First Semi-Chorus Is it fancy, or did I just now hear some cry of grief rushing through the house? What is this?
Second Semi-Chorus It is no uncertain sound, but a wail of anguish from inside. The house has some new trouble.
Chorus And note how strangely, with what consternation on her brow that old woman approaches to give us some news.
Nurse Ah, my daughters, great, indeed, are the sorrows for us that began with the gift sent to Heracles!
Chorus Old woman, what new trouble have you to tell?
Nurse Deianeira has departed on the last of all her journeys, departed without stirring a foot.
Chorus Surely you do not mean she is dead?
Nurse My tale is told.
Chorus Dead, the poor woman?
Nurse Again you hear me affirm it.
Chorus Poor, lost one! Tell me, what was the manner of her death?
Nurse Oh, it was most cruel in its execution!
Chorus Speak, woman, with what end did she meet?
Nurse She destroyed herself.
Chorus What impulse drove her? What disease of her mind seized her on the point of its evil shaft? How did she contrive this death upon death, accomplishing it all on her own?
Nurse By a stroke of the sword which gives cause for mourning.
Chorus Did you witness that violent deed, poor helpless one?
Nurse I did, yes, since I was standing close by.
Chorus What was it? How was it done? Oh, speak!
Nurse Of her own accord she set her hand to the deed.
Chorus What are you saying?
Nurse The certain truth.
Chorus The firstborn, the firstborn of that newly arisen bride is a great Erinys on this house!
Nurse Too true. And had you been close at hand and seen her do it, you would have pitied her even more.
Chorus And could a woman’s hand dare to carry out such deeds?
Nurse Yes, with fierce daring. You shall hear, and then you will bear me witness. When she came alone into the house and saw her son preparing a deep litter in the court, with which to go back and meet his father, she hid herself where none would see. Falling before the altars, she moaned that they were left desolate, and whenever she touched any household thing that she, poor lady, had habitually used in the past, her tears would flow. If, as she roamed hither and thither through the house, she beheld the form of any well-loved servant, she wept in misery at the sight, crying aloud upon her own fate, and her childless existence thereafter. But when she finished this, I saw her suddenly rush into the bedchamber of Heracles. I hid in the shadows to keep my observation secret and was watching over her when I saw her spread coverings on the bedstead of Heracles. When she had done this, she sprang up on them and sat in the middle of the bed. Then she broke out in warm streams of tears and said: “Ah, my bridal bed and bridal chamber, farewell now and for ever, since you will never more receive me in these covers as his wife.” She says no more, but with a vehement hand she loosens her robe where the brooch of beaten gold lies above her breasts and bares all her left side and arm. Then I run with all my strength, and warn her son of her intent. But even in the space between my going and our return, we find that she has driven a two-edged sword up through her side to the heart. At that sight, her son gave a great cry. For he knew, poor boy, that in his anger he had driven her to that action. He had learned too late from the servants in the house that she had acted without knowledge and at the will of the monster. Then and there the youth in his misery left no cry of grief unmade as he lamented over her, nor as he fell to kiss her lips; he threw himself at her side, loudly moaning that he had rashly attacked her with a false accusation and weeping that he must now live orphaned of both alike, of his father and of her. Such are the fortunes of this house. Rash, indeed, is he who reckons on tomorrow, or perchance on days beyond it. There is no tomorrow, until today is safely past.
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