The Argonautica
seize the goods of others, and to weave secret webs of guile, and harry
the steadings of herdsmen with ill-sounding forays. And he said that
besides all that the sons of Phrixus should pay a fitting penalty to
himself for returning in consort with evildoers, that they might
recklessly drive him from his honour and his throne; for once he had
heard a baleful prophecy from his father Helios, that he must avoid the
secret treachery and schemes of his own offspring and their crafty
mischief. Wherefore he was sending them, as they desired, to the
Achaean land at the bidding of their father—a long journey. Nor had he
ever so slight a fear of his daughters, that they would form some
hateful scheme, nor of his son Apsyrtus; but this curse was being
fulfilled in the children of Chalciope. And he proclaimed terrible
things in his rage against the strangers, and loudly threatened to keep
watch over the ship and its crew, so that no one might escape calamity.
Meantime Argus, going to Aeetes’ palace, with manifold pleading
besought his mother to pray Medea’s aid; and Chalciope herself already
had the same thoughts, but fear checked her soul lest haply either fate
should withstand and she should entreat her in vain, all distraught as
she would be at her father’s deadly wrath, or, if Medea yielded to her
prayers, her deeds should be laid bare and open to view.
Now a deep slumber had relieved the maiden from her love-pains as she
lay upon her couch. But straightway fearful dreams, deceitful, such as
trouble one in grief, assailed her. And she thought that the stranger
had taken on him the contest, not because he longed to win the ram’s
fleece, and that he had not come on that account to Aeetes’ city, but
to lead her away, his wedded wife, to his own home; and she dreamed
that herself contended with the oxen and wrought the task with
exceeding ease; and that her own parents set at naught their promise,
for it was not the maiden they had challenged to yoke the oxen but the
stranger himself; from that arose a contention of doubtful issue
between her father and the strangers; and both laid the decision upon
her, to be as she should direct in her mind. But she suddenly,
neglecting her parents, chose the stranger. And measureless anguish
seized them and they shouted out in their wrath; and with the cry sleep
released its hold upon her. Quivering with fear she started up, and
stared round the walls of her chamber, and with difficulty did she
gather her spirit within her as before, and lifted her voice aloud:
“Poor wretch, how have gloomy dreams affrighted me! I fear that this
voyage of the heroes will bring some great evil. My heart is trembling
for the stranger. Let him woo some Achaean girl far away among his own
folk; let maidenhood be mine and the home of my parents. Yet, taking to
myself a reckless heart, I will no more keep aloof but will make trial
of my sister to see if she will entreat me to aid in the contest,
through grief for her own sons; this would quench the bitter pain in my
heart.”
She spake, and rising from her bed opened the door of her chamber,
bare-footed, clad in one robe; and verily she desired to go to her
sister, and crossed the threshold. And for long she stayed there at the
entrance of her chamber, held back by shame; and she turned back once
more; and again she came forth from within, and again stole back; and
idly did her feet bear her this way and that; yea, as oft as she went
straight on, shame held her within the chamber, and though held back by
shame, bold desire kept urging her on. Thrice she made the attempt and
thrice she checked herself, the fourth time she fell on her bed face
downward, writhing in pain. And as when a bride in her chamber bewails
her youthful husband, to whom her brothers and parents have given her,
nor yet does she hold converse with all her attendants for shame and
for thinking of him; but she sits apart in her grief; and some doom has
destroyed him, before they have had pleasure of each other’s charms;
and she with heart on fire silently weeps, beholding her widowed couch,
in fear lest the women should mock and revile her; like to her did
Medea lament. And suddenly as she was in the midst of her tears, one of
the handmaids came forth and noticed her, one who was her youthful
attendant; and straightway she told Chalciope, who sat in the midst of
her sons devising how to win over her sister. And when Chalciope heard
the strange tale from the handmaid, not even so did she disregard it.
And she rushed in dismay from her chamber right on to the chamber where
the maiden lay in her anguish, having torn her cheeks on each side; and
when Chalciope saw her eyes all dimmed with tears, she thus addressed
her:
“Ah me, Medea, why dost thou weep so? What hath befallen thee? What
terrible grief has entered thy heart? Has some heaven-sent disease
enwrapt thy frame, or hast thou heard from our father some deadly
threat concerning me and my sons? Would that I did not behold this home
of my parents, or the city, but dwelt at the ends of the earth, where
not even the name of Colchians is known!”
Thus she spake, and her sister’s cheeks flushed; and though she was
eager to reply, long did maiden shame restrain her. At one moment the
word rose on the end of her tongue, at another it fluttered back deep
within her breast. And often through her lovely lips it strove for
utterance; but no sound came forth; till at last she spoke with
guileful words; for the bold Loves were pressing her hard:
“Chalciope, my heart is all trembling for thy sons, lest my father
forthwith destroy them together with the strangers. Slumbering just now
in a short-lived sleep such a ghastly dream did I see—may some god
forbid its fulfilment and never mayst thou win for thyself bitter care
on thy sons’ account.”
She spake, making trial of her sister to see if she first would entreat
help for her sons. And utterly unbearable grief surged over Chalciope’s
soul for fear at what she heard; and then she replied: “Yea, I myself
too have come to thee in eager furtherance of this purpose, if thou
wouldst haply devise with me and prepare some help. But swear by Earth
and Heaven that thou wilt keep secret in thy heart what I shall tell
thee, and be fellow-worker with me. I implore thee by the blessed gods,
by thyself and by thy parents, not to see them destroyed by an evil
doom piteously; or else may I die with my dear sons and come back
hereafter from Hades an avenging Fury to haunt thee.”
Thus she spake, and straightway a torrent of tears gushed forth and low
down she clasped her sister’s knees with both hands and let her head
sink on to her breast. Then they both made piteous lamentation over
each other, and through the halls rose the faint sound of women weeping
in anguish. Medea, sore troubled, first addressed her sister:
“God help thee, what healing can I bring thee for what thou speakest
of, horrible curses and Furies? Would that it were firmly in my power
to save thy sons! Be witness that mighty oath of the Colchians by which
thou urgest me to swear, the great Heaven, and Earth beneath, mother of
the gods, that as far as strength lies in me, never shalt thou fail of
help, if only thy prayers can be accomplished.”
She spake, and Chalciope thus replied: “Couldst thou not then, for the
stranger—who himself craves thy aid—devise some trick or some wise
thought to win the contest, for the sake of my sons? And from him has
come Argus urging me to try to win thy help; I left him in the palace
meantime while I came hither.”
Thus she spake, and Medea’s heart bounded with joy within her, and at
once her fair cheeks flushed, and a mist swam before her melting eyes,
and she spake as follows: “Chalciope, as is dear and delightful to thee
and thy sons, even so will I do. Never may the dawn appear again to my
eyes, never mayst thou see me living any longer, if I should take
thought for anything before thy life or thy sons’ lives, for they are
my brothers, my dear kinsmen and youthful companions. So do I declare
myself to be thy sister, and thy daughter too, for thou didst lift me
to thy breast when an infant equally with them, as I ever heard from my
mother in past days. But go, bury my kindness in silence, so that I may
carry out my promise unknown to my parents; and at dawn I will bring to
Hecate’s temple charms to cast a spell upon the bulls.”
Thus Chalciope went back from the chamber, and made known to her sons
the help given by her sister. And again did shame and hateful fear
seize Medea thus left alone, that she should devise such deeds for a
man in her father’s despite.
Then did night draw darkness over the earth; and on the sea sailors
from their ships looked towards the Bear and the stars of Orion; and
now the wayfarer and the warder longed for sleep, and the pall of
slumber wrapped round the mother whose children were dead; nor was
there any more the barking of dogs through the city, nor sound of men’s
voices; but silence held the blackening gloom. But not indeed upon
Medea came sweet sleep. For in her love for Aeson’s son many cares kept
her wakeful, and she dreaded the mighty strength of the bulls, beneath
whose fury he was like to perish by an unseemly fate in the field of
Ares. And fast did her heart throb within her breast, as a sunbeam
quivers upon the walls of a house when flung up from water, which is
just poured forth in a caldron or a pail may be; and hither and thither
on the swift eddy does it dart and dance along; even so the maiden’s
heart quivered in her breast. And the tear of pity flowed from her
eyes, and ever within anguish tortured her, a smouldering fire through
her frame, and about her fine nerves and deep down beneath the nape of
the neck where the pain enters keenest, whenever the unwearied Loves
direct against the heart their shafts of agony. And she thought now
that she would give him the charms to cast a spell on the bulls, now
that she would not, and that she herself would perish; and again that
she would not perish and would not give the charms, but just as she was
would endure her fate in silence. Then sitting down she wavered in mind
and said:
“Poor wretch, must I toss hither and thither in woe? On every side my
heart is in despair; nor is there any help for my pain; but it burneth
ever thus. Would that I had been slain by the swift shafts of Artemis
before I had set eyes on him, before Chalciope’s sons reached the
Achaean land. Some god or some Fury brought them hither for our grief,
a cause of many tears. Let him perish in the contest if it be his lot
to die in the field. For how could I prepare the charms without my
parents’ knowledge? What story call I tell them? What trick, what
cunning device for aid can I find? If I see him alone, apart from his
comrades, shall I greet him? Ill-starred that I am! I cannot hope that
I should rest from my sorrows even though he perished; then will evil
come to me when he is bereft of life. Perish all shame, perish all
glow; may he, saved by my effort, go scatheless wherever his heart
desires. But as for me, on the day when he bides the contest in
triumph, may I die either straining my neck in the noose from the
roof-tree or tasting drugs destructive of life. But even so, when I am
dead, they will fling out taunts against me; and every city far away
will ring with my doom, and the Colchian women, tossing my name on
their lips hither and thither, will revile me with unseemly mocking—the
maid who cared so much for a stranger that she died, the maid who
disgraced her home and her parents, yielding to a mad passion. And what
disgrace will not be mine? Alas for my infatuation! Far better would it
be for me to forsake life this very night in my chamber by some
mysterious fate, escaping all slanderous reproach, before I complete