In which the blade, when young, was free to thrive
In healthy soil; that tree will top its fellows,
Which has not been cut back or pruned away
By niggling hands. A noble nature needs
The food of healthy freedom, if true worth
Is to bring forth the fruit of good achievement.
Are you some churlish woodsman, ignorant
Of life’s true meaning, giving up your youth
To melancholy, hating the name of Venus?
Is this what man was born for – toil and hardship,
Horse-taming, war and bloody battlefields?
Why, are there not already deaths enough
Of different kinds, by sea, by sword, by malice,
Preying upon mankind? Nor need we these –
We find our own way to the eternal dark
Without their aid. Who could praise single life
But youth that asks no future? Have your way
And all that lives will be one passing swarm,
A single generation, doomed to perish.
Did not the Father of the universe
Take thought, having observed Fate’s grasping hand,
To find a way how loss might be repaired
By new creation? Why – if from our life
We banish Venus, who replenishes
And recreates our dwindling stock, the earth
Will soon become a desert, drear and ugly,
The sea a dead sea, where there are no fish,
The sky will have no birds, the woods no beasts,
The air will be a place where nothing moves
Except the passing winds. Therefore I say,
Let nature’s instinct guide your life; be seen
Here in the city; meet your fellow-men.
HIPPOLYTUS: There is no other life so free, so pure,
So true to man’s primeval laws – as this,
Life far from city walls, a rustic life.1
No rage of avarice eats out the hearts
Of simple countrymen who love the mountains.
The winds of popularity, mob rule
Which no good man can trust, the bite of envy,
The treachery of favour, cannot touch them.
The countryman is no king’s slave, nor asks
For empty honours, angling after kingship.
He seeks no perishable wealth, he lives
Free of ambition, free of fear. Base jealousy’s
Despicable sharp tooth bites not at him.
He is a stranger to the sins that breed
In populous cities, has no need to wake
In guilty fear at every passing sound,
Or guard his speech with lies. The rich man’s house,
Pillared and porticoed, the ostentation
Of gold-encrusted ceilings, tempt not him.
He takes no part in pious sacrifices,
Lavish expense of blood, sprinkling of meal
Over a hundred head of snow-white oxen
Stooping for slaughter. Free and innocent
In the open air the countryman commands
His unencumbered land. He can be crafty,
But only in the setting of shrewd snares
For animals; and after the day’s toil
His bath is the Ilissos, cooled with snow.
He will be roaming on the riverside
Where swift Alpheus flows, or in the depths
Of some dark wood, some hushed retreat beside
Lerna’s pellucid water, clean and cold;
The only sound the shrill bird’s cry, the stir
Of ancient beech and ash touched by the breeze.
He loves to rest beside some straying brook,
To sleep on naked ground; a waterfall,
Perhaps, pours copiously down, a stream
Winds prattling pleasantly through fresh-sprung flowers.
His food is easily supplied; wild fruits
Shaken from trees, and berries picked from shrubs
Keep hunger off. Banquets in regal style
He heartily detests; what danger lurks
In the gold cups of high society!
What pleasure in a drink scooped by bare hands
From running water! Sleep comes easily
To care-free bodies on uncushioned beds.
Unlike the sinner seeking furtive joys
In darkened bedchambers, behind closed doors,
In the recesses of the tortuous palace
In which he hides his shame – the countryman
Seeks light and open air, and lives his life
Under the eye of heaven.
So, I think,
Men lived in the olden days, the men who shared
To excite their blind desires. No legal landmarks –
Stones to give laws to families of men –
Divided field from field. There were no ships
Striking out confidently through the sea;
What sea they knew was near at hand. No cities
Stood within massive many-towered ramparts;
There were no soldiers armed with cruel steel,
No catapults bombarding bolted gates
With heavy stones. The land was not enslaved
To any master’s will, the soil not subject
To teams of oxen. Man made no demands,
But self-productive fields supplied his needs.
What wealth the woods contained, they freely gave;
Homes were as nature built them – cool dark caves.
This state of peace was wickedly destroyed
By the accursed lust for gain, blind hate,
And all the reckless passions which ignite
And dominate man’s soul: the thirst for power,
Whetted by blood; strong preying upon weak;
Might standing in the place of right. Bare hands
Were the first weapons; then came stones and clubs.
That was before the slender cornel shaft
With tapered iron point was made, or longsword
Slung from the belt; before the crested helmet
Proclaimed the oncoming foe; the rage for battle
Was weapon enough in those days. But the War God
Devised new kinds of strategy, and death
In myriad shapes, until the whole earth’s soil
Was stained with blood and all the sea grew red.
There was no stopping it, crime walked unchecked
Through every home of man, no shape of sin
Lacked its example. Brother fell to brother,
Sons slew their fathers, wives shed husbands’ blood,
Mothers, defying nature’s law, destroyed
Their infants ere they lived. Stepmothers –
What can one say of them? – wild beasts
Have more compassion. Woman, say what you will,
Is the prime mover of all wickedness;
Expert in every evil art, woman
Lays siege to man; for her adulteries
Cities have burned, nation made war on nation,
Multitudes perished in the fall of kingdoms.
Let one example speak for all: Medea,
Aegeus’ wife, proclaims all. women damned.
NURSE: If some have been at fault, must all be damned?
HIPPOLYTUS: I hate them all; I dread, I shun, I loathe them.
I choose – whether by reason, rage, or instinct –
I choose to hate them. Can you marry fire
To water? Can ships safely sail the quicksands?
Can Tethys make the sun rise in the west?
Can wild wolves smile on does? No more can I
Consent to have a tender thought for woman.
NURSE: It has been known for Love to put a bridle
On fractious tempers, and to cast out hate.
Think of the women whom your mother ruled;
Fighters they were, yet kn
ew the bonds of Venus –
Witness yourself, their one surviving son.1
HIPPOLYTUS: One thing consoles me for my mother’s death:
There is no woman now whom I must love.
NURSE: He will not listen; he throws back my words
As some unshakable hard rock, immune
On every side to the assaulting sea,
Flings back the waters.…
But here Phaedra comes,
In such impatient haste, no hand can stop her.
How will Fate shape the outcome of this passion?…
She has fallen as if dead; the pallor of death
Is in her face.… Lift up your head, my child.
Is there not something you can say? Hippolytus
Is here with you, and has you in his arms.
PHAEDRA: I had been glad to lose myself.… Who drags me
Back to my misery? Who gives me back
My load of anguish?
HIPPOLYTUS: How can you refuse
The blessed gift of life brought back to you?
PHAEDRA [aside]: O soul, be bold… have courage… do not shirk
Your self-taught precept. Speak up fearlessly;
One who asks faintly asks to be refused.
My course of wickedness was long ago
More than half run; it is too late for shame;
I have already loved unlawfully.
If I go on the way I have begun,
I may perhaps conceal my sin in marriage.
Success can justify some evil actions.
Then courage, heart!… [To Hippolytus] May I have words with you
In private? If there is any friend with you,
Dismiss him.
HIPPOLYTUS: There is no one who can hear us.
PHAEDRA: But yet… my lips refuse to frame the words
I meant to speak; one strong power gives me voice,
Another, stronger, takes that voice away.
Be witness, all ye gods, that my desire –
HIPPOLYTUS: Something your heart desires but cannot speak of?
PHAEDRA: Light troubles speak, the heaviest have no voice.1
HIPPOLYTUS: Yet tell me what your trouble is, mother.
PHAEDRA: Mother – that is too fine and great a title
For my condition; better a lower one –
Sister, Hippolytus – or call me servant;
Yes, servant; I will do you any service –
Bid me to go through driven snow, gladly
I’d walk across the frozen heights of Pindus;
Send me through fire or battle, I’d not fear
To breast drawn swords. Be regent in my place,
And let me be your slave; it is your right
To rule, my duty only to obey.
It is no part of women’s work to hold
The reins of government. You, in the prime
And flower of your youth, should rule your people;
Your birthright gives you power. Only protect
Your slave, and take your suppliant to your arms!
Have pity for a widow –
HIPPOLYTUS: God avert
The omen of that word! My father lives
And he will very soon return unharmed.
PHAEDRA: The master of the silent prison-house
Of death allows a traveller no way
Back to the world he came from; will he allow
A ravisher1 to return? Unless we think
Pluto himself sits by, smiling on love!
HIPPOLYTUS: Yet I believe the kindly powers of heaven
Will bring him back. Until our prayers are answered,
I will be guardian, as in duty bound,
Of my dear brothers; and my care of you
Will make you never think of widowhood.
I shall be with you in my father’s place.
PHAEDRA [aside]: Could he say more? O tempting voice of love!
Fond lovers’ hope! I must entreat again.…
[To Hippolytus]
Yet pity me; hear my heart’s silent prayer;
I long to speak, yet am ashamed –
HIPPOLYTUS: What ails you?
PHAEDRA: Such trouble as you would not think a step-mother
Would have to bear.
HIPPOLYTUS: You set me riddles to guess.
Can you speak plainly?
PHAEDRA: Madness is in my heart;
It is consumed by love, a wild fire raging
Secretly in my body, in my blood,
Like flames that lick across a roof of timber.
HIPPOLYTUS: Love – why, your innocent love for Theseus, how
Can that be madness?
PHAEDRA: This is the truth, Hippolytus:
The face of Theseus is the face I love –
The youthful face of former years – the cheek
That had been smooth, pencilled with its first beard –
The moment when he saw the Cnossian monster’s
Labyrinth prison – when he wound the thread
Along the twisting alleys. Ah, the splendour!
His gentle face, below the banded hair,
Shone with the golden glow of modesty.
His arms were tender, but with muscle strong;
And in his face there was the face of Phoebe,
Your ancestor – or Phoebus, mine; but yet
More like your own. Yes, yes, I see him now –
So was he when he won his enemy’s1 favour –
Just so – his head held high; though in your looks
The natural grace, unkempt, is still more splendid.
Your father is all here in you; here too
Is something of your mother’s sternness, lending
As great an added dignity – your face
Is Greek but with a trace of Scythian roughness.
If you could have been there beside your father
The day he crossed the sea to Crete, my sister2
Would rather have spun out her ball of thread
For you. And O my sister, help me now!
Now, from wherever in the starry sky
Your bright face shines, come to my aid in this
The same perplexity as was your own:
Two sisters fallen victims to one house,
You to the father, I to the son!…
[To Hippolytus] Behold,
The daughter of a king kneels at your feet!
Spotless, unstained, and innocent of sin,
Till now; but now, for love of you alone,
No longer what I was. Not without purpose
Have I abased myself in prayer; this day
Must end my misery, or end my life.
Have pity on my love –
HIPPOLYTUS: Almighty God!
God of all gods! Canst thou hear things so foul
And not be moved? Canst see – and not be moved?1
For what cause shall the sky be rent with thunder
If no cloud dims it now? Let ruin wreck
The firmament, and black night hide the day!
Let stars run back and all their courses turn
Into confusion! Thou too, king of stars,
Lord Sun resplendent, art thou looking down
Upon thy daughter’s wickedness? Wilt thou
Not veil thy light and flee into the darkness?
Ruler of gods in heaven and men on earth,
Why is thy hand not armed, will not thy torch
Of triple fire set all the world a blaze?
Hurl against me thy thunderbolt, thy spear,
And let me be consumed in instant fire.
I am the sinner; I deserve to die;
I have found favour with my stepmother.
[To Phaedra]
So, did I seem fit sport for filthy amours?
Was I, of all men, picked by you to be
The easy instrument of your foul crime?
Is my austerity rewarded thus? O woman,
First of all womankind in wickedness,
&
nbsp; Worse than your mother! – as your sin is worse
Than hers who was the mother of a monster.
Once did she sin, and – though long afterwards –
The nature of that sin was brought so light
By the crossed offspring of her womb, her crime
Revealed in her freak infant’s brutish visage.
And from that mother’s womb you too were born!
O three times bless’d, and four times, by the hand
Of generous fate, are those whom enmity
And malice have consumed, cut down, destroyed.
Father, I envy you; you had a stepmother,
The Colchian woman,1 but my enemy
Is one far worse, far deadlier than she.
PHAEDRA: I know the fate that has pursued our house;
What we should shun we must desire. Yet knowing,
I cannot help myself. Even through fire,
Through raging seas, through rivers in full flood,
Over the mountain heights, I shall pursue you.
No matter where you go, I shall go with you,
Mad for your love. Once more, contemptuous man,
I stoop to kiss the ground before your feet.
HIPPOLYTUS: Keep off those wanton hands from my chaste body!
What! Does she fling herself into my arms?
Here is my sword to see full justice done.…
I have her by the hair, this shameless head
In my left hand… O Goddess of the Bow,
Never did blood more justly stain thy altar.
PHAEDRA: Hippolytus! My prayer is answered now,
My mind made whole. More than my prayer is granted,
Now I can die by your hand, saved from sin.
HIPPOLYTUS: Rather than that, go, live, obtain no boon
From me!… Let this contaminated sword
Never again come near my spotless side!…
Will Tanäis wash me clean, will the wild waves
Of far Maeotis, feeding the Pontic sea?
No; nor great Neptune in his whole wide ocean
Drown this great weight of sin.1 Woods and wild creatures!…
NURSE: Now all the evil is exposed. What then?
Shall resolution faint or fail? Not so.
We must prefer a counter charge against him,
Take up the case ourselves and prove him guilty
Of violation. Crime must cover crime.
The safest shield in danger is attack.
When the offence is private, who shall say
Which of us sinned and which was sinned against?…
Help us, all Athens! Help, you faithful slaves!
Rape is afoot, a ravisher, Hippolytus,
Attacking, assaulting us, threatening death!
Menacing a chaste woman with drawn sword.…
Ay, here it is, the sword, left when he fled
In frightened haste, being surprised in the act;
We have it to prove his guilt. But the poor queen –