Part 7

Till the Dark Blue Bar was crossed; And, lo, by an alien river Standing, thy lover lost, Void-armed for ever,

Forth yet again, O lowest Of landless women, a ranger Of desolate ways, thou goest, From the walls of the stranger.

Others.

And the great Oath waxeth weak; And Ruth, as a thing outstriven, Is fled, fled, from the shores of the Greek, Away on the winds of heaven.

Dark is the house afar, Where an old king called thee daughter; All that was once thy star In stormy water,

Dark: and, lo, in the nearer House that was sworn to love thee, Another, queenlier, dearer, Is throned above thee.

Enter from the right JASON.

JASON.

Oft have I seen, in other days than these, How a dark temper maketh maladies No friend can heal. 'Twas easy to have kept Both land and home. It needed but to accept Unstrivingly the pleasure of our lords. But thou, for mere delight in stormy words, Wilt lose all! . . . Now thy speech provokes not me. Rail on. Of all mankind let Jason be Most evil; none shall check thee. But for these Dark threats cast out against the majesties Of Corinth, count as veriest gain thy path Of exile. I myself, when princely wrath Was hot against thee, strove with all good will To appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee still Beside me. But thy mouth would never stay From vanity, blaspheming night and day Our masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land. Yet, even so, I will not hold my hand From succouring mine own people. Here am I To help thee, woman, pondering heedfully Thy new state. For I would not have thee flung Provisionless away--aye, and the young Children as well; nor lacking aught that will Of mine can bring thee. Many a lesser ill Hangs on the heels of exile. . . . Aye, and though Thou hate me, dream not that my heart can know Or fashion aught of angry will to thee.

MEDEA.

Evil, most evil! . . . since thou grantest me That comfort, the worst weapon left me now To smite a coward. . . . Thou comest to me, thou, Mine enemy! (Turning to the CHORUS.) Oh, say, how call ye this, To face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss Betrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these: 'Tis but of all man's inward sicknesses The vilest, that he knoweth not of shame Nor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . . To me it shall bring comfort, once to clear My heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear. I will begin with that, 'twixt me and thee, That first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee-- Let thine own Greeks be witness, every one That sailed on Argo--saved thee, sent alone To yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath, And sow that Acre of the Lords of Death; And mine own ancient Serpent, who did keep The Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep, And shining coils, him also did I smite Dead for thy sake, and lifted up the light That bade thee live. Myself, uncounselled, Stole forth from father and from home, and fled Where dark Iolcos under Pelion lies, With thee--Oh, single-hearted more than wise! I murdered Pelias, yea, in agony, By his own daughters' hands, for sake of thee; I swept their house like War.--And hast thou then Accepted all--O evil yet again!-- And cast me off and taken thee for bride Another? And with children at thy side! One could forgive a childless man. But no: I have borne thee children . . . Is sworn faith so low And weak a thing? I understand it not. Are the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot, And new laws made? Since not my passioning, But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing Forsworn.

Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom he Did cling to, and these knees, so cravingly, We are unclean, thou and I; we have caught the stain Of bad men's flesh . . . and dreamed our dreams in vain. Thou comest to befriend me? Give me, then, Thy counsel. 'Tis not that I dream again For good from thee: but, questioned, thou wilt show The viler. Say: now whither shall I go? Back to my father? Him I did betray, And all his land, when we two fled away. To those poor Peliad maids? For them 'twere good To take me in, who spilled their father's blood. . . . Aye, so my whole life stands! There were at home Who loved me well: to them I am become A curse. And the first friends who sheltered me, Whom most I should have spared, to pleasure thee I have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laid My crown upon me, blest of many a maid In Hellas, now I have won what all did crave, Thee, the world-wondered lover and the brave; Who this day looks and sees me banished, thrown Away with these two babes, all, all, alone . . . Oh, merry mocking when the lamps are red: "Where go the bridegroom's babes to beg their bread In exile, and the woman who gave all To save him?" O great God, shall gold withal Bear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine, And o'er man's living visage runs no sign To show the lie within, ere all too late?

LEADER.

Dire and beyond all healing is the hate When hearts that loved are turned to enmity.

JASON.

In speech at least, meseemeth, I must be Not evil; but, as some old pilot goes Furled to his sail's last edge, when danger blows Too fiery, run before the wind and swell, Woman, of thy loud storms.--And thus I tell My tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous high Thy deeds of service in my jeopardy, To all my crew and quest I know but one Saviour, of Gods or mortals one alone, The Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit, Yet underneath . . . nay, all the tale of it Were graceless telling; how sheer love, a fire Of poison-shafts, compelled thee with desire To save me. But enough. I will not score That count too close. 'Twas good help: and therefor I give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought. Howbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast got Far more than given. A good Greek land hath been Thy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seen Our ordered life, and justice, and the long Still grasp of law not changing with the strong Man's pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and near Hath learned thy wisdom, and in every ear Thy fame is. Had thy days run by unseen On that last edge of the world, where then had been The story of great Medea? Thou and I . . . What worth to us were treasures heaped high In rich kings' rooms; what worth a voice of gold More sweet than ever rang from Orpheus old, Unless our deeds have glory? Speak I so, Touching the Quest I wrought, thyself did throw The challenge down. Next for thy cavilling Of wrath at mine alliance with a king, Here thou shalt see I both was wise, and free From touch of passion, and a friend to thee Most potent, and my children . . . Nay, be still! When first I stood in Corinth, clogged with ill From many a desperate mischance, what bliss Could I that day have dreamed of, like to this, To wed with a king's daughter, I exiled And beggared? Not--what makes thy passion wild-- From loathing of thy bed; not over-fraught With love for this new bride; not that I sought To upbuild mine house with offspring: 'tis enough, What thou hast borne: I make no word thereof: But, first and greatest, that we all might dwell In a fair house and want not, knowing well That poor men have no friends, but far and near Shunning and silence. Next, I sought to rear Our sons in nurture worthy of my race, And, raising brethren to them, in one place Join both my houses, and be all from now Prince-like and happy. What more need hast thou Of children? And for me, it serves my star To link in strength the children that now are With those that shall be. Have I counselled ill? Not thine own self would say it, couldst thou still One hour thy jealous flesh.--'Tis ever so! Who looks for more in women? When the flow Of love runs plain, why, all the world is fair: But, once there fall some ill chance anywhere To baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trod Men's dearest aims and noblest. Would to God We mortals by some other seed could raise Our fruits, and no blind women block our ways! Then had there been no curse to wreck mankind.

LEADER.

Lord Jason, very subtly hast thou twined Thy speech: but yet, though all athwart thy will I speak, this is not well thou dost, but ill, Betraying her who loved thee and was true.

MEDEA.

Surely I have my thoughts, and not a few Have held me strange. To me it seemeth, when A crafty tongue is given to evil men 'Tis like to wreck, not help them. Their own brain Tempts them with lies to dare and dare again, Till . . . no man hath enough of subtlety. As thou--be not so seeming-fair to me Nor deft of speech. One word will make thee fall. Wert thou not false, 'twas thine to tell me all, And charge me help thy marriage path, as I Did love thee; not befool me with a lie.

JASON.

An easy task had that been! Aye, and thou A loving aid, who canst not, even now, Still that loud heart that surges like the tide!

MEDEA.

That moved thee not. Thine old barbarian bride, The dog out of the east who loved thee sore, She grew grey-haired, she served thy pride no more.

JASON.

Now understand for once! The girl to me Is nothing, in this web of sovranty I hold. I do but seek to save, even yet, Thee: and for brethren to our sons beget Young kings, to prosper all our lives again.

MEDEA.

God shelter me from prosperous days of pain, And wealth that maketh wounds about my heart.