The chorus, which but dimly comprehends Medea's plans, briefly voices its dread of her unbridled passion. It knows that she has one day only before her banishment from Corinth, and prays that this day may soon be over.
And now, as the chorus and the old nurse wait in trembling suspense for what is to follow, a messenger comes running breathless from the direction of the royal palace. All ears are strained to hear his words, for his face and manner betoken evil tidings. He gasps out his message:
Lo, all is lost! The kingdom totters from its base!
The daughter and the father lie in common dust!
Chorus.
By what snare taken?
Messenger.
By gifts, the common snare of kings.
Chorus.
What harm could lurk in them?
Messenger.
In equal doubt I stand;
And, though my eyes proclaim the dreadful deed is done,
I scarce can trust their witness.
Chorus.
What the mode of death?
Messenger.
Devouring flames consume the palace at the will
Of her who sent them; there complete destruction reigns,
While men do tremble for the very city's doom.
Chorus.
Let water quench the fire.