by Daisy Dunn
And fair; in vain I bore you, and was torn
With those long pitiless pains, when you were born.
Ah, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in you,
How you would tend me in mine age, and do
The shroud about me with your own dear hands,
When I lay cold, blessèd in all the lands
That knew us. And that gentle thought is dead!
You go, and I live on, to eat the bread
Of long years, to myself most full of pain.
And never your dear eyes, never again,
Shall see your mother, far away being thrown
To other shapes of life… My babes, my own,
Why gaze ye so?—What is it that ye see?—
And laugh with that last laughter?… Woe is me,
What shall I do?
Women, my strength is gone,
Gone like a dream, since once I looked upon
Those shining faces… I can do it not.
Good-bye to all the thoughts that burned so hot
Aforetime! I will take and hide them far,
Far, from men’s eyes. Why should I seek a war
So blind: by these babes’ wounds to sting again
Their father’s heart, and win myself a pain
Twice deeper? Never, never! I forget
Henceforward all I laboured for.
And yet,
What is it with me? Would I be a thing
Mocked at, and leave mine enemies to sting
Unsmitten? It must be. O coward heart,
Ever to harbour such soft words!—Depart
Out of my sight, ye twain. [The CHILDREN go in.]
And they whose eyes
Shall hold it sin to share my sacrifice,
On their heads be it! My hand shall swerve not now.
Ah, Ah, thou Wrath within me! Do not thou,
Do not… Down, down, thou tortured thing, and spare
My children! They will dwell with us, aye, there
Far off, and give thee peace.
Too late, too late!
By all Hell’s living agonies of hate,
They shall not take my little ones alive
To make their mock with! Howsoe’er I strive
The thing is doomed; it shall not escape now
From being. Aye, the crown is on the brow,
And the robe girt, and in the robe that high
Queen dying.
I know all. Yet… seeing that I
Must go so long a journey, and these twain
A longer yet and darker, I would fain
Speak with them, ere I go.
[A handmaid brings the CHILDREN out again.]
Come, children; stand
A little from me. There. Reach out your hand,
your right hand—so—to mother: and good-bye!
[She has kept them hitherto at arm’s-length: but at the
touch of their hands, her resolution breaks down,
and she gathers them passionately into her arms.]
Oh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye,
And royal mien, and bright brave faces clear,
May you be blessèd, but not here! What here
Was yours, your father stole… Ah God, the glow
Of cheek on cheek, the tender touch; and Oh,
Sweet scent of childhood… Go! Go! … Am I blind?…
Mine eyes can see not, when I look to find
Their places. I am broken by the wings
Of evil… Yea, I know to what bad things
I go, but louder than all thought doth cry
Anger, which maketh man’s worst misery.
[She follows the CHILDREN into the house.]
CHORUS. My thoughts have roamed a cloudy land,
And heard a fierier music fall
Than woman’s heart should stir withal:
And yet some Muse majestical,
Unknown, hath hold of woman’s hand,
Seeking for Wisdom—not in all;
A feeble seed, a scattered band,
Thou yet shalt find in lonely places,
Not dead amongst us, nor our faces
Turned away from the Muses’ call.
And thus my thought would speak: that she
Who ne’er hath borne a child nor known
Is nearer to felicity:
Unlit she goeth and alone,
With little understanding what
A child’s touch means of joy or woe,
And many toils she beareth not.
But they within whose garden fair
That gentle plant hath blown, they go
Deep-written all their days with care—
To rear the children, to make fast
Their hold, to win them wealth; and then
Much darkness, if the seed at last
Bear fruit in good or evil men!
And one thing at the end of all
Abideth, that which all men dread:
The wealth is won, the limbs are bred
To manhood, and the heart withal
Honest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled,
Some change, and what hath fallen? Hark!
’Tis death slow winging to the dark,
And in his arms what was thy child.
What therefore doth it bring of gain
To man, whose cup stood full before,
That God should send this one thing more
Of hunger and of dread, a door
Set wide to every wind of pain?
[MEDEA comes out alone from the house.]
MEDEA. Friends, this long hour I wait on Fortune’s eyes,
And strain my senses in a hot surmise
What passeth on that hill.—Ha! even now
There comes… ’tis one of Jason’s men, I trow.
His wild-perturbèd breath doth warrant me
The tidings of some strange calamity.
[Enter MESSENGER.]
MESSENGER. O dire and ghastly deed! Get thee away,
Medea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stay
One chariot’s wing, one keel that sweeps the seas…
MEDEA. And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these?
MESSENGER. The maiden princess lieth—and her sire,
The king—both murdered by thy poison-fire.
MEDEA. Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefers
Henceforth among my friends and well-wishers.
MESSENGER. What say’st thou? Woman, is thy mind within
Clear, and not raving? Thou art found in sin
Most bloody wrought against the king’s high head,
And laughest at the tale, and hast no dread?
MEDEA. I have words also that could answer well
Thy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell,
How died they? Hath it been a very foul
Death, prithee? That were comfort to my soul.
MESSENGER. When thy two children, hand in hand entwined,
Came with their father, and passed on to find
The new-made bridal rooms, Oh, we were glad,
We thralls, who ever loved thee well, and had
Grief in thy grief. And straight there passed a word
From ear to ear, that thou and thy false lord
Had poured peace offering upon wrath foregone.
A right glad welcome gave we them, and one
Kissed the small hand, and one the shining hair:
Myself, for very joy, I followed where
The women’s rooms are. There our mistress… she
Whom now we name so… thinking not to see
Thy little pair, with glad and eager brow
Sate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and slow
Shrouded her eyes, and backward turned again,
Sick that thy children should come near her. Then
Thy husband quick went forward, to entreat
The young maid’s fitful wrath. “Thou wilt not meet
Love’s coming with unkind
ness? Nay, refrain
Thy suddenness, and turn thy face again,
Holding as friends all that to me are dear,
Thine husband. And accept these robes they bear
As gifts: and beg thy father to unmake
His doom of exile on them—for my sake.”
When once she saw the raiment, she could still
Her joy no more, but gave him all his will.
And almost ere the father and the two
Children were gone from out the room, she drew
The flowered garments forth, and sate her down
To her arraying: bound the golden crown
Through her long curls, and in a mirror fair
Arranged their separate clusters, smiling there
At the dead self that faced her. Then aside
She pushed her seat, and paced those chambers wide
Alone, her white foot poising delicately—
So passing joyful in those gifts was she!—
And many a time would pause, straight-limbed, and wheel
Her head to watch the long fold to her heel
Sweeping. And then came something strange. Her cheek
Seemed pale, and back with crooked steps and weak
Groping of arms she walked, and scarcely found
Her old seat, that she fell not to the ground.
Among the handmaids was a woman old
And grey, who deemed, I think, that Pan had hold
Upon her, or some spirit, and raised a keen
Awakening shout; till through her lips was seen
A white foam crawling, and her eyeballs back
Twisted, and all her face dead pale for lack
Of life: and while that old dame called, the cry
Turned strangely to its opposite, to the
Sobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flew
To seek her father’s rooms, one for the new
Bridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the place
Was loud with hurrying feet.
So long a space
As a swift walker on a measured way
Would pace a furlong’s course in, there she lay
Speechless, with veilèd lids. Then wide her eyes
She oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise,
Shrieked: for two diverse waves upon her rolled
Of stabbing death. The carcanet of gold
That gripped her brow was molten in a dire
And wondrous river of devouring fire.
And those fine robes, the gift thy children gave—
God’s mercy!—everywhere did lap and lave
The delicate flesh; till up she sprang, and fled,
A fiery pillar, shaking locks and head
This way and that, seeking to cast the crown
Somewhere away. But like a thing nailed down
The burning gold held fast the anadem,
And through her locks, the more she scattered them,
Came fire the fiercer, till to earth she fell
A thing—save to her sire—scarce nameable,
And strove no more. That cheek of royal mien,
Where was it—or the place where eyes had been?
Only from crown and temples came faint blood
Shot through with fire. The very flesh, it stood
Out from the bones, as from a wounded pine
The gum starts, where those gnawing poisons fine
Bit in the dark—a ghastly sight! And touch
The dead we durst not. We had seen too much.
But that poor father, knowing not, had sped,
Swift to his daughter’s room, and there the dead
Lay at his feet. He knelt, and groaning low,
Folded her in his arms, and kissed her: “Oh,
Unhappy child, what thing unnatural hath
So hideously undone thee? Or what wrath
Of gods, to make this old grey sepulchre
Childless of thee? Would God but lay me there
To die with thee, my daughter!” So he cried.
But after, when he stayed from tears, and tried
To uplift his old bent frame, lo, in the folds
Of those fine robes it held, as ivy holds
Strangling among young laurel boughs. Oh, then
A ghastly struggle came! Again, again,
Up on his knee he writhed; but that dead breast
Clung still to his: till, wild, like one possessed,
He dragged himself half free; and, lo, the live
Flesh parted; and he laid him down to strive
No more with death, but perish; for the deep
Had risen above his soul. And there they sleep,
At last, the old proud father and the bride,
Even as his tears had craved it, side by side.
For thee—Oh, no word more! Thyself will know
How best to baffle vengeance… Long ago
I looked upon man’s days, and found a grey
Shadow. And this thing more I surely say,
That those of all men who are counted wise,
Strong wits, devisers of great policies,
Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life began,
Hath there in God’s eye stood one happy man?
Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less
Of fortune, but to no man happiness.
[Exit MESSENGER.]
CHORUS. [Some Women] Wrath upon wrath, meseems, this day shall fall
From God on Jason! He hath earned it all.
[Other Women] O miserable maiden, all my heart
Is torn for thee, so sudden to depart
From thy king’s chambers and the light above
To darkness, all for sake of Jason’s love!
MEDEA. Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay
My children with all speed, and then, away
From hence; not wait yet longer till they stand
Beneath another and an angrier hand
To die. Yea, howsoe’er I shield them, die
They must. And, seeing that they must, ’tis I
Shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none
Beside. Oh, up, and get thine armour on,
My heart! Why longer tarry we to win
Our crown of dire inevitable sin?
Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine,
Thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line
Where life turns agony. Let there be naught
Of softness now: and keep thee from that thought,
‘Born of thy flesh,’ ‘thine own belovèd.’ Now,
For one brief day, forget thy children: thou
Shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet
Sweet were they… I am sore unfortunate.
[She goes into the house.]
CHORUS. [Some Women] O Earth, our mother; and thou
All-seër, arrowy crown
Of Sunlight, manward now
Look down, Oh, look down!
Look upon one accurst,
Ere yet in blood she twine
Red hands—blood that is thine!
O Sun, save her first!
She is thy daughter still,
Of thine own golden line;
Save her! Or shall man spill
The life divine?
Give peace, O Fire that diest not! Send thy spell
To stay her yet, to lift her afar, afar—
A torture-changèd spirit, a voice of Hell
Wrought of old wrongs and war!
OTHERS. Alas for the mother’s pain
Wasted! Alas the dear
Life that was born in vain!
Woman, what mak’st thou here,
Thou from beyond the Gate
Where dim Symplêgades
Clash in the dark blue seas,
The shores where death doth wait?
Why hast thou taken on thee,
To make us desolate,
This anger of misery
And guilt of hate?
For fierce are the smitings back of blood once shed
Where love hath been: God’s wrath upon them that kill,
And an anguished earth, and the wonder of the dead
Haunting as music still…
[A cry is heard within.]
A WOMAN. Hark! Did ye hear? Heard ye the children’s cry?
ANOTHER. O miserable woman! O abhorred!
A CHILD WITHIN. What shall I do? What is it? Keep me fast
From mother!
THE OTHER CHILD. I know nothing. Brother! Oh,
I think she means to kill us.
A WOMAN. Let me go!
I will—Help! Help!—and save them at the last.
A CHILD. Yes, in God’s name! Help quickly ere we die!
THE OTHER CHILD. She has almost caught me now. She has a sword.
[Many of the Women are now beating at the barred
door to get in. Others are standing apart.]
WOMEN AT THE DOOR. Thou stone, thou thing of iron! Wilt verily
Spill with thine hand that life, the vintage stored
Of thine own agony?
THE OTHER WOMEN. A Mother slew her babes in days of yore,
One, only one, from dawn to eventide,
Ino, god-maddened, whom the Queen of Heaven
Set frenzied, flying to the dark: and she
Cast her for sorrow to the wide salt sea,
Forth from those rooms of murder unforgiven,
Wild-footed from a white crag of the shore,
And clasping still her children twain, she died.
O Love of Woman, charged with sorrow sore,
What hast thou wrought upon us? What beside
Resteth to tremble for?
[Enter hurriedly JASON and Attendants.]
JASON. Ye women by this doorway clustering
Speak, is the doer of the ghastly thing
Yet here, or fled? What hopeth she of flight?
Shall the deep yawn to shield her? Shall the height
Send wings, and hide her in the vaulted sky
To work red murder on her lords, and fly
Unrecompensed? But let her go! My care
Is but to save my children, not for her.
Let them she wronged requite her as they may.
I care not. ’Tis my sons I must some way
Save, ere the kinsmen of the dead can win
From them the payment of their mother’s sin.
LEADER. Unhappy man, indeed thou knowest not
What dark place thou art come to! Else, God wot,
Jason, no word like these could fall from thee.
JASON. What is it?—Ha! The woman would kill me?
LEADER. Thy sons are dead, slain by their mother’s hand.
JASON. How? Not the children… I scarce understand…
O God, thou hast broken me!
LEADER. Think of those twain
As things once fair, that ne’er shall bloom again.
JASON. Where did she murder them? In that old room?