No More Learning

One always finds a use for these mischievous creatures, sooner or later ; so I did not wish to kill him outright. Quick ! Snatch the prize, and let us begone. You have won the Golden Fleece. "
Jason caught the fleece from the tree, and hurried through the grove, the deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed by the golden glory of the precious object that he bore along. A little way before him, he beheld the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with her peacock beside her. She clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him to make haste, disappeared among the duskiness of the trees. Espying the two winged sons of the North Wind (who were disporting themselves in the moonlight, a few hundred feet aloft), Jason bade them tell the rest of the Argonauts to embark as speedily as possible. But Lynceus, with his sharp eyes, had already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the Golden Fleece, although several stone walls, a hill, and the black shad ows of the grove of Mars intervened between. By his advice, the heroes had seated themselves on the benches of the galley, with their oars held perpendicularly, ready to let fall into the water.
As Jason drew near, he heard the Talking Image calling to him with more than ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice : —
62 MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
" Make haste, Prince Jason ! For your life, make haste ! "
With one bound he leaped aboard. At sight of the glorious radiance of the Golden Fleece, the nine and forty heroes gave a mighty shout, and Orpheus, striking his harp, sang a song of triumph, to the cadence of which the galley flew over the water, homeward bound, as if careering along with wings!
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE. By WILLIAM MORRIS.
(From "The Life and Death of Jason. ")
[William Morris, English poet and art reformer, was born March 24, 1834 ; educated at Oxford, and was one of the Preraphaelites. His best-known poem is "The Earthly Paradise"; he has also written "The Defense of Guinevere," " The Life and Death of Jason," "Sigurd the Volsung," "The Fall of the Niblungs," and smaller ones. In prose he wrote " The House of the Wolfings," "The Glittering Plain," etc. He founded a manufactory of house hold decorations to reform public taste, and a printing house for artistic typog raphy.
He was also a fervent Socialist. He died October 3, 1896. ] The Meeting.
Turning to Jason, spake the king these words : — " Behold ! O Prince, for threescore years and seven Have I dwelt here in bliss, nor dare I give
The fleece to thee, lest I should cease to live ;
Nor dare I quite this treasure to withhold, Lest to the Gods I seem grown overbold : For many a cunning man I have, to tell Divine foreshowings of the oracle,
And thus they warn me. Therefore shalt thou hear What well may fill a hero's heart with fear ;
But not from my old lips ; that thou mayst have, Whether thy life thou here wilt spill or save,
At least one joy before thou comest to die : — Ho ye, bid in my lady presently ! " . . .
At the door a band of maids was seen,
Who went up towards the dais, a lovely queen Being in their midst, who, coming nigh the place Where the king sat, passed at a gentle pace Alone before the others to the board,
And said : " . <Eetes, father, and good lord,
What is it thou wouldst have of me to-night ? "
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
" O daughter," said iEetes, " tell aright
Unto this king's son here, who is my guest, What things he must accomplish, ere his quest Is finished, who has come this day to seek
The golden fell brought hither by the Greek, The son of Athamas, the unlucky king,
That he may know at last for what a thing
He left the meadowy land and peaceful stead. "
Then she to Jason turned her golden head,
And reaching out her lovely arm, took up
From off the board a rich fair jeweled cup,
And said, " O prince, these hard things must ye do. "
[See " The Golden Fleece " for the tasks set him. ]
" But yet, think well If these three things be not impossible
To any man, and make a bloodless end
Of this thy quest, and as my father's friend Well gifted, in few days return in peace, Lacking for nought, forgetful of the fleece.
Therewith she made an end ; but while she spoke Came Love unseen, and cast his golden yoke
About them both, and sweeter her voice grew,
And softer ever, as betwixt them flew,
With fluttering wings, the new-born, strong desire ; And when her eyes met his gray eyes, on fire
With that that burned her, then with sweet new shame Her fair face reddened, and there went and came Delicious tremors through her. But he said, —
" A bitter song thou singest, royal maid,
Unto a sweet tune ; yet doubt not that I To-morrow this so certain death will try ;
And dying, may perchance not pass unwept,
And with sweet memories may my name be kept, That men call Jason of the Minyae. "
Then said she, trembling, " Take, then, this of me, And drink in token that thy life is passed,
And that thy reckless hand the die has cast. "
Therewith she reached the cup to him, but he Stretched out his hand, and took it joyfully,
As with the cup he touched her dainty hand, Nor was she loath, awhile with him to stand, Forgetting all else in that honeyed pain.
At last she turned, and with head raised again He drank, and swore for nought to leave that quest Till he had reached the worst end or the best;
64
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
And down the hall the clustering Minyee
Shouted for joy his godlike face to see.
But she, departing, made no further sign
Of her desires, but, while with song and wine
They feasted till the fevered night was late,
Within her bower she sat, made blind by fate. . . .
[She works sorceries in the woods during the night to save Jason's
But toward the river did she turn again,
Not heeding the rough ways or any pain,
But running swiftly came unto her boat,
And in the mid stream soon was she afloat, Drawn onward toward the town by flood of tide.
Nor heeded she that by the river side
Still lay her golden shoes, a goodly prize
To some rough fisher in whose sleepy eyes
They first should shine, the while he drew his net Against the yew wood of the Goddess set.
But she, swept onward by the hurrying stream, Down in the east beheld a doubtful gleam
That told of dawn ; so bent unto the oar
In terror lest her folk should wake before
Her will was wrought ; nor failed she now to hear From neighboring homesteads shrilly notes and clear Of waking cocks, and twittering from the sedge
Of restless birds about the river's edge ;
And when she drew between the city walls,
She heard the hollow sound of rare footfalls From men who needs must wake for that or this While upon sleepers gathered dreams of bliss,
Or great distress at ending of the night,
And gray things colored with the gathering light.
At last she reached the gilded water gate,
And though nigh breathless, scarce she dared to wait To fasten up her shallop to the stone,
Which yet she dared not leave ; so this being done Swiftly by passages and stairs she ran,
Trembling and pale, though not yet seen by man, Until to Jason's chamber door she came.
And there awhile indeed she stayed, for shame Rose up against her fear ; but mighty love
And the sea-haunting, rose-crowned seed of Jove O'ermastered both ; so trembling, on the pin
She laid her hand, but ere she entered in
She covered up again her shoulder sweet,
And dropped her dusky raiment o'er her feet ;
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
Then entering the dimly lighted room,
Where with the lamp dawn struggled, through the gloom, Seeking the prince she peered, who sleeping lay
Upon his gold bed, and abode the day
Smiling, still clad in arms, and round his sword
His fingers met ; then she, with a soft word,
Came nigh him, and from out his slackened hand
With slender rosy fingers drew the brand,
Then kneeling, laid her hand upon his breast,
And said : " O Jason, wake up from thy rest,
Perchance from thy last rest, and speak to me. "
Then fell his light sleep from him suddenly, And on one arm he rose, and clenched his hand, Raising it up, as though it held the brand,
And on this side and that began to stare.
But bringing close to him her visage fair, She whispered : —
" Smite not, for thou hast no sword,
Speak not above thy breath, for one loud word
May slay both thee and me. Day grows apace ; What day thou knowest ! Canst thou see my face { Last night thou didst behold it with such eyes,
That I, Medea, wise among the wise,
The safeguard of my father and his land,
Who have been used with steady eyes to stand
In awful groves along with Hecate,
Henceforth must call myself the bond of thee,
The fool of love ; speak not, but kiss me, then,
Yea, kiss my lips, that not the best of men
Has touched ere thou. Alas, quick comes the day ! Draw back, but hearken what I have to say,
For every moment do I dread to hear
Thy wakened folk, or our folk drawing near ; Therefore I speak as if with my last breath, Shameless, beneath the shadowing wings of death, That still may let us twain again to meet,
And snatch from bitter love the bitter sweet
That some folk gather while they wait to die.
Therewith from out her wallet did she draw The phial, and a crystal without flaw
VOL. II. —5
"Alas, I loiter, and the day is nigh ! Soothly I came to bring thee more than this, The memory of an unasked fruitless kiss Upon thy death day, which this day would be If there were not some little help in me. "
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
Shaped like an apple, scored with words about, Then said : " But now I bid thee have no doubt. With this oil hidden by these gems and gold Anoint thine arms and body, and be bold,
Nor fear the fire-breathing bulls one whit,
Such mighty virtue have I drawn to
Whereof give thee proof. " Therewith her hand She thrust into the lamp flame that did stand Anigh the bed, and showed him again
Unscarred by any wound or drawn with pain, Then said —
"Now, when Mars' plain plowed at last And in the furrows those ill seeds are cast,
Take thou this ball in hand and watch the thing Then shalt thou see horrid crop upspring
Of all-armed men therefrom to be thy bane, Were not here to make their fury vain.
Draw not thy sword against them as they rise, But cast this ball amid them, and their eyes Shall serve them then but little to see thee,
And each of others' weapons slain shall be.
" Now will my father hide his rage at heart,
And praise thee much that thou hast played thy part, And bid thee to banquet on this night,
And pray thee wait until to-morrow's light
Before thou triest the Temple of the Fleece.
Trust not to him, but see that unto Greece
The ship's prow turns, and all ready there.
And at the banquet let thy men forbear
The maddening wine, and bid them arm them all
For what upon this night may chance to fall.
" But will get by stealth the keys that hold The seven locks which guard the Fleece of Gold And while we try the fleece, let thy men steal, How so they may, unto thy ready keel,
Thus art thou saved alive with thy desire.
" But what thing will be left to me but fire The fire of fierce despair within my heart, The while reap my guerdon for my part, Curses and torments, and in no long space Real fire of pine wood in some rocky place, Wreathing around my body greedily,
A dreadful beacon o'er the leaden sea. "
" But ason drew her to him, and he said —
Nay, by these tender hands and golden head,
J
I
I
I
:
I
:
?
is
a
;;
a
is
it
it,
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
That saving things for me have wrought to-night, I know not what ; by this unseen delight
Of thy fair body, may I rather burn,
Nor may the flame die ever if I turn
Back to my hollow ship, and leave thee here, Who in one minute art become so dear,
Thy limbs so longed for, that at last I know Why men have been content to suffer woe Past telling, if the Gods but granted this,
A little while such lips as thine to kiss, A little while to drink such deep delight.
"What wouldst thou ? Wilt thou go from me ? The light
Is gray and tender yet, and in your land Surely the twilight, lingering long, doth stand
" O Prince," she said, " I came To save your life. I cast off fear and shame
A little while, but fear and shame are here.
The hand thou holdest trembles with my fear, With shame my cheeks are burning, and the sound Of mine own voice : but ere this hour comes round, We twain will be betwixt the dashing oars,
The ship still making for the Grecian shores. Farewell, till then, though in the lists to-day Thyself shall see me, watching out the play. "
Therewith she drew off from him, and was gone, And in the chamber Jason left alone. . . .
Meanwhile, Medea coming to her room Unseen, lit up the slowly parting gloom
With scented torches : then bound up her hair, And stripped the dark gown from her body fair, And laid it with the brass bowl in a chest, Where many a day it had been wont to rest, Brazen and bound with iron, and whose key
No eye but hers had ever happed to see.
Then wearied, on her bed she cast her down, And strove to think ; but soon the uneasy frown Faded from off her brow, her lips closed tight But now, just parted, and her fingers white Slackened their hold upon the coverlet,
And o'er her face faint smiles began to flit,
As o'er the summer pool the faint soft air :
So instant and so kind the God was there.
'Twixt dawn and day. "
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
The Parting.
On a day it fell that as they sat In Creon's porch, and talked of this or that,
The king said unto Jason : " Brave thou art, But hast thou never fear within thine heart
Of what the Gods may do for Pelias ? "
" Nay," Jason said, " let what will come to pass, His day is past, and mine is flourishing,
But doubtless is an end to everything,
And soon or late each man shall have his day. "
Then said the king : " Neither did thine hand slay The man thyself, or bring his death about ;
Each man shall bear his own sin without doubt.
Yet do I bid thee watch and take good heed
Of what the Colchian's treacheries may breed. " Then quickly Jason turned his head around
And said : " What is there dwelling above ground That loveth me as this one loveth me ?
I am honored here as thee ; Alldo my will as ifa God Iwere;
O Creon !
Scarce can the young men see me without fear, The elders without tears of vain regret.
And, certes, had this worshiped head been set Upon some spike of King Metes' house,
But for her tender love and piteous,
For me she gave up country, kin, and name,
For me she risked tormenting and the flame,
The anger of the Gods and curse of man ;
For me she came across the waters wan
Through many woes, and for my sake did go
Alone, unarmed, to my most cruel foe,
Whom there she slew by his own daughters' hands, Making me king of all my father's lands :
Note all these things, and tell me then to flee
From that which threateneth her who loveth me. "
" Yea," said the king, " to make and to unmake Is her delight ; and certes for thy sake
She did all this thou sayest, yea, and yet more. Seeing thee death-doomed on a foreign shore, With hardy heart, but helpless ; a king's son,
But with thy thread of life well-nigh outrun; Therefore, I say, she did all this for thee,
And ever on the way to Thessaly
She taught thee all things needful, since ye were As void of helpful knowledge as of fear.
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
All this she did, and so was more than queen
Of thee and thine: but thou —thine age is green, Nor wilt thou always dwell in this fair town, — Nor through the wildwood hunt the quarry down Bethink thee — of the world thou mayst be king, Holding the life and death of everything,
Nor will she love thee more, upon that day
When all her part will be but to obey ;
Nor will it then be fitting unto thee
To have a rival in thy sovereignty
Laid in thy bed, and sitting at thy board. "
Now somewhat Jason reddened at that word, But said: "O Creon, let the thing be so!
She shall be high the while that I am low,
And as the Gods in heaven rule over me,
Since they are greater, in such wise shall she, Who as they gave me life, has given me life, And glorious end to seeming hopeless strife. "
Then Creon said : " Yea, somewhat good it were If thou couldst lead that life, and have no fear. " Laughing he spoke ; but quickly changed his face, And with knit brows he rose up from his place, And with his hand on Jason's shoulder, said : —
" O careless man, too full of hardihead I
O thou ease-loving, little-thinking man, Whate'er thou doest, dread the Colchian I She will unmake thee yet, as she has made, And in a bloody grave shalt thou be laid. "
Then turning, to his palace went the king, But Jason, left alone and pondering,
Felt in his heart a vague and gnawing fear,
Of unknown troubles slowly drawing near,
And, spite of words, the thing that Creon said Touched in his heart that still increasing dread, And he was moved by that grave elder's face, For love was dying in the ten years' space.
But Creon, sitting in his chamber, thought, " Surely I deem my hero may be brought
To change his mate, for in his heart I see He wearies of his great felicity,
Like fools, for whom fair heaven is not enough, Who long to stumble over forests rough
With chance of death : yet no more will I say, But let the bright sun bring about the day. "
Now such an one for daughter Creon had
As maketh wise men fools, and young men mad. . .
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
But when upon the threshold of his house
He met Medea, who, with amorous
And humble words, spoke to him greetings kind,
He felt as he whose eyes the fire doth blind,
That presently about his limbs shall twine,
And in her face and calm gray eyes divine
He read his own destruction ; none the less
In his false heart fair Glauce's loveliness
Seemed that which he had loved his whole life long, And little did he feel his old love's wrong.
Alas for truth ! each day, yea, hour by hour, He longed once more to see the beechen bower, And her who dwelt thereby. Alas, alas !
Oft from his lips the hated words would pass : —
" O wavering traitor, still unsatisfied !
O false betrayer of the love so tried !
Fool ! to cast off the beauty that thou knowst, Clear-seeing wisdom, better than a host Against thy foes, and truth and constancy " Thou wilt not know again whate'er shall be !
So oft he spoke words that were words indeed, And had no sting, nor would his changed heart heed The very bitterest of them all, as he
Thought of his woodland fair divinity,
And of her upturned face, so wondering
At this or that oft-told unheeded thing.
Yet whiles, indeed, old memories had some power Over his heart, in such an awful hour
As that, when darksome night is well-nigh done, And earth is waiting silent for the sun ;
Then would he turn about his mate to see, From lips half open, breathing peacefully,
And open, listless, the fair fingers laid,
That unto him had brought such mighty aid. Then, groaning, from her would he turn away, And wish he might not see another day,
For certainly his wretched soul he knew,
And of the cruel God his heart that drew.
But when the bright day had come round again, With noise of men, came foolish thoughts and vain, And, feeding fond desire, would he burn
Unto Cleonae his swift steps to turn.
Nor to these matters was the Colchian blind, And though as yet his speech to her was kind, Good heed she took of all his moody ways, And how he loved her not as in past days ;
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE. 71
And how he shrunk from her, yet knew it not, She noted, and the stammering words and hot, Wherewith, as she grew kinder, still he strove To hide from her the changing of his love.
Long time she tried to shut her eyes to this, Striving to save that fair abode of bliss ; Butsoitmightnotbe; anddaybyday
She saw the happy time fade fast away ;
And as she fell from out that happiness,
Again she grew to be the sorceress,
Worker of fearful things, as once she was, When what my tale has told she brought to pass.
[Medea prepares a magic robe, which will burn the wearer to ashes. ]
But Jason, when those fingers touched his own, Forgat all joys that he had ever known ;
And when her hand left his hand with the ring, Still in the palm, like some lost, stricken thing, He stood and stared, as from his eyes she passed And from that hour all fear away was cast,
All memory of the past time, all regret
For days that did those changed days beget, And therewithal adown the wind he flung
The love whereon his yearning heart once hung.
Ah ! let me turn the page, nor chronicle
In many words the death of faith, or tell
Of meetings by the newly risen moon,
Of passionate silence 'midst the brown birds' tune, Of wild tears wept within the noontide shade,
Of wild vows spoken, that of old were made,
For other ears, when, amidst other flowers,
He wandered through the love-begetting hours. Suffice that unhappy was each day
Which without speech from Glauce passed away, And troublous dreams would visit him at night, When day had passed all barren of her sight.
And at the last, that Creon, the old king,
Being prayed with gifts, and joyful of the thing, Had given day when these twain should be wed.
Meanwhile, the once-loved sharer of his bed Knew all at last, and fierce tormenting fire Consumed her as the dreadful day drew nigher, And much from other lips than his she heard, Till, on a day, this dreadful, blighting word, Her eyes beheld within fair scroll writ,
—
And 'twixt her closed teeth still she muttered
it :
a
a
it,
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
" Depart in peace ! and take great heaps of gold, For nevermore thy body will I fold
Within these arms. Let Gods wed Goddesses
And sea folk wed the women of the seas,
And men wed women ; but thee, who can wed
And dwell with thee without consuming dread,
O wise kin of the dreadful sorceress !
And yet, perchance, thy beauty still may bless
Some man to whom the world seems small and poor, And who already stands beside his door,
Armed for the conquest of all earthly things. " Lo, such an one, the vanquisher of kings,
And equal to the Gods should be thy mate.
But me, who for a peaceful end but wait, Desiring nought but love — canst thou love me ? Or can I give my whole heart up to thee ?
" I hear thee talk of old days thou didst know —
Are they not gone ? — wilt thou not let them go,
Nor to their shadows still cling desperately,
Longing for things that nevermore can be ? . . .
The times are changed, with them is changed my heart, Nor in my life canst thou have any part,
Nor can I live in joy and peace with thee,
Nor yet, for all thy words, canst thou love me.
" Yet, is the world so narrow for us twain That all our life henceforth must be but vain ? Nay, for departing shalt thou be a queen
Of some great world, fairer than I have seen, And wheresoe'er thou goest shalt thou fare
As one for whom the Gods have utmost care. "
Yea, she knew all, yet when these words she read, She felt as though upon her bowed-down head
Had fallen a misery not known before,
And all seemed light that erst her crushed heart bore, For she was wrapped in uttermost despair,
And motionless within the chamber fair
She stood, as one struck dead and past all thought.
But as she stood, a sound to her was brought
Of children's voices, and she 'gan to wail
With tearless eyes, and, from writhed lips and pale, Faint words of woe she muttered, meaningless,
But such as such lips utter none the less.
Then all at once thoughts of some dreadful thing Back to her mind some memory seemed to bring,
As she beheld the casket gleaming fair,
Wherein was laid that she was wont to wear,
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
That in the philter lay that other morn, And therewithal unto her heart was borne The image of two lovers, side by side.
Then with a groan the fingers that did hide
Her tortured face slowly she drew away,
And going up to where her tablets lay,
Fit for the white hands of the Goddesses, — Therein she wrote such piteous words as these :
" Would God that Argo's brazen-banded mast 'Twixt the blue clashing rocks had never passed Unto the Colchian land ! Or would that I
Had had such happy fortune as to die
Then, when I saw thee standing by the Fleece, Safe on the long-desired shore of Greece ! Alas, O Jason ! for thy cruel praise !
Alas, for all the kindness of past days !
That to thy heart seems but a story told Which happed to other folk in times of old. But unto me, indeed, its memory
Was bliss in happy hours, and now shall be Such misery as never tongue can tell.
" Jason, I heed thy cruel message well,
Nor will I stay to vex thee, nor will stay
Until thy slaves thrust me thy love away.
Be happy ! think that I have never been — Forget these eyes, that none the less have seen Thy hands take life at my hands, and thy heart O'erflow in tears, when needs was we should part But for a little ; though, upon the day
When I for evermore must go away,
I think, indeed, thou wilt not weep for this ;
Yea, if thou weepest then, some honeyed kiss From other lips shall make thy gray eyes wet, Betwixt the words that bid thee to forget
Thou ever hast loved aught but her alone.
" Yet of all times mayst thou remember one, The second time that ever thou and I
Had met alone together. . . .
Thou knowest yet the whispered words I said Upon that night — thou never canst forget
That happy night of all nights. Ah ! and yet Why make I these long words, that thou the more Mayst hate me, who already hat'st me sore,
Since 'midst thy pleasure I am grown a pain.
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
Be happy ! for thou shalt not hear again
My voice, and with one word this scroll is done —
Jason, I love thee, yea, love thee alone —
God help me, therefore ! — and would God that I
Such as thou sayst I am, were verily,
Then what a sea of troubles shouldst thou feel
Rise up against thy life, how shouldst thou steel
Thy heart to bear all, failing at the last,
Then wouldst thou raise thine head, o'erwhelmed, downcast, And round about once more shouldst look for me,
Who led thee o'er strange land and unknown sea.
"Andnotinvain,Odearest! notinvain! Would I not come and weep at all thy pain, That I myself had wrought ? would I not raise Thy burdened head with hopes of happy days ? Would I not draw thee forth from all thy woe ? And fearless by thy side would I not go,
As once I went, through many unknown lands When I had saved thee from my father's hands ?
" All would I do, that I have done erewhile, To have thy love once more, and feel thy smile, As freed from snow about the first spring days The meadows feel the young sun's fickle rays.
" But I am weak, and past all, nor will I Pray any more for kindly memory ;
Yet shalt thou have one last gift more from me, To give thy new love. . . .
When in godlike light She shines, with all her beauty grown so bright,
That eyes of men can scarcely gaze thereon — Then, when thy new desire at last is won — Then, wilt thou not a little think of me,
Who saved thy life for this felicity ? "
She ceased, and moaning to herself she said : — "Ah! shall I, living underneath the sun,
I wonder, wish for anything again, — Or ever know what pleasure means, and pain ?
— And for these deeds I do ; and thou the first,
O woman, whose young beauty has so cursed
My hapless life, at least I save thee this —
The slow descent to misery from bliss,
With bitter torment growing day by day,
And faint hope lessening till it fades away
Into dull waiting for the certain blow,
MEDEA'S LOVE AND VENGEANCE.
But thou, who nought of coming fate dost know,
One overwhelming fear, one agony,
And in a little minute shalt thou be
Where thou wouldst be in threescore years at most. . . Kindly I deal with thee, mine enemy ;
Since swift forgetfulness to thee I send.
But thou shalt die — his eyes shall see thine end — Ah ! if thy death alone could end it all !
" But ye — shall I behold you when leaves fall, In some sad evening of the autumn tide ?
Or shall I have you sitting by my side
Amidst the feast, so that folk stare and say,
' Sure the gray wolf has seen the queen to-day. ' What !
when I kneel in temples of the Gods, Must I bethink me of the upturned sods,
And hear a voice say : ' Mother, wilt thou come And see us resting in our new-made home,
Since thou wert used to make us lie full soft, Smoothing our pillows many a time and oft ?
O mother, now no dainty food we need,
Whereof thou once wert wont to have such heed. O mother, now we need no gown of gold,
Nor in the winter time do we grow cold ;
Thy hands would bathe us when we were thine own, Now doth the rain wash every shining bone.
No pedagogue we need, for surely heaven
Lies spread above us, with the planets seven,
To teach us all its lore. '
Ah ! day by day Would I have hearkened all the folk would say.
Ah ! in the sweet beginning of your days
Would I have garnered every word of praise.
' What fearless backers of the untamed steed,'
' What matchless spears, what loyal friends at need,' ' What noble hearts, how bountiful and free,'
' How like their father on the troublous sea ! '
" O sons, with what sweet counsels and what tears Would I have hearkened to the hopes and fears
Of your first loves : what rapture had it been
Your dear returning footsteps to have seen
Amidst the happy warriors of the land ;
But now — but now — this is a little hand
Too often kissed since love did first begin
To win such curses as it yet shall win,
When after all bad deeds there comes a worse ; Praise to the Gods ! ye know not how to curse.
76
MEDEA'S LOVE AN© VENGEANCE.
" But when in some dim land we meet again Will ye remember all the loss and pain ?
Will ye the form of children keep for aye
With thoughts of men ? and ' Mother,' will ye say, ' Why didst thou slay us ere we came to know That men die ? hadst thou waited until now,
An easy thing it had been then to die,
For in the thought of immortality
Do children play about the flowery meads, And win their heaven with a crown of weeds. '
" O children ! that I would have died to save, How fair a life of pleasure might ye have,
But for your mother : — nay, for thee, for thee, For thee who might'st have lived so happily ; For thee, O traitor ! who didst bring them here Into this cruel world, this lovely bier
Of youth and love, and joy and happiness, That unforeseeing happy fools still bless. "
Amid these wild words had the evening come Of the last day in that once happy home ;
So, rising, did she take the casket fair,
And gave it to a faithful slave to bear,
With all those wailing words that she had writ To Jason, her love once ; then did she sit
Within that chamber, with her heavy head
Laid on her arms, and scarce more than the dead She moved, for many hours, until at last
A stupor over her some kind God cast, So that she slept, and had forgetfulness A little while from fury and distress.
[The magic robe is put on by his new bride, who is turned to ashes as it takes fire. ]
But what a waking unto him shall be !
And what a load of shameful misery
His life shall bear ! His old love cast away,
His new love dead upon that fearful day, Childless, dishonored, must his days go by.
For in another chamber did there lie
Two little helpless bodies side by side,
Smiling as though in sweet sleep they had died, And feared no ill. And she who thus had slain Those fruits of love, the folk saw not again,
Nor knew where she was gone ; yet she died not, But fleeing, somehow, from that fatal spot,
She came to Athens, and there long did dwell.
JASON AND MEDEA. 77
JASON AND MEDEA. By EURIPIDES. (Translation of E. P. Coleridge. )
[Euhipides : The last of the three Greek tragic poets ; born on the island ' of Salainis in b. c. 480, according to popular tradition, on the day of the famous naval battle. He received instruction in physics from Anaxagoras, in rhetoric from Prodicus, and was on terms of intimate friendship with Socrates. He early devoted his attention to dramatic composition, and at the age of twenty-five obtained a prize for his first tragedy. After a successful career at Athens, he retired for unknown reasons to Magnesia in Thessaly, and thence proceeded to the court of Archelaus, king of Macedonia, where he died in b. c. 405. Of over seventy-five tragedies there have come down to us only eighteen, the best known being: "Alcestis," "Medea," " Hippolytus," "Hecuba," "Andromache," "Iphigenia at Aulis," "Iphigenia among the Tauri," "Electra," "Orestes," "Bacchse. "]
Jason — I am come at thy bidding, for e'en though thy hate for me is bitter thou shalt not fail in this small boon, but I will hear what new request thou hast to make of me, lady.
Medea — Jason, I crave thy pardon for the words I spoke, and well thou mayest brook my burst of passion, for ere now we twain have shared much love. " For I have reasoned with my soul and railed upon me thus : Ah ! poor heart! why am I thus distraught, why so angered 'gainst all good advice, why have I come to hate the rulers of the land, my husband too, who does the best for me he can, in wedding with a princess and rearing for my children noble brothers ? Shall I not cease to fret? What possesses me, when heaven its best doth offer? Have I not my children to consider? do I forget that we are fugitives, in need of friends ? " When I had thought all this, I saw how foolish I had been, how senselessly enraged. So now I do commend thee and think thee most wise in forming this connection for us; but I was mad, I who should have shared in these designs, helped on thy plans, and lent my aid to bring about the match, only too pleased to wait upon thy bride. But what we are, we are, we women, evil I will not say ; wherefore thou shouldst not sink to our sorry level nor with our weapons meet our childishness.
I yield and do confess that I was wrong then, but now have I come to a better mind. Come hither, my children, come, leave the house, step forth, and with me greet and bid farewell to your father, be reconciled from all past bitterness unto your friends, as now your mother is ; for we have made a truce and anger is no more .
78 JASON AND MEDEA.
Enter the Children.
Take his right hand ; ah me ! my sad fate ! when I reflect, as now, upon the hidden future. O my children, since there awaits you even thus a long, long life, stretch forth the hand to take a fond farewell. Ah me ! how new to tears am I, how full of fear! For now that I have at last released me from my quarrel with your father, I let the tear-drops stream adown my tender cheek.
Chorus — From my eyes too bursts forth the copious tear; O, may no greater ill than the present e'er befall!
Jason — Lady, I praise this conduct, not that I blame what is past; for it is but natural to the female sex to vent their spleen against a husband when he traffics in other marriages besides his own. But thy heart is changed to wiser schemes, and thou art determined on the better course, late though it be ; this is acting like a woman of sober sense. And for you, my sons, hath your father provided with all good heed a sure refuge, by God's grace ; for ye, I trow, shall with your brothers share hereafter the foremost rank in this Corinthian realm. Only grow up, for all the rest your sire and whoso of the gods is kind to us is bringing to pass. May I see you reach man's full estate, high o'er the heads of those I hate! But thou, lady, why with fresh tears dost thou thine eyelids wet, turning away thy wan cheek, with no welcome for these my happy tidings ? —
"lis naught; upon these children my thoughts
Medea — I will do so; nor will I doubt thy word; woman is a weak creature, ever given to tears.
Medea were turned.
Jason — Then take heart ; for I will see that it is well with them.
Jason — Why, prithee, unhappy one, dost moan o'er these children ?
Medea — I gave them birth; and when thou didst pray long life for them, pity entered into my soul to think that these things must be. But the reason of thy coming hither to speak with me is partly told, the rest will I now mention. Since it is the pleasure of the rulers of the land to banish me, and well I know 'twere best for me to stand not in the way of thee or of the rulers by dwelling here, enemy as I am thought unto their house, forth from this land in exile am I going ; but
JASON AND MEDEA. 79
these children, — that they may know thy fostering hand, beg Creon to remit their banishment.
Jason — I doubt whether I can persuade him, yet must I attempt it.
Medea — At least do thou bid thy wife ask her sire this boon, to remit the exile of the children from this land.
Jason — Yea, that will I; and her methinks I shall per suade, since she is a woman like the rest.
Medea — I too will aid thee in this task, for by the chil dren's hand I will send to her gifts that far surpass in beauty, I well know, aught that now is seen 'mongst men, a robe of finest tissue and a chaplet of chased gold. But one of my attendants must haste and bring the ornaments hither. Happy shall she be not once alone but ten thousandfold, for in thee she wins the noblest soul to share her love, and gets these gifts as well which on a day my father's sire, the Sun God, bestowed on his descendants. My children, take in your hands these wedding gifts, and bear them as an offering to the royal maid, the happy bride; for verily the gifts she shall receive are not to be scorned.
Jason — But why so rashly rob thyself of these gifts ? Dost think a royal palace wants for robes or gold ? Keep them, nor give them to another. For well I know that if my lady hold me in esteem, she will set my price above all wealth.
Medea — Say not so; 'tis said that gifts tempt even gods; and o'er men's minds gold holds more potent sway than count less words. Fortune smiles upon thy bride, and heaven now doth swell her triumph; youth is hers and princely power; yet to save my children from exile I would barter life, not dross alone. Children, when ye are come to the rich palace, pray your father's new bride, my mistress, with suppliant voice to save you from exile, offering her these ornaments the while; for it is most needful that she receive the gifts in her own hand. Now go and linger not; may ye succeed and to your mother bring back the glad tidings she fain would hear!
Chorus — Gone, gone is every hope I had that the children yet might live; forth to their doom they now proceed. The hapless bride will take, ay, take the golden crown that is to be her ruin ; with her own hand will she lift and place upon her golden locks the garniture of death. Its grace and sheen divine will tempt her to put on the robe and crown of gold, and in that act will she deck herself to be a bride amid the
80 JASON AND MEDEA.
dead. Such is the snare whereinto she will fall, such is the deadly doom that waits the hapless maid, nor shall she from the curse escape. And thou, poor wretch, who to thy sorrow art wedding a king's daughter, little thinkest of the doom thou art bringing on thy children's life, or of the cruel death that waits thy bride.
Next do I bewail thy sorrows, O mother hapless in thy children, thou who wilt slay thy babes because thou hast a rival, the babes thy husband hath deserted impiously to join him to another bride.
Attendant — Thy children, lady, are from exile freed, and gladly did the royal bride accept thy gifts in her own hands, and so thy children made their peace with her.
Medea — Ah !
Attendant — Why art so disquieted in thy prosperous hour ? Why turnest thou thy cheek away, and hast no welcome for my glad news ?
Attendant — These groans but ill accord with the news I
Woe is thee ! how art thou fallen from thy high estate !
Medea — Ah me !
bring.
Medea — Ah me ! once more I say.
Attendant — Have I unwittingly announced some evil tid
ings ? Have I erred in thinking my news was good ?
I blame thee not.
Attendant — Then why this downcast eye, these floods of
Medea —Thy news is as it is;
tears?
Medea — Old friend, needs must I weep; for the gods and
I with fell intent devised these schemes.
Attendant — Be of good cheer; thou too of a surety shalt
by thy sons yet be brought home again.
Medea — Ere that shall I bring others to their home, ah!
woe is me!
Attendant — Thou art not the only mother from thy chil
dren reft. Bear patiently thy troubles as a mortal must. Medea — I will obey; go thou within the house and make the day's provision for the children. O my babes, my babes,
ye have still a city and a home, where far from me and my sad lot you will live your lives, reft of your mother forever; while I must to another land in banishment, or ever I have had my joy of you, or lived to see you happy, or ever I have graced
your marriage
couch, your bride, your bridal bower, or lifted
JASON AND MEDEA. 81
high the wedding torch. Ah me! a victim of my own self- will. So it was all in vain I reared you, O my sons ; in vain did suffer, racked with anguish, enduring the cruel pangs of childbirth. 'Fore Heaven I once had hope, poor me! high hope of ye that you would nurse me in my age and deck my corpse with loving hands, a boon we mortals covet ; but now is my sweet fancy dead and gone ; for I must lose you both and in bitterness and sorrow drag through life. And ye shall never with fond eyes see your mother more, for o'er your life there comes a change. Ah me! ah me! why do ye look at me so, my children? why smile that last sweet smile? Ah me! what am I to do? My heart gives way when I behold my children's laughing eyes. O, I cannot; farewell to all my former schemes; I will take the children from the land, the babes I bore. Why should I wound their sire by wounding them, and get me a twofold measure of sorrow? No, no, I will not do it. Farewell my scheming! And yet what am I coming to? Can I consent to let those foes of mine escape from punishment, and incur their mockery ? I must face this deed. Out upon my craven heart ! to think that I should even have let the soft words escape my soul. Into the house, children ! and whoso feels he must not be present at my sacrifice, must see to it himself; I will not spoil my handiwork. Ah! ah! do not, my heart, O do not do this deed! Let the children go, unhappy lady, spare thy babes ! For if they live, they will cheer thee in thy exile there. Nay, by the fiends of hell's abyss, never, never will I hand my children over to their foes to mock and flout. Die they must in any case, and since 'tis so, why I, the mother who bore them, will give the fatal blow. In any case their doom is fixed and there is no escape. Already the crown is on her head, the robe is round her, and she is dying, the royal bride ; that do I know full well. But now since I have a piteous path to tread, and yet more piteous still the path I send my children on, fain would I say farewell to them. O my babes, my babes, let your mother kiss your hands. Ah ! hands I love so well, O lips most dear to me ! O noble form and features of my children, I wish ye joy, but in that other land, for here your father robs you of your home. O the sweet embrace, the soft young cheek,
I cannot bear to longer look upon ye ; my sorrow wins the day. At last I under
the fragrant breath ! my children ! Go, leave me ;
stand the awful deed I am to do ; but passion, that cause of direst woes to mortal man, hath triumphed o'er my sober thoughts.
vol. n. —6
82 JASON AND MEDEA.
Chorus — Oft ere now have I pursued subtler themes and have faced graver issues than woman's sex should seek to probe; but then e'en we aspire to culture, which dwells with us to teach us wisdom; I say not all; for small is the class amongst women — (one maybe shalt thou find 'mid many) — that is not incapable of culture. And amongst mortals I do assert that they who are wholly without experience and have never had children far surpass in happiness those who are parents. The childless, because they have never proved whether children grow up to be a blessing or curse to men, are removed from all share in many troubles; whilst those who have a sweet race of children growing up in their houses do
I perceive, their whole life through; first with the thought how they may train them up in virtue, next how they shall leave their sons the means to live; and after all this 'tis far from clear whether on good or bad children they bestow their toil. But one last crowning woe for every mortal man I now will name; suppose that they have found sufficient means to live, and seen their children grow to man's estate and walk in virtue's path, still if fortune so befall, comes Death and bears the children's bodies off to Hades. Can it be any profit to the gods to heap upon us mortal men besides our other woes this further grief for children lost, a grief surpass ing all?
wear away, as
Medea — Kind friends, long have I waited expectantly to
know how things would at the palace chance. And lo !
one of Jason's servants coming hither, whose hurried gasps for breath proclaim him the bearer of some fresh tidings.
Messenger — Fly, fly, Medea! who hast wrought an awful deed, transgressing every law; nor leave behind or sea-borne bark or car that scours the plain.
Medea — Why, what hath chanced that calls for such a flight of mine ?
Messenger — The princess is dead, a moment gone, and Creon too, her sire, slain by those drugs of thine.
Medea — Tidings most fair are thine! Henceforth shalt thou be ranked amongst my friends and benefactors.
Messenger — Ha ! What ? Art sane ? Art not distraught, lady, who hearest with joy the outrage to our royal house done, and art not at the horrid tale afraid ?
Medea —Somewhat have I, too, to say in answer to thy words. Be not so hasty, friend, but tell the manner of their
I see
JASON AND MEDEA. 88
death, for thou wouldst give me double joy, if so they perished miserably. —
Messenger When the children twain whom thou didst bear came with their father and entered the palace of the bride, right glad were we thralls who had shared thy griefs, for instantly from ear to ear a rumor spread that thou and thy lord had made up your former quarrel. One kissed thy children's hands, another their golden hair, while I for very joy went with them in person to the women's chambers. Our mistress, whom now we do revere in thy room, cast a longing glance at Jason, ere she saw thy children twain ; but then she veiled her eyes and turned her blanching cheek away, disgusted at their coming ; but thy husband tried to check his young bride's angry humor with these words: "O, be not angered 'gainst thy friends; cease from wrath and turn once more thy face this way, counting as friends whomso thy husband counts, and accept these gifts, and for my sake crave thy sire to remit these children's exile. " Soon as she saw the ornaments, no longer she held out, but yielded to her lord in all ; and ere the father and his sons were far from the palace gone, she took the broidered robe and put it on, and set the golden crown about her tresses, arranging her hair at her bright mirror, with many a happy smile at her breathless counterfeit. Then rising from her seat she passed across the chamber, tripping lightly on her fair white foot, exulting in the gift, with many a glance at her uplifted ankle. When lo! a scene of awful horror did ensue. In a moment she turned pale, reeled backwards, trembling in every limb, and sank upon a seat scarce soon enough to save herself from falling to the ground. An aged dame, one of her company, thinking belike it was a fit from Pan or some god sent, raised a cry of prayer, till from her mouth she saw the foam flakes issue, her eyeballs rolling in their sockets, and all the blood her face desert; then did she raise a loud scream far different from her former cry. Forthwith one handmaid rushed to her father's house, another to her new bridegroom to tell his bride's sad fate, and the whole house echoed with their running to and fro. By this time would a quick walker have made the turn in a course of six plethra and reached the goal, when she with one awful shriek awoke, poor sufferer, from her speechless trance and oped her closed eyes, for against her a twofold anguish was warring.