Hippolytus or Phaedra: Act I

Hippolytus [in hunting costume, assigning duties and places tohis servants and companions of the hunt]:Up comrades, and the shadowy grovesWith nets encircle; swiftly rangeThe heights of our Cecropian hills;Scour well those coverts on the slopesOf Parnes, or in Thria's valeWhose chattering streamlet roars alongIn rapid course; go climb the hillsWhose peaks are ever white with snowsOf Scythia. Let others goWhere woods with lofty alders standIn dense array; where pastures lieWhose springing grass is waked to lifeBy Zephyr's breath, dew laden. Go,Where calm Ilissus flows alongThe level fields, a sluggish stream,Whose winding course the barren sandsWith niggard water laps. Go yeAlong the leftward-leading way,Where Marathon her forest gladesReveals, where nightly with their youngThe suckling mothers feed. Do you,Where, softened by the warming windsFrom southern lands, Acharnae meltsHis snows, repair; let others seekHymettus' rocky slopes, far famedFor honey; others still the gladesOf small Aphidnae. All too longThat region has unharried lainWhere Sunium with its jutting shoreThrusts out the curving sea.If any feels the forest's lure,Him Phlye calls, where dwells the boarNow scarred and known by many a wound,The farmers' fear.Now free the dogs from straining leash,That hunt in silence; but the houndsOf keen Molossian breed hold fastIn check; let the savage Cretans strainWith chaffing necks upon their chains;The Spartans hold in strongest curb,With caution bind, for bold their breed,And eager for the prey.The time will come when their baying loudThrough the hollow rocks shall echo; nowLet them snuff the air with nostrils keen,And with lowered muzzles seek the tracksOf beasts, while yet the dawn is dim,And while the dewy earth still holdsThe marks of treading feet. Let someOn burdened necks the wide nets bear,And others haste to bring the snaresOf smooth-wrought cords. Let feathers, dyedWith crimson, hedge the timid deerWith terrors vain. Do thou use dartsOf Crete, and thou the heavy spearBy both hands wielded. Thou shalt sitIn hiding and with clamors loudDrive out the frightened beasts; and thou,When all is done, with curving bladeShalt break the victims.And thou, be with thy worshiper,O goddess of the chase, whose ruleExtends o'er all the secret hauntsOf earth; whose darts unerring pierceThe flying prey; whose thirst is quenchedBy cool Araxes' distant stream,Or for whose sport the Ister spreadsHis frozen waves. Thy hand pursuesGaetulian lions, Cretan deer;And now the swiftly fleeing doesWith lighter stroke are pierced. To theeThe spotted tigers yield, to theeThe bisons, shaggy backed, and the wild,Broad-hornéd oxen of the woods.Whatever feeds upon the plainsIn desert pasture lands; whate'erThe needy Garamantian knows,Whate'er the Arab rich in woods,Or wild Sarmatian, wandering freeAcross the lonely wilderness;Whate'er the rugged PyreneesOr deep Hyrcanian glades conceal:All fear thy bow, thou huntress queen.If any worshiper of thineTakes to the hunt thy favoring will,His nets hold fast the struggling prey;No birds break from his snares; for himThe groaning wagons homeward comeWith booty rich; the hounds come backWith muzzles deeply dyed in blood,And all the rustic throng returnsIn shouting triumph home.But lo, the goddess hears. The houndsAre baying loud and clear to announceThe start. I'm summoned to the woods.Here, here I'll hasten where the roadMost quickly leads away.

Phaedra: O mighty Crete, thou mistress of the deep,Whose ships uncounted sail through every seaWherever Nereus shows their beaks the way,E'en to Assyria's shores; why dost thou hereCompel me thus in woe and tears to live,A hostage given to the hated foe,And to a foeman wed? Behold my lord,Deserting me, his bride, is far away,And keeps his wonted faith. Through shadows deepOf that dark pool which may not be recrossed,This doughty follower of a madcap princeHas gone, that from the very throne of DisHe might seduce and bear away his queen.With such mad folly linked he went away,Restrained by neither fear nor shame. And so,In deepest Acheron, illicit loveThis father of Hippolytus desires.But other, greater griefs than this oppressMy sorrowing soul; no quiet rest by night,No slumber deep comes to dissolve my cares;But woe is fed and grows within my heart,And there burns hot as Aetna's raging fires.My loom stands empty and my listless handsDrop idly from their tasks. No more I careTo make my votive offerings to the gods,Nor, with the Athenian women mingled, danceAround their sacred shrines, and conscious brandsToss high in secret rites. I have no heartWith chaste and pious prayers to worship her,That mighty goddess who was set to guardThis Attic land. My only joy is foundIn swift pursuit of fleeing beasts of prey,My soft hands brandishing the heavy spear.But what will come of this? Why do I loveThe forest glades so madly? Ah, I feelThe fatal malady my mother felt;For both have learned within the forest depthsTo sin in love. O mother, now my heartDoth ache for thee; for, swept away by sinUnspeakable, thou boldly didst conceiveA shameful passion for the savage lordOf the wild herd. Untamable was he,That stern and lustful leader of the flock;And yet he loved. But in my passion's needWhat god can help me? Where the DaedalusWho can my love relieve? Should he returnWho shut our monster in the labyrinth,He could not by his well-known Attic skillAvail to save me from this dire mischance.For Venus, filled with deadly hate of us,The stock of Phoebus, seeks through me to avengeThe chains which fettered her in shame to Mars,And all our house with direful love she fills.No princess of our race has ever lovedIn modest wise, but always monstrously.

Nurse: O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove,Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts.Put out these flames; and give thyself no hopeOf such dire love as this. Whoe'er at firstHas set himself to fight and conquer love,A safe and easy victory finds. But he,Who dallies with its evil sweets, too lateRefuses to endure the galling yokeWhich he himself has placed upon his neck.I know full well how scornful of the truth,How harsh the swollen pride of princesses,How it refuses to be bent aright.Whatever outcome chance allots, I'll bear;For dawning freedom makes the agéd brave.To will to live uprightly nor to fallFrom virtue's ways is best; but next to thisIs sense of shame, the knowing when to stopA sinful course. What, pray, will be the endFor thee, poor mistress? Why dost heap thy houseWith further infamy? Wouldst thou outsinThy mother? For thy impious love is worseThan her unnatural and monstrous love.The first you would impute to character,The last to fate. If, since thy husband seesNo more the realms of earth, thou dost believeThat this thy sin is safe and free from fear,Thou art in error. Grant that he is heldImprisoned fast in Lethe's lowest depths,And must forever feel the bonds of Styx:Would he, thy sire, who by his spreading swayEncroaches on the sea, who gives their lawsUnto a hundred peoples, e'er permitSo great a crime as this to lie unknown?Keen is a parent's watchful care. And yet,Suppose that by our craft and guile we hideThis crime from him: what of thy mother's sire,Who floods the earth with his illuming rays?And what of him who makes the earth to quake,The bolts of Aetna flashing in his hand,The father of the gods? And dost thou thinkThat it can be that thou couldst hide thy sinFrom these thy grandsires, all-beholding ones?But even should the favor of the gods,Complaisant, hide thy shame from all the world;Though to thy lust alone should fall that graceDenied to other crimes: still must thou fear.What of that ever-present punishment,The terror of the soul that knows its guilt,Is stained with crime and fearful of itself?Some women have with safety sinned, but noneWith peace of soul. Then quench these flames, I pray,Of impious love, and shun this monstrous crimeWhich no barbaric land has ever done,No Getan wandering on his lonely plains,No savage Taurian, no Scythian.Expel from thy chaste soul this hideous thing,And, mindful of thy mother's sin, avoidSuch monstrous unions. Wouldst in marriage giveThyself to son and father? Wouldst thou takeIn thine incestuous womb a progenySo basely mixed? Then go the length of sin:O'erthrow all nature with thy shameful fires.Why should the monsters cease? Why empty standsThy brother's labyrinth? Shall all the worldBe shocked with prodigies, shall nature's lawsBe scorned, whene'er a Cretan woman loves?

Phaedra: I know that what thou say'st is true, dear nurse;But raging passion forces me to takeThe path of sin. Full consciously my soulGoes headlong on its downward way, ofttimesWith backward glance, sane counsel seeking still,Without avail. So, when the marinerWould sail his ship against the boisterous waves,His toil is all in vain, and, vanquished quite,The ship drifts onward with the hurrying tide.For what can reason do when passion rules,When love, almighty, dominates the soul?The wingéd god is lord through all the earth,And with his flames unquenchable the heartOf Jove himself is burned. The god of warHas felt his fire; and Vulcan too, that godWho forges Jove's three-forkéd thunderbolts;Yea, he, who in the hold of Aetna hugeIs lord of ever-blazing furnaces,By this small spark is burned. Apollo, too,Who sends his arrows with unerring aim,Was pierced by Cupid's still more certain darts.For equally in heaven and earth the godIs powerful.

Nurse: The god! 'Tis vicious lustThat hath his godhead framed; and, that its endsMore fully may be gained, it has assignedTo its unbridled love the specious name,Divinity! 'Tis Venus' son, in sooth,Sent wandering through all the earth! He fliesThrough empty air and in his boyish handsHis deadly weapon bears! Though least of gods,He holds the widest sway! Such vain conceitsThe love-mad soul adopts, love's goddess feigns,And Cupid's bow. Whoe'er too much enjoysThe smiles of fortune and in ease is lapped,Is ever seeking unaccustomed joys.Then that dire comrade of a high estate,Inordinate desire, comes in. The feastOf yesterday no longer pleases; nowA home of sane and simple living, foodOf humble sort, are odious. Oh, whyDoes this destructive pest so rarely comeTo lowly homes, but chooses rather homesOf luxury? And why does modest loveBeneath the humble roof abide, and blessWith wholesome intercourse the common throng?Why do the poor restrain their appetites,Whereas the rich, on empire propped, desireMore than is right. Who wields too much of powerDesires to gain what is beyond his power.What is befitting to thy high estateThou knowest well. Then fitting reverence showTo thy returning husband's sovereignty.

Phaedra: The sovereignty of love is over me,The highest rule of all. My lord's return,I fear it not; for never more has he,Who once within the silent depths of nightHas plunged, beheld again the light of day.

Nurse: Trust not the power of Dis; for though his realmHe closely bar, and though the Stygian dogKeep watch and ward upon the baleful doors,Theseus can always walk forbidden ways.Phaedra: Perchance he'll give indulgence to my love.

Nurse: But he was harsh e'en to a modest wife;His heavy hand Antiope has known.But grant that thou canst bend thy angry lord:Canst bend as well the stubborn soul of him,Hippolytus, who hates the very nameOf womankind? Inexorable his resolveTo spend his life unwedded. He so shunsThe sacred rites of marriage, thou wouldst knowThat he of Amazonian stock was born.

Phaedra: Though on the tops of snowy hills he hide,Or swiftly course along the ragged cliffs,Through forests deep, o'er mountains, 'tis my willTo follow him.

Nurse: And will he turn again,And yield himself unto thy sweet caress?Or will he lay aside his modestyAt thy vile love's behest? Will he give o'erHis hate of womankind for thee alone,On whose account, perchance, he hates them all?

Phaedra: Can he not be by any prayers o'ercome?

Phaedra: Yes, but the beasts are tamed by love.

Nurse: He'll flee.

Nurse: Thy sire remember.

Nurse: Women he hates.

Nurse: Thy husband comes.

Nurse: O child, by these white locks of age, I pray,This care-filled heart, these breasts that suckled thee,Put off this rage; to thine own rescue come.The greater part of life is will to live.

Phaedra: Shame has not wholly fled my noble soul.I yield: let love, which will not be controlled,Be conquered. Nor shalt thou, fair fame, be stained.This way alone is left, sole hope of woe:Theseus I'll follow, and by death shun sin.

Nurse: Oh, check, my child, this wild, impetuous thought;Be calm. For now I think thee worthy life,Because thou hast condemned thyself to death.

Phaedra: I am resolved to die, and only seekThe mode of death. Shall I my spirit freeBy twisted rope, or fall upon the sword,Or shall I leap from yonder citadel?

Nurse: Shall my old age permit thee thus to dieSelf-slain? Thy deadly, raging purpose stay.No one may easily come back to life.

Phaedra: No argument can stay the will of oneWho has resolved to die, and ought to die.Quick, let me arm myself in honor's cause.

Nurse: Sole comfort of my weary age, my child,If such unruly passion sways thy heart,Away with reputation! 'Tis a thingWhich rarely with reality agrees;It smiles upon the ill-deserving man,And from the good withholds his meed of praise.Let us make trial of that stubborn soul.Mine be the task to approach the savage youth,And bend his will relentless to our own.

Chorus: Thou goddess, child of the foaming sea,Thou mother of love, how fierce are the flames,And how sharp are the darts of thy petulant boy;How deadly of aim his bow.Deep to the heart the poison sinksWhen the veins are imbued with his hidden flame;No gaping wound upon the breastDoes his arrow leave; but far withinIt burns with consuming fire.No peace or rest does he give; world wideAre his flying weapons sown abroad:The shores that see the rising sun,And the land that lies at the goal of the west;The south where raging Cancer glows,And the land of the cold Arcadian BearWith its ever-wandering tribes--all knowAnd have felt the fires of love.The hot blood of youth he rouses to madness,The smouldering embers of age he rekindles,And even the innocent breasts of maidsAre stirred by passion unknown.He bids the immortals desert the skiesAnd dwell on the earth in forms assumed.For love, Apollo kept the herdsOf Thessaly's king, and, his lyre unused,He called to his bulls on the gentle pipe.How oft has Jove himself put onThe lower forms of life, who rulesThe sky and the clouds. Now a bird he seems,With white wings hovering, with voiceMore sweet than the song of the dying swan;Now with lowering front, as a wanton bull,He offers his back to the sport of maids;And soon through his brother's waves he floats,With his hoofs like sturdy oars, and his breastStoutly opposing the waves, in fearFor the captured maid he bears. For love,The shining goddess of the nightHer dim skies left, and her glittering carTo her brother allotted to guide. UntrainedIn managing the dusky steeds,Within a shorter circuit nowHe learns to direct his course. MeanwhileThe nights no more their accustomed spaceRetained, and the dawn came slowly back,Since 'neath a heavier burden nowThe axle trembled. Love compelledAlcmena's son to lay asideHis quiver and the threat'ning spoilOf that great lion's skin he bore,And have his fingers set with gems,His shaggy locks in order dressed.His limbs were wrapped in cloth of gold,His feet with yellow sandals bound;And with that hand which bore but nowThe mighty club, he wound the threadWhich from his mistress' spindle fell.The sight all Persia saw, and theyWho dwell in Lydia's fertile realm--The savage lion's skin laid by,And on those shoulders, once the propFor heaven's vast dome, a gauzy cloakOf Tyrian manufacture spread.Accursed is love, its victims know,And all too strong. In every land,In the all-encircling briny deep,In the airy heavens where the bright stars course,There pitiless love holds sway.The sea-green band of the NereidsHave felt his darts in their deepest waves,And the waters of ocean cannot quenchTheir flames. The birds know the passion of love,And mighty bulls, with its fire inflamed,Wage furious battle, while the herdLook on in wonder. Even stags,Though timorous of heart, will fightIf for their mates they fear, while loudResound the snortings of their wrath.When with love the striped tigers burn,The swarthy Indian cowers in fear.For love the boar whets his deadly tusksAnd his huge mouth is white with foam.The African lions toss their manesWhen love inflames their hearts, and the woodsResound with their savage roars.The monsters of the raging deep,And those great beasts, the elephants,Feel the sway of love; since nature's powerClaims everything, and nothing spares.Hate perishes when love commands,And ancient feuds yield to his touch.Why need I more his sway approve,When even stepdames yield to love?