The Greatest Christmas Books of All Time. Люси Мод Монтгомери

Whose, thou know'st.

      Nurse.

       And dost thou still delay?

      Medea.

       I go, but vengeance first.

      Nurse.

       Th' avenger will pursue.

      Medea.

       Perchance I'll stop his course.

      Nurse.

       Nay, hold thy words and cease thy threats, O foolish one.

       Thy temper curb; 'tis well to yield to fate's decrees.

      Medea.

       Though fate may strip me of my all, myself am left.

       But who flings wide the royal palace doors? Behold,

       'Tis Creon's self, exalted high in Grecian sway.

       [Medea retires to the back of the stage.

      Creon.

       [As he enters.] Medea, baleful daughter of the Colchian king, Has not yet taken her hateful presence from our realm. On mischief is she bent; well known her treacherous power. For who escapes her? Who may pass his days in peace? This cursed pestilence at once would I have stayed By force of arms: but Jason's prayers prevailed. She still May live, but let her free my borders from the fear Her presence genders, and her safety gain by flight. [He sees Medea approaching.]

      But lo, she comes with fierce and threatening mien to seek

       An audience with us.

       Slaves! defend us from her touch

       And pestilential presence! Bid her silence keep,

       And learn at length obedience to the king's

       Commands.

      [To Medea.] Go, speed thy flight, thou thing of evil, fell And monstrous!

      Medea.

       What the crime, my lord, or what the guilt

       That merits exile?

      Creon.

       Let the guiltless question thus.

      Medea.

       If now thou judgest, hear me; if thou reign'st, command.

      Creon.

       The king's command thou must obey, nor question aught.

      Medea.

       Unrighteous kingdoms never long endure.

      Creon.

       Go, bear

       Thy plaints to Colchis.

      Medea.

       Yea, but let him take me hence

       Who brought me to thy shores.

      Creon.

       Too late thy prayer, for fixed

       Is my decree.

      Medea.

       Who sits in judgment and denies

       His ear to either suitor, though his judgment right

       Appear, is still himself unrighteous.

      Creon.

       Didst thou lend Thine ear to Pelias, ere thou judgedst him to death?— But come, I'll give thee grace to plead thy goodly cause.

      Medea.

       How hard the task to turn the soul from wrath, when once

       To wrath inclined; how 'tis the creed of sceptered kings

       To swerve not from the proposed course they once have taken,

       Full well I know, for I have tasted royalty.

       For, though by present storms of ill I'm overwhelmed,

       An exile, suppliant, lone, forsaken, all undone,

       I once in happier times a royal princess shone,

       And traced my proud descent from heavenly Phoebus' self.

       Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine,

       Who now must sue.—

       O changeful Fortune, thou my throne

       Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead.

       Trust not in kingly realms, since fickle chance may strew

       Their treasures to the winds. Lo this is regal, this The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo: To succor the afflicted, to provide at need A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown, This very flower of fame—that by my arts I saved The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods. My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard, Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt The crag's hard heart. Mine too are Boreas' winged sons, And Leda's heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he Whose glance can pierce the distant view; yea, all the Greeks, Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings, The leader of the leaders: he is mine alone, My labor's recompense. The rest I give to you. Nay, come, O king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes. But stay! for I'll confess them all. The only crime Of which I stand accused is this—the Argo saved. Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed; Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand: Then had the mighty chieftains fall'n, and in their fate All Greece had been o'erwhelmed; then this thy son-in-law Had felt the bull's consuming breath, and perished there. Nay, nay, let Fortune when she will my doom decree; I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me. But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin, But give him back for whom I sinned. O Creon, see, I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know, When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant, And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency. Some little corner of thy kingdom now I ask In which to hide my grief. If I must flee again, O let some nook remote within thy broad domain Be found for me!

      Creon claims to have been merciful in having shielded Jason and Medea all these years from the just resentment of the king of Thessaly. Jason's cause would be easy enough to defend, for he has been innocent of guilt; but it is impossible longer to shield Medea, who has committed so many bloody deeds in the past, and is capable of doing the like again.

      Creon.

       Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain;

       Bear with thee in thy flight thy fatal poisons; free

       The state from fear; abiding in some other land,

       Outwear the patience of the gods.

      Medea.

       Thou bidst me flee?

       Then give me back my bark in which to flee. Restore

       The partner of my flight. Why should I flee alone?

       I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear'st,

       Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me

       From Jason? 'Twas for him old Pelias was o'ercome;

       For him the flight, the plunder of my father's realm,

       My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain,

       And all the guilt that love suggests; 'twas all for him.

       Deep-dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul

       The sin of profit lieth not.

      Creon.

       Why seek delay

       By speech? Too long thou tarriest.

      Medea.

       I go, but grant

       This last request: let not