Phèdre Page 5

  Let him defend himself, and I am ready

  To hear him. Be not hasty to bestow

  Thy fatal bounty, Neptune; let my pray'rs Rather remain ever unheard. Too soon

  I lifted cruel hands, believing lips

  That may have lied! Ah! What despair may follow!

  SCENE VI

  THESEUS, THERAMENES THESEUS

  Theramenes, is't thou? Where is my son?

  I gave him to thy charge from tenderest childhood. But whence these tears that overflow thine eyes? How is it with my son?

  THERAMENES

  Concern too late!

  Affection vain! Hippolytus is dead.

  THESEUS Gods! THERAMENES

  I have seen the flow'r of all mankind Cut off, and I am bold to say that none Deserved it less.

  THESEUS

  What! My son dead! When I

  Was stretching out my arms to him, has Heav'n Hasten'd his end? What was this sudden stroke?

  THERAMENES

  Scarce had we pass'd out of the gates of Troezen, He silent in his chariot, and his guards Downcast and silent too, around him ranged;

  To the Mycenian road he turn'd his steeds,

  Then, lost in thought, allow'd the reins to lie Loose on their backs. His noble chargers, erst So full of ardour to obey his voice,

  With head depress'd and melancholy eye

  Seem'd now to mark his sadness and to share it. A frightful cry, that issues from the deep,

  With sudden discord rends the troubled air;

  And from the bosom of the earth a groan

  Is heard in answer to that voice of terror.

  Our blood is frozen at our very hearts;

  With bristling manes the list'ning steeds stand still. Meanwhile upon the watery plain there rises

  A mountain billow with a mighty crest

  Of foam, that shoreward rolls, and, as it breaks Before our eyes vomits a furious monster.

  With formidable horns its brow is arm'd,

  And all its body clothed with yellow scales, In front a savage bull, behind a dragon

  Turning and twisting in impatient rage.

  Its long continued bellowings make the shore Tremble; the sky seems horror-struck to see it; The earth with terror quakes; its poisonous breath Infects the air. The wave that brought it ebbs In fear. All fly, forgetful of the courage

  That cannot aid, and in a neighbouring temple Take refuge—all save bold Hippolytus.

  A hero's worthy son, he stays his steeds,

  Seizes his darts, and, rushing forward, hurls A missile with sure aim that wounds the monster Deep in the flank. With rage and pain it springs E'en to the horses' feet, and, roaring, falls, Writhes in the dust, and shows a fiery throat That covers them with flames, and blood, and smoke. Fear lends them wings; deaf to his voice for once, And heedless of the curb, they onward fly.

  Their master wastes his strength in efforts vain; With foam and blood each courser's bit is red. Some say a god, amid this wild disorder,

  Was seen with goads pricking their dusty flanks. O'er jagged rocks they rush urged on by terror; Crash! goes the axle-tree. Th' intrepid youth Sees his car broken up, flying to pieces;

  He falls himself entangled in the reins.

  Pardon my grief. That cruel spectacle

  Will be for me a source of endless tears.

  I saw thy hapless son, I saw him, Sire,

  Drag'd by the horses that his hands had fed, Pow'rless to check their fierce career, his voice But adding to their fright, his body soon

  One mass of wounds. Our cries of anguish fill The plain. At last they slacken their swift pace, Then stop, not far from those old tombs that mark Where lie the ashes of his royal sires.

  Panting I thither run, and after me

  His guard, along the track stain'd with fresh blood That reddens all the rocks; caught in the briers Locks of his hair hang dripping, gory spoils! I come, I call him. Stretching forth his hand, He opens his dying eyes, soon closed again. "The gods have robb'd me of a guiltless life," I hear him say: "Take care of sad Aricia

  When I am dead. Dear friend, if e'er my father Mourn, undeceived, his son's unhappy fate

  Falsely accused; to give my spirit peace,

  Tell him to treat his captive tenderly,

  And to restore—" With that the hero's breath Fails, and a mangled corpse lies in my arms, A piteous object, trophy of the wrath

  Of Heav'n—so changed, his father would not know him.

  THESEUS

  Alas, my son! Dear hope for ever lost! The ruthless gods have served me but too well. For what a life of anguish and remorse Am I reserved!

  THERAMENES

  Aricia at that instant,

  Flying from you, comes timidly, to take him For husband, there, in presence of the gods. Thus drawing nigh, she sees the grass all red And reeking, sees (sad sight for lover's eye!) Hippolytus stretch'd there, pale and disfigured. But, for a time doubtful of her misfortune, Unrecognized the hero she adores,

  She looks, and asks—"Where is Hippolytus?" Only too sure at last that he lies there

  Before her, with sad eyes that silently

  Reproach the gods, she shudders, groans, and falls Swooning and all but lifeless, at his feet. Ismene, all in tears, kneels down beside her, And calls her back to life—life that is naught But sense of pain. And I, to whom this light Is darkness now, come to discharge the duty The hero has imposed on me, to tell thee

  His last request—a melancholy task.

  But hither comes his mortal enemy.

  SCENE VII

  THESEUS, PHAEDRA, THERAMENES, PANOPE, GUARDS THESEUS

  Madame, you've triumph'd, and my son is kill'd! Ah, but what room have I for fear! How justly Suspicion racks me that in blaming him I err'd! But he is dead; accept your victim; Rightly or wrongly slain, let your heart leap For joy. My eyes shall be for ever blind: Since you accuse him, I'll believe him guilty. His death affords me cause enough for tears, Without a foolish search for further light Which, pow'rless to restore him to my grief, Might only serve to make me more unhappy, Far from this shore and far from you I'll fly, For here the image of my mangled son

  Would haunt my memory and drive me mad. From the whole world I fain would banish me, For all the world seems to rise up in judgment Against me; and my very glory weights My punishment; for, were my name less known 'Twere easier to hide me. All the favours The gods have granted me I mourn and hate, Nor will I importune them with vain pray'rs Henceforth for ever. Give me what they may, What they have taken will all else outweigh.

  PHAEDRA

  Theseus, I cannot hear you and keep silence: I must repair the wrong that he has suffer'd— Your son was innocent.

  THESEUS

  Unhappy father!

  And it was on your word that I condemn'd him! Think you such cruelty can be excused—

  PHAEDRA

  Moments to me are precious; hear me, Theseus. 'Twas I who cast an eye of lawless passion On chaste and dutiful Hippolytus.

  Heav'n in my bosom kindled baleful fire,

  And vile Oenone's cunning did the rest.

  She fear'd Hippolytus, knowing my madness, Would make that passion known which he regarded With horror; so advantage of my weakness

  She took, and hasten'd to accuse him first. For that she has been punish'd, tho' too mildly; Seeking to shun my wrath she cast herself Beneath the waves. The sword ere now had cut My thread of life, but slander'd innocence Made its cry heard, and I resolved to die In a more lingering way, confessing first My penitence to you. A poison, brought

  To Athens by Medea, runs thro' my veins.

  Already in my heart the venom works,

  Infusing there a strange and fatal chill; Already as thro' thickening mists I see

  The spouse to whom my presence is an outrage; Death, from mine eyes veiling the light of heav'n, Restores its purity that they defiled.

  PANOPE

  She dies my lord! THESEUS

  Would that the memory

&
nbsp; Of her disgraceful deed could perish with her! Ah, disabused too late! Come, let us go, And with the blood of mine unhappy son Mingle our tears, clasping his dear remains, In deep repentance for a pray'r detested. Let him be honour'd as he well deserves; And, to appease his sore offended ghost, Be her near kinsmen's guilt whate'er it may, Aricia shall be held my daughter from to-day.