Chapter: ACT I SCENE I

HIPPOLYTUS, THERAMENES


          HIPPOLYTUS
          My mind is settled, dear Theramenes,
          And I can stay no more in lovely Troezen.
          In doubt that racks my soul with mortal anguish,
          I grow ashamed of such long idleness.
          Six months and more my father has been gone,
          And what may have befallen one so dear
          I know not, nor what corner of the earth
          Hides him.

          THERAMENES
          And where, prince, will you look for him?
          Already, to content your just alarm,
          Have I not cross'd the seas on either side
          Of Corinth, ask'd if aught were known of Theseus
          Where Acheron is lost among the Shades,
          Visited Elis, doubled Toenarus,
          And sail'd into the sea that saw the fall
          Of Icarus? Inspired with what new hope,
          Under what favour'd skies think you to trace
          His footsteps? Who knows if the King, your father,
          Wishes the secret of his absence known?
          Perchance, while we are trembling for his life,
          The hero calmly plots some fresh intrigue,
          And only waits till the deluded fair--

          HIPPOLYTUS
          Cease, dear Theramenes, respect the name
          Of Theseus. Youthful errors have been left
          Behind, and no unworthy obstacle
          Detains him. Phaedra long has fix'd a heart
          Inconstant once, nor need she fear a rival.
          In seeking him I shall but do my duty,
          And leave a place I dare no longer see.

          THERAMENES
          Indeed! When, prince, did you begin to dread
          These peaceful haunts, so dear to happy childhood,
          Where I have seen you oft prefer to stay,
          Rather than meet the tumult and the pomp
          Of Athens and the court? What danger shun you,
          Or shall I say what grief?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          That happy time
          Is gone, and all is changed, since to these shores
          The gods sent Phaedra.

          THERAMENES
          I perceive the cause
          Of your distress. It is the queen whose sight
          Offends you. With a step-dame's spite she schemed
          Your exile soon as she set eyes on you.
          But if her hatred is not wholly vanish'd,
          It has at least taken a milder aspect.
          Besides, what danger can a dying woman,
          One too who longs for death, bring on your head?
          Can Phaedra, sick'ning of a dire disease
          Of which she will not speak, weary of life
          And of herself, form any plots against you?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          It is not her vain enmity I fear,
          Another foe alarms Hippolytus.
          I fly, it must be own'd, from young Aricia,
          The sole survivor of an impious race.

          THERAMENES
          What! You become her persecutor too!
          The gentle sister of the cruel sons
          Of Pallas shared not in their perfidy;
          Why should you hate such charming innocence?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          I should not need to fly, if it were hatred.

          THERAMENES
          May I, then, learn the meaning of your flight?
          Is this the proud Hippolytus I see,
          Than whom there breathed no fiercer foe to love
          And to that yoke which Theseus has so oft
          Endured? And can it be that Venus, scorn'd
          So long, will justify your sire at last?
          Has she, then, setting you with other mortals,
          Forced e'en Hippolytus to offer incense
          Before her? Can you love?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          Friend, ask me not.
          You, who have known my heart from infancy
          And all its feelings of disdainful pride,
          Spare me the shame of disavowing all
          That I profess'd. Born of an Amazon,
          The wildness that you wonder at I suck'd
          With mother's milk. When come to riper age,
          Reason approved what Nature had implanted.
          Sincerely bound to me by zealous service,
          You told me then the story of my sire,
          And know how oft, attentive to your voice,
          I kindled when I heard his noble acts,
          As you described him bringing consolation
          To mortals for the absence of Alcides,
          The highways clear'd of monsters and of robbers,
          Procrustes, Cercyon, Sciro, Sinnis slain,
          The Epidaurian giant's bones dispersed,
          Crete reeking with the blood of Minotaur.
          But when you told me of less glorious deeds,
          Troth plighted here and there and everywhere,
          Young Helen stolen from her home at Sparta,
          And Periboea's tears in Salamis,
          With many another trusting heart deceived
          Whose very names have 'scaped his memory,
          Forsaken Ariadne to the rocks
          Complaining, last this Phaedra, bound to him
          By better ties,--you know with what regret
          I heard and urged you to cut short the tale,
          Happy had I been able to erase
          From my remembrance that unworthy part
          Of such a splendid record. I, in turn,
          Am I too made the slave of love, and brought
          To stoop so low? The more contemptible
          That no renown is mine such as exalts
          The name of Theseus, that no monsters quell'd
          Have given me a right to share his weakness.
          And if my pride of heart must needs be humbled,
          Aricia should have been the last to tame it.
          Was I beside myself to have forgotten
          Eternal barriers of separation
          Between us? By my father's stern command
          Her brethren's blood must ne'er be reinforced
          By sons of hers; he dreads a single shoot
          From stock so guilty, and would fain with her
          Bury their name, that, even to the tomb
          Content to be his ward, for her no torch
          Of Hymen may be lit. Shall I espouse
          Her rights against my sire, rashly provoke
          His wrath, and launch upon a mad career--

          THERAMENES
          The gods, dear prince, if once your hour is come,
          Care little for the reasons that should guide us.
          Wishing to shut your eyes, Theseus unseals them;
          His hatred, stirring a rebellious flame
          Within you, lends his enemy new charms.
          And, after all, why should a guiltless passion
          Alarm you? Dare you not essay its sweetness,
          But follow rather a fastidious scruple?
          Fear you to stray where Hercules has wander'd?
          What heart so stout that Venus has not vanquish'd?
          Where would you be yourself, so long her foe,
          Had your own mother, constant in her scorn
          Of love, ne'er glowed with tenderness for Theseus?
          What boots it to affect a pride you feel not?
          Confess it, all is changed; for some time past
          You have been seldom seen with wild delight
          Urging the rapid car along the strand,
          Or, skilful in the art that Neptune taught,
          Making th' unbroken steed obey the bit;
          Less often have the woods return'd our shouts;
          A secret burden on your spirits cast
          Has dimm'd your eye. How can I doubt you love?
          Vainly would you conceal the fatal wound.
          Has not the fair Aricia touch'd your heart?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          Theramenes, I go to find my father.

          THERAMENES
          Will you not see the queen before you start,
          My prince?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          That is my purpose: you can tell her.
          Yes, I will see her; duty bids me do it.
          But what new ill vexes her dear Oenone?

 As the play opens, Hippolytus announces to Theramenes, his tutor and friend, his intention of leaving Troezen. Hippolytus is the son of Theseus, king of Troezen and Athens, by his first love, the Amazon Antiope. Theseus is now married to Phaedra, the daughter of his old enemy, Minos of Crete, but he has been gone from Troezen now for more than six months, and his son is determined to go in search of him. Theramenes disapproves; since Theseus' amorous exploits are legendary, he may not want to be found. Hippolytus abruptly cuts off this disrespectful allusion to his father, and says that since his marriage to Phaedra, Theseus has been faithful to her. Duty requires he go look for his father, and he also has reasons of his own for leaving Troezen. Hippolytus' stepmother, Phaedra, has hated him from the first moment she saw him and has spared no effort to make life difficult for him, even driving him into exile in Troezen. But Phaedra has lately been ill to the point of death and Hippolytus should have nothing to fear from her. Hippolytus replies that it is not Phaedra who troubles him but Aricia, princess of a former ruling family of Athens who is now half-ward, half-prisoner of Theseus. Theramenes says he is sorry Hippolytus does not like her, for she is an innocent and charming girl. Hippolytus replies enigmatically, "If I hated her I would not flee her." Theramenes seizes upon the implication and is delighted that Hippolytus, who has never before shown an interest in a woman and who is famous for his chastity, is in love. Hippolytus immediately rejects the idea that he might allow himself to love Aricia. As a child he used to thrill to tales of his father's exploits and his conquest of monsters, but when the gossip turned to his feminine conquests -- his kidnapping of Helen, his desertion of Periboea, his elopement with Phaedra's sister, Ariadne, and his later abandonment of her -- Hippolytus could not help feeling shocked and ashamed. Theseus' light behavior was somewhat excused by his other heroic deeds, but Hippolytus, who has accomplished no such exploits as yet has no such excuse. Moreover, Theseus, fearing to raise up enemies against his regime, has forbidden Aricia to marry and have children. He would certainly not be willing to have her marry his own son. Theramenes is dubious. Love comes to all men, he says; Venus wills it, and when it comes it is nearly irresistible. Why fight such a pleasant emotion, provoked by the gods and approved by them? Firmly, Hippolytus cuts him off. He is determined to leave Troezen. Oenone, nurse to Phaedra, appears.

