Read Jason and the Argonauts Online
Authors: Apollonius of Rhodes
Aeëtes vowed that, once the bulls had ravaged
the man who had agreed to undergo
the lethal labor, he would fell the oaks
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atop the wooded banks and torch the ship
and all the men aboard it, so that they
might scream away their wicked insolence,
and all their wanton scheming come to nothing.
He never would have welcomed to his hearth
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Phrixus the son of Aeolus, despite
the fact that he surpassed all other guests
in piety and kindness, and despite
his desperate need, had Zeus himself not sent
Hermes from heaven as a messenger
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to make sure Phrixus found his host receptive.
So much the less, then, would the band of pirates
who had descended on his land abide there,
uninjured, long. Their only interest
was laying hands on other people's goods,
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hatching dishonest plots, and plundering
the herdsmen's steadings in tumultuous raids.
He added that, beyond these penalties,
the sons of Phrixus personally should pay him
fitting indemnities for bringing home
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impetuous marauders who were plotting
to drive him from his throne and royal power.
In fact, his father Helius had once
uttered a baleful prophecy that warned him
to be on guard against clandestine plots
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and treachery within his familyâ
that was the reason he had sent the boys
out of the way to Hellas, though the trip
was what they wanted and their father's bidding.
He knew his daughters never could devise
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infernal schemes, nor could his son Absyrtus.
No, he assumed Chalciope's sons only
would bring the prophecy to its fulfillment.
So in his rage he spoke of horrid deeds
among his subjects and with mighty threats
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warned them to watch the ship and heroes closely
and make sure none of them escaped destruction.
Argus, meanwhile, had reached Aeëtes' palace
and with resourceful pleading urged his mother
to ask the girl for help. Chalciope
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had thought of this already, but a fear
had gripped her heart, a fear that fate would stop her
or her appeals would come to naught because
the girl would dread their father's deadly anger
or, even if the girl agreed to help them,
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their plan would be discovered and forestalled.
The girl herself was lying on her bed.
Deep sleep at first relieved her of her torment,
but soon beguiling, violent dreams assailed her,
as often happens with an anxious girl.
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She dreamed the stranger undertook the trial
not from a need to bring the fleece to Hellas,
no, that was not why he had visited
Aeëtes' palace; rather, he had come
to take her back home as his wedded wife.
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She dreamed that she herself had undertaken
the contest and performed the tasks with ease,
but that her parents backed out of the promise
since they had set the labor of the yoking
not for their daughter but the visitor
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alone. And then a two-edged quarrel broke out
between her father and the visitors.
Both sides submitted to her arbitration
and bade her side with whom her heart preferred.
Straight off she chose the stranger and ignored
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her parents. Infinite resentment gripped them.
They howled in rage and at their howling sleep
released her. She awoke in shock and shivered,
her wild eyes swiveling from wall to wall
around the room. She strained to pull her spirit
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back down inside herself and said aloud:
“Oh, how these baneful dreams have frightened me.
I fear the coming of these heroes means
catastrophe. My thoughts keep fluttering
around that stranger. Let him go and woo
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a Greek girl far away among his people.
Maidenhood and the palace of my parents
should be my lone concerns. And yet, my heart
made
shameless as a bitch's, I no longer
shall stand aside but go feel out my sister
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to see if she entreats me to assist
the trial, because she hopes to save her sons.
Yes, that would quell my heart's rebellious anguish.”
So she resolved, then rose and left the chamber,
barefoot and covered only by a nightgown.
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She was desperate to see her sister,
yet, when she crossed the threshold of the courtyard,
she lingered for a spell before her chamber,
checked by shame.
She turned around, returned,
then stepped outside again, and then again
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shrank back inside. Her feet conveyed her here,
there, nowhere, since, whenever she emerged,
the shame within her turned her steps around.
Whenever shame, though, turned her steps around,
fierce longing turned her back and urged her onward.
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Three times she started and she stopped three times.
The fourth time, though, she whirled about, then tumbled
headlong onto her bed.
Think of a girl,
a bride, bewailing in the marriage chamber
the absence of the blooming youth on whom
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her parents and her brothers had bestowed herâ
how, out of shame and shyness, she does not
make conversation with his household's servants
but sits apart in grief. Some death has claimed him
before, as man and wife, they had the pleasure
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of one another's charms. Her heart on fire,
she looks upon her freshly widowed bed
and sobs in silence, worrying that women
will mock and scorn her. So Medea wept.
Just then it chanced that, while she was lamenting,
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one of the servants who attended her
approached and noticed her and right away
bustled next door to tell Chalciope,
who happened to be with her sons, debating
how she might win her sister to their cause.
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Though busy planning, she did not ignore
the serving woman's unexpected news
but rushed in wonder straight out of her chamber
into the chamber where Medea lay
distraught, with two fresh scratches on her cheeks.
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Chalciope could see her sister's eyes
were dim with weeping, so she started thus:
“Dear, dear Medea, why are you in tears?
What's wrong? What heavy grief has crushed your heart?
What, has some heaven-sent affliction wrapped
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its coils around your body? Have you heard
some dire threat that father has pronounced
against my sons and me? If only I
were not now looking on our parents' palace
or even on this city but were living
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off at the world's outskirts where the word
âColchian' never, ever has been spoken.”
So she exclaimed. The maiden's cheeks turned red,
and for a long time virgin modesty
restrained her, though she ached to tell her tale.
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At one time words were rising to her tongue's tip
and at another sinking in her breast.
Time and again they reached her shapely lips
and strained to blossom forth,
but no sound came.
When she at last could speak, she lied, because
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the stubborn love gods still were pressing on her:
“Chalciope, my heart is all atremble
over your sons. I fear our father shortly
will cut them down together with the strangers.
Sleeping just now a fitful sleep, I saw
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such ghastly nightmares. May a god make sure
they never come to pass. Yes, may you never
endure hard sorrow for your children's sake.”
So she exclaimed to find out if her sister
would come out with a plea to save her sons.
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The story overwhelmed Chalciope
with terror past all bearing. She disclosed:
“I, too, was worrying about this matter
and came to see if you, perhaps, might work
together with me to devise a plan.
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First,
you must swear by Heaven and Earth to seal
whatever I reveal inside your heart
and thus be my accomplice. In the names
of all the blessed gods, in your own name,
and those of father and mother, I implore you
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not to sit by and watch an evil doom
viciously cut my children down or else,
when I have died beside my darling sons,
I shall return hereafter out of Hades
as an avenging Fury to torment you.”
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So she threatened, and a flood of tears
burst forth when she had finished. Then she knelt
and gripped Medea's knees with both her arms
and laid her head upon her sister's lap.
Each of them poured out piteous lamentation
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over the other, and the sound of wailing
echoed faintly through the court. Grief-stricken
Medea was the first to speak again:
“How can I help you, sister, when you threaten
Furies and baneful curses? All I want is
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to save your sons. I summon as my witness
the potent oath code of the Colchians
by which you have insisted that I swear.
I call as well on mighty Heaven and Earth,
the mother of the gods, to witness that,
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as much as there is strength within my body,
you never shall be lacking in support,
provided what you ask is possible.”
So vowed Medea, and her sister asked:
“To save my sons, Medea, could you please
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conjure some trick to help the stranger win
the contest? He is desperate as well.
Argus, in fact, has just now come from him
and asked that I attempt to win your aid.
When I came out, I left him in my chamber.”
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So she explained. The heart within Medea
leapt up for joy. Her lovely cheeks went flush.
She melted with delight. A mist descended
over her liquid eyes, and she replied:
“Sister, I shall provide whatever aid
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you and your sons would find most beneficial.
Never may dawn again light up my eyes,
nor may my mouth take in another breath,
if I place anything above your life
and that of all your sons. They are my brothers,
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my dear protectors and my playmates. Yes,
I tell you that I am a sister to you
and daughter also, equal with your sons,
because you nursed me at your breast when I
was but an infant, as I've heard my mother
many times declare.
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Go now, but bury
all that I shall perform for you in silence,
so that I can do what I must do
without my parents finding out. At daybreak
I shall be at the shrine of Hecate
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with drugs to beat the bulls and so assist
the stranger who has started all this trouble.”
With that, her sister strode out of the chamber
to tell her sons about Medea's plan.
Shame, though, and hateful terror gripped the maiden
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when she was left alone. To help a stranger
by weaving schemes behind her father's back!
Now night was covering the earth in darkness,
and sailors from their ships were studying
the stars of Ursa Major and Orion.
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Travelers and watchmen turned their thoughts
toward sleep,
and deep, deep slumber was relieving even
those mothers who had lately lost their children.
No dogs were barking in the streets; no voices
echoed; silence held the blackening gloom.
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Sweet sleep, however, never eased Medeaâ
no, worry and her love for Jason roused her.
She feared the bulls, the overwhelming force
beneath which he was all but sure to suffer
shameful destruction on the field of Ares.
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Her heart was fitful, restless in the way
a sunbeam, when reflected off the water
swirling out of a pail or pitcher, dances
upon the wallsâyes, that was how her heart
was quivering. And tears of pity flowed
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out of her eyes, and anguish burned her insides
by smoldering into her skin and sinews,
even into the apex of her spine,
the point where torment peaks when the relentless
love gods have filled us up with agony.
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Sometimes she said, yes, she would offer him
the magic drug to charm the bulls; at others,
no, she would not and she would kill herself;
at others, she would neither take her life
nor offer him the magic, but remain
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just as she had been, suffering, in silence.
She sat down then and, wavering, exclaimed:
“Which of these woes am I to choose? My mind
is reeling. There's no respite from the pain.
It burns and burns. It burns. I wish the arrows
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of Artemis had struck me dead before