{"id":4192,"date":"2006-01-14T10:30:35","date_gmt":"2006-01-14T15:30:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=4192"},"modified":"2023-08-17T07:24:56","modified_gmt":"2023-08-17T11:24:56","slug":"the-books-andromache-jean-racine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=4192","title":{"rendered":"The Books: \u201cAndromache\u201d (Jean Racine)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Next script on my script shelf<\/a>:<\/p>\n

\"Andromache.jpg\"Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Andromache, by Racine<\/a>\"\"<\/i>, by Jean Racine<\/p>\n

Francois Mauriac wrote, in regards to translating Racine <\/a>into English: “Of all our authors, Racine is one of the least accessible to people of other countries.” Translating French (especially poetry) into English is really difficult – I’ve read bad translations of Moliere and you think: What the hell is the big deal about this playwright? The rhymes clunk, the rhythm is predictable … I don’t get it. When you read it in French, it’s a whole other ballgame. Moliere is stupendous in his own language.<\/p>\n

The translation I have of Racine’s Andromache<\/i> is done by poet Richard Wilbur and for some reason I really loved it in college – but now, reading it again, I think the same thing I think when I read a bad translation of Moliere … what on earth is the big deal here? The rhymes come off sounding like nursery-school rhymes.<\/p>\n

I should probably get another translation – I know Robert Lowell did one. There are many translations. Tackling Racine and trying to make him LIVE in English is one of those rites of passage that many poets go through. Or maybe I should just give it a shot and try reading it in French even though I am so rusty that that might be a terrible idea.<\/p>\n

But oh well. I have Richard Wilbur’s and I absolutely loved it in college. I worked on a scene from it – and that’s the scene I’ll excerpt. It’s a scene between Andromache – Hector’s widow, prisoner of Pyrrhus – and her confidante Cephisa. I can’t remember the plot-line exactly, and what just happened before – but it will all become clear within moments of this scene. And Andromache has a terrific monologue in this scene – it’s a stand-alone kind of monologue and would make a fantastic audition piece for an actress. (It’s the monologue that starts with “He may forget those deeds, but I cannot.”)<\/p>\n


\nFrom Andromache, by Racine<\/a>\"\"<\/i>, by Jean Racine
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nI told you that, despite the Greeks, you’d be
\nOnce more the mistress of your destiny.<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nAlas! You see where your advice has led!
\nNow, through my fault, my child’s blood shall be shed.<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nMadam, your faithlessness persists too long:
\nExcess of any virtue can beb wrong.
\nHector himself would urge you to comply.<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nAnd marry Pyrrhus in his place? Not I!<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nNot for your son, whose life’s in jeopardy?
\nD’you think that Hector’s shade would blush to see
\nYou wed a conquering king who will restore
\nThe sceptered rank which once your family bore,
\nWho’ll tread your Grecian foes into the mire.
\nForget that fierce Achilles was his sire,
\nDisown his deeds, and bid them be forgot?<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nHe may forget those deeds, but I cannot.
\nHector’s dishonored corpse — how not recall
\nWho dragged it round and round our city wall?
\nHow not remember Priam fallen dead
\nAcross his altar, staining it with red?
\nThink, think, Cephisa, of that night which for
\nA slaughtered nation ended nevermore;
\nImagine Pyrrhus, his eyes alight with flame
\nAs though our burning palaces he came,
\nOver my brothers’ bodies picked his way
\nAnd, drenched with blood, still urged his men to slay;
\nHear too the victors’ shouts, their victims’ cries
\nCut short by flame or sword; and let your eyes
\nFind in that hell, half-crazed Andromache:
\nThat was how Pyrrhus first appeared to me;
\nSuch were the deeds for which Fame wreathed his brow;
\nSuch is the man you’d have me marry now.
\nNo, I’ll not share his blood-guilt. Let him kill
\nUs, as his final victims, if that’s his will.
\nI can’t blot out such horrors and be his wife.<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nCome then, and see your dear son lose his life.
\nThey bide your answer … Madam, what makes you start?<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nYou’ve waked a memory that stops my heart.
\nCephisa! Can I watch them kill my boy,
\nDear Hector’s image and my only joy?
\nHis son, the pledge of our fidelity?
\nAh, I recall how on the day when he
\nStrode forth to meet Achilles and to die,
\nHe held his son, and kissed the babe goodbye:
\n“Dear wife,” he said, wiping my tears away,
\n“I know not what my fate shall be today;
\nThis son, this pledge of love, I leave behind me:
\nIf I am lost to him, through you he’ll find me.
\nTell him how in our days of happiness
\nYou loved his father; and love my son no less.”
\nHow can I see this precious life undone,
\nAnd all Troy’s lineage perish with my son?
\nO barbarous king, why must he bear my guilt?
\nBecause I hate you, must his blood be spilt?
\nHas he bewailed the kin you would not spare?
\nTaxed you with crimes of which he’s unaware?
\nBut oh, my son, you die unless the blade
\nHe holds above your head is somehow stayed.
\nI could avert it; and can I see you slain?
\nNo, you’ll not die; I could not bear that pain.
\nLet’s go find Pyrrhus. But no: Cephisa, pray
\nGo find him for me.<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nWhat would you have me say?<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nTell him I love my son so much that I …
\nD’you think he means it, that my son must die?
\nCould passion make a man so barbarous?<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nMadam, he’ll soon come raging back to us.<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nGo then, and say —<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nSay what? That you’ll wed the king?<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nAlas! Am I free to promise such a thing?
\nO ashes of my husband! O Father! O Troy!
\nAh, but your life would cost me dear, my boy.
\nCome.<\/p>\n

CEPHISA.
\nWhere, my lady? What have you decided?<\/p>\n

ANDROMACHE.
\nI’ll kneel at Hector’s tomb, and there be guided.<\/p>\n

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