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 flow'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

          Will move the gods, his ancestors, to wrath

          Against his mother. Live, your guilt is gone,

          No blame attaches to your passion now.

          The King's decease has freed you from the bonds

          That made the crime and horror of your love.

          Hippolytus no longer need be dreaded,

          Him you may see henceforth without reproach.

          It may be, that, convinced of your aversion,

          He means to head the rebels. Undeceive him,

          Soften his callous heart, and bend his pride.

          King of this fertile land, in Troezen here

          His portion lies; but as he knows, the laws

          Give to your son the ramparts that Minerva

          Built and protects. A common enemy

          Threatens you both, unite them to oppose

          Aricia.

          PHAEDRA

          To your counsel I consent.

          Yes, I will live, if life can be restored,

          If my affection for a son has pow'r

          To rouse my sinking heart at such a dangerous hour.