Alas! the evils of men, and their odious diseases! what shall I do for
thee? and what not do? lo! here is the clear light for thee, here the air:
and now is thy couch whereon thou liest sick removed from out of the house:
for every word you spoke was to come hither; but soon you will be in a
hurry to go to your chamber back again: for you are soon changed, and are
pleased with nothing. Nor does what is present delight you, but what is not
present you think more agreeable. It is a better thing to be sick, than to
tend the sick: the one is a simple ill, but with the other is joined both
pain of mind and toil of hands. But the whole life of men is full of grief,
nor is there rest from toils. But whatever else there be more dear than
life, darkness enveloping hides it in clouds. Hence we appear to dote on
this present state, because it gleams on earth, through inexperience of
another life, and the non-appearance of the things beneath the earth. But
we are blindly carried away by fables.
PHÆ. Raise my body, place my head upright--I am faint in the joints of my
limbs, my friends, lay hold of my fair-formed hands, O attendants--The
dressing on my head is heavy for me to support--take it off, let flow my
ringlets on my shoulders.
NUR. Be of good courage, my child, and do not thus painfully shift [the
posture of] your body. But you will bear your sickness more easily both
with quiet, and with a noble temper, for it is necessary for mortals to
suffer misery.
PHÆ. Alas! alas! would I could draw from the dewy fountain the drink of
pure waters, and that under the alders, and in the leafy mead reclining I
might rest!
NUR. O my child, what sayest thou? Wilt thou not desist from uttering these
things before the multitude, blurting forth a speech of madness?[8]
PHÆ. Bear me to the mountain--I will go to the wood, and by the pine-trees,
where tread the dogs the slayers of beasts, pursuing the dappled hinds--By
the Gods I long to cheer on the hounds, and by the side of my auburn hair
to hurl the Thessalian javelin bearing the lanced weapon in my hand.
NUR. Wherefore in the name of heaven, my child, do you hanker after these
things? wherefore have you any anxiety for hunting? and wherefore do you
long for the fountain streams? for by the towers there is a perpetual flow
of water, whence may be your draught.
PHÆ. O Dian, mistress of Limna near the sea, and of the exercises of the
rattling steeds, would that I were on thy plains, breaking the Henetian
colts.
NUR. Wherefore again have you madly uttered this word? at one time having
ascended the mountain you set forth with the desire of hunting; but now
again you long for the colts on the wave-beaten sands. These things demand
much skill in prophecy [to find out], who it is of the Gods that torments
thee, O lady, and strikes mad thy senses.
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.
PHÆ. I will give it; for I have respect unto the reverence of thy hand.
NUR. Now will I be silent: for hence is it yours to speak.
PHÆ. O wretched mother, what a love didst thou love!
NUR. That which she had for the bull, my child, or what is this thou
meanest?
PHÆ. Thou, too, O wretched sister, wife of Bacchus!
NUR. Child, what ails thee? thou speakest ill against thy relations.
PHÆ. And I the third, how unhappily I perish!
NUR. I am struck dumb with amazement. Whither will thy speech tend?
PHÆ. _To that point_, whence we have not now lately become unfortunate.
NUR. I know not a whit further of the things I wish to hear.
PHÆ. Alas! would thou couldst speak the things which I must speak.
NUR. I am no prophetess so as to know clearly things hidden.