by Daisy Dunn
that bastard who thinks he’s the true son,
you know him well,
Hippolytos—
PHAIDRA.
OIMOI! [cry]
NURSE.
[Silence, waits]
PHAIDRA.
You destroy me, woman. By the gods
I beg you do not say his name again.
NURSE.
You see? you are quite sane, yet unwilling
to help your children or save yourself.
PHAIDRA.
I love my children. But I’m caught in the storm of a different fate.
NURSE.
Your hands are clean of blood, child?
PHAIDRA.
Hands are clean. The mind is filth.
NURSE.
Is it bad magic, a spell cast by some enemy?
PHAIDRA.
A loved one destroys me, although he doesn’t mean to.
NURSE.
Theseus has done you wrong?
PHAIDRA.
Oh no—and may I never seem evil to him!
NURSE.
Well what is this dread thing that pulls you toward death?
PHAIDRA.
Leave me to my sins, they are not against you.
NURSE.
No I will not give up on you.
PHAIDRA.
What then—force me? cling to my hand?
NURSE.
Your knees too, I will not let go.
PHAIDRA.
Evil, you unlucky woman, evil is what you will find.
NURSE.
What greater evil than watching you die?
PHAIDRA.
To hear it will kill you. My honor is in this.
NURSE.
And you hide it though I plead with you!
PHAIDRA.
Out of what is shameful I am contriving something good.
NURSE.
Won’t you get more honor if you tell it?
PHAIDRA.
Get back, by the gods, let go my right hand!
NURSE.
No I will not. You must tell it.
PHAIDRA.
Yes. I must. I will. I respect your suppliant hand.
NURSE.
I am silent. It’s your story now.
PHAIDRA.
O my poor mother, what a love you fell into!
NURSE.
You mean her lust for the bull?
PHAIDRA.
O my sad sister, wife of Dionysos!
NURSE.
Child, what’s wrong? Why talk old family scandal?
PHAIDRA.
And third—me. Oh I am a sad one. I am lost.
NURSE.
You frighten me. Where is this going?
PHAIDRA.
To where our sorrows began long ago.
NURSE.
Maybe I don’t want to hear.
PHAIDRA.
PHEU! [cry]
If only you could say it for me!
NURSE.
I am no prophet of the invisible.
PHAIDRA.
What is this thing they call falling in love?
NURSE.
Something absolutely sweet and absolutely bitter at the same time.
PHAIDRA.
I feel only the second.
NURSE.
You’re in love? Child! Who is it?
PHAIDRA.
That one, whoever he is, the Amazon’s—
NURSE.
Hippolytos?
PHAIDRA.
You say it, not I.
Phaidra asks the Nurse to promise not to tell Hippolytos of her feelings. The Nurse cannot hold back. Hippolytos hears the truth.
PHAIDRA.
O you agent of ruin! Corrupter of trust!
What have you done to me!
May Zeus
my forefather
grind you to nothing,
blast you in fire from the face of the earth!
Didn’t I see this coming—did I not command you
to keep silent? And now my humiliation!
You would not hold back.
Because of you I’ll die in shame.
Oh I need all new plans!
That man bitten to the brains with anger as he is
will speak against me to his father—tell your crimes—
and fill the land with my disgrace.
Curse you!
Curse anyone eager
to help a friend to ruin!
NURSE.
Go ahead and blame my failures, lady,
for the sting is stronger than your judgment now.
But I have answers too, if you allow.
I reared you, I am on your side.
I sought a cure
for your disease and found one not so nice.
Yet if I had succeeded you’d call me smart.
Smartness is relative to winning, isn’t it.
PHAIDRA.
So this is justice? This is supposed to be enough for me?
You cut me to the nerves and then say “Sorry!”
NURSE.
We’re wasting words. I went too far.
But, child, there is a way to save the situation even now.
PHAIDRA.
No more advice.
It was bad before.
Go—look to your own affairs, I’ll manage mine.
[Exit NURSE into palace.]
And you, noble women of Trozen,
grant me this favor I beg.
Keep in silence what you heard here.
CHORUS.
I swear by reverend Artemis daughter of Zeus,
I’ll show none of this to the light of day.
PHAIDRA.
Ladies, thank you.
One last thing.
I’ve got an idea
how I can leave my children a respectable name
and allow myself a way out.
For I will not shame my Kretan home
nor come to Theseus charged with corruption,
just to save one life.
CHORUS.
What do you intend?
PHAIDRA.
To die. How I’m not sure.
CHORUS.
Hush.
PHAIDRA.
Hush nothing.
I will pleasure Aphrodite, the one who destroys me,
by releasing myself from life this very day.
Bitter the love by which I’m beaten.
But I shall become
disaster for another
as I die—may he learn
not to swell himself on my misfortune.
If he gets a share of this disease he’ll learn self-control.
[Exit PHAIDRA into palace.]
Theseus finds a tablet in his dead wife’s hand. It falsely accuses Hippolytos of raping her. Hippolytos denies the accusation and stresses his chastity. His father Theseus refuses to believe him and resolves to send him into exile.
THESEUS.
PHEU [cry] the human mind! To what lengths will it not go?
Where will its reckless impudence end?
For if it swells from life to life
and each one exceeds the one before in evildoing,
the gods will have to add another world to this one
to make room for the unjust and the bad.
Look at this man: my own son yet
he shames my bed! And stands denounced
by this dead woman
as plain and utter evil.
Show your face to your father, polluted as you are!
Are you the one who walks with gods as if you were something special?
You, the model of purity, uncut by sin?
No—to credit your boasts
is to call the gods stupid.
Go ahead, exalt yourself, sell your story—
the vegetarian diet, the Orphic jargon,
all that Bacchic business and spooky writings!
You stand exposed. I tell the world:
avoid such men.
She is dead. You th
ink that will save you?
No, you are caught, you thing of evil.
What kind of oaths, what words
could exonerate you?
Will you say she hated you, that a bastard
is always the enemy of legitimate sons?
She made a bad bargain, the way you tell it,
destroying her own dear life just to discomfit you.
Or do you claim that lust isn’t natural to men,
just women? I don’t see
young men are any more controlled than females
when Aphrodite mixes up their blood.
The fact of being male is good in itself but—
oh why do I bother to argue with you?
Isn’t her corpse right here the clearest witness in the world?
Get yourself out of this land as fast as you can.
You are exiled!
Don’t come near godbuilt Athens,
don’t cross any frontier I rule!
If after suffering this I am bested by you,
I’ll lose my reputation as a scourge of bad men,
they’ll say
no scoundrel ever felt my punishing hand.
CHORUS.
Who can call any mortal happy?
Look how beginnings are turned upside down.
HIPPOLYTOS.
Father, the passion and set of your mind are terrifying.
But the case you make, although elegant,
is wrong.
Now I boast no skill at public speaking
(I prefer to address a few of my peers,
and I guess this makes sense—
if you think what kind of people impress a crowd!)
still, there is a necessity. I must
loose my tongue. I’ll begin
from the first accusation you made,
which you presumed I could not answer.
You see this daylight, this earth?
Nowhere in it is there a man—
go ahead deny it!—more purehearted than I.
I know how to worship gods,
and I choose my friends from honorable people,
people ashamed to connive at evil
or do dirty favors.
I am not a man to mock my companions, father,
I am the same to friends absent or present.
And there is one sin that has never touched me—that sin
in which you think me caught—
my body is pure of sex to this day.
I do not know the deed except from hearsay, pictures.
Nor do I want to.
I have a virgin soul.
No doubt my chastity fails to persuade you—well,
explain then how I was seduced.
Was this woman’s body more lovely than any other in the world?
Or did I
take the heiress to bed to get your house?
Then I was a fool—mad, really!
But men who crave royal power are scarcely sane, are they?
No, never, never in the world! those who find
power sweet have had their wits turned by it.
Sure I’d like to win at the Olympic Games
but in politics second place is fine.
I am happy with men of virtue as my friends—
the kind of influence that brings no risk—
much more pleasant than tyranny.
Nothing left to say but this:
if I had a character witness here,
or if I were pleading my case with her alive,
the facts would show you who is evil.
But now I swear an oath to you
by Zeus who guards oaths,
by the plain of earth.
I never touched your marriage bed.
I never wanted to.
I never took the thought in mind.
May I perish unknown and nameless,
may neither sea nor land receive my flesh when dead,
if I was an evil man.
What despair drove this woman to end her life
I don’t know.
I can say no more.
She was not pure but she did one pure thing.
Whereas I—my purity has ruined me.
CHORUS.
Good. The oath was a nice touch.
THESEUS.
Swindler! Sorcerer!—thinks
to rule my soul with his mild manners,
though he has put his own father to shame!
HIPPOLYTOS.
I wonder at your manners too, father.
If you were my child and I your father
and I thought you’d touched my wife,
I’d murder you, not sentence you to exile.
THESEUS.
How like you to say that! But no,
you won’t die so.
Quick death is too kind.
I want you outcast from your father’s country
bleeding a bitter life away in alien places.
HIPPOLYTOS.
OIMOI! [cry]
Is that your intention? You won’t
wait for time to condemn me, just
throw me out?
THESEUS.
Beyond the Black Sea and the boundary of Atlas if I could,
I hate you so.
HIPPOLYTOS.
Without any test of oath or pledge or oracle,
without trial, you’ll cast me out?
THESEUS.
This letter denounces you plainly. No need
for divination! Let the birds of omen
fly over my head—be gone!
HIPPOLYTOS.
O gods! why not speak out—
I am being destroyed for honoring you!
No. He would never believe me.
I’d break my oath in vain.
THESEUS.
OIMOI! [cry]
Your piety will kill me!
Out of my land! Go!
HIPPOLYTOS.
Where shall I turn? Whose house
can I enter, exiled on a charge like this?
THESEUS.
Go to someone who wants his women defiled,
one cozy with evil.
HIPPOLYTOS.
ALAI! [cry]
That goes to the heart. This is near tears,
if I seem evil and you think me so.
THESEUS.
The time for tears was before
you raped your father’s wife.
HIPPOLYTOS.
O house! If only you could speak for me,
bear witness!
THESEUS.
Wise of you to turn to voiceless witnesses.
But your deed speaks aloud.
HIPPOLYTOS.
PHEU! [cry]
I wish that I could stand apart, observe myself
and weep for my own suffering.
THESEUS.
You are much more adept at self-worship
than at piety toward parents.
HIPPOLYTOS.
O most miserable mother! O bitter birth!
Pity anyone who is a bastard!
THESEUS.
Drag him out, servants!
Do you not hear me pronounce him exiled?
HIPPOLYTOS.
No.
You do it. You do it.
THESEUS.
I will if you don’t obey.
Your exile stirs no pity in me.
HIPPOLYTOS.
So, it is fixed.
Sad, what I know I cannot tell.
Hippolytos is wounded when his horses rear, frightened by a divinely-inspired sea monster. The goddess Artemis tells Theseus the truth. Hippolytos forgives his father. Hippolytos slips away.
EURIPIDES THE WOMAN-HATER
Thesmophoriazusae
Aristophanes
Translated by William James Hickie, 1883
A comedy by Aristophanes (c. 446–c. 386 BC), Thesmophoriazusae was first performed in Athens in or around 411 BC. Its tongue-twister of a title translates as ‘The Women Celebrating the Thesmo
phoria’. Held in honour of Demeter and her daughter Persephone (see Story 11) each year, the Greek festival of the Thesmophoria was celebrated exclusively by women. In this extract, the playwright Euripides attempts to infiltrate the festival to save his own skin. The women of the city have taken umbrage at his harsh characterisation of their sex in his tragedies. Medea (Story 43) and Phaidra in Hippolytus (Story 22) are just two of the many flawed women from his oeuvre. The very idea that women of the fifth century BC might have taken issue with the apparent misogyny of a leading playwright is striking. As Euripides seeks a stooge to do his dirty work for him, the misogyny of which he is accused becomes only too apparent.
EURIPIDES. A great evil is ready kneaded for me.
MNESILOCHUS. Of what kind?
EURIPIDES. On this day will be decided whether Euripides still lives or is undone.
MNESILOCHUS. Why, how? For now neither the courts are about to judge causes, nor is there a sitting of the Senate; for it is the third day, the middle of the Thesmophoria.
EURIPIDES. In truth, I expect this very thing even will destroy me. For the women have plotted against me, and are going to hold an assembly to-day about me in the temple of Demeter and Persephone for my destruction.
MNESILOCHUS. Wherefore? why, pray?
EURIPIDES. Because I represent them in tragedy and speak ill of them.
MNESILOCHUS. And justly too would you suffer, by Neptune! But, as this is the case, what contrivance have you?
EURIPIDES. To persuade Agathon the tragic poet to go to the temple of Demeter and Persephone.
MNESILOCHUS. What to do? Tell me!
EURIPIDES. To sit in assembly among the women, and to speak whatever is necessary in my defence.
MNESILOCHUS. Openly, or secretly?
EURIPIDES. Secretly, clothed in a woman’s stole.
MNESILOCHUS. The device is a clever one, and exceedingly in conformity with your disposition; for ours is the prize for trickery. [The creaking of machinery is heard.]
Agathon refuses to help Euripides so the task falls to his elderly father-in-law Mnesilochus. Dressed up as a woman, Mnesilochus joins the festival where the women are holding a meeting
HERALD. Hear, every one! [Unfolds a paper and begins to read the preliminary decree] “These things have been determined on by the Senate of the women: Timoclea was Epistates, Lysilla was secretary, Sostrata moved the decree; to convene an assembly in the morning in the middle of the Thesmophoria, when we are most at leisure; and to debate first about Euripides, what he ought to suffer, for he has been adjudged guilty by us all.” Who wishes to speak?
FIRST WOMAN. I.
HERALD. Then first put on this crown before you speak. [To the meeting.] Be silent! Be quiet! Give attention! for she is now expectorating, as the orators do. She seems to be going to make a long speech.
FIRST WOMAN. Through no ostentatiousness, by the two goddesses, have I stood up to speak, O women; but indeed I have been vexed, unhappy woman, now for a long time, seeing you treated with contumely by Euripides the son of the herb-woman, and abused with much abuse of every kind. For what abuse does he not smear upon us? And where has he not calumniated us, where, in short, are spectators, and tragic actors, and choruses? calling us adulteresses in disposition, lovers of the men, wine-bibbers, traitresses, gossips, masses of wickedness, great pests to men. So that, as soon as they come in from the wooden-benches, they look askance at us, and straightway search, lest any paramour be concealed in the house. And we are no longer able to do any of those things which we formerly did: such badness has he taught our husbands. So that, if even any woman weave a crown, she is thought to be in love; and if she let fall any vessel while roaming about the house, her husband asks her, “In whose honour is the pot broken? It must be for the Corinthian stranger.” Is any girl sick; straightway her brother says, “This colour in the girl does not please me.” Well; does any woman, lacking children, wish to substitute a child; it is not possible even for this to go undiscovered; for now the husbands sit down beside them. And he has calumniated us to the old men, who heretofore used to marry girls; so that no old man is willing to marry a woman, on account of this verse, “For a woman is ruler over an old bridegroom.” In the next place, through him they now put seals and bolts upon the women’s apartments, guarding us; and moreover they keep Molossian dogs, a terror to paramours. And this, indeed, is pardonable; but as for what was permitted us heretofore, to be ourselves the housekeepers, and to draw forth and take barley-meal, oil, and wine; not even this is any longer permitted us. For the husbands now themselves carry secret little keys, most ill-natured, certain Spartan ones with three teeth. Previously, indeed, it was possible at least to secretly open the door, if we got a three-obol seal-ring made. But now this home-born slave Euripides has taught them to have rings of worm-eaten wood, having them suspended about them. Now therefore I move that we mix up some destruction in some way or other for him, either by poison, or by some one artifice, so that he shall perish. These I speak openly; but the rest I will draw up in the form of a motion in conjunction with the secretary.