what am I to do? My heart gives way when I behold my children's laughing eyes.O, I cannot; farewell to all my former schemes; Iwill take the children from the land, the babes I bore.Why should Iwound their sire by wounding them, and get me a twofold measure of sorrow? No, no, I will not do it.Farewell my scheming! And yet what possesses me? Can I consent to let those foes of mine escape from punishment, and incur their mockery? I must face this deed.Out upon my craven heart! to think that I should even have let the soft words escape my soul.Into the house, children! (The children go into the house.) And whoso feels he must not be present at my sacrifice, must see to it himself; I will not spoil my handiwork.Ah! ah! do not, my heart, O do not do this deed! Let the children go, unhappy one, spare the babes! For if they live, they will cheer thee in our exile there.Nay, by the fiends of hell's abyss, never, never will I hand my children over to their foes to mock and flout.Die they must in any case, and since 'tis so, why I, the mother who bore them, will give the fatal blow.In any case their doom is fixed and there is no escape.Already the crown is on her head, the robe is round her, and she is dying, the royal bride; that do I know full well.But now since I have a piteous path to tread, and yet more piteous still the path I send my children on, fain would I say farewell to them.(The children come out at her call.She takes them in her arms.) O my babes, my babes, let your mother kiss your hands.Ah! hands I love so well, O lips most dear to me! O noble form and features of my children, I wish ye joy, but in that other land, for here your father robs you of your home.O the sweet embrace, the soft young cheek, the fragrant breath! my children! Go, leave me; I cannot bear to longer look upon ye; my sorrow wins the day.At last I understand the awful deed I am to do; but passion, that cause of direst woes to mortal man, hath triumphed o'er my sober thoughts.
(She goes into the house with the children.)
CHORUS (chanting)
Oft ere now have I pursued subtler themes and have faced graver issues than woman's *** should seek to probe; but then e'en we aspire to culture, which dwells with us to teach us wisdom; I say not all; for small is the class amongst women-(one maybe shalt thou find 'mid many)-that is not incapable of wisdom.And amongst mortals Ido assert that they who are wholly without experience and have never had children far surpass in happiness those who are parents.The childless, because they have never proved whether children grow up to be a blessing or curse to men are removed from all share in many troubles; whilst those who have a sweet race of children growing up in their houses do wear away, as I perceive, their whole life through;first with the thought how they may train them up in virtue, next how they shall leave their sons the means to live; and after all this 'tis far from clear whether on good or bad children they bestow their toil.But one last crowning woe for every mortal man now will name; suppose that they have found sufficient means to live, and seen their children grow to man's estate and walk in virtue's path, still if fortune so befall, comes Death and bears the children's bodies off to Hades.Can it be any profit to the gods to heap upon us mortal men beside our other woes this further grief for children lost, a grief surpassing all?
(MEDEA comes out of the house.)
MEDEA
Kind friends, long have I waited expectantly to know how things would at the palace chance.And lo! I see one of Jason's servants coming hither, whose hurried gasps for breath proclaim him the bearer of some fresh tidings.
(A MESSENGER rushes in.)
MESSENGER
Fly, fly, Medea! who hast wrought an awful deed, transgressing every law: nor leave behind or sea-borne bark or car that scours the plain.
MEDEA
Why, what hath chanced that calls for such a flight of mine?
MESSENGER
The princess is dead, a moment gone, and Creon too, her sire, slain by those drugs of thine.
MEDEA
Tidings most fair are thine! Henceforth shalt thou be ranked amongst my friends and benefactors.
MESSENGER
Ha! What? Art sane? Art not distraught, lady, who hearest with joy the outrage to our royal house done, and art not at the horrid tale afraid?
MEDEA
Somewhat have I, too, to say in answer to thy words.Be not so hasty, friend, but tell the manner of their death, for thou wouldst give me double joy, if so they perished miserably.
MESSENGER