Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PHAEDRA, by LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PHAEDRA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Cecropians, go gird the shadowy groves
Last Line: Weigh down her impious head!
Alternate Author Name(s): Seneca
Subject(s): Mythology - Greek; Tragedy


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

HIPPOLYTUS.
THESEUS.
PHÆDRA.
NURSE.
MESSENGER.
CHORUS.

SCENE: Athens.

ACT I

SCENE I

Hippolytus, and his Huntsmen.

Hippolytus. Cecropians, go gird the shadowy groves,
And ridges of the mountains; traverse swift
The places that 'neath rocky Parnes lie,
Where, swiftly flowing through Thessalian vales,
The river roars; ascend the hills that shine
White ever with Rhipean snow. Where stand
The tangled woods of lofty elder, go;
Go where fields stretch o'er which sweet Zephyr blows
With dewy breath that wakens vernal herbs,
Where flows Ilissus' narrow, sluggish stream
Through barren lands and with its niggard thread
Touches the sterile sands. Turn leftward, ye,
To where the wooded highlands open out
Toward Marathon, where nightly for their young
The does seek food; go ye where, breathed upon
By the soft south wind, harsh Acharnæ's cold
Is tempered; tread ye sweet Hymettus' cliffs:
Seek ye Achidnæ small; too long has lain
Immune the land where on the curved sea shore
Sunion presses. If a huntsman's pride
Is felt by any, Phlius calls to him—
There dwells that fear of husbandmen, the boar,
Dreaded, well known, already scarred with wounds.
Give to the dogs that silent track the game
Free rein, but hold the swift Molossian hounds
In leash, and let the savage Cretans pull
On the stout chains with straining necks. Bind fast,
With care, by firmest knots, the Spartan dogs;
Daring and eager for the chase are they.
The time draws near when through the hollow rocks
Shall sound their baying. While it is but dawn
And while the dewy earth still shows the tracks,
With nostrils wide, sagacious let them snuff
The air, and with their noses to the ground
Search for the quarry's scent. Let some make haste
To carry on their backs the nets, and some
To bear the noose; and let the feathered snare,
Red dyed, with empty terror fill the prey.
Thou shalt the light dart poise; in both hands, thou,
Direct the heavy spear; thou, lying hid,
Shalt with thy clamor drive the wild beasts forth,
And thou, now victor, with curved slaughtering knife
Lay bare the victim's heart. Be present now
To us thy comrades, goddess hero-souled,
To whom the secret parts of earth lie bared,
Whose darts unerring ever find their prey
Whether the quarry drink Araxes' stream
Or on the frozen Hister play. Thy hand
Has slain Gætulian lions, and the deer
Of Crete; and now with lighter hand the flight
Of the swift doe is stayed. The tiger yields
To thee, to thee the rough-haired bison yields
And the wild, broad-horned ox. Whatever finds
In solitary places pasture land,
Whate'er the needy Garamantian knows,
Whate'er the Arabs in their fertile groves,
Or the Sarmatian wanderers in waste plains,
Whate'er the Pyrenees' wild summit hides,
All that Hyrcania's wooded pastures know,
Diana, fear thy bow. When to the woods
A worshipper accepted takes thy grace,
The toils hold conquered game, no foot breaks through
The net, the groaning wagon bears the spoils,
The muzzles of the dogs are wet with blood,
And joyously the rustics seek again
Their huts. Thou art propitious, goddess, now!
The signal by the loud-mouthed dogs is given,
Lo, to the woods I'm called; the shortest way
I follow.

SCENE II

Phædra, Nurse.

Phædra. O mighty Crete, thou ruler of wide seas,
Whose ships unnumbered sail by every coast,
Through every sea which Nereus' prows divide,
Far as Phœnician soil, why driv'st thou me
To pass my youth in sorrow and in tears,
A hostage given to the hated race,
And wedded to a foe. Lo, far away,
My husband Theseus is a fugitive
And keeps such faith as he is wont to keep.
Through the dense shadows of the infernal lake
That knows no backward path bold Theseus swam,
Pirithous' friend, that he might carry thence,
As bride, the infernal monarch's ravished wife;
He goes, the friend of folly, unrestrained
By fear or shame; in lowest Acheron
The father of Hippolytus seeks out
Unlawful marriage and adultery.
Yet other, greater griefs than this weigh down
My sad heart, neither quiet night nor sleep
Frees me from care: my grief is fed and grows,
And glows within me as the vapor glows
In Etna's depths. The web of Pallas lies
Neglected, from my idle hands the flax
Has fall'n; no longer am I glad to pay
My votive offerings at the holy shrines,
Nor to be present with the Attic choir
Among the altars, and to wave the torch
In sacred, silent rites, nor to approach
With pious ceremony and chaste hands
Her who was guardian goddess of the earth
Declared. My only pleasure is to hunt
Wild beasts, and with my supple hands to hurl
The heavy dart. O whither dost thou tend,
My soul? Why dost thou madly love the woods?
I feel my wretched mother's fatal sin:
Our family has been wont within the woods
To sin for love. O mother, I am moved
With pity for thee: to a shocking crime
Stirred, thou didst boldly love the savage lord
Of the wild herd, that fierce adulterer,
Impatient of the yoke, of untamed bands
The leader—yet for something he felt love!
What god, what Dædalus will aid my fires?
Not if again he could return himself,
Potent in Attic arts, who safely hid
Our minotaur within the labyrinth,
Could any aid to my distress be given.
Venus, against the offspring of the sun
Most deeply angered, by our homage now
Avenging both herself and Mars, weighs down
The race of Phœbus with most shameful crime.
No daughter of unfaithful Minos' house
Is free from love—love ever joined with crime.
Nurse. O wife of Theseus, Jove's illustrious child,
From thy chaste bosom swiftly thrust such sin,
O quench these fires, nor yield to cruel hope.
Whoever from the first contends against
And conquers love, is safe, but those who nurse
The evil with sweet blandishments too late
Refuse to bear the yoke themselves assumed.
And yet I am not ignorant, in truth,
How the proud spirit of the princess spurns—
Haughty and arrogant—a guiding hand.
I'll bear whatever outcome fate may bring;
Approaching freedom makes the aged brave.
To wish for honor nor to go astray
From the right path is best, yet near to this
Is shame that one has known the thought of sin.
Where goest thou, unhappy one? wouldst spread
Thy household's infamy? Wouldst thou surpass
Thy mother? Greater is thy crime than hers;
Thou must impute the minotaur to fate,
Thy crime is offspring of thine own self-will.
If thou, because thy husband sees no more
The light of upper day, shouldst deem thy sin
To be committed safely, without fear,
Thou errst. Though Theseus is in depths profound
Of Lethe hidden, though forevermore
He dwell in Stygian darkness, yet why deem
That he who gives the law to many lands
And rules the waters with his empery wide
Would let so base a crime go undivulged?
Wise is a father's care.—Yet shouldst thou think
That we by subtilty or guile might hide
Such evil from him, wherefore shouldst thou think
Thy mother's parent who pours forth his light
On all things, or the father of the gods
Who shakes the world when in his flashing hand
He waves the thunderbolt from Etna's forge
Will see it not? Dost thou indeed believe
That it is possible to do this deed
In sight of these thy ancestors, who see
All thou wouldst hide? Yet should some favoring god
Conceal the shameful union, grant to lust
Protection hitherto denied to crime,
What of the everpresent punishment,
The conscious terror of a guilty mind,
The heart that knows its fault and fears itself?
Some crimes are safe, no sinner feels secure.
Stifle the flames of guilty love, I pray,
Do not a sin which never yet was done
In barbarous lands, not on the level plains
Of wandering Getæ, nor the unfriendly heights
Of Taurus, nor in lonely Scythia.
Make thy mind chaste, drive out the horrid thought,
And mindful of thy mother, fear to try
Strange unions. Wouldst thou give one marriage bed
To son and father, in thy impious womb
Conceive a progeny so basely mixed?
Forth then, and with thy bestial fires o'erthrow
The laws of nature; why should monsters fail?
Why empty leave thy brother's labyrinth?
As often as a Cretan woman loves
Shall she not dare unwonted prodigies?
Shall nature not withdraw from her own laws?
Phædra. I know that what thou callst to mind is true,
Love's fire compels me choose the worser part.
My soul hastes downward not unknowingly,
And seeking saner counsels, vainly turns
Backward. So when his heavy boat is driven
By adverse currents does the sailor use
In vain his labor, and his conquered ship
Yields to the racing current. What avail
Is reason? Madness has o'ercome and reigns;
The potent god within my breast holds sway.
The unbridled, winged one in all the world
Holds sway, he burns with unrelenting flames
Ev'n wounded Jove, the warlike Mars has felt
Those torches, and the artisan who makes
Jove's triple thunderbolts has felt them too,
He, who Mount Etna's ever blazing forge
Keeps busy, with this tiny spark grows hot;
Phœbus himself, who from his bow directs
Sure darts, is by the boy's more certain shafts
Transfixed; they fly alike to earth and heaven.
Nurse. Base lust, crime-maddened, feigns that love's a god,
Those who have wished great liberty have given
Falsely the name of deity to lust.
Yea, doubtless, Venus sends her son to roam
Through every land! He with his tender hand
Prepares his shameless darts! So great a realm
The least of all the gods can claim! Mad souls
Created empty fables and have feigned
Venus' divinity, the love god's bow.
Whoever too much joys in happy days
And languishes in luxury desires
Some unaccustomed pleasure, then comes lust,
Ill-omened comrade of the fortunate:
Accustomed feasts no longer satisfy,
Nor home well-ordered, nor cheap wine to drink.
Why does this plague, selecting dainty roofs,
So rarely seek the poorer dwelling-place?
Why is it holy love abideth still
In humble homes, that temperate passions sway
The saner multitude of common folk
To practise self-restraint and soberness?
Why do the rich and powerful desire
More than is lawful? Who already has
Too much desires that he cannot have.
Thou knowest what is fitting her who sits
Upon the throne; honor and fear the crown
Of him who will return.
Phædra. Love's empery
In me, I think, is greatest and no more
I fear returns. He never more has seen
The convex upper world who enters once
The home of silence and perpetual night.
Nurse. Yet though Death bars his realm and though the gates
Are ever guarded by the Stygian dog,
Theseus e'er finds forbidden paths.
Phædra. Perchance
Theseus will find indulgence for our love.
Nurse. He has been, even to a faithful wife,
Most harsh. Antiope the Amazon
Made proof of his hard hand. Yet couldst thou bend
Thine angered husband's will, canst thou control
Hippolytus' hard heart? The very name
Of woman he abhors and flies them all;
Harshly he vows his years to singleness,
Shuns marriage: such the Amazonian race!
Phædra. It pleases me through woods and lofty hills
To follow him, when on the snowy top
He stays his steps, or mocks the cruel rocks
With his swift foot.
Nurse. And will he stay his steps
And softened, give himself to thy caress?
Will he for rites of unchaste Venus give
His chastity? Perchance his hate of thee
Is but the reason why he so hates all.
He cannot be by any prayers o'ercome.
Phædra. Wild is he but we know wild beasts are tamed
By love.
Nurse. He'll flee thee.
Phædra. Though through seas he flee,
I'll follow him.
Nurse. Recall thy father's fate.
Phædra. My mother's I'll recall.
Nurse. He hates thy kind.
Phædra. I shall be free from rivals in his love.
Nurse. Thy husband will return—
Phædra. Pirithous' friend?
Nurse. Thy father'll come.
Phædra. For Ariadne's send.
Nurse. I pray thee by the silvery locks of age,
And by this heart o'erwearied with its cares
And by the breast which nursed thee, curb thy rage.
Call up thy strength; who wishes to be well
Is partly healed.
Phædra. Shame has not wholly fled
From my chaste spirit; nurse, I yield to thee.
Let love that wishes not to be controlled
Be overcome. Thee will I not allow,
O honor, to be stained. One way remains
One only refuge from my misery;
My husband I will follow, hinder crime
By death.
Nurse. O daughter, moderate the rush
Of thoughts unbridled, curb thy passion's force.
Now that thou thinkest thou art worthy death,
I think thee worthy life.
Phædra. Death is decreed;
I only wait to seek the kind of death.
Shall I destroy my life with twisted noose,
Or fall upon the sword? Or shall I leap
Headlong from Pallas' lofty citadel?
Nurse. In my old age, shall I permit thee thus
To perish by a violent death? Restrain
Thy impulse mad.
Phædra. No reason can prevent
The death of one who has resolved to die,
Who ought to die, we therefore arm our hand
To vindicate our chastity.
Nurse. Sole stay
Of wearied age, if thus hot passions press
Upon thy heart, think not of thy fair fame:
Fame seldom sides with truth; kindest it is
To those who merit least and to the good
Most harsh. That soul intractable and stern
We will attempt; my labor let it be
To meet the youth and bend his fierce, wild will.

SCENE III

Chorus.

O goddess, daughter of the stormy seas,
Whom Cupids twain call mother, how thy boy,
Ungoverned, wanton, smiling, from sure bow
Lets fly his fiery shafts! the wound when given
Shows no wide scar, but hidden deep within
Devours the heart. That freakish boy can know
No peace; he scatters swiftly through the world
His arrows: all who see the rising sun,
Or toward the bounds of Hesperus may dwell,
Or underneath the cold Parrhasian Bear,
Or fervid Cancer—ever-wandering tribes,—
They know those fires. In youth he wakes fierce flames,
Recalls to wearied age its long cooled heat,
Inflames with unaccustomed fires the hearts
Of virgins, and compels the gods to leave
Their heaven and in disguise to dwell on earth.
Phœbus Apollo shepherded the sheep
Of Thessaly and put aside his lyre
And called the bulls with unaccustomed pipe.
How often has he taken milder forms,
Who moves the sky and clouds: once, like a bird,
White wings he moved, and with a sweeter voice
Than dying swan he sang; then with fierce front,
A wanton bull, he took upon his back
The sportive maid, like slow oars moved his hoofs,
Breasted the deep, and through his brother's wavas,
An unaccustomed realm, he took his way,
Made timid by the plunder rich he bore.
The shining goddess of the dark world burned
With love, forsook the night, her bright car gave
Into her brother's unfamiliar hand—
He learned to drive the chariot of the night
And turn a shorter circuit, while the wheels
Trembled beneath the heavier weight they bore;
Nor did the night retain its wonted length:
The day with tardy rising came to earth.
Alcmena's son, his quiver laid aside,
Put by the mighty lion's threatening spoil,
Suffered his fingers to be decked with gems,
Submitted to the comb his unkempt locks,
And bound his limbs about with shining gold,
While yellow sandals on his feet were tied,
And with the hand accustomed to the club
From the swift flying spindle drew the thread.
The Persians saw, saw too the men who dwell
In fertile Lydia's realm, the lion's skin
Put by, and on the shoulders that had borne
The skies the dainty Tyrian mantle laid.
Believe the wounded: sacred is love's fire
And all too potent. In whatever land
The deep surrounds, where'er the bright stars run
Their courses through the heavens, the cruel boy
There reigns: the Nereid's king has felt his dart
Within the depths of ocean, and the flame
No waters could extinguish; his hot fires
The winged ones knew well; the bull with love
Instinct will boldly for the whole herd war;
The timid stags will fight, if for their does
They fear; the swarthy Indian trembles then
At sight of the striped tiger; the fierce bear
Makes sharp his wounding tusks and all his mouth
Is foam; the Carthaginian lion then
Tosses his mane and gives a dreadful roar,
The sign of love conceived. When love compels,
The forests echo with the murmur harsh.
The monsters in the restless sea feel love
And the Lucanian bull; unto himself
Love arrogates all natures, nought is free,
And hatred perishes at Love's command;
Old angers are by passion's fires quelled.
What can I further say—love overcomes
The cruel stepdame.

ACT II

SCENE I

Phædra, Nurse, Chorus.

Chorus. Say, nurse, what news thou bear'st; how does the queen?
How burn the cruel fires?
Nurse. No hope can soothe
Such troubles, and the fires can know no end;
Smothered, they still in secret grow more hot,
Conceal it how she will, her face betrays
Her passion; from her eyes the fire breaks forth,
Her pale cheeks hate the light, her troubled soul
Is pleased with nothing, and uncertain grief
Drives her from place to place. She totters now
With weak steps, and she seems about to die:
Scarce can her neck sustain her drooping head;
Now to repose she turns, but, sleep forgot,
In sad laments she wears away the night;
She bids me lay her down, then raise her up,
To loose her hair, to bind it up again;
Her dress she changes, ever with herself
Impatient. Not for food or health she cares;
Her strength is failing, with uncertain steps
She moves; no more her shining face is tinged
With health's rich red; her eyes, which used to show
Some sparks of Phœbus' torch, no longer shine
With light which proves her race and native land;
Her tears flow ever and with constant dew
Keep moist her cheeks, as when from Taurus' top
The melted snows flow down in warm, full streams.
But see, the palace opens; she herself,
Reclining on her golden couch, rejects,
In her insanity, her wonted robe.
Phædra. The garments wrought of gold and purple, slaves,
Remove; bring not the red of tyrian conch,
The web the distant Eastern peoples weave
From fiber of the trees; my flowing robe—
Upgathered—let a girdle bind; take off
The necklace from my neck; the pearls, rich gift
Of Indian seas, shall not adorn my ears;
Free from Assyrian odors, let my hair
Hang loose; at random thus about my neck
And shoulders shall my unbound locks flow free,
And as I fly shall by the winds be blown;
The quiver in my left hand, in my right
The sharp Thessalian spear. Like her who left
The frozen seas and with her maiden hosts
From Tanais and Mæotis touched the soil
Of Athens—with loose hair and crescent shield
She came, in guise like hers I seek the woods.
Chorus. Cease thy laments: complaints will not avail
Thy sorrow; to the goddess of the woods,
The guardian god of virgins, make thy prayer.
Nurse. Queen of the groves, who on the mountain tops
Lovest to dwell alone, we pray thee turn
To better omens thy unkindly threats.
O mighty goddess of the woods and vales,
Bright star of heaven, glory of the night,
Who with alternate shining dost relume
The world, O triformed Hecate, favoring shine
On this attempt; sway thou th' unbending mind
Of stern Hippolytus, that he may lend
A willing ear; Oh, soften his hard heart,
Teach him to love; Oh, charm his savage breast
To feel responsive fires, to Venus' laws
Submit his savage, harsh, and hostile soul.
Exert thy power; come thus with shining face,
Ride through the rifted clouds with crescent bright,
Be no Thessalian incantation strong
To draw thee from the starry sky of night
Through which thou ridest: let no shepherd take
Glory from thee. O goddess now invoked,
Be present, look with favor on our prayers.
Himself I see, who worships only thee;
Alone he comes. Why hesitate? Chance gives
Both time and place. Arts now must be employed.
Why do I fear? It is not light to dare
Crime's mandate. He who fears a queen's commands
Must banish thought of honor from his breast;
Poor servant of the royal will, indeed,
Is loyalty to duty.

SCENE II

Hippolytus, Nurse.

Hippolytus. O faithful nurse, why hither dost thou toil,
With aged, wearied steps; why bearest thou
This troubled face, this set and anxious brow?
Safe is my father, surely? Phædra safe?
Safe the two well-loved pledges of their love?
Nurse. Put by thy fears; most prosperous is the realm,
By happy fortune blessed, thy family thrives.
But live thou gladlier in this fair estate,
For anxious am I in my care for thee,
Because thou dost so harshly rule thyself.
He may be pardoned who, by fate compelled,
Is wretched, but if any uncompelled
Gives himself up to trouble willingly,
Tortures himself—who knows not how to use
The goods of fortune well may forfeit them.
Rather be mindful of thy years, give rein
To thy free spirit, lift on high thy torch
On festal nights, let Bacchus lighten care;
Enjoy thy youth, it flies with nimble feet.
Thy bosom now is free, love smiles on youth,
Oh, let thy heart be glad; why dost thou keep
A widowed couch? Make cheerful thy sad youth,
Make haste, let loose the reins, life's richest days
Allow not to flow from thee unenjoyed.
God for each age provides its office fit,
And leads from step to step; a happy brow
Befits the young, austerity the old.
Why keep thyself in check and strangle thus
Thy rightful nature? To the husbandman
That grain gives increase that with pliant stem
Runs riot in the joyous fields, the tree
Cut or restrained by no unfriendly hand
Rises above the grove with lofty top;
So upright natures will the better gain
True glory, if unhampered liberty
Nourish the noble soul. Why dost thou pass
An austere youth, fair Venus all forgot,
Inhabiting the woods, fierce, ignorant
Of life? Dost deem this part alone to be
Assigned to men: that they should hardships bear,
Should learn in the swift race to drive the horse,
And wage, with streaming blood, most savage wars?
What various modes of death drag mortals down
And sweep away the throngs of men! the sea,
The sword, and treachery! But shouldst thou deem
That thou art safe from these—of our own will
We seek black Styx before our time when youth
Would pass its life in barren singleness.
These peoples that thou seest will endure
But one age, in themselves will come to nought.
The first great parent of the world took care,
When ravenous thus he saw the hand of fate,
That ever a new offspring should replace
The lost. Should Venus, who renews again
The race destroyed, withdraw from man's affairs,
The world were dark indeed, the sea would lie
Bereft of fish, the air would have no birds,
The woods no beasts, and all the ether be
A path for sun and winds alone. Make haste
To follow nature, the true lord of life;
Frequent the city, live among thy kind.
Hippolytus. No other life there is more free from fault,
More full of liberty, which better keeps
The ancient customs, than the life of one
Who loves the woods and leaves the city walls;
No passion of the sordid soul inflames
Him who to mountain tops commits himself
Unstained; no voice of popular applause,
No common peoples false to honor's claims,
No deadly envy, no inconstant fame.
He serves no realm, nor, striving for a throne,
Pursues vain honor, perishable wealth;
Free both from fear and hope, black hungry spite
Attacks him not with his vile tooth, the crimes
Nourished among the folk who dwell in towns
He does not know, nor does he shrink afraid
At every sound, nor coin false words, nor seek
A home with columns numberless made rich,
Nor proudly hide his rafters 'neath much gold;
Blood in abundance does not overflow
His pious altars, nor a hundred bulls,
Sprinkled with sacred meal, their white necks bow
Beneath the sacrificial knife for him.
His are the lonely fields, and innocent
He roams beneath the open sky, he knows
Only to build the cunning trap for beasts,
When worn with labor, in Ilissus' stream
He finds refreshment; now he skirts the banks
Of swift Alphæus, now through thickets dense
Of the high groves he presses where flows down
Through silent ways, with pure and shining shoals,
Cold Lerna's stream, and where the querulous birds
Murmur, whence softly smitten by the winds
The mountain ash trees and the ancient beech
Tremble. He loves to lie upon the banks
Of winding rivers, or upon the sod
To find sweet sleep, whether abundant streams
Pour down swift floods or through fresh flowers flows
The slender brook and murmurs a sweet song.
Fruit gathered from the woods supplies his food,
And berries gathered from the thickets quench
His thirst. I wish not royal luxuries;
The proud man drinks from golden cup, the cause
Of anxious care; how sweet it is to drink
From hollowed hand the water of the spring!
A surer rest refreshes him who rests
On his hard bed secure: he does not seek,
Shameless, in secret corners, in the dark,
Intrigues, nor does he, fearful, hide himself
In hidden dwellings: but the light and air
He seeks; with heaven for his witness lives;
Lives like the men of old who with the gods
Mingled. No blind desire for gold was theirs,
No judge with boundary stones set off their lands,
Not yet were vessels, rashly confident,
Sailing the deep; only his own home seas
Each knew. They did not build about their towns
Vast walls and frequent towers, the warrior then
Knew not to use stern weapons, nor to break
Closed gates with warlike engines armed with stones;
Earth knew no master, nor was made a slave
To the yoked oxen, but the fields untilled
Brought forth their fruit, nor feared mankind's demands,
The woods gave natural wealth, the shadowy caves
Natural homes. Unholy thirst for gain,
And headlong wrath, and lust which fires the heart
Broke first this order; fierce desire to rule
Arose, the greater preyed upon the less,
And might made right. Man then with naked hands
Fought, and to weapons turned the stones and trees,
He was not armed with the light cornel spear
Pointed with iron, nor the sharp-edged sword,
Nor crested helmet; anger made such arms.
New arts by warlike Mars were learned, new ways
To kill, and blood polluted every land,
The sea was red with blood. Then everywhere
Was crime forever found, no evil deed
Was left untried; brother by brother's hand,
Parent by son's, was slain, the husband fell
By the wife's sword, and impious mothers killed
Their children. I pass over stepdame's wrath.
She is nowise less savage than the beasts.
But woman was the leader in all wrongs;
This bold artificer of crime beset
All hearts: so many cities are consumed,
So many peoples wage destructive war,
So many kingdoms ruined lie o'erthrown,
By reason of her vile adulteries.
Of others I am silent—Ægeus' wife
Medea shows how savage women are.
Nurse. Why make all guilty of the crimes of one?
Hippolytus. I hate, I fear, I loathe, I flee from all.
Say it is reason, nature, passions wild,
It pleases me to hate; sooner shall join
Water and flame, and vessels sooner find
In the uncertain Syrtes friendly depths,
Sooner from farthest confines of the west
Shall Tethys bring the day, and to the lambs
Shall wolves prove kindly, than I, overcome,
Turn friendly looks on woman.
Nurse. Love has oft
About the stubborn cast his charms, and changed
Their hate to love. Look at thy mother's realm,
The Amazons felt Venus' yoke, thou prov'st
This truth—one son of Amazonian blood.
Hippolytus. For mother lost, one consolation's mine—
I may hate womankind. -
Nurse. As cliffs resist
The waves, invincible on every side,
And hurl far back the waters that assail,
He spurns my words. But see, where Phædra comes
With headlong steps, impatient of delay.
Where leads her passion? What will fortune give?
Lifeless she falls; the color, as in death,
Deserts her face. O nursling, lift thy head,
Speak, see, Hippolytus embraces thee.

SCENE III

Hippolytus, Phædra, Nurse.

Phædra. Who gives me back my sorrow, brings again
My passion's heavy weight upon my soul?
How gladly would I put an end to life!
Hippolytus. Why wish to flee the gift of life restored?
Phædra. Be bold, my soul, accomplish now thy will.
Though scorned, speak fearless words; who asks in fear
Teaches denial. Of my sin great part
Is done: it is too late for modesty;
I have loved basely. If I follow up
This my attempt, perchance the marriage torch
May hide my crime; success makes certain sins
Respectable. Lo, now begin, my soul!
I pray a little nearer bend thine ear,
Lest any of thy comrades should be nigh.
Hippolytus. The place is free from any witnesses.
Phædra. My lips refuse a passage to my words:
'Tis a great pow'r that urges me to speak,
A greater holds me silent. O ye gods,
I call on you to witness: what I wish———
Hippolytus. And one who wishes something cannot speak?
Phædra. Light cares find words, but heavy ones are dumb.
Hippolytus. Mother, commit thy cares to me.
Phædra. The name
Of mother is an honorable name,
And all too powerful; a humbler one
Befits our love. Call me, Hippolytus,
Sister or slave, slave rather; I will bear
All servitude. If thou shouldst bid me go
Through deepest snows, Mount Pindus' frozen top
Would give me no annoy, or if through fire
And hostile battle lines, I would not shrink
From giving to the ready sword my breast.
Take back the scepter to my charge consigned,
Receive me as thy slave; it is not meet
A realm of cities by a woman's hand
Should be defended. Thou who flourishest
In the first bloom of youth, thy father's realm
Govern, O take thy suppliant to thy breast,
Pity the widow and protect the slave.
Hippolytus. This omen may the sovereign gods avert!
My father presently will come again.
Phædra. The ruler of the realm whence none return
And of the silent Styx has made no way
Back to the upper air. Will he send back
The violator of his marriage couch?
Unless, perchance, now merciful to love,
He, too, inactive sits.
Hippolytus. The upright gods
Will truly give him back to earth. But while
God holds our wish ungranted, I will shield,
With duteous love, my brothers; care for thee
So that thou'lt no more feel thyself bereft
Of husband. I myself will fill for thee
My father's place.
Phædra. O lover's trusting hope!
Deceitful love! Have I not said enough!
With prayers I will assail him. Pity me,
Hear my unspoken prayers; I long to speak,
Yet dare not.
Hippolytus. What is this that troubles thee?
Phædra. What thou wouldst hardly think could overtake
A stepdame.
Hippolytus. Doubtful words thou utterest:
Speak openly.
Phædra. My heart is all aflame
With love and madness, fiercest fires burn hot
Within my vitals, hidden in my veins,
As o'er the lofty roof the swift flame plays.
Hippolytus. With wifely love for Theseus dost thou rage?
Phædra. Hippolytus, 'tis so; I love the form,
The face that Theseus in his boyhood bore,
When first his cheeks were darkened by a beard,
And he beheld the winding labyrinth
Where dwelt the Theban monster; by a thread
He found his path. How glorious was he then!
A fillet bound his locks, a modest blush
Reddened his tender cheeks, on his soft arms
Were iron muscles. Thy Diana's face,
Or my Apollo's had he, or thine own!
Lo! such he was when he made glad his foe,
Thus proudly did he hold his head; in thee
Shines forth his manly beauty unadorned
But greater; all thy father is in thee,
And yet some part of thy stern mother's look,
A Scythian sternness on thy Grecian face.
If thou with him had crossed the Cretan straits,
For thee my sister would have loosed the thread.
O sister, in whatever part of heaven
Thou shinest, I invoke thee in a cause
Both thine and mine; one house has snatched away
Two sisters, thee the father, me the son.
Lo! fallen at thy feet a suppliant lies,
Child of a kingly race. Unstained I was,
Pure, innocent—'tis thou hast wrought this change.
See, to entreaty I have sunk: this day
Must either end my sorrow or my life.
Have pity on my love.
Hippolytus. O king of gods,
Dost thou so mildly hear, so mildly see
Such baseness? When will fly the thunderbolt
Sent from thy hand, if thou art now unmoved?
Oh! Let the firmament be rent apart,
The daylight be by sable clouds concealed,
The backward driven stars be turned aside
To run inverted courses. Thou bright sun,
Chief of the stars, canst thou behold the crimes
Of this thy offspring? Let thy light depart!
Fly to the shades! Ruler of gods and men,
Why is thy right hand idle, hurling not
Thy triple thunderbolt against the world?
Thunder upon me, pierce me with thy bolt,
And swiftly burn me with thy smiting fires.
Guilty I am, I have deserved to die,
For I have pleased my stepdame. Lo, was I
Worthy of incest deemed? Did I alone
Seem to thee facile subject for thy crimes?
Is this what my austerity deserved?
O thou in crime surpassing all thy kind,
More wicked than thy mother thou art found!
She stained herself with lust most infamous,
And though her crime was long a secret held,
The two-formed offspring brought at last to light
The mother's guilt—the child's ambiguous form
Betrayed her crime—of that womb thou art born.
O thrice, O four times happy call I those
Destroyed and given to a violent death,
By stepdame's hate and treachery o'ercome.
Father, I envy thee! This scourge is worse,
Worse than thy Colchian stepdame.
Phædra. I also recognize our family's fate,—
Fleeing we find it; yet I o'er myself
No more have power; I'll madly follow thee,
Through flames and seas, through rocks and raging streams;
Where'er thou turnst thy steps my love drives me.
Again, O proud one, at thy feet I fall.
Hippolytus. Withdraw from my chaste body thy foul touch.
Ha, what is this? She falls upon my breast!
The sword shall slay her, she shall meet just death.
See, I bend backward by the twisted hair
With my left hand her shameless head; ne'er fell
Upon thy altars, goddess of the bow,
Blood shed in better cause.
Phædra. Thou giv'st me now
My wish, Hippolytus. Thou mak'st me sane.
Better is this than aught that I could wish.
I'm saved, with honor by thy hand I die!
Hippolytus. Live, yet go hence lest somehow, by thy prayers,
Thou shouldst avail—and let this sword, defiled
By thee, my chaste side leave. Could Tanais' stream,
Or the Mæotis, or the Euxine sea,
Cleanse me—e'en Neptune could not wash away,
With all the waters of the mighty deep,
So great impurity. O wilderness!
O forests!

SCENE IV

Phædra, Nurse.

Nurse. The fault is known; why rest inactive? Up,
Throw back on him the blame; sin must be hid
By sin. The safest way for one in fear
Is to attack. Since no one saw the crime,
Who shall be witness whether we first dared
Or suffered ill? Athenian women, haste!
Help, faithful band of slaves; Hippolytus,
The ravisher, pursues, attacks the queen;
He threatens death, and with the sword attacks
That virtuous one. Lo, headlong has he fled,
Affrighted, in his hasty flight has left
His sword; we hold the token of his crime.
First bring again to life the fainting form:
Leave as they are her torn and loosened locks,
Proofs of the crime attempted; bear her forth
Into the city. Mistress, take thou heart;
Why shouldst thou wound thyself and shun all eyes?
Unchastity lies not in chance but thought.

SCENE V

Chorus.

As swiftly as the hurricane he fled,
More swiftly than the hurricane that drives
The clouds before it, swifter than swift flame
That burns when meteors, driven by the winds,
Send forth long fires. On thee, Hippolytus,
Shall fame confer all beauty that aroused,
In ages past, man's wonder; lovelier shines
Thy form than, when her crescent orbs have poured
Their fires, Diana moves with glowing face
All night, full-orbed, in her swift car through heaven,
And lesser stars no longer show their face.
So Hesperus, the messenger of night,
At twilight shines, fresh bathed in ocean's waves;
So Lucifer drives darkness into flight.
Thou Thyrsus-bearing Liber, Indian born,
Whose unshorn locks shine with immortal youth,
Who fightest tigers with thy vineclad staff,
Who bindest with broad bands thy horned head,
Thou art not fairer than Hippolytus;
Nor shouldst thou think too highly of thy form,
For fame has blazoned through all lands his fame
Whom Phædra's sister did to Bromius
Prefer.
O beauty, doubtful gift to mortals given,
A fleeting good that but a moment stays,
With what swift feet thou flyest. Not so soon,
When noon glows hot and night a brief course runs,
Does burning summer's breath deprive the fields
Of all the comeliness of early spring.
As the pale flowers of the lily fall,
So falls the hair, the glory of the head;
The glow which brightens on the tender cheek
Is in a moment gone, and one day spoils
The body's grace. A transitory thing
Is beauty: who may in so frail a good
With wisdom trust? Oh! use it while thou mayst;
Time silently destroys thee, and each hour
Is worse than that which just has passed away.
Why shouldst thou seek the desert's loneliness
Beauty is no more safe in pathless ways.
Thee will the saucy bands of wanton nymphs,
Accustomed to imprison lovely youths
In streams, surround at midday in the wood;
And dryads, who upon the mountain tops
Follow some Pan, will in thy sleep assail;
Or from the starry heavens, beholding thee,
The planet that since old Arcadian folk
Sprung loses power to drive her shining car.
Lately she blushed, no sordid cloud obscured
Her shining face; but by her angry light
Disturbed, and fearing dark Thessalian charms,
We offered prayers—thou wast her trouble's cause,
And thou the cause of her unwonted stay;
Because the goddess of the night saw thee,
She checked her rapid course.
Did bitter winds blow less upon thy face,
Didst thou less oft expose it to the sun,
Whiter than Parian marble would it shine.
How pleasant is thine austere, manly face,
The sternness of thy brow! that glorious neck
Thou mayst with bright Apollo's well compare,
His hair about his shoulders flowing free,
Knowing no bond, adorns and covers him,
Thy hirsute front, thy shorter, uncombed locks,
Become thee. Thou mayst with the gods contend
In battles stern and conquer by thy strength,
For equal is thy strength with Hercules',
Broader thy breast than that of warlike Mars.
If it had pleased thee on a horse to ride,
Thou couldst have reined the Spartan Cyllarus
More easily than Castor. With thy hand
Make tense the bowstring, and with all thy strength
Direct the shaft: the Cretan, apt to learn
The art of shooting, not so far could send
The slender arrow; if in Parthian wise
Thou shootest skyward, not a dart descends
Without a bird: within the warm breast hid
It brings its prey from out the very clouds.
Seldom has man been beautiful and safe:
Look at the ages. May a kindlier god
Leave thee in safety, and thy beauty gain
The aspect of unbeautiful old age!
What will a woman's passion leave undared?
She plots 'gainst youth and innocence base crime.
Behold the sinner! she would find belief
By her torn locks, the glory of her hair
Is all dishevelled, and her cheeks are wet;
Her woman's cunning doth devise all frauds.
But who is this that comes with kingly form,
And lofty bearing? To Pirithous
How like his face, were not his cheeks so pale,
His unkempt hair so rough about his brow.
Ah! Theseus comes, returned again to earth!

ACT III

SCENE I

Theseus, Nurse.

Theseus. I have at last escaped the land where reigns,
Eternal darkness, where night holds the dead
In its vast prison. Hardly can my eyes
Endure the brightness of the hoped-for day.
Four times the plow, gift of Triptolemus,
Has cut Eleusis' soil, four times the Scales
Have measured day the equal of the night,
Since first the doubtful toils of unknown fate
Have led me twixt the ills of life and death—
To me, though dead, a part of life remained,
The sense of ills. Alcides was their end.
He when he carried off from Tartarus
Th' unwilling dog, brought me as well to earth.
My wearied body lacks its ancient strength,
My footsteps tremble—ah! how hard the task
It was to seek the far-off upper air
From lowest Phlegethon, to flee from death
And follow Hercules.
What sound is this
Of lamentation strikes upon my ears?
Ah, some one, tell me! Grief, and tears, and woe,
And sad lament, e'en at my very door
Assail me; truly, worthy auspices
For one who as a guest from Hades comes.
Nurse. Phædra maintains her firm resolve to die,
She spurns our prayers, and is resolved on death.
Theseus. What cause is there for death? Why should she die,
Her husband come again to life?
Nurse. E'en this
Hastens her death.
Theseus. I know not what may mean
The riddle of thy words. Speak openly.
What heavy sorrow weighs upon her mind?
Nurse. To none she tells it, she conceals her woe,
Determined that her ills shall die with her.
But haste, I pray thee, haste, for there is need.
Theseus. Unbar the portals of my royal house.

SCENE II

Phædra, Nurse, Theseus.

Theseus. O wife, dost welcome thus my late return?
Dost thus behold thy husband's longed-for face?
Let go the sword and take me to thy breast,
Tell me what makes thee seek to flee from life.
Phædra. Alas, great Theseus, by thy scepter's might,
And by the inborn nature of thy sons,
And by thy coming from the shades again,
Yes, by thy ashes, suffer me to die.
Theseus. What reason urges thee to die?
Phædra. The fruit
Of death would perish if its cause were known.
Theseus. None other than myself shall hear the cause.
Phædra. A virtuous wife dreads but her husband's thoughts.
Theseus. Speak, hide thy secret in my faithful breast.
Phædra. That which thou wouldst not have another tell,
Tell not thyself.
Theseus. Death shall not have the power
To touch thee.
Phædra. Death can never fail to come
To him who wills it.
Theseus. Tell me what the fault
Thou must by death atone.
Phædra. The fault of life.
Theseus. And art thou not affected by my tears?
Phædra. The sweetest death is one by loved ones mourned.
Theseus. Thou wilt keep silence? Then with blows and chains
Thy aged nurse shall be compelled to speak
What thou wouldst not. Now cast her into chains,
Let blows drag forth the secrets of her mind.
Phædra. Cease, I myself will speak.
Theseus. Why turn away
Thy mournful face, why cover with thy robe
The tears that wet so suddenly thy cheek?
Phædra. O father of the gods, on thee I call
To witness, and on thee, bright light of heaven,
From whom our family springs; I strove to stand
Against his prayers, my spirit did not yield
Either to threats or steel. Yet to his force
My body yielded; this the stain my blood
Must wash away.
Theseus. Who was it, tell me who
Thus stained our honor?
Phædra. Him thou least suspectest.
Theseus. I earnestly entreat thee, tell me who.
Phædra. The sword will tell thee, that th' adulterer left,
When by approaching tumult terrified,
He feared the gathering of the citizens.
Theseus. Alas, what crime is this which I behold?
What awful thing is this I look upon?
The royal hilt of ivory, carved and bright,
The glory of Actæon's race! But he—
Where has he fled?
Phædra. His fear and hasty flight
These slaves beheld.
Theseus. O holy piety!
O ruler of the sky, and thou who holdest
The kingdom of the waters! Whence has come
This foul infection of my sinning son?
Did Greek soil nourish him, or was he reared
On Scythian Taurus, and by Colchis' stream?
The child repeats the father, and base blood
Bespeaks its primal source. This passion comes
From that armed race that hated ties of love
And, too long chaste, made common to the crowd
Their bodies. O vile people, to no laws
Of milder climes obedient! Even beasts
Shun sins of love and with unconscious awe
Obey the laws of nature. Where that face,
That feigned majesty and manner stern,
That seeking after old austerity,
That sad affected gravity of age?
O treacherous life, thou carriest hidden thoughts,
And hidest with fair form a sinful soul;
A modest bearing covers shamelessness,
Gentleness boldness, seeming goodness crime;
The false looks true, and harshness tender seems.
O dweller in the woods, wild, virgin, chaste,
Unconquered, hast thou kept thyself for me?
Wilt thou first try thy manhood with such crime,
In my own bed? Now to the gods above
Be praises that Antiope has fallen,
Struck by my hand; that when I sought the Styx
Thy mother was not left behind for thee.
O fugitive, seek unknown climes afar,
By ocean's plains shut off in earth's last bounds,
Be hid within the region 'neath our feet.
Shouldst thou have crossed the realms of bitter cold,
And deep within its farthest nook be lost,
Or, placed beyond hoar frost and winter snows,
Have left behind cold Boreas' bitter threats,
Thou yet shalt pay the penalty for crime;
Undaunted, fast upon thy flying steps,
Through every lurking place I'll follow thee.
Long, diverse, difficult, and pathless ways,
Aye, ways impossible shall we pass through;
Nothing shall hinder. Whence I have returned
Thou knowest. Whither arrows cannot go
I'll send my curse. Neptune has promised me
Three wishes by his favor gratified,
And has confirmed his promise with an oath
Sworn by the river Styx. My stern desire
Perform, O ruler of the restless seas!
Let not Hippolytus behold again
The day's fair light, but let the youth go down
Among the wrathful spirits of the dead—
Wrathful because of me. O father, bring
Thy son thy dreaded aid—I had not asked
Of thy divinity this gift supreme
But that such heavy evil pressed me sore.
Even within the depths of Tartarus,
Dread realm of Dis, and threatened by the wrath
Of the infernal king, I still withheld
This wish. Fulfil thy promise. Why delay?
Why, father, are thy waters silent still?
Black clouds with driving wind should hide the sky,
Snatch from the heavens the stars, upheave the deep,
Arouse the monsters of the sea, call forth
The swelling floods from Ocean's farthest bounds!

SCENE III

Chorus.

O nature, mighty mother of the gods,
And thou of fiery Olympus king,
Who speedest through the flying firmament
The scattered constellations, and the stars'
Uncertain courses, and the heavens that turn
So swiftly, why continue with such care
To keep the pathway of the airy heights
That in its season winter's cold and snow
Lay bare the forests, that the leafy shade
Returns, that summer's constellation shines
And ripens with its fervid heat the grain,
That milder autumn comes? But since thou rul'st,
Since by thy power alone the balance weight
Of the vast universe revolves, why, then,
No longer careful of the race of men,
Careless to punish evil or reward
The good, dost thou desert Hippolytus?
Fortune by ways unordered rules man's life;
The worse she cherishes, and blindly flings
Her gifts, and base desire conquers law,
And fraud is king within the palace walls,
The populace rejoice to give the base
High office and to hate the very man
Whom they should honor. Rigid virtue finds
The recompense of evil, poverty
Follows the pure in heart, and strong in crime
Th' adulterer reigns. O reputation vain!
O empty honor! But with headlong steps
Why comes the messenger with tear-wet cheeks!

ACT IV

SCENE I

Theseus, Messenger.

Messenger. O hard and bitter lot, grim servitude!
Why am I called by fate to bring such news?
Theseus. Be brave to speak, e'en of the bitterest woes.
I have a heart not unprepared for grief.
Messenger. Alas, alas, Hippolytus is dead!
Theseus. The father knew long since his son was dead.
Now dies the ravisher, but tell me how?
Messenger. When he, a fugitive, with troubled steps,
Had left the city, taking his swift course
With flying feet, he quickly yoked his steeds,
With bit and bridle curbed them; with himself
Revolving many things, he cursed his land
And oft invoked his father. With loose rein
He shook his lash, impetuous. Suddenly
The depths of ocean thundered, and its waves
Smote on the stars; no wind blew on the sea;
And nowhere were the quiet heavens stirred,
The tempest moved the placid deep alone.
No south wind e'er blew up Sicilia's straits
Like this, nor did the wild Ionian sea
E'er rise before the northwest wind like this,
When cliffs shake with the beating of the waves,
And the foam flashes white on Leucas' top.
The great deep rose in billows mountain high,
But not for ships was this disaster planned,
The earth was threatened; not with gentle roll
The waves swept onward, some strange thing the surge
Bore on its burdened bosom. What new world
Slowly upheaves its head? What island new
Rises among the Cyclades? While thus
Questioning we gazed, the whole wide ocean roared,
The cliffs on every side sent back the sound;
His head all dripping with the driving spray,
Belching the flood from out his cavernous jaws,
Foaming and vomiting the waters forth,
Through the great straits was dragged a monster vast;
The mound of waters, smitten, sank amazed,
Opened, and on the shores spewed out a beast
Most terrible. The deep with landward rush
Followed the monster—at the thought I quake!
Ah, that huge body, what a form it had!
A great bull with blue neck, it lifted up
On a green brow a lofty crest, its ears
Were shaggy, and of changing hue its eyes;
Such form the wild herd's lord on earth might have,
Or bull of ocean born. Its eyes shot flame,
Wondrously with the ocean blue they shone;
A thick mane grew upon its brawny neck,
With every breath it snorted; breast and throat
Were green with clinging moss, its monster sides
Were dotted with red lichens; backward thence
It showed a monstrous form, a scaly fish,
Vast, horrible, dragging huge length along;
Such are the fish that in the outer seas
Swallow swift ships or wreck them. The land shook,
The frightened herds fled madly through the fields,
The shepherd was not mindful of the lambs,
The wild beasts in the wooded pastures fled,
The huntsmen stood alarmed and faint with fear.
Hippolytus, alone untouched by fear,
With tight rein curbed his horses, checked their flight,
And with his well-known voice encouraged them.
A pathway wide bends through the parted hills
Into the fields, along the ocean strand;
That mound of flesh there armed him for the fight,
Lashed up his rage, and having taken heart
And stretched himself, he then essayed his strength;
He sped along, scarce touching in his flight
The surface of the ground, and stayed his course
Before the frightened horses. With fierce look
Thy son arose to meet its menaces,
Nor was he silent; with loud voice he cried:
'My courage is not mastered by this threat,
To conquer bulls has been my family's task.'
The horses, disobedient to the rein
And turning from the way, dragged off the car;
Where'er blind terror drove them there they went;
They fled among the rocks, but he, thy son,
Guided the chariot as the pilot guides
His vessel in a storm, nor lets it turn
Aslant the wave, and by his skill escapes.
Now with tight rein he pulled upon the bit;
Now with the twisted lash he smote the steeds.
The fish, a constant comrade, followed him,
Devouring now the ground with equal pace,
Now lying in the way the car was turned,
And causing greatest fear on every side.
Nor farther was it possible to flee,
For the great horned monster of the deep
Lying in wait with open mouth assailed.
Then the excited horses, mad with fear,
Freed themselves from the guidance of the rein
And rearing struggled from the yoke to tear
Themselves. They hurled their burden to the ground,
Headlong he fell, entangled in the lines;
The more he fought against the tightening noose,
The more its knots were strengthened. What they'd done
The frightened horses felt, and, driverless,
Where fear impelled they rushed with the light car.
So through the air the horses of the sun,
Not recognizing their accustomed load
And angry that a false god brought the day,
Upon their devious course hurled Phaethon forth!
The field was red with blood, his wounded head
Rebounded from the cliffs, the brambles tore
His hair, hard rocks destroyed his lovely face,
His illstarred beauty marred by many wounds
Perished. Upon the wheels his dying limbs
Were whirled about; pierced through the midst at last
By a burnt stake, upon its point was fixed
His trunk, the car was stayed a little while
Held fast by its prone driver, and the steeds
At the disaster stayed their hasty course,
Then broke through all delays and tore away
Their master. Brambles cut the lifeless form,
Each stinging brier and sharp thorn took part
Of that torn trunk. The band of sorrowing slaves
Followed through all the field where, dragged along,
Hippolytus in bloody characters
Marked the long path, the howling dogs tracked out
Their master's members, but most loving care
Could not find all. Is this his noble form?
Illustrious sharer of his father's throne,
And certain heir, who like a star in heaven
Shone bright, he now was gathered from all sides
For the last honors, for his funeral pyre
Was brought together from the plain.
Theseus. O nature, all too potent, with what chains
Thou holdst the parent's heart! we cherish thee
Although against our will. I wished to slay
The guilty one and now I weep his loss.
Messenger. What one has wished not always makes one glad.
Theseus. This is, I think, the farthest reach of ill:
That chance should make me curse the thing I loved.
Messenger. Why wet thy cheeks with tears for one thou hat'st?
Theseus. Not that I lost but that I slew I weep.

SCENE II

Chorus.

How many chances rule the lot of man!
Fortune against the humble least is roused,
The god more lightly smites the little worth;
Obscurity finds peace and quietness,
The cottage offers undisturbed old age.
The pinnacles that tower toward the skies
Most feel the east wind and the south wind smite,
Endure the savage north wind's menaces,
The blowing of the rainy north-west wind;
The moist vale seldom feels the thunderbolt,
But lofty Caucasus, the Phrygian grove
Of mother Cybele, are often shaken
By thundering Jove's attack, for Jupiter,
Fearing their nearness to his heavenly heights,
Aims there his bolts. Beneath the humble roofs
Of lowly homes great tumults never come.
Fickle and restless is the hour's flight,
And faith with none does flying fortune keep.
Theseus, who left the gloomy shades of night,
And sees the starry skies, the sunny day,
Must sadly mourn his sorrowful return,
And find his native land more full of grief
Than dread Avernus.
Chaste Pallas, venerated by the Greeks,
Because thy Theseus sees the upper world
And has escaped the waters of the Styx,
Thou owest to thy robber uncle naught;
The tyrant finds hell's number still the same.
What voice from out the mourning palace sounds?
With weapon drawn why comes sad Phædra forth?

ACT V

SCENE I

Theseus, Phædra.

Theseus. What fury animates thee, and with grief?
Wherefore that sword, and why those sad laments?
Why beat thy bosom for such hated dead?
Phædra. Me, me, O cruel ruler of the seas,
Assail, and send the blue sea's awful shapes
To war on me—whate'er far Tethys bears
Within its inmost bosom, whatsoe'er
Ocean, embracing with its restless waves
The world, conceals within its farthest flood!
O Theseus, ever most unfeeling one,
Thou ne'er returnest safely to thy home.
Father and son must pay for thy return
By death; thou, ever guilty, dost destroy
Thy home with love or hate. Hippolytus,
Such as I made thee do I see thee now?
Did Sinis or Procrustes scatter thus
Thy members, or some savage Cretan bull,
Half man, half beast, refilling with its roar
The labyrinth of Dædalus, destroy
With its great horns? Oh! whither now is fled,
My star, the glory of thy brilliant eyes?
Dost thou lie lifeless? Come, one moment come,
And hear my words, 'tis nothing base I speak!
With my own hands I'll pay thee what I owe,
Into this sinful breast will thrust the sword,
Will by one deed take Phædra's life away,
And cleanse her from her sin, and follow thee
Madly through floods, through Tartarean lake,
Through Styx and fiery rivers. Let me die—
Let me placate the spirit of the dead:
Receive the lock of hair here cut for thee,
It was not lawful that our souls should wed,
But still, perchance, we may in fate be one.
Let me, if chaste, die for my husband's sake,
And if unchaste, die for the loved one's sake!
Shall I approach my husband's marriage bed
That am with such crime stained? This one sin lacked:
That I, as one unstained, should still enjoy
That bed as if it were my right. O death,
The only solace for the pains of love;
O death, last grace of injured chastity,
To thee I fly, take me to thy calm breast!
Hear me, Athena, let his father hear—
He than the cruel stepdame sterner found—
Falsely have I accused him of a crime
Which I myself in my mad heart conceived;
I spoke a lie. Thou, father, hast in vain
Sought punishment; of all incestuous crime
The youth is pure, unstained and innocent.
Recover now thy former spotless fame,
The sinful breast lies bare for justice' sword;
My blood is offered to a holy man.
Theseus. What thou should'st do,
O father, for thy son thus snatched away,
Learn from his stepdame. Seek the Acheron!
O jaws of pale Avernus and ye caves
Of Tænarus, ye waves of Lethe's stream
So welcome to the wretched, stagnant fens,
Hide ye the wretched one, with endless woes
O'erwhelm! Ye cruel monsters of the deep,
Great sea, and whatsoever Proteus hides
Within the farthest corner of his waves,
Be present now; into the whirling deeps
Drag me, so long rejoicing in such crimes.
O father, ever all too easily
Approving of my wrath, I am not meet
To suffer easy death—I who have strewn
My son's torn members in unheard of ways
Through all the fields. Crime did I truly find
When, as the harsh avenger, I pursued
One falsely charged with crime. The seas and stars
And land of shadows by my crimes are filled;
No place remains, me the three kingdoms know.
Have I returned for this? Was upward way
Opened but that I might behold the dead,
That, widowed, childless, I might with the torch
Light the sad funeral pyres of wife and son?
Giver of light, Alcides, take thy gift
Back to the sable groves of shadowy Dis,
Restore me to the Manes whence I came.
Me miserable! Vainly I invoke
The death that I deserted. Bloody one,
Artificer of death, contrive thou now
And bring to light unheard of means of death,
Inflict upon thyself just punishment.
Shall a great pine be bent until the top
Touches the earth, then, being freed again,
Upspringing, bear me with it to the stars?
Or shall I fling myself from Sciron's cliffs?
Yet heavier punishment than that I've seen,
Which Phlegethon compels the guilty souls
Prisoned within its circling waves of fire
To suffer: well I know the dwelling place,
The bitter penalties reserved for me.
Ye guilty souls give place and let the rock
That to the ancient son of Æolus
Gives ceaseless labor weigh these shoulders down,
Weary these hands; let rivers, flowing near
My thirsty lips, ever elude their touch.
Let the fierce vulture, leaving Tityus,
Hover about my liver and increase
My punishment. Mayst thou have rest at last,
Thou father of my friend Pirithous:
On the swift flying wheel that never stays
Its turning let my limbs be whirled about.
Earth, open! Dire chaos, take me back!
Take me! The pathway to the shades of hell
Is mine by better right; I follow him!
O thou who rul'st the spirits of the dead,
Fear not, for we who come to thee are chaste.
Receive me to thy everlasting home,
There will I stay. My prayers the gods hear not,
But had I asked their help in evil deeds,
How ready had they been!
Chorus. Eternity
Is thine, O Theseus, for lament; pay now
The honors due thy son, and quickly hide
In earth his scattered members so dispersed.
Theseus. O hither, hither bring the dear remains,
Give me the parts from many places brought.
Is this Hippolytus? The crime is mine,
'Twas I destroyed thee; and not I alone—
A father, daring crime, I called to aid
My father, I enjoy a father's gift!
How bitter is such loss to broken age!
Embrace whatever of thy son is left,
And clasp him to thy bosom, wretched one.
Chorus. O father, in their rightful order place
The mangled body's separated parts,
Restore the severed members to their place.
Lo, here the place the strong right hand should rest,
And here the left that learned to hold the reins;
I recognize the marks on his left side.
How great a part is absent from our tears!
Theseus. For this sad duty, trembling hands, be strong;
O cheeks be dry, and let abundant tears
Be stayed, the while I count my son's torn limbs,
And form his body. What is this I see,
Lacking in beauty, base, with many wounds?
What part of thee it may be I know not,
Yet part of thee it is. Here, here repose,
Not in thine own but in a vacant place.
Is this the face that like the bright stars shone?
His eyes that overcame his enemy?
Thus has his beauty fallen? Bitter fate!
O cruel kindness of the deity!
And is my son thus given back to me,
As I have wished? O son, in fragments borne
Forth to thy burial, from thy father take
These funeral rites; thee shall the fire burn.
Lay wide the house with dismal murder filled,
Let Mopsopia sound with loud lament.
Ye, to the royal funeral pyre bring flame,
And ye, seek out his body's scattered parts
Through all the fields. When she is buried,
[Turning to Phædra's body] Let earth lie heavy on her, let the soil
Weigh down her impious head!






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