HIPPOLYTUS.
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Euripides and Buckley, Theodore Alois
PHÆ. Wretch that I am, what then have I committed? whither have I wandered from my sound mind? I have gone mad; I have fallen by the evil influence of some God. Alas! alas! unhappy that I am—Nurse, cover my head again, for I am ashamed of the things I have spoken: cover me; a tear trickles down my eyes, and my sight is turned to my disgrace. For to be in one's right mind causes grief: but madness is an ill; yet it is better to perish, nothing knowing of one's ills.
NUR. I cover thee—but when in sooth will death cover my body? Length of life teaches me many things. For it behooves mortals to form moderate friendships with each other, and not to the very marrow of the soul: and the affections of the mind should be dissoluble, and so that we can slacken them, or tighten.[9] But that one soul should feel pangs for two, as I now grieve for her, is a heavy burden. The concerns of life carried to too great an extent, they say, bring rather destruction than delight, and are rather at enmity with health. Thus I praise what is in extreme less than the sentiment of "Nothing in excess;" and the wise will agree with me.
CHOR. O aged woman, faithful nurse of the queen Phædra, we see indeed the wretched state of this lady, but it is not clear what her disease is: but we would wish to inquire and hear from you.
NUR. I know not by my inquiries; for she is not willing to speak.
CHOR. Nor what is the origin of these pangs?
NUR. You come to the same result; for she is silent with regard to all these things.
CHOR. How feeble she is, and wasted away as to her body!
NUR. How could it be otherwise, seeing that she has abstained from food these three days?
CHOR. From the violence of her calamity is it, or does she endeavor to die?
NUR. To die; but she fasts to the dissolution of her life.
CHOR. An extraordinary thing you have been telling me, if this conduct meets the approbation of her husband.
NUR. [He nothing knows,] for she conceals this calamity, and denies that she is ill.
CHOR. But does he not guess it, looking into her face?
NUR. [How should he?] for he is out of this country.
CHOR. But do you not urge it as a matter of necessity, when you endeavor to ascertain her disease and the wandering of her senses?
NUR. I have tried every thing, and have made no further advances. I will not however abate even now from my zeal, so that you being present may bear witness with me, how I behave to my mistress when in calamity—Come, dear child, let us both forget our former conversations; and be both thou more mild, having smoothed that contracted brow, and altered the bent of your design; and I giving up that wherein I did not do right to follow thee, will have recourse to other better words. And if indeed you are ill with any of those maladies that are not to be mentioned, these women here can allay the disease: but if it may be related to men, tell it, that the thing may be mentioned to physicians.—Well! why art thou silent? It doth not behoove thee to be silent, my child, but either shouldst thou convict me, if aught I say amiss, or yield to words well spoken.—Say something—look hither—O wretch that I am! Ladies, in vain do we undergo these toils, while we are as far off from our purpose as before: for neither then was she softened by our words, nor now does she give heed to us. Still however know (now then be more obstinate than the sea) that, if thou shalt die, thou wilt betray thy children, who will have no share in their paternal mansion. I swear by the warlike queen the Amazon, who brought forth a lord over thy children, base-born yet of noble sentiments, thou knowest him well, Hippolytus.
PHÆ. Ah me!
NUR. This touches thee.
PHÆ. You have destroyed me, nurse, and by the Gods I entreat thee henceforth to be silent with respect to this man.
NUR. Do you see? you judge well indeed, but judging well you are not willing both to assist your children and to save your own life.
PHÆ. I love my children; but I am wintering in the storm of another misfortune.
NUR. You have your hands, my child, pure from blood.
PHÆ. My hands are pure, but my mind has some pollution.
NUR. What! from some calamity brought on you by any of your enemies?
PHÆ. A friend destroys me against my will, himself unwilling.
NUR. Has Theseus sinned any sin against thee?
PHÆ. Would that I never be discovered to have injured him.
NUR. What then this dreadful thing that impels thee to die?
PHÆ. Suffer me to err, for against thee I err not.
NUR. Not willingly [dost thou do so,] but 'tis through thee that I shall perish.[10]
PHÆ. What are you doing? you oppress me, hanging on me with your hand.
NUR. And never will I let go these knees.
PHÆ. Ills to thyself wilt thou hear, O wretched woman, if thou shalt hear these ills.
NUR. [Still will I cling:] for what greater evil can befall me than to lose thee?
PHÆ. You will be undone.[11] The thing however brings honor to me.
NUR. And dost thou then hide what is useful, when I beseech thee?
PHÆ. Yes, for from base things we devise things noble.
NUR. Wilt not thou, then, appear more noble by telling it?
PHÆ. Depart, by the Gods, and let go my hand!
NUR. No in sooth, since thou givest me not the boon that were right.