Hippolytus; The Bacchae Part 9

Hear, Theseus, all the story of thy grief!

Verily, I bring but anguish, not relief; Yet, 'twas for this I came, to show how high And clean was thy son's heart, that he may die Honoured of men; aye, and to tell no less The frenzy, or in some sort the n.o.bleness, Of thy dead wife. One Spirit there is, whom we That know the joy of white virginity, Most hate in heaven. She sent her fire to run In Phaedra's veins, so that she loved thy son.

Yet strove she long with love, and in the stress Fell not, till by her Nurse's craftiness Betrayed, who stole, with oaths of secrecy, To entreat thy son. And he, most righteously, Nor did her will, nor, when thy railing scorn Beat on him, broke the oath that he had sworn, For G.o.d's sake. And thy Phaedra, 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 grieve Yet sorer. Wottest thou three prayers were thine Of 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 heard The call of prayer, and bowed him to his word.

But thou in his eyes and in mine art found Evil, who wouldst not think, nor probe, nor sound The deeps of prophet's lore, nor day by day Leave Time to search; but swifter than man may, Let loose the curse to slay thine innocent son!

THESEUS O G.o.ddess, let me die!

ARTEMIS Nay; thou hast done A heavy wrong; yet even beyond this ill Abides for thee forgiveness. 'Twas the will Of Cypris that these evil things should be, Sating her wrath. And this immutably Hath Zeus ordained in heaven: no G.o.d may thwart A G.o.d'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 shame Bowed me, be sure, as here to stand and see Slain him I loved best of mortality!

Thy fault, O King, its ignorance sunders wide From very wickedness; and she who died By death the more disarmed thee, making dumb The voice of question. And the storm has come Most bitterly of all on thee! Yet I Have mine own sorrow, too. When good men die, There is no joy in heaven, albeit our ire On 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 head Yet upright there!

Ah the torn flesh and the blood-stained hair; Alas for the kindred's trouble!

It falls as fire from a G.o.d'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 hands As ye lift me, now!--Who is that that stands At the right?--Now firm, and with measured tread, Lift one accursed and stricken sore By a father's sinning.

Thou, Zeus, dost see me? Yea, it is I; The proud and pure, the server of G.o.d, The white and s.h.i.+ning in sanct.i.ty!

To a visible death, to an open sod, I walk my ways; And all the labour of saintly days Lost, lost, without meaning!

Ah G.o.d, it crawls This agony, over me!

Let be, ye thralls!

Come, Death, and cover me: Come, O thou Healer blest!

But 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, unpunished, Whose guilt lived in his kin, And pa.s.sed, and slept, till after this long day It lights... Oh, why on me? Me, far away And innocent of sin?

O words that cannot save!

When will this breathing end in that last deep Pain 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 n.o.bleness.

HIPPOLYTUS Ah!

O breath of heavenly fragrance! Though my pain Burns, I can feel thee and find rest again.

The G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ds 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 mes.h.!.+

HIPPOLYTUS The Cyprian? Now I see it!--Aye, 'twas she.

ARTEMIS She missed her wors.h.i.+p, loathed thy chast.i.ty!

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 G.o.ddess tripped him, and he fell.

HIPPOLYTUS Father, where art thou? ... Oh, thou sufferest sore!

THESEUS Even unto death, child. There is joy no more.

HIPPOLYTUS I pity thee in this coil; aye, more than me.

THESEUS Would I could lie there dead instead of thee!

HIPPOLYTUS Oh, bitter bounty of Poseidon's love!

THESEUS Would G.o.d my lips had never breathed thereof!

HIPPOLYTUS (_gently_) Nay, thine own rage had slain me then, some wise!

THESEUS A lying spirit had made blind mine eyes!

HIPPOLYTUS Ah me!

Would that a mortal's curse could reach to G.o.d!

ARTEMIS Let be! For not, though deep beneath the sod Thou liest, not unrequited nor unsung Shall this fell stroke, from Cypris' rancour sprung, Quell thee, mine own, the saintly and the true!

My hand shall win its vengeance through and through, Piercing with flawless shaft what heart soe'er Of all men living is most dear to Her.

Yea, and to thee, for this sore travail's sake, Honours most high in Trozen will I make; For yokeless maids before their bridal night Shall shear for thee their tresses; and a rite Of honouring tears be thine in ceaseless store; And virgin's thoughts in music evermore Turn toward thee, and praise thee in the Song Of Phaedra's far-famed love and thy great wrong.

O seed of ancient Aegeus, bend thee now And clasp thy son. Aye, hold and fear not thou!

Not knowingly hast thou slain him; and man's way, When G.o.ds send error, needs must fall astray.