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Chorus
Lo! from the house cometh a handmaid weeping; what shall I be told hath chanced? Grief may well be pardoned, if aught happeneth to one’s master; yet I fain would learn whether our lady
still is living or haply is no more.
140
Lo! from the house cometh a handmaid weeping; what shall I be told hath chanced? Grief may well be pardoned, if aught happeneth to one’s master; yet I fain would learn whether our lady
still is living or haply is no more.
140
Maid
Alive, yet dead thou may’st call her.
Alive, yet dead thou may’st call her.
Chorus
Why, how can the same person be alive, yet dead?
Why, how can the same person be alive, yet dead?
Maid
She is sinking even now, and at her last gasp.
She is sinking even now, and at her last gasp.
Chorus
My poor master! how sad thy lot to lose so good a wife!
My poor master! how sad thy lot to lose so good a wife!
Maid
He did not know his loss, until the blow fell on him.
145
He did not know his loss, until the blow fell on him.
145
Chorus
Is there then no more a hope of saving her?
Is there then no more a hope of saving her?
Maid
None; the fated day comes on so fast.
None; the fated day comes on so fast.
Chorus
Are then the fitting rites already taking place o’er her body?
Are then the fitting rites already taking place o’er her body?
Maid
Death’s garniture is ready, wherewith her lord will bury her.
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.
150
Well let her know, though die she must, her fame ranks far above any other wife’s beneath the sun.
150
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,
155
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;
160
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.
165
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.
170
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,
175
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.
180
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 they clung to their mother’s robes;
185
but she took them each in turn in her arms and kissed them fondly, as 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
190
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.
195
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,
155
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;
160
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.
165
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.
170
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,
175
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.
180
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 they clung to their mother’s robes;
185
but she took them each in turn in her arms and kissed them fondly, as 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
190
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.
195
Chorus
Doubtless Admetus sorrows in this calamity,
if he must lose so good a wife.
200
Doubtless Admetus sorrows in this calamity,
if he must lose so good a wife.
200
Maid
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
1
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.
2
But I will go, thy presence to announce,
205
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.
210
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
1
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.
2
But I will go, thy presence to announce,
205
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.
210
Alcestis. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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