The Greatest Christmas Books of All Time. Люси Мод Монтгомери
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death, my guilty soul
Must perjured be. I fear no power that man can wield,
But in my heart paternal love unmans me quite;
For well I know that in my death my children's fate
Is sealed. O sacred Justice, if in heaven thou dwell'st,
Be witness now that for my children's sake I act.
Nay, sure am I that even she, Medea's self,
Though fierce she is of soul, and brooking no restraint,
Will see her children's good outweighing all her wrongs.
With this good argument my purpose now is fixed,
In humble wise to brave her wrath.
[Re-enter Medea.] But lo! at sight Of me her fury flames anew! Hate, like a shield, She bears, and in her face is pictured all her woe.
But Medea's passion has for the moment spent itself. She is now no sorceress, no mad woman breathing out dreadful threatenings; but only the forsaken wife, indignant, indeed, but pathetic in her appeals for sympathy and help from him for whose sake she had given up all her maiden glory, and broken every tie that held her to the past. Her quiet self-control is in marked contrast to her recent ravings.
Medea.
Thou seest, Jason, that we flee. 'Tis no new thing
To suffer exile; but the cause of flight is strange;
For with thee I was wont to flee, not from thee. Yes,
I go; but whither dost thou send me whom thou driv'st
From out thy home? Shall I the Colchians seek again,
My royal father's realm whose soil is steeped in blood
My brother shed? What country dost thou bid me seek?
What way by sea is open? Shall I fare again
Where once I saved the noble kings of Greece and thee,
Thou wanton, through the threatening jaws of Pontus' strait,
The blue Symplegades? Or shall I hie me back
To fair Thessalia's realms? Lo, all the doors which I,
For thee, have opened wide, I've closed upon myself.
But whither dost thou send me now? Thou bidd'st me flee,
But show'st no way or means of flight.
[In bitter sarcasm.] But 'tis enough: The king's own son-in-law commands, and I obey. Come, heap thy torments on me; I deserve them all. Let royal wrath oppress me, wanton that I am, With cruel hand, and load my guilty limbs with chains; And let me be immured in dungeons black as night: Still will my punishment be less than my offense.— O ingrate! Hast thou then forgot the brazen bull, And his consuming breath? the fear that smote thee, when, Upon the field of Mars, the earth-born brood stood forth To meet thy single sword? 'Twas by my arts that they, The monsters, fell by mutual blows. Remember, too, The long-sought fleece of gold I won for thee, whose guard, The dragon huge, was lulled to rest at my command; My brother slain for thee. For thee old Pelias fell, When, taken by my guile, his daughters slew their sire, Whose life could not return. All this I did for thee. In quest of thine advantage have I quite forgot Mine own. And now, by all thy fond paternal hopes, By thine established house, by all the monsters slain For thee, by these my hands which I have ever held To work thy will, by all the perils past, by heaven, And sea that witnessed at my wedlock—pity me! Since thou art blessed, restore me what I lost for thee: That countless treasure plundered from the swarthy tribes Of India, which filled our goodly vaults with wealth, And decked our very trees with gold. This costly store I left for thee, my native land, my brother, sire, My reputation—all; and with this dower I came. If now to homeless exile thou dost send me forth, Give back the countless treasures which I left for thee.
And now again we have a situation which only the quick, sharp flashes, the clash of words like steel on steel, can relieve. Here is no chance for long periods, nor flights of oratory; but sentences as short and sharp as swords, flashes of feeling, stinging epigrams.
Jason.
Though Creon, in a vengeful mood, would have thy life,
I moved him by my tears to grant thee flight instead.
Medea.
I thought my exile punishment; 'tis now, I see,
A gracious boon!
Jason.
O flee, while still the respite holds.
Provoke him not, for deadly is the wrath of kings.
Medea.
Not so. 'Tis for Creüsa's love thou sayest this;
Thou wouldst remove the hated wanton once thy wife.
Jason.
Dost thou reproach me with a guilty love?
Medea.
Yea, that,
And murder too, and treachery.
Jason.
But name me now,
If so thou canst, the crimes that I have done.
Medea.
Thy crimes—
Whatever I have done.
Jason.
Why then, in truth, thy guilt
Must all be mine, if all thy crimes are mine.
Medea.
They are,
They are all thine: for who by sin advantage gains
Commits the sin. All men proclaim thy wife defiled;
Do thou thyself protect her and condone her sins.
Let her be guiltless in thine eyes who for thy gain
Has sinned.
Jason.
But gifts which sin has brought 'twere shame to take.
Medea.
Why keep'st thou then the gifts which it were shame to take?
Jason.
Nay, curb thy fiery soul! Thy children—for their sake
Be calm.
Medea.
My children! Them I do refuse, reject,
Renounce! Shall then Creüsa brothers bear to these
My children?
Jason.
But the queen can aid thy wretched sons.
Medea.
May that day never dawn, that day of shame and woe,
When in one house are joined the low-born and the high,
The sons of that foul robber Sisyphus, and these
The sons of Phoebus.
Jason.
Wretched one, and wilt thou, then
Involve me also in thy fall? Begone, I pray.
Medea.
The king hath yielded to my prayer.
Jason.
What wouldst thou then?
Medea.
Of thee? I'd have thee dare the law.
Jason.
The royal power
Doth compass me.
Medea.