Ah! poor lady, woe is thee! Alas, for thy sorrows! Whither wilt thou turn? What protection, what home or country to save thee from thy troubles wilt thou find? O Medea, in what a hopeless sea of misery heaven hath plunged thee!
MEDEA
On all sides sorrow pens me in.Who shall gainsay this? But all is not yet lost! think not so.Still are there troubles in store for the new bride, and for her bridegroom no light toil.Dost think Iwould ever have fawned on yonder man, unless to gain some end or form some scheme? Nay, would not so much as have spoken to him or touched him with my hand.But he has in folly so far stepped in that, though he might have checked my plot by banishing me from the land, he hath allowed me to abide this day, in which I will lay low in death three of my enemies-a father and his daughter and my husband too.Now, though I have many ways to compass their death, I am not sure, friends, which I am to try first.Shall I set fire to the bridal mansion, or plunge the whetted sword through their hearts, softly stealing into the chamber where their couch is spread? One thing stands in my way.If I am caught making my way into the chamber, intent on my design, I shall be put to death and cause my foes to mock, 'Twere best to take the shortest way-the way we women are most skilled in-by poison to destroy them.Well, suppose them dead; what city will receive me? What friendly host will give me a shelter in his land, a home secure, and save my soul alive? None.So I will wait yet a little while in case some tower of defence rise up for me; then will I proceed to this bloody deed in crafty silence; but if some unexpected mischance drive me forth, I will with mine own hand seize the sword, e'en though I die for it, and slay them, and go forth on my bold path of daring.By that dread queen whom I revere before all others and have chosen to share my task, by Hecate who dwells within my inmost chamber, not one of them shall wound my heart and rue it not.Bitter and sad will I make their marriage for them; bitter shall be the wooing of it, bitter my exile from the land.Up, then, Medea, spare not the secrets of thy art in plotting and devising; on to the danger.Now comes a struggle needing courage.Dost see what thou art suffering? 'Tis not for thee to be a laughing-stock to the race of Sisyphus by reason of this wedding of Jason, sprung, as thou art, from noble sire, and of the Sun-god's race.Thou hast cunning;and, more than this, we women, though by nature little apt for virtuous deeds, are most expert to fashion any mischief.
CHORUS (singing)
strophe 1
Back to their source the holy rivers turn their tide.Order and the universe are being reversed.'Tis men whose counsels are treacherous, whose oath by heaven is no longer sure.Rumour shall bring a change o'er my life, bringing it into good repute.Honour's dawn is breaking for woman's sex; no more shall the foul tongue of slander fix upon us.
antistrophe 1
The songs of the poets of old shall cease to make our faithlessness their theme.Phoebus, lord of minstrelsy, hath not implanted in our mind the gift of heavenly song, else had I sung an answering strain to the race of males, for time's long chapter affords many a theme on their sex as well as ours.
strophe 2
With mind distraught didst thou thy father's house desert on thy voyage betwixt ocean's twin rocks, and on a foreign strand thou dwellest thy bed left husbandless, poor lady, and thou an exile from the land, dishonoured, persecuted.
antistrophe 2
Gone is the grace that oaths once had.Through all the breadth of Hellas honour is found no more; to heaven hath it sped away.For thee no father's house is open, woe is thee! to be a haven from the troublous storm, while o'er thy home is set another queen, the bride that is preferred to thee.
(As the CHORUS finishes its song, JASON enters, alone.MEDEA comes out of the house.)JASON
It is not now I first remark, but oft ere this, how unruly a pest is a harsh temper.For instance, thou, hadst thou but patiently endured the will of thy superiors, mightest have remained here in this land and house, but now for thy idle words wilt thou be banished.
Thy words are naught to me.Cease not to call Jason basest of men; but for those words thou hast spoken against our rulers, count it all gain that exile is thy only punishment.I ever tried to check the outbursts of the angry monarch, and would have had thee stay, but thou wouldst not forego thy silly rage, always reviling our rulers, and so thou wilt be banished.Yet even after all this I weary not of my goodwill, but am come with thus much forethought, lady, that thou mayst not be destitute nor want for aught, when, with thy sons, thou art cast out.Many an evil doth exile bring in its train with it;for even though thou hatest me, never will I harbour hard thoughts of thee.
MEDEA
