Other examples of the evocative power of mythology abound in this play, and I did not fail to bring them to my students’ attention. The two I emphasized most were the sun god, Apollo, and the labyrinth. Phèdre invokes him in the first act where she cowers in fear and shame at the idea of appearing in broad daylight. She is terrified that the dazzling light of her ancestor, the Sun, will expose the secret she would like to conceal even from herself. In the fourth act, overcome by self-loathing, she imagines the sky opening up and revealing Apollo as well as her other ancestors accusing her of having condemned an innocent man.
The presence of these gods can be interpreted as a metaphor for her moral conscience that multiplies the infinite feelings of guilt. As for the labyrinth, I told my students it could be viewed in two ways. It could be seen as the metaphor for the intricacies of sexuality into which Phèdre longs to initiate her chaste stepson. In a near-delirium of passion in the second act, she imagines herself replacing her sister, Ariane, and Hippolyte replacing his father to relive the episode of the slaying of the minotaur in the labyrinth. It is Hippolyte’s scandalized reaction that brings her forcibly back to reality. We can also read into the labyrinth the secret place into which Phèdre yearns to escape with Hippolyte in order to avoid scrutiny by both men and gods.
Given the erotic passions intensified by references to Greek mythology that explode within Phèdre and Andromaque, my students came to the conclusion, with a bit of prodding from me, that the rule of the three unities was perfectly suitable for Racine’s conception of tragedy and, consequently, really made sense. According to this rule, the action must take place within a maximum time of twelve hours; it must unfold in one place; it must not have any secondary plots grafted onto it.
For audiences living in the 21st century and attuned to the marvellous techniques available in the cinema and television for manipulating time and space, the three unities appear completely arbitrary and suffocating. But as I demonstrated to my students, Racine’s tragedies are crises clamouring for a swift resolution. If the rule of the three unities hadn’t existed before his time, Racine would have invented it. In Andromaque and Phèdre, I explained, time is what happens before the curtain rises. In the first play, Pyrrhus has been shuttling between his captive, Andromaque, and his betrothed, Hermione, for an indefinite period, unable to make up his mind between marrying the disdainful Trojan woman of whom he is enamoured or committing himself to an adoring adolescent who leaves him indifferent. In the second play, Phèdre is languishing away from a mysterious illness caused by her repressed passion for her stepson. She has longed for him from a distance since her marriage to the young man’s father, Thésée, several years earlier. As we learn at the beginning of the play, she has persecuted him in a desperate and futile attempt to exorcize this forbidden love.
Consequently, as I pointed out to my students, the dramatic situation resembles a package of dynamite. All that is needed is a spark to make it blow up. The spark is provided by an incident that takes place in the first act. In Andromaque, Oreste appears in Pyrrhus’ court as the Greek ambassador. He demands on behalf of the Greeks that the king hand over Andromaque’s son to be assassinated. This provides Pyrrhus with the pretext he needs to blackmail the woman he craves: agree to marry me, he insists, or I will send your son to his death. Andromaque’s reactions, as she fluctuates between defiance and maternal compassion, simply aggravate an already very tense situation and eventually provoke a catastrophe.
In Phèdre, the false news of her husband’s death encourages Phèdre to confess her love for her stepson. When this news proves to be unfounded and Thésée reappears, her shame so dominates her that she allows her servant, Oenone to slander the young man’s reputation. In her state of depression and exhaustion, she does not stop Oenone from accusing Hippolyte of trying to rape his stepmother during his father’s absence. Once the tragic machine is set in motion, it crushes all its victims, either physically or emotionally, with an inexorable swiftness.
Having accepted the parameters within which the two tragedies unfold, my students found it easy to relate to their contents. They readily agreed when I told them that for me Racine’s works are at least as relevant to our times as they were to his, since they conjure up the inhuman or sub-human forces that erupt within man/woman, opening up an abyss of madness and cruelty into which he/she gets swallowed up. Racine’s tragedies are perhaps even more relevant now inasmuch as our 20th and, alas, the first ten years of our 21st centuries have witnessed the worst explosions of hatred in the whole history of mankind. In the past, I said, we could delude ourselves into thinking that these manifestations of evil were localized. Now we know they are universal.
What makes them even more frightening in Racine’s tragedies is that they are touched off by an emotion we normally hope will bring uplifting joy and fulfilment to those who experience it: love. This is why, perhaps, Racine has been referred to as “le tendre Racine.” But as my students soon found out for themselves, Racine is not tender; he is ferocious in his depiction of love. In his tragedies, love serves as the catalyst for the unleashing of the most violent, destructive reactions known to man. Love certainly exists here, but my students discovered that in most cases it was of a very degrading variety.
In Andromaque, the protagonists are all riveted to the same infernal psychological chain. They are condemned to love the very person who is either indifferent to their needs or considers their presence thoroughly repulsive. As my students noticed with impressive perceptiveness, according to whether Andromaque seems willing or unwilling to accept Pyrrhus’ marriage proposal, the others experience either joy or fury. When she is inclined to look favourably upon her captor, her rival, Hermione, is consumed with jealous rage, and Hermione’s unsuccessful suitor, Oreste as well as the man who disdains her, Pyrrhus, are jubilant. When Andromaque appears to reject Pyrrhus’ passion, Hermione swings from despair to rapture, but Pyrrhus and Oreste seethe with anger.
What is especially frightening in these relationships is that all of these tormented characters have flashes of lucidity during which they realize that they are entertaining delusions. Yet their reason is powerless to neutralize their passions. They walk like somnambulists into the abyss.
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