strophe
And so Admetus dwells
in a house rich in flocks, by the lovely waters
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of Lake Boibias.*47 He sets the boundaries
of his tilled fields and pasture lands
beyond the hills of Molossus*48
to the west, where the sun stables his horses;
and to the east he’s lord of Pelion
which offers no harbor from the Aegean sea.*49
antistrophe
And now, his eyes wet with tears,
he opens his doors to a guest,
while in the house he weeps
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over the body of his dear wife, dead just now.
His high birth drives him to act with respect.
Among the noble everything is possible.
I marvel at his wisdom.
Deep in my being a sure feeling takes hold
that this pious man will prosper.
(Admetus enters from the house attended by mourners who carry Alcestis’ bier.)
ADMETUS: Men of Pherae, you’re kind to be here.
Now my attendants raise and carry the body
with all it needs for the funeral and pyre.
Address the dead woman, as is the custom
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as she departs on her final journey.
CHORUS: Wait now; I see your father coming,
bent with age. His servants carry in their arms
treasures for your wife, offerings for the dead.
(Pheres enters from the right, the direction of the town.)
PHERES: I come to help you bear your troubles, child.
You’ve lost a wife who no one will deny
was noble and wise. But you must endure,
although these things are hard to bear.
So take this treasure; let it go with her
beneath the earth. Her body must be honored.
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She died before her time to spare your life, child.
She saved me from a childless old age
wasting away in grief, bereft of you.
She’s burnished the reputation of every woman
by steeling her heart to do this noble act.
(addressing the bier of Alcestis) Savior of this man! You raised us up
when we were falling! Farewell! Even in Hades
may you prosper. I say that mortals gain
from marriages like this. If not, why marry?
ADMETUS: I didn’t ask you to be at her burial
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nor do I consider you one of my kin.
She will never wear these treasures of yours.
She needs nothing of yours in her tomb.
The time for you to suffer with me was back then
when I was dying. But you stayed away and let
a young woman die, though you are old.
And you’ll mourn her? You’re not my father
after all, and the “mother” who claims
she bore me didn’t. Some slave gave me birth;
I was smuggled in and placed at your wife’s breast.
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Under pressure you’ve shown me who you are.
I do not consider myself your son.
You truly have earned the prize for cowardice:
You were old, you’d come to the end of life,
and you weren’t willing to go. You hadn’t the nerve
to die for your son. You let this woman do it,
an outsider whom I would justly call
my only mother and father. And yet your struggle
would have been a noble one, if you had
died for your child. And in any case
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you had only a short time left to live.*50
You’d already experienced every happiness
a man can have. You were king in your youth;
you had me, a son, to inherit your wealth.
You weren’t going to die without an heir
and leave the house empty for someone else to grab.
And you cannot say that you betrayed me
because I had shown you disrespect
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in old age, you I always held in high regard.
In return this is the gratitude I get from you
and from my mother. Well, you’d better be quick
and have another child to tend you in old age
and prepare your body for burial when you’re dead.
Because I will not lift a hand to bury you.
As far as you’re concerned, I’m dead. If I live
because another saved me, that’s the one I call
dear father, the one to care for in old age.
What empty prayers for death old people make
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when they complain about a long life and old age:
when death is right there, no one wants
to die: old age no longer seems so bad.
CHORUS: Stop! The misfortune here before us is enough.
Don’t provoke your father’s anger, Admetus.
PHERES: Son, whom do you think you’re taunting?
A Lydian or Phrygian you bought to serve you?*51
Don’t you know I’m a free man, a Thessalian
through and through, born of a Thessalian father?
You go too far. You won’t hurl insults
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like a child and then just walk away.
I gave you life to be the master of this house.
I raised you. I do not owe you my life.
I didn’t inherit a custom from my father
that fathers die for sons. Greeks don’t do that.
Your good or bad luck is all your own.
What we rightfully owe you, you possess.
You rule many men, and I will leave you
a large estate, exactly what I received
from my father. How have I wronged
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or deprived you? Don’t die for me, and I won’t
die for you. You enjoy life; don’t you think
your father does? I reckon the time below is long,
the time we live is short. But it is sweet.
You fought without shame not to die
and killed her to live past the time
allotted you. And yet you say that I’m
a coward? You, a wretch bested by a woman?
You, the brave young man she died to save?
You’ve invented a clever way never to die:
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just persuade each wife in turn to die
for you. And still, though you’re a coward,
you blame your kin who aren’t willing to die?
Stop and think: if you love your life,
everyone else does, too. If you insult me,
your ears will fill with insults that are true.
CHORUS: More than enough insults have been spoken,
before and now. Stop abusing your son, my lord.
ADMETUS: (to his father) Speak on! I’ve had my say. But if it hurts
to hear the truth, you shouldn’t have wronged me.
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PHERES: Dying for you would be a greater wrong.
ADMETUS: The deaths of old and young men are the same?
PHERES: We’re obliged to live one life, not two.
ADMETUS: Well, may you live longer than Zeus!
PHERES: You curse your parent without cause?
ADMETUS: I saw that you’re in love with a long life.
PHERES: (pointing to Alcestis’ bier) And aren’t you burying this body in your place?
ADMETUS: A monument to your cowardice, you wretch!
PHERES: And yet you can’t say I caused her death.
ADMETUS: pheu!
May you be in need of me someday!
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PHERES: Woo many wives, so many more may die!
ADMETUS: For that you are to blame, since you refused to.
PHERES: This
heavenly light is dear, very dear.
ADMETUS: You’re not a man; you’ve a cowardly heart.
PHERES: At least you’re not mocking me at my funeral.
ADMETUS: But when you do die, you’ll die dishonored.
PHERES: I don’t care about abuse when I’m dead.
ADMETUS: pheu, pheu! The shamelessness of old age!
PHERES: She wasn’t shameless, but she was senseless.
ADMETUS: Go now! Leave me to bury this body.
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PHERES: I’m going. You, her killer, will bury her
and later pay the penalty to her kin.
For surely Acastus is no man
if he doesn’t avenge his sister’s blood.
(Pheres departs toward the town, with Admetus shouting after him.)
ADMETUS: Rot away in old age as you deserve,
you and your wife! Your son lives,
yet you are childless. You and I will never again
meet under the same roof. If it were right for me
to renounce publicly my paternal home,
I would. (to the slaves carrying the bier) We must endure the pain before us.
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Let us go and place the body on the pyre.
CHORUS:*52 iō, iō! You were steadfast and brave,
noble and best of all women!
Farewell. May Hermes*53 and Hades
receive you with kindness. And if, even there,
the good gain more, may you share their lot
and sit beside Hades’ bride.*54
(Admetus and the slaves carrying the bier exit to the left, the direction associated with the Underworld. A slave enters from the house.)
ATTENDANT: I’ve served many men a meal before now,
men from all over the world, who came
as Admetus’ guests. But I’ve never had to serve
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a worse guest than this one in this house.
First, he saw my master was in mourning
and came in anyway, dared to cross the threshold.
Then he didn’t show restraint by accepting
whatever we put before him, knowing our misfortune.
No. If something is missing, he demands we bring it.
He takes an ivy-wood goblet in his hands
and drinks the dark and potent wine unmixed*55
until the wine’s flame wraps him in its heat.
He crowns his head with myrtle branches
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and bellows off-key. Two melodies were there
to be heard: he was singing without regard
for Admetus’ suffering, and we were crying
for our mistress. But we didn’t let the guest
see our tears. Those were Admetus’ orders.
So now I’m here in this house entertaining
a villainous thief and bandit as a guest,
and she’s gone from the house. I didn’t attend
her going or extend a hand in grief to her,
my mistress who was mother to me and to all
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the household slaves. She softened her husband’s rage
and saved us so often from pain. Aren’t I right
to hate this guest, intruder in our suffering?
(Heracles lurches out of the house.)
HERACLES: You there! Why so haughty and serious?
An attendant shouldn’t be grim with guests;
he should greet them with an open heart.
But you see your master’s friend and guest
and welcome him with anger and a surly face.
And all this for a stranger’s misfortune!*56
Come here so you can learn and be wiser.
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Do you know what it means to be a mortal?
I think not. How would you? Listen:
All mortals must die; no one can say
if he will live through another day,
the day that’s yet to come. We have no way
to see where fortune will take us. It isn’t
something we can learn or master with skill.
So, with this lesson of mine in mind,
cheer up and have a drink. Today
belongs to you, the rest belongs to chance.
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Pay homage to the goddess who gives us
the greatest pleasure: Cypris.*57 She wishes us well.
Ignore everything else and take my words
to heart, if you think I’m right. I’m sure
you do. So why not put aside grief—
your extravagant grief—and drink with me?*58
I’m sure, when the drinking grips you,
it’ll loosen your scowling, clotted mind.
Mortals must think like mortals.
800
Haughty people with frowning faces
are not, in my opinion, really living
a life at all: they’re a living calamity.
ATTENDANT: Yes, we know. But our current state
does not merit drinking and laughter.
HERACLES: The dead woman’s a stranger. Don’t grieve
too much. The masters of the house still live.
ATTENDANT: They live? Don’t you know what’s happened?
HERACLES: Yes, if your master hasn’t lied to me.
ATTENDANT: That man loves playing the host too much.
810
HERACLES: An outsider’s death should’ve curbed my pleasure?
ATTENDANT: (sarcastically) An outsider alright! That’s what she was!
HERACLES: Was he keeping some disaster from me?
ATTENDANT: Go enjoy yourself. His pain is our concern.
HERACLES: Your words suggest he’s not in pain for a stranger.
ATTENDANT: That wouldn’t cause distress at your carousing.
HERACLES: What terrible thing has my host done to me?
ATTENDANT: It wasn’t a good time for you to be a guest.*59
820
HERACLES: It’s not his child or father that’s gone, is it?
ATTENDANT: No, my lord. It’s Admetus’ wife who died.
HERACLES: What? She died and then you entertained me?
ATTENDANT: Yes, because he felt ashamed to turn you away.
HERACLES: Poor Admetus, what a wife you’ve lost!
ATTENDANT: It’s not just her, we all are lost.
HERACLES: I noticed the tears in his eyes, his cropped hair,
his sad face. But he said he was burying
an outsider he cared for and persuaded me.
Against my instinct I went through the doors,
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into the house of my welcoming host, and drank.
He was in such a state and I was reveling
with garlands on my head? But you! To say
nothing when such ruin burdened the house!
Where is he burying her? Where will I find him?
ATTENDANT: Beside the road that leads directly to Larisa.
You’ll see her sculpted tombstone, near the city.
HERACLES: You, my much-enduring heart and hands,
show now what kind of son Alcmene,
child of Electryon of Tiryns, bore to Zeus.
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For I must save the woman who just died;
I must restore Alcestis to this house,
returning Admetus’ favor with this service.
I’ll go and watch for the lord of the dead,
Death in his black robe. I’ll find him, I expect,
drinking the blood of offerings by the tomb.
And if I ambush him and grab hold,
clasping him in the circle of my arms
and crushing his ribs, no one will release him
until he gives up the woman to me.
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But if I lose my prey, if he doesn’t come
to drink the clotted blood, I’ll go below,
to the sunless house of the Lord and the Maiden,*60
and ask for her. I’
m sure I’ll bring Alcestis
up here and put her in my host’s arms.
He welcomed me into his house, when he was struck
with great misfortune. He didn’t drive me away.
He nobly hid his grief, out of respect for me.
What Thessalian, what Greek honors the role of host
more than he? And so this noble man won’t
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have to say the man he treated well was bad.
(Attendant goes back into the house. Heracles leaves by the left exit. After a pause Admetus and his attendants enter from the same direction. Admetus chants in an anapestic rhythm.)
ADMETUS: iō
Hateful return to this empty house,
a hateful sight!
iō moi moi, aiai aiai
Where can I go? Where should I stand? What can I say? What must I not say? How can I die?
Truly my mother bore me for doom.
I envy the dead; I long for them;
their home is where I long to live.
I feel no joy in the light I see,
no joy in the earth my feet tread.
Such was the woman who took my place!
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Death stole her and handed her to Hades.
strophe
CHORUS:*61 Move on, move on, into the dark house.
ADMETUS: aiai
CHORUS: Your suffering merits this cry aiai.
ADMETUS: e, e
CHORUS: You have felt pain, I know—
ADMETUS: pheu, pheu
CHORUS: but you’re no help to the one below.
ADMETUS: iō moi moi
CHORUS: You’ll never again see your dear wife
face to face: that’s the pain.
ADMETUS: Your words tear me apart.
What greater calamity is there
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than for a man to lose his faithful wife?
I wish I’d never married, never shared this house with her.
I envy mortals who never marry, have no children.
They have a single life to weep for,
a manageable pain.
Children’s illnesses, a marriage bed
plundered by death:
to see these is unbearable when life can be lived
unmarried and childless.
CHORUS: Your fate is here, a fate hard to wrestle with—
antistrophe
ADMETUS: aiai
890
CHORUS: but you put no limit on your grief.
ADMETUS: e, e
CHORUS: Hard as it is to bear, yet—
ADMETUS: pheu, pheu
CHORUS: —bear it. You’re not the first to lose—
ADMETUS: iō moi moi
CHORUS: —your wife. One misfortune weighs down a mortal,
another comes then to crush someone else.
ADMETUS: Endless the pain and the sorrow
The Greek Plays Page 56
