ACT IV

[_On the field before Thebes, between the battle lines._]

_Jocasta_ [_kneeling between her two hostile sons_]: 'Gainst me your arms and blazing torches turn; 'Gainst me alone let every warrior rush, Who comes from Argos thirsting for the fray, And they who from the citadel of Thebes 445 Come down to battle. Friend and foe, alike, Attack this womb of mine which brothers bore Unto my husband. Rend me limb from limb, And scatter me abroad upon the plain. I bore you both--will you lay down your arms? Or shall I say from whom I bore you, too? Give me your hands while still they are unstained. 450 'Till now 'twas all unwittingly you sinned; 'Twas fortune's crime, who ever 'gainst our peace Delights to plot. But this impiety Is done with fullest knowledge of your sin. Within your power lies whichsoe'er you will: 455 If filial love, then grant your mother peace; If crime, then must you do a greater crime. Your mother stands between you, blocks your way; Have done with war or with the war's delay. To which of you in fond anxiety Shall I address my prayers? Whom first embrace? 460 My heart with equal love is drawn to both. [_Turning to_ Polynices.] This son has wandered far away from me; But if the compact of the brothers holds, This other son must wander too. Alas, And shall I never see you both again, Except in enmity? Do thou come first Into thy mother's arms, who hast endured So many toils, so many miseries, 465 And, worn with weary exile, see'st at last Thy mother's face. Come nearer to me here. Now sheathe thine impious sword; and this thy spear, Which even now is quivering with hate And eager to be thrown, thrust in the ground. Put by thy shield as well; it keeps me off 470 From folding thee unto my mother-breast. Unbind thy brow, and from thy warlike head Thy helm remove and let me see thy face. Why dost thou turn away, and fix thine eyes With timid gaze upon thy brother's band? I'll throw my arms about thee for a shield, 475 That through my body only may the sword Find passage to thy blood. Why hesitate? Can it be that thou dost fear thy mother's pledge?

_Polynices:_ I fear; for nature's laws no longer hold. Since I have known a brother's faithlessness, I scarce can trust my mother's plighted word. 480

_Jocasta:_ Then lay thy hand upon the sword again, Bind on thy helmet, take again thy shield; And while thy brother doth his arms remove, Remain thou armed. [_To_ Eteocles.] Do thou lay by thy sword, Who first didst cause the weapon to be drawn. If peace is hateful to thee, if in war Thou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truce 485 Thy mother begs of thee, that on her sons, Returned but now from exile, she may print A kiss of love, the first--perchance the last. While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed. Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn? But I do fear you both, and for you both. Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword? Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war, 490 Of which the best end is to be o'ercome. And dost thou fear thy hostile brother's wiles? If one must on his brother work deceit Or suffer it himself, 'tis better far To be the victim of the treachery Than to perform the crime. But fear thou not; 495 For I will shield thee from all sudden snares. Do I prevail with thee? Or must I grudge Thy father's blindness? Have I hither come To check an impious crime, or see it done Before my very eyes? [Eteocles _yields to her_.] He sheathes his sword, And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans. [_She turns to_ Polynices.] And now to thee, O son, thy mother turns 500 With prayers and tears. At last I see thy face Which long have I desired and prayed to see. Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland, The household of a foreign king protects; O'er many seas, by many chances driven, Thou'rt still a wanderer. It was not mine With stately train to lead thee to thy bride, 505 With my own hand to deck the festal halls, And with sacred fillets wreathe thy wedding torch. The father of thy bride no wedding gifts, No wealth of gold, has given, no fields, no towns; Thy only gift is war. A foeman's son 510 Hast thou become, far from thy native land, An alien household's guest, driven from thine own, Committed to another's interests, A sinless exile. That no element Might fail thee of thy father's hapless fate, Thou too hast blundered in thy marriage choice. O son, after so many years returned, 515 O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear, For sight of whom I ever prayed the gods; Though thy return was doomed to take from me As much as at thy coming it could give: "When shall I cease to fear for thee?" I said; 520 The mocking god replied: "Him shalt thou fear." I should not have thee near me now, indeed, Were there no war; and there would be no war, If thou wert not at hand. Oh, bitter price And hard, that I must pay for sight of thee. But still there's pleasure in't. These hostile hosts-- 525 Let them withdraw a little space from here, While yet stern Mars dares no impiety. Yet this as well is great impiety, That they have been so near. I am appalled, And tremble when I see two brothers stand, Each fronting each, upon the brink of crime. 530 My limbs do quake with fear. How near I came To seeing greater infamy than that Which thy poor father never could have seen! Though I am freed from fear of such a crime, Though I shall not behold such evil now, Still am I most unhappy when I think How nearly I beheld it. O my son, By the womb that bore thee through ten weary months, 535 And by thy noble sister's piety; By thy unhappy father's sightless eyes, Which he, though innocent of any crime, Tore out, his fatal error to avenge: Turn from thy father's walls these impious brands, 540 Send back the standards of this warring host. Though thou shouldst yield, still is the greater part Of thy impiety already done: Thy fatherland has seen its fertile plains By hordes of hostile soldiery o'errun, The arméd legions gleaming from afar, 545 The broad Cadmean meadows trampled down By flying hoofs, the princes, insolent, High in their chariots dashing o'er the plain, The blazing torches threatening our homes With utter devastation, and, a crime Which even Thebes till now has never seen, A brother 'gainst his brother waging war. This crime was seen by all our Theban host; 550 The citizens and both thy sisters saw, And I thy mother; to himself is due That Oedipus, thy father, saw it not. Oh, do thou but compare thyself with him, By whose stern judgment fitting penalty E'en error pays. Do not with impious sword 555 Destroy thy city and thy father's house, Nor overthrow the city thou wouldst rule. What madness holds its sway within thy soul? Wouldst thou, by seeking to obtain the land, Destroy it? That it may become thine own, Dost thou intend to spoil it utterly? To thine own cause thou doest deadly wrong, In harrying this very soil of thine 560 With hostile arms, in laying low the crops, And spreading fear through all the country round. No one such devastation ever works Upon his own. What thou dost burn with fire, And reap with sword, 'tis plain that thou dost grant To be another's. Gain thou then the throne, Whichever of you will; but gain it so That 'twill not be the kingdom's overthrow. 565 Dost seek these homes with hostile sword and brand? Wilt thou avail to batter down these walls Which great Amphion built, these mighty walls, Whose stones no human hand e'er set in place, The huge weights moving by the creaking crane-- But, marshaled by the strains of song and harp, The stones, e'en to the topmost turret's round, 570 Moved of their own accord--wouldst shatter these? As victor wilt thou bear away the spoils? And shall rough soldiery lead off in chains Thy father's noble friends and stately dames Torn from their grieving husbands' very arms? And, mingled with the wretched captive band, 575 Shall Theban maidens go as presents meet For wives of Argos? And shall I myself, My hands (disgraceful!) bound behind my back, The mother, be the booty of the son, In triumph borne? And canst thou bear to see On every hand thy fellow-citizens To dire destruction given? 'Gainst these dear walls 580 Canst thou lead on the savage enemy, And fill thy native Thebes with blood and flame? Hast thou so wild a heart within thy breast, So hard and savage--and not yet a king? Then what will't be when thou the scepter wield'st? Oh, put aside thy spirit's swelling rage, And give thyself once more to piety. 585

_Polynices:_ That I may wander still a fugitive? That ever, banished from my native land, Upon a stranger's bounty I may live? What, think'st thou, could I suffer more than this, If I had broken faith or falsely sworn? Shall I be punished for another's sin, While he enjoys the profits of his crime? 590 Thou bid'st me go; and gladly would I yield Unto my mother's will. But whither, then, Shall I depart? "Let my proud brother dwell Within my royal halls, and some poor hut Be my abode": let such a boon be given Unto the exile; give him in exchange A hovel for a throne. And shall I, then, 595 A pensioner upon my wealthy bride, Be forced to yield to her unbending will, And to her father's domineering ways Submit like any slave? 'Tis hard, indeed, To fall from royalty to servitude.

_Jocasta:_ If thou art eager for a royal throne, And if, without the scepter in thy hand, Thou canst not live, whatever land thou wilt 600 Will offer many kingdoms to thy hand. On this side Tmolus lifts his ridgy heights, Well known to Bacchus, where wide-spreading plains Stretch out upon the grain-producing earth; And where Pactolus' all-enriching stream O'erflows the country with its sands of gold. And there Maeander through the joyful fields 605 Directs his wandering waves; swift Hermus, too, Cleaves meadows rich. And there is Gargara, Beloved of Ceres, and the fertile plains Which Xanthus waters, fed by Ida's snows. And here, where ends the long Ionian sea,[8] 610 Across the narrows from Abydos stands The Thracian Sestos. Farther to the east, With safe and numerous harbors, lies the land Of Lycia. There realms seek with thy sword; Against these peoples let Adrastus fight, And to thy sceptered hand deliver them. 615 Consider that thy father still is king Within this realm of Thebes. Far better, then, Than such returns as this will exile seem. Thou liv'st in exile through another's sin; But thy return must be through thine alone. With those brave troops of thine 'twere better far To seek thee out new realms unstained by crime. 620 Nay, e'en thy brother's self will be thy aid, And fight for thee. Go, wage such warfare, then, That, as thou fight'st, thy mother and thy sire May pray for thy success. For, be assured, That kingdoms won by crime are heavier far Than any exile. 625 Now consider well The woes of war and war's uncertainties: Though thou dost bring with thee the flower of Greece, Though far and near thy arméd soldiery Is spread, still ever in the balance hangs The fate of war. 'Tis all as Mars decides. Though two may seem to be unmatched in strength, 630 The sword will make them equal; hope and fear Are subject to the blind caprice of fate. Uncertain is the prize of war thou seek'st, But sure the crime. Suppose that all the gods Have heard thy prayers; suppose the citizens, In panic fear, have turned their backs and fled; The soldiers' bloody corpses hide the plain: 635 Though in such victory thou shouldst exalt And bear thy murdered brother's spoils away, Thy victory is but a broken thing. What sort of warfare, think'st thou, that would be, In which the victor wins by curséd crime, And glories in it? Nay, thy brother's self, Whom thou, unhappy man, dost seek to slay, 640 When thou hast gained thy wish, thou wilt lament. Oh, then, forego this most unhallowed strife, And free at last thy fatherland from fear, Thy parents from their grief.

_Polynices:_ Shall I do this, That so for all his treachery and crime My curséd brother be not recompensed?

_Jocasta:_ Fear not. He shall indeed be recompensed, 645 For he shall reign.

_Polynices:_ Is that a punishment?

_Jocasta:_ If thou believe me not, believe thy sire, Believe thy grandsire too. This truth to thee Will Cadmus and the house of Cadmus tell. Without disaster has no Theban king E'er held the scepter, nor will anyone Who wins the kingly power by broken faith Retain it long. And 'mongst those faithless ones 650 Count now thy brother.

_Eteocles:_ Be it even so: If I must die, I count it worthy death, To die with kings. [_To_ Polynices.] Thee to the exiled band I doom.

_Jocasta:_ Reign then, but hated by thy friends.

_Eteocles:_ Who shrinks from hatred does not wish to reign. That great divinity who made the world 655 Made of one substance royalty and hate. For me, I count it worthy of a king To overcome this hate. By love of friends Too oft is royal power circumscribed. O'er those who hate him is the king more free To lord it as he will. Who would be loved, With but a weak and languid scepter reigns.

_Jocasta:_ But hated empire never long endures. 660

_Eteocles:_ 'Tis for the king to speak of empire's rules. Do thou give laws for exiles. For the throne--

_Jocasta:_ Wouldst burn thy native land, thy home and all?

_Eteocles:_ A kingdom is well bought at any price.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[8] The text is corrupt here. The Ionian Sea, situated to the west of Greece, can have no possible connection with the region here described, i. e., the Hellespont.

MEDEA

MEDEA

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEDEA Daughter of Aeëtes, King of Colchis, and wife of Jason.

_Jason_ Son of Aeson, and nephew of Pelias, the usurping king of Thessaly; organizer and leader of the Argonautic expedition to Colchis in quest of the golden fleece.

_Creon_ King of Corinth, who had received into his hospitable kingdom Medea and Jason, fugitives from Thessaly, after Medea had plotted the death of Pelias.

_Nurse_ Of Medea.

_Messenger_

_Two Sons_ Of Medea and Jason (_personae mutae_).

_Chorus of Corinthians_ Friendly to Jason and hostile to Medea.

THE TIME of the play is confined to the single day of the culmination of the tragedy, the day proposed by Creon for the banishment of Medea and marriage of Jason to Creüsa, daughter of Creon.

THE SCENE is in Corinth, in the court of the house of Jason.

_Although the play is confined in time to the final day of catastrophe at Corinth, the background is the whole romantic story of the Argonauts: how Jason and his hero-comrades, at the instigation of Pelias, the usurping king of Thessalian Iolchos, undertook the first voyage in quest of the golden fleece; how, after many adventures, these first sailors reached the kingdom of Aeëtes who jealously guarded the fleece, since upon its possession depended his own kingship; how the three deadly labors were imposed upon Jason before the fleece could be won--the yoking of the fiery bulls, the contest with the giants that sprang from the sown serpent's teeth, and the overcoming of the sleepless dragon that ever guarded the fleece; how, smitten by love of him, the beautiful, barbaric Medea, daughter of the king, by the help of her magic aided Jason in all these labors and accompanied him in his flight; how, to retard her father's pursuit she slew her brother and scattered his mangled remains in the path as they fled; how again, for love of Jason, she restored his father to youth and tricked Pelias' own daughters into slaying their agéd sire; how, for this act, Medea with her husband were exiled from Thessalia and dwelt in Corinth; how, for ten happy years, she lived with her husband and two sons in this alien land, her wild past almost forgotten, her magic untouched._

_But now, Jason has been gradually won away from his wife, and is about to wed Creüsa, the daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. The wedding festivities have already begun when the play opens and reveals Medea invoking all the powers of heaven and hell in punishment of her false lord._