APOLLO: House of Admetos, farewell.
Apollo takes his leave of you,
dear house . . . though it was here that I endured
what no god should ever be compelled to bear.
Here, with serfs and laborers, I ate the bread of slavery.
He turns to the audience.
I do not blame Admetos.
The author of my shame was Zeus. He killed
my son Asklepios, stabbing him through the heart
with his fatal lightning. And I in anger
retaliated. I killed the one-eyed Cyclopes
because they forged for Zeus those blazing bolts
in which my son died. And so,
in punishment, Zeus doomed me,
a god, to this duress,
constraining me to be the bond-slave
of a death-bound man.
MAID Sir, the queen is dying. . . .
LEADER Oh, Alcestis, Alcestis!
What a loss. Poor Admetos, how I pity him. . . .
MAID The master does not know the meaning of his loss.
He will not know, until it is too late.
LEADER Nothing can be done to save her?
MAID Nothing. This is the day. Her destiny is too strong,
a force she cannot fight.
ALCESTIS: Admetos, I am dying.
This is my last request of you, so listen well.
Of my own free will I gave my life
to let you live. I am dying for you, Admetos,
but I did not have to die.
I could have chosen otherwise.
As your widow
I might have married any man in Thessaly
and lived with him here and ruled this royal house.
But without you, with these children fatherless,
I could not live. I am young, Admetos,
but I have given you my youth—the good years,
the happy years. All the others failed you.
CHORUS: O Death, in that dark tangle of your mind, if you have
eyes to see, look among the herded dead who go
with Charon in his long slow crossing over Acheron;
look and you will see, blazing in that crowd of ordinary
dead, the noblest life the sunlight ever shone upon!
You shine in memory. And mortal men, remembering
you, will praise your death: a song that does not die.
Each year, unaccompanied, your song shall rise,
a shining on the lips of men; or sometimes chanted
to the rude and simple lyre, at Sparta when the year
has come full circle, and the moon, a splendor, rides
the livelong night; or there in Athens’ blazing noon.
Wherever there is light, wherever men remember love.
Death shall not eclipse the glory of your shining.
HERAKLES: I have a labor to perform. Eurystheus is my master.
He commands, and I obey.
LEADER What is your mission? And where are you bound?
HERAKLES A long, hard journey.
My destination’s Thrace. My orders are to capture
Diomedes’ horses.
LEADER Diomedes’ horses? It can’t be done,
Herakles. Surely you’ve heard of Diomedes?
[…] Those horses are wild. They can’t be broken.
HERAKLES Can’t be broken?
LEADER Not without a fight, they can’t.
HERAKLES Fighting’s what I do.
My labors are my life. I can’t refuse.
CHORUS: Hospitality is here.
What house could be more gracious or more generous
than this? Open-handed, always prodigal and free,
its master gives such lavish welcoming
that one might think his guests were gods.
Great gods have sheltered here.
Here Apollo, god of Delphi, condescending,
came, his high divinity constrained to serve
as shepherd for a year. And down these blessed hills,
to mating flocks the god of music sang the season’s song…
PHERES: I am not obliged to die for you as well.
Or do you think my father died for me?
There is no law, no precedent, in Greece
that children have a claim upon their fathers’ lives.
A man is born to happiness, or otherwise.
He is born for himself.
Everything you had the right to get from me, you got.
I made you ruler of a rich and populous country.
And I intend to leave you all the vast domain my father left to me.
So how have I hurt you? What more do I owe you?
Life?
No. You live yours, and I’ll live mine.
Do your own dying. I’ll do mine.
HERAKLES: Lissen:
you hear that wine purling and gurgling in the cup?
Well, a swallow of this will do wonders, friend,
for whatever’s ailing you.
I mean, we all gotta die. Right?
Well, that’s why we all gotta think human thoughts,
and live while we can.
Eat, drink, and be merry.
Take it from me,
the way those gloomy, bellyachin’ tragedians gripe,
life isn’t life at all, it’s just a goddam
funeral.
CHORUS: —It had to be. We cannot choose our fates.
—A man can fight. But not with life,
not with death.
—Accept it like a man.
—Hard, hard, I know.
—Be brave, Admetos.
—Courage. Others too have lost their wives.
—Some soon, some late, every man is curbed
by suffering or fate.
—Now it is your turn.
[…]
LEADER: Your luck had been good, Admetos. High happiness and great wealth—both were yours. So when this sorrow struck so suddenly, it found you unprepared. Suffering was something you had never known.
ADMETOS: To all my subjects and fellow citizens,
I here and now proclaim a feast of thanks and praise
to celebrate the happiness of this great event.
Let the high altars blaze and smoke with sacrifice.
From this day forth we must remake our lives,
and make them better than they were before.
Happiness is mine, and now I know it.