OENONE
Madam, you must stifle A fruitless love. Recall your former virtue:
The king who was thought dead will soon appear Before your eyes, Theseus has just arrived, Theseus is here. The people flock to see him With eager haste. I went by your command To find the prince, when with a thousand shouts The air was rent--PHAEDRA
My husband is alive, That is enough, Oenone. I have own'd A passion that dishonours him. He lives:
I ask to know no more.
OENONE
What?
PHAEDRA
I foretold it, But you refused to hear. Your tears prevail'd Over my just remorse. Dying this morn, I had deserved compassion; your advice I took, and die dishonour'd.
OENONE
Die?
PHAEDRA
Just Heav'ns!
What have I done to-day? My husband comes, With him his son: and I shall see the witness Of my adulterous flame watch with what face I greet his father, while my heart is big With sighs he scorn'd, and tears that could not move him Moisten mine eyes. Think you that his respect For Theseus will induce him to conceal My madness, nor disgrace his sire and king?
Will he be able to keep back the horror He has for me? His silence would be vain.
I know my treason, and I lack the boldness Of those abandon'd women who can taste Tranquillity in crime, and show a forehead All unabash'd. I recognize my madness, Recall it all. These vaulted roofs, methinks, These walls can speak, and, ready to accuse me, Wait but my husband's presence to reveal My perfidy. Death only can remove This weight of horror. Is it such misfortune To cease to live? Death causes no alarm To misery. I only fear the name That I shall leave behind me. For my sons How sad a heritage! The blood of Jove Might justly swell the pride that boasts descent From Heav'n, but heavy weighs a mother's guilt Upon her offspring. Yes, I dread the scorn That will be cast on them, with too much truth, For my disgrace. I tremble when I think That, crush'd beneath that curse, they'll never dare To raise their eyes.
OENONE
Doubt not I pity both;
Never was fear more just than yours. Why, then, Expose them to this ignominy? Why Will you accuse yourself? You thus destroy The only hope that's left; it will be said That Phaedra, conscious of her perfidy, Fled from her husband's sight. Hippolytus Will be rejoiced that, dying, you should lend His charge support. What can I answer him?
He'll find it easy to confute my tale, And I shall hear him with an air of triumph To every open ear repeat your shame.
Sooner than that may fire from heav'n consume me!
Deceive me not. Say, do you love him still?
How look you now on this contemptuous prince?
PHAEDRA
As on a monster frightful to mine eyes.
OENONE
Why yield him, then, an easy victory?
You fear him? Venture to accuse him first, As guilty of the charge which he may bring This day against you. Who can say 'tis false?
All tells against him: in your hands his sword Happily left behind, your present trouble, Your past distress, your warnings to his father, His exile which your earnest pray'rs obtain'd.
PHAEDRA
What! Would you have me slander innocence?
OENONE
My zeal has need of naught from you but silence.
Like you I tremble, and am loath to do it;
More willingly I'd face a thousand deaths, But since without this bitter remedy I lose you, and to me your life outweighs All else, I'll speak. Theseus, howe'er enraged Will do no worse than banish him again.
A father, when he punishes, remains A father, and his ire is satisfied With a light sentence. But if guiltless blood Should flow, is not your honour of more moment?
A treasure far too precious to be risk'd?
You must submit, whatever it dictates;
For, when our reputation is at stake, All must be sacrificed, conscience itself.
But someone comes. 'Tis Theseus.
PHAEDRA
And I see Hippolytus, my ruin plainly written In his stern eyes. Do what you will; I trust My fate to you. I cannot help myself.
