Four Tragedies and Octavia

by Seneca

  Denied to greater crimes – think of the price,

  The penalty within, the conscious heart’s

  Deep dread, the mind burdened with guilt, the soul

  That dare not face itself. Some may have sinned

  With safety, none with conscience unperturbed.1

  No – you must kill these fires of impious love,

  This crime which every barbarous land abhors,

  From which the Getan nomads, and the Scythian

  Wild tribes and Taurian savages abstain

  Purge your thoughts clean of this abomination;

  Learn from your mother; dare no strange affection.

  Do you intend to be the common spouse

  Of son and father, to conceive in sin

  Two husbands’ progeny at once?… Go, then!

  Confound all nature with your wicked passions!

  Let there be monsters still! Your brother’s house2

  Requires a tenant. Has it come to this?

  Will nature waive her laws, will the world hear

  Of monstrous prodigies each time love comes

  To a Cretan woman?

  PHAEDRA: All you say is true,

  Good nurse. Unreason drives me into evil.

  I walk upon the brink with open eyes;

  Wise counsel calls, but I cannot turn back

  To hear it; when a sailor tries to drive

  His laden vessel counter to the tides,

  His toil is all in vain, his helpless ship

  Swims at the mercy of the current. Reason?…

  What good can reason do? Unreason reigns

  Supreme, a potent god commands my heart,

  The invincible winged god, who rules all earth,

  Who strikes and scorches Jove with his fierce fire.

  The God of War has felt that flame; the forger

  Of triple thunderbolts himself has felt it;

  The feeder of the never-sleeping furnace

  In Etna’s depths can feel this tiny flame;

  Phoebus is lord of the bow, but one small boy

  With more unerring aim can shoot an arrow

  Straight to his heart, for he is everywhere,

  Menacing heaven and earth.

  NURSE: That love is god

  Is the vile fiction of unbridled lust

  Which, for its licence, gives to lawless passion

  The name of an imagined deity.

  Venus from Eryx, we are to believe,

  Sends her son wandering over all the earth,

  And he, skyborne, shoots out his wicked darts

  From one small hand – the littlest of the gods

  Endowed with such almighty power! Vain fancies

  Conceived by crazy minds, they are all false!

  Venus’ divinity and Cupid’s arrows!

  Too much contentment and prosperity,

  And self-indulgence, lead to new desires;

  Then lust comes in, good fortune’s fatal friend;

  Everyday fare no longer satisfies,

  Plain houses and cheap ware are not enough.

  Why, tell me, does this sickness seldom taint

  A humble home but strikes where life is soft?

  Why is pure love found under lowly roofs,

  And why do common people generally

  Have wholesome appetites where modest means

  Teach self-control – while wealth, propped up by power,

  Always asks more than its fair share of things?

  A man who can do much would like to do

  More than he can. But there – you know what conduct

  Is fitting for the great ones of the land;

  Await your lord’s return with fear and reverence.

  PHAEDRA: I fear no man’s return. Love is my sovereign.

  And when has any man set eyes again

  Upon this bowl of sky, having descended

  Once to the silence of perpetual night?

  NURSE: Never trust Pluto; though he keeps the key

  Of his infernal realm, and has his hound

  To guard the gates of death beside the Styx,

  If any man can find the way, despite him,

  That man is Theseus; he will find the way.

  PHAEDRA: Perhaps he will forgive me for my love.

  NURSE: He had no mercy for a virtuous wife;

  That foreign one, Antiope, had cause

  To know his wrath. But, be it possible

  To charm an angry husband, who of us

  Will move the obstinate young man? Women…

  He hates the whole sex, he avoids them all,

  He has no heart, he dedicates his youth

  To single life; marriage is not for him –

  Which proves him a true Amazonian.

  PHAEDRA: Ah, let him never leave the white hillsides,

  The rugged rocks down which he lightly leaps,

  Across the mountains and through thickest woods

  I mean to follow him.

  NURSE: And will he stop

  To pay attention to your blandishments?

  Will he exchange his virgin exercises

  For the illicit rites of Venus? Will

  His hatred cease for you, when, very like,

  It is for hate of you he hates all women?

  No prayers can ever turn that man.

  PHAEDRA: He is

  A creature of the wild; have we not known

  Wild creatures to be overcome by love?

  NURSE: He’ll run from you –

  PHAEDRA: – run, even through the sea,

  I’ll follow still.

  NURSE: Do you forget your father?

  PHAEDRA: No, nor my mother.

  NURSE: But he hates all women.

  PHAEDRA: The less I’ll fear a rival.

  NURSE: And your husband

  Will soon be here.

  PHAEDRA: What, with Peirithous?

  NURSE: Your father will be here.

  PHAEDRA: He will have pity,

  The father of Ariadne.

  NURSE: Oh, by this heart

  Worn out with age and care, these silvered hairs,

  This breast you loved, I do implore you, child,

  To stop this folly. Be your own best friend;

  The wish for health is half the remedy.

  PHAEDRA: Well, have your way. Shame and nobility

  Live in me still. If love will not obey,

  It must be vanquished; honour shall be kept

  Unstained. One way, then, only one way out

  Of danger still remains. I’ll join my husband.

  By death I shall avert transgression.

  NURSE: No!

  That is too rash; restrain that impulse, child!

  Hold these hot thoughts in check. Yourself to say

  That you deserve to die, is proof enough

  That you deserve to live.

  PHAEDRA: But I must die,

  Of that I am resolved. The manner, how,

  Is yet to find. A noose? A sword? A leap

  Precipitate from the high rock of Pallas?

  NURSE: Leap to your death? Shall these old bones allow it?

  Curb that wild will. No one returns from death.

  PHAEDRA: No one that means to die, and ought to die,

  Can be forbidden to die. This hand must fight

  To save my honour.

  NURSE: Mistress, only joy

  Of my spent age, hear me: is your heart heavy

  With this immoderate passion? Then ignore

  The tongue of reputation. Reputation

  Takes no account of truth; it often harms

  The innocent, and treats the guilty well.

  This is what you must do, try out the strength

  Of that perverse austerity. I’ll do it;

  I’ll speak to the young savage presently

  And bend the stiffness of his stubborn will.

  CHORUS

  O daughter of the never gentle sea,

  Goddess divine, mother of Cupids twain
–

  For twofold is his power; with fire

  And arrows sharp he plays

  His wanton game,

  A smile upon his wicked face

  As he prepares his bow

  With never erring aim.

  He can send madness to consume the heart,

  A flame of hidden fire to dry the blood.

  His wound makes little show,

  But eats into the secret soul.

  He is a boy who gives his enemy

  No peace; the wide world over,

  Ever alert, he makes his arrows fly.

  The land that sees the sun newborn, the land

  Beside the western gates,

  The lands that burn under the Crab,

  And those that the wild plainsman cultivates

  Under the cold Great Bear –

  Love’s fire is everywhere.

  Love stirs the leaping flame of youth,

  And warms the dying ash of age,

  Kindles the first fire in a maiden’s heart,

  Brings gods from heaven to walk the earth

  In strange disguises.

  Phoebus came down to Thessaly,1

  To be a neatherd; left his lyre and quill,

  And learnt to use a scaled reed-pipe

  To call the cattle home.

  Time and again, the very god who made

  Heaven and the clouds, assumed a humbler shape:2

  A bird, with white wings waving –

  A voice, sweeter than any swan’s last song –

  A lusty grim-faced bull, stooping to carry

  A playful maiden on his back and away

  To a world his brother owned, not his;

  In he plunged and mastered it,

  Paddling with his hoofs for oars, anxious

  As any boatman for the safety

  Of his stolen cargo.

  The shining goddess of the darkened sky3

  Knew love, gave up her rule of night

  And left her chariot of light

  To other hands, her brother’s; he found out

  A way to handle the nocturnal equipage

  Around its narrower course, but with his weight

  The wheels drove hard and night ran late

  Delaying the return of day.

  So too Alcmena’s son1

  Dropped quiver and lion-skin – that huge

  And formidable garment – and allowed

  His shaggy hair to be reduced to order

  And emerald rings to grace his fingers,

  Bound his legs with yellow ribbons,

  Cased his feet in golden slippers,

  And with a hand that used to wield a club

  Spun yarn upon a twirling spindle.

  Thus in an oriental land,

  In a rich court of wealthy Lydia,

  Was seen, instead of the wild lion’s mane,

  A silky robe of Tyrian workmanship

  Upon that back which once held up

  The kingdom of the sky.

  Great is the power,

  And baneful, of that flame,

  As they whom it has touched can tell.

  Where the earth’s edge is skirted by the sea,

  Where bright stars ride across the upper world,

  The pitiless child holds sway.

  Under the waters the blue Nereid hosts

  Do not escape his darts; nor can the sea

  Wash that flame’s scars away.

  Love drives the desperate bull

  To battle for his herd.

  When danger threatens any of his wives,

  The meekest stag will fight.

  At such a time, as the black Indian knows,

  The motley tiger is a menace; boars

  Whet their sharp tusks and fleck their cheeks with foam.

  The Punic lion shakes his mane,

  And speaks his passion with a roar.

  Love moves, and the whole forest roars again.

  Love moves the monsters of the senseless sea,

  And the bull elephant in Luca’s fields.1

  All nature is his prey;

  Nothing escapes; at the command of Love

  Old angers die, and enmity gives way.

  And, let us not forget, this malady can take

  A hard stepmother’s cruelty away.

  ACT TWO

  Nurse, Phaedra, Hippolytus

  CHORUS: Nurse, have you news? How is it with the queen?

  Does she yet find relief from her great torment?

  NURSE: There is no hope; there can be no relief

  From suffering such as hers; the rabid fire

  Will never end. The fever silently

  Burns in her heart; only her face betrays

  The inner anguish which she tries to hide.

  Her eyes are bright as flame, while her wan face

  She hides from daylight; nothing long contents

  Her wandering mind; this way and that she turns,

  Her body racked with shifting pain. Sometimes

  Stumbling she falls as if she’d live no longer,

  Cannot hold up her head, then, calm again,

  Lies down to rest, but with no thought of sleep

  Weeps all night long. Now ‘Lift me up’ she cries,

  Then ‘Lay me down’. ‘Unbind my hair’ – and soon

  She’ll have it braided up again; no dress

  Pleases her long, but she will have it changed.

  She takes no interest in her food or health;

  She wanders aimlessly, her strength all spent –

  How different from the old activity,

  The bright blush painting those clear cheeks! Ravaged

  With care her body now, feeble her tread,

  Lost all the grace of that sweet loveliness!

  Those eyes, the very torches of the sun,

  Reflect no trace of what was once their birthright.

  Tears flood her face; upon her cheek drops down

  The incessant dew, as on the slopes of Taurus

  The warm rain falls to melt away the snow.…

  Now they are opening the palace doors,

  And there she lies upon a golden couch…

  Throwing her customary garments off.…

  She will have none of them… she is deranged.

  PHAEDRA [seen within]: Out of my sight, slaves, take these broidered robes,

  Of gold and purple! Take that Tyrian scarlet,

  And silkstuff culled from far-off Seric1 trees.

  Give me a light robe and a simple sash,

  No necklace at my throat, no pendant pearl

  From Indian seas hung in my ear; my hair –

  Let it be loose and free of Syrian perfume.…

  So… falling anyhow about my neck…

  Down to my shoulders… let it toss in the wind

  As I run… the left hand reaching for the quiver,

  The right hand wielding a Thessalian spear.

  I shall be like the mother of Hippolytus –

  That cruel one – a woman of Maeotis

  Or Tanäis, leading her warriors

  From frozen Pontus on to Attic soil.…

  Hair knotted up… or falling free… her side

  Protected by a crescent shield; so I

  Will away to the woods.…

  CHORUS: Do not weep over her.

  Grief cannot help the afflicted. Let your prayers

  Invoke the virgin goddess of the wild.

  [The doors are closed]

  NURSE: Queen of the forests, Thou who walk’st apart

  On the high hills, goddess alone among

  The lonely mountains: turn thou into good

  These ill-portending omens. Hecate,2

  Of triple aspect, great divinity

  Of groves and woods, bright lantern of the sky,

  Light of the world, making night beautiful

  With thy recurrent beams… ay, with us now

  To bless our work! Bend the hard heart

  Of that stern youth.
Let him relent and hear us.

  Soften his iron soul; teach him to love;

  Let him too feel that flame; capture his heart;

  Let love’s law win again that silent, cold,

  Reluctant man. For this let all thy powers

  Work with us – as we pray thy face may shine

  And no cloud dim the glory of thy crescent,

  No dark Thessalian witchcraft draw thee down

  From where thou ridest through the night, no shepherd

  Make thee his thrall.1 O Goddess, hear our cry!

  Come, and be gracious to our supplication!…

  Yonder I see the man himself. He comes

  To make an act of worship, and alone.…

  What better time? Here is the chance, the place,

  The opportunity. I must be artful.

  Am I afraid? It is no easy thing

  To be the agent of an evil business

  Dictated by another; royalty

  Commands, and he who fears to disobey

  Must banish honour from his thoughts. Conscience

  Is always royalty’s worst minister.…

  HIPPOLYTUS: Good nurse, what brings your old feet toiling hither –

  Your face so sad – and trouble in your brow?

  My father – surely all is well with him?

  And Phaedra? And their two sons?

  NURSE: Have no fear.

  The kingdom prospers, and good fortune smiles

  Upon the royal house. More cause that you

  Should smile upon good fortune. I am grieved

  And anxious for you, that you lay this hard

  Relentless discipline upon yourself.

  When fate compels, a man may well be wretched;

  But go out of your way to look for trouble,

  Torment yourself – then you deserve to lose

  The gifts you had no use for. You are young;

  Then be young! Free that heart! Salute the night

  With fire and revelry! Let Bacchus lift

  That heavy load of sadness from your soul.

  Life is to be enjoyed; it quickly passes.

  Now is the time for ease, the time for youth

  To know the joy of love. Let your heart live!

  Why do you sleep alone? Unlock those chains

  That bind your joyless youth; seize pleasure now,

  Give it the reign; the best days of your life

  Must not be left to drain away. God gives

  Each age its proper occupation, guides

  Man’s life from step to step; joy is for youth,

  The frown for old men’s faces. Why should you

  Bridle yourself and stifle your true nature?

  A farmer reaps the richest crop from fields