rained
on shale. That night she’d been alarmed by visions: the
walls of her palace
were wet with blood, it seemed to her, and flames were
devouring
the magic herbs she used for bewitching strangers. With
the gore
of a murdered man she quenched the flame, catching
the blood
in her hands. It clung to her skin and garments. When
she awoke, at dawn,
the mood of the dream was still upon her, and so she’d
come
to lie in the spray by the pounding surf and be cleansed.
As she lay there
it seemed to her in a waking dream that saurian beasts flopped from the water—beasts neither animal nor
human, confused
and foul, as if earth’s primeval slime were producing
them, testing
its powers in the age before rain, when the terrible sun
was king.
As she looked, the creatures took on, more and more,
the appearance of men.
She rose, watching them with witch’s eyes, and stepped
back softly
in the direction of the grave-dark grove and the palace
beyond. With her hand
she beckoned, a movement like wind in a sapling. And
the Argonauts, trapped
in the power of her spell, came after her. The son of
Aison
reached out, touched my hand. He knew—though
helpless to resist,
unable to command his men to stay—that Aietes’ sister would prove no friend, her eyes as soulless as my
father’s, her girlish
beauty as deadly as Aietes’ anguine strength. At his
touch
I wakened. I gazed around me in alarm, like a
life-prisoner
startled from pleasant dreams to his dungeon reality. They walked like men asleep, smiling.On the terry
ahead,
the demonic witch smiled back. She had hair like a
raven’s, a smile
malicious, seductive, uncertain as the shifting patterns
of leaves
on her ghostly face. With the long fingers of her left
hand
she touched her breast, then gently, gently, dark eyes
staring,
she moved the tips of her fingers to the cloud of hair
that bloomed
below. Make no mistake: it was not mere sex wise
Circe
lured them with. She promised violence, knowledge like
the gods’,
forbidden mysteries deeper than innocence or guilt.
—Nor think
that I could prove any match for her, witch against
witch. Helpless,
in anguish at Jason’s appeal for help, I cried out, ‘Circe! Spare them!”
“The queen witch swung her glowing eyes to me
and knew that I too was of Helios’ race, for the
children of the sun
have eyes like no other mortals. At once, with a curious
smile,
she unmade the spell, as though her mind were far
away,
and Jason signalled his men to wait, and we two alone went up with Circe to her palace.
“The queen of witches drew on
her sable mantle and signalled the two of us over to
chairs
of gold. We did not sit, but went to the hearth at once and sat among ashes, in the age-old manner of
suppliants.
I buried my face in both my hands, and Jason fixed in the cinders the treasure-hilted sword with which he’d
slain
Apsyrtus. We could not meet her eyes. She understood, smiling that curious smile again, mind far away; and in reverence to the ancient
ordinance of Zeus,
the god of wrath but of mercy as well, she began to offer the sacrifice that cleanses murderers of guilt. To atone for the murder still unexpiated, she held above our heads the young of a sow whose dugs swelled yet
from the fruit
of the womb, and slitting its throat, she sprinkled our
hands with the blood;
and she made propitiation with offerings of wine, calling on Zeus the Cleanser, hope of the murder-stained, who
seize
in maniac pride what belongs to the gods alone; and all defilements her attendants bore from the palace.
Then Circe, by the hearth,
burned cakes unleavened, and prayed that Zeus might
calm the furies,
whether our festering souls were stained by the blood
of a stranger
or a kinsman.
“When all this ritual was done, she raised us up
and led us to the golden chairs; and she herself sat
near,
facing us. At once she asked us our names and business and why we had come here as suppliants. For she
remembered her dreams,
and she longed to hear the voice of her unknown
kinswoman.
I answered, telling her all she asked, sick at heart, answering softly in the Kolchian tongue. But I shrank from speaking of the murder of Apsyrtus.
Yet Circe knew,
shrewd on the habits of devils and men. And yet in part she forgave me, for pity. She touched my hair, watching the flicker of the fire in it, remembering things.
‘Then Circe said: Poor wretch, you have
contrived, it seems, the unhappiest of home-comings. You cannot escape for long your father’s wrath, I think. The wrongs you have done him are intolerable, and
surely he’ll soon
reach Hellas to have his revenge for your brother’s
murder. However,
since you are my suppliant and niece, I’ll not increase
your sorrows
by opposing your wishes through any active enmity. But leave my halls. Companion the stranger, whoever
he is,
this foreign prince you’ve chosen in your father’s
despite. And do not
kneel to me at my hearth in the hope of my own
forgiveness,
though I’ve granted you, as I must, the ritual of Zeus.
If your peace
depends upon Circe’s love, you will find no peace.’
With that,
smiling past us, solemn eyes unfathomable, she left us to find our way out however we might.
I wept,
my anguish and terror measureless. Then Jason touched my hand, raised me to my feet, and led me from the
hall. And so
in part the demands of Zeus were satisfied. The gods had forgiven, though Circe had not. Yet soon came
reason for hope
that the curse was at least much weakened. If Circe’s
heart was stone,
not all our kind was so cruel. Or so it seemed to me, weighing the curse in my mind, on the watch for
omens.
“In the gray
Karaunian sea, fronting the Ionian Straits, there lies a rich and spacious island, border of the kingdom of
the living
and the dead—the isle of the Phaiakians, whose oarless
barques
transport men, silent and swift as dreams, from the
flicker of shadows
to the sweaty labor of day. There, after months and
sorrows,
the Argo touched. The king, with all his people, received
us
with open arms. They sent up splendid thank-offerings, and all the island feted us. The joyful Argonauts mingled with the crowds and enjoyed themselves like
heroes come home
to their own island. But the Joy was brief, for the fleet
of Kolchians
who’d passed from the Black Sea throu
gh the Kyanean
Rocks arrived
at the wide Phaiakian harbor and sent stern word to the
king
demanding that I be returned to my father’s house at
once,
without any plea or parley. Should the king refuse, they
promised
reprisals bitter enough, and more when Aietes came. Wise and gentle Alkinoös, king of the Phaiakians, restrained their furious bloodlust and dealt for terms.
“Thus even
at the front door of Hellas, my hopes were dashed again, for a prospect even more dread than capture by my
brother had arisen:
capture by Kolchians hostile to me—hostile to all mankind after endless scavenging months on the sea.
I appealed
to Jason’s friends repeatedly, and to Alkinoös’ wife Arete, touching her knees with my hands. ‘O Queen, be gracious to your suppliant,’ I begged; ‘prevent these
Kolchians
from bearing me back to my father. If you’re of the
race of mortals,
you know how the noblest of emotions can lead to ruin.
Such was
my case. My wits forsook me—though I do not repent
it. I was
not wanton. I swear by the sun’s pure light, I never
intended
to run from my beautiful home with a race of foreigners, much less commit crimes worse. For those I have paid,
my lady,
startled awake in the dead of night by memory-
shrinking
from my new lord’s touch, unjustly suspecting disgust in
him.
I was a princess, lady, in a kingdom that stretched out
half the width
of the world—the colony of the sun. I was initiate to the mysteries of fire, could speak with the moon,
knew life and death,
sterility, conception; I was served by nuns sufficient to
throng
this whole wide isle of the Phaiakians. And now am
nothing,
a hunted criminal, exiled, condemned to death. Have
mercy!
Soften the heart of your lord, and may the high gods
grant you
honor, children, and the joy of life in a city untouched by dissension or war forever.’ Such was my tearful
appeal
to Arete.
“But I spoke less timorously to the Argonauts,
besieging each of them in turn: ‘You, O illustrious dare-devil lords—you and the help I gave you in your
troubles—
you alone are the cause of my affliction. Through me
the bulls
were yoked, and the harvest of earthmen reaped.
Thanks to me alone
you’re homeward bound, and with the golden fleece you
sought. Oh, you
can smile, looking forward to joyful reunions. But for
me, your warprize,
nothing remains. I’m a thing despised, a wanderer in the hands of strangers. Remember your oaths!—
and beware the fury
of the suppliant betrayed. I seek no asylum in temples
of the gods,
no sanctuary in forts. I have trusted in you alone. I look up in terror for help, but your hearts are flint.
Do you feel
no shame when you see me kneeling to a foreign queen?
You were ready
to face all Kolchis’ armies and snatch that fleece by
force,
before you had seen those armies. Where’s all your
daring now?
“The Argonauts tried to calm me, reassure me. But
their eyes
were evasive, I saw. I shook with fear. A deadly despair had come over them, it seemed to me—a wasting
disease
of the will. They had heard the insinuations of the
sirens, had seen
friends die, and they knew still more must die. They
had sailed through the channel
of Skylla and Kharybdis and had begun to grasp the
meaning of adventures
past—or the absence of meaning in them. No fire was
left
but the wild furnace of my own heart.
“Night came at last
and sleep descended on our company. But I did not
sleep.
My heart sang pain and rage, and tears flooded from
my eyes
and my Heliot mind hurled fire at the ships of the
Kolchians,
and fire at the Argonauts’ heads and the heads of the
Phaiakians,
and fire at the sing-song moon. But the queen of
goddesses
blocked my magic. They slumbered on.
‘That night in the palace
King Alkinoös and Arete his queen had retired to bed as usual. As they lay in the dark, in the hearing of
ravens,
they spoke of the Kolchian demand. Arete, from the
fullness of her heart,
said this to the king: ‘My lord, I beg you for my sake
to side
with the Argonauts, and save this poor unhappy girl from Aietes’ wrath. The isle of Argos lies near at hand; the people are neighbors. Aietes lives far away; we
know only
his name. And this: Medeia is a woman who has
suffered much.
When she told me her troubles she broke my heart. She
was out of her mind
when she gave that man the magic for the bulls. And
then, as we sinners
so often do, she tried to save the mistake by another. But I hear this Jason has solemnly sworn in the sight
of Zeus
that he’ll marry her. My love, let no decision of yours force Aison’s son to abandon his promise to heaven.
What right
have fathers to claim their daughters’ love as the gods
claim man’s?
Behold how Nykteus brought the lovely Antiope to
sorrow—
Nykteus of Thebes, that midnight monarch whose
daughter’s beauty
outshone the moon’s, so that Helios himself was in love
with her.
Behold how Danaë suffered perpetual darkness in a
dungeon
because of her father, though Zeus himself was in love
and sought her deep in the earth, in the shape of a
driving rain.
Behold how Ekhetos drove great brazen spikes in his
daughters’
eyes. Old men are mad, my lord. It is hardly love that moves them, whatever their howls. Love sends out
ships to search
new mysteries, not haul back miscreant hearts, bind
love
in chains.’
“Alkinoös was touched by his wife’s appeal.
He said:
‘I could, I think, repel the Kolchians by force of arms, siding with the Argo for Medeia’s sake. But I’d think
twice
before I dared to defy just sentence from Zeus. Nor
would
I hurry to scoff at Aietes, as it seems you’d have me do. There lives no king more mighty. Far away as he is,
he could bring
his armies and crack us like nuts. I must therefore
reach a decision
the whole world and the gods above will acknowledge
as wise.
I’ll tell you my whole intent. If Medeia is still a virgin, I’ll direct the Akhaians to return her to her father. But
if she and Jason
have married, I’ll refuse to separate them. Neither
will I give,
if she carries a child in her womb, that child to an
enemy.’
Thus spoke the king of the Phaiakians, and at
once
fell asleep.
But Arete, pondering the wisdom of his words, rose
silently
and hurried through the halls of the palace to find her
herald. She said:
‘Go swiftly to Jason, and advise him as I shall say.’
And she told
the king’s decision. And swift as a shadow the
Phaiakian went.
He found the Argonauts keeping armed watch in the
harbor near town,
and he gave them the message in full.
“At once, and with no debate,
the Argonauts set about the marriage rites. They mixed
new wine
for the immortal gods, led sheep to the altar that Argus
built—
so curiously fashioned that it seemed to be sculpted
from a single stone,
though its gem-bright parts were innumerable, and the
removal of any
would bring all its glory to ruin—and with their swords
they slew
the sheep. And before it was dawn, they made the
marriage bed
in a sacred grove. The swift-winged sons of the wind
brought flowers
from the rims of the world, and Euphemos, racing on
the sea, called nymphs
who came bringing gifts of coral and priceless pearl.
The heroes
famous for strength—Koronos, Telamon and Peleus, and mighty Leodokos, and Phlias, son of Dionysos,
and lean
Akastos, whose heart was like a bull’s—surrounded
the altar in a ring,
guarding the bride and groom and the old seer Mopsos,
in white,
from the attack of the Kolchians or demons from under
the earth, dark friends
of Helios. And behold, in the sky, snow white in the rays of the yet-horizoned sun, there appeared an eagle, sign of Zeus, so that none might carp in future days that the
marriage
was false, being made by necessity. They spread on the
bed
the golden fleece as a bridal sheet, and to Orpheus’ lyre, the Argonauts sang the hymeneal at the door of the
chamber,
and the nymphs of the tide sang with them. And thus
the son of Aison
and I, Medeia, were married.
‘Then dawn’s eyes lit the land,
old Helios red as a coal; and lightly, his hand on my
arm,
Lord Jason slept, at peace. Not I.
‘The streets now rang,
the whole Phaiakian city astir. On the far side of the island, the Kolchians were also awake. And
Alkinoös
went to them now, as promised, to give his decision
in the case.
He carried in his hand the staff of Judgment, the golden staff with which he gave out, impartially, justice among the Phaiakians. And with him throng on throng of Phaiakian noblemen came in procession,