Complete Works of Euripides

by Euripides

  CHOR. Desist, for the present calamity is sufficient; and do not, O son, provoke thy father’s mind.

  PHE. O son, whom dost thou presume thou art gibing with thy reproaches, a Lydian or a Phrygian bought with thy money? Knowest thou not that I am a Thessalian, and born from a Thessalian father, truly free? Thou art too insolent, and casting the impetuous words of youth against us, shalt not having cast them thus depart. But I begat thee the lord of my house, and brought thee up, but I am not thy debtor to die for thee; for I received no paternal law like this, nor Grecian law, that fathers should die for their children; for for thyself thou wert born, whether unfortunate or fortunate, but what from us thou oughtest to have, thou hast. Thou rulest indeed over many, and I will leave thee a large demesne of lands, for these I received from my father. In what then have I injured thee? Of what do I deprive thee? Thou joyest to see the light, and dost think thy father does not joy? Surely I count the time we must spend beneath long, and life is short, but still sweet. Thou too didst shamelessly fight off from dying, and livest, having passed over thy destined fate, by slaying her; then dost thou talk of my nothingness of soul, O most vile one, when thou art surpassed by a woman who died for thee, the handsome youth? But thou hast made a clever discovery, so that thou mayst never die, if thou wilt persuade the wife that is thine from time to time to die for thee: and then reproachest thou thy friends who are not willing to do this, thyself being a coward? Hold thy peace, and consider, if thou lovest thy life, that all love theirs; but if thou shalt speak evil against us, thou shalt hear many reproaches and not false ones.

  CHOR. Too many evil things have been spoken both now and before, but cease, old man, from reviling thy son.

  ADM. Speak, for I have spoken; but if thou art grieved at hearing the truth, thou shouldst not err against me.

  PHE. But had I died for thee, I had erred more.

  ADM. What? is it the same thing for a man in his prime, and for an old man to die?

  PHE. We ought to live with one life, not with two.

  ADM. Mayst thou then live a longer time than Jove!

  PHE. Dost curse thy parents, having met with no injustice?

  ADM. I said it, for I perceived thou lovedst a long life.

  PHE. But art not thou bearing forth this corse instead of thyself?

  ADM. A proof this, O most vile one, of thy nothingness of soul.

  PHE. She died not by us at least; thou wilt not say this.

  ADM. Alas! Oh that you may ever come to need my aid!

  PHE. Wed many wives, that more may die.

  ADM. This is a reproach to thyself, for thou wert not willing to die.

  PHE. Sweet is this light of the God, sweet is it.

  ADM. Base is thy spirit and not that of men.

  PHE. Thou dost not laugh as carrying an aged corse.

  ADM. Thou wilt surely however die inglorious, when thou diest.

  PHE. To bear an evil report is no matter to me when dead.

  ADM. Alas! alas! how full of shamelessness is old age!

  PHE. She was not shameless: her you found mad.

  ADM. Begone, and suffer me to bury this dead.

  PHE. I will depart; but you will bury her, yourself being her murderer. But you will render satisfaction to your wife’s relatives yet: or surely Acastus no longer ranks among men, if he shall not revenge the blood of his sister.

  ADM. Get thee gone, then, thou and thy wife; childless, thy child yet living, as ye deserve, grow old; for ye no more come into the same house with me: and if it were necessary for me to renounce by heralds thy paternal hearth, I would renounce it. But let us (for the evil before us must be borne) proceed, that we may place the corse upon the funeral pyre.

  CHOR. O! O! unhappy because of thy bold deed, O noble, and by far most excellent, farewell! may both Mercury that dwells beneath, and Pluto, kindly receive thee; but if there too any distinction is shown to the good, partaking of this mayst thou sit by the bride of Pluto.

  SERVANT.

  I have now known many guests, and from all parts of the earth that have come to the house of Admetus, to whom I have spread the feast, but never yet did I receive into this house a worse one than this stranger. Who, in the first place, indeed, though he saw my master in affliction, came in, and prevailed upon himself to pass the gates. And then not at all in a modest manner received he the entertainment that there happened to be, when he heard of the calamity: but if we did not bring any thing, he hurried us to bring it. And having taken in his hands the cup wreathed with ivy, he quaffs the neat wine of the purple mother, until the fumes of the liquor coming upon him inflamed him; and he crowns his head with branches of myrtles howling discordantly; and there were two strains to hear; for he was singing, not caring at all for the afflictions of Admetus, but we the domestics, were bewailing our mistress, and we showed not that we were weeping to the guest, for thus Admetus commanded. And now indeed I am performing the offices of hospitality to the stranger in the house, some deceitful thief and robber. But she is gone from the house, nor did I follow, nor stretched out my hand in lamentation for my mistress, who was a mother to me, and to all the domestics, for she saved us from ten thousand ills, softening the anger of her husband. Do I not then justly hate this stranger, who is come in our miseries?

  HERCULES, SERVANT.

  HER. Ho there! why dost thou look so grave and thoughtful? The servant ought not to be of woeful countenance before guests, but should receive them with an affable mind. But thou, though thou seest a companion of thy lord present, receivest him with a morose and clouded countenance, fixing thy attention on a calamity that thou hast nothing to do with. Come hither, that thou mayst become more wise. Knowest thou mortal affairs, of what nature they are? I think not; from whence should you? but hear me. Death is a debt that all mortals must pay: and there is not of them one, who knows whether he shall live the coming morrow: for what depends on fortune is uncertain how it will turn out, and is not to be learned, neither is it detected by art. Having heard these things then, and learned them from me, make thyself merry, drink, and think the life allowed from day to day thine own, but the rest Fortune’s. And honor also Venus, the most sweet of deities to mortals, for she is a kind deity. But let go these other things, and obey my words, if I appear to speak rightly: I think so indeed. Wilt thou not then leave off thy excessive grief, and drink with me, crowned with garlands, having thrown open these gates? And well know I that the trickling of the cup falling down thy throat will change thee from thy present cloudy and pent state of mind. But we who are mortals should think as mortals. Since to all the morose, indeed, and to those of sad countenance, if they take me as judge at least, life is not truly life, but misery.

  SERV. I know this; but now we are in circumstances not such as are fit for revel and mirth.

  HER. The lady that is dead is a stranger; grieve not too much, for the lords of this house live.

  SERV. What live! knowest thou not the misery within the house?

  HER. Unless thy lord hath told me any thing falsely.

  SERV. He is too, too hospitable.

  HER. Is it unmeet that I should be well treated, because a stranger is dead?

  SERV. Surely however she was very near.

  HER. Has he forborne to tell me any calamity that there is?

  SERV. Depart and farewell; we have a care for the evils of our lords.

  HER. This speech is the beginning of no foreign loss.

  SERV. For I should not, had it been foreign, have been grieved at seeing thee reveling.

  HER. What! have I received so great an injury from mine host?

  SERV. Thou camest not in a fit time for the house to receive thee, for there is grief to us, and thou seest that we are shorn, and our black garments.

  HER. But who is it that is dead? Has either any of his children died, or his aged father?

  SERV. The wife indeed of Admetus is dead, O stranger.

  HER. What sayst thou? and yet did ye receive me?

  SERV. Yes, for
he had too much respect to turn thee from his house.

  HER. O unhappy man, what a wife hast thou lost!

  SERV. We all are lost, not she alone.

  HER. But I did perceive it indeed, when I saw his eye streaming with tears, and his shorn hair, and his countenance; but he persuaded me, saying, that he was conducting the funeral of a stranger to the tomb: but spite of my inclination having passed over these gates, I drank in the house of the hospitable man, while he was in this case, and reveled, crowned as to my head with garlands. But ’twas thine to tell me not to do it, when such an evil was upon the house. Where is he burying her? whither going can I find her?

  SERV. By the straight road that leads to Larissa, thou wilt see the polished tomb beyond the suburbs.

  HERCULES.

  O my much-daring heart and my soul, now show what manner of son the Tirynthian Alcmena, daughter of Electryon, bare thee to Jove. For I must rescue the woman lately dead, Alcestis, and place her again in this house, and perform this service for Admetus. And going I will lay wait for the sable-vested king of the departed, Death, and I think that I shall find him drinking of the libations near the tomb. And if having taken him by lying in wait, rushing from my ambush, I shall seize hold of him, and make a circle around him with mine arms, there is not who shall take him away panting as to his sides, until he release me the woman. But if however I fail of this capture, and he come not to the clottered mass of blood, I will go a journey beneath to the sunless mansions of Cora and her king, and will prefer my request; and I trust that I shall bring up Alcestis, so as to place her in the hands of that host, who received me into his house, nor drove me away, although struck with a heavy calamity, but concealed it, noble as he was, having respect unto me. Who of the Thessalians is more hospitable than he? Who that dwelleth in Greece? Wherefore he shall not say, that he did a service to a worthless man, himself being noble.

  ADMETUS, CHORUS.

  ADM. Alas! alas! O hateful approach, and hateful prospect of this widowed house. Oh me! Alas! alas! whither can I go! where rest! what can I say! and what not! would that I could perish! Surely my mother brought me forth to heavy fortune. I count the dead happy, them I long for! those houses I desire to dwell in: for neither delight I in viewing the sunbeams, nor treading with my foot upon the earth; of such a hostage has death robbed me, and delivered up to Pluto.

  CHOR. Advance, advance; go into the recesses of the house.

  (ADM. Oh! Oh!)

  Thou hast suffered things that demand groans.

  (ADM. Alas! alas!)

  Thou hast gone through grief, I well know.

  (ADM. Woe! Woe!)

  Thou nothing aidest her that is beneath.

  (ADM. Ah me! me!)

  Never to see thy dear wife’s face again before thee, is severe.

  ADM. Thou hast made mention of that which ulcerated my soul; for what can be greater ill to man than to lose his faithful wife? Would that I never had married and dwelt with her in the palace. But I judge happy those, who are unmarried and childless; for theirs is one only life, for this to grieve is a moderate burden: but to behold the diseases of children, and the bridal bed wasted by death, is not supportable, when it were in one’s power to be without children and unmarried the whole of life.

  CHOR. Fate, fate hard to be struggled with hath come.

  (ADM. Oh! Oh!)

  But puttest thou no bound to thy sorrows?

  (ADM. Alas! alas!)

  Heavy are they to bear, but still

  (ADM. Woe! woe!)

  endure, thou art not the first man that hast lost

  (ADM. Ah me! me!)

  thy wife; but calamity appearing afflicts different men in different shapes.

  ADM. O lasting griefs, and sorrows for our friends beneath the earth! — Why did you hinder me from throwing myself into her hallowed grave, and from lying dead with her, by far the most excellent woman? And Pluto would have retained instead of one, two most faithful souls having together passed over the infernal lake.

  CHOR. I had a certain kinsman, whose son worthy to be lamented, an only child, died in his house; but nevertheless he bore his calamity with moderation, being bereft of child, though now hastening to gray hairs, and advanced in life.

  ADM. O house, how can I enter in? and how dwell in thee now my fortune has undergone this change? Ah me! for there is great difference between: then indeed with Pelian torches, and with bridal songs I entered in, bearing the hand of my dear wife, and there followed a loud-shouting revelry hailing happy both her that is dead and me, inasmuch as being noble, and born of illustrious parents both, we were united together: but now the groan instead of hymeneals, and black array instead of white robes, usher me in to my deserted couch.

  CHOR. This grief came quick on happy fortune to thee unschooled in evil: but thou hast saved thy life. Thy wife is dead, she left her love behind: what new thing this? Death has ere this destroyed many wives.

  ADM. My friends, I deem the fortune of my wife more happy than mine own, even although these things appear not so. For her indeed no grief shall ever touch, and she hath with glory ceased from many toils. But I, who ought not to have lived, though I have scaped destiny, shall pass a bitter life; I but now perceive. For how can I bear the entering into this house? Whom speaking to, or by whom addressed, can I have joy in entering? Whither shall I turn me? For the solitude within will drive me forth, when I see the place where my wife used to lie, empty, and the seat whereon she used to sit, and the floor throughout the house all dirty, and when my children falling about my knees weep their mother, and they lament their mistress, thinking what a lady they have lost from out of the house. Such things within the house; but abroad the nuptials of the Thessalians and the assemblies full of women will torture me: for I shall not be able to look on the companions of my wife. But whoever is mine enemy will say thus of me: “See that man, who basely lives, who dared not to die, but giving in his stead her, whom he married, escaped Hades, (and then does he seem to be a man?) and hates his parents, himself not willing to die.” — Such report shall I have in addition to my woes; why then is it the more honorable course for me to live, my friends, having an evil character and an evil fortune?

  CHOR. I too have both been borne aloft through song, and having very much handled arguments have found nothing more powerful than Necessity: nor is there any cure in the Thracian tablets which Orpheus wrote, nor among those medicines, which Phœbus gave the sons of Æsculapius, dispensing them to wretched mortals. But neither to the altars nor to the image of this Goddess alone, is it lawful to approach, she hears not victims. Do not, O revered one, come on me more severe, than hitherto in my life. For Jove, whatever he have assented to, with thee brings this to pass. Thou too perforce subduest the iron among the Chalybi; nor has thy rugged spirit any remorse.

  And thee, Admetus, the Goddess hath seized in the inevitable grasp of her hand; but bear it, for thou wilt never by weeping bring back on earth the dead from beneath. Even the sons of the Gods by stealth begotten perish in death. Dear she was while she was with us, and dear even now when dead. But thou didst join to thy bed the noblest wife of all women. Nor let the tomb of thy wife be accounted as the mound over the dead that perish, but let it be honored equally with the Gods, a thing for travelers to adore: and some one, going out of his direct road, shall say thus: “She in olden time died for her husband, but now she is a blest divinity: Hail, O adored one, and be propitious!” Such words will be addressed to her. — And lo! here comes, as it seems, the son of Alcmena to thy house, Admetus.

  HERCULES, ADMETUS, CHORUS.

  HER. One should speak freely to a friend, Admetus, and, not in silence keep within our bosoms what we blame. Now I thought myself worthy as a friend to stand near thy calamities, and to search them out; but thou didst not tell me that it was thy wife’s corse that demanded thy attention; but didst receive me in thy house, as though occupied in grief for one not thine. And I crowned my head and poured out to the Gods libations in thy house which ha
d suffered this calamity. And I do blame thee, I blame thee, having met with this treatment! not that I wish to grieve thee in thy miseries. But wherefore I am come, having turned back again, I will tell thee. Receive and take care of this woman for me, until I come hither driving the Thracian mares, having slain the king of the Bistonians. But if I meet with what I pray I may not meet with, (for may I return!) I give thee her as an attendant of thy palace. But with much toil came she into my hands; for I find some who had proposed a public contest for wrestlers, worthy of my labors, from whence I bear off her, having received her as the prize of my victory; for those who conquered in the lighter exercises had to receive horses, but those again who conquered in the greater, the boxing and the wrestling, cattle, and a woman was added to these; but in me, who happened to be there, it had been base to neglect this glorious gain. But, as I said, the woman ought to be a care to you, for I am come not having obtained her by stealth, but with labor; but at some time or other thou too wilt perhaps commend me for it.