Medea: Hell Hath No Fury

Maria Callas as Medea in the Pier Paolo Pasolini's production of the play.

Of Wives and Foreigners:

Women of Corinth, I have stepped outside
so you will not condemn me. Many people
Act superior--I'm well aware of this.

Some keep it private; some are arrogant in public view. Yet there are others who, just because they lead a quiet life are thought to be aloof. There is no justice in human eyesight: people take one look and hate a man, before they know his heart, though no injustice has been done to them. A foreigner must adapt to a new city, certainly. Nor can I praise a citizen who’s willful, and who treats his fellow townsmen harshly, out of narrow-mindedness.

My case is different. Unexpected trouble 

has crushed my soul. It’s over now: I take

No joy in life. My friends, I want to die.

My husband, who was everything to me—

How well I know it—is the worst of men.

Of all the living creatures with a soul 

and mind, we women are the most pathetic.

First of all, we have to buy a husband;

Spend vast amounts of money, just to get

A master for our body—to add insult

To injury. And the stakes could not be higher:

Will you get a decent husband, or a bad one?

If a woman leaves her husband, then she loses

Her virtuous reputation. To refuse him

Is just not possible. When a girl leaves home

And comes to live with new ways, different rules,

She has to be a prophet—learn somehow

The art of dealing smoothly with her bedmate.

If we do well, and if our husbands bear

The yoke without discomfort or complaint,

Our lives are admired. If not, it’s best to die.

A man, when he gets fed up with the people

At home, can go elsewhere to ease his heart

--he has friends, companions his own age.

We must rely on just one single soul.

They say that we lead safe, untroubled lives

At home while they do battle with the spear.

They’re wrong. I’d rather take my stand behind

A shield three times than to through childbirth again.

Still, my account is quite distinct from yours.
This is your city. You have your fathers' homes,
your lives bring you joy and profit. You have friends.
But I have been deserted and outraged--
left without a city by my husband,
who stolre me as his plunder from the land
of the barbarians. Here I have no mother,
no brother, no blood relative to help
unmoor me from this terrible disaster.
So, I will need to ask you one small favor.
If I should find some way, some strategy
to pay my husband back, bring him to justice,
keep silent. Most of the time, I know, a woman
is filled with fear. She's worthless in a battle
and flinches at the sight of steel. But when
she's faced with an injustice in the bedroom,
there is no other mind more murderous.

Questions for discussion:
What observations does Medea make about the condition of women, generally?
What assumptions about women and their condition does she dispel--particularly with regard to her plan to murder her own children?
What pleas does she make for her own condition as a foreigner? A recluse?
How does she use her positioning as a foreigner to curry empathy or acceptance of her actions? (see lines 255-63).