University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene 1:

A vestibule in Phaedra's palace.
Leton.
How poor a thing can foil our best device!
This peevish youth escaped me by a hair,
A slender thread of accident—what then?
Shall I give up the ruin that I plot
For him and his? Not so—his fate hath slept,
But I will wake it. Jealous Acheron,
Lend me thy Furies, coupled on with speed,
Until I track him to thy jaws, whose heart
Ne'er honoured Aphrodite. Soft—Oenone! [Enter Oenone]

How fares thy mistress?

Oenone.
Ill indeed, good friend.
The hope that lifted lets her further down,
So in the pit of grief she lies and moans,
Calling the gods to end her wretched days.

Leton.
I have a medicine shall stay her ill,
A plan most fit to help her.

Oenone.
What can help
A soul so wrought? Her thoughts are turned to death.

Leton.
That suits not with my purpose—dost thou think
This boy, this innocent, shall foil my skill
Ripened in many summers? Bring me straight
To speech with her, and I shall show you both
The contest's but begun, the prize is free;
And I have arts that summon victory
From Heaven's high justice to the side I serve.

Oenone.
If thus thou counsellest truly, follow me. [Exeunt]

Scene 2:

A room in the palace, 3.G. Enter Creon, L.H.
Creon.
Hippolytus has met a ghost, or looked
On the dim features of a coming ill,
So spiritless he leaves his couch, this morn,
So fall'n the high complexion of his youth.
Heaven send him safe from Phaedra's cunning hands!
Could e'er his goddess stoop to watch and aid,
That were the moment when he went to her.
But see, he comes; now, whatso'er his grief,
It must lie deep but I shall win to it.

[Enter Hippolytus, R.H.]
Hipp.
I greet thee, Creon, with a clouded brow
That wrongs the love I bear thee; but my heart
Has deeper burthen than such love to-day.
Friend, we are fallen upon doubtful times
That tend to evil.

Creon.
Such is every time.
This has grown hateful with thy father's stay
In unknown regions. Sure, that fault shall mend.
The days of absence shall be counted soon.
And Athens, kindled with one flame of joy,
Shall flash again the glory of his smile.
Why should you doubt it?

Hipp.
I dispute it not,
But—I am heavy-hearted—let this pass—
Another day I'll reason like myself.

Creon.
My love demands your sorrow as its right.
Were you the king, you had not in your gift
The treasure I should take in its exchange.
For justice, then, unload this girded breast,
And grant me half of all it hides; nay, more.
When vague displeasures vent themselves in words,
They are as gloomy clouds that fall in rain
And then are nowhere in the face of Heaven.

Hipp.
Unwilling went I to a feast last night,
Where courteous duty seemed to urge my way.
Once there, the very air grew weird and strange,
The music had an evil magic in it.
The queen did seat me on a purple bed,
In utmost state—her lips were swift to weave
A cunning chain of silken flatteries,
While in the intervals of song, she pressed
A fragrant wine cup.

Creon.
You were not so rash
As taste it!

Hipp.
Ere the madness of the feast
Could gain my senses, in my sudden thought,
My father stood, and fixed his eyes on me,
Pale and reproachful—with an instant strength,
Breaking all bonds, I spurned the soft-spread couch,
And ere the palsied lips of those around
Could summon words to question me, I flung
The wine untasted on the ground, and fled,
Calling on Artemis.

Creon.
Oh! this was well.

Hipp.
'Twas like a dream, and as a dream I see it.
How came this sudden darkness on my soul,
That scattered like a vapor, when my prayer
Invoked the goddess?

Creon.
Often thus in sleep,
The heart stands still for undiscovered fear,
The stalwart muscles cannot stir, the tongue
With agony unspeakable is dumb;
The desperate possession at the last
Forces a shriek, and, waking, you are free.

Hipp.
Ay, so it was.

Creon.
But dreams have warning in them.
Dread thou the queen; ay, cross her bounds no more!
Who knows what drugs and sorceries she keeps
Of Cretan use and learning? In that cup
Perhaps, she mixed a poison for the heir
Of Theseus.

Hipp.
Such a thought I never harboured,
But now you name it, 'tis most horrible!
[A muffled sound behind the scenes]
What sound is that without? [Enter a Herald dressed in black]


Herald.
Alas! my lord!
I bring you mournful tidings.

Hipp.
Speak!

Herald.
Our realm
The gods, as this one hearth, make desolate.
The king, your father, is no more in life.

Hipp.
[Hiding his face]
My father!

Herald.
Has encountered death afar.

Hipp.
O mortal pang—O father, what thou gavest
In giving life, thou dearly takest now.
Sharp beyond nature is the blow that rends
This cherished bond in twain.

Herald.
The people wait
To bring you duteous speech; thus runs their talk:
“Great Theseus we have lost, but Theseus' son
Is ours to rule us nobly as himself.”

Hipp.
Bid them affront not my dead father's name
By placing mine beside it. When the pyre,
Fragrant with him, exhales its latest spark,
Then only, let men think upon his son.
For me, I am still in grief's astonishment,
And cannot come to words, till tears have done.

Creon.
The days of vengeance are not yet fulfilled.

Hipp.
[Starting]
Vengeance? Why, what a beast am I to sit
Playing the woman, while the murderers
Of such a man are tenants of the day!
We will to arms, nor give our sorrow breath
Until he be avenged. Thou messenger
Of evil, who is he that slew my father?
Although he dwell beyond the leaguèd clouds,
His blood shall honour Theseus. Speak, what hand
Hath done the impious deed?

Herald.
Alas, my lord,
Your valiant purpose hath no way—the gods
Of Styx, whose breathless realm he did invade,
Aiding his friend, closed darkly in the rear;
Grim Pluto holds him, and the leaden waves
That bore him thither bring him no more back.

Hipp.
O ye sad deities, who swallow up
The glories of the earth, shall this great prize
Enrich your greedy bosoms ere its time?
Had'st thou but died in battle, slaying wide,
And heaping corses for your funeral pile—
But on this wise to fall! Infernal gods,
Unroof to me your dark domains—give way,
Give way before me, bloody Cerberus,
And ye whose penances do make men stare
With fearful thoughts at noonday, give me place!
I'll plunge beneath the earth for Theseus' soul,
And tear his bonds, that Hell shall sound again
For terror, and the ghosts of Acheron
Scatter like clouds before his rescued face.

Creon.
Sweet prince, your words are wild beyond your wont.
You know not what you say—your duteous soul
Is strong to suffer what the gods decree.

Herald.
The people wait, and will not be denied.

[Going]
Hipp.
Creon, speak thou! Nay, I must be alone.
[Exeunt Hippolytus, R.H., and Creon, L. Enter a deputation of the people]

First Man.
We greet the son of Theseus, at whose hands
We seek the sole redemption of our loss,
That he should take his father's sceptre up,
And fit his youthful shoulders to the state,
As did an elder, not a better man.

Creon.
Good neighbours, you are over quick with him.
Sorrow must have its time. The crown you bring
Is an ill medicine for an orphaned heart,
And you and he are orphaned from this hour;
The greatest man that trod the earth is dead.

First Man.
He was a hero!

Second Man.
Nay, a demi-god,
The friend and peer of Hercules.

Creon.
Ev'n so.
Then let us fitly mourn this mighty sorrow,
And when the honours of the dead are paid,
Your prince will not be wanting to your love.

First Man.
The city shall be given up to grief,
And women shall not smile upon their babes,
Until the prince's heart be comforted.

[Exeunt Deputation by one door and Creon by the other. Enter Leton, leading Phaedra, clad in mourning]
Phaed.
So far I've come, by stronger will than mine,
But when you leave me, I shall sink again,
And from his lips a little scornful breath
Shall sweep me out of sight.

Leton.
That must not be.
Remember well my lessons—outward shame
And inner boldness; like the new-shorn lamb,
Be meek and patient in your proffering,
But keep the lion crouching in your heart,
To spring on him defenseless; you shall find
His nature softened by this moment's grief,
And all the metal of his soul aglow
With sorrow's fervour. Strike, that he shall bear
Your impress unto death.

Phaed.
Ah! Gods! he comes.

[Exit Leton. Enter Hippolytus, musing]
Hipp.
I have not found a word of comfort yet
In all their reasons. At the last, I bade
That they should leave me, face to face with grief,
Till his unloved companionship be grown
Familiar, and endurance wait on use. [Perceiving Phaedra]

Who's this? The queen! O madam, do you know
Our mutual loss, that you stand strangely here?

Phaed.
Alas! What place so fit for me as this?
Whither should Theseus' widow turn for aid,
Unless to Theseus' son? Here at your foot
I stand a suppliant—since the hand of Fate
Doth rend my state in twain, be gentle with me,
And let this yet unwonted garb of woe
Plead in my favour.

Hipp.
It were strange to me
If I could aid you in this mournful time,
Being myself transported out of sense
By what I think on. If there be a good
You prize beyond a hero's memory
Explain it briefly.

Phaed.
Who but you can give
The maintenance and order of my life?
Your father's sovereign rank descends on you,
And I, a queen but now, and queenly born,
Sit in the dust, a thing of yesterday.

Hipp.
O madam, in a heavy hour like this,
Such titles mock us with their emptiness.
Sorrow is lord of peasant and of prince,
And I attain an ancient heritage,—
The heritage of tears.

Phaed.
Since it is thus,
Be near me in these unaccustomed days—
Since one ill fortune doth enwrap us both,
Make we its burthen light by sharing it.
By all that's kind and piteous, by the love
You bore your father, do not suffer me
To weep alone—press cooling on my brow;
Answer my joyless eyes that seek him still
With yours, and since his glories live in you,
Redeem my deprivation with yourself.

Hipp.
How can this be?

Phaed.
Do you so coldly question?
Is there no word whose fervour can unlock
The ice gates of your bosom? Sister? Friend?
Call me ev'n mother, if the name be dear.

Hipp.
Madam, my mother walks th' Elysian fields,
And her chaste eyes to tears are marble-sealed.

Phaed.
Nay, then, I lift the veil, and show beneath
My features as they are—Hippolytus,
'Twas as a mask I put the mother on,
With other love I love you.

Hipp.
Gracious gods!

Phaed.
You turn your face from me? Lend me your ears,
For you must listen—I must speak, or perish.
When first your beauty passed before mine eyes,
The fatal flame was kindled, that henceforth
Made devastate the wholesome ways of life.
Nor queenly rank, nor kingly spouse availed,
Nor mother's travail brought me mother's joy.
The fever at my heart, like some wild thing,
Did dry the milk of Nature from my veins,
And made such havoc of my blooming youth,
As wrongs my counted summers to the eye.
Long stifled in the blackness of my heart,
The secret leaps to voice and breath at last.
Here, love-consumed, I sink before your feet,
And clasp your knees for mercy.

Hipp.
[With sudden energy]
Loose your hold,
Or Heaven forgive me if I murder you!

Phaed.
Yes, shed my blood, but let me first pour out
The death song of my passion—hark! I love
Not as a girl, with fond and blushful shame,
Nor yet like Argive Helen, free as fair,
Passing from lip to lip like hireling's wine,
And wooing tamely back the lord she wronged.
I love thee with the power of earth and Heaven,
And for thy love will pledge myself to Hell.

Hipp.
I have heard you speak. Now, in the face of Heav'n,
I have a spotless fame to vindicate.
What was't that fixed your wanton eyes on me?
What was't that bade you dare what you have done?
If in the armour of my constant soul,
Or in the virtue of my unstained flesh,
There was a spot could plead for such a purpose,
Did it lie deeper than my bosom's core,
I'd tear it out, and cast it to the dogs.

Phaed.
He scorns me.

Hipp.
Scorn thee? I am yet too new
In deeds like these to give my horror name,
But if there's something that should beggar scorn
In hate and loathing, take it from my lips.
[Phaedra follows him with a deprecating gesture]
Nay, come not near me, lest the fear you reach
Do make me strong and cruel, for methinks
When Theseus banished monsters from the world,
And spared your race, his task was half undone;
He should have met you in his hero strength,
And staying not for pity, should have hewn
Thy beauty's venom from the ways of men.

Phaed.
I am dumb with shame and anger—such reproof
Fits not such worship; ev'n the gods above
Frown not so terrible on human love,
Supremest Jove ne'er turned from woman thus.

Hipp.
Blasphemest thou? The gods requite thy thoughts
With their own justice. [Going]

Father, happiest thou,
Where'er thou underliest the doom of death,
Free of such shame, and from such infamy
Timely escaped. [Exit Hippolytus]


Phaed.
What's this within my heart?
A serpent stings, where late a wounded dove
Lay panting. Here I knelt, a suppliant,
And here he spurned me, broken at his feet,
Like a mean potter's vase, whose shards should mock
The care that gathered them. All's lost, but he,
He is yet to lose. A braver music sounds
Where late he crushed love's wailing melody.
Come, arts of men, come, Furies, to my aid!
And ye dumb walls, that gaze so horror-struck,
Give hearing, while I curse Hippolytus.
Curse on his haughty brow, and pitiless heart,
Curse on his lip, whose frost belies its bloom,
And the unnumbered beauties of his form,
But curses most on her, the huntress-maid,
Who sweeps him from me, mocking thro' the cloud.
Gods, let her suffer what immortals can,
Seeing the ruin of the thing they love.