HIPPOLYTUS
Translated by Rachel Kitzinger
CAST OF CHARACTERS (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)
APHRODITE, goddess of sexual love; also known as Cypris
HIPPOLYTUS, son of Theseus, the king of Athens, by an Amazon queen
HIPPOLYTUS’ FELLOW HUNTERS, a group of slaves from his household
OLD SLAVE, an attendant to Hippolytus
CHORUS of young married women of Troezen
NURSE, Phaedra’s personal attendant
PHAEDRA, wife of Theseus; daughter of King Minos and Queen Pasiphae of Crete
THESEUS, king of Athens
MESSENGER, an attendant of Hippolytus
ARTEMIS, virgin goddess of the hunt, of wild things, and of childbirth
Setting: The play takes place in front of the palace of Theseus in Troezen, on the north coast of the Peloponnese, facing Athens to the north across the Saronic Gulf. Of the two entrances to the stage, one is understood to come from places far from Troezen, the other from the town and surrounding countryside. On one side of the stage area is a statue of Aphrodite, on the other a statue of Artemis.
(Aphrodite appears on the roof of the skēnē, which represents the palace of Theseus.)*1
APHRODITE: I am famous and powerful among mortals
and gods. I am called the goddess Cypris,*2
of people everywhere—all who see sunlight
between the Atlantic Ocean and the Black Sea—
I rank highest those who revere my power.
I crush those who are proud before me.
For this holds true even for the gods:
they feel pleasure when men honor them.
Soon I will show how true this is.
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Theseus has a son, Hippolytus. An Amazon*3
bore him, and righteous Pittheus*4 raised him.
Of all the citizens of this land of Troezen,
he alone says I am the worst of gods.
He spurns sex, will have nothing to do with marriage.
It’s Artemis, sister to Phoebus, daughter of Zeus,
he honors and believes the greatest god.
He’s always in the green wood with the virgin goddess,
ridding the earth of wild beasts with his swift dogs.
They keep each other company, man and god,
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but I bear them no ill will. Why should I?
But today I’ll punish Hippolytus for the wrongs
he’s done me. Most of my plan I put in motion
long ago. There’s not much more to do:
Some time ago he left the house of Pittheus
to attend the celebration of the Mysteries
in the land of Pandion.*5 There his father’s wife,
noble Phaedra, saw him and was seized
with dreadful lust, all by my design.
So, before she came here to Troezen,
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she founded close by the rock of Pallas*6
a temple to Cypris, overlooking this land,
because her love was here. For the rest of time
they’ll say it’s for Hippolytus my shrine was founded.*7
But then Theseus left the land of Cecrops
to escape pollution by Pallantid blood.*8
He agreed to a year-long exile and sailed
with his wife to this country. From that moment,
the wretched woman has been dying quietly,
her groans spurred on by the goads of her lust.
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No one in her household knows of her disease.
But it won’t stay that way. I will reveal
her passion to Theseus; it will come to light.
And the father will kill his son, the young man
so hostile to me. He’ll use the gift the sea god,
Poseidon, gave him:*9 that he could make
three prayers the god would answer without fail.
And she, Phaedra, will die. She’ll keep
her good name, but she’ll die. I will not pay
more heed to her suffering than the penalty
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my enemies must pay so that I may prosper.
But now I’ll leave this place,
for I see Hippolytus on his way here;
he’s put an end to the labor of the hunt.
A great crowd of attendants follows close
behind him and shouts out hymns to honor
Artemis. He has no idea the gates of Hades
are gaping wide; he’ll see the light no more.
(Aphrodite exits.)*10
(Hippolytus and his band of followers enter from the countryside, where they have been hunting, and approach the statue of Artemis, singing.)
HIPPOLYTUS: Follow me, follow, sing
to the heavenly daughter of Zeus,
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Artemis. We are in her care.*11
HIPPOLYTUS AND BAND OF FOLLOWERS: Lady most holy,
lady, child of Zeus,
hail! I greet you,
daughter of Leto and Zeus,
Artemis, most beautiful
of all maidens.
You live in great heaven
in the hall of the noble father,
the golden home of Zeus.
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Hail, most beautiful! I greet you,
of all in Olympus most beautiful.*12
(Hippolytus offers a crown of flowers to the statue.)
HIPPOLYTUS: My lady, I bring to you a woven crown
of flowers I plucked from a pure meadow.
Shepherds never graze their sheep there,
and the plow has never plied there.
But in the spring the bee passes through it,
and Aidōs*13 waters it with pure river streams
for men who need no teaching: by nature
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they give virtue its place in all things
always. They may pick the flowers there,
evil men may not. But, dear lady, accept
from my reverent hand a binding
for your golden hair. I alone of mortals have
this badge of honor: to be and talk with you
I hear your voice; I do not see your face.
May I reach the end of life as I began it.
(One of Hippolytus’ followers approaches him.)
OLD SLAVE: Sir—for gods alone should be called master—
would you accept some good advice from me?
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HIPPOLYTUS: Certainly. Otherwise I wouldn’t seem wise.
OLD SLAVE: Well, you know that law that mortals have?
HIPPOLYTUS: No. What law are you asking me about?
OLD SLAVE: To hate the proud who keep themselves apart.
HIPPOLYTUS: As is right. What proud man isn’t troublesome?
OLD SLAVE: And is there grace in an open nature?
HIPPOLYTUS: The greatest, yes. And profit, with little work.
OLD SLAVE: Do you expect the same is true among gods?
HIPPOLYTUS: Yes, if we mortals borrow divine laws.
OLD SLAVE: Why do you ignore a righteous god then?
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HIPPOLYTUS: Which god? Be careful your tongue doesn’t slip.
(The Old Slave gestures to the statue of Aphrodite.)
OLD SLAVE: This one, who stands before your door: Cypris.
HIPPOLYTUS: I greet her from far off, in my purity.
OLD SLAVE: And yet she is revered and important to men.
HIPPOLYTUS: Each to his own, whether man or god.
OLD SLAVE: May you have sense enough to prosper!
(The Old Slave starts to leave but holds back to respond to Hippolytus once more.)
HIPPOLYTUS: No god worshipped in the dark can please me.
OLD SLAVE: Son, you must treat the gods with honor.
(Hippolytus addresses his band of followers.)
HIPPOLYTUS: Go in to the house, my followers, prepare
the meal. After the hunt there’s plea
sure
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in a full table. And rub down the horses
so they’re ready. When I’ve eaten, I’ll yoke them
to the chariot and exercise them properly.
(to the Old Slave) As for your Cypris, to her I’ll say: Farewell.
(Hippolytus exits into the house with his followers. The Old Slave remains.)
OLD SLAVE: I mustn’t copy the young if they think
as he does. So I’ll pray to your statue,
Cypris, with words fitting for a slave.
One must be forgiving. If someone
says silly things because he’s young
and his spirit intense, seem not to hear.
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For gods should be wiser than mortals.
(A Chorus of young married women enter from the town.)
strophe 1
CHORUS: (singing and dancing)
There is a rock that drips, they say, with Ocean’s water.*14
Pitchers catch the stream that pours from the craggy peak.
There a friend of mine
soaked purple robes
in the streaming water
and spread them on the spine
of the warm rock in the bright sun.
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From her I first heard the lady’s story:*15
antistrophe 1
She keeps herself inside the house, she wastes away
in her sickbed, delicate covers shadow her blond head.
For the third day, I hear,
no food passes her lips,
her body’s untainted by Demeter’s grain.
From a hidden grief she longs
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to reach her end in death’s harbor.
strophe 2
Is it possession by a god, dear one?*16
Is your wandering mind bewitched by Pan,
or Hecate, the holy Corybants,
or the mountain mother?
Do you waste away for wrongs
done to Dictynna*17 the great hunter:
no offering of grain at her altar?
For she roams across the Marsh here
and over the sandbars
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in the eddies of the salt sea.
antistrophe 2
Or is someone in the house
tending your husband, noble man,
ruler of the sons of Erechtheus,*18
in a bed hidden away from yours?
Or has a sailor set out
from Crete and sailed here
into this welcoming harbor,
to bring bad news to the queen?*19
Is her spirit bound to the bed
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by the pain of her suffering?
epode
In women there’s a harmony hard to tune;
pernicious, harmful, and wretched helplessness,
from birth pangs and mad thoughts,
often finds a place there.
Through my womb this current coursed once,
and I cried out to heavenly Artemis,
goddess in charge of arrows, who eases labor pains.
She always comes to me,
by the gods’ will, to the envy of all.
(The Nurse comes from the house with slaves carrying Phaedra on a litter.)
170
CHORUS: (chanting)*20 Here’s the old nurse before the door.
She’s bringing Phaedra out.*21
My spirit longs to learn
why the body of the queen
is wrecked, its color changed.
NURSE: The troubles mortals have, the hateful diseases!
What am I to do for you? What am I not to do?
Here’s the light, the bright air you wanted.
Your bed’s outside now,
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your sickbed.
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But your brow darkens, clouded with gloom.
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Before you talked only of coming out here;
any minute now you’ll hurry back in.
You’re quickly thwarted, enjoy nothing.
You take no pleasure in what’s right here;
you think you want what’s far away more.
It’s better to be ill than tend illness.
The one is simple; the other attacks the mind
with pain, the hands with work.
All human life is labor,
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there’s no rest from work.
Whatever else, dearer than living, there is,*22
darkness hides and clouds envelop it.
So we seem desperately in love
with the thing that glitters on the earth,
because we know no other life,
have no proof of what’s beneath the earth.
Aimlessly we’re carried along by stories.
PHAEDRA: Raise my body up, hold my head straight.
My muscles have no strength in them.
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Attendants, hold my lovely arms.
Oh, the weight of my headdress—
Take it off. Spread my hair across my shoulders.
NURSE: Courage, child. Don’t keep tossing
your body violently about.
You’ll bear the illness more easily
with a calm, a noble disposition.
Hardship is necessary for mortals.
PHAEDRA: aiai
How might I drink
pure water from a cool stream?
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Or find rest, lying down
under poplar trees in a meadow run wild?
NURSE: Oh, child, what are you saying?*23
In front of everyone? Won’t you stop such talk?
Madness drives the words you utter!
PHAEDRA: Take me to the mountain! I will go to the forest
among pine trees, where hounds
that kill wild things race,
in pursuit of the spotted deer.
O gods! I long to call to the hounds,
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hold in my hand a pointed spear
and let it fly, a Thessalian javelin *24
skimming my golden hair!
NURSE: What mad thoughts are these, child?
How can the hunt possibly concern you?
Why do you long for flowing streams?
Right here, near the walls, there’s a cool slope
where you can drink.
PHAEDRA: Artemis, lady of the salty Marsh
and training grounds ringing with hoofbeats,
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would I were there, in those sacred grounds,
taming Venetian horses.*25
NURSE: What mad words erupt from you again?
Just now you were heading to the mountain,
in love with the hunt, but now you long for
horses in sand no waves have washed.
I’d have to be a great prophet
to know which god has you under his sway
and addles your mind, child.
(Phaedra comes to her senses and her agitation abates.)
PHAEDRA: Oh, miserable me, what have I done?
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Where have I strayed, far from right thinking?
I went mad, I fell: the god clouded my mind.
pheu, pheu, I suffer.
Nurse, cover my head again,
I cringe in shame*26 at what I’ve said.
Keep me hidden. Tears fall from my eyes,
My faces takes on my shame.
To think straight pains me,
but madness is disaster. Now
oblivion and death are best.
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NURSE: I’m covering you, but what about me?
When will death hide my body?
My long life has taught me much.
Mortals should balance carefully
their love for each other,
never let it reach the very marrow of life.
The heart’s affections must be loosely tied,
easy to tighten or
undo.
For one life to feel pain for two
is a harsh burden,
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as is my pain for her.
To live life on the straight path and narrow,
they say, courts disaster more than pleasure,
lays greater siege to health.
So I praise “nothing in excess”*27
more than I praise too much of anything,
and the wise will agree with me.
CHORUS: (speaking) Old woman, trusted nurse of the queen,
we can see Phaedra’s wretched state,
but it’s not clear what her illness is.
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We’d like to ask and learn what it is from you.
NURSE: I’ve no idea. She won’t say.*28
CHORUS: Not even what caused her pain?
NURSE: It’s the same thing: total silence.
CHORUS: Her body’s so weak, so tattered.
NURSE: Of course. She hasn’t eaten for three days.
CHORUS: Is she mad, or is she trying to die?
NURSE: I don’t know, but starving will lead to death.
CHORUS: Amazing that her husband condones this.
NURSE: She hides her pain and denies she’s ill.
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CHORUS: Doesn’t he see the signs when he looks at her?
NURSE: No. By chance he’s out of the country.
CHORUS: Then aren’t you pressing her to learn
what sickens her, what drives her mad?
NURSE: I’ve tried everything and gotten nowhere.
But I won’t lessen my effort, even now,
so you may witness the kind of care
I give my mistress in her distress.
(addressing Phaedra) Come, dear child, let’s both forget
what we said before. You be gentler,
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no gloomy frown; change the path your thoughts
take, and I will find a better way
to talk to you; I won’t defy you so.
If your illness mustn’t be spoken aloud,
(indicates Chorus) these are the women to set it right.
But if a man can know your problem,*29
speak, so doctors can be consulted.
(Phaedra says nothing.)
Come now, why the silence? Don’t
be silent, child: challenge me, if I’m
wrong, or agree with my good advice.
(The Nurse waits for a response.)
The Greek Plays Page 65