University of Virginia Library

HIPPOLYTUS

CHARACTERS

• Artemis. Her Priestess and Virgins
• Aphrodite
• Phaedra
• Oenone
• Amazon
• Hippolytus, son to Theseus
• Creon, his friend
• Theseus
• Priest of Venus
• Leton, a soothsayer
• Satyrs. Nymphs. Chorus of Winds
• Followers of Theseus. Herald
• Priestess
• First Man
• Second Man
• Polydorus
• Thenexites

ACT I.

Scene 1:

Music. The Temple of Diana. Priestess and Virgins bearing offerings.
Priest.
Daughter of Jove, Artemis, virgin-eyed,
Swift-footed goddess of the sylvan shade,
Release the fawn within thy silver leash,
Restrain th' impatience of thy bounding feet,
And gladden her who brings thee votive gifts. [Enter Artemis, C.]


Art.
With joy I answer to your duteous greeting;
Where are the offerings?

Priest.
At thy feet we lay them,
Flowers from the chaste, the huntsman's spear and shaft,
And cakes, the timid offering of a slave,
Who for libation poured abundant tears,
And prayed protection from her master's will.

Art.
Nor shall she want it. Heaven o'erwhelm the man,
Who with unholy purpose dares o'erstep
The sad defenses of captivity.
What hast thou else?

Priest.
An arrow tipped with flame,
All vibrant with the light of shining gold,
For thee, the fairest.

Art.
From his hand it comes!
The Athenian youth—has he then passed this way?

Priest.
With eyes averted he approached the shrine
At early dawn—upon his buskined feet
The dew shone pearl-like, in his locks as well.
The breeze scarce stirred their golden cinctured wealth,
His eye and cheek were fresher than the dawn.
Aurora, passing in her purple car,
Stooped to caress them, every god looked down,
And envied Artemis her worshipper.

Art.
So young, so wise? with eyes averted came he?
Relate his words, as thou art wont to do.

Priest.
He seemed intent upon the holy rite,
For long he stood and bowed his head before thee,
But taking voice at last, with ringing speech:
“Artemis, reign within this heart forever!
Thou art the chosen goddess of my faith.”
He cried: “Oh! take my life ere other love
Than thine, profane the breast I vow to thee!”

Art.
And then he passed?

Priest.
A bugle note did sound
From the green-roofed recesses of the wood,
And reverent he departed.

Art.
'Tis enough.
[Priestess retires, with Virgins]
The gods have written that Hippolytus
Die young, but I will intercede with Jove
To stretch the golden spanning of his years
To utmost bound of Fate. Then, what's too short
In length of days, I'll piece with length of fame.
Immortal love shall hedge thy path about.
The evil shall not taint thee with their breath,
Nor to vile passion bend thy hero soul.
And dying, thou shalt live before men's eyes,
The fairest thing remembered as a man.
Come hither, Priestess—come, ye virgin bands!
Ourselves are harnessed for the chase to-day,
And we must find our quarry in the woods
Before the heats compel to bower and bath.
Sound out our summons! What? Away, away.

Scene 2:

The woods. Enter Aphrodite, R.
Aphro.
My sister doats on this Athenian youth,
Hated of me, whose mother brought him forth
In savage spots, and reared him in the wilds,
A stranger to my venerable rule,
Which he is bold to mock at and contemn.
Be not too sure, chill-bosomed Artemis!
Ice melts not ice, but ice doth melt at will
When fire leaps out to quench its frostiness.
Beware—I weave a plot thou canst not know,
And in a corner where thine eyes reach not
The embers burn that shall consume thy joy.
I'll raise the love-sick Phaedra from her couch
With the sweet venom of a flatterer's tongue.
She shall encounter him who fires her soul,
And scorch his marble manhood with her flame;
For 'tis against Jove's promise that her suit
Should conquer mine, who am invincible.
So, Dian, take your pleasure in the woods,
So, friend, be strong, and conquer Aphrodite.

[Exit, L. Enter Hippolytus, in hunting dress, R.]
Hipp.
Whichever way I thread the woods to-day
Doth a white garment flutter in my sight,
That then eludes my seeking—'tis most strange.
When first the stag awoke, and swept away,
Crushing the boughs before him, this appeared,
As though one were before me in the chase,
And hither, thither must I follow it,
Following the beast that takes the water now,
Now dashes to the blue and distant hills,
Till the hot drops stand out upon my brow,
And my vexed soul's at fault. What ho! hillo!
I'll follow till I see the face of her
Whose daring steps between me and my prey.

[Exit, L. Enter Polydorus and Thenexetes, R.]
Poly.
Witch-haunted are the woods. An hundred times
I've seen, methought, the shadowy Amazons,
Whom Theseus slew, disporting through the boughs.
I've felt an anxious trampling in the air,
A rustling, as of winds in women's hair,
Yet one finds nothing. Were it well, think you,
That we should pour libations to the gods?

Then.
'Twere very well, so there were wine enough,
That we should pour a second to ourselves.
If not enough for both, the gods can wait.
These fancies, Polydorus, only come
Of fasting, and th' untempered morning air.
Our lord is young and eager, but for me,
I'd rather have his venison than his sport.

Poly.
Fie, thou gross-bellied lounger, stay at home,
To turn the chestnuts buried in the coals,
Or help the housewife wind her tangled wool,
Or, at the bravest, brace thy forces up
To try a bold encounter with the cock.
Who singled thee to follow Theseus' son?

Then.
I am as good to follow, friend, as thou,
When dinner's called. [A shout is heard]


Poly.
The prince doth call us now.

[Exeunt, L. Enter Hippolytus, R.]
Hipp.
This morning's chase doth baffle human skill;
Almost I could be weary. Artemis,
Assist my striving—were't not shame to thee
I came, without a gift, before thy shrine? [Enter Artemis, C.]


Art.
Who calls the froward huntress of the wood,
Haughty and wild? Fair youth, praise other gods—
To Aphrodite give thy voice, to her,
The smiling goddess of delight. Invoke
Hera or Pallas, who have might with Jove;
'Twere pity thou shouldst waste thy vows on her
Who hath the single grace of chastity.

Hipp.
But that thy looks belie thy thoughtless words,
We who ne'er met before, should part in anger.
Thus much at least—grow reverent in thy speech,
Who'er thou art, when things so holy move it.

Art.
Speak on. I'll hear thee on the theme thou lovest.

Hipp.
My mother was the lofty Amazon—
Wedded by Theseus—she bequeathed to me
Her worship, dearer than my father's fame.
But much I marvel, now I look on thee,
Thou shouldst impede the praise of her whose seal
Is set upon thy gracious countenance.
Thou wearest the very garb of Artemis,
The garments white, the vest of starry fur,
Stript from the tiger—see, the moonèd shield,
The quiver, braced against the hardy breast,
The knotted hair the morning's breeze doth fill.
And over all, as moonlight in the skies,
The presence of the high, immortal gift
That Jove made hers forever! Thou art silent,
Say, hast thou seen her! Doth this make thee bright
Beyond thy peers, that she hath looked on thee?
Where doth she hide, when her fair footsteps deign
To touch this humble earth? What shade so blest
That one with duteous eyes might visit it
Afar, and with bowed heart, and bated breath,
Attend her passing? Shew me such a place
And I will borrow Hermes' wingèd heels
To seek it, and Apollo's high-tuned lyre
To praise her with the cunning of a God.

Art.
Let deadly terror seize the heart of him
Who would aspire to see what thou dost name.
Know'st thou that men have been so rash?

Hipp.
I do.

Art.
Let me so ring the warning in thine ears
That in thy purpose it shall sink and stay.
The Elian shepherd nursed this fearful thought;
Three nights he cried: “Oh! Artemis, appear!”
The fourth, his prayer was heard. In silver veil
The goddess stood—environed by the clouds
White-fleeced, the flock she leads thro' summer nights;
“Unveil!” he cried, and raised the impious hand,
And stretched entreating arms to hold her fast.
The veil was rent, the shepherd fell to earth,
Transfixed with death and madness; dost thou tremble?

Hipp.
Now by my manhood, I am touched with awe,
But fear I know not.

Art.
On his purple bier
They laid the youth, with tender lilies strewn,
While tears unfailing mourned his stricken bloom;
And, as they bore him to the funeral pile,
Men's lips did mutter: “Shame on Artemis!”

Hipp.
Shame on such false reproach—a thousand shames!
Was it not merciful that he did die?

Art.
This doth not fright thee? hear another tale.
A huntsman, bold as thou, approached too near
The lake where Dian quenched her virgin flame.
Vainly the guardian nymphs did warn him off.
“Away, the goddess takes her pastime here,
Hers are these groves, these waters.” “Is she here!”
He cried, and rudely thrust the boughs aside;
But his offense the gods did not permit.
The man saw not th' Immortal—rooted fast,
He stood a twenty-antlered stag, and lo,
His very hounds did hunt him to the death,
For which we hold them sacred evermore.
Now tell me, is not Dian merciless?

Hipp.
I am too deep in holy Dian's love
For change or turning—thou dost blame the gods
For men's ill-doing—on a deed so rash
What else could wait than deadly punishment?
Hear what I tell thee. Once in trancèd sleep,
Spellbound and dumb, I saw the goddess stand
Before my couch. She turned and looked on me.
“Thou'rt mine,” she said, “I chose thee from thy birth.”
She spake, and I was fain to rend the bonds
Of sleep and cry, “I'll serve thee to the death.”
Then had I sunk in terror, but that she
Caught up my vehement striving with a smile,
And passed without rebuke; since when, my heart
Is all possest with her divinity.

Art.
Thou wilt be false to Artemis.

Hipp.
Thou sayest?
Sooner will I betray my father's faith,
And die an outcast, ruined in his wrath.

[Enter Creon and others, R.]
Creon.
The stag's at bay.

Hipp.
Couple the hounds on him.
Thou bring'st me fortune, gentle Amazon.
Come, my good bow, I hold the prize in sight.
To Artemis I vow this arrow's spoil.

Art.
[Springing past him]
The goddess claims her own.

[Exit, R. All are struck with astonishment]
Hipp.
What have I seen, what heard?

Creon.
Pursue her not.
She is not human who did pass from here.

Hipp.
Oh! what a beast am I! how dull of sense!
The goddess' self did stand and talk with me,
And I withstood her.

Creon.
Like a form of dreams
She passed. My lord, such things should move our fear.
The gods are jealous; Aphrodite's wrath
May dearly visit Dian's love on thee.
Haste we, dear friend, to leave this haunted ground,
And with quick offerings supplicate the gods,
Forestalling anger.

Hipp.
As thou wilt, appease them!
My offering's made. I saw her and I live.
Oh! should an hour of dark foreboding come
To try my virtue with some deadly snare,
Remember, her fair eyes did answer thine,
And grow a hero thus, Hippolytus.

[Exeunt, R. Music. Enter Phaedra and Oenone]
Phaed.
You have heard my spoken passion, in your face
I see it. When the fever loosed my tongue,
You stood to catch the secret I had kept
Else, to the death.

Oenone.
My faithful zeal deserved
To have heard it long ago—yet, dearest child,
I know but half—withhold not what remains.
Recount to me each act and circumstance,
That gave this deadly passion leave to grow.

Phaed.
Oh! shame, whose innocent blush has left my cheek
To waste with deeper fires, stand back awhile,
And let me give my bosom-secret room!
Thou know'st how coldly I was wed, Oenone,
Dropt like an apple from the parent bough
To Theseus' asking hand. I left my home
Thinking to wend so passionless through life,
But Aphrodite willed it otherwise,
And through my bridal vesture sent a shaft
That rankles here forever. As thou knowest,
King Theseus bade I should attend the games
Attired in splendour.

Oenone.
As I well remember.
Did he not cry: “Let Athens see, this once,
The royal beauty Theseus takes to wife?”
And thou wert perfect, as he said, my child,
In all thy form.

Phaed.
How listlessly I sate
And saw the wrestlers close in tug and strain,
And saw the horses, coupled to the car,
Loosed from the starting-point, with stride and bound,
And marked the contest thro' my half-shut lids,
Dreaming of scenes familiar. But a shout
Went pealing from the eager crowd to Heaven,
And something whispered: “Phaedra. rouse thyself;
See what is now before thee.” As I looked,
A form Elysian leapt into the car
Whose movements scattered beauty as the stars
Shed light—a countenance divinely fair,
A brow of glory unattainable.
I gazed—all else seemed blotted from the world;
But when the circling steeds had borne him round,
And victor at the goal he stood and smiled,
Then came the pang of death. They brought the youth
Close to my feet, and Theseus, well content,
Said, “Phaedra, crown my son!” From my cold hand
The chaplet dropt, and I sank withering down,
The daylight blurr'd before me—only this
Of all my pleasure broke to utterance,
The cry, “Remove him ever from my sight!”
And he was exiled from my presence, he
To kiss whose feet I would have dragged myself
In the extremity of death. Thou'st heard
My dreadful tale; despise me as thou wilt.

Oenone.
Know, royal Phaedra, thou art innocent!
The gods inflict the torment of thy love.
Thy struggling heart doth speak thee free of guilt.
Some awful, some most costly sacrifice
Shall win th' immortals, and appease the pain
That thou resistest.

Phaed.
I resist no more.
Hear me, and know my ill past remedy.
When I lay down upon my bed to die,
With folded palms, I was almost content,
Death-weary with the struggle of my soul.
Ev'n there a thought supreme in joy and crime,
A hope most horrible in fruit or failure
Found me: could but the prince return thy love,
It said, one happy hour were worth the rest.
And this doth drag me from my passive couch,
Doth send me wild before the universe,
Hurled like Fate's arrow pointed at his heart,
To find but that, and have no errand more.

Oenone.
And you are here, in this unusual garb,
The prince abroad and like to choose this way?

Phaed.
Thou hast said it.

Oenone.
Then prevention comes too late
And love for love is only remedy.
I hear a voice, a step—

Phaed.
[Throws herself on Oenone's breast]
'Tis his, Oenone.
Hide me awhile.

Oenone.
This grove shall give us time
To watch the favored moment.

Phaed.
[Pushing her behind the trees]
Stand thou thus.
I must observe him. [She stands half hidden. Enter Hippolytus and Creon, R.]


Hipp.
[Walking across the stage]
Dost thou think, my Creon,
These woods may guard such holy things unseen
As only dreams can show us?

Creon.
Good, my lord,
I do not dream as thou dost.

Hipp.
Wherefore not?

Creon.
Being but a common serviceable man,
Whose sinews, worn apace with following you,
Are like a ploughman's in the bond of sleep.
The gods I thank, who leave my couch in peace,
Sending no earlier vision than the dawn.

Hipp.
Jest as you will, my Creon—still believe
Such things are near us, though we see them not.
Until some wonder makes us 'ware of them.
The goddess of my faith attends my steps,
Keeping the passioned ills of life away,
And with the glory of her countenance,
Enforces the vowed purpose of my soul.

[Exeunt Hippolytus and Creon]
Phaed.
He's gone. Ah! Gods! I could not speak to him.

Oenone.
Shall I not call him back?

Phaed.
I charge thee, no.
There is in him a coldness so divine
That it should teach a virgin modesty,
And, turned against my vexed and angry soul,
Fall on it with the doomèd weight of death.

Oenone.
Speak not of death; why shouldst thou sink and yield,
When bolder counsels blossom to success?
There's not a tree among the whispering pines
But could disclose as wild a tale as thine,
If it had speech. The heavens are merciful.
Ev'n night, the Argus with unnumbered eyes,
Keeps what we trust to him. So, dearest child,
Lift thy fair head and hearken in thine ear.
I have a friend at Aphrodite's shrine,
A wizard who can bid the stars turn back
And wait his pleasure. Every augury
Of earth and air he knows, with awful words
Unwilling wrung from dead Aegyptian lips,
Stifled with balsams. Thither let us go
With costly gifts; the heavens shall lend some sign
To help us further.

Phaed.
[With sudden animation]
Aphrodite's shrine!
Ev'n while thou speak'st, the lightning of my thoughts
Leaps there, and falls before her, asking low
The grace of her who is invincible. [Exeunt]

ACT II.

Scene 1:

Temple of Venus. Priest and Leton.
Leton.
Remove these entrails. By my art, I see
One great in rank comes hither: give me leave
To deal with her.

Priest.
The sacrifice is mine
To offer for the rest, I give you way.
I love the incense, and the prayer that soars
Upon its cloudy wings; when victims bleed
The pitying gods are present to my sense,
That with mild foreheads contemplate the rite,
Remitting deadly penalties to man.
But you have other thoughts, have wit and words
To snare the secrets of men's hearts, and bind
Their thoughtless steps with bonds of vigilance.

Leton.
Thou know'st my cunning doth enrich the shrine
More than thy virtue; thou dost watch the gods,
While I watch men; thou wait'st for miracles,
And I have done them, ere thou look'st again.
But hist! the supplicants are at hand. Stay thou!
I will not yet appear. [Withdraws behind the altar. Enter Phaedra closely veiled and Oenone, L.]


Priest.
[Greeting them]
Have welcome here.

Phaed.
[To Oenone]
Do thou bestow the offerings with the priest,
And give me room to vent my heart awhile.

Oenone.
Twelve sheep of faultless fleece my mistress gives,
A flock of doves, a chlamys, wrought with gems
And flexible gold, to honor Aphrodite.

Priest.
Such gifts betoken wealth and fervent worship.
Who's she that doth so instant need our helps?

Oenone.
One high in all deserving; ask no more.
The sheep stand bleating at the temple's porch.

[Exeunt Priest and Oenone, L.]
Phaed.
[Flinging herself at the feet of the statue of Aphrodite]
Goddess of love! thou source of all delight,
Source of all anguish; thou with joy and woe
Swayed in thy hand the might of Jove himself.
Hear me, a supplicant; see my queenly rank
Trailed in the dust before thee; my high heart
Poured out in weeping, and my frantic hands
Clasping thy vesture through these mortal pangs
That rend my bodily life in twain. O goddess,
Before whose power my soul lies motionless,
Smite with an equal blow the haughty breast
Of him I love, in sympathetic pain.
Move him to seek me; keep the heavens in pause
For one blest moment that shall make him mine.
Then, let the savage Furies work their will,
Who have in all their scourges no such pang
As unrequited love. Write down my vows!
Give me one hour to please Hippolytus,
Thereafter let me perish!

Leton.
Thou shalt please him.

Phaed.
[Shrieks]
Help, help, Oenone!

Leton.
Let one further word
Escape thy frantic lips, and thou art lost.
I am the help that Aphrodite sends.
Past prayer and hoping; while the moments press
Hear my quick counsel: woo with smiles and favours,
Not with that frowning brow of grief. What man
Would kiss thro' tears, or to his bosom press
A form convulsed as thine in agony?
Let fair adornment set thy beauty forth,
Untimely withering; let a feast be spread,
And bid him, thoughtless, to its secrecy.
Once there, thou know'st how wines intoxicate,
How flowers and odors bind the subtle sense;
Watch but the moment, at thy feet he lies
To rise no more but shorn and love-enthralled.
Dost thou hear me?

Phaed.
Slowly thy words pierce through
The veil of madness that o'erhangs my thoughts;
But dost thou know me, that thy hardy tongue
Bids a king's daughter stoop to arts like these?

Leton.
Have not the pangs that thou bewailest taught thee
King's daughters are but women in Love's sight?

Phaed.
This have I learned in such humility
As shames the distant glories of my birth.
[More confidentially]
But he I pine for is so virgin cold
No woman's heart can snare, nor beauty move him.
Ev'n could I win him to a moment's speech,
He would but look on me in wonderment;
I could not touch him with my burning heart,
Nor he, with icy calmness, quench its flame.

Leton.
Then let me give his life into thine hand.
I have a philter an Egyptian priest
Sold dearly to my asking—not Medea
Has such a potion. In this shining drop, Showing phial

As in a star, doth love's sweet madness hang.
This mingle in a cup of choicest wine,
And watch its working. Does he taste the draught,
Thy heart's desire is thine. Wilt thou pay its price?

Phaed.
[Gives her ornaments]
Take these twin jewels, and this heavy chain,
This purple broidered mantle, clasped with gold;
And other gifts more excellent I'll send thee;
Take all I have, and give it.

Leton.
Thou must promise
That I shall counsel all thy future acts
In furtherance of this purpose.

Phaed.
This I promise.

Leton.
Have then thy wish! [Gives the phial and exit, L.]


Phaed.
Oh! joy too terrible
For words! Oenone, dear Oenone, help me.
[Oenone comes at her summons]
Lend but thy veil. [Envelopes herself in it]

From Aphrodite's shrine
Shall the king's daughter like a beggar go,
Stript of adornment, one whom love makes poor
To crown her with a glory of his own. [Exeunt]

Scene 2:

The woods. Twilight. Enter Artemis, then Aphrodite, L.
Art.
A deadly danger waits on Theseus' house,
And him whom this unpassioned heart holds dear.
I could be swift to warn him, were it not
That jealous Aphrodite all these hours
Keeps instant watch; her power, allowed of Jove,
Baffles my helpful working; would he came
Where I, unseen of her, might speak with him!

Aphro.
Thou shalt not mar my counsels, hindering maid,
Keep thy cold madness for the midnight damps.
This hour is mine, bestowed of Jove supreme,
Who wears my shining cypher on his brow.

[Points to the star]
Art.
Give leave, good sister; let me succour one
Whom all the gods have cause to love.

Aphro.
Save one.
He, the rude offspring of an Amazon,
Forgets to honour Aphrodite's shrine.
'Tis written; he shall honour her or die.

Art.
He passes yonder; stand aside, I pray,
For I must speak to him.

Aphro.
He shall not hear
One word of thine. What? could not Pallas win,
Nor Jove's great queen, the shepherd Paris from me,
And thou wilt cross my power? Be still, I say,
For well he goes where I have bidden him.

[Aphrodite binds her scarf around Artemis]
Art.
Hippolytus! Go not to Phaedra's feast!

Aphro.
Thou seest he hears thee not.

Art.
Drink not the wine
She pours for thee!

Aphro.
Now that, by heav'n, he shall!
He's gone, and I release thee; go thy ways,
Since over Phaedra's palace I have set
My sentinel, that none of thine may enter,
Go take thy wonted sport by wood and wave,
And hear the far-off laughter of the gods,
That follows her who strives with Aphrodite.

Art.
The gods command thee not, if help of thine
Can wait on deeds so evil.

Aphro.
We and they
Alike are servants of the Fate unseen,
Before whose mandates Jove himself is still.

[Exeunt, R. Enter Hippolytus and Creon, L.]
Hipp.
The unclouded joys of youth are leaving me,
And unfamiliar shadows to my soul
Gather unbidden. I have been a child
Until to-day, a painted holiday boat,
Becalmed in sunny harbours of delight;
But now the wind springs up, and far to sea,
The untried countries show their solemn shores
That wait my visitation. Friend, no more
Will I outweary thee with speed and stride
Unmeasured; from henceforth, I'll task thy mind
And not thy sinews.

Creon.
Yet my gracious prince
Was ever counted wise beyond his years
In all men's judgments.

Hipp.
I allow thy love
That would be falsehood from another's tongue.
True, I had noble nurture: at his knee
My grandsire, Pirrheus taught me poet's song
And sages' maxims; but the froward child
Was happiest when the grave discourse was o'er,
And he might hunt the wood bee to his hive
With other urchins. Now the old man's words
Come back, pathetic, to me—what he spake
Of hero-virtue, of the unsleeping Fates.
And the unflinching soul that masters them.

Creon.
What moves my prince to this unusual strain?
What omen has disturbed you?

Hipp.
Since the gods
Have talked with me, I see another light
Upon the world I walk in. We that sit
So smooth upon its surface, have no hold
On its possessions. He that reigns may lose
His kingdom; he that wars may lose his life;
And we that love may lose the dearest joy
Our heart can boast of, while we draw our breath.
Thou call'st me wise, but, see, until this hour
The thought ne'er came that he who stays so long,
My father, might have human fate, and die.

Creon.
Who dives beneath the sea to bring up sorrow?
The gods benevolently veil the face
Of every evil, till its time has come,
And we, with sunshine blinded, go to meet
What, known before, had whelmed us from our birth.

Hipp.
Why, see, thy argument runs close to mine.
It is the fear of such an unseen ill
Doth sharply pierce the armour of my youth.
Dispute it, Creon, say it could not be,
And let me walk as I did walk before.

Creon.
I do believe, your father's ways are well,
Whose life in every step was victory.
But he is long unseen, and in his absence
The city plunges like an unreined steed
Missing his rider, while in treacherous hearts
A ferment stirs, that brings the scum to surface.
The moody queen, they say, hath left her couch,
And wanders in the suburbs with her nurse,
Of whom we should take note, as one whose plots
Have wrought the sole misfortune of your life.
There is the danger, sure and tangible.
Beware her machinations!

Hipp.
'Tis most strange
That one I know not is mine enemy.
Whom, when I met, such sudden hatred seized
Of all my person that, without one word
Fall'n from my lips, she craved of Theseus' love,
New-plighted then, my instant banishment.

Creon.
Does this surprise you? Such is jealousy
As women feel it, free of reason's sway.
Your mother, that once boasted Theseus' love,
Tho' dead, was Phaedra's enemy; and you
Heir to the throne, or ere her heir was born,
Were foe to him and her.

Hipp.
If this were so,
One word should set her frantic heart at rest,
Since Theseus lives, and never wish of mine
Hath gone beyond him to his heritance.

Creon.
She was as fair as morning when she came,
Freighting the Cretan galley with her bloom
And countless dower; yet when she stept to land,
A cloud came o'er the city's smiling brow
That hangs there yet—the horror of her race
Did move men's hearts to ask what deity
Had blinded Theseus' eyes, that he should wive
With one whose mother is the scorn of women.

Hipp.
No word of that, my Creon! what was done
By noble Theseus, that the gods approve.
Nor hath our human pity juster leave
To vent itself than when a guiltless soul
Sinks beneath crimes ancestral, since 'tis so
That men will see the parent in the child.
Chiefest of all I thank the gods for this:
That they did make my mother virtuous—
Who knocks so soft? [Enter Messenger, L.]


Mess.
A message from the queen.

Hipp.
The queen to me? You have mistook your way.
Good friend, I know you not.

Mess.
You are the prince
Hippolytus, great Theseus' son, to whom
His sorrowing wife sends greeting, bidding you
To sup with her at nightfall.

Hipp.
Do my ears
Teach me aright? To sup with her to-night?

Mess.
So runs the message I was laden with.

Creon.
Go not, my prince! With some unblest intent
She woos you to her presence.

Mess.
Sire, be kind.
The queen doth own offenses towards your grace,
Based on false rumours of your enmity.
But now that Theseus' absence makes her weak,
With thin-spun hope and patience drawn to end,
She asks your generous nature to forget
The past displeasures, and to comfort her
With Theseus, in the presence of his son.

Hipp.
He has other children.

Mess.
Of such tender age,
They can but ask relief, not answer it. [Hippolytus muses]


Creon.
[To Messenger]
Why, this is strange—others still thank the queen
In no fond fashion, for this gracious form,
Twice banished yearlong from her loving sight,
To please thy mistress. Fie! To sup, to taste,
Perhaps, a morsel that shall quiet him
From hunger pangs hereafter!

Hipp.
Hold thy peace,
Creon, nor rudely taunt a messenger
With those who send him. Bring the queen this word:
Albeit no woman's banquet pleasures me,
Vowed to deny them, I will wait on hers
For peace and kindred's sake, that she may see
How little rancour settles in the heart
Whose lineage comes of hospitable blood.
Say more: If in the future, I can aid
Her need by timely zeal and furtherance,
That let her seek, and name the past no more.

Mess.
May thoughts so generous be their own reward!
I leave you, sire. [Exit Messenger, L.]


Creon.
My prince, you shall not go.
Some double purpose lurks in all her ways;
What now she asks, hereafter she'll malign.

Hipp.
Creon, I could be angry with thy counsel,
But that 'tis love misleads thee—should I slight
The wife of Thesus, though mine enemy?

Creon.
Be wroth, but go not—she is beautiful
As she is wicked.

Hipp.
If the queen be fair,
Mine eye should wrong her, that should note so much,
Against her matron wishes. Be she false,
True heart doth conquer evil augury.

Creon.
What shield have heroes 'gainst a woman's arts?
Ask the old legends!

Hipp.
Fool! thou hast not seen
What armour hangs beneath these idle folds.
My shield is here within—a love divine
Hath shed its silver sheen o'er all my breast,
Making Hippolytus invincible. [Exeunt, L.]

Scene 3:

A banqueting room. A table, with gold, etc. Phaedra reclines under a canopy, R.H. Oenone stands near her. Soft music.
Phaed.
The board is piled, the beakers crowned with flowers,
The music hath foretold the hour of joy;
I put it from me, listening for a sound
More subtle sweet, the music of his step,
As he draws near me, near me; will he come,
Think you?

Oenone.
Indeed, you were no sovereign else.

Phaed.
He durst not slight the daughter of a king,
Though, like a slave, she crouch before his feet.

Oenone.
Who enters?

Phaed.
'Tis our dark-browed messenger.
I like him not.

Oenone.
Ay, but he's serviceable.

Phaed.
How fared your errand? Give its end, I pray;
Speak, will he come?

Mess.
That will he, by my faith.
Now if he 'scape thee, I will grow devout,
Since nothing but a god can snatch him hence.

Phaed.
He comes—stand back, but answer to my call.
[Exeunt Messenger and Oenone, L.]
He comes—ye Lydian flutes, twine sweeter measures
Than ever knotted round a soul with love;
Glimmer, ye tapers; flowers, your softest sigh
Yield to the ravished sense—he is at hand!

[Hippolytus enters, stands on threshold L.H.I.E.]
Hipp.
Upon this sacred threshold I salute
The spouse of Theseus, who did call me hither.

Phaed.
Wait not so far for idle ceremony;
But, if thou com'st in peace and friendship,
Seat thee beside her.

Hipp.
[Advancing a little]
He you honour thus
Is strange at feasts, a simple savage man,
Trained to the chase, and waiting for the years
That shall unfold the hero-sport of war.

Phaed.
Still will you stand? Come near, Hippolytus,
Nor cross my pleasure with that froward brow.
You take me for a stepdame harsh and cold;
Look in this face, and read me otherwise.

Hipp.
Your words are flattering.

Phaed.
No, my words are true.
Come hither—must I wrong my state, and stand
To do you honour, who refuse the same?

Hipp.
In no wise. I am here but to obey
Your bidding.

Phaed.
Sit then, ere we pour the wine,
For you shall pledge me to great Theseus' health,
Whose likeness in your features comforts me.

Hipp.
[Seating himself]
My father's absence is become a grief
To them that love him. In those savage wilds
Who knows what ills, what danger he has met?
But that 'twere impious to think the gods
Could him abandon; impious e'en to doubt
That his right hand compels deliverance,
I could, at times, remember that my father
Is mortal, and despond of his return.

Phaed.
I set my ban upon such evil thoughts.
Why should he not be well, since we are so
That bear a life more fragile? Look not so,
But smile, and give my folly room so long
That I may count the features that I love
In Theseus. First, the lofty brow, and hair
Blacker than night, when torches show its hue.
The magical eye, a well of tenderness,
Lit with Olympian fire, the heavy lashes
Set as a bristling spear-row for defense,
But yielding to love's watchword heav'n's delight;
The sharp-set nostril, with its marble flukes,
The mouth that Aphrodite could not pass
Untempted, whence mine eyes, o'ercome of thine,
Sink to the silken meshes of the beard.
One moment let me look upon you thus,
And think the thing I worship is before me.

Hipp.
You paint in me my father's lineaments,
And thus you crown me higher than my thoughts,
But in the portrait you've omitted that
Whose absence wrongs us both.

Phaed.
What should that be?

Hipp.
The lofty mind, and honourable soul
No siren could seduce from nobleness.

Phaed.
A chill doth seize me.

Hipp.
Since we're met to praise
The godlike Theseus, let us name his deeds,
Whose glory puts his beauty out of sight:
That were a theme for tongues more skilled than mine,
Yet it commands my striving—think, this man,
Born of a king, but left unrecognized,
Did with his kingly sword so vindicate
His high begetting that not one alone,
But all the monarchs of the earth might leap
To claim him as true heir of royalty.
Think of the wilds enfranchized of their fears,
Of tyrants slain, of monsters hewn to earth,
Conflicts whereat the stars of Heaven stood still,
And charioteering Day, in shining mail,
Stooped from his course to bid the hero hail!
Think of this city, ransomed from the waste,
Girt with rich fields, endowed with noble laws,
Adorned by Theseus as a queenly bride,
Then tell me, how shall praise come up with him,
Or how my loitering steps shall overtake
The pledge she gave, who bore me as his son.

Phaed.
The music of thy voice commends a theme
That has its sorrow to a sister's heart,
Since all the glories thou didst name, recall
The blot that mars them, Ariadne's fate,
Beloved, betrayed, abandoned.

Hipp.
Name it not,
The single blemish on so great a name;
Or, if thou wilt, deplore the adverse Fates
That urged the unwilling fault.

Phaed.
Is there a god
Doth smile upon a loving woman scorned?
Thou'rt silent? Nay then, listen, while my slave,
Cunning in implements of song, shall weave
The glowing garland of your father's fame
To crown us as we sit. Now, sound the lyre,
And press the plectron sharply, till the chords
Answer its wounds with wailing. [Gives the wine]


Hipp.
A martial measure suits a soldier's praise.

Leton.
I pray you, let me vary as the theme
Demands, since even the strength of hero-souls
Is woven of fibres endless intricate.

Phaed.
Will't please you drink?

Hipp.
The song shall first refresh.
[Phaedra nods to Leton, who recites the following strophes, to faint music]
Young Theseus from his father's house goes forth
To conquer him who mixed
The brute's distemper with the sense of man.
With tears, the father's arms
Loose from his well-belovèd neck. Often
His mother prays, “Now make thy kingship sure.”
The fated ship sets sail.
Followed with sobs that shake the firmament,
While youths and maidens, that return no more,
Cast unavailing looks,
And funeral flowers, backward to the shore,
Sighing, “Remember us!”

Hipp.
A noble strophe, friend, here's gold for thee!

Phaed.
You break the music—pray you hear him through.

Leton.
[Music]
The king's fair daughter stood
To see the captives; meeting Theseus' eyes,
Such pity smote her heart
That from her window, as he went to death,
She flung the silken coil
To guide him, and her father's keen-edged sword.
Ye know the deed he wrought,—
The monster, as he sprang
In his own entrails sheathed the murderous steel:
With fiercely knotted limbs
And writhings ineffectual, he lay
Wasting his hated life,
The while, with lightened heart,
Greece shook the shameful tribute from her brow.

Hipp.
I thank again.

Phaed.
Sweet prince, I pray thee, hearken.

Leton.
[Music]

Phaed.
[Aside to Oenone]
He saddens—pity gains his gentle heart!

Leton.

Hipp.
[More and more moved by the song]
Alas that such a deed was ever done!

Phaed.
[To Oenone]
His manhood softens—see, his forehead sinks
Heavy with sorrow not his own, while tears
Brimming his eyes, o'erflow his beauteous cheeks,
Like brooklets wandering down enamelled fields.
This is the moment—give the wine cup here,
Then leave us. [Bearing the wine to Hippolytus]

Now shall generous wine dispel
The shadows that obey the call of song.
Let Bacchus smile, and June look benign,
But most of all, let Venus, child of foam,
Smile radiant on the foam-crowned cup, and twine
Its beaded drops, like pearls about her throat
Celestial; so shall heavenly madness sit
Deep in the liquor—you shall taste it first.
Drink, I entreat you.

Hipp.
No, I will not drink!

Phaed.
For courtesy!

Hipp.
I will not drink, I say!
What rites unblest are these you celebrate?
Why did they leave us? some ill charm is here,
That steals into the fortress of a man,
And makes his fancies traitors to his faith.
Hence with these garlands—take the wine away—
Absolve me from this sick and perfumed air
That breeds disorder in a healthful brain.
Your music is pernicious, let it cease—
Pluck back that curtain.
[He pulls back the curtain, the moon is seen]
Ah! I see her now,
The goddess of my vows in moonèd state.
Dian from yonder cloud doth beckon me
With solemn warning—yes, I follow thee
Unaltered; do not frown—I only stay
To fling before thy feet the fevered cup
They force on me, and with my manhood's might,
To answer, “Hail!” All hail to Artemis!

[Flings down the cup, and exit, C.]
Phaed.
Stay, I entreat thee! Do not leave me thus!
Oenone! [Enter Oenone]
Follow thou! He went in anger.
Hang on his cloak, plead piteous in his face,
And with warm breath compel him back to me.

Oenone.
Where shall I seek him!

Phaed.
That way. [Clouds pass over the moon]


Oenone.
'Tis too late.
I see no trace of him—the heav'ns grow dark,
And from yon parapet of cloud, the moon
Frowns sullen, with a fixed indignant glare.

Phaed.
'Tis she I cannot name, who from the skies
Wages unequal warfare with my suit.
Stay till I curse thee, cold, vindictive maid!
If things celestial stood within our reach,
My vengeance should not wait before thy power.

TABLEAU

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.

ACT IV.

Scene 1:

Phaedra's apartment. Enter from opposite doors, Leton and Oenone.
Leton.
How came thy mistress from the prince?

Oenone.
You shall not know her when you look on her, so
Changed.

Leton.
Why, that bodes well.

Oenone.
If heavy heaping clouds
Foretell the outpouring of the elements,
From such a brow soul-wrecking storms should come.

Leton.
He has resisted then. I had not thought it.
Has she said aught?

Oenone.
Nothing indeed of moment.
She sits alone, and ponders, and her eyes
Flash like an angry steel before her thoughts.

Leton.
Humph! I have news that shall astonish,
But first I'll hear her speak.

Oenone.
What news, I pray?

Leton.
I told thee I had news for her—to thee
I promised none.

Oenone.
I hear her voice within.

Phaed.
[Coming]
Oenone, where's Oenone? Art thou here?
Then call me Leton.

Oenone.
He is come but now.

Phaed.
Come hither—stand before me, both of you.
Tell me, Oenone, do I seem the same
That pined, so white of cheek, but yesterday?

Oenone.
Nay, you are changed indeed—your eyes on fire,
Your pallor burning with an inward flame:
You are ill, I think.

Phaed.
Not so; I have been ill,
But now 'tis well with me—ay, more than well.
I thank th' ungentle cautery that seared
My breast, but there is one must bleed for it,
And ye, that were my ministers in love,
Must bend your steps to follow my revenge,
For that it comes, swift, sure, and terrible,
My father's daughter owes my father's shade.
Since Theseus' death doth leave my son supreme
In Athens, while his tender years give space
For me to hold his kingdom, know you not
Of one whose life is dangerous to the state?
How say you, Leton?

Leton.
Hear the news I bring
Before you hear me: know your husband lives!

Phaed.
Theseus!

Leton.
Methinks I hear the joyful shouts
That hail him.

Phaed.
Never let him find me living.
Hide me, O Death! O Earth, unclose and hide
From his stern sight.

Oenone.
What if the prince do first
Possess his ear?

Leton.
[To Phaedra]
Where then is thy revenge?

Phaed.
Here in my heart, that, shaken for a moment,
Now hardens to resolve. Thyself shalt see
That by thy lessons I have profited,
For I will be beforehand with a tale
Shall turn the discomposure of my mien
Against the man I hate.

Leton.
Now, thou dost well,
But let no sudden terror bend thy soul,
For if thou falterest, thou art lost.

Phaed.
Ev'n so.

Oenone.
He comes!

Phaed.
Not yet!

Oenone.
The sounds draw near.

Phaed.
Then leave me. [Exeunt Oenone and Leton]

Be bold, my forehead, think Hippolytus
Did brand thee brazen with his scorn!

[Enter Theseus, Phaedra advances to meet him]
Phaed.
My lord!

Thes.
Phaedra, 'tis thou? Here let me rest, at last,
And find no change. A wanderer in far realms
I come, rejoicing, to my household gods:
But men who meet me start and stare, before
They give me welcome. In the street, my son
Stood where I passed, and changing, like a ghost,
Cried: “Father!” and did turn his face from me,
Till Creon plucked him by the sleeve, nor then
Did he embrace me joyous as you were.
No, no, you too are changed.

Phaed.
In what, my lord?

Thes.
I cannot tell, but 'twere, methinks, as well
I had remained the guest of Hell, as come
A stranger to my city.

Phaed.
Royal Theseus,
You read our hearts amiss. Your rumoured death
Hath drawn such bitter tributes from our eyes
As doth unfit them for the sight of joy.
Still we behold you between death and life,
Uncertain which abides. But for your son,
He thought you dead, and as he thought, he wished.

Thes.
My son! explain your meaning—it is dark.

Phaed.
So was his purpose. Scarcely had in Athens
The accursed tidings of your death been told
Ere he would gird him to ascend your throne.
Nor there his daring stopt. These widow's weeds
Could not protect the innocence they honoured.
He sought me; by these feeble hands repulsed,
He left me, breathing hatred and revenge.

Thes.
Keep me, ye gods, that I do not transcend
My reason, in the madness of my wrath!
O monster! Thou defam'st the ties of blood
With such a crime, and still dar'st call me father?
Lie at my feet, and bleed for thine offense
That passeth punishment!
What ho? my guards. [Soldiers appear]

Summon the prince to Theseus' company. [Exeunt Soldiers]


Phaed.
Not here, my lord, not here!

Thes.
It shall be here:
Where else should vengeance find him?

Phaed.
I entreat,
If not for love, at least for modesty,
Leave to depart.

Thes.
This curtain's fold shall screen
Thy beauty from his false, lascivious eyes.
There, hide thee, Phaedra, but no further go.
You women, that so oft are cause of blood,
Should learn to look on it.
[He places Phaedra behind the curtain, and walks up and down in impatience]
He does not come?
He is not at present leisure. Am I grown
So small a thing that I should wait for him?
He comes. I'll feign awhile to question him.
[Enter Hippolytus, L.]
Come hither, sir, you seem to shun my sight,
And when I passed unlooked for, thro' the streets,
You were not quick, methought, to welcome me;
Theseus is conscious of no ill-desert
Towards you—for which of his good offices
Is't that you grudge his rescue from the shades?

Hipp.
My father! O my father! All the gods
Witness the love I bear you—let their shrines
Attest my grateful offerings—surer yet
Their eyes can read the gladness of my heart
That thanks for this miraculous return,
Beyond all gifts, beyond ev'n hope itself.

Thes.
You are well pleased to see me come again?
You call me father—are you well assured
That I so stand to you?

Hipp.
How otherwise?
You are my father, by the sacred pledge
Of nature, and the echo of your heart
That thrills within my bosom—were you not,
A thousand benefits that crowned with peace
My motherless youth should make you, in my sight,
Most reverend of mankind.

Thes.
He names me so,
And yet his wishes did detain me dead
An hour agone.

Hipp.
Now, who durst tell me so,
Father, should take the shameful words again
Cleft to the throat.

Thes.
You had then no intent
To seize my power?

Hipp.
Nor thought nor wish had I
Beyond the sudden anguish of thy death,
That left me orphaned of all human love.

Thes.
Rest of all love? And by what other name
Didst thou invoke the false, adulterous flame
That raised its daring to my marriage bed?
Oh! now at last your cheek doth change its hue,
And ghastly pallor blazons forth your crime.

Hipp.
I stand and sicken, I confess it true.
To hear so vile a sin join names with mine;
But that your lips should wed them, father mine,
Is monstrous. Are you smitten of the gods
With some strange frenzy, that you know me not?

Thes.
Have done with falsehood—give the truth, the truth!

Hipp.
Call that not truth, for which my loathing soul
Shudders to be alive.

Thes.
Fool, dost thou think
That thou alone wert knowing to the deed?

Hipp.
Who dares accuse me? Bring me face to face
With such a one, that Innocence may turn
And slay the treacherous slander with a look,
Albeit I fear to wrong with such a doubt
The basest human thing my foot could spurn.
Speak, who accuses?

Thes.
[Draws back the curtain and shows Phaedra]
She, the woman there—
She, triply shielded from thine impious lust,
Queen, wife, and widow—didst thou think that she
Should meekly sink thine insult out of sight,
Like the first slave in the market?

Hipp.
O ye gods!
Am I distraught, or do such visions wait
On waking men, who know the thing they see?

Thes.
Dost thou stand speechless there, nor knowest my thoughts
Run on thy blood, thy treacherous blood?

Hipp.
My father,
If in thine heart no voice of Nature speaks,
Strike! I have lived too long, for faith and love
Are dead before me!

Thes.
Wilt thou kneel for grace?

Hipp.
[Strides to Phaedra]
Look on me, madam, and look further on
The heav'ns that see our deeds, whose thousand eyes
Keep the still record of the things we shew,
While they attest your words' solemnity.
Speak—do you thus accuse me to my father?

[Phaedra slowly nods assent, supporting herself with the back of a chair]
Thes.
Thou art too bold.

Hipp.
Nay, then, I see it all.
Since thou hast said it, by the fearful oath
Of Jove, I bind thee to unsay it never:
Not though thy heart rose shrieking to thy lips
To loose the hateful burden with a breath;
Not though thy thoughts should envy his repose,
Whose innocent life shall pay the debt thou claimest—
But keep your cunning perfect to the end;
Let Theseus find no hollow in your breast,
Padded with falsehood; let no dream arise
To scare the sleeping husband from your arms.
Keep to your word—walk honoured to your grave,
And with the heart you have, confront the gods! [Phaedra drops]


Thes.
She faints—was ever daring like to thine?
Take thy unhappy presence from my sight—
Lest this right hand outleap my slow design,
And slay thee at my feet—and bear
The curse of him who gave you life!

Hipp.
The gods
Repay that curse with blessings thicklier gathered
[Striking his breast]
As years increase—here fall the thunderbolt,
The lightning here make havoc, and above
The great ancestral tree keep strength and state.
Sire, if no living words of mine again
Salute your kingly ear, remember these. [Exit Hippolytus, L.]


Thes.
[Bending over Phaedra]
My Phaedra! My fair queen, come back to life!
Hither, Oenone, hasten! [Enter Oenone, R.]

To her couch
Convey this royal lady, overcome
With sudden terror. Use thy choicest skill
Of gums and unguents—bring her soft to rest,
And with the plumage of illustrious birds,
Disperse the death swoon from her heavy lids.
[Exit Oenone, supporting Phaedra]
Exile or death? Oh, could the pangs of both
Be blent in one, that exile might be swift,
And death be slow, and tenfold terrible!
[After a moment's pause]
Poseidon! Thou art bounden to my suit
By thine own promise, that did close upon
My kingly gifts and service. Hear me now,
And if he skirt thy region in his flight,
Call up the howling winds to hunt him forth,
And let thy billows whisper each to each
My vengeance, crowding close their shining heads
For one wild surge of ruin. Let thy wrath
Sweep his dishonoured record from the earth,
And yon deep heavens appease, that saw his crime.
If this thou grant not, thou art so forsworn
That never prayer or sacrifice of mine
Shall hold thee in remembrance from this hour. [Exit]

Scene 2:

The woods; moon about to rise. Chorus of Satyrs.
First Satyr.
[An old one]
Ah, woe! Ah, woe! On Athens woe!

Second Satyr.
[A young one]
Good father, what should move thee so?

First Satyr.
The hellish queen, with ill-intent,
Doth work our darling's banishment,
Hippolytus to death must go.

Chorus.
Ah, woe is me, forever woe!

2nd Strophe.
Ye little rivulets that flow,
Forsake your beds and backward go;
Your merry music now must fall,
While heavens are black, and stars grow pale.
Rise up this wicked deed to show.

Chorus.
Ah, woe is me, forever woe!

3rd Strophe.
Ye pretty grasses of the woods,
Ye May-plants with the fragrant buds,
To funeral incense change your breath,
And droop your foreheads, feigning death.
Hippolytus to doom doth go.

Chorus.
Ah, woe is me, forever woe! [Four Nymphs come forward]


First Nymph.
How your twinkling eyes will miss him,
Who so soft your state did press!
Rise up one last time to kiss him,
Hold him fast for one caress.
Fringèd branches, close around him,
Twine him in your fresh embrace,
For the chords of death have bound him,
Ye no more shall see his face.

Second Nymph.
We who in the summer weather,
Saw his feathery footsteps bound,
When the hounds sang all together,
And the dew shone on the ground;
We shall wait his further coming
With distended eyes, in vain.
Winter's rain or summer's blooming
Shall not bring him back again.

Third Nymph.
Never, oh, ye beauteous blossoms,
Let the poisonous Phaedra pass;
Nymphs, make hard your pitying bosoms,
Wither at her footsteps, grass!
Would she loose, in wood or meadow,
From her breast the guilty chain,
Fright her with her victim's shadow,
Till she flee in frantic pain.

Fourth Nymph.
Ah! Our love than hate is stronger,
Wretch, we curse thee, and have done,
But we'll weave his chaplet longer
Than the journeys of the sun.
Maids unborn shall shear their tresses
For the hero we bewail,
He shall live in our distresses
Till the voice of song shall fail.

First Satyr.
I hear a footstep.

Second Satyr.
Some one comes this way.
Then hide we in our unseen fastnesses.

[Exeunt Omnes. Enter Hippolytus]
Hipp.
How melancholy are the shades to-night!
The boughs hang spiritless across my path,
As though a sorrow touched them. As I came
Weird music sobbed, but left the cheated ear
Untold of its direction. Nay, methought
That very tears were dropt upon my cheek
By th' unseen creatures of the woods, in this
More piteous of my sorrow than myself
That cannot vent it thus. Have ever thanks,
Ye harmless satyrs, and ye woodland nymphs,
For suiting thus my mood—I am not well.
Oh, where stays Creon?

Creon.
[Entering]
He is close at hand,
Filled with the shame and anguish of your wrong.

Hipp.
Let us not speak of that—for many years
Its bitterness shall grow, when we have time
To weep upon it. Action suits us now,
And the sweet comfort of your faultless love,
My Creon. Goest thou with me?

Creon.
By my life,
Though twenty kings stood bristling in my path,
I go with thee.

Hipp.
Perchance, in Theseus' mind,
Shall this devotion blight thy growing grace,
And lose the state a valiant officer.
Stay where thou art, and serve the land I love,
But never from thy lips let word escape
To grieve my father for the thing he does.

Creon.
How? Wouldst thou bind me to inglorious fraud?

Hipp.
I bind thee to be mindful of his peace,
Who, beyond all that is, is dear to me. [Enter Messenger]


Creon.
What have we here?

Hipp.
A message from the king.

Mess.
Art thou Hippolytus?

Hipp.
You have known me such—
And what I was, I am.

Mess.
This from the king.
Theseus commands you journey by the sea,
Southward, until you learn his further will.

Creon.
Into the country of his enemies
He sends you!

Hipp.
It is well as he ordains.
What bringst thou more?

Mess.
He bids thee take thy way
At earliest dawn, and from thy banished steps
Divorces all who love him.

Hipp.
All who love him?

Mess.
Ev'n so.

Hipp.
Why, then, my Creon, we must part.

Creon.
Not so, for by the anguish of this hour,
And by the glorious head unjustly shamed,
I love him not.

Hipp.
Restrain the impious word.
That much offends thyself and me.

Creon.
By heaven,
I'll speak the truth altho' my blood spout with it:
I love him not, and, till he do thee right,
I'll serve him as the panther serves the wolf.

Hipp.
Forsake my presence, then, for, as I live,
None shall be near me in whose heart his name
Is not the kingliest jewel in the crown.
Nay, have I grieved thee? [Opening his arms]

Comrade, counsellor!
[Embracing him]
Thus let us part, as friends whose firm-knit bonds
Distance shall draw but closer. With the dawn
Bid that my chariot at the seaward gates
Await me.

Creon.
But you'll rest with us till then—
We'll keep the precious watches of the night,
And mark the heavy hours with mutual tears.

Hipp.
Here will I sleep, that no Athenian roof
Confront the royal wrath to harbour me.
Creon, farewell. [Exit Creon, reluctantly]

A houseless, friendless wretch,
I ask the pitying woods to shelter me,
Till the unwelcome sun shall hold the torch
That lights Hippolytus to banishment. [Music. He lies down, the Nymphs and Satyrs steal softly out, and group around him; the moon slowly rises on the scene. Soft music. Tableau]

ACT V.

Scene 1:

Palace in 3.G.
Phaed.
[Discovered]
He has sealed my lips to silence, but my thoughts
Clamour so wildly at the gates of speech
That all my brain is mad with hearing them.
How can I hide what all around me knows,
How bind the sibilant air to secrecy?
The very serpent at my breast would hiss
His knowledge out, with every breath I drew,
Did I forget to hold him, thus, thus, thus.
[Pressing her hand on her lips]
He's gone to death, they say, to bloody death.
What then? Why, every limb of mine is struck
With palsy, that I cannot follow him
Whom I must follow, for he beckons me.
Shall we go down together, thou and I
To Erebus, with evermore thine eyes
Resting so dead on mine? If I could speak
'Twere well for both, but thou permitt'st it not,
And from these circling flames that gird me round,
Opens no backward way. Help, help, I say!
I am alone with something that I fear!

[Enter Oenone and Leton]
Oenone.
How now, dear lady?

Phaed.
Did I summon you?
I will not have you in my company.

Oenone.
I am your faithful nurse.

Phaed.
Begone, I say,
Who was't that led to Aphrodite's shrine?
You see I know you, tho' I love you not.
Hence, let thy vileness perish from the earth!

Oenone.
[To Leton]
What here avails?

Leton.
Her senses are distraught.
Not thus in Theseus' presence must she come,
Or all is lost. Madam, you know my voice:
I was your guide, your friend, when others failed.

Phaed.
You were my servant when I hired you—
There's gold at will—you sell your soul for gold,
[Flings a purse]
But I gave mine for fire, for burning fire
The death damps will not quench.

Leton.
Forbear awhile,
Till healthful slumber recreate your brain,
And the vague horrors that oppress you now
Show like a dream in distance.

Phaed.
None of that.
Think you I'll sleep, that horrid ghosts may come,
And breathless vengeance seize me unawares?
No—I'll not sleep. Infest my sight no more!
Yet here's a thought. [Disengages her dagger]


Oenone.
Great heavens! what will she do?

Phaed.
[With weight, looking at the dagger]
He said, keep silence ever—this is silence.

Oenone.
Have pity on thy youth.

Leton.
Hold back her hand
Thus, while I wrest the dagger from its grasp.

[A struggle ensues, Leton disarms her]
Oenone.
Sweet mistress, come with us.

Phaed.
[Breaking for them]
Keep off your hands,
I am the daughter of a race of kings,
And crownèd death comes kingly forth to meet me:
See, I have made thee rich before thy time,
And thou mayst welcome whom the sick earth spurns
From her upheaving bosom.

Leton.
You must come.

Phaed.
He said, keep silence ever.

Oenone.
Theseus comes!

Leton.
Haste! Must we drag you from your husband's sight?

[Enter Theseus]
Phaed.
[Makes a movement towards him]
Theseus! [Shuddering back]

Nay, silence, silence was the word,
And thus I keep it. [She strangles herself with her scarf]


Oenone.
[Springing forward]
Shall she die before us?

Leton.
[Detaining her]
'Tis safer thus, than that her madness speak.

Thes.
What do I see?

Oenone.
[Bending over her]
Alas, alas! She's dead
By her own hand!

Thes.
How dead? This cannot be.
Gather what help you may, alarm the house,
Speak to me, Phaedra!

Leton.
She will speak no more.
Self-strangled here she lies.

Oenone.
My child, my child!
I brought thee from thy happy land of birth,
And dost thou thus to mother's arms return?
Oh! Woe upon this day!

Thes.
Restrain awhile
Your woman's wailing—give my words reply.
How came she to this end? By what sharp grief
Or sudden frenzy? Ye are silent both.
Deliver me the truth of that I see
Or ere the torture make you eloquent.

Leton.
My lord, these visitations mock our power
And knowledge—the possession of the gods
Nor medicine can assuage, nor wisdom charm.

Thes.
Fools, ye deceive me—will ye dare contend
With Theseus? Was it never known to you
That the supernals are with him in league,
And that the clouds of Heaven attend his wrath,
To crush the thing he hates? Who art thou, slave!

Leton.
The soothsayer of Aphrodite's shrine.

Thes.
Thou serv'st thy goddess false! Ho! [Enter Soldiers]

Bind me these.

Oenone.
Oh! Think not I'll betray thee, nor impart
Thy dear concernment to the shallow air,
But as the rooted mandrake shrinks and bleeds,
Frighting the hand that pluck it, so shall I
Utter mine own sole anguish in my breath,
And keep thy secret perfect unto death.

Thes.
Guards! Lead them hence! I follow all intent
To thread a dismal labyrinth of crime,
Without the succour of one loving heart. [Exeunt]

Scene 2:

Seacoast. Twilight before dawn. Chorus of the Winds, in long dark robes and hoods; they dance round and round, chanting these stanzas.
Left.
I know that doth please me well.

Right.
[Nodding]
So do I—so do I.

Left.
I know that I will not tell.

Right.
So do I—so do I.

One.
Wrath and wrong and scorn and hate,
Wefted in one web of Fate,
I know that shall plague the State.

All.
Ay, that know we all!
[Second stanza, etc., in the same way]
Hooded messengers of ill,
Here we go, here we go,
Working more than mortal will,
Working woe, working woe,
He who called us from the main,
Glad would yield his right to reign,
Could he send us back again.

All.
That he cannot do.

3RD.
Fool to speak the hasty word,
We obey, we obey,
Bringing judgment undeferred,
Have thy way, have thy way:
Firmer than your turrets are,
Fate doth fix the frantic prayer,
For the Deities of Air
Never more unsay.

4TH.
Come, ye spirits of the deep,
Athens mourns, Athens mourns!
Rouse Poseidon from his sleep
With your melancholy horns!
Father! Thou a father hearest,
When he bids thee lose his dearest,
Nor the mortal's grief thou fearest,
That thy greatness scorns. [Enter Artemis]


Art.
Be still, ye wild and turbulent natures, still!
The work ye have to do is terrible,
Exult not to fulfill it.

All.
Dost thou weep?
A goddess weep?

Art.
Forbidden by my birth,
See, my grief's passion breaks Jove's ordinance,
And like a mortal, I must agonize,

One Spirit.
Venus hath done this!

Art.
By the will of Jove
She conquers, but th' avenging years draw nigh,
Unseen of her. Hark, spirits, in my woods
The boar lies suckling that shall pierce the thigh
Of young Adonis. I will vow such thorns
Among the roses on her painted brow,
That she shall shriek through all the dismal night,
And follow Death as wild Bacchantes dance
After the god that maddens them. But ye,
Go bind th' unseemly bosom of the deep
With the blue zone of calmness, while I stay
To sprinkle silver on the fatal sands,
And do my faithful office to the end.

Chorus.
[Divided as before]
One is mightier than thou,
Hist! We fly—hist! We fly,
But he loves thy moonèd brow,
Drawing nigh, drawing nigh.
Doom is fixed, our master saith,
Counted pulse, and measured breath,
But we'll keep the hush of death,
Till thy darling die. [They dance off]


Art.
I hear the springing footstep that respects
The lightest dewdrop on my virgin flowers.
Let me withdraw, and yet be near his words.

[She passes out of sight]

Scene 3:

The seashore, a chariot waiting in the background. View of the distant city. Enter Hippolytus.
Hipp.
My native Athens, let me see thee once
Ere I resign the dearest right of birth,
To call thee Mother! From thy fostering arms
Such falsehood hunts me, as the gracious earth
Should surge and quake beneath to let it through
Where it hath place, with pitchy flames of hell,
And foul-mouthed Furies. Where are ye, ye gods,
That I should suffer this which I must bear
For such necessity? I have been calm,
But at this step my vexed soul rises up,
Like some full wave, storm-swoll'n from yonder deep,
Which, rolling all its angry length along,
Breaks in the sight of Heav'n with one wild cry
That mocks at patience! Should I then endure
That shame sit throned upon my father's couch,
And point and gibber as I creep away,
Bearing its loathsome burden? 'Tis too much!
I'll speak, but oh, th' unutterable word,
The unimaginable crime—my lips,
Keep it till death! The stars that see me wronged
Must purge my memory, when their hour is come.

Art.
Hippolytus!

Hipp.
The huntress of the woods!
How cam'st thou hither?

Art.
For thy need I come.

Hipp.
Who'er thou art, approach not—he who waits
To guide this car is henceforth barred of men.
Dishonour hides his crest, and on his brow
Sits the black signal of a father's curse.

Art.
Am I of those whose sight goes not beyond
The flimsy armour of a woman's guile?
The curse unmerited dissolves for me—
I know your stepdame Phaedra, and her crime.

Hipp.
[With eagerness]
Oh! If you know it, never breathe it loud,
Nor whisper low, to tempt the elements.
If you so love me as your deed should show,
Following a fallen man, forget the thing
You spoke—this grace alone I ask of you.

Art.
When should the truth be known?

Hipp.
When mortal pain
Doth loose its hold on Theseus—when his shade,
Encountering mine, devoid of wrath or stain,
Shall see the thrilling sorrows of this life
But as the faultless working of the gods
To some high purpose.

Art.
Thou art perfect still,
In all thy temper. Leave these things to such
Whose office is to tend them—for thyself
I now entreat thee.

Hipp.
See, the dawn is full,
I must away.

Art.
A moment hear me first.
Thou know'st I dwell not in the ways of men,
But for mine own free pleasure haunt the woods,
Hunting the antlered stag—by Jove's high will
I live in holy cherished maidenhood,
But thou art dearer than the world to me.
Now, by the love I've borne thee, year for year,
Hippolytus, ride not beside the sea!

Hipp.
My father gave the road by which I go—
Maiden, farewell, that road leads by the sea.

Art.
[Detaining him]
One moment more—I have a fastness hid
From eyes of men, beyond yon mountain's peak,
Where at the purple sunset, oft thine eyes
Devout have lingered—thither, in a cloud,
Serene as sleep, I'll bear thy gentleness,
And hide thee, till the present danger pass.

Hipp.
Set the bird free, whose happy wings unblamed
May free him from the deadly wound and snare:
But I am forged as iron from the ore,
To meet the shock that waits me.

Art.
Listen yet—
Know'st thou Poseidon is thy father's friend,
Who, in wild anger, claimed a boon of him?

Hipp.
Then shall he have it!

Art.
If it were thy death!

Hipp.
Turn hence thine eyes that hold me, while I feel
My swift thoughts rushing to the brink of fate:
Ye elements, accomplish Theseus' will,
And as he prayed, revoking Nature's bond,
So let it be. [Exit, R.]


Art.
So must it be? Then go.
[She assumes a posture of intense attention]
How swiftly rolls his chariot on the sands!
Oh, bear him, trusty steeds, beyond this hour
Of dreadful promise—well you love his care,
His voice, his hand—be true and save his life!

[Enter an Amazon]
Amazon.
How suddenly the deep grows turbulent,
While still the clear day smiles!

Art.
Hist! Do you see
That chariot, flashing like a dart of steel
Hurled on the ocean highway? It is his.

Amazon.
Scared at the rushing of the brine, the steeds
Break from their steady pace.

Art.
He reins them well.

Amazon.
Still, they are froward.

Art.
Do not speak—mine eyes
Will have my soul all in them for this sight.
See you that gathering pyramid of foam
Heaped up before him? It has glaring eyes,
And monstrous features, that do belch forth flame
Across his path. Ah, gods! It hurls itself!

Amazon.
Help! Help! The horses lose the guiding hand—
The car is overturned and dashed to splints.
But where is he?

Art.
Where I must follow him.

[Exeunt in haste, R. Enter Theseus and followers, L.]
Thes.
Where is the prince? Let me not come too late,
Ye gods, and thou, Poseidon, stay thine hand!
I was the fool of curst deceit, but thou
In whose clear sight he stood, devoid of fault,
Wouldst thou destroy him, at my frantic prayer?
Then should the heavens betray the innocent,
And spread their pall to give the guilty cover.
No, he shall live, to comfort my sad years,
That take their date of sorrow from this day
Of dark revealing.

Follower.
Who are these that bear
A weight along, with wild and clouded eyes?

[Enter Artemis and others, bearing Hippolytus. Music]
Art.
Theseus, behold your son.

Thes.
Disfigured thus?

Art.
'Tis as you wished.

Thes.
Hell's curses on the tongue
That falsely did accuse thee—still, thou breathest?
Oh! live, that I may heal thy wounds with love,
And wipe outrageous slander from thy brow.

Art.
It cannot be.

Hipp.
Father, have ever peace!

Thes.
Canst thou forgive me thine untimely death?

Hipp.
Wouldst thou remember me in coming years,
Think only that I loved thee!

Thes.
Pitying gods,
Can nothing save him?

Hipp.
[With great effort]
Thou hast other children—
If thou wouldst doubt them, think that they
Are thine, and trust the virtue of thy godlike race.
I perish! [Sinking back]


Art.
Give thy last look to me,
Whom thy fair life did honour. I am she
That smiled from Heaven—the Goddess Artemis.

Hipp.
Father, 'tis she! [Dies]


Art.
In fair Elysian fields,
Dream without sorrow of the things that were—
Beneath thy shadowy steps shall lilies spring,
While the pure-hearted, fleeting ere their time,
Shall joy to take their virgin rest with thee. [Music]


CURTAIN