Four Tragedies and Octavia (13 page)

   Dryads, who chase the woodland Pans,

   Will lie in wait to wake your slumbers.

        Or else the Moon, whose birth

The old Arcadians saw, older than she,

   Will spy you from her starry height

   And leave her chariot of light

To run untended.
²
Did we not see her blush

A while ago? Yet there was no dull cloud

Veiling her face. We were alarmed to see

   Our lady thus disturbed; we thought

   Thessalian spells had been at work

   To draw her down; we beat our gongs;

And it was you she pined for, you

   That stopped the Moon; to look on you

The goddess of the night had paused in her career.

Ah, would you spare that face from winter's frost,

Let it less often greet the summer's sun,

   Purer than Parian marble then

   Would be its loveliness. That firm,

That manly bearing – what a grace is there,

What grave old wisdom in that solemn brow!

That neck is not less lovely than Apollo's,

   Whose flowing tresses, unconfined,

   Flow down, as robe and ornament,

Over his shoulders; yet your rougher crown

Of short and tousled hair becomes you well.

There is no god so brutal, so ferocious,

But you would be a match for him, so great

Your strength, your body's bulk. Young still,

You have a broader chest than warring Mars

        And arms like Hercules.

        If you should choose to ride,

You'd show a defter hand upon the rein

Than Castor's, mastering his Spartan Cyllarus.
¹

Finger a bowstring, draw with all your might,

        Your shaft will surely fly

Farther than the most expert Cretan archer

        Can shoot his slender reed;

Or, like the Parthian, shoot your arrows high

   Into the air; not one will fail

   To bring a bird down; every one

   Will find its mark in living flesh

   And snatch its prize out of the sky.

Rare is the man – look in the roll of time –

To whom great beauty has not been great cost.

May kind gods spare you, that your beauty live

   To pass into the house of age

Where at the end all beauty must be lost.

CHORUS
: Is there no end to the audacity

Of an impetuous woman, crazed with passion?

The youth is guiltless and the queen intends

To charge him with a heinous crime. What infamy!

For evidence she'll show her tangled hair,

Her tear-stained face, her whole head's beauty marred.

She has her plot prepared by every art

Known to her sex.…

                                But who is this that comes,

With kingly mien and head borne high? His face

Is like the face of young Peirithous,

But for the bloodless pallor of his cheeks,

And the unsightly hair, matted and stiff.

Theseus it is! He has returned to earth!…

THESEUS
: From my long sojourn in eternal night's

Dark universe, the spacious prison-house

Of souls departed, now at last escaped

I scarce know how to suffer with my eyes

This long-desired light. Four years of harvest

Triptolemus
¹
has granted to Eleusis –

Four equinoxes under Libra passed,

While I have been held captive by a task

Of strange necessity and doubtful issue,

Bearing the pains of death and life at once;

For, being as dead, I still retained of life

The sense of suffering. I owe my freedom

To Hercules, who brought me back to earth

When he returned with the dog Cerberus

Captured and carried off from hell. But now

My strength is spent, my former powers exhausted,

My steps unsteady. A laborious journey

It was indeed, from Phlegethon below

To this world far above – running from death

And following Hercules.

                                       But what is this?

Do I hear cries of lamentation? What?

Who can tell me? Can there be grief and sorrow

And tears to meet me at my door? Fit welcome,

In truth it may be, for a guest from hell.

NURSE
: Phaedra your wife is fixed in her resolve

To die; she will not listen to our tears;

She is at the door of death.

THESEUS
:                             Why, for what cause?

Why should she die? Her husband has come home.

NURSE
: The very reason hastening her death.

THESEUS
: That riddle must contain some serious matter,

Speak out, and tell me what it is that ails her.

NURSE
: She will tell no one. Secretly she grieves;

Whatever pain is driving her to death,

She means to take it with her. Come, sir, come;

There is no time to lose.

THESEUS
:                        Unbar the doors

Of the royal house.

   [
Doors are opened and Phaedra is seen
]

                                 Dear consort of my bed,

Is this your welcome for your lord's return,

Your greeting to your long-awaited husband?

Put down that sword! Allay my fears. Tell me

What trouble drives you to escape from life.

PHAEDRA
: Ah, noble Theseus – by your royal sceptre,

Your living children, and your life restored,

And by my body that shall soon be ashes –

Do not forbid my death.

THESEUS
:                        Why must you die?

PHAEDRA
: To tell the cause is to destroy the purpose.

THESEUS
: No one shall hear your reason, but myself.

PHAEDRA
: Chaste wives least trust their secrets to their husbands.

THESEUS
: Your secret will be safe with me; speak out.

PHAEDRA
: A secret is best kept when shared with no one.

THESEUS
: We shall protect you from all means of death.

PHAEDRA
: Death cannot hide from one who means to die.

THESEUS
: Is it to expiate some sin? What sin?

PHAEDRA
: My being alive.

THESEUS
:                        Are my tears nothing to you?

PHAEDRA
: To die lamented is to die content.

THESEUS
: Nothing will move her silence. The old nurse

Shall tell – we'll have her bound and scourged

Till she reveal all that my wife withholds.

Put chains upon her! See if the whip will draw

The secret out of her.

PHAEDRA
:                    No! I will tell you.

THESEUS
: Well?… Can you only turn your face away

So woebegone… hiding under your sleeve

The tears that now begin to flood your cheeks?

PHAEDRA
: O be my witness, God, Creator, Father

Of all the gods in heaven! And Thou, bright flame

Of heavenly light, progenitor of my house!

Besieged with pleadings, I resisted them;

Threatened with swords, my will was never weakened;

Yet violence was used upon my body.

For this, my blood must wash my honour clean.

THESEUS
: Tell me, what man has stolen my good name?

PHAEDRA
: The last whom you would think of.

THESEUS
:                                    I must know.

PHAEDRA
: Learn from this sword, which the adulterer

Left, in alarm, fearing a hue and cry.

THESEUS
: O God, what crime, what monstrous villainy

This shows me! In this polished ivory hilt

The intricate engraved designs proclaim

The rank of the Athenian royal house.…

Which way did he escape?

PHAEDRA
:                           These servants saw him

Running away as quickly as he could

In great alarm.

THESEUS
:         By all the sanctity

Of human faith, by Him who rules the heavens,

And Him who moves the seas, the second realm –

Whence came this foul infection, this corruption

Into our blood? Could this man have been bred

On Grecian soil, or in the Scythian Taurus,

The Colchian Phasis? Every stock returns

To its ancestral type, degenerate blood

Retains the nature of its primal source.

This is that warrior people's native
¹
vice –

To abrogate legitimate love, and sell

Chaste women's bodies in the public market.

Vile race, that never bowed to the control

Of more enlightened laws! Even the beasts

Abhor forbidden union, instinct teaches

Proper respect for laws of generation.

    So much for that cold look, that mask of gravity!

That uncouth style of dress, that affectation

Of old time-honoured ways, modest behaviour

And stern rigidity of character!

O base deceit, keeping true feelings close –

Fair face without, and foul intent within!

Lechery masked by modesty, assurance

Cloaked by reserve, sin screened by sanctity!

Liars praise truth, and weaklings feign endurance!

    Was it for me, you wild man of the woods,

With your untouched, untamed virginity –

Was it for me your first assault was destined?

Was it my bed you chose, so impiously,

For this inauguration of your manhood?

How gladly now I thank the heavenly gods

That I had put Antiope to death

With my own hand, and did not leave her here,

Your mother, at your mercy, while I travelled

Down to the Stygian pit. Escape me, will you,

And flee to distant lands unknown to man?

Take refuge, if you will, beyond the Ocean

At earth's extremest edge; go and inhabit

Worlds that lie upside-down beneath our feet;

Traverse the perilous tracts of arctic north

And hide in its remotest wastes; outrun

The reach of winter, pass the bounds of snow,

Leave the loud wrath of Boreas behind,

Fly faster than his ice-cold breath can follow –

Yet you shall pay for your iniquities.

Run where you may, I shall be on your heels;

Hide anywhere, and I shall hunt you down.

No place can be so far, so closed, so private,

So unexplored, so inaccessible –

We shall explore it. Nothing shall bar our way;

You know where I have lately been. If weapons

Cannot be aimed at you, my curses can

And will be. Neptune granted me, his son,

Three prayers which he would honour, and by oath

Upon the name of Styx confirmed his promise.

    Fulfil it now, great Ruler of the Sea!

Unwelcome though it be, grant me this boon:

Grant that the day shall never dawn again

Upon Hippolytus; let my young son

Go down to meet his father's enemies

The spirits of the dead. To me, thy son,

O father, render this abhorrent service,

This last of thy three promised gifts; which I

Would not have claimed, but for the hateful need

Which now compels me. I forebore to claim it

Even when I was in the pit of hell,

Braving the wrath of Dis and the dread hand

Of the infernal king. Can you refuse,

O father, now to make your promise good?…

Not yet? Is there no sound upon the waters?

Summon the winds, and cover up the night

With black clouds; pluck the stars, the sky, away;

Empty the sea, fetching from farthest Ocean

The billowy multitudes at thy command!

   O Nature, whence all gods proceed;

        And Thou, King of Olympian light,

   Whose hand makes stars and planets speed

        Round the high axis of the night:

   If thou canst guide with ceaseless care

        The heavenly bodies in their train,

   To make the woods in winter bare

        And in the springtime green again,

   Until the summer's Lion burns

        To bring the ripening seed to birth

   And every force of nature turns

        To gentleness upon the earth –

   Why, if such power is in thy hand

        To balance by an ordered plan

   The mass of things, why dost thou stand

        So far from the affairs of man?

   Thou dost not care to help the good

        Nor punish men of evil mind.

   Man lives by chance, to Fate subdued,

        And evil thrives, for Fate is blind.

   Vile lust has banished purity,

        Vice sits enthroned in royal state;

   Mobs give to knaves authority

        And serve them even while they hate.

   Poor is the prize sour virtue gains,

        Want lies in wait for honesty,

   Sin reigns supreme. What good remains

        In shame, what worth in dignity?