The play is set in Corinth, and begins with a monologue from Medea’s nurse, wishing the Argo had never set sail. She wishes Pelias （Jason’s uncle） had never ordered him to fetch the golden fleece. She wishes Medea and Jason had never sailed from Colchis （where Medea grew up and the fleece was held） to Iolcus, where Pelias was king: he had usurped Jason’s father. If only, the nurse wishes, this hadn’t happened, then Medea wouldn’t have made Pelias’ daughters kill him.
This is – let’s be honest – quite a way to be introduced to a character: I wish my mistress hadn’t made those young women kill their father. The murder of Pelias is one that requires no magic from Medea, but rather what we might think of as a magic trick, and it was dramatized in Euripides’ lost play from 455 BCE, the Daughters of Pelias.16 Medea persuades the daughters of Pelias that she can rejuvenate an elderly ram by chopping him up and boiling him in a large cauldron. A bright young ram emerges from the pot. Can Medea actually rejuvenate a creature through dismemberment and boiling, or does she just substitute a young ram when the daughters of Pelias are looking elsewhere? Either way, they are persuaded by her demonstration to try the same thing on their aged father. He does not emerge rejuvenated from the process. It’s part of Medea’s story from some of its earliest tellings: Pindar calls Medea ‘the killer of Pelias’。17 There is also a lovely water jar in the British Museum which depicts this scene.18 The black-figure vase was made around 500 BCE, when Pindar was a boy. A white-haired old man sits to the left of the scene, holding a stick in his left hand. Medea stands beside her cauldron, her head turned back as though she is talking to Pelias, the old man. The ram is positively springing out of the cauldron; his front hooves and horned head look full of life. On the right-hand side of the cauldron, one of Pelias’ daughters is gazing at the ram, apparently thinking that her father’s frail condition can only improve if they just chop him up and cook him.
So the first thing we hear about Medea in Euripides’ play is that she has successfully persuaded some young women to kill their father: already she seems like someone you would avoid making angry. Because of this crime, Jason and Medea are now in Corinth, living in exile. She’s popular with the locals and obedient to her husband. So, apart from the small matter of having orchestrated the killing of Pelias, everything is fine. Right?
In line sixteen, we discover that Medea’s world has fallen apart. Jason has betrayed her and their children by starting a new relationship with the daughter of Creon, the king of Corinth （she isn’t named here, but is usually called Glauce, so we’ll go with that）。 Medea has found herself in a similar position to her poor cousin Ariadne, in other words. She helped the hero on his quest to acquire the golden fleece and depose Pelias. And now she finds herself thrown over for a new heroic-helper, even though Jason isn’t on a quest any more. He is still banished from Iolcus, so an alliance with the Corinthian king would clearly be useful. Medea and Jason’s relationship has lasted a lot longer than Theseus and Ariadne’s, however, as they have two children to show for it.
But no one is going to put Medea into a dreamy sleep and have her wake up with no memory of her marriage. As the nurse explains: she is dishonoured and she is calling on the gods to witness the vows which Jason has broken. She doesn’t eat, she lies on the ground in tears. Her friends have tried to reason with her but she won’t move, she is like a rock or an ocean wave. She cries out for her dear father, whom she deceived and abandoned to be with this man who betrays her.
Our sympathy with Medea could not be greater: this is a woman suffering profound trauma. We have been reminded that she is dangerous – to Pelias, to Ae?tes – but Medea is still vulnerable. She is in a foreign country, she has no family support. She abandoned her homeland for a man who has now abandoned her: no wonder she is so devastated. And then the nurse says something that makes us sit up in our seats. She hates her children, derives no pleasure from them. I am afraid she’s planning something. She is a terrifying woman and no one who engages in hostilities with her will have an easy victory.19
This is the first hint in the play, not even forty lines in, that Medea’s children are at risk. The grief that she is experiencing is dangerous, destructive, and not just to her. This woman who lies prone and cannot eat is also a potential danger. We’re worlds away – as readers or audience – from the dramatic opening of Euripides’ Hippolytus, although that was produced only three years later. That play began with a goddess declaring her intention to dictate the entire plot, to bring ruin down onto those who have displeased her. Medea begins in such a human way: a woman fearing for her mistress and friend because her life has been uprooted by infidelity. It is still so relatable to us, its modern audience. What a fifth-century BCE, （probably） all-male Athenian audience might have made of Medea’s predicament is something we’ll come to soon.