Jason and Medeia (60 page)

   He said: “Lady, most noble of all women living, I praise you now beyond all praise in the past. And I gladly excuse your

anger.

Small wonder if a woman's wrath be kindled when her

husband turns

to another wife. But now your mood's more sane, and

you

perceive, though late, where our welfare lies. And you,

my sons,

away with these tears! For I dare to hope—the gods

willing—

you'll be rich and powerful yet in Corinth. Grow strong!

Leave all

the rest in your father's hands. May I live to see you

reach

the prime of youthful vigor, envy of my enemies!”

He paused, studying Medeia. “Why these fresh tears?”

he said.

“Why this turning away of your face?”

   “It's nothing,” she said. “My heart was brooding on the children.”

   “But why in such terrible sorrow?” “I bore them. And when you prayed just now that they

reach their prime,

a sad foreboding came over me, a fear of the future.” He looked at her, his face thoughtful and sorrowful at

once.

“Take heart, Medeia,” he said. They shall not lack my

protection.”

She nodded. “I will, husband, and will not mistrust your

words.

—But of that which I came here to say I've said only a

part, my lord.

Let me say now the rest: Since it's Kreon's will that I be banished—and I grant that's best, vexatious to

Kreon's house

and to you—I will go into exile. But as for our two

dear sons,

I beg you, let Kreon not banish them, nor banish them

yourself,

since you've won more power in this hall than you like

to admit. Let them live

in Corinth, reared in the palace, so that no one may

doubt the right

you've promised them.”

   “I doubt I have power sufficient to move him so far, Medeia,” he said, “though I may have such power

in theory.

And yet I'll try.”

   “Let your bride entreat him, for surely then—” “I will, yes.” He thought about it for a moment,

frowning.

“I may persuade her.”

   “You will, if the woman's like other women. And I'll help you, Jason. I'll send our children with gifts

for her,

a golden gown and wreath so beautiful no living mortal has seen their match.” She turned to the slave

Agapetika

and took those gifts from the old woman's hands. The

old woman's eyes

threw a wild appeal to Jason, but she could not speak,

her tongue

turned stone by Medeia's spell. Medeia said, “She'll be

blessed

a thousandfold, winning you, most splendid of heroes,

for her spouse

and dowered with treasures from Helios.” And then, to

her sons:

“Children, take these gifts in your hands and carry them

to her

as your father directs. They're gifts no woman could

refuse.”

   But Jason held back in fear, having recognized the cloth. He said, casting about for some stratagem by which he might be more sure of her, “No, wait, Medeia! Why cast away this finest of treasures?—for surely that cloth is the

fleece from Aia.

The princess has robes and gold enough. Keep it for

yourself,

a sure protection from hardship and suffering in exile.

If my bride

esteems me at all, she'll prize my wish beyond any

mere treasure.”

   Medeia said, “My lord, I have not chosen lightly these gifts I bring.” Sadly, solemnly, she met his eyes. “How is a woman to prove to the man she's given her life that, following his wish, she renounces all earthly claim

to him?

This cloth was, to me, chief proof and symbol of our

steadfast love.

Giving it away—that which I prize beyond all other

wealth—

I give you away, my husband, and all our past together, for our sons. To me, it's a gift no less than Khalkiope

gave

for hers. Do not shame me, or reduce me to

insignificance,

by refusing this queenly gesture. I'm left with no other

I can make.

You know me, Jason. Have mercy on my pride. I'd give

my life,

not merely gold, to save my sons from banishment.”

   Then Jason believed her, and, placing the golden

gown and wreath

in his two sons' hands, he said, “Wait here, and we'll

test the power

of your gifts at once,” and he rose to lead them to

Pyripta's room.

Medeia said, “Children, speak bravely when you meet

with your father's new bride,

my mistress now, and beg her to save you from

banishment.

And don't forget: with her own hands she must receive

our presents.

Hurry now, and the gods be with you! Return to me soon with the news I'm eager to hear.”

   Then the children left with Jason, the old male slave attending. The sea-kings watched

them leave,

no man daring a whisper. In time they returned again, and Jason said, “You've done well, Medeia. Your sons

are spared.

The royal bride has received your gifts with gracious

hands.

Henceforth I hope for peace between our family's

branches.”

He studied her, baffled despite all his years of

knowledge of her,

his mind clouded by the thought that the fleece was

still with him, his curse.

“Why so distraught?”

   “A pain, my lord.”

   “Such moans seem strange when I bring you joyful news.”

   She covered her eyes, groaning. He said, now deeply troubled, “Can there be in what

you've done

some harm still undetected?”

   “I was thinking of the past,” she said. “I loved you, Jason. I would have thought even a man

might grieve.

But now we'll go. All I came for is done.” With her slaves

and children

she moved like one in a nightmare toward the door.

With his eyes

he followed them. After they left, he turned slowly, his heart racing, back toward Pyripta's room. He knew he'd missed something, but for all his cunning, he

couldn't guess what,

or whether the things were already accomplished or

just now beginning.

His heart was filled with fear, suddenly, for Medeia's

life,

as her boundless rage turned inward. He could feel now

all around

him a rush, as if Time had grown sensible, and volcanic.

   Below,

far ahead of the old, tortuously moving slaves, Medeia hurried with the children, bending her head

against the rain,

rushing downward through lightning, her two sons

crying in alarm

and pain at the speed with which she dragged them

homeward. Medeia

wailed aloud, her tears mingling with the hurrying rain, her voice feeble in the ricochetting boom of thunder: “No! How can I? Farewell then all insane resolves! I'll take them away with me, far from this fat,

corrupting land.

What use can it be—hurting my sons to give Jason grief, myself reaping ten times over the woe I inflict? I won't! That too has a kind of victory in it: he wrecks my life, tears it to shreds, and with furious calm I allow him

his triumph,

trusting in the gods' justice hereafter, the fields where

the meek

are kings and queens, and the powerful on earth are

like whipped dogs.

There's
moral
victory!” But she threw back her hair with

a violent head shake

and clenched her teeth. “—So any craven slave will tell

you,

smiling at his coward's wounds, whimpering to the gods.

Shall I make

my hand so limp, my waste so trivial? —But no, no, no! Repent, mad child of Aietes! Though a thousand curses

rise

like stones turned judges in the wilderness, all justifying in one loud cry your scheme, yet this alone is true: If you strike for pride, for just and absolute revenge,

the stroke

is wasted; for who will call it pride or justice, from you? ‘Her father was mad in the selfsame way and to the

same degree,'

they'll say, and they'll wrinkle their broad Akhaian brows

and wipe

cool tears away. Dear gods! Even as an instrument of

death

they've made me nothing, meaningless! And yet though

Jason

robs me even of human free will—takes from me even my soul's conviction of freedom—I still can give pain.

Even now,

crowned by the wreath, swathed in her golden robe, his

bride

is perishing. I see it in my heart. You've served me well,

good sons.

One more journey I must send you on, now that we're

home.

Run in! Go quickly! I'll follow you soon.” She opened the

gate

and clung to it, weeping. The boys went timidly in

toward light.

But for all her wailing, her mind was not for an instant

deflected

from what she was seeing. For her witch-heart saw it all,

from the beginning:

   Before she was aware that his sons were with him,

the princess turned

with an eager welcoming glance toward Jason. But then,

drawing

her veil before her eyes, she turned her white cheek

away,

loath to have them come near. The children paused,

frightened,

but Jason said quickly to the princess, “Do not be hostile

to friends.

Forget your anger and turn your face toward me again. Accept as loved ones all whom your husband holds dear;

and accept

their gifts—worthy of a goddess—look! Then plead with

your father

that he soften toward these children and excuse them—

for my sake, Pyripta.”

The princess, seeing that golden gown, could resist no

longer

but yielded to his will, and gladly. And scarcely had

Jason left

with his children and their old attendant, than the

princess put on the new dress

and circled her hair with the golden wreath. In her

shining mirror

she ranged her locks, smiling back at the lifeless image, then rose from her seat and around the room went

stepping, half-dancing—

her blue-white feet treading delicately—Pyripta exulting, casting her eyes down many a time at her pointed foot.

   But now suddenly the princess turned pale, and

reeling back

with limbs a-tremble, she sank down quickly to a

cushioned seat—

an instant more and she'd have tottered to the ground.

An old black handmaid,

thinking it perhaps some frenzy sent by Pan, cried out in prayer. Then, lo, through the bride's bright lips she saw white foam-flakes issue—saw her eyeballs roll out of sight, no blood in her face. Then the slave sent out a shriek far different

from the first.

At once, one slave went flying upstairs to Kreon's

chamber,

another to Jason to tell him the news. The whole vast

house

echoed with footsteps, hurrying to and fro. Before a swift walker with long, sure strides could have paced

a furlong

she opened her blue eyes wide from her speechless agony and groaned. From the golden chaplet wreathing

Pyripta's head

a stream of ravening fire came flying like water down a

cliff,

and below, the gown was eating the poor girl's fair white

flesh.

She fled crazily this way and that, aflame all over, shrieking and tossing her hair to be rid of the wreath,

but the gold

clung firmly fixed. As she tossed her locks, the fire

burned brighter,

and soon all the palace was heavy with the smell of her

burning hair

and flesh. She sank to the ground, her throat too swollen

for screams,

a dark, foul shape that even her father might scarcely

know.

Her features melted; from her head ran blood in a

stream, all melled

with fire. From her bones flesh dripped like the gum of

a pine—a sight

to silence even the eternally whispering slaves. Lord

Jason

stared, rooted to the ground where he stood—nor would

anyone else

go near that body. But wretched Kreon, with a wild bawl threw himself over the corpse, closing his arms around

it

and kissing it, howling his sorrow to the gods. “Now

life's stripped bare,”

he sobbed. “O, O that I too might die!—these many

years

ripe for the tomb, and thou barely ripe for womanhood!” So old Kreon wept and wailed; and when he could

mourn

no more and thought he would raise again his ancient

limbs,

he found to his horror that she clung to him as ivy clings to laurel boughs. The slaves and the guards of the

palace stood helpless,

an army of useless friends. The fat king

wrestled with his daughter. When he pulled away with

the whole of his strength,

his agèd flesh tore free of his bones. Too spent at last to struggle further with the corpse or howl in pain, he

sobbed,

dryly, resigned to death. The slave Ipnolebes

stood over him, watching with empty eyes. The old king

whispered,

“Nothing works! All we've learned is that!” And he died. Ipnolebes said nothing. Then, all around the room, the slaves began to whisper again. A sound like fire.

   Then Jason covered his eyes with his hands and