University of Virginia Library

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