Chapter III: Part 3

_Re-enter Electra with her water-pot filled_: and in a _Monody_ (_strophe, antistrophe and epode_) laments her situation: laments for her lost father, her brother afar off, in servitude it may be: and adjures her father's spirit to send vengeance. {187}

PARODE JOINING ON TO EPISODE I

_Enter the Orchestra Chorus of Maidens of Mycenae, and in dialogue_ (_two Strophes and Antistrophes_) beg Electra to join them in an approaching festival, as she had been wont in happier days.--Electra declares she is fit for tears and rags, not for festivities.--As for rags they will find her the festal robes; and vows, instead of tears may gain the goddess's help.--No god, says Electra, has an ear for the wretched, and in wretched toil and obscure retreat her life is wasting away.--_A sob from the concealed Orestes startles them, and they are about to flee, when Orestes and Pylades discover themselves and reassure them_. With difficulty he restrains his emotions throughout a long conversation, personating a messenger from himself to Electra.

_Ores._ Bearing thy brother's words to thee I come. {251}
_Elec._ Most welcome: breathes he yet this vital air?
_Ores._ He lives: I first would speak what brings thee joy.
_Elec._ Oh be thou blest for these most grateful words!
_Ores._ To both in common this I give to share.
_Elec._ Where is th' unhappy outcast wand'ring now?
_Ores._ He wastes his life not subject to one state.
_Elec._ Finds he with toil what life each day requires?
_Ores._ Not so; but mean the wand'ring exile's state.
_Elec._ But with what message art thou from him charg'd?
_Ores._ T' inquire, if living, where thou bear'st thy griefs.
_Elec._ First then observe my thin and wasted state.
_Ores._ Wasted with grief, so that I pity thee.
_Elec._ Behold my head, its crisped honours shorn.
_Ores._ Mourning thy brother, or thy father dead?
_Elec._ What can be dearer to my soul than these?
_Ores._ Alas! What deem'st thou are thy brother's thoughts?
_Elec._ He, though far distant, is most dear to me.
_Ores._ Why here thy dwelling from the city far?
_Elec._ O, stranger, in base nuptials I am join'd--
_Ores._ I feel thy brother's grief!--To one of rank?
_Elec._ Not as my father once to place me hop'd--
_Ores._ That hearing I may tell thy brother, speak.
_Elec._ This is his house: in this I dwell remote.
_Ores._ This house some digger or some herdsman suits.
_Elec._ Generous, though poor, in reverence me he holds.
_Ores._ To thee what reverence doth thy husband pay?
_Elec._ He never hath presumed t' approach my bed.

The conversation is prolonged, bringing out for the benefit of the Strangers and the Chorus the whole of Electra's troubles, and how her father's blood is crying for vengeance.

_Elec._ The monarch's tomb
Unhonoured, nor libations hath receiv'd,
Nor myrtle bough, no hallow'd ornament
Hath dignified the pyre. Inflamed with wine,
My mother's husband, the illustrious lord,
For so they call him, trampled on the earth
Insultingly where Agamemnon lies,
And hurling 'gainst his monument a stone,
Thus taunts us with proud scorn, "Where is thy son,
"Orestes where? right noble is thy tomb
"Protected by his presence." Thus he mocks
The absent; but, O stranger, tell him this
Suppliant I beg thee. {371}

_Enter unexpectedly the Peasant_. On hearing that these strangers are messengers from Orestes, he instantly calls for refreshments to be brought, and begs the stranger to delay no longer to enter the cottage: poverty must be no excuse for not offering what hospitality he has.--A burst of admiration is drawn from Orestes. {400}

_Ores._ Nature hath giv'n no outward mark to note
The generous mind; the qualities of men
To sense are indistinct. I oft have seen
One of no worth a noble father shame,
And from vile parents worthy children spring,
Meanness oft grov'lling in the rich man's mind,
And oft exalted spirits in the poor.
How then discerning shall we judge aright?
By riches? ill would they abide the test.
By poverty? on poverty awaits
This ill, through want it prompts to sordid deeds.
Shall we pronounce by arms? but who can judge
By looking on the spear the dauntless heart?
Such judgment is fallacious; for this man,
Nor great among the Argives, nor elate
With the proud honours of his house, his rank
Plebeian, hath approv'd his liberal heart.
Will you not then learn wisdom, you whose minds
Error with false presentments leads astray?
Will you not learn by manners and by deeds
To judge the noble? Such discharge their trust
With honour to the state and to their house.
Mere flesh without a spirit is no more
Than statues in the forum; nor in war
Doth the strong arm the dang'rous shock abide
More than the weak; on nature this depends
And an intrepid mind. But we accept
Thy hospitable kindness; for the son
Of Agamemnon, for whose sake we come,
Present or not is worthy to this house.
Go, my attendants, I must enter it;
This man, though poor, more cheerful than the rich
Receives me; to his kindness thanks are due.
More would it joy me if thy brother, blest
Himself, could lead me to his prosperous house:
Yet haply he may come; th' oracular voice
Of Phoebus firmly will be ratified:
Lightly of human prophecies I deem. {438}

[_Orestes and his attendants enter the house._]

_Electra_ is in a quandary at the idea of people of such rank being invited into her humble cottage.

_Peas._ Why not? If they are noble, as their port
Denotes them, will they not alike enjoy
Contentment, be their viands mean or rich?

The only device Electra can think of is to send to an old servant of her father's house--the same who, as Tutor, preserved the child Orestes on the fatal night--now an aged herdsman forced to hide himself in obscurity, and ask him to help them in this emergency. _Exit Peasant to the fields to find the old Tutor; Electra into the cottage_. {474}

CHORAL INTERLUDE I

apostrophises the array of ships that went to the Trojan war, the great chiefs who commanded, especially Achilles, whose shield they have seen, with its Gorgons, and Sphinxes, and Hermes in flight, and other wondrous figures--suddenly at the end connects itself with the subject of the play by the thought: it was the Prince who commanded heroes like these that a wicked wife dared to slay! {530}

EPISODE II

_Enter from the fields the Aged Tutor, tottering under the weight of a kid and other viands, clad in rags, and in tears_. _Electra_ wonders why he weeps: to mourn for Agamemnon or Orestes is surely now to mourn in vain.

_Tut._ In vain; but this my soul could not support; {553}
For to his tomb as on the way I came,
I turned aside, and falling on the ground,
Alone and unobserved, indulg'd my tears;
Then of the wine, brought for thy stranger guests,
Made a libation, and around the tomb
Plac'd myrtle branches; on the pyre I saw
A sable ewe, yet fresh the victim's blood,
And clust'ring auburn locks shorn from some head;
I marvell'd, O my child, what man had dar'd
Approach the tomb, for this no Argive dares.
Perchance with secret step thy brother came
And paid these honors to his father's tomb.
But view these locks, compare them with thine own,
Whether like thine their color; nature loves
In those who from one father draw their blood
In many points a likeness to preserve.
_Elec._ Unworthy of a wise man are thy words,
If thou canst think that to Mycenae's realms
My brother e'er with secret step will come,
Fearing Aegisthus. Then between our locks
What can th' agreement be? To manly toils
He in the rough Palaestra hath been train'd,
Mine by the comb are soften'd; so that hence
Nothing may be inferr'd. Besides, old man,
Tresses like-color'd often may'st thou find
Where not one drop of kindred blood is shar'd.
_Tut._ Trace but his footsteps, mark th' impression, see
If of the same dimensions with thy feet.
_Elec._ How can th' impression of his foot be left
On hard and rocky ground? But were it so,
Brother and sister never can have foot
Of like dimensions: larger is the man's.
_Tut._ But hath thy brother, should he come, no vest
Which thou wouldst know, the texture of thy hands,
In which when snatch'd from death he was array'd?
_Elec._ Know'st thou not, when my brother from this land
Was saved, I was but young? But were his vests
Wrought by my hands, then infant as he was,
How could he now in his maturer age
Be in the same array'd, unless his vests
Grew with his person's growth? No, at the tomb
Some stranger, touch'd with pity, sheared his locks,
Or native, by the tyrant's spies unmark'd.
_Tut._ Where are these strangers? I would see them: much
Touching thy brother wish I to inquire.
_Elec._ See, from the house with hast'ning step they come. {599}

_Re-enter Orestes and Pylades_: Conversation in which the aged Tutor eyes him curiously all over, and declares he is Orestes--general recognition and burst of joy.--Then they turn to vengeance, and in stichomuthic dialogue lay their plans. Aegisthus, the Tutor says, is to come to a neighboring field to celebrate a sacrifice; they lay a plan for Orestes and Pylades to gain admission as travellers and kill him in the moment of sacrifice. As to Clytaemnestra: a report is prevalent in the palace that Electra has given birth to a child; they conspire to give currency to the report and invite Clytaemnestra to perform the ten days' rite: once in the house, Orestes will do the dreadful deed; they tremble at their horrid tasks, but their father must be avenged.--_Exeunt Orestes and, his Attendants to the fields; and Electra to the Cottage_ begging the Chorus, who are privy to all this as confidential friends, to keep watch and summon her if news comes. {763}

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

_Strophe_ 1. The Argive mountains round,
'Mongst tales of ancient days
From age to age recorded this remains:
Tuned to mellifluous lays,
Pan taught his pipe to sound,
And as he breath'd the sprightly-swelling strains,
The beauteous ram, with fleece of gold,
God of shepherds, on he drove.
The herald from the rock above
Proclaims, "Your monarch's wonders to behold,
"Wonders to sight, from which no terrors flow,
"Go, Mycenaeans, to th' assembly go."
With reverence they obey the call,
And fill th' Atridae's spacious hall.

_Antis._ Its gates with gold o'erlaid,
Wide oped each Argive shrine,
And from the altar hallow'd flames arise;
Amidst the rites divine,
Joying the Muse to aid,
Breath'd the brisk pipe its sweet notes to the skies;
Accordant to the tuneful strain
Swell'd the loud acclaiming voice,
Now with Thyestes to rejoice:
He, all on fire the glorious prize to gain,
With secret love the wife of Atreus won,
And thus the shining wonder made his own;
Then to the assembly vaunting cried,
"Mine is the rich Ram's golden pride."

_Strophe_ 2. Then, oh then, indignant Jove
Bade the bright sun backward move,
And the golden orb of day,
And the morning's orient ray;
Glaring o'er the Western sky
Hurl'd his ruddy lightnings fly;
Clouds, no more to fall in rain,
Northward roll their deep'ning train;
Libyan Ammon's thirsty seat,
Wither'd with the scorching heat,
Feels nor show'rs nor heavenly dews
Grateful moisture round diffuse.

_Antis._ 2. Fame hath said (but light I hold
What the voice of fame hath told)
That the sun, retiring far,
Backward roll'd his golden car;
And his vital heat withdraw,
Sick'ning man's bold crimes to view.
Mortals, when such tales they hear,
Tremble with an holy fear,
And th' offended gods adore;
She, this noble pair who bore,
Dar'd to murder, deed abhorr'd!
This forgot, her royal lord. {815}

EPISODE III

_As the Ode is concluding, shouts are heard from the direction of the field where the sacrifice is: Chorus summon Electra_.

After a brief conversation, a Messenger arrives breathless, and after rapidly giving the news that Aegisthus has fallen, is encouraged to tell the scene at length, which he does in the regular 'Messenger's Speech.'

_Mess._ Departing from this house, the level road {845}
We enter'd soon, mark'd by the chariot wheel
On either side. Mycenae's noble king
Was there, amidst his gardens with fresh streams
Irriguous walking, and the tender boughs
Of myrtles, for a wreath to bind his head,
He cropt; he saw us, he address'd us thus
Aloud: "Hail, strangers; who are ye, and whence
Come, from what country?" Then Orestes said,
"Thessalians; victims to Olympian Jove
We at the stream of Alpheus go to slay."
The King replied, "Be now my guests, and share
The feast with me; a bullock to the Nymphs
I sacrifice; at morn's first dawn arise,
Then shall you go; but enter now my house."
Thus as he spoke, he took us by the hand
And led us, nothing loth: beneath his roof
Soon as we came, he bade his slaves prepare
Baths for the strangers, that, the altars nigh,
Beside the lustral ewers they might stand.
Orestes then, "With lavers from the pure
And living stream we lately have been cleansed:
But with thy citizens these rites to share,
If strangers are permitted, we, O King,
Are ready to thy hospitable feast,
Nothing averse." The converse here had end.
Their spears, with which they guard the king, aside
Th' attendants laid, and to their office all
Applied their hands; some led the victim, some
The baskets bore, some rais'd the flames and plac'd
The cauldrons on the hearth; the house resounds.
Thy mother's husband on the altars cast
The salted cakes, and thus address'd his vows;
"Ye Nymphs that haunt the rocks, these hallow'd rites
Oft let me pay, and of my royal spouse
Now absent, both by fortune blest as now;
And let our foes as now, in ruin lie;"
Thee and Orestes naming. But my lord,
Far other vows address'd, but gave his words
No utt'rance, to regain his father's house.
Aegisthus then the sacrificing sword
Took from the basket, from the bullock's front
To cut the hair, which on the hallow'd fire
With his right hand he threw; and, as his slaves
The victim held, beneath its shoulder plung'd
The blade; then turning to thy brother spoke:
"Among her noble arts Thessalia boasts
To rein the fiery courser, and with skill
The victim's limbs to sever; stranger, take
The sharp-edg'd steel and show that fame reports
Of the Thessalians truth." The Doric blade
Of temper'd metal in his hand he grasp'd,
And from his shoulders threw his graceful robe;
Then to assist him in the toilsome task
Chose Pylades, and bade the slaves retire:
The victim's foot he held, and its white flesh,
His hand extending, bared, and stript the hide
E'er round the course the chariot twice could roll,
And laid the entrails open. In his hands
The fate-presaging parts Aegisthus took,
Inspecting: in the entrails was no lobe;
The valves and cells the gall containing show
Dreadful events to him, that view'd them, near.
Gloomy his visage darken'd; but my lord
Ask'd whence his sadden'd aspect: He replied--
"Stranger, some treachery from abroad I fear;
Of mortal men Orestes most I hate,
The son of Agamemnon; to my house
He is a foe." "Wilt thou," replied my lord,
"King of this state, an exile's treachery dread?
But that, these omens leaving, we may feast,
Give me a Phthian for this Doric blade,
The breast asunder I will cleave." He took
The steel and cut. Aegisthus, yet intent,
Parted the entrails; and, as low he bow'd
His head, thy brother, rising to the stroke,
Drove through his back the ponderous axe, and riv'd
The spinal joints: his heaving body writh'd
And quiver'd, struggling in the pangs of death.
The slaves beheld, and instant snatched their spears,
Many 'gainst two contesting; but my lord
And Pylades with dauntless courage stood
Oppos'd, and shook their spears. Orestes then
Thus spoke: "I come not to this state a foe,
Nor to my servants; but my father's death
I on his murderer have aveng'd; you see
Th' unfortunate Orestes: kill me not,
My father's old attendants." At these words
They all restrain'd their spears, and he was known
By one grown hoary in the royal house.
Crowns on thy brother's head they instant plac'd
With shouts of joy. He comes, and with him brings
Proof of his daring, not a Gorgon's head,
But whom thou hat'st, Aegisthus: blood for blood,
Bitter requital, on the dead has fall'n. {939}

General exultation (_in Lyric measures_) succeeds, which increases as _Orestes_ and _Pylades re-enter bearing the corpse of Aegisthus_. After brief celebration of the deed the face of the corpse is uncovered, and Electra, gazing at it, gives vent to her scorn and hatred: how he had slain a hero, made her an orphan, lived in shame with her mother, enjoying and trusting in her father's wealth: but

Nature is firm, not riches: she remains
For ever, and triumphant lifts her head.
But unjust wealth, which sojourns with the base,
Glitters for some short space, then flies away.

His effeminate manners are more than maiden tongue may speak of; beauty graced his perfect form:

But be not mine a husband, whose fair face
In softness with a virgin's vies, but one
Of manly manners; for the sons of such
By martial toils are trained to glorious deeds;
The beauteous only the dance give grace.

Let the wicked in future learn they are not secure till the goal of life is reached. {1092}

Clytaemnestra is then seen approaching: they hurry Orestes in; his heart fails him at the thought of his mother; with difficulty Electra rouses him to his appointed vengeance. [_Exeunt all but Electra into the Cottage. Enter Clytaemnestra in a Chariot and splendid array._] _The Chorus_ welcome her, and she begs their aid to alight.--_Electra_ thrusts herself forward clad in rags as she is, and begs that she too may assist.--_Clyt._ feels the impropriety of the scene, and falls into an apologetic tone; it was Electra's father who, by his injustice to Iphigenia, was the real cause of Electra's trouble. This leads to the usual judicial disputation: _Clyt._ pleading that this sacrifice of her daughter was done not for a good cause, but for the wanton Helen; this sacrifice she had avenged, and to avenge it must join an enemy, not a friend, of Agamemnon.--_Electra_, getting permission, replies: Helen was not the only wanton one of her family; if no motive but vengeance, why begin to adorn as soon as Agamemnon was out of the way, why rejoice whenever the Trojans prospered, why go on to persecute Orestes and herself, nay, why not slay Aegisthus for persecuting these her children? The sight of Electra's miserable condition makes even _Clyt._ feel compunction: she has been too harsh, she will be kinder now, and so shall Aegisthus--Electra replying to all that it is too late. At last _Clyt._ prepares to go within the house and perform the rite for Electra; then she will join her husband. _Exeunt Attendants with Chariot, and Electra ushers Clytaemnestra into the Cottage_.

Let my poor house receive thee: but take heed
Lest thy rich vests the blackening smoke denies.--
There shalt thou sacrifice, as to the gods
Behoves thee sacrifice: the basket there
Is for the rites prepared, and the keen blade
Which struck the bull; beside him shalt thou fall
By a like blow; in Pluto's courts his bride
He shall receive, with whom in heav'n's fair light
Thy couch was shared: to thee this grace I give,
Thou vengeance for my father shalt give me. {1274}

CHORAL INTERLUDE III

The waves of mischief are flowing back, the gale of Violence is veering: Vengeance for the crime of old standing is come at last. {1298}

EXODUS, OR FINALE

Cries are heard from within: the Chorus know that the deed is done.

_By the machinery of the roller-stage the interior of the Cottage is displayed, with Orestes and Electra standing over the corpse of Clytaemnestra_.

A revulsion of feeling has come over them; they did the deed in frenzy; now, instead of triumph, they have no thoughts but for the act they have done, and how they will carry a curse with them ever after, and all will shun them. With horror they recall the details of the scene:

_Ores._ Didst thou see her when she drew {1338}
Her vests aside, and bared her breasts, and bow'd
To earth her body whence I drew my birth,
Whilst in her locks my furious hand I wreath'd?

_Elec._ With anguish'd mind, I know, thou didst proceed,
When heard thy wailing mother's piteous cries.

_Ores._ These words, whilst with her hands she strok'd my cheeks,
Burst forth, "Thy pity I implore, my son;"
Soothing she spoke, as on my cheeks she hung,
That bloodless from my hand the sword might fall.

_Chor._ Wretched Electra, how could'st thou sustain
A sight like this? How bear thy mother's death,
Seeing her thus before thine eyes expire?

_Ores._ Holding my robe before mine eyes, I rais'd
The sword and plung'd it in my mother's breast.

_Elec._ I urged thee to it, I too touch'd the sword.

_Chor._ Of deeds most dreadful this which thou hast done.
Cover thy mother's body; in her robes
Decent compose her wounded limbs.--Thou gav'st
Being to those who were to murder thee.

DIVINE INTERVENTION

_Suddenly over the Permanent Scene two Supernatural Beings appear and move along, recognized by the Chorus as Castor and Pollux, the Family Deities_. {1364}

Hear, son of Agamemnon: for to thee
Thy mother's brothers, twin-born sons of Jove
Castor, and this my brother Pollux, speak.
Late, having calmed the ocean waves, that swell'd
The lab'ring vessel menacing, we came
To Argos, where our sister we beheld,
Thy mother, slain: with justice vengeance falls
On her; in thee unholy is the deed.
Yet Phoebus, Phoebus--but, my king is he;
I will be silent: yet, though wise, he gave
To thee response not wise; but I must praise
Perforce these things. Thou now must do what Fate
And Jove decree.

Electra is to marry Pylades, and Orestes to flee to Athens and be purified by the Court on the Hill of Mars: Apollo assisting. Orestes' future life is foretold [thus working out various details of the Orestes legends].--With awe Orestes, Electra, and Chorus enter into converse with the gods, and the word is confirmed. They failed to avert the trouble from their house on account of dire Fate and 'the voice unwise of Phoebus from his shrine.' There has been a Demon hostile to Electra's parents.--Then the brother and sister's thoughts turn to the life-long separation, and the painful wandering, sorrows e'en to the gods mournful to hear. Farewell to Argos: the Gods hurry Orestes away for the Furies are already on his track, and conclude:

To the impious thro' the ethereal tract
We no assistance bring: but those to whom
Justice and sanctity of life is dear,
We from their dangerous toils relieve and save.
Let no one then unjustly will to act,
Nor in one vessel with the perjured sail:
A god to mortals this monition gives.

_Chor._ Oh, be you blest! And those, to whom is given
Calmly the course of mortal life to pass,
By no affliction sunk, pronounce we blest.

[1] The quotations of Euripides are from Potter's translation.

THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES[1]

MEMORANDUM

_Of the Story as it would be traditionally familiar to the Audience before-hand.--Admetus was the splendid King of Pherae, so famous for the sacred rites of Hospitality that he had Sons of the Gods for Guests, and the God of Brightness, Apollo, himself while he sojourned on earth chose Admetus's household to dwell in. In the full tide of his greatness the time came for him to die: Apollo interposed for his chief votary, and won from the Fates that he might die by substitute. But none was found willing to be the victim, not even his aged parents: at last Alcestis his wife, young and bright as himself, gave herself for her husband and died. Then another Guest-Friend of Admetus came to the rescue, Jupiter's own son Hercules, and by main force wrested Alcestis from the grasp of Death, and restored her to her husband._

PROLOGUE

_Scene: Pherae in Thessaly. The early morning sunshine blazes full on the Royal Palace of the Glorious Admetus, and on the statues, conspicuous in front of it, of Jupiter Lord of Host and Guest, and Apollo: nevertheless the Courtyard is silent and deserted.--At last Apollo himself is seen, not aloft in the air as Gods were wont to appear, but on the threshold of the Central Gate._

APOLLO meditates on his happy associations with the house he is quitting. How when there was trouble in heaven, and he himself, for resisting Jove's vengeance on the Healer Aesculapius, was doomed to a year's slavery amongst mortal men, he had bound himself as herdsman to Admetus, and Admetus exercised his lordship with all reverence:

A holy master o'er his holy slave. {13}

How again when trouble came to Admetus he had saved him from the day of death, on condition that another would die in his stead.

His friends, his father, e'en the aged dame {19}
That gave him birth were asked in vain: not one
Was found, his wife except.

The dreadful day has come, and Alcestis is at this moment breathing her last in the arms of her husband: and he himself must leave his loved friend, for Deity may not abide in the neighborhood of death's pollution. {27}

_Suddenly, the hideous Phantom of Death becomes visible, ascending the Steps of the Dead [from below the Orchestra on to the Stage]: his pace never flags, yet he cowers, like all things of darkness, before the Bow of Apollo._

_Death_ reproaches Apollo with haunting the dwellings of mortals, and with seeking by that Bow of his to defraud the Infernal Powers of their due. _Apollo_ defends himself: he is but visiting friends he loves: he has no thought of using force. But would he could persuade Death to choose his victims according to the law of nature, and slay ripe lingering age instead of youth!

_Death._ Greater my glory when the youthful die! {58}

_Apollo_ appeals to self-interest: more sumptuous obsequies await the aged dead.--That, answers _Death_, were to make laws in favor of the rich.--_Apollo_ condescends to ask mercy for his friend as a favor; but favors, _Death_ sneers, are not in keeping with his manners; and taunts Apollo with his helplessness to resist fate. The taunt rouses Apollo to a flash of prophecy (which is one of his attributes), giving (as the Greek stage loved to do) a glimpse into the end of the story.

_Apollo._ Yet, ruthless as thou art, soon wilt thou cease {67}
This contest; such a man to Pherae's house
Comes. . . . . He, in this house
A welcome guest to Admetus, will by force
Take his wife from thee; and no thanks from me
Will be thy due; yet what I now entreat
Then thou wilt yield, and I shall hate thee still.

Apollo moves away and disappears in the distance [_by Left Side-door_], while Death, hurling defiance after him, waves his fatal sword and crosses the threshold. {81}

PARODE, OR CHORUS-ENTRY

_Enter the Orchestra [by the Right Archway, as from the neighborhood] the Chorus: Old Men of Pherae, come to enquire how it is with the Queen on the morning of this appointed day of her death. As usual in such Chorus-Entries their chanting is accompanied with music and gesture-dance to a rhythm traditionally associated with marching. But by a very unusual effect they enter in disordered ranks, moving in two loosely-formed bodies towards the Central Altar._ {82}

_1st Semichorus._ What a silence encloses the Palace!
What a hush in the house of Admetus!
_2nd Semichorus._ Not a soul is at hand of the household
To answer our friendly enquiry--
Is it over, all over but weeping?
Or sees she the light awhile longer,
Our Queen, brightest pattern of women
The wide world through,
Most devoted of wives, our Alcestis?

_Arriving at the Altar they fall for a time into compact order, and exchange their marching rhythm for the elaborate Choral ritual, the evolutions taking them to the Right of the Orchestra._ {89}

_Strophe_

_Full Chorus._ Listen for the heavy groan,
Smitten breast and piercing moan,
Ringing out that life is gone.
The house forgets its royal state,
And not a slave attends the gate.
Our sea of woe runs high:--ah, mid the waves
Appear, Great Healer, Apollo!

_They break again into loose order and marching rhythm, remaining on the Right of the Orchestra._

_1st Semi._ Were she dead, could they keep such a silence? {94}
_2nd Semi._ May it be--she is gone from the Palace?
_1st Semi._ Never!
_2nd Semi._ Nay, why so confident answer?
_1st Semi._ To so precious a corpse could Admetus
Give burial bare of its honours?

_They reunite in Choral order and work back to the Altar._

_Antistrophe_

_Full Chorus._ Lo, no bath the porch below, {99}
Nor the cleansing fountain's flow,
Gloomy rite for house of woe.
The threshold lacks its locks of hair,
Clipp'd for the dead in death's despair.
Who hears the wailing voice and thud of hands,
The seemly woe of the maidens?

_At the Altar they again break up and fall into marching rhythm._

_2nd Semi._ Yet to-day is the dread day appointed-- {105}
_1st Semi._ Speak not the word!
_2nd Semi._ The day she must pass into Hades--
_1st Semi._ I am cut to the heart!
I am cut to the soul!
_2nd Semi._ When the righteous endure tribulation,
Avails nought long-tried love
Nought is left to the friendly--but mourning!

_Accordingly they address themselves to a Full Choral Ode, the evolutions carrying them to the extreme Left of the Orchestra in the Strophe, and in the Antistrophe back to the Altar._

CHORAL INTERLUDE I

_Strophe_

In vain--our pious vows are vain-- {111}
Make we the flying sail our care,
The light bark bounding o'er the main;
To what new realm shall we repair?
To Lycia's hallow'd strand?
Or where in solitary state,
Mid thirsty deserts wild and wide
That close him round on every side,
Prophetic Ammon holds his awful seat?
What charm, what potent hand
Shall save her from the realms beneath?
He comes, the ruthless tyrant Death:
I have no priest, no altar more,
Whose aid I may implore!

_Antistrophe_

O that the Son of Phoebus now {121}
Lived to behold th' ethereal light!
Then might she leave the seats below,
Where Pluto reigns in cheerless night!
The Sage's potent art,
Till thund'ring Jove's avenging pow'r
Hurl'd his red Thunders at his breast,
Could, from the yawning gulf releast,
To the sweet light of life the dead restore.
Who now shall aid impart?
To ev'ry god, at ev'ry shrine,
The king hath paid the rites divine:
But vain his vows, his pious care;
And ours is dark despair!

EPISODE I

_At last they have been heard, and one of the Queen's Women comes weeping from the Palace [by one of the Inferior Doors]: the Chorus fall into their Episode position, in two ranks, between the Altar and the Stage, taking part by their Foreman in the dialogue._

The Chorus eagerly enquire whether Alcestis yet lives. {138}

_Attend._ As living may I speak of her, and dead.
_Cho._ Living and dead at once, how may that be?
_Attend._ E'en now she sinks in death and breathes her last.

They join in extolling her heroic devotion, and the Attendant tells of her bearing on this day of Death, which she celebrates as if a day of religious festival.

When she knew {160}
The destin'd day was come, in fountain water
She bath'd her lily-tinctured limbs, then took
From her rich chests, of odorous cedar form'd,
A splendid robe, and her most radiant dress;
Thus gorgeously array'd she stood before
The hallow'd flames, and thus address'd her pray'r:
"O Queen, I go to the infernal shades!
Yet, e'er I go, with reverence let me breathe
My last request: Protect my orphan children,
Make my son happy with the wife he loves, {170}
And wed my daughter to a noble husband:
Nor let them, like their mother, to the tomb
Untimely sink, but in their native land
Be blest through length'ned life to honour'd age."
Then to each altar in the royal house
She went, and crown'd it, and address'd her vows,
Plucking the myrtle bough; nor tear, nor sigh
Came from her, neither did the approaching ill
Change the fresh beauties of her vermeil cheek.
Her chamber then she visits, and her bed; {180}
There her tears flow'd, and thus she spoke: "O bed
To which my wedded lord, for whom I die,
Led me a virgin bride, farewell; to thee
No blame do I impute, for me alone
Hast thou destroy'd; disdaining to betray
Thee and my lord, I die: to thee shall come
Some other woman, not more chaste, perchance
More happy"--as she lay, she kissed the couch,
And bath'd it with a flood of tears; that pass'd,
She left her chamber, then return'd, and oft {190}
She left it, oft return'd, and on the couch
Fondly, each time she enter'd, cast herself.
Her children, as they hung upon her robes,
Weeping, she rais'd, and clasp'd them to her breast
Each after each, as now about to die.
Each servant through the house burst into tears
In pity of their mistress; she to each
St[r?]etch'd her right hand; nor was there one so mean
To whom she spoke not, and admitted him
To speak to her again. Within the house {200}
So stands it with Admetus. Had he died,
His woes were over: now he lives to bear
A weight of pain no moment shall forget.

Alcestis is wasting away, and fading with swift disease, while her distracted husband holds her in his arms, entreating impossibilities. And now they are about to bring her out, for the dying Alcestis has a longing for one more sight of heaven and the radiant morning. The Chorus are plunged in despair: how will their king bear to live after the loss of such a wife!

The lamentations rise higher still _as the Central Gates open and the couch of Alcestis is borne out, Admetus holding her in his arms, and, her children clinging about her; the Stage fills with weeping friends and attendants. The whole dialogue falls into lyrical measures with strophic alternations just perceptible_. _Alcestis_ commences to address the sunshine and fair scenery she has come out to view--when the scene changes to her dying eyes, and she can see nothing but the gloomy river the dead have to cross, with the boatman ready waiting, and the long dreary journey beyond. Dark night is creeping over her eyes, when _Admetus_, as he ever mingles his passionate prayers with her wanderings, conjures her for her children's sake as well as his own not to forsake them. A thought for her children's future rouses the mother from her stupor, and she rallies for a solemn last appeal [_the measure changing to blank verse to mark the change of tone_]. She begins to recite the sacrifice she is making for her lord:

I die for thee, though free {284}
Not to have died, but from Thessalia's chiefs
Preferring whom I pleas'd, in royal state
To have lived happy here--I had no will
To live bereft of thee with these poor orphans--
I die without reluctance, though the gifts
Of youth are mine to make life grateful to me. {290}
Yet he that gave thee birth, and she that bore thee,
Deserted thee, though well it had beseem'd them
With honour to have died for thee, t' have saved
Their son with honour, glorious in their death.
They had no child but thee, they had no hope
Of other offspring, should'st thou die; and I
Might thus have lived, thou mightst have lived till age
Crept slowly on, nor wouldst thou heave the sigh
Thus of thy wife deprived, nor train alone
Thy orphan children:--but some God appointed {300}
It should be thus: thus be it.

All this is the basis for a requital she demands of her husband: that he shall let her children be lords in their own house, and not set over them the cruel guardianship of a step-mother.

My son that holds endearing converse with thee {315}
Hath in his father a secure protection;
But who, my daughter, shall with honour guide
Thy virgin years? What woman shalt thou find
New-wedded to thy father, whose vile arts
Will not with slanderous falsehoods taint thy name,
And blast thy nuptials in youth's freshest bloom?
For never shall thy mother see thee led
A bride, nor at thy throes speak comfort to thee,
Then present when a mother's tenderness
Is most alive: for I must die! {325}

The _Chorus_ pledge their faith that the king will honour such a request as long as reason lasts. _Admetus_ addresses a solemn vow to his dying wife, that her will shall be done:

Living thou wast mine, {334}
And dead thou only shalt be called my wife.

It will be only too easy to keep such a pledge as that, for life henceforth will be one long mourning to him.

Hence I renounce
The feast, the cheerful guest, the flow'ry wreath, {350}
And song that used to echo through my house:
For never will I touch the lyre again,
Nor to the Libyan flute's sweet measures raise
My voice: with thee all my delights are dead.
Thy beauteous figure, by the artist's hand
Skillfully wrought, shall in my bed be laid;
By that reclining, I will clasp it to me,
And call it by thy name, and think I hold
My dear wife in my arms, and have her yet,
Though now no more I have her: cold delight {360}
I ween, yet thus th' affliction of my soul
I shall relieve, and visiting my dreams
Shalt thou delight me.

O for the power of Orpheus's lyre, that might rescue thee even from the realms of the dead!

But there await me till I die; prepare {374}
A mansion for me, as again with me
To dwell; for in thy tomb I will be laid,
In the same cedar, by thy side composed:
For e'en in death I will not be disjoin'd
From thee who hast alone been faithful to me!

As the Chorus join in Admetus's sorrow the pledge is reiterated, and the dying mother is satisfied.

_Alc._ Thus pledging, from my hands receive thy children. {386}
_Adm._ A much-loved gift, and from a much-loved hand!

The strength Alcestis had summoned for her last effort now forsakes her: she sinks rapidly.

_Alc._ A heavy weight hangs on my darkened eye. {396}
_Adm._ If thou forsake me I am lost indeed!
_Alc._ As one that is no more I now am nothing.
_Adm._ Ah, raise thy face! forsake not thus thy children!
_Alc._ It must be so perforce: farewell, my children.
_Adm._ Look on them, but a look.
_Alc._ I am no more.
_Adm._ How dost thou? Wilt thou leave us so?
_Alc._ Farewell.
_Adm._ And what a wretch, what a lost wretch am I!
_Cho._ She's gone! Thy wife, Admetus, is no more!

The little Son flings himself passionately on the corpse [_the metre breaking out into strophic alternations._]

_Strophe_

_Son._ O my unhappy fate! {405}
My mother sinks to the dark realms of night,
Nor longer views this golden light;
But to the ills of life exposed
Leaves my poor orphan state!
Her eyes, my father, see, her eyes are closed,
And her hand nerveless falls.
Yet hear me, O my mother, hear my cries!
It is thy son who calls,
Who prostrate on the earth breathes on thy lips his sighs.

_Adm._ On one that hears not, sees not! I and you
Must bend beneath affliction's heaviest load.

_Antistrophe_

_Son._ Ah! she hath left my youth-- {417}
My mother, my loved mother is no more--
Left me my sufferings to deplore,
Left me a heritage of woe:
Who shall my sorrows soothe?
Thou too, my sister, thy full share shalt know
Of grief, thy heart to rend.
Vain, O my father, vain thy nuptial vows,
Brought to this speedy end:
For when my mother died in ruin sank our house! {425}

The Chorus [_in calm blank verse_] call on their king to command himself and bear what many have had to bear before.--_Admetus_ knows he must: this calamity has not come without notice. He rouses himself to give orders as to the preparations for burial: the mourning rites shall last a whole year, and shall extend throughout the whole region of Thessaly: the very horses shall have their waving manes cut close, and no sound of flute or instrument of joy shall be heard in the city. {445}

_The corpse is slowly carried out, and at last the Stage is vacant. Then the Chorus address themselves to a Choral Ode in memory of the Spirit now passed beneath the earth: the evolutions as usual, carrying them with each Strophe to one end of the Orchestra, and with the Antistrophe back to the Altar._

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

_Strophe_ I

Immortal bliss be thine, {446}
Daughter of Pelias, in the realms below,
Immortal pleasures round thee flow,
Though never there the sun's bright beams shall shine.
Be the black-brow'd Pluto told,
And the Stygian boatman old,
Whose rude hands grasp the oar, the rudder guide,
The dead conveying o'er the tide,--
Let him be told, so rich a freight before
His light skiff never bore;
Tell him that o'er the joyless lakes
The noblest of her sex her dreary passage takes.

_Antistrophe I_

Thy praise the bards shall tell,
When to their hymning voice the echo rings,
Or when they sweep the solemn strings,
And wake to rapture the seven-chorded shell:
Or in Sparta's jocund bow'rs,
Circling when the vernal hours
Bring the Carnean Feast, whilst through the night
Full-orb'd the high moon rolls her light;
Or where rich Athens, proudly elevate,
Shows her magnific state:
Their voice thy glorious death shall raise,
And swell th' enraptured strain to celebrate thy praise.

_Strophe II_

O that I had the pow'r,
Could I but bring thee from the shades of night,
Again to view this golden light,
To leave that boat, to leave that dreary shore,
Where Cocytus, deep and wide,
Rolls along his sullen tide!
For thou, O best of women, thou alone
For thy lord's life daredst give thy own.
Light lie the earth upon thy gentle breast,
And be thou ever blest!
While, should he choose to wed again,
Mine and his children's hearts would hold him in disdain.

_Antistrophe II_

When, to avert his doom,
His mother in the earth refused to lie;
Nor would his ancient father die
To save his son from an untimely tomb;
Though the hand of time had spread
Hoar hairs o'er each aged head:
In youth's fresh bloom, in beauty's radiant glow,
The darksome way thou daredst to go,
And for thy youthful lord's to give thy life.
Be ours so true a wife!
Though rare the lot, then should we prove
Th' indissoluble bond of faithfulness and love.

EPISODE II

_Enter on the Stage through the distance-entrance [Left Side-door] the colossal figure of Hercules. Here is the turning-point of the play: which has the peculiarity of combining an element of the Satyric Drama (or Burlesque) with Tragedy, the combination anticipating the 'Action-Drama' (or 'Tragi-Comedy') of modern times. Accordingly the costume and mask of Hercules are compounded, of his conventional appearance in Tragedy, in which he is conceived as the perfection of physical strength toiling and suffering for mankind, and his conventional appearance in Satyric plays as the gigantic feeder, etc. The two are harmonized in the conception of conscious energy rejoicing in itself, and plunging with equal eagerness into duty and relaxation, while each lasts._

_Hercules_ hails the Chorus and enquires for Admetus. They reply that he is within the Palace, and [shrinking, like all Greeks, from being the first to tell evil tidings] turn the conversation by enquiring what brings the Demi-god to Pherae--_in stichomuthic dialogue_ it is brought out that Hercules is on his way to one of his 'Labors'--that of the Thracian Steeds; and (so lightly does the thought of toil sit on him) it appears he has not troubled to enquire what the task meant: from the Chorus he learns for the first time the many dangers before him, and how the Steeds are devourers of human flesh.

_Herc._ A toil you tell of that well fits my fate, {517}
My life of hardship, ever struggling upward.

Admetus now appears, in mourning garb: after first salutations between the two friends, Hercules enquires what his trouble is, which gives scope for a favorite effect in Greek Drama--'dissimulation.'

_Herc._ Why are thy locks in sign of mourning shorn? {530}
_Adm._ 'Tis for one dead, whom I to-day must bury.
_Herc._ The Gods avert thy mourning for a child!
_Adm._ My children, what I had, live in my house.
_Herc._ Thy aged father, haply he is gone.
_Adm._ My father lives, and she that bore me lives.
_Herc._ Lies then thy wife Alcestis mongst the dead?
_Adm._ Of her I have in double wise to speak.
_Herc._ As of the living speakst thou, or the dead?
_Adm._ She is, and is no more: this grief afflicts me.
_Herc._ This gives no information: dark thy words. {540}
_Adm._ Knowst thou not then the destiny assign'd her?
_Herc._ I know that she submits to die for thee.
_Adm._ To this assenting is she not no more?
_Herc._ Lament her not too soon: await the time.
_Adm._ She's dead: one soon to die is now no more.
_Herc._ It differs wide to be, and not to be.
_Adm._ Such are thy sentiments, far other mine.
_Herc._ But wherefore are thy tears? What man is dead?
_Adm._ A woman: of a woman I made mention.
_Herc._ Of foreign birth, or one allied to thee? {550}
_Adm._ Of foreign birth, but to my home most dear.

Hercules is moving away for the purpose of seeking hospitality elsewhere: Admetus will not hear of it, and, when Hercules loudly protests, puts aside his opposition with the air of one whose authority in matters of hospitable rites is not to be disputed. He orders attendants to conduct Hercules to a distant quarter of the Palace, to spread a sumptuous feast, and bar fast the doors, lest the voice of woe should affect the feasting guest. When Hercules is gone the _Chorus_ are staggered by such a mastery of personal grief as this implies. But _Admetus_ asks how could he let a guest depart from his house?

My affliction would not thus {575}
Be less, but more unhospitable I.

But why, the _Chorus_ ask, conceal the truth?--His friend, answers _Admetus_, would never have entered, had he known. Some may blame him, he continues, but his house simply knows not how to do dishonor to a guest.--Admetus returns into the Palace, to his funeral preparations: the _Chorus_ are moved to enthusiasm by this forgetfulness of self in hospitable devotion; their enthusiasm breaks out in an Ode celebrating the glories of their king's hospitality in the past, and ending in a gleam of hope that it may yet do something for him in the future. {588}

CHORAL INTERLUDE III

_Evolutions, etc., as usual._

_Strophe I_

O liberal house! with princely state {589}
To many a stranger, many a guest,
Oft hast thou oped thy friendly gate,
Oft spread the hospitable feast.
Beneath thy roof Apollo deign'd to dwell,
Here strung his silver-sounding shell,
And, mixing with thy menial train,
Deigned to be called the shepherd of the plain:
And as he drove his flocks along,
Whether the winding vale they rove,
Or linger in the upland grove,
He tuned the pastoral pipe, or rural song.

_Antistrophe I_

Delighted with his tuneful lay, {601}
No more the savage thirsts for blood;
Amidst the flocks, in harmless play,
Wantons the lynx's spotted brood;
Pleas'd from his lair on Othrys' rugged brow
The lion seeks the vale below:
Whilst to the lyre's melodious sound
The dappled hinds in sportive measures bound;
And as the vocal echo rings,
Lightly their nimble feet they ply,
Leaving their pine-clad forests high,
Charm'd by the sweet notes of his gladdening strings.

_Strophe II_

Hence is thy house, Admetus, graced
With all that plenty's hand bestows;
Near the sweet-streaming current placed,
That from the lake of Boebia flows;
Far towards the shades of night thy wide domain,
Rich-pastured mead and cultured plain,
Extends, to those Molossian meads
Where the sun stations his unharnessed steeds;
And stretching towards his eastern ray,
Where Pelion, rising in his pride,
Frowns o'er th' Aegean's portless tide:
Reaches from sea to sea thy ample sway.

_Antistrophe II_

And thou wilt ope thy gate e'en now, {625}
E'en now wilt thou receive this guest;
Though from thine eye the warm tear flow,
Though sorrow rend thy suffering breast,
Sad tribute to thy wife, who, new in death,
Lamented lies thy roof beneath!
Nature in truth has thus decreed:
The pure soul must bear fruit of reverent deed.
Lo, all the pow'r of wisdom lies
Fix'd in the righteous bosom: hence
Rests in my soul this confidence--
The good shall yet safe from their trials rise. {636}

EPISODE III

_The Central Gates open and the Funeral Procession slowly files out and begins to fill the Stage_. Admetus beside the bier of Alcestis is calling on the Chorus (as representing the citizens of Pherae) to join in the invocations to the dead--when _suddenly another Procession appears on the Stage [entering by the Right Side-door, as from the immediate neighborhood]: it is headed by the father and mother of Admetus, both of whom have reached the furthest verge of old age, and who with difficulty totter along, while attendants follow them bearing sumptuous drapery and other funeral gifts. The scene settles down into the 'Forensic Contest,' a fixed feature of every Greek Tragedy, in which the 'case' of the hero and the opposition to it are brought out with all the formality of a judicial process, the long rheses representing advocates' speeches, the stichomuthic dialogue suggesting cross-examination, and the Chorus interposing as moderators_.

_Pheres_ in the tone of conventional consolation speaks of the virtues of the dead, and the special virtue of Alcestis's sacrifice, which has saved her husband's life, and himself from a childless old age; it is meet then that he should do honor to the corpse. _Attendants of Admetus advance to receive the presents: Admetus waves them back and stands coldly confronting his father. At last he speaks._ His father is an uninvited guest at this funeral feast, and unwelcome: the dead shall never be arrayed in his gifts. Then was the time for his father to show kindness when a life was demanded: and yet he could stand aloof and let a younger die! He will never believe himself the son of so mean and abject a soul.

At such an age, just trembling on the verge {677}
Of life, thou would'st not, nay, thou dared'st not die
For thine own son; but thou couldst suffer _her_,
Though sprung from foreign blood: with justice then
Her only as my father must I deem,
Her only as my mother. Yet this course
Mightst thou have run with glory, for thy son
Daring to die; brief was the space of life
That could remain to thee: I then had lived
My destin'd time, she too had lived.

Yet Pheres had already had his share of all that makes life happy: a youth amid royal luxury, a prosperous reign, a son to inherit his state and who ever did him honor. But let him beget him new sons to cherish his age and attend him in death: Admetus's hand shall never do such offices for him. And this is all that comes of old age's longing for death: let death show itself, and the old complaints of life are all silenced!

_Cho._ Forbear! Enough the present weight of woe: {710}
My son, exasperate not a father's mind.

To this long rhesis _Pheres_ answers in a set speech of similar length. Is he a slave to be so rated by his own son? And for what? He has given his son birth and nurture, he has already handed over to him a kingdom and will bequeath him yet more wide lands; all that fathers owe to sons he gives. What new obligation is this for Greece to submit to, that a father should die for his son?

It is a joy to thee {730}
To view the light of heaven, and dost thou think
Thy father joys not in it? Long I deem
Our time in death's dark regions: short the space
Of life, yet sweet! So thought thy coward heart
And struggled not to die: and thou dost live,
Passing the bounds of life assign'd by fate,
By killing _her_! My mean and abject spirit
Dost thou rebuke, O timidest of all,
Vanquish'd e'en by a woman, her who gave
For thee, her young fair husband, her own life! {740}
A fine device that thou mightst never die,
Couldst thou persuade--who at the time might be
Thy wife--to die for thee!

If such a man takes to heaping reproaches on his own kin he shall at least hear the truth told him to his face!