ACT IV

[_Enter_ Messenger.]

_Messenger:_ O slavery, thou hard and bitter lot, Why must I voice these woes unspeakable?

_Theseus:_ Fear not, but boldly tell the worst mischance; For mine a heart not unprepared for grief. _Messenger:_ My tongue can find no words to voice its woe. 955

_Theseus:_ But speak, what evil fortune still besets My shattered house?

_Messenger:_ Hippolytus is dead!

_Theseus:_ The father knew long since his son had died; But now the adulterer has met his end. Tell me, I pray, the manner of his death.

_Messenger:_ When, fleeing forth, he left the city's walls, 1000 With maddened speed he hurried on his way, And quickly yoked his chargers to his car, And curbed them to his will with close-drawn reins. And then, with much wild speech, and cursing loud His native land, oft calling on his sire, 1005 He fiercely shook the reins above his steeds; When suddenly, far out the vast sea roared, And heaved itself to heaven. No wind was there To stir the sea, no quarter of the sky Broke in upon its peace; the rising waves Were by their own peculiar tempest raised. 1010 No blast so great had ever stirred the straits Of Sicily, nor had the deep e'er swelled With such wild rage before the north wind's breath, When high cliffs trembled with the shock of waves, And hoary foam smote high Leucate's top. The sea then rose into a mighty heap, 1015 And, big with monstrous birth, was landward borne. For no ship's wrecking was this swelling pest Intended; landward was its aim. The flood Rolled shoreward heavily, something unknown Within its laden bosom carrying. What land, new born, will lift its head aloft? 1020 Is some new island of the Cyclades Arising? Now the rocky heights are hid, Held sacred to the Epidaurian god, And those high crags well known for Sciron's crime; No longer can be seen that land whose shores Are washed by double seas. While in amaze 1025 We look in fear and wonder, suddenly The whole sea bellows, and on every side The towering cliffs re-echo with the roar; While all their tops the leaping spray bedews. The deep spouts forth and vomits up its waves In alternating streams, like some huge whale 1030 Which roves the ocean, spouting up the floods. Then did that mound of waters strongly heave And break itself, and threw upon the shore A thing more terrible than all our fears. The sea itself rushed landward, following That monstrous thing. I shudder at the thought. What form and bearing had the monster huge! 1035 A bull it was in form, with dark-green neck Uplifted high, its lofty front adorned With verdant mane. Its ears with shaggy hair Were rough; its horns with changing color flashed, Such as the lord of some fierce herd would have, Both earth and ocean-born. He vomits flames; 1040 With flames his fierce eyes gleam. His glossy neck Great couch-like muscles shows, and as he breathes, His spreading nostrils quiver with the blast Of his deep panting. Breast and dewlap hang All green with clinging moss; and on his sides Red lichens cling. His hinder parts appear 1045 In monstrous shape, and like some scaly fish His vast and shapeless members drag along; As are those monsters of the distant seas Which swallow ships, and spout[22] them forth again. The country-side was panic stricken; herds 1050 In frenzied terror scattered through the fields; Nor did the herdsmen think to follow them. The wild beasts in the forest pastures fled In all directions, and the hunters shook With deadly fear. Hippolytus alone Was not afraid, but curbed his frantic steeds 1055 With close-drawn reins, and with his well-known voice He cheered them on. The road to Argos[23] runs Precipitous along the broken hills, On one side bordered by the roaring sea. Here does that massive monster whet himself And kindle hot his wrath; then, when he felt His courage strong within his breast, and when His power to attempt the strife he had rehearsed, 1060 He charged Hippolytus with headlong course, The ground scarce touching with his bounding feet; And, fearful, stopped before the trembling steeds. But this thy son, with savage countenance, Stood steadfast, threatening, before the foe. His features changed not, while he thundered loud: 1065 "This empty terror cannot daunt my soul, For 'twas my father's task to vanquish bulls." But straightway, disobedient to the reins, The horses hurried off the car. And now, The highway leaving, maddened by their fear, They plunged along where'er their terror led, 1070 And took their way among the rocky fields. But he, their driver, as some captain strong Holds straight his bark upon the boisterous sea, Lest she oppose her side against the waves, And by his art escapes the yawning floods; Not otherwise he guides the whirling car. 1075 For now with tight-drawn reins he curbs his steeds, And now upon their backs he plies the lash. But doggedly that monster kept along, Now running by their side, now leaping straight Upon them as they came, from every hand Great fear inspiring. Soon all further flight 1080 Was checked; for that dread, hornéd, ocean beast With lowering front charged full against their course. Then, truly, did the horses, wild with fear, Break loose from all control; and from the yoke They madly struggled to withdraw their necks, Their master hurling to their stamping feet. Headlong among the lossened reins he fell, 1085 His form all tangled in their clinging strands. The more he struggled to release himself The tighter those relentless fetters bound. The steeds perceived what they had done, and now, With empty car, and no one mastering them, They ran where terror bade. Just so, of old, Not recognizing their accustomed load, 1090 And hot with anger that the car of day Had been entrusted to a spurious sun, The steeds of Phoebus hurled young Phaëthon Far through the airs of heaven in wandering course. Now far and wide he stains the fields with blood, His head rebounding from the smitten rocks. The bramble thickets pluck away his hair, 1095 And that fair face is bruised upon the stones. His fatal beauty which had been his bane, Is ruined now by many a wound. His limbs Are dragged along upon the flying wheels. At last, his bleeding trunk upon a charred And pointed stake is caught, pierced through the groin; And for a little, by its master held, 1100 The car stood still. The horses by that wound Were held awhile, but soon they break delay-- And break their master too. While on they rush, The whipping branches cut his dying form, The rough and thorny brambles tear his flesh, And every bush retains its part of him. Now bands of servants scour those woeful fields, 1105 Those places where Hippolytus was dragged, And where his bloody trail directs the way; And sorrowing dogs trace out their master's limbs. But not as yet has all this careful toil Of grieving friends sufficed to gather all. 1110 And has it come to this, that glorious form? But now the partner of his father's realm, And his acknowledged heir, illustrious youth, Who shone refulgent like the stars--behold His scattered fragments for the funeral pile They gather up and heap them on the bier!

_Theseus:_ O mother Nature, all too potent thou! How firmly dost thou hold me by the ties 1115 Of blood! How thou dost force me to obey Thy will! I wished to slay my guilty son, While yet he lived; but now I mourn his loss.

_Messenger:_ One may not rightly mourn what he has willed.[24]

_Theseus:_ This is indeed the crowning woe, I think, When chance fulfils the prayers we should not make. 1120

_Messenger:_ If still you hate your son, why weep for him?

_Theseus:_ Because I slew, not lost my son, I weep.

* * * * *

_Chorus:_ How on the wheel of circumstance We mortals whirl! 'Gainst humble folk Does fate more gently rage, and God More lightly smites the lightly blest. 1125 A life in dim retirement spent Insures a peaceful soul; and he Who in a lowly cottage dwells May live to tranquil age at last. The mountain tops that pierce the skies, Feel all the stormy winds that blow, Fierce Eurus, Notus, and the threats Of Boreas, and Corus too, 1130 Storm bringer. The vale low lying seldom feels The thunder's stroke; but Caucasus, The huge, and the lofty Phrygian groves Of mother Cybele have felt The bolts of Jove the Thunderer. 1135 For Jupiter in jealousy Attacks the heights too near his skies; But never is the humble roof Uptorn by jealous heaven's assaults. Round mighty kings and homes of kings 1140 He thunders. The passing hour on doubtful wings Flits ever; nor may any claim Swift Fortune's pledge. Behold our king, Who sees at last the glowing stars And light of day, the gloom of hell Behind him left, a sad return 1145 Laments; for this his welcome home He finds more sorrowful by far Than dismal, dark Avernus' self. O Pallas, by the Athenian race In reverence held, that once again Thy Theseus sees the light of day, 1150 And has escaped the pools of Styx, Thou owest naught to greedy Dis; For still the number of the shades Within the infernal tyrant's power Remains the same. But why the sounds of wailing that we hear? And what would Phaedra with her naked sword? 1155

FOOTNOTES:

[22] Reading, _reddit_.

[23] Reading, _Argos_.

[24] Reading, _haud quisquam honeste flere, quod voluit, potest_.