[Scene: the palace of Theseus at Trozen. On stage, Chorus of
Trozenian women, Phaedra's old Nurse, and Phaedra, who has been lying
in a sickbed in front of the palace, and now rises to address the
chorus.]
PHAEDRA: Women of Trozen, inhabitants of this land
that fronts along the Peloponnesian shore:
I've often lain awake through night's slow hours
thinking of life and how it can be ruined.
And it seems to me it's not through ignorance
we fail in our behavior. We all know
what's right. No, there's another explanation:
we see and understand what we should do,
but cannot brace ourselves to do it, either
through lack of moral energy, or being
distracted by some indulgence. Life has many:
long talks with friends is one, a harmless vice,
and honor – is that an indulgence? I'd say yes.
Unfortunately, there are two types of honor:
one keeps us firm, the other makes us weak.
If we could put them in their proper context,
we wouldn't use one word for both these kinds.
Since this is my thought-out philosophy,
there is no way that I could be beguiled
to change my moral principles from these.
But now I'll talk about my own condition.
When I was first assaulted by this passion,
I gave some thought how best to manage it.
At first I tried to drown my pain in silence,
since language is an unreliable ally,
a good tool for correcting others' faults,
but a disastrous way of dealing with our own.
Then after that I tried to bear up under
my folly by exercising self-control.
But finally, when all these methods failed
to conquer Aphrodite, then I saw
my obvious only option was to die,
since just as I'd not want my virtues hidden,
so may I never be shown up as shameful.
My sick desire would lead me into scandal,
and I must never forget that I'm a woman:
we always walk a tight-rope over blame.
The curse of all the gods upon that wife
who first abused her marriage with a lover!
It must have been in royal palaces
this blot upon our gender first arose,
since, when the leaders think disgrace is glory,
it makes the rest consider evil good.
I cannot stand these publicly pure women
who turn to shameless whores when no one's looking.
How can they, O Queen Lady Aphrodite,
look at their husbands in the face, without
being terrified the dark they use as pimp,
or the very walls, will give voice to accuse them?
Just this, friends, is what's driving me toward death:
the very thought I could betray my husband
or my own children. No: let them live free
in glorious Athens, holding their heads up high,
untouched by any scandal from their mother,
since brave men hide their faces like a slave
when they have to be ashamed of their mother or father.
They say that only one thing counts in life:
to have a consciousness of your own worth.
But soon or later, Time, as if he held
a mirror up for some young girl's inspection,
reveals the bad. I'll never be among them.
CHORUS: We feel your arguments are sensible
and ought to win approval from your hearers.
NURSE: My lady, when I just now learned your trouble
my immediate reaction was to panic,
but now I see that I was being silly.
In life somehow our second thoughts seem wiser.
There's nothing strange or inexplicable
in what you feel: it's Aphrodite's anger.
So you're in love. So what? So many are.
And because you've lost your heart you'll lose your life?
A pretty situation it would be
if falling in love were punishable by death.
The goddess overwhelms when she's resisted.
She proves a mild companion to the willing,
but the high-minded people who rule her out,
she treats them with a harshness beyond belief.
Aphrodite is in the sky's fresh breezes,
the ocean's surge, and everything is her child.
Bestowing love, she germinates desire,
the origin of all of us who live.
Why, everyone who knows the ancient poets
from having had a proper education
will tell you how Zeus once conceived a passion
for Semele, or how the bright Dawn Goddess
abducted Kephalos, a mortal youth,
for love, and yet they live together now
in heaven, not in exile from the gods.
They knew, I think, they couldn't fight what happened.
But you will? Then you should have been born exempt
from all the laws of nature and the gods
if you don't like the laws and gods we have.
How many husbands, whose marriages go sour,
decide to just ignore their wives' affairs?
How many sons are winked and nudged towards
sewing their wild oats – by their own fathers?
You won't go wrong in life if you remember
this one great rule: keep scandal under wraps.
We should not try to make our whole lives perfect
in every department. That would be
like decorating a closet: what's the point?
And anyway what headway can you make
against so huge a hurricane of desire?
No: if a situation brings more good
than bad in life, then how can we complain?
No, no, dear child: give up this stubbornness,
this arrogance, yes! since it is nothing more
than arrogance to struggle against the gods.
Endure your love: it is a god at work,
and find a better way to end this illness.
A magic charm, a powerful incantation:
that sort of thing is what will cure your pain.
These things are women's lore; we'd wait forever
if it were up to men to find them for us.
CHORUS: Phaedra, she offers you the easy way
out of your trouble, but you are in the right,
though you may find this praise of ours is harsher
and more unwelcome than what she has said.
--
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Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/
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