Six Tragedies Read online

  680

  why is your torch not burning up the world?

  Thunder upon me, pierce me, let swift fire burn me up,

  now! I am evil, I deserve to die: I was attractive

  to my stepmother. — So, am I good for adultery?

  Did I seem easy fodder to fulfil your fantasies,

  the only man for such a crime? Is this restraint’s reward?

  No woman in the world can match your wickedness!

  You have dared an evil worse than your mother’s,* mother

  of the monster. You are worse. She only polluted

  herself with her own foul lust; she did not talk about it;

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  * * *

  22

  phaedra

  only the birth of the two-formed creature revealed her crime.

  The child confessed to the mother’s sin by its scary face.

  It was a hybrid monster baby. You are child of the very same

  womb.

  O how lucky, triple-blessed by fate, are those

  who are destroyed and killed and given up to death

  by hatred and betrayal. Father, I envy you.

  This stepmother is a worse evil, by far, than the Colchian.*

  phaedra Yes, I also see the patterns in our history.

  We want what we should run from. But I cannot control myself.

  I would follow you through fire and raging seas,

  700

  over rocks, through rivers, which a rushing flood has seized,

  wherever you may go, I am swept there, mad with love.

  Proud boy, I beg you again, I kneel before you.

  hippolytus Take your dirty, unchaste hands away from my

  clean body.

  Do not touch me. What is this? Again she is trying to embrace me?

  Let me draw my sword, she will get the punishment she deserves.

  Look now! I have grabbed her hair with my left hand, pulled back

  her filthy head. No sacrificial blood shed at this altar

  has been spilt more justly, Diana of the crossbow.*

  phaedra Hippolytus, now you have answered my dearest wish: 710

  you have restored my sanity. This is better than I hoped for,

  that I should die at your hands, and keep my purity.

  hippolytus Go, stay alive, rather than get your wish! And this

  tainted sword, I have thrown it away from me. My body is

  pure. —

  What great river Tanais can wash me clean, or what Maeotis*

  with its barbarous waves rushing down to the Pontic Sea?

  Not even Neptune, father to the whole Ocean,

  could wash away so great a sin.* O woods, O beasts!

  nurse Her guilt is out. Why slow to act, my soul?

  We will flip the crime around, accuse him

  720

  of adultery: crime must be hidden by crime.

  When you are afraid, the safest way is straight ahead.

  Whether we initiated crime or suffered it,

  what witness could know, when guilt is hidden?

  Help! Help! Come, Athenian women, faithful servants,

  bring help! Hippolytus — the rapist! He is assaulting us!

  * * *

  phaedra

  23

  He is insistent, he threatens us with fear of death!

  He terrifies a modest woman with his sword! Oh! Now he is

  suddenly gone!

  He left his sword in his great fearful rush to get away.

  I will keep it as a proof of what he did. My poor mistress!

  730

  First look after her. But let her hair stay all bedraggled and torn,

  just as it is — these are the marks which prove this dreadful

  crime.

  Hurry, go to the city! Mistress, now wake up!

  Why do you hurt yourself, not meet our eyes?

  Impurity is caused by attitude, not fate.

  chorus Gone! She runs like a storm turned crazy

  faster than clouds massed up by the wind,

  faster her feet than a ravening flame

  of a comet whipped up by the winds, as it trails

  a tail of fire.

  740

  Ancient history gasps with wonder

  comparing the beauty of former days with yours.

  Your loveliness shines as much more brightly

  as the full moon glows with light,

  her fires united, horns touched in a circle,

  as the goddess Diana rides on her rushing chariot,

  face aglow as she swoops through the night,

  while the lesser stars can show themselves no more.

  So when the shadows first grow long,

  the messenger of night, fresh from his bath

  750

  of darkness, comes as Hesperus, and as night fades

  as Lucifer again.*

  And you, Bacchus, bringing your thyrsus* from India,

  though you are young forever, your hair forever uncut,

  and can scare your tigers with your ivy rod,

  your horned head* covered in a fez,

  you cannot beat Hippolytus, with his tangly hair.

  There is proof that you should not get too vain of your looks:

  a story well known to the world,

  that Phaedra’s sister loved somebody more than Bacchus.*

  760

  Beauty is a questionable gift for mortals,

  a temporary blessing, which lasts a little while,

  then swiftly slips away on running feet.

  * * *

  24

  phaedra

  Briefer than meadows, lovely in the spring,

  which the blast of summer’s heat will lay to waste

  when the noon-time of the solstice burns,

  and night runs on a shorter track.

  Lilies droop, their leaves are faded,

  lovely roses bow their heads,

  when the colour that shone in their delicate cheeks

  770

  is gone in an instant. Every single day

  steals a part of beauty’s loveliness.

  Beauty is a fleeting thing; what wise man trusts

  in a breakable blessing? While you have it, use it.

  Silently time sneaks up on you, each hour

  gone is followed by a worse one.

  Why do you go to the wilderness? Beauty

  is no safer in places without paths. They will circle around you

  in a secluded glade, when noon is high,

  those bad girls, the lustful water-nymphs,

  780

  who have a habit of catching pretty boys* in fountains.

  And hot with desire the nymphs of the wood

  will pounce upon you as you sleep;

  so will Pan, who lurks in the mountains.

  Or the moon, the younger sister of the stars of Arcady,

  looking down on you from her starry cycle,

  will no longer have the power to steer her bright white horses.

  See, just now she blushed, though no dark cloud

  passed over her shining face.

  We were worried at the goddess’ trouble,

  790

  thinking her dragged to earth by Thessalian spells,

  and we dinned on our cymbals;* but she was concerned with you,

  you were the reason she took so long, for while she watched you

  the goddess of night suspended her speedy journey.

  If the cold were more gentle as it bites his face,

  and if the sun touched it less often,

  it would shine brighter than Parian marble.

  His rough face is so beautifully masculine!

  How lovely and mature, his heavy frown!

  You could compare his glistening shoulders with Apollo;

  800

  the god’s long hair pours down his back,

  as covering and decoration, never braided up;

  * *
*

  phaedra

  25

  Hippolytus, your hair is shorter, shaggier,

  but it suits you. Warlike and fearsome gods

  are no match for you in your strength

  and as for the size of your body — enormous!

  Though still a young man you are Hercules’ height,

  and your chest is wider than Mars, god of war.

  If you chose to ride on the back of a horn-hoofed horse,

  even Spartan Cyllarus,* your hands

  810

  would guide the reins more skilfully than Castor.

  Should you stretch the sling out in the tips of your fingers,

  and fire the dart with all your strength,

  the Cretans, masters of the javelin,

  could not shoot the slim spear so far.

  Or if you wish to scatter arrows to the sky

  as the Parthians do, not one will come to earth

  without a bird: plunged in the still-warm belly,

  your shots will bring back plunder from the middle of the clouds.

  Seldom has beauty come to men unpunished.

  820

  Just look at history. May a kindlier god

  pass you over, keeping you safe, and may your famous looks

  shift to the shapelessness of bent old age.

  ACT THREE

  chorus This woman is hysterical; what mad thing will she dare?

  She plans a horrible crime against an innocent youth.

  What wickedness! She tears her hair, she ruins all her braids,

  she wets her cheeks, hoping to be believed:

  she uses all her feminine wiles for the trick.

  But who is this, whose looks have dignity

  worthy of a king, whose head is held up high?

  830

  He would look just like Theseus, Pittheus’ child,

  except his cheeks are white, his face is drawn,

  his hair sticks out in matted, dirty tufts.

  Oh! It is him, it is Theseus. He has come back to the world.

  theseus At last I have escaped from the land of eternal night

  the world which shadows the ghosts in their giant jail.

  My eyes can scarcely bear the day they longed for.

  * * *

  26

  phaedra

  When four times Eleusis had received Triptolemus’ gift*

  and four times the scale had weighed out day to match the

  night,*

  double trouble came to me, an unfamiliar fate,

  840

  as I straddled the sufferings of life and death.

  One part of life remained to me when I was dead:

  I felt my sufferings. Hercules was the reason:

  after he grabbed the Dog and brought him back from Hell,

  he brought me also to the upper air.

  But I was not the man I used to be: so tired,

  my old strength gone, I staggered. Oh, how hard

  to seek the distant sky from the bottom depths of Hell,

  at once escaping death and following Hercules.

  What sound of lamentation do I hear?

  850

  Somebody tell me. Tears, sorrow and grief ?

  Is the doorway of my home a place of mourning?

  It makes sense: this welcome suits a guest from Hades.

  nurse Phaedra is fixated on the thought of suicide!

  I try with tears to stop her, but no, she is bent on death.

  theseus But what is her motive? Why die when her husband

  is back?

  nurse That is the very reason she wants an early death.

  theseus Your puzzling words must hide some mystery.

  Reveal the truth! What is she upset about?

  nurse She will tell nobody. She hides her sorrow:

  860

  determined to take her secret with her to the grave.

  So hurry, hurry, please! Now is the time for speed.

  theseus Unlatch the doors and open up the palace!

  O wife, companion of my marriage bed, is this the way

  you welcome the man you longed for, now you finally see his face?

  Will you not set down your sword, and give me back

  my life? Now tell me, what made you seek death?

  phaedra Theseus, you are a generous man. I beg you, by your

  sceptre,

  by your children and descendants, by your own return

  and by the ashes of my own dead body,

  870

  let me die.

  theseus But why must you do this?

  phaedra If the reason is spoken, my death will be in vain.

  * * *

  phaedra

  27

  theseus Nobody will hear it except me.

  phaedra A chaste wife fears only her husband’s ears.

  theseus Speak! Trust me; your secret will be safe in my heart.

  phaedra If you want to keep a secret, never share it.

  theseus You do not even have a means to die.

  phaedra One who wants to die can never lack the means.

  theseus What is the crime for which you must pay by death?

  phaedra My life.

  theseus

  But do my tears mean nothing to you?

  880

  phaedra The perfect death is dying mourned by loved ones.

  theseus She refuses to talk. — Time to tie up the old nurse

  and whip her; she will soon reveal the secret.

  Chain her up! A beating will draw out

  what her mind hides.

  phaedra

  Stop! I will tell you myself.

  theseus Why are you still looking sad and turning away your face,

  why are you holding up your dress to hide your tears?

  phaedra O maker of celestial gods, I call upon you,

  and upon you, the shining orb of heavenly light;

  our family depends upon your daily dawning.

  890

  I resisted his pleas, my heart did not yield

  to physical threats; but my body put up with the violence.

  My blood will wash away this taint to purity.

  theseus Who, I beg you, was the man who has ruined our good

  name?

  phaedra The one you would least expect.

  theseus

  I am waiting to hear

  who it was.

  phaedra This sword will tell you. Frightened by the noise,

  fearful that people would crowd to help, the rapist left it behind.

  theseus What do I see? Oh no! What horror is this?

  The gleam of the ivory hilt is marked with the royal crest

  of my forebears, the proud mark of the Athenian family.

  900

  But he — where did he go?

  phaedra

  The servants here saw him

  scared and running away as fast as he could.

  theseus By sacred Duty, by the Lord of the sky,

  and by the Ruler of the second lot,* the sea,

  where did this stain upon our house come from?

  * * *

  28

  phaedra

  Can he have come from Greece? Or from a barbarian land,

  Scythia or Colchis? Our family is regressing,

  tainted blood reverts to its ancestry.

  That madness is typical of the warrior race:

  first despising sex, then whoring out

  910

  that long-preserved virginity. What a family,

  never subdued by a better country’s laws!

  Even animals avoid the taint of incest,

  and an unconscious shame preserves the rules of mating.

  Where is his arrogance now, his lying face,

  his shabby clothes, in that old-fashioned style,

  his gloomy ways, his pompous moodiness?

  How life deceives us! You hid your real feelings,

  you put a pretty face on your base
thoughts;

  shame hid your shamelessness, coolness hid your daring,

  920

  duty hid your wickedness. False men profess their truth,

  soft sybarites act tough. You lived in the woods,

  like an animal, untouched, chaste, innocent:

  were you keeping yourself for me? Did you want

  to use my bed to first become a man? What wickedness!

  Now I am grateful to the powers above

  that I struck my Antiope* and killed her.

  I did not go down to the caves of Styx and leave

  your mother to you. Run far away in exile,

  run all through the world; you can go to the ends of the earth 930

  where the land gives way to the worlds of endless sea,

  and to the land which is upside-down under our feet;

  you can cross the terrible realms of the towering Pole,

  to the world hidden deep and distant in the north,

  you can stand above the storms and snowy drifts

  and as you leave the icy North Wind’s threats

  raging behind you, you will pay for your crimes.

  I will pursue you in your exile everywhere you hide;

  I will trace out the distant places, break all locks,

  reveal your secret dens all over the world; no place

  can stop me.

  940

  You know where I have been. Where I cannot shoot weapons

  I will shoot prayers: my ocean father* promised

  he would fulfil three wishes for me: this he swore

  * * *

  phaedra

  29

  by the inviolable river Styx.

  Go on, Lord of the Ocean, grant the bitter gift!

  May Hippolytus not see another shining day,

  may my son go down to the ghosts who hate his father.

  Now, Father, give your son this ghastly gift:

  I never would have used the power of this last wish,

  unless oppressed by such extreme disaster.

  950

  In the depths of Tartarus and awful Dis,

  and amid all the threatenings of Hell,

  I did not make a wish; now keep your promise:

  Father, why do you hesitate? Why are the waves still calm?

  Now let the winds bring forth black clouds,

  knit up the night, rip out the stars and sky,

  pour forth the ocean, call out all the Mer-Folk,

  swell up your seas and summon the deepest waves.

  chorus Nature, great mother of the gods,

  and you, Lord of the sky with all its fires,

  960

  who seize the stars whirled swiftly round the world,

  and guide the revolutions of the planets,

  turning the poles on the earth’s quick hinge,