A monologue from the enjoy by Blue jean Racine
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from The Dramatic Performs of Blue jean Racine. Trans. Robert Bruce Boswell. London: George Bell and Sons, 1911.
CLYTEMNESTRA: Suit offspring of the fatal share!
Thine is a blood of Atreus and Thyestes:
Thy daughters murderer, there but remains
One particular horror even more, to serve her as a feast
Prior to her mom. Savage, this can be then
The gladsome sacrifice thou was preparing
With artful proper care! Did not thy hand reject
The infamy of composing a command
So vicious! Why dost thou pretend to think
A false relax? Think not that holes can prove
A love that shrinks by bold security in hands.
Why has not blood been shed on her in ruisseau?
What damage and ruin till of thy amount of resistance?
What field of corpses coverd finalizes my mouth area?
Proofs such as these I would have had thee provide me
Of thine affection and prefer to save her.
A fatal oracle ordains her death!
But what a great oracle may seem to say
Not necessarily is it is meaning. Can easily just Heavn
Thirst for the blood of innocence, or be
Honourd by homicide? If pertaining to Helens offense
Her family member are punishd, for her daughter send
To Sparta. Thus let Menelaus ransom
The wife whose frailty in his eyes seems small
Matchd with her charms. Although surely it truly is madness
To generate thyself the victim of her desprovisto.
And so why should I, smiting upon my personal breast
With my own drag and bloodstream pay for her folly?
Truly does Helen after that, for to whom such jealous fires
Had been kindled, problem of Europe and of Asia
Seem worth thine work to get back her?
How often have we all blushd to speak her identity!
Ere, to his woe, thy sibling linkd his fate
With hers, she had been transported off by simply Theseus
Who have, as thou knowest and hast been told by Calchas
1000 times, clandestinely unloosed
Her virgin sector, and, give your word of that chérubin
A princess of her blood have been by her
Kept in concealment. Nevertheless a friends honour
Is definitely the least cause of thy solicitude:
That lust of empire nothing can extinguish
The pride of seeing 20 or so monarchs provide
And dread thee, empire to thine hands confided
These are the gods whom claim this sacrifice
From thee, whom far from giving resistance
Dost make a barbarous value of submitting.
Jealous of powr that could excite their particular envy
Thou dost not really grudge to pay great price
Via thine own veins, that so thou mayest quell
All competitors to thy sovereign swing.
Is this to be a father? Furious nature
Revolts at this perfidious cruelty.
A priest, between a challenging crowd
Will on my child lay hands of assault
Rend her bared bosom, and with curious eye
For omens search her palpitating cardiovascular!
While I, whom brought her hither proud and cheerful
Must requirements go back exclusively and in hopelessness!
Still will the ways end up being scented while using flowrs
That neath her feet were scatterd even as came!
That shall not become that with her doom My spouse and i brought her
Or thou wilt need to add my personal death to hers.
Ay, thou shalt never rip her by these forearms
While a lot more mine: no fears can shake my purpose.
Questionable alike because husband and since father
Come, if thou darest, snatch her from the breast
That nursed her!