The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 24

[MEDEA _leads the reluctant_ GORA _away, whispering words of comfort as they go._ JASON _throws himself on a gra.s.s-bank, and strikes his breast._]

JASON. O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house, And drink the air!-- Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth's lofty towers, Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand, The cradle of my happy, golden youth!

Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun As then. 'Tis I am altered, and not they.

Ye G.o.ds! The morning of my life was bright And sunny; wherefore is my eventide So dark and gloomy? Would that it were night!

[MEDEA _has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them by the hand to_ JASON.]

MEDEA. See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee.

Come, children, give your sire your little hands.

[_The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side._]

JASON (_stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group._)

Is this the end, then? Do I find myself Husband and father of a savage brood?

MEDEA. Go, children.

ONE CHILD. Father, is it true thou art A Greek?

JASON. And why?

CHILD. Old Gora says thou art, And calls the Greeks bad names.

JASON. What names, my boy?

CHILD. Traitors she says they are, and cowards, too.

JASON (_to_ MEDEA).

Dost hear?

MEDEA. 'Tis Gora's foolish tales that they Have heard, and treasured, child-like. Mark them not.

[_She kneels beside the two children, whispering in the ear now of one, now of the other._]

JASON. I will not.

[_He rises from the gra.s.s._]

There she kneels--unhappy fate!-- Bearing two burdens, hers, and mine as well.

[_He paces up and down, then addresses_ MEDEA.]

There, leave the babes awhile, and come to me.

MEDEA (_to the children_).

Now go, and be good children. Go, I say.

[_The children go._]

JASON. Think not, Medea, I am cold and hard.

I feel thy grief as deeply as mine own.

Thou'rt a brave comrade, and dost toil as truly As I to roll away this heavy stone That, ever falling backwards, blocks all paths, All roads to hope. And whether thou'rt to blame, Or I, it matters not. What's done is done.

[_He clasps her hands in one of his, and with the other lovingly strokes her brow._]

Thou lov'st me still, I know it well, Medea.

In thine own way, 'tis true; but yet thou lov'st me.

And not this fond glance only--all thy deeds Tell the same tale of thine unending love.

[MEDEA _hides her face on his shoulder._]

I know how many griefs bow this dear head, How love and pity in thy bosom sit Enthroned.--Come, let us counsel now together How we may 'scape this onward-pressing fate That threatens us so near. Here Corinth lies; Hither, long years agone, a lonely youth, I wandered, fleeing my uncle's wrath and hate; And Creon, king of Corinth, took me in,-- A guest-friend was he of my father's house-- And cherished me ev'n as a well-loved son.

Full many a year I dwelt here, safe and happy.

And now--

MEDEA. Thou'rt silent!

JASON. Now, when all the world Flouts me, avoids me, now, when each man's hand In blind, unreasoning rage is raised to strike, I hope to find a refuge with this king.-- One fear I have, though, and no idle one.

MEDEA. And what is that?

JASON. Me he will shelter safe-- That I hold certain--and my children, too, For they are mine. But thee--

MEDEA. Nay, have no fear.

If he take them, as being thine, then me, Who am thine as well, he will not cast away.

JASON. Hast thou forgotten all that lately chanced There in my home-land, in my uncle's house, When first I brought thee from dark Colchis' sh.o.r.es?

Hast thou forgot the scorn, the black distrust In each Greek visage when it looked on thee, A dark barbarian from a stranger-land?

They cannot know thee as I do,--true wife And mother of my babes;--homekeepers they, Nor e'er set foot on Colchis' magic strand As I.

MEDEA. A bitter speech. What is the end?

JASON. The worst misfortune of mankind is this: Calm and serene and unconcerned to court Fate's heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen, To whine and cringe, bewailing one's sad lot.-- Such folly we will none of, thou and I.

For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim My right as guest-friend, and to clear away These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.-- Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence Without the city walls. There wait, until--

MEDEA. Till when?

JASON. Until--Why hidest thou thy face?

MEDEA. Ah, say no more! This is that bitter fate Whereof my father warned me! Said he not We should torment each other, thou and I?

But no!--My spirit is not broken yet!

All that I was, all that I had, is gone, Save this: I am thy wife! To that I'll cling Even to death.

JASON. Why twist my kindly words To a false meaning that I never dreamed of?