Part 15

_Chorus:_ He fled away like the storm-blast wild, More swift than cloud-compelling winds; And swifter than the comet's torch, When, driven before the wind, it speeds With long-drawn, trailing fires. 740 Let fame, that boasts of her olden times, Compare with thine all ancient charms: Beyond compare does thy beauty shine, Clear and bright as the full-orbed moon, When, with waxing hours in splendor joined, 745 Night long she speeds her shining car, And her ruddy face so brightly gleams, That the fires of the lesser stars are dimmed. He is fair as the messenger of night, When he leads the evening shadows in, Himself new bathed in the ocean's foam; 750 Or when, the darkness put to flight, He heralds the dawn--bright Lucifer. And thou of the thyrsus, Indian Bacchus, With the flowing locks of endless youth, With thine ivy-clad spear the tigers driving, 755 And thy turban set on thy hornéd head: Not thus will thy glorious locks outshine The unadorned hair of Hippolytus. And admire not thy beauty over much, For fame has spread the story far, How Phaedra's sister preferred to thee, 760 O Bromius, a mortal man. Ah beauty, a doubtful boon art thou, The gift of a fleeting hour! How swift On flying feet thou glidest away! So flowery meadows of the spring The summer's burning heat devours, 765 When midday's raging sun rides high, And night's brief round is hurried through. As the lilies languish on their stems, So pleasing tresses fail the head; And swiftly is the radiance dimmed 770 Which gleams from the tender cheeks of youth! Each day hath its spoil from the lovely form; For beauty flees and soon is gone. Who then would trust a gift so frail? Nay, use its joys, while still thou mayst; For silent time will soon destroy thee, 775 And hours to baser hours steal on. Why seek the desert wilds? Thy form Is no more safe in pathless ways. If in the forest's depths thou hide, When Titan brings the noonday heat, The saucy Naïds will surround thee, 780 Who are wont in their clear springs to snare The lovely youth; and 'gainst thy sleep The wanton goddesses of groves, The Dryads, who the roving Pans Drive in pursuit, will mischief plot. Or else that glowing star, whose birth 785 The old Arcadians beheld, Will see thee from the spangled sky, And straight forget to drive her car. Of late she blushed a fiery red, And yet no staining cloud obscured Her shining disk. But we, in fear For her troubled face, clashed cymbals loud, 790 Deeming her harried by the charms Of Thessaly. But for thee alone Was all her toil; thou wast the cause Of her long delay; for, seeing thee, The night's fair goddess checked her course. If only winter's blasts would beat 795 Less fiercely on that face of thine; If less it felt the sun's hot rays, More bright than Parian marble's gleam Would it appear. How beautiful The manly sternness in thy face, Thy brow's dark frowning majesty! Compare with Phoebus' that fair neck. 800 His hair o'er his shoulders flowing free, Unbound by fillet, ornaments And shelters him. A shaggy brow Becomes thee best; thee, shorter locks, In tossing disarray. 'Tis thine The rough and warlike gods to meet 805 In strife, and by thy mighty strength To overcome them. Even now, The muscles of a Hercules Thy youthful arms can match. Thy breast Is broader than the breast of Mars. If on a horny-footed steed Thou'rt pleased to mount, not Castor's self 810 More easily could hold in check The Spartan Cyllarus. Take thong in hand; with all thy strength Discharge the javelin: not so far, Though they be trained to hurl the dart, Will Cretans send the slender reed. 815 Or if it please thee into air, In Parthian style, to shoot thy darts, None will descend without its bird, Fixed deep within the throbbing breast; From out the very clouds thy prey Thou wilt regain. By few has beauty been possessed (The voice of history proclaims) 820 Without some loss or suffering. But thee, unharmed, may God pass by More merciful, and may thy form, Now famous for its beauty, show At last the marks of ugly age. What crime would woman's fury leave undared? She plans against this harmless youth some fraud. 825 Behold her scheme! For by her tumbled hair, All torn, she seeks sure credence for her tale. She wets her cheeks with tears; and every art That woman's shrewdness knows, does she employ. [_A man is seen approaching, who proves to be_ Theseus.] But who is that who comes with grace of kings Displayed upon his face, his lofty head 830 Held high in kingly pride? In countenance, How like the young Pirithoüs he seems, Were not his cheeks too deadly pale and wan, And if his hair fell not in locks unkempt. Behold, 'tis Theseus' self returned to earth.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] Reading, _luxus_.

[21] Reading, _dixit_.

ACT III

_Theseus:_ At last have I escaped from endless night, 835 That shadowy realm which close confines the dead. And now my eyes can scarce endure the light Which I have long desired. Eleusin now Has four times reaped her ripened grain, the gift Triptolemus bestowed; thrice and again Has Libra measured equal day and night, Since dubious battling with an unknown fate Has held me in the toils of life and death. 840 To me, though dead to all things else, one part Of life remained, the consciousness of ill. Alcides was the end. When he came down To bring the dog by force from Tartarus, He brought me also to the upper world. 845 But ah, my wearied frame has lost the strength It had of old; I walk with faltering steps. Alas! how great a task it was to reach The world of light from lower Phlegethon, To flee from death and follow Hercules! But why this sound of wailing in my ears? 850 Let someone tell; for agonies of woe And grief and lamentations sad I meet Upon the very threshold of my home-- A fitting welcome to a guest from hell.

_Nurse:_ The queen is obstinately bent on death, And scorns the strong remonstrance of our tears. 855

_Theseus:_ Why should she die, her husband safe returned?

_Nurse:_ That very cause compels her speedy death.

_Theseus:_ Thy words are dark and hide some weighty truth. Speak out and tell what grief weighs down her soul.

_Nurse:_ She tells her grief to none. Some secret woe 860 She hides within her heart, and is resolved To take her secret with her to the grave. But speed thee to her; there is need of haste.

_Theseus:_ Unbar the close-shut portals of my house.

[_The doors are opened and_ Theseus _encounters his wife just within_.]

_Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: My queen, is't thus thou dost receive thy lord, And welcome back thy husband long desired? 865 Nay, put away the sword from thy right hand, And give me heart again. Reveal to me The cause that forces thee to flee from life.

_Phaedra:_ Alas, great Theseus, by thy kingly power, And by thy children's souls, by thy return, 870 And by my ashes, suffer me to die.

_Theseus:_ What cause compels thy death?

_Phaedra:_ The fruit of death Would perish if I let its cause be known.

_Theseus:_ None else shall hear it save myself alone.

_Phaedra:_ A chaste wife fears her husband most of all.

_Theseus:_ Speak out; I'll hide thy secret in my heart. 875

_Phaedra:_ The secret thou wouldst have another guard, First guard thyself.

_Theseus:_ No chance of death thou'lt find.

_Phaedra:_ Death cannot fail the heart that's bent on death.

_Theseus:_ Confess what sin must be atoned by death.

_Phaedra:_ My life.

_Theseus:_ Will not my tears avail with thee? 880

_Phaedra:_ That death is best which one's own friends lament.

_Theseus:_ She still persists in silence. By the lash And chains shall her old nurse be forced to tell What she will not declare. Put her in chains. Now let the lash lay bare her hidden thoughts.

_Phaedra:_ Hold, stay thy hand, for I myself will speak. 885

_Theseus:_ Why dost thou turn thy grieving face away, And hide the quickly rising shower of tears Behind thy robe?

_Phaedra:_ Thee, thee do I invoke, O father of the gods, and thee, O Sun, Thou shining glory of the heavenly dome, On whom as founder doth our house depend, 890 I call ye both to witness that I strove Against his prayers, though sorely tried. To threats Of death my spirit did not yield; but force O'ercame my body. This the shameful stain Upon my honor which my blood must cleanse.

_Theseus:_ Come, tell, who hath defiled our honor so?

_Phaedra:_ Whom thou wouldst least expect. 895

_Theseus:_ But who is he? I wait to hear his name.

_Phaedra:_ This sword shall tell, Which in his terror at our loud laments, The adulterer left, fearing the citizens.

_Theseus:_ Ah me! What villainy do I behold? What monstrous deed is this? The royal sword, Its ivory hilt with tiny signs engraved, Shines out, the glory of the Athenian race. 900 But he--where has he gone?

_Phaedra:_ These slaves have seen How, borne on speeding feet, he fled away.

_Theseus:_ Oh, holy piety! O thou who reign'st In heaven, and thou who rulest in the seas, Whence came this base infection of our race? 905 Was he of Grecian birth, or did he spring From Scythian Taurus or some Colchian stream? The type reverts to its ancestral stock, And blood ignoble but repeats its source. This is the madness of that savage race, To scorn all lawful love, and prostitute 910 At last the long-chaste body to the crowd. Oh, loathsome race, restrained by no good laws Which milder climes revere! The very beasts Shun love incestuous, and keep the laws Of nature with instinctive chastity. Where is that face, that feigned austerity, 915 That rough and careless garb that sought to ape The ancient customs? Where that aspect stern, That sour severity which age assumes? O life, two-faced! How thou dost hide thy thoughts! For fairest faces cover foulest hearts; The chaste demeanor hides inchastity; 920 The gentle, boldness; seeming goodness, sin. False men approve the truth; the faint of heart Affect a blustering mood. O thou, of woods Enamored, savage, rough and virgin pure, Didst thou reserve thyself for me alone? On my couch first and with so fell a crime 925 Wast thou inclined to try thy manly powers? Now, now I thank the kindly gods of heaven That long ago I slew Antiope; That, when I went below to Stygian caves, I did not leave thy mother for thy lust. Go, get thee far away to unknown lands; And there, though to her utmost bounds removed, 930 The earth should hem thee off by ocean's wastes; Though thou shouldst dwell at the Antipodes; Though to the frigid northern realms thou go, And deep within her farthest caverns hide; Or, though beyond the reach of winter placed, 935 And drifting snows, thou leave the boisterous threats Of frosty Boreas in mad pursuit: Thou still shalt meet thy fitting punishment. Persistent shall I chase thee in thy flight Through all thy hiding-places. Ways remote, Hemmed in, secluded, hard and trackless ways, I'll traverse in pursuit. No obstacle 940 Shall block my way. Thou know'st whence I return. And whither spears cannot be hurled at thee I'll hurl my prayers. My father of the sea Once promised me that thrice I might prevail With him in prayer, and ratified the boon By oath upon the inviolable Styx. [_To_ Neptune.] Thou ruler of the sea, the boon bestow, 945 And grant my prayer: let not Hippolytus Live to behold another sun's bright rays, But may he go to meet those shades of hell Enraged at my escape. O father, now I pray that aid which still I deprecate. This last of thy three boons I would not use, 950 If I were not beset by grievous ills. Amidst the depths of hell and dreadful Dis, Amidst the infernal king's pursuing threats, I did not call on thee. But now I claim Thy promise, father. Why delay thine aid? Why are thy waves inactive? Let the winds 955 That drive the blackening clouds bring darkness on; Snatch stars and sky from sight; pour forth the sea; Arouse thy watery monsters, and let loose On him from ocean's depths thy swelling waves.

[_Exit_ Theseus.]

_Chorus_: Great nature, mother of the gods, And thou, fire-girt Olympus' lord, 960 Who speedest through the flying skies The scattered stars, the wandering ways Of constellations, and the heavens Upon their whirling axes turn'st: Why is thy care so great to keep The annual highways of the air, 965 That now the hoary frosts may strip The woods of leaves, and now the trees May spread once more their pleasant shade; That now the summer's fervent heat May ripen Ceres' gift, and soon 970 Her strength the Autumn may subdue? But why, though thou dost rule so wide, Though in thy hand the ponderous worlds Are poised, and calmly wheel along Their appointed ways, why dost thou shun The affairs of men and have no care For them? Art not solicitous 975 That good should prosper, and that sin Receive its just deserts? But no: Blind Fortune rules the affairs of men, Dispensing with unthinking hand Her gifts, oft favoring the worst. 980 And so the violent oppress The innocent; and fraud holds sway In highest places. To the hands Of brutish men the rabble most Rejoice to trust their government; The same they honor and they hate, With fickle will. Sad virtue finds Her recompense for righteousness All gone away; and poverty, 985 Relentless, follows innocence; While, deep intrenched in wickedness, The adulterer sits secure, and reigns. O modesty--an empty name! And worth--a glorious cheat! But what would yonder messenger announce, Who comes in haste, with woeful countenance? 990

ACT IV

[_Enter_ Messenger.]

_Messenger:_ O slavery, thou hard and bitter lot, Why must I voice these woes unspeakable?

_Theseus:_ Fear not, but boldly tell the worst mischance; For mine a heart not unprepared for grief. _Messenger:_ My tongue can find no words to voice its woe. 955

_Theseus:_ But speak, what evil fortune still besets My shattered house?

_Messenger:_ Hippolytus is dead!

_Theseus:_ The father knew long since his son had died; But now the adulterer has met his end. Tell me, I pray, the manner of his death.

_Messenger:_ When, fleeing forth, he left the city's walls, 1000 With maddened speed he hurried on his way, And quickly yoked his chargers to his car, And curbed them to his will with close-drawn reins. And then, with much wild speech, and cursing loud His native land, oft calling on his sire, 1005 He fiercely shook the reins above his steeds; When suddenly, far out the vast sea roared, And heaved itself to heaven. No wind was there To stir the sea, no quarter of the sky Broke in upon its peace; the rising waves Were by their own peculiar tempest raised. 1010 No blast so great had ever stirred the straits Of Sicily, nor had the deep e'er swelled With such wild rage before the north wind's breath, When high cliffs trembled with the shock of waves, And hoary foam smote high Leucate's top. The sea then rose into a mighty heap, 1015 And, big with monstrous birth, was landward borne. For no ship's wrecking was this swelling pest Intended; landward was its aim. The flood Rolled shoreward heavily, something unknown Within its laden bosom carrying. What land, new born, will lift its head aloft? 1020 Is some new island of the Cyclades Arising? Now the rocky heights are hid, Held sacred to the Epidaurian god, And those high crags well known for Sciron's crime; No longer can be seen that land whose shores Are washed by double seas. While in amaze 1025 We look in fear and wonder, suddenly The whole sea bellows, and on every side The towering cliffs re-echo with the roar; While all their tops the leaping spray bedews. The deep spouts forth and vomits up its waves In alternating streams, like some huge whale 1030 Which roves the ocean, spouting up the floods. Then did that mound of waters strongly heave And break itself, and threw upon the shore A thing more terrible than all our fears. The sea itself rushed landward, following That monstrous thing. I shudder at the thought. What form and bearing had the monster huge! 1035 A bull it was in form, with dark-green neck Uplifted high, its lofty front adorned With verdant mane. Its ears with shaggy hair Were rough; its horns with changing color flashed, Such as the lord of some fierce herd would have, Both earth and ocean-born. He vomits flames; 1040 With flames his fierce eyes gleam. His glossy neck Great couch-like muscles shows, and as he breathes, His spreading nostrils quiver with the blast Of his deep panting. Breast and dewlap hang All green with clinging moss; and on his sides Red lichens cling. His hinder parts appear 1045 In monstrous shape, and like some scaly fish His vast and shapeless members drag along; As are those monsters of the distant seas Which swallow ships, and spout[22] them forth again. The country-side was panic stricken; herds 1050 In frenzied terror scattered through the fields; Nor did the herdsmen think to follow them. The wild beasts in the forest pastures fled In all directions, and the hunters shook With deadly fear. Hippolytus alone Was not afraid, but curbed his frantic steeds 1055 With close-drawn reins, and with his well-known voice He cheered them on. The road to Argos[23] runs Precipitous along the broken hills, On one side bordered by the roaring sea. Here does that massive monster whet himself And kindle hot his wrath; then, when he felt His courage strong within his breast, and when His power to attempt the strife he had rehearsed, 1060 He charged Hippolytus with headlong course, The ground scarce touching with his bounding feet; And, fearful, stopped before the trembling steeds. But this thy son, with savage countenance, Stood steadfast, threatening, before the foe. His features changed not, while he thundered loud: 1065 "This empty terror cannot daunt my soul, For 'twas my father's task to vanquish bulls." But straightway, disobedient to the reins, The horses hurried off the car. And now, The highway leaving, maddened by their fear, They plunged along where'er their terror led, 1070 And took their way among the rocky fields. But he, their driver, as some captain strong Holds straight his bark upon the boisterous sea, Lest she oppose her side against the waves, And by his art escapes the yawning floods; Not otherwise he guides the whirling car. 1075 For now with tight-drawn reins he curbs his steeds, And now upon their backs he plies the lash. But doggedly that monster kept along, Now running by their side, now leaping straight Upon them as they came, from every hand Great fear inspiring. Soon all further flight 1080 Was checked; for that dread, hornéd, ocean beast With lowering front charged full against their course. Then, truly, did the horses, wild with fear, Break loose from all control; and from the yoke They madly struggled to withdraw their necks, Their master hurling to their stamping feet. Headlong among the lossened reins he fell, 1085 His form all tangled in their clinging strands. The more he struggled to release himself The tighter those relentless fetters bound. The steeds perceived what they had done, and now, With empty car, and no one mastering them, They ran where terror bade. Just so, of old, Not recognizing their accustomed load, 1090 And hot with anger that the car of day Had been entrusted to a spurious sun, The steeds of Phoebus hurled young Phaëthon Far through the airs of heaven in wandering course. Now far and wide he stains the fields with blood, His head rebounding from the smitten rocks. The bramble thickets pluck away his hair, 1095 And that fair face is bruised upon the stones. His fatal beauty which had been his bane, Is ruined now by many a wound. His limbs Are dragged along upon the flying wheels. At last, his bleeding trunk upon a charred And pointed stake is caught, pierced through the groin; And for a little, by its master held, 1100 The car stood still. The horses by that wound Were held awhile, but soon they break delay-- And break their master too. While on they rush, The whipping branches cut his dying form, The rough and thorny brambles tear his flesh, And every bush retains its part of him. Now bands of servants scour those woeful fields, 1105 Those places where Hippolytus was dragged, And where his bloody trail directs the way; And sorrowing dogs trace out their master's limbs. But not as yet has all this careful toil Of grieving friends sufficed to gather all. 1110 And has it come to this, that glorious form? But now the partner of his father's realm, And his acknowledged heir, illustrious youth, Who shone refulgent like the stars--behold His scattered fragments for the funeral pile They gather up and heap them on the bier!

_Theseus:_ O mother Nature, all too potent thou! How firmly dost thou hold me by the ties 1115 Of blood! How thou dost force me to obey Thy will! I wished to slay my guilty son, While yet he lived; but now I mourn his loss.

_Messenger:_ One may not rightly mourn what he has willed.[24]

_Theseus:_ This is indeed the crowning woe, I think, When chance fulfils the prayers we should not make. 1120

_Messenger:_ If still you hate your son, why weep for him?

_Theseus:_ Because I slew, not lost my son, I weep.

* * * * *

_Chorus:_ How on the wheel of circumstance We mortals whirl! 'Gainst humble folk Does fate more gently rage, and God More lightly smites the lightly blest. 1125 A life in dim retirement spent Insures a peaceful soul; and he Who in a lowly cottage dwells May live to tranquil age at last. The mountain tops that pierce the skies, Feel all the stormy winds that blow, Fierce Eurus, Notus, and the threats Of Boreas, and Corus too, 1130 Storm bringer. The vale low lying seldom feels The thunder's stroke; but Caucasus, The huge, and the lofty Phrygian groves Of mother Cybele have felt The bolts of Jove the Thunderer. 1135 For Jupiter in jealousy Attacks the heights too near his skies; But never is the humble roof Uptorn by jealous heaven's assaults. Round mighty kings and homes of kings 1140 He thunders. The passing hour on doubtful wings Flits ever; nor may any claim Swift Fortune's pledge. Behold our king, Who sees at last the glowing stars And light of day, the gloom of hell Behind him left, a sad return 1145 Laments; for this his welcome home He finds more sorrowful by far Than dismal, dark Avernus' self. O Pallas, by the Athenian race In reverence held, that once again Thy Theseus sees the light of day, 1150 And has escaped the pools of Styx, Thou owest naught to greedy Dis; For still the number of the shades Within the infernal tyrant's power Remains the same. But why the sounds of wailing that we hear? And what would Phaedra with her naked sword? 1155

FOOTNOTES:

[22] Reading, _reddit_.

[23] Reading, _Argos_.

[24] Reading, _haud quisquam honeste flere, quod voluit, potest_.

ACT V

[_Enter_ Phaedra _with a drawn sword in her hand_.]