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  Table of contents

  PHAEDRA

  CHARACTERS

  THESEUS, son of Aegeus and King of Athens.

  PHAEDRA, wife of Theseus and Daughter of Minos and Pasiphae. HIPPOLYTUS, son of Theseus and Antiope, Queen of the Amazons. ARICIA, Princess of the Blood Royal of Athens.

  OENONE, nurse of Phaedra.

  THERAMENES, tutor of Hippolytus.

  ISMENE, bosom friend of Aricia.

  PANOPE, waiting-woman of Phaedra.

  GUARDS.

  The scene is laid at Troezen, a town of the Peloponnesus.

  ACT I

  SCENE I

  HIPPOLYTUS, THERAMENES HIPPOLYTUS

  My mind is settled, dear Theramenes,

  And I can stay no more in lovely Troezen. In doubt that racks my soul with mortal anguish, I grow ashamed of such long idleness.

  Six months and more my father has been gone, And what may have befallen one so dear

  I know not, nor what corner of the earth Hides him.

  THERAMENES

  And where, prince, will you look for him? Already, to content your just alarm,

  Have I not cross'd the seas on either side Of Corinth, ask'd if aught were known of Theseus Where Acheron is lost among the Shades,

  Visited Elis, doubled Toenarus,

  And sail'd into the sea that saw the fall Of Icarus? Inspired with what new hope,

  Under what favour'd skies think you to trace His footsteps? Who knows if the King, your father, Wishes the secret of his absence known?

  Perchance, while we are trembling for his life, The hero calmly plots some fresh intrigue, And only waits till the deluded fair—

  HIPPOLYTUS

  Cease, dear Theramenes, respect the name Of Theseus. Youthful errors have been left Behind, and no unworthy obstacle

  Detains him. Phaedra long has fix'd a heart Inconstant once, nor need she fear a rival. In seeking him I shall but do my duty, And leave a place I dare no longer see.

  THERAMENES

  Indeed! When, prince, did you begin to dread These peaceful haunts, so dear to happy childhood, Where I have seen you oft prefer to stay, Rather than meet the tumult and the pomp Of Athens and the court? What danger shun you, Or shall I say what grief?

  HIPPOLYTUS

  That happy time

  Is gone, and all is changed, since to these shores The gods sent Phaedra.

  THERAMENES

  I perceive the cause

  Of your distress. It is the queen whose sight Offends you. With a step-dame's spite she schemed Your exile soon as she set eyes on you.

  But if her hatred is not wholly vanish'd, It has at least taken a milder aspect.

  Besides, what danger can a dying woman,

  One too who longs for death, bring on your head? Can Phaedra, sick'ning of a dire disease Of which she will not speak, weary of life And of herself, form any plots against you?

  HIPPOLYTUS

  It is not her vain enmity I fear,

  Another foe alarms Hippolytus.

  I fly, it must be own'd, from young Aricia, The sole survivor of an impious race.

  THERAMENES

  What! You become her persecutor too! The gentle sister of the cruel sons

  Of Pallas shared not in their perfidy; Why should you hate such charming innocence?

  HIPPOLYTUS

  I should not need to fly, if it were hatred. THERAMENES

  May I, then, learn the meaning of your flight? Is this the proud Hippolytus I see,

  Than whom there breathed no fiercer foe to love And to that yoke which Theseus has so oft Endured? And can it be that Venus, scorn'd So long, will justify your sire at last? Has she, then, setting you with other mortals, Forced e'en Hippolytus to offer incense Before her? Can you love?

  HIPPOLYTUS

  Friend, ask me not.

  You, who have known my heart from infancy And all its feelings of disdainful pride, Spare me the shame of disavowing all That I profess'd. Born of an Amazon, The wildness that you wonder at I suck'd With mother's milk. When come to riper age, Reason approved what Nature had implanted. Sincerely bound to me by zealous service, You told me then the story of my sire,

  And know how oft, attentive to your voice, I kindled when I heard his noble acts,

  As you described him bringing consolation To mortals for the absence of Alcides,

  The highways clear'd of monsters and of robbers, Procrustes, Cercyon, Sciro, Sinnis slain, The Epidaurian giant's bones dispersed, Crete reeking with the blood of Minotaur. But when you told me of less glorious deeds, Troth plighted here and there and everywhere, Young Helen stolen from her home at Sparta, And Periboea's tears in Salamis,

  With many another trusting heart deceived Whose very names have 'scaped his memory, Forsaken Ariadne to the rocks

  Complaining, last this Phaedra, bound to him By better ties,—you know with what regret I heard and urged you to cut short the tale, Happy had I been able to erase

  From my remembrance that unworthy part

  Of such a splendid record. I, in turn,

  Am I too made the slave of love, and brought To stoop so low? The more contemptible

  That no renown is mine such as exalts

  The name of Theseus, that no monsters quell'd Have given me a right to share his weakness. And if my pride of heart must needs be humbled, Aricia should have been the last to tame it. Was I beside myself to have forgotten

  Eternal barriers of separation

  Between us? By my father's stern command Her brethren's blood must ne'er be reinforced By sons of hers; he dreads a single shoot From stock so guilty, and would fain with her Bury their name, that, even to the tomb Content to be his ward, for her no torch Of Hymen may be lit. Shall I espouse

  Her rights against my sire, rashly provoke His wrath, and launch upon a mad career—

  THERAMENES

  The gods, dear prince, if once your hour is come, Care little for the reasons that should guide us. Wishing to shut your eyes, Theseus unseals them; His hatred, stirring a rebellious flame

  Within you, lends his enemy new charms.

  And, after all, why should a guiltless passion Alarm you? Dare you not essay its sweetness, But follow rather a fastidious scruple?

  Fear you to stray where Hercules has wander'd? What heart so stout that Venus has not vanquish'd? Where would you be yourself, so long her foe, Had your own mother, constant in her scorn Of love, ne'er glowed with tenderness for Theseus? What boots it to affect a pride you feel not? Confess it, all is changed; for some time past You have been seldom seen with wild delight Urging the rapid car along the strand, Or, skilful in the art that Neptune taught, Making th' unbroken steed obey the bit; Less often have the woods return'd our shouts; A secret burden on your spirits cast

  Has dimm'd your eye. How can I doubt you love? Vainly would you conceal the fatal wound. Has not the fair Aricia touch'd your heart?

  HIPPOLYTUS

  Theramenes, I go to find my father. THERAMENES

  Will you not see the queen before you start, My prince?

  HIPPOLYTUS

  That is my purpose: you can tell her. Yes, I will see her; duty bids me do it. But what new ill vexes her dear Oenone?

  SCENE II

  HIPPOLYTUS, OENONE, THERAMENES OENONE

  Alas, my lord, what grief was e'er like mine? The queen has almost touch'd the gates of death. Vainly close watch I keep by day and night, E'en in my arms a secret malady

  Slays her, and all her senses are disorder'd. Weary yet restless from her couch she rises, Pants for the outer air, but bids me see That no one
on her misery intrudes.

  She comes.

  HIPPOLYTUS

  Enough. She shall not be disturb'd, Nor be confronted with a face she hates.

  SCENE III

  PHAEDRA, OENONE PHAEDRA

  We have gone far enough. Stay, dear Oenone; Strength fails me, and I needs must rest awhile. My eyes are dazzled with this glaring light So long unseen, my trembling knees refuse Support. Ah me!

  OENONE

  Would Heaven that our tears Might bring relief!

  PHAEDRA

  Ah, how these cumbrous gauds,

  These veils oppress me! What officious hand Has tied these knots, and gather'd o'er my brow These clustering coils? How all conspires to add To my distress!

  OENONE

  What is one moment wish'd,

  The next, is irksome. Did you not just now, Sick of inaction, bid us deck you out, And, with your former energy recall'd, Desire to go abroad, and see the light Of day once more? You see it, and would fain Be hidden from the sunshine that you sought.

  PHAEDRA

  Thou glorious author of a hapless race, Whose daughter 'twas my mother's boast to be, Who well may'st blush to see me in such plight, For the last time I come to look on thee, O Sun!

  OENONE

  What! Still are you in love with death? Shall I ne'er see you, reconciled to life, Forego these cruel accents of despair?

  PHAEDRA

  Would I were seated in the forest's shade! When may I follow with delighted eye, Thro' glorious dust flying in full career, A chariot—

  OENONE Madam? PHAEDRA

  Have I lost my senses?

  What said I? and where am I? Whither stray Vain wishes? Ah! The gods have made me mad. I blush, Oenone, and confusion covers My face, for I have let you see too clearly The shame of grief that, in my own despite, O'erflows these eyes of mine.

  OENONE

  If you must blush,

  Blush at a silence that inflames your woes. Resisting all my care, deaf to my voice,

  Will you have no compassion on yourself,

  But let your life be ended in mid course?

  What evil spell has drain'd its fountain dry? Thrice have the shades of night obscured the heav'ns Since sleep has enter'd thro' your eyes, and thrice The dawn has chased the darkness thence, since food Pass'd your wan lips, and you are faint and languid. To what dread purpose is your heart inclined? How dare you make attempts upon your life, And so offend the gods who gave it you,

  Prove false to Theseus and your marriage vows, Ay, and betray your most unhappy children, Bending their necks yourself beneath the yoke? That day, be sure, which robs them of their mother, Will give high hopes back to the stranger's son, To that proud enemy of you and yours,

  To whom an Amazon gave birth, I mean

  Hippolytus—

  PHAEDRA Ye gods! OENONE

  Ah, this reproach Moves you!

  PHAEDRA

  Unhappy woman, to what name Gave your mouth utterance?

  OENONE

  Your wrath is just.

  'Tis well that that ill-omen'd name can rouse Such rage. Then live. Let love and duty urge Their claims. Live, suffer not this son of Scythia, Crushing your children 'neath his odious sway, To rule the noble offspring of the gods,

  The purest blood of Greece. Make no delay; Each moment threatens death; quickly restore Your shatter'd strength, while yet the torch of life Holds out, and can be fann'd into a flame.

  PHAEDRA

  Too long have I endured its guilt and shame! OENONE

  Why? What remorse gnaws at your heart? What crime Can have disturb'd you thus? Your hands are not Polluted with the blood of innocence?

  PHAEDRA

  Thanks be to Heav'n, my hands are free from stain. Would that my soul were innocent as they!

  OENONE

  What awful project have you then conceived, Whereat your conscience should be still alarm'd?

  PHAEDRA

  Have I not said enough? Spare me the rest. I die to save myself a full confession.

  OENONE

  Die then, and keep a silence so inhuman; But seek some other hand to close your eyes. Tho' but a spark of life remains within you, My soul shall go before you to the Shades. A thousand roads are always open thither; Pain'd at your want of confidence, I'll choose The shortest. Cruel one, when has my faith Deceived you! Think how in my arms you lay New born. For you, my country and my children I have forsaken. Do you thus repay

  My faithful service?

  PHAEDRA

  What do you expect

  From words so bitter? Were I to break silence Horror would freeze your blood.

  OENONE

  What can you say

  To horrify me more than to behold You die before my eyes?

  PHAEDRA

  When you shall know

  My crime, my death will follow none the less, But with the added stain of guilt.

  OENONE

  Dear Madam,

  By all the tears that I have shed for you, By these weak knees I clasp, relieve my mind From torturing doubt.

  PHAEDRA

  It is your wish. Then rise.

  OENONE

  I hear you. Speak.

  PHAEDRA

  Heav'ns! How shall I begin?

  OENONE

  Dismiss vain fears, you wound me with distrust. PHAEDRA

  O fatal animosity of Venus!

  Into what wild distractions did she cast My mother!

  OENONE

  Be they blotted from remembrance,

  And for all time to come buried in silence.

  PHAEDRA

  My sister Ariadne, by what love

  Were you betray'd to death, on lonely shores Forsaken!

  OENONE

  Madam, what deep-seated pain

  Prompts these reproaches against all your kin?

  PHAEDRA It is the will of Venus, and I perish, Last, most unhappy of a family

  Where all were wretched.

  OENONE

  Do you love? PHAEDRA

  I feel

  All its mad fever.

  OENONE

  Ah! For whom? PHAEDRA

  Hear now

  The crowning horror. Yes, I love—my lips Tremble to say his name.

  OENONE Whom? PHAEDRA

  Know you him,

  Son of the Amazon, whom I've oppress'd So long?

  OENONE

  Hippolytus? Great gods! PHAEDRA

  'Tis you

  Have named him.

  OENONE

  All my blood within my veins

  Seems frozen. O despair! O cursed race! Ill-omen'd journey! Land of misery! Why did we ever reach thy dangerous shores?

  PHAEDRA

  My wound is not so recent. Scarcely had I Been bound to Theseus by the marriage yoke, And happiness and peace seem'd well secured, When Athens show'd me my proud enemy.

  I look'd, alternately turn'd pale and blush'd To see him, and my soul grew all distraught; A mist obscured my vision, and my voice

  Falter'd, my blood ran cold, then burn'd like fire; Venus I felt in all my fever'd frame,

  Whose fury had so many of my race

  Pursued. With fervent vows I sought to shun Her torments, built and deck'd for her a shrine, And there, 'mid countless victims did I seek The reason I had lost; but all for naught, No remedy could cure the wounds of love!

  In vain I offer'd incense on her altars;

  When I invoked her name my heart adored

  Hippolytus, before me constantly;

  And when I made her altars smoke with victims, 'Twas for a god whose name I dared not utter. I fled his presence everywhere, but found him— O crowning horror!—in his father's features. Against myself, at last, I raised revolt, And stirr'd my courage up to persecute

  The enemy I loved. To banish him

  I wore a step—dame's harsh and jealous carriage, With ceaseless cries I clamour'd for his exile, Till I had torn him from his father's arms. I breathed once more, Oenone; in his absence My days fl
ow'd on less troubled than before, And innocent. Submissive to my husband, I hid my grief, and of our fatal marriage Cherish'd the fruits. Vain caution! Cruel Fate! Brought hither by my spouse himself, I saw Again the enemy whom I had banish'd,

  And the old wound too quickly bled afresh. No longer is it love hid in my heart,

  But Venus in her might seizing her prey. I have conceived just terror for my crime; I hate my life, and hold my love in horror. Dying I wish'd to keep my fame unsullied, And bury in the grave a guilty passion; But I have been unable to withstand

  Tears and entreaties, I have told you all; Content, if only, as my end draws near, You do not vex me with unjust reproaches, Nor with vain efforts seek to snatch from death The last faint lingering sparks of vital breath.

  SCENE IV

  PHAEDRA, OENONE, PANOPE PANOPE

  Fain would I hide from you tidings so sad, But 'tis my duty, Madam, to reveal them.

  The hand of death has seized your peerless husband, And you are last to hear of this disaster.

  OENONE

  What say you, Panope? PANOPE

  The queen, deceived

  By a vain trust in Heav'n, begs safe return For Theseus, while Hippolytus his son Learns of his death from vessels that are now In port.

  PHAEDRA Ye gods! PANOPE

  Divided counsels sway

  The choice of Athens; some would have the prince, Your child, for master; others, disregarding The laws, dare to support the stranger's son. 'Tis even said that a presumptuous faction Would crown Aricia and the house of Pallas. I deem'd it right to warn you of this danger. Hippolytus already is prepared

  To start, and should he show himself at Athens, 'Tis to be fear'd the fickle crowd will all Follow his lead.

  OENONE

  Enough. The queen, who hears you,

  By no means will neglect this timely warning.

  SCENE V

  PHAEDRA, OENONE OENONE

  Dear lady, I had almost ceased to urge

  The wish that you should live, thinking to follow My mistress to the tomb, from which my voice Had fail'd to turn you; but this new misfortune Alters the aspect of affairs, and prompts Fresh measures. Madam, Theseus is no more, You must supply his place. He leaves a son, A slave, if you should die, but, if you live, A King. On whom has he to lean but you?

  No hand but yours will dry his tears. Then live For him, or else the tears of innocence