July 17 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
A Throne for Son or Stepson?
Phædre first persecuted Hippolytus, her handsome stepson, then loved him. Suddenly he and her own son became rivals for the throne. Should she push her son’s claims or let Hippolytus take the crown?
- Racine elected to French Academy, July 17, 1673.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
Phædre
Jean Racine
PHAEDRA
CHARACTERS
THESEUS, son of Aegeus and King of Athens.PHAEDRA, wife of Theseus and Daughter of Minos and Pasiphaë.HIPPOLYTUS, son of Theseus and Antiope, Queen of the Amazons.ARICIA, Princess of the Blood Royal of Athens.OENONE, nurse of Phaedra.THERAMENES, tutor of Hippolytus.ISMENE, bosom friend of Aricia.PANOPE, waiting-woman of Phaedra.GuardsThe scene is laid at Troezen, a town of the Peloponnesus.
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 dearI know not, nor what corner of the earthHides 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 sideOf Corinth, ask’d if aught were known of TheseusWhere Acheron is lost among the Shades,Visited Elis, doubled Toenarus,And sail’d into the sea that saw the fallOf Icarus? Inspired with what new hope,Under what favour’d skies think you to traceHis 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 nameOf Theseus. Youthful errors have been leftBehind, and no unworthy obstacleDetains him. Phaedra long has fix’d a heartInconstant 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 dreadThese peaceful haunts, so dear to happy childhood,Where I have seen you oft prefer to stay,Rather than meet the tumult and the pompOf Athens and the court? What danger shun you,Or shall I say what grief?
Hippolytus
That happy timeIs gone, and all is changed, since to these shoresThe gods sent Phaedra.
Theramenes
I perceive the causeOf your distress. It is the queen whose sightOffends you. With a step dame’s spite she schemedYour 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 diseaseOf which she will not speak, weary of lifeAnd 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 sonsOf 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 loveAnd to that yoke which Theseus has so oftEndured? And can it be that Venus, scorn’dSo long, will justify your sire at last?Has she, then, setting you with other mortals,Forced e’en Hippolytus to offer incenseBefore her? Can you love?
Hippolytus
Friend, ask me not.You, who have known my heart from infancyAnd all its feelings of disdainful pride,Spare me the shame of disavowing allThat I profess’d. Born of an Amazon,The wildness that you wonder at I suck’dWith 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 consolationTo 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 deceivedWhose very names have ‘scaped his memory,Forsaken Ariadne to the rocksComplaining, last this Phaedra, bound to himBy better ties,—you know with what regretI heard and urged you to cut short the tale,Happy had I been able to eraseFrom my remembrance that unworthy partOf such a splendid record. I, in turn,Am I too made the slave of love, and broughtTo stoop so low? The more contemptibleThat no renown is mine such as exaltsThe name of Theseus, that no monsters quell’dHave 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 forgottenEternal barriers of separationBetween us? By my father’s stern commandHer brethren’s blood must ne’er be reinforcedBy sons of hers; he dreads a single shootFrom stock so guilty, and would fain with herBury their name, that, even to the tombContent to be his ward, for her no torchOf Hymen may be lit. Shall I espouseHer rights against my sire, rashly provokeHis 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 flameWithin you, lends his enemy new charms.And, after all, why should a guiltless passionAlarm 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 scornOf 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 pastYou have been seldom seen with wild delightUrging 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 castHas 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?
SCENE II
HIPPOLYTUS, OENONE, THERAMENES
Oenone
Alas, my lord, what grief was e’er like mine?The queen has almost touch’d the gates of death.Vainly close watch I keep by day and night,E’en in my arms a secret maladySlays her, and all her senses are disorder’d.Weary yet restless from her couch she rises,Pants for the outer air, but bids me seeThat no one on her misery intrudes.She comes.
Hippolytus
Enough. She shall not be disturb’d,Nor be confronted with a face she hates.
SCENE III
PHAEDRA, OENONE
Phaedra
We have gone far enough. Stay, dear Oenone;Strength fails me, and I needs must rest awhile.My eyes are dazzled with this glaring lightSo long unseen, my trembling knees refuseSupport. Ah me!
Oenone
Would Heaven that our tearsMight bring relief!
Phaedra
Ah, how these cumbrous gauds,These veils oppress me! What officious handHas tied these knots, and gather’d o’er my browThese clustering coils? How all conspires to addTo my distress!
Oenone
What is one moment wish’d,The next, is irksome. Did you not just now,Sick of inaction, bid us deck you out,And, with your former energy recall’d,Desire to go abroad, and see the lightOf day once more? You see it, and would fainBe hidden from the sunshine that you sought.
Phaedra
Thou glorious author of a hapless race,Whose daughter ’twas my mother’s boast to be,Who well may’st blush to see me in such plight,For the last time I come to look on thee,O Sun!
Oenone
What! Still are you in love with death?Shall I ne’er see you, reconciled to life,Forego these cruel accents of despair?
Phaedra
Would I were seated in the forest’s shade!When may I follow with delighted eye,Thro’ glorious dust flying in full career,A chariot—
Oenone
Madam?
Phaedra
Have I lost my senses?What said I? and where am I? Whither strayVain wishes? Ah! The gods have made me mad.I blush, Oenone, and confusion coversMy face, for I have let you see too clearlyThe shame of grief that, in my own despite,O’erflows these eyes of mine.
Oenone
If you must blush,Blush at a silence that inflames your woes.Resisting all my care, deaf to my voice,Will you have no compassion on yourself,But let your life be ended in mid course?What evil spell has drain’d its fountain dry?Thrice have the shades of night obscured the heav’nsSince sleep has enter’d thro’ your eyes, and thriceThe dawn has chased the darkness thence, since foodPass’d your wan lips, and you are faint and languid.To what dread purpose is your heart inclined?How dare you make attempts upon your life,And so offend the gods who gave it you,Prove false to Theseus and your marriage vows,Ay, and betray your most unhappy children,Bending their necks yourself beneath the yoke?That day, be sure, which robs them of their mother,Will give high hopes back to the stranger’s son,To that proud enemy of you and yours,To whom an Amazon gave birth, I meanHippolytus—
Phaedra
Ye gods!
Oenone
Ah, this reproachMoves you!
Phaedra
Unhappy woman, to what nameGave your mouth utterance?
Oenone
Your wrath is just.’Tis well that that ill-omen’d name can rouseSuch rage. Then live. Let love and duty urgeTheir claims. Live, suffer not this son of Scythia,Crushing your children ’neath his odious sway,To rule the noble offspring of the gods,The purest blood of Greece. Make no delay;Each moment threatens death; quickly restoreYour shatter’d strength, while yet the torch of lifeHolds out, and can be fann’d into a flame.
Phaedra
Too long have I endured its guilt and shame!
Oenone
Why? What remorse gnaws at your heart? What crimeCan have disturb’d you thus? Your hands are notPolluted with the blood of innocence?
Phaedra
Thanks be to Heav’n, my hands are free from stain.Would that my soul were innocent as they!
Oenone
What awful project have you then conceived,Whereat your conscience should be still alarm’d?
Phaedra
Have I not said enough? Spare me the rest.I die to save myself a full confession.
Oenone
Die then, and keep a silence so inhuman;But seek some other hand to close your eyes.Tho’ but a spark of life remains within you,My soul shall go before you to the Shades.A thousand roads are always open thither;Pain’d at your want of confidence, I’ll chooseThe shortest. Cruel one, when has my faithDeceived you! Think how in my arms you layNew born. For you, my country and my childrenI have forsaken. Do you thus repayMy faithful service?
Phaedra
What do you expectFrom words so bitter? Were I to break silence,Horror would freeze your blood.
Oenone
What can you sayTo horrify me more than to beholdYou die before my eyes?
Phaedra
When you shall knowMy crime, my death will follow none the less,But with the added stain of guilt.
Oenone
Dear Madam,By all the tears that I have shed for you,By these weak knees I clasp, relieve my mindFrom torturing doubt.
Phaedra
It is your wish. Then rise.
Oenone
I hear you. Speak.
Phaedra
Heav’ns! How shall I begin?
Oenone
Dismiss vain fears, you wound me with distrust.
Phaedra
O fatal animosity of Venus!Into what wild distractions did she castMy mother!
Oenone
Be they blotted from remembrance,And for all time to come buried in silence.
Phaedra
My sister Ariadne, by what loveWere you betray’d to death, on lonely shoresForsaken!
Oenone
Madam, what deep-seated painPrompts these reproaches against all your kin?
Phaedra
It is the will of Venus, and I perish,Last, most unhappy of a familyWhere all were wretched.
Oenone
Do you love?
Phaedra
I feelAll its mad fever.
Oenone
Ah! For whom?
Phaedra
Hear nowThe crowning horror. Yes, I love—my lipsTremble to say his name.
Oenone
Whom?
Phaedra
Know you him,Son of the Amazon, whom I’ve oppress’dSo long?
Oenone
Hippolytus? Great gods!
Phaedra
’Tis youHave named him.
Oenone
All my blood within my veinsSeems frozen. O despair! O cursèd race!Ill-omen’d journey! Land of misery!Why did we ever reach thy dangerous shores?
Phaedra
My wound is not so recent. Scarcely had IBeen bound to Theseus by the marriage yoke,And happiness and peace seem’d well secured,When Athens show’d me my proud enemy.I look’d, alternately turn’d pale and blush’dTo see him, and my soul grew all distraught;A mist obscured my vision, and my voiceFalter’d, my blood ran cold, then burn’d like fire;Venus I felt in all my fever’d frame,Whose fury had so many of my racePursued. With fervent vows I sought to shunHer torments, built and deck’d for her a shrine,And there, ’mid countless victims did I seekThe reason I had lost; but all for naught,No remedy could cure the wounds of love!In vain I offer’d incense on her altars;When I invoked her name my heart adoredHippolytus, before me constantly;And when I made her altars smoke with victims,’Twas for a god whose name I dared not utter.I fled his presence everywhere, but found him—O crowning horror!—in his father’s features.Against myself, at last, I raised revolt,And stirr’d my courage up to persecuteThe enemy I loved. To banish himI wore a step-dame’s harsh and jealous carriage,With ceaseless cries I clamour’d for his exile,Till I had torn him from his father’s arms.I breathed once more, Oenone; in his absenceMy days flow’d on less troubled than before,And innocent. Submissive to my husband,I hid my grief, and of our fatal marriageCherish’d the fruits. Vain caution! Cruel Fate!Brought hither by my spouse himself, I sawAgain the enemy whom I had banish’d,And the old wound too quickly bled afresh.No longer is it love hid in my heart,But Venus in her might seizing her prey.I have conceived just terror for my crime;I hate my life, and hold my love in horror.Dying I wish’d to keep my fame unsullied,And bury in the grave a guilty passion;But I have been unable to withstandTears and entreaties, I have told you all;Content, if only, as my end draws near,You do not vex me with unjust reproaches,Nor with vain efforts seek to snatch from deathThe last faint lingering sparks of vital breath.
SCENE IV
PHAEDRA, OENONE, PANOPE
Panope
Fain would I hide from you tidings so sad,But ’tis my duty, Madam, to reveal them.The hand of death has seized your peerless husband,And you are last to hear of this disaster.
Oenone
What say you, Panope?
Panope
The queen, deceivedBy a vain trust in Heav’n, begs safe returnFor Theseus, while Hippolytus his sonLearns of his death from vessels that are nowIn port.
Phaedra
Ye gods!
Panope
Divided counsels swayThe choice of Athens; some would have the prince,Your child, for master; others, disregardingThe laws, dare to support the stranger’s son.’Tis even said that a presumptuous factionWould crown Aricia and the house of Pallas.I deem’d it right to warn you of this danger.Hippolytus already is preparedTo start, and should he show himself at Athens,’Tis to be fear’d the fickle crowd will allFollow his lead.
Oenone
Enough. The queen, who hears you,By no means will neglect this timely warning.
SCENE V
PHAEDRA, OENONE
Oenone
Dear lady, I had almost ceased to urgeThe wish that you should live, thinking to followMy mistress to the tomb, from which my voiceHad fail’d to turn you; but this new misfortuneAlters the aspect of affairs, and promptsFresh measures. Madam, Theseus is no more,You must supply his place. He leaves a son,A slave, if you should die, but, if you live,A King. On whom has he to lean but you?No hand but yours will dry his tears. Then liveFor him, or else the tears of innocenceWill move the gods, his ancestors, to wrathAgainst his mother. Live, your guilt is gone,No blame attaches to your passion now.The King’s decease has freed you from the bondsThat made the crime and horror of your love.Hippolytus no longer need be dreaded,Him you may see henceforth without reproach.It may be, that, convinced of your aversion,He means to head the rebels. Undeceive him,Soften his callous heart, and bend his pride.King of this fertile land, in Troezen hereHis portion lies; but as he knows, the lawsGive to your son the ramparts that MinervaBuilt and protects. A common enemyThreatens you both, unite them to oppose
Aricia
Phaedra
To your counsel I consent.Yes, I will live, if life can be restored,If my affection for a son has pow’rTo rouse my sinking heart at such a dangerous hour.
ACT II
SCENE I
ARICIA, ISMENE
Aricia
Hippolytus request to see me here!Hippolytus desire to bid farewell!Is’t true, Ismene? Are you not deceived?
Ismene
This is the first result of Theseus’ death.Prepare yourself to see from every sideHearts turn towards you that were kept awayBy Theseus. Mistress of her lot at last,Aricia soon shall find all Greece fall low,To do her homage.
Aricia
’Tis not then, Ismene,An idle tale? Am I no more a slave?Have I no enemies?
Ismene
The gods opposeYour peace no longer, and the soul of TheseusIs with your brothers.
Volume 26, pages 133–148 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for July 17 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 62. There the assignment reads “Vol. 26, pp. 133–148.” Read it in the guide.