CREON
Soon wilt thou be
thrust out
forcibly by the hand of servants.
MEDEA
Not that, not that, I do
entreat thee, Creon
CREON
Thou wilt cause
disturbance yet, it seems.
MEDEA
I will begone; I ask thee not this boon to grant.
CREON
Why then this
violence? why dost thou not depart?
MEDEA
Suffer me to abide this single day and
devise some plan for the
manner of my exile, and means of living for my children, since their
father cares not to provide his babes
therewith. Then pity them;
thou too hast children of thine own; thou needs must have a kindly
heart. For my own lot I care
naught, though I an exile am, but for
those babes I weep, that they should learn what sorrow means.
CREON
Mine is a nature anything but harsh; full oft by showing pity have
suffered
shipwreck; and now
albeit I clearly see my error, yet shalt
thou gain this request, lady; but I do forewarn thee, if tomorrow's
rising sun shall find thee and thy children within the borders of this
land, thou diest; my word is
spoken and it will not lie. So now, if
abide thou must, stay this one day only, for in it thou canst not do
any of the
fearful deeds I dread.
(CREON and his retinue go out.)
CHORUS (chanting)
Ah! poor lady, woe is thee! Alas, for thy sorrows! W
hither 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 I
would 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