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.
Medea.
[derisively.] Not so; But rather build a lofty pyre for these thy sons; Their funeral rites prepare. Already for thy bride And father have I done the service due the dead; For in their ruined palace have I buried them. One son of thine has met his doom; and this shall die Before his father's face.—
Jason.
By all the gods, and by the perils of our flight,
And by our marriage bond which I have ne'er betrayed,
I pray thee spare the boy, for he is innocent.
If aught of sin there be, 'tis mine. Myself I give
To be the victim. Take my guilty soul for his.
Medea.
'Tis for thy prayers and tears I draw, not sheathe the
sword.
Go now, and take thee maids for wives, thou faithless one;
Abandon and betray the mother of thy sons.
Jason.
And yet, I pray thee, let one sacrifice atone.
Medea.
If in the blood of one my passion could be quenched,
No vengeance had it sought. Though both my sons I slay,
The number still is all too small to satisfy
My boundless grief.
Jason.
Then finish what thou hast begun—
I ask no more—and grant at least that no delay
Prolong my helpless agony.
Medea.
Now hasten not,
Relentless passion, but enjoy a slow revenge.
This day is in thy hands; its fertile hours employ.
Jason.
O take my life, thou heartless one.
Medea.
Thou bidst me pity—
Well—[She slays the second child]—'Tis done! No more atonement, passion, can I offer thee. Now hither lift thy tearful eyes, ungrateful one. Dost recognize thy wife? 'Twas thus of old I fled. The heavens themselves provide me with a safe retreat. Twin serpents bow their heads submissive to the yoke.
For there suddenly appears in the air a chariot drawn by dragons.
Now, father, take thy sons; while I, upon my car,
With winged speed am borne aloft through realms of air.
Jason.
[calling after as she vanishes]. Speed on through realms of air that mortals never see: But heaven bear witness, whither thou art gone, no gods can be.
3. ROMAN COMEDY
We have already said that the natural mimicry of the Italian peasantry no doubt for ages indulged itself in uncouth performances of a dramatic nature, which developed later into those mimes and farces, the forerunners of Roman comedy and the old Medley-Satura. We have also shown how powerfully Rome came under the influence of Greek literature and Greek art; and how the first actual invasion of Rome by Greek literature was made under Livius Andronicus, who, in 240 BC, produced the first play before a Roman audience translated from the Greek into the Roman tongue. What the history of native comedy would have been, had it been allowed to develop entirely apart from Greek influence, we shall never know, since it did come powerfully under this influence, and retained permanently the form and character which it then acquired.
When Rome turned to Greece for comedy, there were three models from which to choose: the Old Athenian Comedy of Eupolis, Cratinus, and Aristophanes, full of criticism boldly aimed at public men and policies, breathing the most independent republican spirit; the Middle Comedy, which was still critical, directed, however, more at classes of men and schools of thought than at individuals; and New Comedy, the product of the political decadence of Greece, written during a period (340–260 BC) when the independence which had made the trenchant satire of the Old Comedy possible had gone out of Greece.