The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 45

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, b.l.o.o.d.y 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._]