 | The Tragedy of Medea |  |
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ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Womens Apartment, Creon's Palace.Euriale, Melyssa, Eumelus, Servants in the Train of Creusa.
EURIALE.
O most flagitious Woman! Curs'd Medæa!
MELYSSA.
What Ravage has her jealous Phrensy caus'd!
What Desolation in the House of Creon!
But yester Sun beheld the smiling Bride
In gratulating Circles, joyous, happy;
And now in agonizing Pains she dies,
The Victim of a jealous Woman's Vengeance.
EURIALE.
Torn from her Father's, from her Husband's Arms,
The hymenæal Feasts but just begun,
Lo she descends to Pluto's Realms a Victim.
EUMELUS.
The poison'd Crown now cleaves around her Temples,
Boils in her Veins, and in her Eye-balls blazes;
She mourns, she raves, and throws her Eyes to Heaven,
And now, depriv'd of Words, or Strength to utter,
The silent Anguish streaming down her Cheek
Pleads her Distress; the Snares of Death surround her;
The raging Phrensy doubles all her Strength,
And, midst the Tortures she endures, exerts
A Vigour more than human. O Creusa,
Unhappy Bride, divinely fair and good,
Was there a Mind so pure, guileless, and tender;
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Her Rank, her Birth, her Beauties took no Teint
From the mean Praise of Courts, to Truth devoted;
Her Manners, like her Form, chast and harmonious.
Immortal Gods! Man will believe your Vengeance
Led by the Hand of Chance, when thus he sees
Your Fires lay waste your own most hallow'd Temples.
She comes, most piteous Sight; how painful 'tis
But to behold her Sufferings! Poor Creusa!
Creusa and Iris, Creusa led in by Servants.
IRIS.
Soft let us tread, and lead her gently on;
Here, the refreshing Breezes from the Sea
May for a while perhaps releive her Pains.
Look down, ye Gods, with pity on her Sufferings.
CREUSA.
Iris, my faithful Iris to the last,
I thank thee for thy Care, I trouble thee;
It will not now be long, I feel my Strength
Abates, and the malignant Fires increase.
Ye righteous Powers, to whose eternal Justice
This Creature of your Will submissive bends,
I ask not why I suffer—wretched Outcast!
Elate with Blessings, overweening, vain,
I saw the springing Glories blosom round me,
My Speech descended as refreshing Dews,
Silent amid my virgin Choir I pass'd,
Rever'd and lov'd.—Yet what I fear'd is come;
The Terrors of the Gods set in array
Attack my Soul; 'twas wrong; it was Adultery;
And thus I satisfy, as 'tis most just,
The violated Laws of injur'd Wedlock.
EUMELUS.
Thy Father, and the Sages of the Realm,
The sacred Servants of the Gods, the Priests,
Have all pronounc'd thy Marriage, just, and lawful.
Wou't thou impeach the Wisdom of the Land?
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Where, tell me, where is Wisdom to be found?
Priests barter it for Gold;—the Polititian
Mistakes his little crafty Guile for Wisdom.
[Raving]
‘O hold me, Iris, bind me fast; I burn;
‘Consuming Flames surround and eat my Sinews;
‘Let all the Ionian and Ægæan Seas
‘Pass o'er my Head; hide me in mountain Snow;
‘Look in those Clouds, behold Medæa yonder;
‘The soaring Eagle mounts upon the Rocks,
‘Far off she seeks her Prey, she stoops, her Pounces
‘Dart Jove's appointed Thunder; in my Bosom
‘The Bolts are lodg'd. Iris, thy Hand, thy Hand;
‘Draw forth these bearded Arrows.
EUMELUS.
How her Pains
Disturb her Reason! as they abate and lessen
Reflection comes again; and thus her Woes
Are pointed with severe Variety.
CREUSA.
Wherefore is Life bestow'd upon the wretched?
The Slave, when the hard Labours of the Day
Are pass'd, enjoys refreshing Shade and Rest;
I am the Daughter of a King and want it.
Oh! let me sleep for ever in the Womb
Of dark Oblivion; there the wicked cease
To think, and there the weary find Repose.
EUMELUS.
Ye pitying Gods, look down and grant her Prayer.
CREUSA.
The Gods can tell, nor do I boast my Virtues.
Once I was happy, when my liberal Hand
Releiv'd Necessity, or cherish'd Merit;
The Ear that heard me bles'd me; and the Heart
Of the poor Fatherless and Widow joy'd.
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O were thy Virtues weigh'd against thy Errors,
This great Calamity wou'd cease, Creusa.
—She sighs; her Bosom swells; the scalding Tears
Flow down her Cheeks; her Pains return and double.
CREUSA.
[Ravings return]
“The Aspick's Poison, and the Viper's Tongue
“Now riot here.—Take my Advice, my Girl;
“Invade not thou thy Neighbour's Bed, her sworn
“And hallow'd Property,—the jealous Matron
“Invokes the Gods, and calls up every Fury.
“Medæa will pursue thee, fiery Scorpions
“Devour thy Flesh, and burning Calentures
“Drink up thy Blood.—Softly—let me reposes
“On Beds of Roses, Lillies, Amaranths,
“The purple Hyacinth, and fair Narcissus
“Self-loving Daffadil, breathe round my Head,
“And with refreshing Odours cool my Brain.
“—Hide me, ye Virgins, lo she comes, she is here!
“Flagrant Alecto shakes her snaky Locks;
“O cover me, amidst the Sweets of Nature
“Hide me for ever.
EUMELUS.
Her boiling Brain consumes,
Oh! What a Sight will Creon here behold!
Where is the King?
IRIS.
When he receiv'd this News,
He sunk o'ercharg'd with Grief; the deep learn'd Leeches
Around him wait his slow Return to Life.
EUMELUS.
Thrice happy if the Gods had now dismiss'd him,
That this calamitous and touching Sight
Might not oppress his Soul with heavier Woes,
And more acute than he can feel in Death.
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Said you my Father, did I hear his Voice?
“—Bring Aromaticks, let the Phœnix here
“Light all her funeral Spices at this Bosom.
“The Palace is in Flames—O Jason, Creon!
“Creon once lov'd his Child, and Jason swore,
“But he is used to swear—Medæa knows
“With how much Truth.—My Father slain! Alas!
“Behold the good old Man weltering in Blood;
“The Guards there.—Nay this Crimson is too faint,
“The tyrian Dye does better—yet it sits
“Uneasy here, this heavy Weight of Empire.
EUMELUS.
Euryale, her Breath grows short, her Eyes
Are clos'd! Convulsions tear her trembling Nerves;
Now raise her Head, and lay her gently down;
Thanks to the Gods her Dissolution comes.
[Iris and Euryale repose her on a Couch on the right Side of the Stage from the Audience.
Enter Creon.
CREON.
Yet, ere I die, let me hehold my Child;
Yet let my Arms infold her, let my Eyes
In Tears of Blood bemoan thee, poor Creusa!
Thou dear Oblation for thy Father's Crimes,
The Follies of thy Father and thy Husband;
Dost thou not know me? Is my Voice a Stranger?
Lift up thy Eyes, the Cheer of Day, the Light
In which I joy'd—Oh sadly moving Object!
How heavily they beam their dying Fires.
CREUSA.
I thought my Pains cou'd never be augmented.
My Father,—now I feel thy Sorrows too;
—Your Hand—will you remember your Creusa,
And learn from her, that neither Wealth nor Honours
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Creusa dies.
CREON.
She's gone, for ever gone—is then this Heart
Of Adamant, and has old Age so dry'd
And wither'd me, that not one Tear will fall.
Farewel my Girl—O 'tis too much, too much;
I thought I cou'd resign—my stubborn Heart
Rebels—Ye Gods I merited your Jugdments;
In Follies old, and practis'd in the Ways
Of foolish Policy and human Foresight;
How cou'd this Innocent provoke your Wrath?
Hah Creon! Cou'd there be a surer Way
To shake thy Peace than This—my Senses stagger—
The Sky's o'ercast,—lo the pale Lightening's flash;
The tottering Earth unfolds her yawning Graves;
The Flowers all wither, and the Verdure fades;
The Raven and the Owl shreik in my Ear.
—There, there she lies, speechless and pale Creusa.
Creon after this Speech stands motionless at some Distance from Creusa, pointing to her, till Jason's Speech is ended.
Enter Jason.
JASON, CREON.
Iris with her Face to the Earth and the other Servants in still and mourning Attitudes.
[Jason advancing to Creusa.
It is too true; Creusa! Oh Creusa!
Silent and pale, the tuneful Soul is fled;
She is as she had never been; her Words
No more shall chear; those beauteous Eyes no more
Shall bless me with their Light; for ever clos'd;
Heart breaking Sight! Oh miserable Jason!
Why did the Gods permit this Sacrilege?
'Tis well, this Mourning and this Silence add
A decent Horror; let eternal Darkness
For ever mark this Day; the conscious Sun
Should blush to view the Crimes of his Descendent.
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His own sad Monument.—I do not ask thee,
Thou venerable Worthy, not to greive;
Thou art a Father; and a Man;—and what
Creusa was—my Heart's too full to say.
CREON.
Jason, thou seest a poor, infirm, old Man,
Oppress'd with sudden Grief; if Tears descend
Fast down my furrow'd Cheek, or if my Words
Idle and incoherent fall, forgive me;
Pardon the Weakness of grey Hairs, and think
How much I lov'd my Child; old Age will doat,
Nor can I bear my Sorrows like a Man.
JASON.
Thou dost not bear thy Sorrows like a Man,
But as a Being of superior Nature,
Still foremost in the Ranks, the Guide of Virtue.
CREON.
Look there, the Grave has level'd all Distinction;
Yet a few Moments dedicate to Truth;
Too much already has that Toy, Ambition,
The Child of Vanity and Ignorance,
Deluded and betray'd us both to Folly.
JASON.
It is too true, the Bubble breaks in Air,
And all our Arts are vain, vain and destructive.
Cholchis, thou art aveng'd; behold I sink
Beneath a complicated Load of Woe,
And thro' Creusa's, and the Breast of Creon
Thy Arrows peirce.—
Naked and desolate amid the Flames
I stand, abandon'd to Despair and Death;
A sad Spectator of the mighty Ruin.
Canst thou behold me Creon? Canst thou bear
To commune with a Wretch, thy House's Bane?
Source of all Ill; Oh join with me and curse,
Curse this ill chosen, and unhappy Friend.
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Jason, amidst the Woes that press us hard,
Let us collect our Virtues to a Point;
Tho' cover'd with a Host of Foes, retain
Our Strength and Honour while we may;—our Passions
Are evil Counsellors; their Rule is done;
But if you wou'd have Vengeance—
JASON.
Hah! 'tis true,
What wou'd my Prince; command, and be confirm'd
My Heart is thine; shall I then place a Dagger
Before your Eyes in curs'd Medæa's Bosom?
Or wou'd you that my Children bleed to expiate
This most inhuman Deed?—I am prepar'd.
CREON.
Has then my Soul discover'd any Rancour?
Or does my loud-tongu'd Rage demand Revenge?
Say, will the Punishment we give Medæa
Restore again the Life of lov'd Creusa?
Medæa has been wrong'd; wrong'd in Excess;
And when no human Power cou'd do her Right,
Her Hand did (Oh severe Remembrance!) punish.
If with Impatience, and without a Warrant,
She snatch'd a Debt due to the Gods alone,
Let her Temerity instruct us, Jason,
Not so to act.
JASON.
Oh godlike, worthy Prince!
CREON.
Since it hath pleas'd high Heaven, my Race no more
Shall rule this Land. To thee I recommend
My brave Achaians, Sons of ancient Virtue.
Seek not to govern by the Lust of Power;
Make not thy Will the Law; believe thy People
Thy Children all; so shalt thou kindly mix
Their Interests with thy own, and fix the Basis
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JASON.
Let me look up and learn,
From this Example, what is great and good.
CREON.
Learn then, no Happiness can be secure,
Placed in whatever lies beyond our Power.
How vainly did I strive—(senseless Ambition!)
To lengthen out a Name to future Ages,
And in a Race of Heroes found my Glories;
As if the Gods had granted to the Sons
Of virtuous Men, hereditary Virtues,
Or that amidst the Transports of Elysium,
These trifling Cares cou'd give us Pain or Pleasure.
JASON.
Thy Words, sweetly descending, drop as Oil,
The Balm of wounded Minds.
CREON.
Now I have done;
But narrative old Age will have its Way.
I have liv'd enough to Nature and to Glory,
Let my grey Hairs and Wounds plead my Discharge.
Driven to the Verge of Life, I ask the Gods
Their Leave to quit; a worn and aged Chief—
Creon stabs himself.
'Tis done! My faithful Hand hath aim'd aright.
Jason, farewel,—when next we meet, my Friend,
'Twill be in Fields of Joy, where no false Glories
Delude us with imaginary Good.
Rest on the Wing, Creusa; check thy Flight;
Await thy aged Sire;—this Flesh shook off,
He mounts with thee to empyræal Skies,
And thinner Air.
[Creon is led by the Servants, and dies in a Chair near Creusa.
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alone
The noble Pillar sinks!—Majestick Ruin!
Behold an upright Being! Just and wise;
Just Princes must be wise;—the most unknowing
May be a Tyrant, as he rules by Force;
His little Politicks are Chains and Axes,
And Force alone, superior to Resistance,
Requires his Hand to govern, not his Head.
To rule by their own Laws a happy People,
To found the Power and Grandeur of the Prince
In the Prosperity and Wealth of Millions,
This is the Art of Empire; this is Wisdom;
This is to rule like Creon.—O my Prince!—
[Here the Servants bear off the Bodies of Creusa and Creon.
Methinks I stand as when the Darts of Heaven
Lay waste the Earth, and pestilential Fires
Consume Mankind. I see my dearest Friends
Drop by my Side, and with a stupid Eye
[Enter ETHRA.
Survey the wild and desolate Creation,
Inactive and unfeeling—Ethra, where,
Where is this curs'd Inchantress? This Destroyer?
ETHRA.
When she receiv'd the News of Creon's Death,
And fair Creusa's most untimely Fate,
She bade the Priests do present Sacrifice,
And strait their Incense rose in Flames auspicious;
Her agonizing Soul was torn and shook
As she address'd in Prayer the God her Sire;
When lo! Far as our aking Eye can peirce
The solar Day; a Ball of living Light,
Self-pois'd in Air, shot from its fiery Circle,
And, passing swift thro' yon unfathom'd Æther,
Parted the level Azure in its Course;
As nearer it descended, my weak Eye
Cou'd mark no more.—Medæa dissappear'd.
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Hah! Ethra, where! Where are the Children? Say?
ETHRA.
Her anxious Mind, now jealous of their Fate,
Since her perfidious Arts have prov'd successful,
Hath guarded them with an uncommon Care;
But where, she only knows.
JASON.
Ethra, my Children
Are now my only Care; I fear the Citizens;
Oh shou'd they punish on the guiltless Children
The Mother's Crimes! haste then and and let us search,
And give her up to Justice, to the Citizens;
Relentless Woman! Tho' one partial God
Protects her, Themis, in her equal Ballance,
The Daughter of high Jove, will judge her Crimes.
Where is this Sorceress? This faithless Friend?
This complicated Evil? Hah!
Thunder and Coruscations in the Air, when the flat Scene opens and a Cloud appears, which disperses; then Medæa is discovered descending from the Chariot of the Sun described with golden Rays &c.
Medæa advancing toward Jason.
MEDÆA.
Well are you come
The Inquisitors of Death! If here you seek
The Minister of Fate, behold Medæa!
No nearer! Lo the God, from whose high Lineage
Injur'd Medæa did descend to honour
Thy mortal Bed, protects and owns his Race.
Weak and misguided Man, Medæa's Guards,
Beyond thy reach, deride thy feeble Rage.
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To see Medæa.?
JASON.
To require my Children;
Where are they; speak?
MEDÆA.
Dost thou not know, weak Man?
Sprung from thy mortal Loins, they cou'd not bear
The Glories that surround and guard their Mother;
Unable to sustain etherial Day.
Therefore I fear'd and did expect each Moment
To see them dragg'd by the unthinking Populace
To Tortures and to Death; when good Ægæus
Receiv'd them like a Prince, their guardian God;
The silver Prows part the cerulean Plain,
And now, ev'n now, they steer their Course for Athens.
JASON.
It is too much!
I wou'd have seen my Children; now bereft
Of every Comfort, every Joy in Life.
MEDÆA.
'Tis true, Calamities are fall'n upon thee.
Where are the shouting Crowds, who press'd to see
Thy Chariot pass, and scatter'd Roses round thee?
Where are the Minstrels now, who sounded high
The bridal Song? Where is the gilded Circle,
That bent the flattering Knee and bless'd thy Bed?
Where are the Priests, who sanctify'd thy Nuptials?
Where are the Gods, who gave their lucky Auspices?
Where is thy royal Father, fam'd for Politicks,
And wicked Wiles? And lastly tell me, Jason,
Where is thy blooming Bride?
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Oh cease, Medæa, cease, nefarious Woman,
Thus to insult me with thy own bad Deeds;
I sink beneath the Woes thy Hand has caus'd.
MEDÆA.
He falls!—This Sight strikes yet a deeper Wound
Than all my Wrongs;—my Triumph is no more
Jason, thou art a Victor still!—Behold,
Oh see this bleeding Heart, submissive, bending,
The lowest Slave of Love!—All Nature once,
Each Element submitted to my Laws,
Yet have my powerless Charms in vain attempted
To move the Heart of one relentless Man.
I go— [Wounds herself]
Let the pure Elements divide
This hapless Form, and reassume their own;
And thou bright Essence, from whose Source I sprung,
Receive this Particle of Fire immortal;
Which has, perhaps with too severe Resentment,
Enflam'd an injur'd Wife.
[Medæa dies.
ETHRA.
From this Example
We learn, all Power or Wealth, acquir'd by Rapine,
Will moulder in the Hand, or rob the Soul
Of sweet Repose. Behold the House of Creon;
Place this sad Monument before thy Eyes,
And know; he only, who is Just, is Wise.
The End of the fifth Act.
| The Tragedy of Medea | |