ARICIA

          Can you keep silent in this mortal peril?

          Your father loves you. Will you leave him thus

          Deceived? If in your cruel heart you scorn

          My tears, content to see me nevermore,

          Go, part from poor Aricia; but at least,

          Going, secure the safety of your life.

          Defend your honor from a shameful stain,

          And force your father to recall his pray'rs.

          There yet is time. Why out of mere caprice

          Leave the field free to Phaedra's calumnies?

          Let Theseus know the truth.

          HIPPOLYTUS

          Could I say more,

          Without exposing him to dire disgrace?

          How should I venture, by revealing all,

          To make a father's brow grow red with shame?

          The odious mystery to you alone

          Is known. My heart has been outpour'd to none

          Save you and Heav'n. I could not hide from you

          (Judge if I love you), all I fain would hide

          E'en from myself. But think under what seal

          I spoke. Forget my words, if that may be;

          And never let so pure a mouth disclose

          This dreadful secret. Let us trust to Heav'n

          My vindication, for the gods are just;

          For their own honour will they clear the guiltless;

          Sooner or later punish'd for her crime,

          Phaedra will not escape the shame she merits.

          I ask no other favour than your silence;

          In all besides I give my wrath free scope.

          Make your escape from this captivity,

          Be bold to bear me company in flight;

          Linger not here on this accursed soil,

          Where virtue breathes a pestilential air.

          To cover your departure take advantage

          Of this confusion, caused by my disgrace.

          The means of flight are ready, be assured;

          You have as yet no other guards than mine.

          Pow'rful defenders will maintain our quarrel;

          Argos spreads open arms, and Sparta calls us.

          Let us appeal for justice to our friends,

          Nor suffer Phaedra, in a common ruin

          Joining us both, to hunt us from the throne,

          And aggrandise her son by robbing us.

          Embrace this happy opportunity:

          What fear restrains? You seem to hesitate.

          Your interest alone prompts me to urge

          Boldness. When I am all on fire, how comes it

          That you are ice? Fear you to follow then

          A banish'd man?

          ARICIA

          Ah, dear to me would be

          Such exile! With what joy, my fate to yours

          United, could I live, by all the world

          Forgotten! but not yet has that sweet tie

          Bound us together. How then can I steal

          Away with you? I know the strictest honour

          Forbids me not out of your father's hands

          To free myself; this is no parent's home,

          And flight is lawful when one flies from tyrants.

          But you, Sir, love me; and my virtue shrinks—

          HIPPOLYTUS

          No, no, your reputation is to me

          As dear as to yourself. A nobler purpose

          Brings me to you. Fly from your foes, and follow

          A husband. Heav'n, that sends us these misfortunes,

          Sets free from human instruments the pledge

          Between us. Torches do not always light

          The face of Hymen.

          At the gates of Troezen,

          'Mid ancient tombs where princes of my race

          Lie buried, stands a temple, ne'er approach'd

          By perjurers, where mortals dare not make

          False oaths, for instant punishment befalls

          The guilty. Falsehood knows no stronger check

          Than what is present there—the fear of death

          That cannot be avoided. Thither then

          We'll go, if you consent, and swear to love

          For ever, take the guardian god to witness

          Our solemn vows, and his paternal care

          Entreat. I will invoke the name of all

          The holiest Pow'rs; chaste Dian, and the Queen

          Of Heav'n, yea all the gods who know my heart

          Will guarantee my sacred promises.

          ARICIA

          The King draws near. Depart,—make no delay.

          To mask my flight, I linger yet one moment.

          Go you; and leave with me some trusty guide,

          To lead my timid footsteps to your side.

          SCENE II

          THESEUS, ARICIA, ISMENE

          THESEUS

          Ye gods, throw light upon my troubled mind,

          Show me the truth which I am seeking here.

          ARICIA (aside to ISMENE)

          Get ready, dear Ismene, for our flight.

          SCENE III

          THESEUS, ARICIA

          THESEUS

          Your colour comes and goes, you seem confused,

          Madame! What business had my son with you?

          ARICIA

          Sire, he was bidding me farewell for ever.

          THESEUS

          Your eyes, it seems, can tame that stubborn pride;

          And the first sighs he breathes are paid to you.

          ARICIA

          I can't deny the truth; he has not, Sire,

          Inherited your hatred and injustice;

          He did not treat me like a criminal.

          THESEUS

          That is to say, he swore eternal love.

          Do not rely on that inconstant heart;

          To others has he sworn as much before.

          ARICIA

          He, Sire?

          THESEUS

          You ought to check his roving taste.

          How could you bear a partnership so vile?

          ARICIA

          And how can you endure that vilest slanders

          Should make a life so pure as black as pitch?

          Have you so little knowledge of his heart?

          Do you so ill distinguish between guilt

          And innocence? What mist before your eyes

          Blinds them to virtue so conspicuous?

          Ah! 'tis too much to let false tongues defame him.

          Repent; call back your murderous wishes, Sire;

          Fear, fear lest Heav'n in its severity

          Hate you enough to hear and grant your pray'rs.

          Oft in their wrath the gods accept our victims,

          And oftentimes chastise us with their gifts.

          THESEUS

          No, vainly would you cover up his guilt.

          Your love is blind to his depravity.

          But I have witness irreproachable:

          Tears have I seen, true tears, that may be trusted.

          ARICIA

          Take heed, my lord. Your hands invincible

          Have rid the world of monsters numberless;

          But all are not destroy'd, one you have left

          Alive—Your son forbids me to say more.

          Knowing with what respect he still regards you,

          I should too much distress him if I dared

          Complete my sentence. I will imitate

          His reverence, and, to keep silence, leave you.

          SCENE IV

          THESEUS (alone)

          What is there in her mind? What meaning lurks

          In speech begun but to be broken short?

          Would both deceive me with a vain pretence?

          Have they conspired to put me to the torture?

          And yet, despite my stern severity,

          What plaintive voice cries deep within my heart?

          A secret pity troubles and alarms me.

          Oenone shall be questioned once again,

          I must have clearer light upon this crime.

          Guards, bid Oenone come, and come alone.

          SCENE V

          THESEUS, PANOPE

          PANOPE

          I know not what the Queen intends to do,

          But from her agitation dread the worst.

          Fatal despair is painted on her features;

          Death's pallor is already in her face.

          Oenone, shamed and driven from her sight,

          Has cast herself into the ocean depths.

          None knows what prompted her to deed so rash;

          And now the waves hide her from us for ever.

          THESEUS

          What say you?

          PANOPE

          Her sad fate seems to have added

          Fresh trouble to the Queen's tempestuous soul.

          Sometimes, to soothe her secret pain, she clasps

          Her children close, and bathes them with her tears;

          Then suddenly, the mother's love forgotten,

          She thrusts them from her with a look of horror,

          She wanders to and fro with doubtful steps;

          Her vacant eye no longer knows us. Thrice

          She wrote, and thrice did she, changing her mind,

          Destroy the letter ere 'twas well begun.

          Vouchsafe to see her, Sire: vouchsafe to help her.

          THESEUS

          Heav'ns! Is Oenone dead, and Phaedra bent

          On dying too? Oh, call me back my son!

          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

          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.