Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD Dramatis Personæ

Euripides (480 or 485–406 B.C.). Hippolytus.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Lines 1200–1601

Far from my griefs; and a thought, deep in the dark of my mind,Clings to a great Understanding. Yet all the spirit within meFaints, when I watch men’s deeds matched with the guerdon they find.For Good comes in Evil’s traces,And the Evil the Good replaces;And Life, ’mid the changing faces,Wandereth weak and blind.

Women

What wilt thou grant me, O God? Lo, this is the prayer of my travail—Some well-being; and chance not very bitter thereby;A Spirit uncrippled by pain; and a mind not deep to unravelTruth unseen, nor yet dark with the brand of a lie.With a veering mood to borrowIts light from every morrow,Fair friends and no deep sorrow,Well could man live and die!

Men

Yet my spirit is no more clean,And the weft of my hope is torn,For the deed of wrong that mine eyes have seen,The lie and the rage and the scorn;A Star among men, yea, a StarThat in Hellas was bright,By a Father’s wrath driven farTo the wilds and the night.Oh, alas for the sands of the shore!Alas for the brakes of the hill,Where the wolves shall fear thee no more,And thy cry to Dictynna is still!

Women

No more in the yoke of thy carShall the colts of Enetia fleet;Nor Limna’s echoes quiver afarTo the clatter of galloping feet.The sleepless music of old,That leaped in the lyre,Ceaseth now, and is cold,In the halls of thy sire.The bowers are discrowned and unladenWhere Artemis lay on the lea;And the love-dream of many a maidenLost, in the losing of thee.

A Maiden

And I, even I,For thy fall, O Friend,Amid tears and tears,Endure to the endOf the empty years,Of a life run dry.In vain didst thou bear him,Thou Mother forlorn!Ye Gods that did snare him,Lo, I cast in your facesMy hate and my scorn!Ye love-linkèd Graces,(Alas for the day!)Was he naught, then, to you,That ye cast him away,The stainless and true,From the old happy places?

LEADER

Look yonder! ’Tis the Prince’s man, I ween,Speeding toward this gate, most dark of mien.[A HENCHMAN enters in haste.

HENCHMAN

Ye women, whither shall I go to seekKing Theseus? Is he in this dwelling? Speak!

LEADER

Lo, where he cometh through the Castle gate![THESEUS comes out from the Castle.

HENCHMAN

O King, I bear thee tidings of dire weightTo thee, aye, and to every man, I ween,From Athens to the marches of Trozên.

THESEUS

What? Some new stroke hath touched, unknown to me,The sister cities of my sovranty?

HENCHMAN

Hippolytus is … Nay, not dead; hut starkOutstretched, a hairsbreadth this side of the dark.

THESEUS (as though unmoved)

How slain? Was there some other man, whose wifeHe had like mine defiled, that sought his life?

HENCHMAN

His own wild team destroyed him, and the direCurse of thy lips.The boon of thy great SireIs granted thee, O King, and thy son slain.

THESEUS

Ye Gods! And thou, Poseidon! Not in vainI called thee Father; thou hast heard my prayer!How did he die? Speak on. How closed the snareOf Heaven to slay the shamer of my blood?

HENCHMAN

’Twas by the bank of beating sea we stood,We thralls, and decked the steeds, and combed each mane;Weeping; for word had come that ne’er againThe foot of our Hippolytus should roamThis land, but waste in exile by thy doom.So stood we till he came, and in his toneNo music now save sorrow’s, like our own,And in his train a concourse without endOf many a chase-fellow and many a friend.At last he brushed his sobs away, and spake:“Why this fond loitering? I would not breakMy Father’s law—Ho, there! My coursers fourAnd chariot, quick! This land is mine no more.”Thereat, be sure, each man of us made speed.Swifter than speech we brought them up, each steedWell dight and shining, at our Prince’s side.He grasped the reins upon the rail: one strideAnd there he stood, a perfect charioteer,Each foot in its own station set. Then clearHis voice rose, and his arms to heaven were spread:“O Zeus, if I be false, strike thou me dead!But, dead or living, let my Father seeOne day, how falsely he hath hated me!”Even as he spake, he lifted up the goadAnd smote; and the steeds sprang. And down the roadWe henchmen followed, hard beside the rein,Each hand, to speed him, toward the Argive plainAnd Epidaurus.So we made our wayUp toward the desert region, where the bayCurls to a promontory near the vergeOf our Trozên, facing the southward surgeOf Saron’s gulf. Just there an angry sound,Slow-swelling, like God’s thunder underground,Broke on us, and we trembled. And the steedsPricked their ears skyward, and threw back their heads.And wonder came on all men, and affright,Whence rose that awful voice. And swift our sightTurned seaward, down the salt and roaring sand.And there, above the horizon, seemed to standA wave unearthly, crested in the sky;Till Skiron’s Cape first vanished from mine eye,Then sank the Isthmus hidden, then the rockOf Epidaurus. Then it broke, one shockAnd roar of gasping sea and spray flung far,And shoreward swept, where stood the Prince’s car.Three lines of wave together raced, and, fullIn the white crest of them, a wild Sea-BullFlung to the shore, a fell and marvellous Thing.The whole land held his voice, and answeringRoared in each echo. And all we, gazing there,Gazed seeing not; ’twas more than eyes could bear.Then straight upon the team wild terror fell.Howbeit, the Prince, cool-eyed and knowing wellEach changing mood a horse has, gripped the reinsHard in both hands; then as an oarsman strainsUp from his bench, so strained he on the thong,Back in the chariot swinging. But the youngWild steeds bit hard the curb, and fled afar;Nor rein nor guiding hand nor morticed carStayed them at all. For when he veered them round,And aimed their flying feet to grassy ground,In front uprose that Thing, and turned againThe four great coursers, terror-mad. But whenTheir blind rage drove them toward the rocky places,Silent, and ever nearer to the traces,It followed rockward, till one wheel-edge grazed.The chariot tript and flew, and all was mazedIn turmoil. Up went wheel-box with a din,Where the rock jagged, and nave and axle-pin.And there—the long reins round him—there was heDragging, entangled irretrievably.A dear head battering at the chariot side,Sharp rocks, and rippled flesh, and a voice that cried:“Stay, stay, O ye who fattened at my stalls,Dash me not into nothing!—O thou falseCurse of my Father!—Help! Help, whoso can,An innocent, innocent and stainless man!”Many there were that laboured then, I wot,To bear him succour, but could reach him not,Till—who knows how?—at last the tangled reinUnclasped him, and he fell, some little veinOf life still pulsing in him.All beside,The steeds, the hornèd Horror of the Tide,Had vanished—who knows where?—in that wild land.O King, I am a bondsman of thine hand;Yet love nor fear nor duty me shall winTo say thine innocent son bath died in sin.All women born may hang themselves, for me,And swing their dying words from every treeOn Ida! For I know that he was true!

LEADER

O God, so cometh new disaster, newDespair! And no escape from what must be!

THESEUS

Hate of the man thus stricken lifted meAt first to joy at hearing of thy tale;But now, some shame before the Gods, some palePity for mine own blood, bath o’er me come.I laugh not, neither weep, at this fell doom.

HENCHMAN

How then? Behoves it bear him here, or howBest do thy pleasure?—Speak, Lord. Yet if thouWilt mark at all my word, thou wilt not beFierce-hearted to thy child in misery.

THESEUS

Aye, bring him hither. Let me see the faceOf him who durst deny my deep disgraceAnd his own sin; yea, speak with him, and proveHis clear guilt by God’s judgments from above.[The HENCHMAN departs to fetch HIPPOLYTUS; THESEUS sits waiting in stern gloom, while the CHORUS sing. At the close of their song a Divine Figure is seen approaching on a cloud in the air and the voice of ARTEMIS speaks.

CHORUS

Thou comest to bend the prideOf the hearts of God and man,Cypris and by thy side,In earth-encircling span,He of the changing plumes,The Wing that the world illumes,As over the leagues of land flies he,Over the salt and sounding sea.For mad is the heart of Love,And gold the gleam of his wing;And all to the spell thereofBend, when he makes his spring;All life that is wild and youngIn mountain and wave and stream,All that of earth is sprung,Or breathes in the red sunbeam;Yea, and Mankind. O’er all a royal throne,Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!

A VOICE FROM THE CLOUD

O thou that rulest in Aegeus’ Hall,I charge thee, hearken!Yea, it is I,Artemis, Virgin of God most High.Thou bitter King, art thou glad withalFor thy murdered son?For thine ear bent low to a lying Queen,For thine heart so swift amid things unseen?Lo, all may see what end thou hast won!Go, sink thine head in the waste abyss;Or aloft to another world than this,Birdwise with wings,Fly far to thine hiding,Far over this blood that clots and clings;For in righteous men and in holy thingsNo rest is thine nor abiding![The cloud has become stationary in the air.Hear, Theseus, all the story of thy grief!Verily, I bring but anguish, not relief;Yet, ’twas for this I came, to show how highAnd clean was thy son’s heart, that he may dieHonoured of men; aye, and to tell no lessThe frenzy, or in some sort the nobleness,Of thy dead wife. One Spirit there is, whom weThat know the joy of white virginity,Most hate in heaven. She sent her fire to runIn Phædra’s veins, so that she loved thy son.Yet strove she long with love, and in the stressFell not, till by her Nurse’s craftinessBetrayed, who stole, with oaths of secrecy,To entreat thy son. And he, most righteously,Nor did her will, nor, when thy railing scornBeat on him, broke the oath that he had sworn,For God’s sake. And thy Phædra, panic-eyed,Wrote a false writ, and slew thy son, and died,Lying; but thou wast nimble to believe![THESEUS, at first bewildered, then dumfounded, now utters a deep groan.It stings thee, Theseus?—Nay, hear on, and grieveYet sorer. Wottest thou three prayers were thineOf sure fulfilment, from thy Sire divine?Hast thou no foes about thee, then, that one—Thou vile King!—must be turned against thy son?The deed was thine. Thy Sea-born Sire but heardThe call of prayer, and bowed him to his word.But thou in his eyes and in mine art foundEvil, who wouldst not think, nor probe, nor soundThe deeps of prophet’s lore, nor day by dayLeave Time to search; but, swifter than man may,Let loose the curse to slay thine innocent son!

THESEUS

O Goddess, let me die!

ARTEMIS

Nay; thou hast doneA heavy wrong; yet even beyond this illAbides for thee forgiveness. ’Twas the willOf Cypris that these evil things should be,Sating her wrath. And this immutablyHath Zeus ordained in heaven no God may thwartA God’s fixed will; we grieve but stand apart.Else, but for fear of the Great Father’s blame,Never had I to such extreme of shameBowed me, be sure, as here to stand and seeSlain him I loved best of mortality!Thy fault, O King, its ignorance sunders wideFrom very wickedness; and she who diedBy death the more disarmed thee, making dumbThe voice of question. And the storm has comeMost bitterly of all on thee! Yet IHave mine own sorrow, too. When good men die,There is no joy in heaven, albeit our ireOn child and house of the evil falls like fire.[A throng is seen approaching; HIPPOLYTUS enters, supported by his attendants.

CHORUS

Lo, it is he! The bright young headYet upright there!Ah, the torn flesh and the blood-stained hair;Alas for the kindred’s trouble!It falls as fire from a God’s hand sped,Two deaths, and mourning double.

HIPPOLYTUS

Ah, pain, pain, pain!O unrighteous curse! O unrighteous sire!No hope.—My head is stabbed with fire,And a leaping spasm about my brain.Stay, let me rest. I can no more.O fell, fell steeds that my own hand fed,Have ye maimed me and slain, that loved me of yore?—Soft there, ye thralls! No trembling handsAs ye lift me, now!—Who is that that standsAt the right?—Now firm, and with measured tread,Lift one accursèd and stricken soreBy a father’s sinning.Thou, Zeus, dost see me? Yea, it is I;The proud and pure, the server of God,The white and shining in sanctity!To a visible death, to an open sod,I walk my ways;And all the labour of saintly daysLost, lost, without meaning!Ah God, it crawlsThis agony, over me!Let be, ye thralls!Come, Death, and cover me:Come, O thou Healer blestBut a little more,And my soul is clear,And the anguish o’er!Oh, a spear, a spear!To rend my soul to its rest!Oh, strange, false Curse! Was there some blood-stained head,Some father of my line, unpunishèd,Whose guilt lived in his kin,And passed, and slept, till after this long dayIt lights.… Oh, why on me? Me, far awayAnd innocent of sin?O words that cannot save!When will this breathing end in that last deepPain that is painlessness? ’Tis sleep I crave.When wilt thou bring me sleep,Thou dark and midnight magic of the grave!

ARTEMIS

Sore-stricken man, bethink thee in this stress,Thou dost but die for thine own nobleness.

HIPPOLYTUS

Ah!O breath of heavenly fragrance! Though my painBurns, I can feel thee and find rest again.The Goddess Artemis is with me here.

ARTEMIS

With thee and loving thee, poor sufferer!

HIPPOLYTUS

Dost see me, Mistress, nearing my last sleep?

ARTEMIS

Aye, and would weep for thee, if Gods could weep.

HIPPOLYTUS

Who now shall hunt with thee or hold thy quiver?

ARTEMIS

He dies; but my love cleaves to him for ever.

HIPPOLYTUS

Who guide thy chariot, keep thy shrine-flowers fresh?

ARTEMIS

The accursed Cyprian caught him in her mesh!

HIPPOLYTUS

The Cyprian? Now I see it!—Aye, ’twas she.

ARTEMIS

She missed her worship, loathed thy chastity!

HIPPOLYTUS

Three lives by her one hand! ’Tis all clear now.

ARTEMIS

Yea, three; thy father and his Queen and thou.

HIPPOLYTUS

My father; yea, he too is pitiable!

ARTEMIS

A plotting Goddess tripped him, and he fell.

Father, where art thou?… Oh, thou sufferest sore!