The Greatest Christmas Books of All Time. Люси Мод Монтгомери

A greater than the king is here:

       Medea. Set us front to front, and let us strive;

       And of this royal strife let Jason be the prize.

      Jason.

       Outwearied by my woes I yield. But be thou ware,

       Medea, lest too often thou shouldst tempt thy fate.

      Medea.

       Yet Fortune's mistress have I ever been.

      Jason.

       But see

       With hostile front Acastus comes, on vengeance bent,

       While Creon threatens instant death.

      Medea.

       Then flee them both.

       I ask thee not to draw thy sword against the king,

       Nor yet to stain thy pious hands with kindred blood.

       Come, flee with me.

      Jason.

       But what resistance can we make,

       If war with double visage rear his horrid front—

       If Creon and Acastus join in common cause?

      Medea.

       Add, too, the Colchian armies with my father's self

       To lead them; join the Scythian and Pelasgian hordes.

       In one deep grief of ruin will I whelm them all.

      Jason.

       Yet on the scepter do I look with fear.

      Medea.

       Beware,

       Lest not the fear, but lust of power prevail with thee.

      Jason.

       Too long we strive: have done, lest we suspicion breed.

      Medea.

       Now Jove, throughout thy heavens let the thunders roll!

       Thy mighty arm make bare! Thy darting flames

       Of vengeance loose, and shake the lofty firmament

       With rending storms! At random hurl thy vengeful bolts,

       Selecting neither me nor Jason with thy aim,

       That thus whoever falls may perish with the brand

       Of guilt upon him. For thy hurtling darts can take

       No erring flight.

      Jason.

       Recall thee and in calmness speak

       With words of peace and reason. Then if any gift

       From Creon's royal house can compensate thy woes,

       Take that as solace of thy flight.

      Medea.

       My soul doth scorn

       The wealth of kings. But let me have my little ones

       As comrades of my flight, that in their childish breasts

       Their mother's tears may flow. New sons await thy home.

      Jason.

       My heart inclines to yield to thee, but love forbids.

       For these my sons shall never from my arms be reft,

       Though Creon's self demand. My very spring of life,

       My sore heart's comfort and my joy are these my sons;

       And sooner could I part with limbs or vital breath,

       Or light of life.

      Medea.

       [Aside.] Doth he thus love his sons? 'Tis well; Then is he bound, and in his armored strength this flaw Reveals the place to strike.

      Here, apparently, is the first suggestion to Medea of the most terrible part of the revenge which she was to take upon Jason. The obvious revenge upon Creon and his daughter, as well as upon her husband, Medea had already foreshadowed in her opening words; but her deadly passion had not yet been aimed at her children. It is true that twice she had bitterly renounced them, once to the nurse, and again but now to Jason himself, since they were Jason's also, and were likely now to be brothers to the sons of her hated rival; nevertheless her mother-love still is strong. But now, by Jason's unfortunate emphasis upon the love he bears his sons, she sees a chance to obtain that measure of revenge which in her heart she has already resolved to find. And yet this thought is so terrible to her that, even though we see her shape her present course in reference to it, it is evident that she gives it no more than a subconscious existence.

      But now she resolves to conceal her purposes of revenge and overcome Jason with guile, and thus addresses him:

      At least ere I depart

       Grant me this last request: let me once more embrace

       My sons. E'en that small boon will comfort my sad heart.

       And this my latest prayer to thee: if, in my grief,

       My tongue was over-bold, let not my words remain

       To rankle in thy heart. Remember happier things

       Of me, and let my bitter words be straight forgot.

      Jason is completely deceived, as Creon had been, by Medea's seeming humility, as if, indeed, a passionate nature like hers, inflamed by wrongs like hers, could be restrained and tamed by a few calm words of advice! He says: advice! He says:

      Not one shall linger in my soul; and curb, I pray,

       Thy too impetuous heart, and gently yield to fate.

       For resignation ever soothes the woful soul.

      [Exit Jason.

      As Jason leaves her, calmly satisfied with this disposition of affairs, with no recognition of his wife's great sufferings, the thought of this adds fresh fuel to her passion.

      He's gone! And can it be? And shall he thus depart,

       Forgetting me and all my service? Must I drop,

       Like some discarded toy, out of his faithless heart?

       It shall not be. Up then, and summon all thy strength

       And all thy skill! And this, the fruit of former crime,

       Count nothing criminal that works thy will!

       But lo,

       We're hedged about; scant room is left for our designs.

       Now must the attack be made where least suspicion makes

       The least resistance. Now Medea, on! And do,

       And dare thine utmost, yea, beyond thy utmost power!

       [To the Nurse.] Do thou, my faithful nurse, the comrade of my grief, And all the devious wanderings of my checkered course, Assist me now in these my plans. There is a robe, The glory of our Colchian realm, the precious gift Of Phoebus' self to King Æëtes as a proof Of fatherhood; a gleaming circlet, too, all wrought With threads of gold, the yellow gold bespangled o'er With gems, a fitting crown to deck a princess' head. These treasures let Medea's children bear as gifts To Jason's bride. But first imbue them with the power Of magic, and invoke the aid of Hecate; The woe-producing sacrifices then prepare, And let the sacred flames through all our courts resound.

      The chorus, which is supposed to be present throughout the play, an interested though inactive witness of all that passes, has already been seen to be a partisan of Jason, and hostile to Medea. It now sings a choral interlude opening on the text "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," and continuing with a prayer for Jason's safety. It then recounts the individual history of Jason's companions subsequent to the Argonautic expedition, showing how almost all came to an untimely end. These might indeed be said to