EURIPIDES MEDEA

"I am the mother of your children. Whither can I fly, since all Greece hates the barbarian?"

"It is not you," answers Jason, "who once saved me, but love, and you have had from me more than you gave. I have brought you from a barbarous land to Greece, and in Greece you are esteemed for your wisdom. And without fame of what avail is treasure or even the gifts of the Muses? Moreover, it is not for love that I have promised to marry the princess, but to win wealth and power for myself and for my sons. Neither do I wish to send you away in need; take as ample a provision as you like, and I will recommend you to the care of my friends."

She refuses with scorn his base gifts, "Marry the maid if thou wilt; perchance full soon thou mayst rue thy nuptials."

Meantime, Aegeus, the ruler of Athens, arrives at Corinth from Delphi, Medea laments her fate to him and asks his aid; he swears that in Athens she shall find refuge. Now, reassured, she turns to vengeance. She has Jason summoned, and when he comes she begs for his forgiveness.

"Forgive what I said in anger! I will yield to the decree, and only beg one favor, that my children may stay. They shall take to the princess a costly robe and a golden crown, and pray for her protection."

The prayer is granted and the gifts accepted. But soon a messenger appears, announcing the result:

"Alas! The bride had died in horrible agony; for no sooner had she put on Medea's gifts than a devouring poison consumed her limbs as with fire, and in his endeavor to save his daughter the old father died too."

Nor is her vengeance by any means complete. She leads her two children to the house, and that no other may slay them in revenge, murders them herself. Very effective is this scene in which, after a soliloquy of agonizing doubt and hesitation, she resolves on this awful deed:

In vain, my children, have I brought you up,

Borne all the cares and pangs of motherhood,

And the sharp pains of childbirth undergone.

In you, alas, was treasured many a hope

Of loving sustentation in my age,

Of tender laying out when I was dead,

Such as all men might envy.

Those sweet thoughts are mine no more, for now bereft of you

I must wear out a drear and joyless life,

And you will nevermore your mother see,

Nor live as ye have done beneath her eye.

Alas, my sons, why do you gaze on me,

Why smile upon your mother that last smile?

Ah me! What shall I do? My purpose melts

Beneath the bright looks of my little ones.