Hippolytus (669-752)

O the cruel, unhappy fate of women!

What arts, what arguments have we, once we have made a slip, to loose by craft[*] the tight-drawn knot? I have met my deserts. O earth, O light of day! How can I escape the stroke of fate? How my pangs conceal, kind friends?

What god will appear to help me, what mortal to take my part or help me in unrighteousness? The present calamity of my life admits of no escape. Most hapless I of all my sex!

Alas, alas! the deed is done, thy servant’s schemes have gone awry, my queen, and all is lost.

Accursed woman! traitress to thy friends! How hast thou ruined me! May Zeus, my ancestor, smite thee with his fiery bolt and uproot thee from thy place.

Did I not foresee thy purpose, did I not bid thee keep silence on the very matter which is now my shame? But thou wouldst not be still; wherefore my fair name will not go with me to the tomb. But now I must another scheme devise. Yon youth, in the keenness of his fury,

will tell his father of my sin, and the aged Pittheus of my state, and fill the world with stories to my shame. Perdition seize thee and every meddling fool who by dishonest means would serve unwilling friends!

Mistress, thou may’st condemn the mischief I have done, for sorrow’s sting o’ermasters thy judgment; yet can I answer thee in face of this, if thou wilt hear. ’Twas I who nurtured thee; I love thee still; but in my search for medicine to cure thy sickness I found what least I sought.

Had I but succeeded, I had been counted wise, for the credit we get for wisdom is measured by our success.

Is it just, is it any satisfaction to me, that thou shouldst wound me first, then bandy[*] words with me?

We dwell on this too long; I was not wise, I own;

but there are yet ways of escape from the trouble, my child.

Be dumb henceforth; evil was thy first advice to me, evil too thy attempted scheme. Begone and leave me, look to thyself; I will my own fortunes for the best arrange. (Exit Nurse).

Ye noble daughters of Troezen, grant me the only boon I crave; in silence bury what ye here have heard.

By majestic Artemis, child of Zeus, I swear I will never divulge aught of thy sorrows.

’Tis well. But I, with all my thought,[*] can but one way discover out of this calamity, that so I may secure my children’s honour, and find myself some help as matters stand. For never, never will I bring shame upon my Cretan home,

nor will I, to save one poor life, face Theseus after my disgrace.

Art thou bent then on some cureless woe?

On death; the means thereto must I devise myself.

Hush!

Do thou at least advise me well.

For this very day shall I gladden Cypris, my destroyer, by yielding up my life, and shall own myself vanquished by cruel love. Yet shall my dying be another’s curse, that he may learn not to exult at my misfortunes;

but when he comes to share the self-same plague with me, he will take a lesson in wisdom.