite the children. It grows darker and darker.]

MEDEA. The night is falling, stars are climbing high,             Shedding their kindly beams on all below—             The same that shone there yestere'en, as though             All things today were as they were before.             And yet 'twixt now and yesterday there yawns             A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy             Made perfect and grim death! How change-less e'er             Is Nature—and man's life and happiness             How fitful, fleeting!             When I tell the tale             Of my unhappy life, it is as though             I listened, while another told it me,             And now would stop him: "Nay, that cannot be,             My friend! This woman here, that harbors dark             And murderous thoughts—how can she be the same             That once, long years agone, on Colchis' strand             Trod, free and happy, 'neath these very stars,             As pure, as mild, as free from any sin             As new-born child upon its mother's breast?"             Where goes she, then? She seeks the peasant's hut             To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops             Were trampled by her father's huntsmen late,             And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart.             Why trips she down the forest-path? She hastes             To meet her brother who is waiting there             In some green copse. Together then they wend             Homeward their way along the well-known path,             Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom.             Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned             With coronet of gold; he is the King,             Their royal father, and he lays his hand             In blessing on their heads, and names them both             His joy, his dearest treasure.—Welcome, then,             Most dear and friendly faces! Are ye come             To comfort me in this my loneliness?             Draw nearer, nearer yet! I fain would look             Into your eyes! Dear brother, dost thou smile             So friendly on me? Ah, how fair thou art,             My heart's best treasure! But my father's face             Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still,             Yea, loveth his good daughter!

[She springs up suddenly.]

             Good? Ha, good?             'Tis a false lie! For know, thou old, gray man,             She will betray thee, hath betrayed thee, thee,             Ay, and herself! But thou didst curse her sore             "Know thou shalt be thrust forth             Like a beast of the wilderness," thou saidst;             "Friendless and homeless, with no place             To lay thy head! And he, for whom             Thou hast betrayed me, he will be             First to take vengeance on thee, first             To leave thee, thrust thee forth, and first             To slay thee!" See, thy words were true!             For here I stand, thrust forth indeed,             By all men like a monster shunned,             Deserted by the wretch for whom             I gave thee up, and with no place             To lay me down; alas! not dead;             Black thoughts of murder in my heart!—             Dost thou rejoice at thy revenge?             Com'st closer?—Children! O my babes!

[She rushes across to where the children lie sleeping, and shakes them violently.]

My children, did ye hear? Awake!

BOY (waking).

What wouldst thou?

MEDEA (pressing them fiercely to her).

Clasp your arms about me close!

BOY. I slept so soundly.

MEDEA. Slept? How could ye sleep?             Thought ye, because your mother watched you here,             That ye were safe? Ye ne'er were in the hands             Of any foe more dangerous! Sleep? With me,             Your mother, near? How could ye?—Go within,             And there ye shall find rest, indeed!

[The children sleepily mount the steps and disappear down the colonnade into the palace.]

             They're gone,             And all is well again!—Yet, now they're gone,             How am I bettered? Must I aught the less             Flee forth, today, and leave them in the hands             Of these my bitter foes? Is Jason less             A traitor? Will the bride make aught the less             Of feasting on her bridal day, forsooth?             Tomorrow, when the sun shall rise,             Then shall I be alone,             The world a desert waste for me,             My babes, my husband—gone!             A wand'rer I, with weary feet             All torn and bleeding sore,             And bound for exile!—Whither, then             I know no more!             My foes stay here and make a joyous feast,             And laugh to think me gone;             My babes cling tightly to a stranger's breast,             Estranged from me forever, far away             From where I needs must come!             And wilt thou suffer that?             Is it not even now too late,             Too late to grant forgiveness?             Hath not Creusa even now the robes,             Ay, and the chalice, that fierce-flaming cup?             Hark! Nay, not yet!—But soon enough             Will come the shriek of agony             Ringing through all the palace halls!             Then they will come and slay me,             Nor spare the babes!             Hark! What a cry was that! Ha! Tongues of flame             Leap curling from the palace! It is done!             No more may I retreat, repent!             Let come what must! Set forward!

[GORA bursts out of the palace in a frenzy.]

GORA. Oh, horror, horror!

MEDEA (hurrying to her).

So the deed is done!

GORA. Woe, woe! Creusa dead, the palace red             With mounting flames!MEDEA. So, art thou gone at last,             Thou snow-white, spotless bride? Or seek'st thou still             To charm my children from me? Wouldst thou? Wouldst thou?             Wouldst take them whither thou art gone?             Nay, to the gods I give them now,             And not to thee, nay, not to thee!

GORA. What hast thou done?—Look, look, they come!

MEDEA. They come? Too late! Too late!

[She vanishes down the colonnade.]

GORA. Alas that I, so old and gray, should aid,             Unknowing, such dark deeds! I counseled her             To take revenge: but such revenge—oh, gods!             Where are the babes? 'Twas here I left them late.             Where art thou, O Medea? And thy babes—             Ah, where are they?

[She, too, disappears down the colonnade. Through the windows of the palace in the background the rapidly mounting flames now burst forth.]

JASON'S VOICE.

Creusa! O Creusa!

KING'S VOICE (from within).

O my daughter!

[GORA bursts out of the palace and falls upon her knees in the middle of the stage, covering her face with her hands.]

GORA. What have I seen?—Oh, horror!

[MEDEA appears at the entrance to the colonnade; in her left hand she brandishes a dagger; she raises her right hand to command silence.]

[The curtain falls.]

ACT V

The outer court of CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act; the royal apartments in the background lie in blackened ruins whence smoke is still curling up; the court-yard is filled with various palace attendants busied in various ways. The dawn is just breaking.

The_ KING appears, dragging GORA out of the palace; a train of

CREUSA'S slave-women follows him.

KING. Away with thee! It was thy wicked hand             That to my daughter brought those bloody gifts             Which were her doom! My daughter! Oh, Creusa!             My child, my child!

[He turns to the slave-women.]

'Twas she?GORA. Yea, it was I!             I knew not that my hands bore doom of death             Within thy dwelling.KING. Knew'st not. Never think             To 'scape my wrath on this wise!GORA. Dost thou think             I shudder at thy wrath? Mine eyes have seen—             Woe's me!—the children weltering in their blood,             Slain by the hand of her that bore them, ay,             Medea's very hand! And after that,             All other horrors are to me but jest!KING. Creusa! Oh, my child, my pure, true child!             Say, did thy hand not shake, thou grisly dame,             When to her side thou broughtest death?GORA. I shed no tears for her! She had her due!             Why would she seek to snatch away the last             Possession of my most unhappy mistress?             I weep for these my babes, whom I did love             So tenderly, and whom I saw but now             Butchered—and by their mother! Ah, I would             Ye all were in your graves, and by your side             That traitor that doth call himself Lord Jason!             I would I were in Colchis with Medea             And these poor babes in safety! Would I ne'er             Had seen your faces, or your city here,             Whereon this grievous fate so justly falls!KING. These insults thou wilt soon enough put by,             When thou shalt feel my heavy hand of doom!             But is it certain that my child is dead?             So many cry her dead, though I can find             None that did see her fall! Is there no way             To 'scape the fire? And can the flames wax strong             So quickly? See how slow they lick and curl             Along the fallen rafters of my house!             Do ye not see? And yet ye say she's dead?             An hour ago she stood before mine eyes             A blooming flower, instinct with happy life—             And now she's dead! Nay, I cannot believe,             And will not! 'Gainst my will I turn mine eyes             Now here, now there, and cannot but believe             That now, or now, or now at least, she must             Appear in all her stainless purity             And beauty, glide in safety to me here             Through those black, smoldering ruins!—Who was by?             Who saw her perish?—Thou?—Quick, speak!—Nay, then,             Roll not thine eyes in horror! Tell thy tale,             E'en though it kill me! Is she dead, indeed?

A SLAVE-WOMAN.

Dead!

KING. And thou saw'st it?

SLAVE-WOMAN.             With my very eyes!             Saw how the flames leaped forth from out that box             Of gold, and caught her flesh—KING. Hold! Hold! Enough!             This woman saw it! Creusa is no more!             Creusa! Oh, my daughter, my dear child!             Once, many years agone, she burnt her hand             Against the altar; she was but a child,             And cried aloud with pain. I rushed to her             And caught her in my arms, and to my lips.             I put her poor scorched fingers, blowing hard             To ease the burning pain. The little maid             E'en through her bitter tears smiled up at me             And, softly sobbing, whispered in my ear,             "It is not much! I do not mind the pain!"             Gods! That she should be burned to death? Oh, gods!

[He turns fiercely upon GORA.]

             And as for thee,—if I should plunge my sword             Ten, twenty times, up to the hilt, clean through             Thy body, would that bring my daughter back?             Or, could I find that hideous witch-wife—Stay!             Where went she, that hath robbed me of my child?             I'll shake an answer straight from out thy mouth,             Ay, though thy soul come with it, if thou'lt not             Declare to me this instant where she's gone!GORA. I know not—and I care no whit to know!             Let her go forth alone to her sure doom.             Why dost thou tarry? Slay me! For I have             No wish to live!KING. We'll speak of that anon;             But first I'll have thy answer!JASON (behind the scenes).             Where's Medea?             Bring her before my face! Medea!

[He enters suddenly with drawn sword.]

             Nay,             They told me she was caught! Where is she, then?

(To GORA.)

Ha! Thou here? Where's thy mistress?

GORA. Fled away!

JASON. Hath she the children?

GORA. Nay!

JASON. Then they are—

GORA. Dead!             Yea, dead! thou smooth-tongued traitor, dead, I say!             She sought to put them where thine eyes could never             Take joy in them again; but, knowing well             No spot on earth so sacred was but thou             To find them wouldst break in, she hid them, safe             Forever, in the grave! Ay, stand aghast,             And stare upon the pavement! Thou canst never             Recall thy babes to life! They're gone for aye!             And, for their sake, I'm glad! No, I am not,             For their sake—but because thou dost despair,             That, smooth-tongued traitor, glads my heart indeed!             Was it not thou that drove her to this crime,             And thou, false King, with thine hypocrisy?             She was a noble creature-but ye drew             Your nets of shameful treachery too close             About her, till, in wild despair, cut off             From all escape else, she o'erleaped your snares,             And made thy crown, the kingly ornament             Of royal heads, to be the awful tool             Of her unnatural crime! Ay, wring your hands,             But wring them for your own most grievous fate!

(Turning to the KING.)

Why sought thy child another woman's bed?

(Turning to JASON.)

             Why must thou steal her, bring her here to Greece,             If thou didst never love her? If thou didst             Right truly love her, why, then, thrust her forth?             Though others cry her murderess, yea, though I             Myself must name her so, yet none the less             Ye have but met your just deserts!—For me,             I have no wish to live another day!             Two of my babes are dead, the third I needs             Must hate forever! Take me, lead me hence             And slay me, if ye will! Fair hopes I have             At last, of justice in that other world,             Now I have seen Heaven's vengeance on you hurled!

[_She is led away by some of the _KING's attendants.]

(Pause.)

KING. Nay, if I wronged her,—by the gods in Heaven             I swear I meant it not!—Now haste we all             To search these smoking ruins for what trace             Remains of my poor girl, that we may lay             Her broken, bruised frame to rest at last             In Earth's kind bosom!

[_He turns to _JASON.]

             But, for thee—straightway             Thou must go forth, where'er thy feet may choose             To carry thee! Pollution such as thine             Spells woe for all about thee, as I've proved.             Oh, had I never seen, never rescued thee,             Ne'er acted friendship's part and welcomed thee             Within my palace! And, for thanks, thou took'st             My daughter from me! Go, lest thou shouldst take             As well the only comfort left me now—             To weep her memory!

JASON. Wouldst thou thrust me forth?

KING. I banish thee my sight.

JASON. What shall I do?

KING. Some god will answer that!

JASON. Who, then, will guide             My wandering steps, who lend a helping hand?             For, see! my head is bleeding, wounded sore             By falling firebrands! How? All silent, then?             And none will guide me, none companion me,             None follow me, whom once so many joyed             To follow? Spirits of my babes, lead ye             The way, and guide your father to the grave             That waits him!

[He goes slowly away.]