Chapter: SCENE IV
          PHAEDRA, THESEUS


          PHAEDRA
          My lord, I come to you, fill'd with just dread.
          Your voice raised high in anger reach'd mine ears,
          And much I fear that deeds have follow'd threats.
          Oh, if there yet is time, spare your own offspring.
          Respect your race and blood, I do beseech you.
          Let me not hear that blood cry from the ground;
          Save me the horror and perpetual pain
          Of having caused his father's hand to shed it.

          THESEUS
          No, Madam, from that stain my hand is free.
          But, for all that, the wretch has not escaped me.
          The hand of an Immortal now is charged
          With his destruction. 'Tis a debt that Neptune
          Owes me, and you shall be avenged.

          PHAEDRA
          A debt
          Owed you? Pray'rs made in anger--

          THESEUS
          Never fear
          That they will fail. Rather join yours to mine
          In all their blackness paint for me his crimes,
          And fan my tardy passion to white heat.
          But yet you know not all his infamy;
          His rage against you overflows in slanders;
          Your mouth, he says, is full of all deceit,
          He says Aricia has his heart and soul,
          That her alone he loves.

          PHAEDRA
          Aricia?

          THESEUS
          Aye,
          He said it to my face! an idle pretext!
          A trick that gulls me not! Let us hope Neptune
          Will do him speedy justice. To his altars
          I go, to urge performance of his oaths.




SCENE V


          PHAEDRA (alone)
          Ah, he is gone! What tidings struck mine ears?
          What fire, half smother'd, in my heart revives?
          What fatal stroke falls like a thunderbolt?
          Stung by remorse that would not let me rest,
          I tore myself out of Oenone's arms,
          And flew to help Hippolytus with all
          My soul and strength. Who knows if that repentance
          Might not have moved me to accuse myself?
          And, if my voice had not been choked with shame,
          Perhaps I had confess'd the frightful truth.
          Hippolytus can feel, but not for me!
          Aricia has his heart, his plighted troth.
          Ye gods, when, deaf to all my sighs and tears,
          He arm'd his eye with scorn, his brow with threats,
          I deem'd his heart, impregnable to love,
          Was fortified 'gainst all my sex alike.
          And yet another has prevail'd to tame
          His pride, another has secured his favour.
          Perhaps he has a heart easily melted;
          I am the only one he cannot bear!
          And shall I charge myself with his defence?




SCENE VI
          PHAEDRA, OENONE


          PHAEDRA
          Know you, dear Nurse, what I have learn'd just now?

          OENONE
          No; but I come in truth with trembling limbs.
          I dreaded with what purpose you went forth,
          The fear of fatal madness made me pale.

          PHAEDRA
          Who would have thought it, Nurse? I had a rival.

          OENONE
          A rival?

          PHAEDRA
          Yes, he loves. I cannot doubt it.
          This wild untamable Hippolytus,
          Who scorn'd to be admired, whom lovers' sighs
          Wearied, this tiger, whom I fear'd to rouse,
          Fawns on a hand that has subdued his pride:
          Aricia has found entrance to his heart.

          OENONE
          Aricia?

          PHAEDRA
          Ah! anguish as yet untried!
          For what new tortures am I still reserved?
          All I have undergone, transports of passion,
          Longings and fears, the horrors of remorse,
          The shame of being spurn'd with contumely,
          Were feeble foretastes of my present torments.
          They love each other! By what secret charm
          Have they deceived me? Where, and when, and how
          Met they? You knew it all. Why was I cozen'd?
          You never told me of those stolen hours
          Of amorous converse. Have they oft been seen
          Talking together? Did they seek the shades
          Of thickest woods? Alas! full freedom had they
          To see each other. Heav'n approved their sighs;
          They loved without the consciousness of guilt;
          And every morning's sun for them shone clear,
          While I, an outcast from the face of Nature,
          Shunn'd the bright day, and sought to hide myself.
          Death was the only god whose aid I dared
          To ask: I waited for the grave's release.
          Water'd with tears, nourish'd with gall, my woe
          Was all too closely watch'd; I did not dare
          To weep without restraint. In mortal dread
          Tasting this dangerous solace, I disguised
          My terror 'neath a tranquil countenance,
          And oft had I to check my tears, and smile.

          OENONE
          What fruit will they enjoy of their vain love?
          They will not see each other more.

          PHAEDRA
          That love
          Will last for ever. Even while I speak,
          Ah, fatal thought, they laugh to scorn the madness
          Of my distracted heart. In spite of exile
          That soon must part them, with a thousand oaths
          They seal yet closer union. Can I suffer
          A happiness, Oenone, which insults me?
          I crave your pity. She must be destroy'd.
          My husband's wrath against a hateful stock
          Shall be revived, nor must the punishment
          Be light: the sister's guilt passes the brothers'.
          I will entreat him in my jealous rage.
          What am I saying? Have I lost my senses?
          Is Phaedra jealous, and will she implore
          Theseus for help? My husband lives, and yet
          I burn. For whom? Whose heart is this I claim
          As mine? At every word I say, my hair
          Stands up with horror. Guilt henceforth has pass'd
          All bounds. Hypocrisy and incest breathe
          At once thro' all. My murderous hands are ready
          To spill the blood of guileless innocence.
          Do I yet live, wretch that I am, and dare
          To face this holy Sun from whom I spring?
          My father's sire was king of all the gods;
          My ancestors fill all the universe.
          Where can I hide? In the dark realms of Pluto?
          But there my father holds the fatal urn;
          His hand awards th' irrevocable doom:
          Minos is judge of all the ghosts in hell.
          Ah! how his awful shade will start and shudder
          When he shall see his daughter brought before him,
          Forced to confess sins of such varied dye,
          Crimes it may be unknown to hell itself!
          What wilt thou say, my father, at a sight
          So dire? I think I see thee drop the urn,
          And, seeking some unheard-of punishment,
          Thyself become my executioner.
          Spare me! A cruel goddess has destroy'd
          Thy race; and in my madness recognize
          Her wrath. Alas! My aching heart has reap'd
          No fruit of pleasure from the frightful crime
          The shame of which pursues me to the grave,
          And ends in torment life-long misery.

          OENONE
          Ah, Madam, pray dismiss a groundless dread:
          Look less severely on a venial error.
          You love. We cannot conquer destiny.
          You were drawn on as by a fatal charm.
          Is that a marvel without precedent
          Among us? Has love triumph'd over you,
          And o'er none else? Weakness is natural
          To man. A mortal, to a mortal's lot
          Submit. You chafe against a yoke that others
          Have long since borne. The dwellers in Olympus,
          The gods themselves, who terrify with threats
          The sins of men, have burn'd with lawless fires.

          PHAEDRA
          What words are these I hear? What counsel this
          You dare to give me? Will you to the end
          Pour poison in mine ears? You have destroy'd me.
          You brought me back when I should else have quitted
          The light of day, made me forget my duty
          And see Hippolytus, till then avoided.
          What hast thou done? Why did your wicked mouth
          With blackest lies slander his blameless life?
          Perhaps you've slain him, and the impious pray'r
          Of an unfeeling father has been answer'd.
          No, not another word! Go, hateful monster;
          Away, and leave me to my piteous fate.
          May Heav'n with justice pay you your deserts!
          And may your punishment for ever be
          A terror to all those who would, like you,
          Nourish with artful wiles the weaknesses
          Of princes, push them to the brink of ruin
          To which their heart inclines, and smooth the path
          Of guilt. Such flatterers doth the wrath of Heav'n
          Bestow on kings as its most fatal gift.

          OENONE (alone)
          O gods! to serve her what have I not done?
          This is the due reward that I have won.

 Phaedra enters, distraught, and begs Theseus not to kill his son, not to put upon her conscience the guilt of such a crime. Theseus reassures her that he has not touched Hippolytus; Neptune will revenge him. Phaedra, yet more alarmed, begins to question, but Theseus cuts her off and tells her that not only are Hippolytus' sins against her too black to be forgiven, but that he has compounded them by trying to make Theseus believe he is in love with Aricia. Leaving Phaedra stunned by this news, he goes to pray at the altars of Neptune for a prompt granting of his request. Phaedra, alone, cannot believe and yet believes only too well the account she has just heard. Remorseful at the crime she had countenanced, she had torn herself from Oenone's arms to save Hippolytus' life, perhaps even to confess. Now her sentiments have completely changed. He loves Aricia! He loves another! Never will she defend him. Oenone enters, and Phaedra tells her what she has learned. Hippolytus loves Aricia, and her suffering has no limits. Whatever she has endured before -- the torments of love and the agony of remorse have been mild compared to the hell of jealousy she now undergoes. Hippolytus and Aricia were meeting, loving in all innocence, and heaven itself was smiling down on their transports, while she, Phaedra, had to hide her love from the light of day and sought only for death; she dared not even weep to relieve her suffering, but had constantly to maintain a serene face before the public. Oenone, consoling, reminds her that Hippolytus and Aricia will never see one another again, but the thought is meaningless to Phaedra. "They will still love one another," she cries. "Even now they are defying the rage of a woman mad with love, swearing a thousand times they will never be parted." Oenone must serve Phaedra's passion once more; she must turn Theseus against Aricia and persuade him to kill her. She herself will beg him. But at this moment, the very excess of her madness shocks her into sanity, and she stops short, appalled. "My husband is alive, and I still burn for Hippolytus!" she cries. From her first crime of incestuous love, she has gone on to countenance lies and false accusations; even now Hippolytus' innocent blood may be on her hands; how can she endure to live? Rather she should die; yet even after death, her father, judge of the underworld, will confront her, horrified at her crimes, trying to think of a torment appropriate to his daughter's sins. Oenone, frightened, tries to calm her. Her love for Hippolytus was no crime, only an excusable error. Everybody loves; it is the fate of mortals, and the gods themselves sometimes love illicitly. Her feeble arguments, however, only anger Phaedra more. Now what new crimes will Oenone suggest? From the beginning, the nurse has been the instigator of Phaedra's wicked acts. She urged Phaedra to declare her love to Hippolytus; it was she who accused him falsely to his father and who may even now have encompassed his death. Phaedra henceforth will decide her own life, and may Oenone suffer the fate merited by all flatterers who encourage and feed upon the weaknesses of their princes! She exits, and Oenone, left alone, reflects that after all her services to Phaedra, she has perhaps received the reward she merits.

