University of Virginia Library

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]