Pandora's Jar: Women in the Greek Myths(72)

The chorus sympathize with her about the dishonesty of men and her isolated status as a foreigner. And then Jason walks on. He is gratifyingly ghastly, all pompous opinions billed as common sense, mixed with a total lack of personal responsibility. You see what happens when you get angry, he says. You could have stayed in Corinth if you’d just kept quiet and not made such a fuss. But you had to sound your mouth off, and now you’re banished. Still, I won’t renounce my loved ones: you and the children won’t leave here poor.

It takes a certain sort of person to say this to the mother of his children, after he has decided to marry someone else. Medea hurls abuse at him – pankakiste29 – ‘worst of men!’ Euripides writes these agones – ‘debates’ – better than anyone. And this one is particularly good: even as the couple take pot-shots at one another, we can sense the sexual attraction between them. Medea lists everything she has done for Jason: saved your life from the fire-breathing bulls, killed the snake that guarded the golden fleece, deceived my father and left my home, persuaded Pelias’ daughters to kill him. And now you’re throwing me over for a new wife, even though we have sons. If I was childless, she says, I might understand it: men want heirs. What of the vows you made? The gods know you are guilty of perjury. You say you’re still a friend to us, so where do you suggest I go? Back to my father’s house? Back to Iolcus and Pelias’ daughters? The help I gave you cost me my home.

Jason’s reply is smooth, completely unapologetic. You’re keen to talk about how you helped me, he says. But that was all Aphrodite’s doing. She made you fall in love with me. Besides, you haven’t done badly out of it. You left a barbarian land and made your home in Hellas (Greece).30 You’re famous here. So yes, you assisted me, but that’s what you got out of it. As for my new marriage, it’s not about lust. We came here as exiles from Iolcus. So marrying the king’s daughter is a really lucky break. It’s not because I was bored of you, or wanted someone new. I didn’t want more children. I wanted us not to be poor, I wanted my sons to grow up well, I thought this was a good idea, and I thought you’d agree. If you weren’t obsessed with sex, you would agree.

The chorus say he speaks convincingly, but they don’t agree with him. Neither does Medea: if any of this was true, she says, you would have told me before you did it. The long speeches shrink to a few lines each, and then single lines each, as Jason and Medea settle into the rhythm of their argument.

I would have told you, but you’d have gone nuts.

Sure, call me names, I’m the one going into exile.

That’s your fault, shouting your mouth off.

What did you think I would do?

Fine, well, if you need help, let me know.

I will never need your help.

Jason and Medea are a hero and a semi-divine sorceress from a mythic world of fire-breathing bulls, enchanted fleeces and giant snakes. And yet they sound like every divorcing couple we have ever known. To underline the point, the chorus sing an ode to Aphrodite. Because, truly, which of us isn’t thinking of the wonder of love at this precise moment?

Then Aegeus – the king of Athens and father of Theseus – appears. He has been to Delphi to consult the Oracle about his continuing childlessness. Medea tells him of her marital difficulties. Aegeus is appalled by Jason’s behaviour, particularly the part where he is allowing his family to be banished from Corinth. And Medea sees her exit strategy. I’ll help you to interpret the Oracle and have children, she says, if you swear to give me sanctuary in Athens. Of course, he says, but I don’t need to swear an oath: we’re old friends. I have enemies, she replies. It’ll make us both safer if you swear to it. Your forethought is considerable, he says. He doesn’t know the half of it.

Once Aegeus has left, Medea revels in her plan. She will beg Jason to let the boys stay, while she goes into exile alone. But this is not the sacrifice it first appears. She will send the children with gifts for the princess – a dress, a crown – which Medea will have coated in poison. Once those have been delivered, she says, I lament what must be done next. For I will kill my children. No one will take them away from me.31

It’s hard to overstate how horrifying this moment is in performance. We have heard concerns about the children – from the nurse, the tutor, Medea herself – but the hints have been obscure, half-expressed. We have watched Medea’s brilliant mind in action: charming the chorus, disarming Creon, demolishing Jason, bargaining with Aegeus. We like her. And then, here it is, like a punch in the gut. This compelling, clever, angry woman is planning something which far exceeds the revenge she has previously mentioned. Killing Jason, Creon, Glauce: these are terrible crimes, but we – like the chorus – have taken her side. Jason is so oily, Creon so pompous, Glauce is just an idea: we haven’t met her. These people have wronged her, why wouldn’t she want vengeance? It is Greek tragedy, after all: a high death toll is pretty much guaranteed with your ticket. But children? Her own children? She surely doesn’t mean it. The chorus try to reason with her, but she is obdurate. Her enemies must not be allowed to laugh at her. You won’t be able to do it, they say. It’s the way to hurt my husband the most, she replies. The verb is daknō – to bite. Medea sends the nurse to bring Jason to her. The chorus sing of Athens and its beauty.

Jason reappears, as plausible, as reasonable as ever: I know you despise me, but I’m here to listen to what you have to say. And Medea switches persona once again, so we see what is surely an echo of their earlier marital reconciliations. It is impossible to watch this play and not imagine them as a couple who have always had rollercoaster rows. Medea’s cleverness is highly responsive: she always knows how to perform for her specific audience. This time, she chooses magnanimous self-recrimination. You know what my temper is like, Jason, and we have loved one another for so long. I’m an idiot, picking fights with Creon, with you. Of course you were trying to help us, by starting a new family, creating royal brothers for our sons. I don’t know why I was so angry: I should have helped your new bride get ready for her wedding.