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.
