Chapter XXIV: 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_.