Art, Greek; Greek drama -- History and criticism; Mythology, Greek
Phaedra too, his step-mother, a fiery soul with wild strange blood in
her veins, forgetting her fears of this illegitimate rival of her
children, seemed now to have seen him for the first time, loved at
last the very touch of his fleecy cloak, and would fain have had him
of her own religion. As though the once neglected child had been
another, she tries to win him as a stranger in his manly perfection,
growing more than an affectionate mother to her husband's son. But
why thus intimate and congenial, she asks, always in the wrong
quarter? Why not compass two ends at once? Why so squeamishly
neglect the powerful, any power at all, in a city so full of
religion? He might find the image of her sprightly goddess
everywhere, to his [179] liking, gold, silver, native or stranger,
new or old, graceful, or indeed, if he preferred it so, in iron or
stone. By the way, she explains the delights of love, of marriage,
the husband once out of the way; finds in him, with misgiving, a sort
of forwardness, as she thinks, on this one matter, as if he
understood her craft and despised it. He met her questions in truth
with scarce so much as contempt, with laughing counter-queries, why
people needed wedding at all? They might have found the children in
the temples, or bought them, as you could buy flowers in Athens.
Meantime Phaedra's young children draw from the seemingly unconscious
finger the marriage-ring, set it spinning on the floor at his feet,
and the staid youth places it for a moment on his own finger for
safety. As it settles there, his step-mother, aware all the while,
suddenly presses his hand over it. He found the ring there that
night as he lay; left his bed in the darkness, and again, for safety,
put it on the finger of the image, wedding once for all that so
kindly mystical mother. And still, even amid his earthly mother's
terrible misgivings, he seems to foresee a charming career marked out
before him in friendly Athens, to the height of his desire. Grateful
that he is here at all, sharing at last so freely life's banquet, he
puts himself for a moment in his old place, recalling his old
enjoyment of the pleasure of others; [180] feels, just then, no
different. Yet never had life seemed so sufficing as at this moment-
-the meat, the drink, the drives, the popularity as he comes and
goes, even his step-mother's false, selfish, ostentatious gifts. But
she, too, begins to feel something of the jealousy of that other
divine, would-be mistress, and by way of a last effort to bring him
to a better mind in regard to them both, conducts him (immeasurable
privilege!) to her own private chapel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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