She suddenly falls distraught, as one who sees a dreadful vision.
But whither hastes that throng
Of furies? What their quest? What mean their brandished
fires?
Whom threats this hellish host with horrid, bloody brands?
I hear the writhing lash of serpents huge resound.
Whom seeks Magæra with her deadly torch?—Whose shade
Comes gibbering there with scattered limbs?—It is my
brother!
Revenge he seeks; and we will grant his quest. Then come,
Within my heart plunge all your torches—rend me—burn!
For lo, my bosom open to your fury's stroke.
O brother, bid those vengeful goddesses depart
And go in peace down to the lowest shades of Hell.
And do thou leave me to myself, and let this hand
That slew thee with the sword now offer sacrifice
Unto thy shade.
Roused to the point of action by this vision, and still at the very pitch of frenzy, she plunges her dagger into the first of her sons. (The poet thus violates the canons of the classical drama in representing deeds of blood upon the stage.)
But now hoarse shouts and the quick tramping of many feet are heard; and well does Medea know their meaning.
What sudden uproar meets my ear?
'Tis Corinth's citizens on my destruction bent.
Unto the palace roof I'll mount, and there complete
This bloody sacrifice.
[To her other son.] Do thou come hence with me;
But thee, poor senseless corse, within mine arms I'll bear.
Now gird thyself, my heart, with strength. Nor must this
deed
Lose all its just renown because in secret done;
But to the public eye my hand must be approved.
Medea disappears within, leading one son, terrified and reluctant, and bearing the body of her other child in her arms. Jason and a crowd of Corinthian citizens rush upon the stage. Stopping in front of his own palace, he shouts:
Ho, all ye loyal sons who mourn the death of kings!
Come, let us seize the worker of this hideous crime.
Now ply your arms and raze her palace to the ground.
At this moment, though as yet unseen by those below, Medea emerges upon the palace roof.
Medea.
Now, now have I regained my regal power, my sire,
My brother! Once again the Colchians hold the spoil
Of precious gold, and by the magic of this hour
I am a maid once more! O heavenly powers appeased
At length! O festal hour! O nuptial day! On! on!
Accomplished is the guilt, but not the recompense.
Complete the task while yet thy hands are strong to act.
Why dost thou linger still? Why dost thou hesitate
Upon the threshold of the deed? Thou canst perform it.
Now wrath has died within me, and my soul is filled
With shame and deep remorse. Ah me, what have I done,
Wretch that I am? Wretch that thou art, well mayest thou
mourn,
For thou hast done it!—At that thought delirious joy
O'ermasters me and fills my heart which fain would grieve.
And yet, methinks, the act was almost meaningless,
Since Jason saw it not; for naught has been performed
If to his grief be added not the woe of sight.
Jason.
[discovering her.] Lo, there she stands upon the
lofty battlements!
Bring torches! Fire the house! That she may fall ensnared
By those devices she herself hath planned.