Chapter: ACT II         SCENE I

          ARICIA, ISMENE


          ARICIA
          Hippolytus request to see me here!
          Hippolytus desire to bid farewell!
          Is't true, Ismene? Are you not deceived?

          ISMENE
          This is the first result of Theseus' death.
          Prepare yourself to see from every side.
          Hearts turn towards you that were kept away
          By Theseus. Mistress of her lot at last,
          Aricia soon shall find all Greece fall low,
          To do her homage.

          ARICIA
          'Tis not then, Ismene,
          An idle tale? Am I no more a slave?
          Have I no enemies?

          ISMENE
          The gods oppose
          Your peace no longer, and the soul of Theseus
          Is with your brothers.

          ARICIA
          Does the voice of fame
          Tell how he died?

          ISMENE
          Rumours incredible
          Are spread. Some say that, seizing a new bride,
          The faithless husband by the waves was swallow'd.
          Others affirm, and this report prevails,
          That with Pirithous to the world below
          He went, and saw the shores of dark Cocytus,
          Showing himself alive to the pale ghosts;
          But that he could not leave those gloomy realms,
          Which whoso enters there abides for ever.

          ARICIA
          Shall I believe that ere his destined hour
          A mortal may descend into the gulf
          Of Hades? What attraction could o'ercome
          Its terrors?

          ISMENE
          He is dead, and you alone
          Doubt it. The men of Athens mourn his loss.
          Troezen already hails Hippolytus
          As King. And Phaedra, fearing for her son,
          Asks counsel of the friends who share her trouble,
          Here in this palace.

          ARICIA
          Will Hippolytus,
          Think you, prove kinder than his sire, make light
          My chains, and pity my misfortunes?

          ISMENE
          Yes,
          I think so, Madam.

          ARICIA
          Ah, you know him not
          Or you would never deem so hard a heart
          Can pity feel, or me alone except
          From the contempt in which he holds our sex.
          Has he not long avoided every spot
          Where we resort?

          ISMENE
          I know what tales are told
          Of proud Hippolytus, but I have seen
          Him near you, and have watch'd with curious eye
          How one esteem'd so cold would bear himself.
          Little did his behavior correspond
          With what I look'd for; in his face confusion
          Appear'd at your first glance, he could not turn
          His languid eyes away, but gazed on you.
          Love is a word that may offend his pride,
          But what the tongue disowns, looks can betray.

          ARICIA
          How eagerly my heart hears what you say,
          Tho' it may be delusion, dear Ismene!
          Did it seem possible to you, who know me,
          That I, sad sport of a relentless Fate,
          Fed upon bitter tears by night and day,
          Could ever taste the maddening draught of love?
          The last frail offspring of a royal race,
          Children of Earth, I only have survived
          War's fury. Cut off in the flow'r of youth,
          Mown by the sword, six brothers have I lost,
          The hope of an illustrious house, whose blood
          Earth drank with sorrow, near akin to his
          Whom she herself produced. Since then, you know
          How thro' all Greece no heart has been allow'd
          To sigh for me, lest by a sister's flame
          The brothers' ashes be perchance rekindled.
          You know, besides, with what disdain I view'd
          My conqueror's suspicions and precautions,
          And how, oppos'd as I have ever been
          To love, I often thank'd the King's injustice
          Which happily confirm'd my inclination.
          But then I never had beheld his son.
          Not that, attracted merely by the eye, I
          love him for his beauty and his grace,
          Endowments which he owes to Nature's bounty,
          Charms which he seems to know not or to scorn.
          I love and prize in him riches more rare,
          The virtues of his sire, without his faults.
          I love, as I must own, that generous pride
          Which ne'er has stoop'd beneath the amorous yoke.
          Phaedra reaps little glory from a lover
          So lavish of his sighs; I am too proud
          To share devotion with a thousand others,
          Or enter where the door is always open.
          But to make one who ne'er has stoop'd before
          Bend his proud neck, to pierce a heart of stone,
          To bind a captive whom his chains astonish,
          Who vainly 'gainst a pleasing yoke rebels,--
          That piques my ardour, and I long for that.
          'Twas easier to disarm the god of strength
          Than this Hippolytus, for Hercules
          Yielded so often to the eyes of beauty,
          As to make triumph cheap. But, dear Ismene,
          I take too little heed of opposition
          Beyond my pow'r to quell, and you may hear me,
          Humbled by sore defeat, upbraid the pride
          I now admire. What! Can he love? and I
          Have had the happiness to bend--

          ISMENE
          He comes
          Yourself shall hear him.

 Aricia has just been told by her companion, Ismene, that Hippolytus wishes to see her, that Theseus is dead, and that she is no longer a prisoner. Aricia finds it hard to credit so much good news at once. She is disinclined to believe the story of Theseus' death -- that he descended alive into hell and was unable to return -- and she does not see why Theseus' son should be kinder to her than his father. Ismene, however, does. Curious about Hippolytus and his renowned chastity, she has studied him closely and believes he is in love with Aricia. For Aricia, this is the best of all possible news. Her life has not been a happy one. When her six brothers were killed fighting Theseus, she was left alone in the world surrounded by political enemies, forbidden even to marry and make herself a home. This last prohibition, however, troubled her little; She had no interest in love -- until she met Hippolytus. She admired him not only for his grace and beauty, but for his qualities of character: To her, he was Theseus without Theseus' flaws. More important still, perhaps, she was piqued and challenged by his lack of interest in love. But perhaps Ismene is mistaken about his feelings for her, and she is rejoicing too soon.

