Four Tragedies and Octavia (10 page)

Their bodies to the final flames, if not

To be burnt up myself?… Ah, will the gods not hear?

Have they no weapon to destroy the sinner?

Then may eternal night endure, may darkness

Cover these vast immeasurable sins

For evermore. Sun, never move again,

And I shall be content.

ATREUS
:                         Well done, my hands!

This is my true reward. My wicked work

Would have been wasted, if I had not heard

Those cries of agony. Now I am sure

My sons are mine again, reborn to me;

The slur upon my fatherhood is lifted.

THYESTES
: What cause could you have had to hate the children?
¹

ATRBUS
: That they
²
were yours.

THYESTES
:                                Their father's sons…?

ATREUS
:                                    I know

They
were
their father's,
¹
and I am content.

THYESTES
: Now, by the gods that make us love our own –

ATREUS
: Why not the gods of marriage?

THYESTES
:                                             Is a fault

To be requited with more wickedness?

ATREUS
: I know why you are angry; 'tis your grief

That you were cheated of the crime you purposed.

You weep, not that you ate this loathsome meal,

But that you had not cooked it! Your intent,

I know, was to prepare a like repast

And serve it to your unsuspecting brother;

To seize
my
children, with their mother's aid,

And make an end of them, as I of yours –

And would have done it, but for one thing only:

You thought you were their father.

THYESTES
:                                        My revenge

The gods will give. I have no other wish

But to entrust to them your punishment.

ATREUS
: As I do yours, into your children's hands.

Exeunt

THESEUS
,
King of Athens

PHAEDRA
,
second wife of Theseus

HIPPOLYTUS
,
son of Theseus and Antiope

NURSE

MESSENGER

CHORUS
of Athenian citizens

Companions of Hippolytus

*

Scene: Athens, at the palace of Theseus

HIPPOLYTUS
: Men of the land of Cecrops, come

Range round the leafy woods! Away

To the mountain tops! Swiftly afoot

Spread wide your ways, to the glades that lie

In the shadow of Parnes' height, to the river

That thrashes its rapid course along

The vale of Thria; climb to the hills

White-topped with never-melting snow

   From northern skies.

For some, another way, where groves

Of alder weave a shade, where meadows

Kissed by the dewy breath of Zephyr

Lie, where the spring grass hears his call;

Or where Ilissos' stripling stream

Idles beside starved fields, bare sands

Scored into niggard channels.

Others, away by the western road

To the open pass of Marathon,

Where the suckling dams at evening graze

With their young behind them. Some, go down

Where the warm south breezes thaw the frost

   Of the hard Acharnian plain.

Who will climb to sweet Hymettus,

Who to Aphidnae's little hill?

The arc of Sunium that swings

Into the sea; there is a place

Long undespoiled, that asks for hunting.

Lovers of woods in all their glory,

Phlya awaits you, where the wild boar

Lurks, to the farmers' terror, a fighter

With many a victim to his credit.

Come, loose the hounds, the quiet ones;

But keep those wild Molossians leashed,

And the Cretan fighters, their tough necks

Can tug the collar. Those Spartans too

Are a lively breed, thirsting for blood;

Be sure to keep them well reined in.

Their time will come; we shall hear their voices

Raising the echoes in the mountains.

First you must let them get their heads down

Sniffing the air with their shrewd noses,

To pick up the scent around the coverts

Before the sun comes up, while footprints

   Pattern the dewy grass.

Up with the heavy nets, the coarse ones

Will need a hefty shoulder; and here

Are the finer snares. And take a line

Of coloured feathers, to intercept

   And trap the silly creatures.

You can be our javelin-thrower –

You, take the heavy broad-head spear,

It needs both hands at once – you, beater,

Stalk the game and cry him out

Full speed from his lair – and when we've caught him,

You shall knife the innards from him.

And come Thou to thy servant's side,

Huntress Divine, whose sovereign will

The secret heart of earth obeys;

Whose arrows fly swift to their mark

In any beast that stoops to drink

At cold Araxes' side, or paws

The ice of Ister. Thine the arm

That slays Gaetulian lions, thine

That hunts the Cretan stag; thine too

The lighter hand that pricks the deer.

Thou meet'st the tiger's mottled breast,

The shaggy bison's back, the span

Of the wild auroch's spreading horns.

No creature feeds in fields so far –

Under the rich Arabian trees,

On arid Garamantian plains,

Where the Sarmatian nomad roams,

Upon the high rough Pyrenees,

Or in Hyrcanian ravines –

   But it must fear Diana's bow.

Fortune attends the worshipper

Who has found favour at thy shrine;

Thy power goes with him to the fields,

His nets hold fast their captured prey,

No creature's feet break down his snares,

A laden wain brings back his spoils,

His hounds return with blooded mouths,

And all the country fellows join

Rejoicing in the long march home.

Hark, the dogs are baying; that is the sign

That thou art with me, Goddess. Now to the woods;

This way will take me quickly to the long road

That lies ahead.

PHAEDRA
: O Crete, great land, great mistress of wide seas,

Whose ships in countless numbers reach all shores,

Faring across the ocean – to Assyria,

To every coast, wherever the Sea God

Permits a prow to cleave its way to land:

Why have you banished me, a hostage bound

To a hostile house, wife to an alien lord,

To spend my days in tears and wretchedness?

Where is my lord? Away – that is how Theseus

Observes his marriage vows – on a bold venture

Through the deep darkness of the underworld

From which no man returns, comrade in arms

To an audacious suitor who will steal

And carry off a bride straight from the throne

Of the King of Death. So Theseus follows him,

Partner in his mad escapade; no fear,

No shame, deters him. Lust and lawless marriage

In hell Hippolytus's father seeks.

   But I have other, greater pain to bear;

No rest at night, no balm of sleep relieves

My troubled soul. It thrives and grows – my pain

Burns in me like the burning heart of Etna.

My loom stands still, the wool drops from my hands;

I have no heart to make my offerings

At the gods' temples, or to take my place

Among the dances of the Attic women

Torch-bearing in dark rites around their altars.

I cannot make pure prayers or honest vows

To their presiding goddess, to whose care

This land was given. I take pleasure now

In following the hunt, starting wild game,

A strong spear in this tender hand. Why, why,

My soul? What does it mean? What is this passion

For woods and fields? Is this the evil spell

That bound my mother, my unhappy mother?…

Our love has gone astray in the woods…. O mother,

I feel for you. I know how you were forced

By monstrous doom into audacious love

For that brute beast, bull of a roaming herd;

An angry beast, untamed and lecherous,

His wild mates all obeyed him – yet he loved.

What god will pity me? Where is a Daedalus

To find a cure for my complaint? That craftsman,

Master of Attic arts, who built a prison

To hold our Cretan monster in seclusion,

Could not, if he were here, do anything

To lighten my distress. This comes from Venus;

She hates all children of her enemy

The Sun,
¹
and now through us she takes revenge

For what was done to her – the chains that bound her

In the arms of Mars; on all the tribe of Phoebus

She lays a load of shame. Love lies not lightly

On any daughter of the house of Minos;

We know no love that is not bound to sin.

NURSE
: Nay, noble wife of Theseus, child of Jove,

Cleanse your pure heart at once of such vile thoughts;

Smother the flame and give no countenance

To evil hopes. Stand up to Love and rout him

At the first assault, that is the surest way

To win without a fall; once humour him,

Cherish the pleasant bane – 'twill be too late

Then to refuse the yoke you have accepted.

I am not blind, I know how royal pride,

Stubborn, and deaf to truth, abhors correction.

I am ready for my end, whate'er it be;

The old have courage, freedom is near for them.

To choose the good is the first rule of life,

And not to falter on the way; next best

Is to have shame and know where sin must stop.

Why, my poor mistress, why are you resolved

To heap fresh infamy upon your house,

With sin worse than your mother's? Wilful sin

Is a worse evil than unnatural passion;

That comes by fate, but sin comes from our nature.

You think, because your husband's eyes are closed

To all this upper world, that you are free

To sin without fear? No, you are mistaken;

Though Theseus may be safely out of sight

In Lethe's depths, walking the shores of Styx,

Perhaps for ever – what of him who rules

The hundred cities and the wide sea roads,

Your father? Will he let such sin be hidden?

Parents are watchful, and their care is wise.

And even if we do conceal your crime,

By our devices, from all human eyes,

There is your mother's father, He above

Who sheds his light upon the earth; and He,

Father of all the gods, who shakes the world

With hail of fiery bolts from his bright hand.

Will you believe that you can do this thing

Out of the sight of your all-seeing grandsires?

Again, let us suppose the good gods choose

To hide forbidden love; let us suppose

They lend to lawless intercourse protection

Denied to greater crimes – think of the price,

The penalty within, the conscious heart's

Deep dread, the mind burdened with guilt, the soul

That dare not face itself. Some may have sinned

With safety, none with conscience unperturbed.
¹

No – you must kill these fires of impious love,

This crime which every barbarous land abhors,

From which the Getan nomads, and the Scythian

Wild tribes and Taurian savages abstain

Purge your thoughts clean of this abomination;

Learn from your mother; dare no strange affection.

Do you intend to be the common spouse

Of son and father, to conceive in sin

Two husbands' progeny at once?… Go, then!

Confound all nature with your wicked passions!

Let there be monsters still! Your brother's house
²

Requires a tenant. Has it come to this?

Will nature waive her laws, will the world hear

Of monstrous prodigies each time love comes

To a Cretan woman?

PHAEDRA
:                   All you say is true,

Good nurse. Unreason drives me into evil.

I walk upon the brink with open eyes;

Wise counsel calls, but I cannot turn back

To hear it; when a sailor tries to drive

His laden vessel counter to the tides,

His toil is all in vain, his helpless ship

Swims at the mercy of the current. Reason?…

What good can reason do? Unreason reigns

Supreme, a potent god commands my heart,

The invincible winged god, who rules all earth,

Who strikes and scorches Jove with his fierce fire.

The God of War has felt that flame; the forger

Of triple thunderbolts himself has felt it;

The feeder of the never-sleeping furnace

In Etna's depths can feel this tiny flame;

Phoebus is lord of the bow, but one small boy

With more unerring aim can shoot an arrow

Straight to his heart, for he is everywhere,

Menacing heaven and earth.

NURSE
:                                     That love is god

Is the vile fiction of unbridled lust

Which, for its licence, gives to lawless passion

The name of an imagined deity.

Venus from Eryx, we are to believe,

Sends her son wandering over all the earth,

And he, skyborne, shoots out his wicked darts

From one small hand – the littlest of the gods

Endowed with such almighty power! Vain fancies

Conceived by crazy minds, they are all false!

Venus' divinity and Cupid's arrows!

Too much contentment and prosperity,

And self-indulgence, lead to new desires;

Then lust comes in, good fortune's fatal friend;

Everyday fare no longer satisfies,

Plain houses and cheap ware are not enough.

Why, tell me, does this sickness seldom taint

A humble home but strikes where life is soft?

Why is pure love found under lowly roofs,

And why do common people generally

Have wholesome appetites where modest means

Teach self-control – while wealth, propped up by power,

Always asks more than its fair share of things?

A man who can do much would like to do

More than he can. But there – you know what conduct

Is fitting for the great ones of the land;

Await your lord's return with fear and reverence.

PHAEDRA
: I fear no man's return. Love is my sovereign.

And when has any man set eyes again

Upon this bowl of sky, having descended

Once to the silence of perpetual night?

NURSE
: Never trust Pluto; though he keeps the key

Of his infernal realm, and has his hound

To guard the gates of death beside the Styx,

If any man can find the way, despite him,

That man is Theseus; he will find the way.

PHAEDRA
: Perhaps he will forgive me for my love.

NURSE
: He had no mercy for a virtuous wife;

That foreign one, Antiope, had cause

To know his wrath. But, be it possible

To charm an angry husband, who of us

Will move the obstinate young man? Women…

He hates the whole sex, he avoids them all,

He has no heart, he dedicates his youth

To single life; marriage is not for him –

Which proves him a true Amazonian.

PHAEDRA
: Ah, let him never leave the white hillsides,

The rugged rocks down which he lightly leaps,

Across the mountains and through thickest woods

I mean to follow him.

NURSE
:                         And will he stop

To pay attention to your blandishments?

Will he exchange his virgin exercises

For the illicit rites of Venus? Will

His hatred cease for you, when, very like,

It is for hate of you he hates all women?

No prayers can ever turn that man.

PHAEDRA
:                                         He is

A creature of the wild; have we not known

Wild creatures to be overcome by love?

NURSE
: He'll run from you –

PHAEDRA
:                            – run, even through the sea,

I'll follow still.

NURSE
:              Do you forget your father?

PHAEDRA
: No, nor my mother.

NURSE
:                                    But he hates all women.

PHAEDRA
: The less I'll fear a rival.

NURSE
:                                          And your husband

Will soon be here.

PHAEDRA
:                What, with Peirithous?

NURSE
: Your father will be here.

PHAEDRA
:                                  He will have pity,

The father of Ariadne.

NURSE
:                           Oh, by this heart

Worn out with age and care, these silvered hairs,

This breast you loved, I do implore you, child,

To stop this folly. Be your own best friend;

The wish for health is half the remedy.

PHAEDRA
: Well, have your way. Shame and nobility

Live in me still. If love will not obey,

It must be vanquished; honour shall be kept

Unstained. One way, then, only one way out

Of danger still remains. I'll join my husband.

By death I shall avert transgression.

NURSE
:                                                No!

That is too rash; restrain that impulse, child!

Hold these hot thoughts in check. Yourself to say

That you deserve to die, is proof enough

That you deserve to live.

PHAEDRA
:                         But I must die,

Of that I am resolved. The manner, how,

Is yet to find. A noose? A sword? A leap

Precipitate from the high rock of Pallas?

NURSE
: Leap to your death? Shall these old bones allow it?

Curb that wild will. No one returns from death.

PHAEDRA
: No one that means to die, and ought to die,

Can be forbidden to die. This hand must fight

To save my honour.

NURSE
:                       Mistress, only joy

Of my spent age, hear me: is your heart heavy

With this immoderate passion? Then ignore

The tongue of reputation. Reputation

Takes no account of truth; it often harms

The innocent, and treats the guilty well.

This is what you must do, try out the strength

Of that perverse austerity. I'll do it;

I'll speak to the young savage presently

And bend the stiffness of his stubborn will.

O daughter of the never gentle sea,

Goddess divine, mother of Cupids twain –

   For twofold is his power; with fire

        And arrows sharp he plays

        His wanton game,

   A smile upon his wicked face

        As he prepares his bow

        With never erring aim.

He can send madness to consume the heart,

A flame of hidden fire to dry the blood.

        His wound makes little show,

   But eats into the secret soul.