905
Whatever sentence is pronounced, you must submit,
Madame, if embattled honour would be rescued,
You must sacrifice everything, even virtue.
Whatever sentence is pronounced, you must submit,
Madame, if embattled honour would be rescued,
You must sacrifice everything, even virtue.
Racine - Phaedra
885
You fear him. Be first to accuse him, though,
Of a crime he may accuse you of today.
Who'll deny you? All's against him anyway:
His sword that he happily left with you:
Your present sorrow, your past distress, too: 890
His father warned long ago by your complaints:
And his exile you've already once obtained.
Phaedra
I, to dare to oppress and blacken innocence!
Oenone
My zeal only has need of your silence.
I tremble as you do, feel almost your own regret. 895
You'd see me sooner die a thousand deaths.
But since I'll lose you without this remedy,
Your life's a prize before which all else must yield.
I'll speak out. Theseus, angered by my confession,
Will be content to exile his son, in vengeance. 900
A father, in punishing, Madame, is always a father.
A light sentence will suffice to cool his anger.
But even if innocent blood must still be shed,
Your honour, being threatened, demands no less.
The treasure's too dear to dare to compromise it.
905
Whatever sentence is pronounced, you must submit,
Madame, if embattled honour would be rescued,
You must sacrifice everything, even virtue.
They come: I see Theseus.
Phaedra
Hippolytus, I:
I see my ruin written in his bold eye. 910
Do what you will: to you I abandon myself.
In this distress, I can do nothing for myself.
Act III Scene IV (Theseus, Hippolytus, Phaedra, Oenone, Theramenes)
Theseus
Fortune has ceased to oppose my wishes,
Madame, and brings to your arms. . .
Phaedra
Stop, Theseus,
And don't profane your feelings of joyfulness. 915
I no longer deserve this gracious tenderness.
You have been wronged. Fortune in her jealousy
Has not spared your wife, in your absence from me.
Unworthy of pleasing you, or approaching you,
I must only think now of hiding from you. 920
Act III Scene V (Theseus, Hippolytus, Theramenes)
My son, what is this strange welcome for your father?
Hippolyte
The mystery can only be explained by Phaedra.
But if my ardent prayers can move you at all,
Permit me, my Lord, never to see her more.
You fear him. Be first to accuse him, though,
Of a crime he may accuse you of today.
Who'll deny you? All's against him anyway:
His sword that he happily left with you:
Your present sorrow, your past distress, too: 890
His father warned long ago by your complaints:
And his exile you've already once obtained.
Phaedra
I, to dare to oppress and blacken innocence!
Oenone
My zeal only has need of your silence.
I tremble as you do, feel almost your own regret. 895
You'd see me sooner die a thousand deaths.
But since I'll lose you without this remedy,
Your life's a prize before which all else must yield.
I'll speak out. Theseus, angered by my confession,
Will be content to exile his son, in vengeance. 900
A father, in punishing, Madame, is always a father.
A light sentence will suffice to cool his anger.
But even if innocent blood must still be shed,
Your honour, being threatened, demands no less.
The treasure's too dear to dare to compromise it.
905
Whatever sentence is pronounced, you must submit,
Madame, if embattled honour would be rescued,
You must sacrifice everything, even virtue.
They come: I see Theseus.
Phaedra
Hippolytus, I:
I see my ruin written in his bold eye. 910
Do what you will: to you I abandon myself.
In this distress, I can do nothing for myself.
Act III Scene IV (Theseus, Hippolytus, Phaedra, Oenone, Theramenes)
Theseus
Fortune has ceased to oppose my wishes,
Madame, and brings to your arms. . .
Phaedra
Stop, Theseus,
And don't profane your feelings of joyfulness. 915
I no longer deserve this gracious tenderness.
You have been wronged. Fortune in her jealousy
Has not spared your wife, in your absence from me.
Unworthy of pleasing you, or approaching you,
I must only think now of hiding from you. 920
Act III Scene V (Theseus, Hippolytus, Theramenes)
My son, what is this strange welcome for your father?
Hippolyte
The mystery can only be explained by Phaedra.
But if my ardent prayers can move you at all,
Permit me, my Lord, never to see her more.
