PHAEDRA
A monologue from the
play by Jean
Racine
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from The Dramatic Works of Jean Racine. Trans. Robert
Bruce Boswell. London: George Bell and Sons, 1911. |
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- PHAEDRA: My wound is not so recent. Scarcely had I
- Been bound to Theseus by the marriage yoke,
- And happiness and peace seem'd well secured,
- When Athens show'd me my proud enemy.
- I look'd, alternately turn'd pale and blush'd
- To see him, and my soul grew all distraught;
- A mist obscured my vision, and my voice
- Falter'd, my blood ran cold, then burn'd like fire;
- Venus I felt in all my fever'd frame,
- Whose fury had so many of my race
- Pursued. With fervent vows I sought to shun
- Her torments, built and deck'd for her a shrine,
- And there, 'mid countless victims did I seek
- The reason I had lost; but all for naught,
- No remedy could cure the wounds of love!
- In vain I offer'd incense on her altars;
- When I invoked her name my heart adored
- Hippolytus, before me constantly;
- And when I made her altars smoke with victims,
- 'Twas for a god whose name I dared not utter.
- I fled his presence everywhere, but found him--
- O crowning horror!--in his father's features.
- Against myself, at last, I raised revolt,
- And stirr'd my courage up to persecute
- The enemy I loved. To banish him
- I wore a step-dame's harsh and jealous carriage,
- With ceaseless cries I clamour'd for his exile,
- Till I had torn him from his father's arms.
- I breathed once more, Œnone; in his absence
- My days flow'd on less troubled than before,
- And innocent. Submissive to my husband,
- I hid my grief, and of our fatal marriage
- Cherish'd the fruits. Vain caution! Cruel Fate!
- Brought hither by my spouse himself, I saw
- Again the enemy whom I had banish'd,
- And the old wound too quickly bled afresh.
- No longer is it love hid in my heart,
- But Venus in her might seizing her prey.
- I have conceived just terror for my crime;
- I hate my life, and hold my love in horror.
- Dying I wish'd to keep my fame unsullied,
- And bury in the grave a guilty passion;
- But I have been unable to withstand
- Tears and entreaties, I have told you all;
- Content, if only, as my end draws near,
- You do not vex me with unjust reproaches,
- Nor with vain efforts seek to snatch from death
- The last faint lingering sparks of vital breath.
MORE
MONOLOGUES BY JEAN RACINE |
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