Ten Plays. Euripides
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her arms and kissed them fondly, a; a dying mother might. And all the servants in the house fell a-crying in sorrow for their mistress; but she held out her hand to each, nor was there one so mean but she gave him a word and took his answer back. Such are the sorrows in the halls of Admetus. Dying he had died once for all, but by avoiding death he hath a legacy of grief that he will ne’er forget.
CHORUS. Doubtless Admetus sorrows in this calamity, if he must lose so good a wife.
Ma. Ah yes! he weeps, holding in his arms his darling wife, and prays her not to leave him, impossible request! for she is worn and wasted with illness, and lies exhausted, a sad burden in his arms. Still, though her breath comes short and scant, she yearns to gaze yet on the sunshine, for nevermore, but now the last and latest time her eye shall see his radiant orb. But I will go, thy presence to announce, for ’tis not all who have the goodwill to stand by their masters with kindly hearts in adversity. But thou of old hast been my master’s friend.
[Exit.]
CHORUS. O Zeus, what way out of these sorrows can be found? how can we loose the bonds of fate that bind our lord?
Comes some one forth? Am I at once to cut my hair, and cast the sable robe about me?
Too plainly, ay too plainly, friends; still let us to heaven pray; for the gods’ power is very great.
O king Paean, devise for Admetus some means of escape from his sorrows.
Yes, yes, contrive it; for thou in days gone by didst find salvation for him, so now be thou a saviour from the toils of death and stay bloodthirsty Hades.
Woe! woe! alas! Thou son of Pheres, woe! Ah, thy fate in losing thy wife!
Is not this enough to make thee slay thyself, ah! more than cause enough to tie the noose aloft and fit it to the neck?
Yea, for to-day wilt thou witness the death of her that was not merely dear, but dearest of the dear.
Look, look! she cometh even now, her husband with her, from the house.
Cry aloud and wail, O land of Pherae, wail for the best of women, as with sickness worn she passes ’neath the earth to Hades, lord below.
Never, never will I say that marriage brings more joy than grief, as I conjecture by the past and witness these misfortunes of our king, for he when widowed of this noble wife will for the future lead a life that is no life at all.
[Enter ALCESTIS, ADMETUS, and CHILDREN.]
ALCESTIS. O sun-god, lamp of day! O scudding clouds that dance along the sky!
ADMETUS. He sees us both with anguish bowed, albeit guiltless of any crime against the gods, for the which thy death is due.
ALCESTIS. O earth, O sheltering roof, and ye my maiden chambers in my native land Iolcos!
ADMETUS. Lift thyself, unhappy wife, forsake me not; entreat the mighty gods to pity us.
ALCESTIS. I see the two-oared skiff, I see it; and Charon, death’s ferryman, his hand upon the boatman’s pole, is calling me e’en now, “Why lingerest thou? Hasten. Thou art keeping me.” Thus in his eager haste he hurries me.
ADMETUS. Ah me! bitter to me is this voyage thou speakest of. Unhappy wife, what woes are ours!
ALCESTIS. One draws me, draws me hence, seest thou not? to the courts of death, winged Hades glaring from beneath his dark brows. What wilt thou with me? Unhand me. On what a journey am I setting out, most wretched woman I!
ADMETUS. Bitter journey to thy friends, yet most of all to me and to thy babes, the partners in this sorrow.
ALCESTIS. Hands off! hands off at once!
Lay me down, I cannot stand. Hades standeth near; and with its gloom steals night upon my eyes.
O my children, my children, ye have no mother now. Fare ye well, my babes, live on beneath the light!
ADMETUS. Woe is me! this is a message of sorrow to me, worse than aught that death can do. Steel not thy heart to leave me, I implore, by heaven, by thy babes whom thou wilt make orphans; nay, raise thyself, have courage. For if thou die I can no longer live; my life, my death are in thy hands; thy love is what I worship.
ALCESTIS. Admetus, lo! thou seest how it is with me; to thee I fain would tell my wishes ere I die. Thee I set before myself, and instead of living have ensured thy life, and so I die, though I need not have died for thee, but might have taken for my husband whom I would of the Thessalians, and have had a home blest with royal power; reft of thee, with my children orphans, I cared not to live, nor, though crowned with youth’s fair gifts, wherein I used to joy, did I grudge them. Yet the father that begat thee, the mother that bare thee, gave thee up, though they had reached a time of life when to die were well, so saving thee their child, and winning noble death. For thou wert their only son, nor had they any hope, when thou wert dead, of other offspring. And I should have lived and thou the remnant of our days, nor wouldst thou have wept thy wife’s loss, nor have had an orphan family. But some god hath caused these things to be even as they are. Enough! Remember thou the gratitude due to me for this; yea, for I shall never ask thee for an adequate return, for naught is prized more highly than our life; but just is my request, as thou thyself must say, since thou no less than I dost love these children, if so be thou think’st aright. Be content to let them rule my house, and do not marry a new wife to be a stepmother to these children, for she from jealousy, if so she be a woman worse than me, will stretch out her hand against the children of our union. Then do not this, I do beseech thee. For the stepmother that succeeds, hateth children of a former match, cruel as the viper’s are her tender mercies. A son ’tis true, hath in his sire a tower of strength to whom he speaks and has his answer back; but thou, my daughter, how shall thy maidenhood be passed in honour? What shall thy experience be of thy father’s wife? She may fasten on thee some foul report in thy youthful bloom, and frustrate thy marriage. Never shall thy mother lead thee to the bridal bed, nor by her presence in thy travail hearten thee, my child, when a mother’s kindness triumphs over all. No, for I must die; and lo! this evil cometh to me not to-morrow nor yet on the third day of the month, but in a moment shall I be counted among the souls that are no more. Fare ye well, be happy; and thou, husband, canst boast thou hadst a peerless wife, and you, children, that you had such an one for mother.
CHORUS. Take heart; I do not hesitate to answer for him; he will perform all this, unless his mind should go astray.
ADMETUS. It shall be so, fear not, it shall; alive thou wert the only wife I had, and dead shalt thou, none else, be called mine; no Thessalian maid shall ever take thy place and call me lord; not though she spring from lineage high nor though besides she be the fairest of her sex. Of children I have enough; god grant I may in them be blessed! for in thee has it been otherwise. No year-long mourning will I keep for thee, but all my life through, lady: loathing the mother that bare me, and hating my father, for they were friends in word but not in deed. But thou didst give thy dearest for my life and save it. May I not then mourn to lose a wife like thee? And I will put an end to revelry, to social gatherings o’er the wine, forego the festal crown and music which once reigned in my halls. For nevermore will I touch the lyre nor lift my soul in song to the Libyan flute, for thou hast taken with thee all my joy in life. But in my bed thy figure shall be laid full length, by cunning artists fashioned; thereon will I throw myself and, folding my arms about thee, call upon thy name, and think I hold my dear wife in my embrace, although I do not; chill comfort this, no doubt but still I shall relieve my soul of its sad weight; and thou wilt come to me in dreams and gladden me. For sweet it is to see our friends, come they when they will, e’en by night.
Had I the tongue, the tuneful voice of Orpheus to charm Demeter’s daughter or her husband by my lay and bring thee back from Hades, I had gone down, nor Pluto’s hound, nor Charon, ferryman of souls, whose hand is oh the oar, had held me back, till to the light I had restored thee alive. At least do thou await me there, against the hour I die, prepare a home for me to be my true wife still. For in this same cedar coffin I will bid these children lay me with thee and stretch my limbs by thine; for never even