Chapter II: Part 2

PHERES. I come in sorrow for thy sorrow, son. A faithful wife indeed thou hast lost, and one Who ruled her heart. But, howso hard they be, We needs must bear these griefs.--Some gifts for thee Are here.... Yes; take them. Let them go beneath The sod. We both must honour her in death, Seeing she hath died, my son, that thou mayst live Nor I be childless. Aye, she would not give My soul to a sad old age, mourning for thee. Methinks she hath made all women's life to be A nobler thing, by one great woman's deed. Thou saviour of my son, thou staff in need To our wrecked age, farewell! May some good life Be thine still in the grave.--Oh, 'tis a wife Like this man needs; else let him stay unwed!

[_The old man has not noticed_ ADMETUS'S _gathering indignation_.]

ADMETUS. I called not thee to burial of my dead, Nor count thy presence here a welcome thing. My wife shall wear no robe that thou canst bring, Nor needs thy help in aught. There was a day We craved thy love, when I was on my way Deathward--thy love, which bade thee stand aside And watch, grey-bearded, while a young man died! And now wilt mourn for her? Thy fatherhood! Thou wast no true begetter of my blood, Nor she my mother who dares call me child. Oh, she was barren ever; she beguiled Thy folly with some bastard of a thrall. Here is thy proof! This hour hath shown me all Thou art; and now I am no more thy son. 'Fore God, among all cowards can scarce be one Like thee. So grey, so near the boundary Of mortal life, thou wouldst not, durst not, die To save thy son! Thou hast suffered her to do Thine office, her, no kin to me nor you, Yet more than kin! Henceforth she hath all the part Of mother, yea, and father in my heart. And what a glory had been thine that day, Dying to save thy son--when, either way, Thy time must needs be brief. Thy life has had Abundance of the things that make men glad; A crown that came to thee in youth; a son To do thee worship and maintain thy throne-- Not like a childless king, whose folk and lands Lie helpless, to be torn by strangers' hands. Wilt say I failed in duty to thine age; For that thou hast let me die? Not so; most sage, Most pious I was, to mother and to thee; And thus ye have paid me! Well, I counsel ye. Lose no more time. Get quick another son To foster thy last years, to lay thee on Thy bier, when dead, and wrap thee in thy pall. _I_ will not bury thee. I am, for all The care thou hast shown me, dead. If I have found Another, true to save me at the bound Of life and death, that other's child am I, That other's fostering friend, until I die. How falsely do these old men pray for death, Cursing their weight of years, their weary breath! When Death comes close, there is not one that dares To die; age is forgot and all its cares.

LEADER. Oh, peace! Enough of sorrow in our path Is strewn. Thou son, stir not thy father's wrath.

PHERES. My son, whom seekest thou ... some Lydian thrall, Or Phrygian, bought with cash?... to affright withal By cursing? I am a Thessalian, free, My father a born chief of Thessaly; And thou most insolent. Yet think not so To fling thy loud lewd words at me and go. I got thee to succeed me in my hall, I have fed thee, clad thee. But I have no call To die for thee. Not in our family, Not in all Greece, doth law bid fathers die To save their sons. Thy road of life is thine None other's, to rejoice at or repine. All that was owed to thee by us is paid. My throne is thine. My broad lands shall be made Thine, as I had them from my father.... Say, How have I wronged thee? What have I kept away? "Not died for thee?"... I ask not thee to die. Thou lovest this light: shall I not love it, I?... 'Tis age on age there, in the dark; and here My sunlit time is short, but dear; but dear. Thou hast fought hard enough. Thou drawest breath Even now, long past thy portioned hour of death, By murdering her ... and blamest my faint heart, Coward, who hast let a woman play thy part And die to save her pretty soldier! Aye, A good plan, surely! Thou needst never die; Thou canst find alway somewhere some fond wife To die for thee. But, prithee, make not strife With other friends, who will not save thee so. Be silent, loving thine own life, and know All men love theirs!... Taunt others, and thou too Shalt hear much that is bitter, and is true.

LEADER. Too much of wrath before, too much hath run After. Old man, cease to revile thy son.

ADMETUS. Speak on. I have spoken.... If my truth of tongue Gives pain to thee, why didst thou do me wrong?

PHERES. Wrong? To have died for thee were far more wrong.

ADMETUS. How can an old life weigh against a young?

PHERES. Man hath but one, not two lives, to his use.

ADMETUS. Oh, live on; live, and grow more old than Zeus!

PHERES. Because none wrongs thee, thou must curse thy sire?

ADMETUS. I blest him. Is not life his one desire?

PHERES. This dead, methinks, is lying in _thy_ place.

ADMETUS. A proof, old traitor, of thy cowardliness!

PHERES. Died she through me?... That thou wilt hardly say.

ADMETUS (_almost breaking down_). O God! Mayst thou but feel the need of me some day!

PHERES. Go forward; woo more wives that more may die.

ADMETUS. As thou wouldst not! Thine is the infamy.

PHERES. This light of heaven is sweet, and sweet again.

ADMETUS. Thy heart is foul. A thing unmeet for men.

PHERES. Thou laugh'st not yet across the old man's tomb.

ADMETUS. Dishonoured thou shalt die when death shall come.

PHERES. Once dead, I shall not care what tales are told.

ADMETUS. Great Gods, so lost to honour and so old!

PHERES. She was not lost to honour: she was blind.

ADMETUS. Go! Leave me with my dead.... Out from my mind!

PHERES. I go. Bury the woman thou hast slain.... Her kinsmen yet may come to thee with plain Question. Acastus hath small place in good Men, if he care not for his sister's blood.

[PHERES _goes off, with his Attendants_. ADMETUS _calls after him as he goes._]

ADMETUS. Begone, begone, thou and thy bitter mate! Be old and childless--ye have earned your fate-- While your son lives! For never shall ye be From henceforth under the same roof with me.... Must I send heralds and a trumpet's call To abjure thy blood? Fear not, I will send them all....

[PHERES _is now out of sight;_ ADMETUS _drops his defiance and seems like a broken man._]

But we--our sorrow is upon us; come With me, and let us bear her to the tomb.

CHORUS.
Ah me!
Farewell, unfalteringly brave!
Farewell, thou generous heart and true!
May Pluto give thee welcome due,
And Hermes love thee in the grave.
Whate'er of blessèd life there be
For high souls to the darkness flown,
Be thine for ever, and a throne
Beside the crowned Persephonê.

[_The funeral procession has formed and moves slowly out, followed by_ ADMETUS _and the_ CHORUS. _The stage is left empty, till a side door of the Castle opens and there comes out a_ SERVANT, _angry and almost in tears._]

SERVANT. Full many a stranger and from many a land Hath lodged in this old castle, and my hand Served them; but never has there passed this way A scurvier ruffian than our guest to-day. He saw my master's grief, but all the more In he must come, and shoulders through the door. And after, think you he would mannerly Take what was set before him? No, not he! If, on this day of trouble, we left out Some small thing, he must have it with a shout. Up, in both hands, our vat of ivy-wood He raised, and drank the dark grape's burning blood, Strong and untempered, till the fire was red Within him; then put myrtle round his head And roared some noisy song. So had we there Discordant music. He, without a care For all the affliction of Admetus' halls, Sang on; and, listening, one could hear the thralls In the long gallery weeping for the dead. We let him see no tears. Our master made That order, that the stranger must not know. So here I wait in her own house, and do Service to some black thief, some man of prey; And she has gone, has gone for ever away. I never followed her, nor lifted high My hand to bless her; never said good-bye.... I loved her like my mother. So did all The slaves. She never let his anger fall Too hard. She saved us alway.... And this wild beast Comes in our sorrow when we need him least!

[_During the last few lines_ HERACLES _has entered, unperceived by the_ SERVANT. _He has evidently bathed and changed his garments and drunk his fill, and is now revelling, a garland of flowers on his head. He frightens the_ SERVANT _a little from time to time during the following speech._]

HERACLES. Friend, why so solemn and so cranky-eyed? 'Tis not a henchman's office, to show pride To his betters. He should smile and make good cheer. There comes a guest, thy lord's old comrade, here; And thou art all knitted eyebrows, scowls and head Bent, because somebody, forsooth, is dead! Come close! I mean to make thee wiser.

[_The_ SERVANT _reluctantly comes close._]

So. Dost comprehend things mortal, how they grow?... (_To himself_) I suppose not. How could he?... Look this way! Death is a debt all mortal men must pay; Aye, there is no man living who can say If life will last him yet a single day. On, to the dark, drives Fortune; and no force Can wrest her secret nor put back her course.... I have told thee now. I have taught thee. After this Eat, drink, make thyself merry. Count the bliss Of the one passing hour thine own; the rest Is Fortune's. And give honour chiefliest To our lady Cypris, giver of all joys To man. 'Tis a sweet goddess. Otherwise, Let all these questions sleep and just obey My counsel.... Thou believest all I say? I hope so.... Let this stupid grieving be; Rise up above thy troubles, and with me Drink in a cloud of blossoms. By my soul, I vow the sweet plash-music of the bowl Will break thy glumness, loose thee from the frown Within. Let mortal man keep to his own Mortality, and not expect too much. To all your solemn dogs and other such Scowlers--I tell thee truth, no more nor less-- Life is not life, but just unhappiness.

[_He offers the wine-bowl to the_ SERVANT, _who avoids it_.]

SERVANT. We know all this. But now our fortunes be Not such as ask for mirth or revelry.

HERACLES. A woman dead, of no one's kin; why grieve So much? Thy master and thy mistress live.

SERVANT. Live? Man, hast thou heard nothing of our woe?

HERACLES. Yes, thy lord told me all I need to know.

SERVANT. He is too kind to his guests, more kind than wise.

HERACLES. Must I go starved because some stranger dies?

SERVANT. Some stranger?--Yes, a stranger verily!

HERACLES (_his manner beginning to change_). Is this some real grief he hath hid from me?

SERVANT. Go, drink, man! Leave to us our master's woes.

HERACLES. It sounds not like a stranger. Yet, God knows...

SERVANT. How should thy revelling hurt, if that were all?

HERACLES. Hath mine own friend so wronged me in his hall?

SERVANT. Thou camest at an hour when none was free To accept thee. We were mourning. Thou canst see Our hair, black robes...

HERACLES (_suddenly, in a voice of thunder_).
Who is it that is dead?

SERVANT. Alcestis, the King's wife.

HERACLES (_overcome_). What hast thou said? Alcestis?... And ye feasted me withal!

SERVANT. He held it shame to turn thee from his hall.

HERACLES. Shame! And when such a wondrous wife was gone!

SERVANT (_breaking into tears_). Oh, all is gone, all lost, not she alone!

HERACLES. I knew, I felt it, when I saw his tears, And face, and shorn hair. But he won mine ears With talk of the strange woman and her rite Of burial. So in mine own heart's despite I crossed his threshold and sat drinking--he And I old friends!--in his calamity. Drank, and sang songs, and revelled, my head hot With wine and flowers!... And thou to tell me not, When all the house lay filled with sorrow, thou! (_A pause; then suddenly_) Where lies the tomb?--Where shall I find her now?

SERVANT (_frightened_). Close by the straight Larissa road. The tall White marble showeth from the castle wall.

HERACLES. O heart, O hand, great doings have ye done Of old: up now, and show them what a son Took life that hour, when she of Tiryns' sod, Electryon's daughter, mingled with her God! I needs must save this woman from the shore Of death and set her in her house once more, Repaying Admetus' love.... This Death, this black And wingèd Lord of corpses, I will track Home. I shall surely find him by the grave A-hungered, lapping the hot blood they gave In sacrifice. An ambush: then, one spring, One grip! These arms shall be a brazen ring, With no escape, no rest, howe'er he whine And curse his mauled ribs, till the Queen is mine! Or if he escape me, if he come not there To seek the blood of offering, I will fare Down to the Houses without Light, and bring To Her we name not and her nameless King Strong prayers, until they yield to me and send Alcestis home, to life and to my friend: Who gave me shelter, drove me not away In his great grief, but hid his evil day Like a brave man, because he loved me well. Is one in all this land more hospitable, One in all Greece? I swear no man shall say He hath cast his love upon a churl away!

[_He goes forth, just as he is, in the direction of the grave. The_ SERVANT _watches a moment and goes back into the hall._]

[_The stage is empty; then_ ADMETUS _and the_ CHORUS _return._]

ADMETUS.
Alas!
Bitter the homeward way,
Bitter to seek
A widowed house; ah me,
Where should I fly or stay,
Be dumb or speak?
Would I could cease to be!

Despair, despair!
My mother bore me under an evil star.
I envy them that are perished; my heart is there.
It dwells in the Sunless Houses, afar, afar.

I take no joy in looking upon the light;
No joy in the feel of the earth beneath my tread.
The Slayer hath taken his hostage; the Lord of the Dead
Holdeth me sworn to taste no more delight.

[_He throws himself on the ground in despair._]

CHORUS. [_Each member of the_ CHORUS _speaks his line severally, as he passes_ ADMETUS, _who is heard sobbing at the end of each line._]

--Advance, advance;
Till the house shall give thee cover.
--Thou hast borne heavy things
And meet for lamentation.
--Thou hast passed, hast passed,
Thro' the deepest of the River.
--Yet no help comes
To the sad and silent nation.
--And the face of thy belovèd, it shall meet thee never, never!

ADMETUS. Ye wrench my wounds asunder. Where Is grief like mine, whose wife is dead? My wife, whom would I ne'er had wed, Nor loved, nor held my house with her....

Blessed are they who dare to dwell
Unloved of woman! 'Tis but one
Heart that they bleed with, and alone
Can bear their one life's burden well.

No young shall wither at their side,
No bridal room be swept by death....
Aye, better man should draw his breath
For ever without child or bride.

CHORUS (_as before_).
--'Tis Fate, 'tis Fate:
She is strong and none shall break her.
--No end, no end,
Wilt thou lay to lamentations?
--Endure and be still:
Thy lamenting will not wake her.
--There be many before thee,
Who have suffered and had patience.
--Though the face of Sorrow changeth, yet her hand is on all nations.

ADMETUS. The garb of tears, the mourner's cry: Then the long ache when tears are past!... Oh, why didst hinder me to cast This body to the dust and die With her, the faithful and the brave? Then not one lonely soul had fled, But two great lovers, proudly dead, Through the deep waters of the grave.

LEADER. A friend I knew, In whose house died a son, Worthy of bitter rue, His only one. His head sank, yet he bare Stilly his weight of care, Though grey was in his hair And life nigh done.

ADMETUS. Ye shapes that front me, wall and gate, How shall I enter in and dwell Among ye, with all Fortune's spell Dischanted? Aye, the change is great.

That day I strode with bridal song
Through lifted brands of Pelian pine;
A hand belovèd lay in mine;
And loud behind a revelling throng

Exalted me and her, the dead.
They called us young, high-hearted; told
How princes were our sires of old,
And how we loved and we must wed....

For those high songs, lo, men that moan,
And raiment black where once was white;
Who guide me homeward in the night,
On that waste bed to lie alone.

SECOND ELDER. It breaks, like strife, Thy long peace, where no pain Had entered; yet is life, Sweet life, not slain. A wife dead; a dear chair Empty: is that so rare? Men live without despair Whose loves are ta'en.

ADMETUS (_erect and facing them_). Behold, I count my wife's fate happier, Though all gainsay me, than mine own. To her Comes no more pain for ever; she hath rest And peace from all toil, and her name is blest. But I am one who hath no right to stay Alive on earth; one that hath lost his way In fate, and strays in dreams of life long past.... Friends, I have learned my lesson at the last. I have my life. Here stands my house. But now How dare I enter in? Or, entered, how Go forth again? Go forth, when none is there To give me a parting word, and I to her?... Where shall I turn for refuge? There within, The desert that remains where she hath been Will drive me forth, the bed, the empty seat She sat in; nay, the floor beneath my feet Unswept, the children crying at my knee For mother; and the very thralls will be In sobs for the dear mistress that is lost. That is my home! If I go forth, a host Of feasts and bridal dances, gatherings gay Of women, will be there to fright me away To loneliness. Mine eyes will never bear The sight. They were her friends; they played with her. And always, always, men who hate my name Will murmur: "This is he who lives in shame Because he dared not die! He gave instead The woman whom he loved, and so is fled From death. He counts himself a man withal! And seeing his parents died not at his call He hates them, when himself he dared not die!" Such mocking beside all my pain shall I Endure.... What profit was it to live on, Friend, with my grief kept and mine honour gone?

CHORUS. I have sojourned in the Muse's land, Have wandered with the wandering star, Seeking for strength, and in my hand Held all philosophies that are; Yet nothing could I hear nor see Stronger than That Which Needs Must Be. No Orphic rune, no Thracian scroll, Hath magic to avert the morrow; No healing all those medicines brave Apollo to the Asclepiad gave; Pale herbs of comfort in the bowl Of man's wide sorrow. She hath no temple, she alone, Nor image where a man may kneel; No blood upon her altar-stone Crying shall make her hear nor feel. I know thy greatness; come not great Beyond my dreams, O Power of Fate! Aye, Zeus himself shall not unclose His purpose save by thy decerning. The chain of iron, the Scythian sword, It yields and shivers at thy word; Thy heart is as the rock, and knows No ruth, nor turning.

[_They turn to_ ADMETUS.]

Her hand hath caught thee; yea, the keeping Of iron fingers grips thee round. Be still. Be still. Thy noise of weeping Shall raise no lost one from the ground. Nay, even the Sons of God are parted At last from joy, and pine in death.... Oh, dear on earth when all did love her, Oh, dearer lost beyond recover: Of women all the bravest-hearted Hath pressed thy lips and breathed thy breath.

Let not the earth that lies upon her Be deemed a grave-mound of the dead. Let honour, as the Gods have honour, Be hers, till men shall bow the head, And strangers, climbing from the city Her slanting path, shall muse and say: "This woman died to save her lover, And liveth blest, the stars above her: Hail, Holy One, and grant thy pity!" So pass the wondering words away.

LEADER. But see, it is Alcmena's son once more, My lord King, cometh striding to thy door.

[_Enter_ HERACLES; _his dress is as in the last scene, but shows signs of a struggle. Behind come two Attendants, guiding between them a veiled Woman, who seems like one asleep or unconscious. The Woman remains in the background while_ HERACLES _comes forward._]

HERACLES. Thou art my friend, Admetus; therefore bold And plain I tell my story, and withhold No secret hurt.--Was I not worthy, friend, To stand beside thee; yea, and to the end Be proven in sorrow if I was true to thee? And thou didst tell me not a word, while she Lay dead within; but bid me feast, as though Naught but the draping of some stranger's woe Was on thee. So I garlanded my brow And poured the gods drink-offering, and but now Filled thy death-stricken house with wine and song. Thou hast done me wrong, my brother; a great wrong Thou hast done me. But I will not add more pain In thine affliction. Why I am here again, Returning, thou must hear. I pray thee, take And keep yon woman for me till I make My homeward way from Thrace, when I have ta'en Those four steeds and their bloody master slain. And if--which heaven avert!--I ne'er should see Hellas again, I leave her here, to be An handmaid in thy house. No labour small Was it that brought her to my hand at all. I fell upon a contest certain Kings Had set for all mankind, sore buffetings And meet for strong men, where I staked my life And won this woman. For the easier strife Black steeds were prizes; herds of kine were cast For heavier issues, fists and wrestling; last, This woman.... Lest my work should all seem done For naught, I needs must keep what I have won; So prithee take her in. No theft, but true Toil, won her.... Some day thou mayst thank me, too.

ADMETUS. 'Twas in no scorn, no bitterness to thee, I hid my wife's death and my misery. Methought it was but added pain on pain If thou shouldst leave me, and roam forth again Seeking another's roof. And, for mine own Sorrow, I was content to weep alone. But, for this damsel, if it may be so, I pray thee, Lord, let some man, not in woe Like mine, take her. Thou hast in Thessaly Abundant friends.... 'Twould wake sad thoughts in me. How could I have this damsel in my sight And keep mine eyes dry? Prince, why wilt thou smite The smitten? Griefs enough are on my head. Where in my castle could so young a maid Be lodged--her veil and raiment show her young: Here, in the men's hall? I should fear some wrong. 'Tis not so easy, Prince, to keep controlled My young men. And thy charge I fain would hold Sacred.--If not, wouldst have me keep her in The women's chambers ... where my dead hath been? How could I lay this woman where my bride Once lay? It were dishonour double-dyed. These streets would curse the man who so betrayed The wife who saved him for some younger maid; The dead herself ... I needs must worship her And keep her will.

[_During the last few lines_ ADMETUS _has been looking at the veiled Woman and, though he does not consciously recognize her, feels a strange emotion overmastering him. He draws back._]

Aye. I must walk with care.... O woman, whosoe'er thou art, thou hast The shape of my Alcestis; thou art cast In mould like hers.... Oh, take her from mine eyes! In God's name!

[HERACLES _signs to the Attendants to take_ ALCESTIS _away again. She stays veiled and unnoticing in the background._]

I was fallen, and in this wise Thou wilt make me deeper fall.... Meseems, meseems, There in her face the loved one of my dreams Looked forth.--My heart is made a turbid thing, Craving I know not what, and my tears spring Unbidden.--Grief I knew 'twould be; but how Fiery a grief I never knew till now.

LEADER. Thy fate I praise not. Yet, what gift soe'er God giveth, man must steel himself and bear.

HERACLES (_drawing_ ADMETUS _on_). Would God, I had the power, 'mid all this might Of arm, to break the dungeons of the night, And free thy wife, and make thee glad again!

ADMETUS. Where is such power? I know thy heart were fain; But so 'tis writ. The dead shall never rise.

HERACLES. Chafe not the curb, then: suffer and be wise.

ADMETUS. Easier to give such counsel than to keep.

HERACLES. Who will be happier, shouldst thou always weep?

ADMETUS. Why, none. Yet some blind longing draws me on...

HERACLES. 'Tis natural. Thou didst love her that is gone.

ADMETUS. 'Tis that hath wrecked, oh more than wrecked, my life.

HERACLES. 'Tis certain: thou hast lost a faithful wife.

ADMETUS. Till life itself is dead and wearies me.

HERACLES. Thy pain is yet young. Time will soften thee,

[_The veiled Woman begins dimly, as though in a dream, to hear the words spoken._]

ADMETUS. Time? Yes, if time be death.

HERACLES. Nay, wait; and some Woman, some new desire of love, will come.

ADMETUS (_indignantly_). Peace! How canst thou? Shame upon thee!

HERACLES. Thou wilt stay Unwed for ever, lonely night and day?

ADMETUS. No other bride in these void arms shall lie.

HERACLES. What profit will thy dead wife gain thereby?

ADMETUS. Honour; which finds her wheresoe'er she lies.

HERACLES. Most honourable in thee: but scarcely wise!

ADMETUS. God curse me, if I betray her in her tomb!

HERACLES. So be it!... And this good damsel, thou wilt take her home?

ADMETUS. No, in the name of Zeus, thy father! No!

HERACLES. I swear, 'tis not well to reject her so.

ADMETUS. 'Twould tear my heart to accept her.

HERACLES. Grant me, friend, This one boon! It may help thee in the end.

ADMETUS. Woe's me! Would God thou hadst never won those victories!

HERACLES. Thou sharest both the victory and the prize.

ADMETUS. Thou art generous.... But now let her go.

HERACLES. She shall, If go she must. Look first, and judge withal.

[_He takes the veil off_ ALCESTIS.]

ADMETUS (_steadily refusing to look_). She must.--And thou, forgive me!

HERACLES. Friend, there is A secret reason why I pray for this.

ADMETUS (_surprised, then reluctantly yielding_). I grant thy boon then--though it likes me ill.

HERACLES. 'Twill like thee later. Now ... but do my will.

ADMETUS (_beckoning to an Attendant_). Take her; find her some lodging in my hall.

HERACLES. I will not yield this maid to any thrall.

ADMETUS. Take her thyself and lead her in.

HERACLES. I stand Beside her; take her; lead her to thy hand.

[_He brings the Woman close to_ ADMETUS, _who looks determinedly away. She reaches out her arms._]

ADMETUS. I touch her not.--Let her go in!

HERACLES. I am loth To trust her save to thy pledged hand and oath.

[_He lays his hand on_ ADMETUS'S _shoulder_.]

ADMETUS (_desperately_). Lord, this is violence ... wrong ...

HERACLES. Reach forth thine hand And touch this comer from a distant land.

ADMETUS (_holding out his hand without looking_). Like Perseus when he touched the Gorgon, there!

HERACLES. Thou hast touched her?

ADMETUS (_at last taking her hand_).
Touched her?... Yes.

HERACLES (_a hand on the shoulder of each_). Then cling to her; And say if thou hast found a guest of grace In God's son, Heracles! Look in her face; Look; is she like...?

[ADMETUS _looks and stands amazed_.] Go, and forget in bliss Thy sorrow!

ADMETUS. O ye Gods! What meaneth this? A marvel beyond dreams! The face ... 'tis she; Mine, verily mine! Or doth God mock at me And blast my vision with some mad surmise?

HERACLES. Not so. This is thy wife before thine eyes.

ADMETUS (_who has recoiled in his amazement_). Beware! The dead have phantoms that they send...

HERACLES. Nay; no ghost-raiser hast thou made thy friend.

ADMETUS. My wife ... she whom I buried?

HERACLES. I deceive Thee not; nor wonder thou canst scarce believe.

ADMETUS. And dare I touch her, greet her, as mine own Wife living?

HERACLES.
Greet her. Thy desire is won.

ADMETUS (_approaching with awe_), Beloved eyes; beloved form; O thou Gone beyond hope, I have thee, I hold thee now?

HERACLES. Thou hast her: may no god begrudge your joy.

ADMETUS (_turning to_ HERACLES). O lordly conqueror, Child of Zeus on high, Be blessèd! And may He, thy sire above, Save thee, as thou alone hast saved my love!

[_He kneels to_ HERACLES, _who raises him_.]

But how ... how didst thou win her to the light?

HERACLES. I fought for life with Him I needs must fight.

ADMETUS. With Death thou hast fought! But where?

HERACLES. Among his dead I lay, and sprang and gripped him as he fled.

ADMETUS (_in an awed whisper, looking towards_ ALCESTIS). Why standeth she so still? No sound, no word!

HERACLES. She hath dwelt with Death. Her voice may not be heard Ere to the Lords of Them Below she pay Due cleansing, and awake on the third day. (_To the Attendants_) So; guide her home.

[_They lead_ ALCESTIS _to the doorway_.]

And thou, King, for the rest Of time, be true; be righteous to thy guest, As he would have thee be. But now farewell! My task yet lies before me, and the spell That binds me to my master; forth I fare.

ADMETUS. Stay with us this one day! Stay but to share The feast upon our hearth!

HERACLES. The feasting day Shall surely come; now I must needs away.

[HERACLES _departs_.]

ADMETUS. Farewell! All victory attend thy name And safe home-coming! Lo, I make proclaim To the Four Nations and all Thessaly; A wondrous happiness hath come to be: Therefore pray, dance, give offerings and make full Your altars with the life-blood of the Bull! For me ... my heart is changed; my life shall mend Henceforth. For surely Fortune is a friend.

[_He goes with_ ALCESTIS _into the house_.]

CHORUS. There be many shapes of mystery; And many things God brings to be, Past hope or fear. And the end men looked for cometh not, And a path is there where no man thought. So hath it fallen here.

NOTES

P. 3, Prologue. Asclêpios (Latin Aesculapius), son of Apollo, the hero-physician, by his miraculous skill healed the dead. This transgressed the divine law, so Zeus slew him. (The particular dead man raised by him was Hippolytus, who came to life in Italy under the name of Virbius, and was worshipped with Artemis at Aricia.) Apollo in revenge, not presuming to attack Zeus himself, killed the Cyclopes, and was punished by being exiled from heaven and made servant to a mortal. There are several such stories of gods made servants to human beings.

P. 3, l. 12, Beguiling.]--See Preface. In the original story he made them drunk with wine. (Aesch. _Eumenides_, 728.) As the allusion would doubtless be clear to the Greek audience, I have added a mention of wine which is not in the Greek. Libations to the Elder Gods, such as the Fates and Eumenides, had to be "wineless." Historically this probably means that the worship dates from a time before wine was used in Greece.

P. 4, l. 22, The stain of death must not come nigh My radiance.]--Compare Artemis in the last scene of the _Hippolytus_. The presence of a dead body would be a pollution to Apollo, though that of Thánatos (Death) himself seems not to be so. It is rather Thánatos who is dazzled and blinded by Apollo, like an owl or bat in the sunlight.

P. 5, l. 43, Rob me of my second prey.]--"You first cheated me of Admetus, and now you cheat me of his substitute."

P. 6, l. 59, The rich would buy, etc.]--Here and throughout this difficult little dialogue I follow the readings of my own text in the _Bibliotheca Oxoniensis_.

P. 7, l. 74, To lay upon her hair my sword.]--As the sacrificing priest cut off a lock of hair from the victim's head before the actual sacrifice.

P. 8, l. 77, Chorus.]--The Chorus consists of citizens, probably Elders, of the city of Pherae. Dr. Verrall has rightly pointed out that there is some general dissatisfaction in the town at Admetus's behaviour (l. 210 ff.). These citizens come to mourn with Admetus out of old friendship, though they do not altogether defend him.

The Chorus is very drastically broken up into so many separate persons conversing with one another; the treatment in the _Rhesus_ is similar but even bolder. See _Rhesus_, pp. 28-31, 37-42. Cf. also the entrance-choruses of the _Trojan Women_ (pp. 19-23) and the _Medea_ (pp. 10-13); and ll. 872 ff., 889 ff., pp. 50, 51, below.

Instead of assigning the various lines definitely to First, Second, Third Citizen, and so on, I have put a "paragraphus" (--), the ancient Greek sign for indicating a new speaker.

P. 8, l. 82, Pelias' daughter.]--_i.e._ Alcestis.

P. 8, l. 92, Paian.]--The Healer. The word survives chiefly as a cry for help and as an epithet or title of Apollo or Asclepios. "Paian," Latin Paean, is also a cry of victory; but the relation of the two meanings is not quite made out. (Pronounce rather like "Pah-yan.") Cf. l. 220.

P. 9, l. 112, To wander o'er leagues of land.]--You could sometimes save a sick person by appealing to an oracle, such as that of Apollo in Lycia or of Zeus Ammon in the Libyan desert; but now no sacrifice will help. Only Asclepios, were he still on earth, might have helped us. (See on the Prologue.)

P. 12, l. 150, 'Fore God she dies high-hearted.]--What impresses the Elder is the calm and deliberate way in which Alcestis faces these preparations.

P. 12, l. 162, Before the Hearth-Fire.]--Hestia, the hearth-fire, was a goddess, the Latin Vesta, and is addressed as "Mother." It is characteristic in Alcestis to think chiefly about happy marriages for the children.

P. 12, l. 182, Happier perhaps, more true she cannot be.]--A famous line and open to parody. Cf. Aristophanes, _Knights_, 1251 ("Another wear this crown instead of me, Happier perhaps; worse thief he cannot be"). And see on l. 367 below.

P. 15, l. 228, Hearts have bled.]--People have committed suicide for less than this.

P. 16, l. 244, O Sun.]--Alcestis has come out to see the Sun and Sky for the last time and say good-bye to them. It is a rite or practice often mentioned in Greek poetry. Her beautiful wandering lines about Charon and his boat are the more natural because she is not dying from any disease but is being mysteriously drawn away by the Powers of Death.

P. 16, l. 252, A boat, two-oared.]--She sees Charon, the boatman who ferried the souls of the dead across the river Styx.

P. 17, l. 259, Drawing, drawing.]--The creature whom she sees drawing her to "the palaces of the dead" is certainly not Charon, who had no wings, but was like an old boatman in a peasant's cap and sleeveless tunic; nor can he be Hades, the throned King to whose presence she must eventually go. Apparently, therefore, he must be Thanatos, whom we have just seen on the stage. He was evidently supposed to be invisible to ordinary human eyes.

P. 18, l. 280, Alcestis's speech.]--Great simplicity and sincerity are the keynotes of this fine speech. Alcestis does not make light of her sacrifice: she enjoyed her life and values it; she wishes one of the old people had died instead; she is very earnest that Admetus shall not marry again, chiefly for the children's sake, but possibly also from some little shadow of jealousy. A modern dramatist would express all this, if at all, by a scene or a series of scenes of conversation; Euripides always uses the long self-revealing speech. Observe how little romantic love there is in Alcestis, though Admetus is full of it. See Preface, pp. xiii, xiv.

Pp. 19, 20, l. 328 ff., Admetus's speech.]--If the last speech made us know Alcestis, this makes us know Admetus fully as well. At one time the beauty and passion of it almost make us forget its ultimate hollowness; at another this hollowness almost makes us lose patience with its beautiful language. In this state of balance the touch of satire in l. 338 f. ("My mother I will know no more," etc.), and the fact that he speaks immediately after the complete sincerity of Alcestis, conspire to weigh down the scale against Admetus. There can be no doubt that he means, and means passionately, all that he says. Only he could not quite manage to die when it was not strictly necessary.

P. 20, l. 355, If Orpheus' voice were mine.]--The bard and prophet, Orpheus, went down to the dead to win back his wife, Eurydice. Hades and Persephonê, spell-bound by his music, granted his prayer that Eurydicê should return to the light, on condition that he should go before her, harping, and should never look back to see if she was following. Just at the end of the journey he looked back, and she vanished. The story is told with overpowering beauty in Vergil's fourth Georgic.

P. 21, l. 367, Oh, not in death from thee Divided.]--Parodied in Aristophanes' _Archarnians_ 894, where it is addressed to an eel, and the second line ends "in a beet-root fricassee." See on l. 182.

P. 23, l. 393 ff., The Little Boy's speech.]--Classical Greek sculpture and vase-painting tended to represent children not like children but like diminutive men; and something of the sort is true of Greek tragedy. The stately tragic convention has in the main to be maintained; the child must speak a language suited for heroes, or at least for high poetry. The quality of childishness has to be indicated by a word or so of child-language delicately admitted amid the stateliness. Here we have [Greek: maia], something like "mummy," at the beginning, and [Greek: neossos], "chicken" or "little bird," at the end. Otherwise most of the language is in the regular tragic diction, and some of it doubtless seems to us unsuitable for a child. If Milton had had to make a child speak in _Paradise Lost_, what sort of diction would he have given it?

The success or ill-success of such an attempt as this to combine the two styles, the heroic and the childlike, depends on questions of linguistic tact, and can hardly be judged with any confidence by foreigners. But I think we can see Euripides here, as in other places, reaching out at an effect which was really beyond the resources of his art, and attaining a result which, though clearly imperfect, is strangely moving. He gets great effects from the use of children in several tragedies, though he seldom lets them speak. They speak in the _Medea_, the _Andromache_, and _Suppliants_, and are mute figures in the _Trojan Women, Hecuba, Heracles_, and _Iphigenia in Aulis_. We may notice that where his children do speak, they speak only in lyrics, never in ordinary dialogue. This is very significant, and clearly right.

The breaking-down of the child seems to string Admetus to self-control again.

P. 25, l. 428, Ye chariot-lords.]--The plain of Thessaly was famous for its cavalry.

P. 25, l. 436 ff., Chorus.]--The "King black-browed" is, of course, Hades; the "grey hand at the helm and oar," Charon; the "Tears that Well," the more that spreads out from Acheron, the River of _Achê_ or Sorrows.

P. 25, l. 445 ff. Alcestis shall be celebrated--and no doubt worshipped-- at certain full-moon feasts in Athens and Sparta, especially at the Carneia, a great Spartan festival held at the full moon in the month Carneios (August-September). Who the ancient hero Carnos or Carneios was is not very clearly stated by the tradition; but at any rate he was killed, and the feast was meant to placate and perhaps to revive him. Resurrection is apt to be a feature of both moon-goddesses and vegetation spirits.

P. 27, l. 476, Entrance of Heracles.]--Generally, in the tragic convention, each character that enters either announces himself or is announced by some one on the stage; but the figure of Heracles with his club and lion-skin was so well known that his identity could be taken for granted. The Leader at once addresses him by name.

P. 27, l. 481, The Argive King.]--It was the doom of Heracles, from before his birth, to be the servant of a worser man. His master proved to be Eurystheus, King of Tiryns or Argos, who was his kinsman, and older by a day. See _Iliad_ T 95 ff. Note the heroic quality of Heracles's answer in l. 491. It does not occur to him to think of reward for himself.

P. 27, l. 483, Diomede of Thrace.]--This man, distinguished in legend from the Diomede of the _Iliad_, was a savage king who threw wayfarers to his man-eating horses. Such horses are not mere myths; horses have often been trained to fight with their teeth, like carnivora, for war purposes. Diomêdes was a son of Arês, the War-god or Slayer, as were the other wild tyrants mentioned just below, Lycâon, the Wolf-hero, and Cycnus, the Swan.

P. 30, l. 511, Right welcome were she: _i.e._ Joy.]--"Joy would be a strange visitor to me, but I know you mean kindly."

P. 30, l. 518 ff., Not thy wife? 'Tis not Alcestis?]--The rather elaborate misleading of Heracles, without any direct lie, depends partly on the fact that the Greek word [Greek: gynae]; means both "woman" and "wife."--The woman, not of kin with Admetus but much loved in the house, who has lived there since her father's death left her an orphan, is of course Alcestis, but Heracles, misled by Admetus's first answers, supposes it is some dependant to whom the King happens to be attached. He naturally proposes to go away, but, with much reluctance, allows himself to be over-persuaded by Admetus. He had other friends in Thessaly, but the next castle would probably be several miles off. The guest-chambers of the castle are apparently in a separate building with a connecting passage.

As to Admetus's motive, we must remember that the entertaining of Heracles is a datum of the story in its simplest form. See Preface, pp. xiv, xv. In Euripides, Admetus is perhaps actuated by a mixture of motives, real kindness, pride in his ancestral hospitality, and a little vanity. He likes having the great Son of Zeus for a friend, and he has never yet turned any one from his doors.

Euripides passes no distinct judgment on this act of Admetus. The Leader in the dialogue blames him ("Art thou mad?") and so does Heracles hereafter, p. 56. But the Chorus glorifies his deed in a very delightful lyric. Perhaps this indicates the judgment we are meant to pass upon it. On the plane of common sense it was doubtless all wrong, but on that of imaginative poetry it was magnificent.

P. 35, 11. 569-605, Chorus.]--Apollo, worshipped as a shepherd god and a singer, harper, piper, etc. ("song-changer"), had been himself a stranger in this "House that loved the stranger": hence its great reward. Othrys is the end of the mountain range to the south of Pherae; Lake Boibeïs was just across the narrow end of the plain to the north-east, beyond it came Mt. Pelion and the steep harbourless coast. Up to the north-west the plain of Thessaly stretched far away towards the Molossian mountains. The wild beasts gathered round Apollo as they did round Orpheus ("There where Orpheus harped of old, And the trees awoke and knew him, And the wild things gathered to him, As he piped amid the broken Glens his music manifold."--_Bacchae_, p. 35).

P. 37, l. 614, Scene with Pherês.]--Pherês is in tradition the "eponymous hero" of Pherae, _i.e._ the mythical person who is supposed to have given his name to the town. It is only in this play that he has any particular character. The scene gives the reader a shock, but is a brilliant piece of satirical comedy, with a good deal of pathos in it, too. The line (691) [Greek: chaireis horon phos, patera d' ou chairein dokeis]; ("Thou lovest the light, thinkest thou thy father loves it not?") seems to me one of the most characteristic in Euripides. It has a peculiar mordant beauty in its absolutely simple language, and one cannot measure the intensity of feeling that may be behind it. Pheres shows great power of fight, yet one feels his age and physical weakness. See Preface, p. xvi.

P. 40, l. 713 ff. The quick thrust and parry are sometimes hard to follow in reading, though in acting the sense would be plain enough. Admetus cries angrily, "Oh, live a longer life than Zeus!" "Is that a curse?" says Pheres; "are you cursing because nobody does you any harm?" (_i.e_. since you clearly have nothing else to curse for). Admetus: "On the contrary I blessed you; I knew you were greedy of life." Pheres: "_I_ greedy? It is _you_, I believe, that Alcestis is dying for."

P. 42, l. 732. Acastus was Alcestis's brother, son of Pelias.

P. 43, l. 747. It is rare in Greek tragedy for the Chorus to leave the stage altogether in the middle of a play. But they do so, for example, in the _Ajax_ of Sophocles. Ajax is lost, and the Sailors who form the Chorus go out to look for him; when they are gone the scene is supposed to shift and Ajax enters alone, arranging his own death. This very effective scene of the revelling Heracles is to be explained, I think, by the Satyr-play tradition. See Preface.

P. 45, ll. 782-785. There are four lines rhyming in the Greek here; an odd and slightly drunken effect.

P. 46, l. 805 ff., A woman dead, of no one's kin: why grieve so much?]-- Heracles is somewhat "shameless," as a Greek would say; he had much more delicacy when he was sober.

P. 48, l. 837 ff. A fine speech, leaving one in doubt whether it is the outburst of a real hero or the vapouring of a half-drunken man. Just the effect intended. Electryon was a chieftain of Tiryns. His daughter, Alcmênê, the Tirynthian _Korê_ or Earth-maiden, was beloved of Zeus, or, as others put it, was chosen by Zeus to be the mother of the Deliverer of mankind whom he was resolved to beget. She was married to Amphitryon of Thebes.

P. 49, l. 860 ff. If Heracles set out straight to the grave and Admetus with the procession was returning from the grave, how was it they did not meet? The answer is that Attic drama seldom asked such questions.

Pp. 49-54, ll. 861-961. This Threnos, or lamentation scene, seems to our minds a little long. We must remember (1) that a Tragedy _is_ a Threnos--a _Trauerspiel_--and, however much it develops in the direction of a mere entertainment, the Threnos-element is of primary importance. (2) This scene has two purposes to serve; first to illustrate the helpless loneliness of Admetus when he returns to his empty house, and secondly the way in which remorse works in his mind, till in ll. 935-961 he makes public confession that he has done wrong. For both purposes one needs the illusion of a long lapse of time.

P. 53, l. 945 ff., The floor unswept.]--Probably the floor really would be unswept in the house of a primitive Thessalian chieftain whose wife was dead and her place unfilled; but I doubt if the point would have been mentioned so straightforwardly in a real tragedy.

Pp. 54-55, l. 966 ff., That which Needs Must Be.]--Ananke or Necessity.-- Orphic rune.]--The charms inscribed by Orpheus on certain tablets in Thrace. Orphic literature and worship had a strong magical element in them.

P. 55, l. 995 ff., A grave-mound of the dead.]--Every existing Greek tragedy has somewhere in it a taboo grave--a grave which is either worshipped, or specially avoided or somehow magical. We may conjecture from this passage that there was in the time of Euripides a sacred tomb near Pherae, which received worship and had the story told about it that she who lay there had died for her husband.

Pp. 56-67, ll. 1008-end. This last scene must have been exceedingly difficult to compose, and some critics have thought it ineffective or worse. To me it seems brilliantly conceived and written, though of course it needs to be read with the imagination strongly at work. One must never forget the silent and veiled Woman on whom the whole scene centres. I have tried conjecturally to indicate the main lines of her acting, but, of course, others may read it differently.

To understand Heracles in this scene, one must first remember the traditional connexion of Satyrs (and therefore of satyric heroes) with the re-awakening of the dead Earth in spring and the return of human souls to their tribe. Dionysus was, of all the various Kouroi, the one most widely connected with resurrection ideas, and the Satyrs are his attendant daemons, who dance magic dances at the Return to Life of Semele or Persephone. And Heracles himself, in certain of his ritual aspects, has similar functions. See J.E. Harrison, _Themis_, pp. 422 f. and 365 ff., or my _Four Stages of Greek Religion_, pp. 46 f. This tradition explains, to start with, what Heracles--and this particular sort of revelling Heracles--has to do in a resurrection scene. Heracles bringing back the dead is a datum of the saga. There remain then the more purely dramatic questions about our poet's treatment of the datum.

Why, for instance, does Heracles mystify Admetus with the Veiled Woman? To break the news gently, or to retort his own mystification upon him? I think, the latter. Admetus had said that "a woman" was dead; Heracles says: "All right: here is 'a woman' whom I want you to look after."

Again, what are the feelings of Admetus himself? First, mere indignation and disgust at the utterly tactless proposal: then, I think, in 1061 ff. ("I must walk with care" ... end of speech), a strange discovery about himself which amazes and humiliates him. As he looks at the woman he finds himself feeling how exactly like Alcestis she is, and then yearning towards her, almost falling in love with her. A most beautiful and poignant touch. In modern language one would say that his subconscious nature feels Alcestis there and responds emotionally to her presence; his conscious nature, believing the woman to be a stranger, is horrified at his own apparent baseness and inconstancy.

P. 57, l. 1051, Where in my castle, etc.]--The castle is divided into two main parts: a public _megaron_ or great hall where the men live during; the day and sleep at night, and a private region, ruled by the queen and centring in the _thalamos_ or royal bed-chamber. If the new woman were taken into this "harem," even if Admetus never spoke to her, the world outside would surmise the worst and consider him dishonoured.

P. 66, l. 1148, Be righteous to thy guest, As he would have thee be.]-- Does this mean "Go on being hospitable, as you have been," or "Learn after this not to take liberties with other guests"? It is hard to say.