Phaedra Part 10

THERAMENES Scarce had we pa.s.s'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 n.o.ble 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 sh.o.r.eward 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 sh.o.r.e 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, rus.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.d, amid this wild disorder, Was seen with goads p.r.i.c.king their dusty flanks.

O'er jagged rocks they rush urged on by terror; Cras.h.!.+ 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 ma.s.s 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds.

Thus drawing nigh, she sees the gra.s.s 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 G.o.ds, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 G.o.ds 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 pa.s.sion 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 pa.s.sion 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.