Jean Racine - Phaedra (Act 1 Scene 1) lyrics

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 d**h, 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 s**'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 pa**ion 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?