lose so good a wife!
MAID. He did not know his loss, until the blow fell on him.
CHORUS. Is there then no more a hope of saving her?
MAID. None; the fated day comes on so fast.
CHORUS. Are then the fitting rites already taking place o’er her body?
MAID. Death’s garniture is ready, wherewith her lord will bury her.
CHORUS. Well let her know, though die she must, her fame ranks far above any other wife’s beneath the sun.
MAID. Far above! of course it does; who will gainsay it? What must the woman be who hath surpassed her? For how could any wife have shown a clearer regard for her lord than by offering in his stead to die? Thus much the whole city knows right well; but thou shalt hear with wonder what she did within the house. For when she knew the fatal day was come, she washed her fair white skin with water from the stream, then from her cedar chests drew forth vesture and ornaments and robed herself becomingly; next, standing before the altar-hearth she prayed, “Mistress mine, behold! I pass beneath the earth; to thee in suppliant wise will I my latest prayer address; be mother to my orphans, and to my boy unite a loving bride, to my daughter a noble husband. Let them not die, as I, their mother, perish now, untimely in their youth, but let them live their glad lives out, happy in their native land.” To every altar in Admetus’ halls she went and crowned them and prayed, plucking from myrtle boughs their foliage, with never a tear or groan, nor did her coming trouble change the colour of her comely face. Anon into her bridal bower she burst, and then her tears brake forth and thus she cried, “O couch whereon I loosed my maiden state for the man in whose cause I die, farewell! no hate I feel for thee for me alone hast thou undone, dying as I die from fear of betraying thee and my lord. Some other wife will make thee hers, more blest maybe than me, but not more chaste.” And she fell upon her knees and kissed it, till with her gushing tears the whole bed was wet. At last, when she had had her fill of weeping, she tore herself from the bed and hurried headlong forth, and oft as she was leaving the chamber turned she back and cast herself once more upon the couch; while her children were weeping as the clung to their mother’s robes; but she took them each in turn in 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
