THE ALCESTIS

OF

EURIPIDES

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE

WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY

GILBERT MURRAY, LL D, D LITT, FBA

REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

1915

INTRODUCTION

The _Alcestis_ would hardly confirm its author's right to beacclaimed "the most tragic of the poets. " It is doubtful whether one cancall it a tragedy at all. Yet it remains one of the most characteristicand delightful of Euripidean dramas, as well as, by modern standards, themost easily actable. And I notice that many judges who display nothing buta fierce satisfaction in sending other plays of that author to the blockor the treadmill, show a certain human weakness in sentencing the gentledaughter of Pelias. 

The play has been interpreted in many different ways. There is the oldunsophisticated view, well set forth in Paley's preface of 1872. Heregards the _Alcestis_ simply as a triumph of pathos, especially of"that peculiar sort of pathos which comes most home to us, with our viewsand partialities for domestic life. . . . As for the characters, that ofAlcestis must be acknowledged to be pre-eminently beautiful. One couldalmost imagine that Euripides had not yet conceived that bad opinion ofthe sex which so many of the subsequent dramas exhibit. . . . But the restare hardly well-drawn, or, at least, pleasingly portrayed. " "The poetmight perhaps, had he pleased, have exhibited Admetus in a more amiablepoint of view. "

This criticism is not very trenchant, but its weakness is due, I think, more to timidity of statement than to lack of perception. Paley does seethat a character may be "well-drawn" without necessarily being "pleasing";and even that he may be eminently pleasing as a part of the play whilevery displeasing in himself. He sees that Euripides may have had his ownreasons for not making Admetus an ideal husband. It seems odd that suchpoints should need mentioning; but Greek drama has always suffered from aschool of critics who approach a play with a greater equipment ofaesthetic theory than of dramatic perception. This is the characteristicdefect of classicism. One mark of the school is to demand from dramatistsheroes and heroines which shall satisfy its own ideals; and, though therewas in the New Comedy a mask known to Pollux as "The Entirely-good YoungMan" ([Greek: panchraestos neaniskos]), such a character is fortunatelyunknown to classical Greek drama. 

The influence of this "classicist" tradition has led to a timid andunsatisfying treatment of the _Alcestis_, in which many of the moststriking and unconventional features of the whole composition were eitherignored or smoothed away. As a natural result, various lively-mindedreaders proceeded to overemphasize these particular features, and werecarried into eccentricity or paradox. Alfred Schöne, for instance, fixinghis attention on just those points which the conventional critic passedover, decides simply that the _Alcestis_ is a parody, and finds itvery funny. (_Die Alkestis von Euripides_, Kiel, 1895. )

I will not dwell on other criticisms of this type. There are those whohave taken the play for a criticism of contemporary politics or thecurrent law of inheritance. Above all there is the late Dr. Verrall'sfamous essay in _Euripides the Rationalist_, explaining it as apsychological criticism of a supposed Delphic miracle, and arguing thatAlcestis in the play does not rise from the dead at all. She had neverreally died; she only had a sort of nervous catalepsy induced by all the"suggestion" of death by which she was surrounded. Now Dr. Verrall's work, as always, stands apart. Even if wrong, it has its own excellence, itsspecial insight and its extraordinary awakening power. But in general theeffect of reading many criticisms on the _Alcestis_ is to make ascholar realize that, for all the seeming simplicity of the play, competent Grecians have been strangely bewildered by it, and that afterall there is no great reason to suppose that he himself is more sensiblethan his neighbours. 

This is depressing. None the less I cannot really believe that, if we makepatient use of our available knowledge, the _Alcestis_ presents anystartling enigma. In the first place, it has long been known from theremnants of the ancient Didascalia, or official notice of production, thatthe _Alcestis_ was produced as the fourth play of a series; that is, it took the place of a Satyr-play. It is what we may call Pro-satyric. (See the present writer's introduction to the _Rhesus_. ) And weshould note for what it is worth the observation in the ancient Greekargument: "The play is somewhat satyr-like ([Greek: saturiphkoteron]). Itends in rejoicing and gladness against the tragic convention. "

Now we are of late years beginning to understand much better what aSatyr-play was. Satyrs have, of course, nothing to do with satire, eitheretymologically or otherwise. Satyrs are the attendant daemons who form theKômos, or revel rout, of Dionysus. They are represented in diversfantastic forms, the human or divine being mixed with that of some animal, especially the horse or wild goat. Like Dionysus himself, they areconnected in ancient religion with the Renewal of the Earth in spring andthe resurrection of the dead, a point which students of the_Alcestis_ may well remember. But in general they represent merejoyous creatures of nature, unthwarted by law and unchecked byself-control. Two notes are especially struck by them: the passions andthe absurdity of half-drunken revellers, and the joy and mystery of thewild things in the forest. 

The rule was that after three tragedies proper there came a play, still intragic diction, with a traditional saga plot and heroic characters, inwhich the Chorus was formed by these Satyrs. There was a deliberate clash, an effect of burlesque; but of course the clash must not be too brutal. Certain characters of the heroic saga are, so to speak, at home withSatyrs and others are not. To take our extant specimens of Satyr-plays, for instance: in the _Cyclops_ we have Odysseus, the heroictrickster; in the fragmentary _Ichneutae_ of Sophocles we have theNymph Cyllene, hiding the baby Hermes from the chorus by the mostbarefaced and pleasant lying; later no doubt there was an entrance of theinfant thief himself. Autolycus, Sisyphus, Thersites are all Satyr-playheroes and congenial to the Satyr atmosphere; but the most congenial ofall, the one hero who existed always in an atmosphere of Satyrs and theKômos until Euripides made him the central figure of a tragedy, wasHeracles. [Footnote: The character of Heracles in connexion with the Kômos, alreadyindicated by Wilamowitz and Dieterich (_Herakles_, pp. 98, ff. ;_Pulcinella_, pp. 63, ff. ), has been illuminatingly developed in anunpublished monograph by Mr. J. A. K. Thomson, of Aberdeen. ]

The complete Satyr-play had a hero of this type and a Chorus of Satyrs. But the complete type was refined away during the fifth century; and onestage in the process produced a play with a normal chorus but with onefigure of the Satyric or "revelling" type. One might almost say the"comic" type if, for the moment, we may remember that that word isdirectly derived from 'Kômos. '

The _Alcestis_ is a very clear instance of this Pro-satyric class ofplay. It has the regular tragic diction, marked here and there (393, 756, 780, etc. ) by slight extravagances and forms of words which aresometimes epic and sometimes over-colloquial; it has a regular saga plot, which had already been treated by the old poet Phrynichus in his_Alcestis_, a play which is now lost but seems to have been Satyric;and it has one character straight from the Satyr world, the heroicreveller, Heracles. It is all in keeping that he should arrive tired, should feast and drink and sing; should be suddenly sobered and should goforth to battle with Death. It is also in keeping that the contest shouldhave a half-grotesque and half-ghastly touch, the grapple amid the gravesand the cracking ribs. 

 * * * * *

So much for the traditional form. As for the subject, Euripides receivedit from Phrynichus, and doubtless from other sources. We cannot be sure ofthe exact form of the story in Phrynichus. But apparently it told howAdmetus, King of Pherae in Thessaly, received from Apollo a specialprivilege which the God had obtained, in true Satyric style, by making theThree Fates drunk and cajoling them. This was that, when his appointedtime for death came, he might escape if he could find some volunteer todie for him. His father and mother, from whom the service might have beenexpected, refused to perform it. His wife, Alcestis, though no bloodrelation, handsomely undertook it and died. But it so happened thatAdmetus had entertained in his house the demi-god, Heracles; and whenHeracles heard what had happened, he went out and wrestled with Death, conquered him, and brought Alcestis home. 

Given this form and this story, the next question is: What did Euripidesmake of them? The general answer is clear: he has applied his usualmethod. He accepts the story as given in the tradition, and thenrepresents it in his own way. When the tradition in question is reallyheroic, we know what his way is. He preserves, and even emphasizes, thestateliness and formality of the Attic stage conventions; but, in themeantime, he has subjected the story and its characters to a keener studyand a more sensitive psychological judgment than the simple things wereoriginally meant to bear. So that many characters which passed as heroic, or at least presentable, in the kindly remoteness of legend, reveal somestrange weakness when brought suddenly into the light. When the traditionis Satyric, as here, the same process produces almost an opposite effect. It is somewhat as though the main plot of a gross and jolly farce werepondered over and made more true to human character till it emerged as arefined and rather pathetic comedy. The making drunk of the Three GreySisters disappears; one can only just see the trace of its having oncebeen present. The revelling of Heracles is touched in with the lightest ofhands; it is little more than symbolic. And all the figures in the story, instead of being left broadly comic or having their psychology neglected, are treated delicately, sympathetically, with just that faint touch ofsatire, or at least of amusement, which is almost inseparable from a closeinterest in character. 

What was Admetus really like, this gallant prince who had won theaffection of such great guests as Apollo and Heracles, and yet went roundasking other people to die for him; who, in particular, accepted hiswife's monstrous sacrifice with satisfaction and gratitude? The playportrays him well. Generous, innocent, artistic, affectionate, eloquent, impulsive, a good deal spoilt, unconsciously insincere, and no doubtfundamentally selfish, he hates the thought of dying and he hates losinghis wife almost as much. Why need she die? Why could it not have been someone less important to him? He feels with emotion what a beautiful act itwould have been for his old father. "My boy, you have a long and happylife before you, and for me the sands are well-nigh run out. Do not seekto dissuade me. I will die for you. " Admetus could compose the speech forhim. A touching scene, a noble farewell, and all the dreadful troublesolved--so conveniently solved! And the miserable self-blinded old mancould not see it!

Euripides seems to have taken positive pleasure in Admetus, much asMeredith did in his famous Egoist; but Euripides all through is kinder tohis victim than Meredith is. True, Admetus is put to obvious shame, publicly and helplessly. The Chorus make discreet comments upon him. The Handmaid is outspoken about him. One feels that Alcestis herself, forall her tender kindness, has seen through him. Finally, to make thingsquite clear, his old father fights him openly, tells him home-truth uponhome-truth, tears away all his protective screens, and leaves him with hisself-respect in tatters. It is a fearful ordeal for Admetus, and, afterhis first fury, he takes it well. He comes back from his wife's burial achanged man. He says not much, but enough. "I have done wrong. I have onlynow learnt my lesson. I imagined I could save my happy life by forfeitingmy honour; and the result is that I have lost both. " I think that acareful reading of the play will show an almost continuous process ofself-discovery and self-judgment in the mind of Admetus. He was a man whoblinded himself with words and beautiful sentiments; but he was notthick-skinned or thick-witted. He was not a brute or a cynic. And I thinkhe did learn his lesson . . . Not completely and for ever, but as well asmost of us learn such lessons. 

The beauty of Alcestis is quite untouched by the dramatist's keeneranalysis. The strong light only increases its effect. Yet she is not byany means a mere blameless ideal heroine; and the character whichEuripides gives her makes an admirable foil to that of Admetus. Where heis passionate and romantic, she is simple and homely. While he is stillrefusing to admit the facts and beseeching her not to "desert" him, she ina gentle but businesslike way makes him promise to take care of thechildren and, above all things, not to marry again. She could not possiblytrust Admetus's choice. She is sure that the step-mother would be unkindto the children. She might be a horror and beat them (l. 307). And whenAdmetus has made a thrilling answer about eternal sorrow, and thesilencing of lyre and lute, and the statue who shall be his only bride, Alcestis earnestly calls the attention of witnesses to the fact that hehas sworn not to marry again. She is not an artist like Admetus. There ispoetry in her, because poetry comes unconsciously out of deep feeling, butthere is no artistic eloquence. Her love, too, is quite different fromhis. To him, his love for his wife and children is a beautiful thing, asubject to speak and sing about as well as an emotion to feel. But herlove is hardly conscious. She does not talk about it at all. She is merelywrapped up in the welfare of certain people, first her husband and then hechildren. To a modern romantic reader her insistence that her husbandshall not marry again seems hardly delicate. But she does not think aboutromance or delicacy. To her any neglect to ensure due protection for thechildren would be as unnatural as to refuse to die for her husband. Indeed, Professor J. L. Myres has suggested that care for the children'sfuture is the guiding motive of her whole conduct. There was first thedanger of their being left fatherless, a dire calamity in the heroic age. She could meet that danger by dying herself. Then followed the danger of astepmother. She meets that by making Admetus swear never to marry. In thelong run, I fancy, the effect of gracious loveliness which Alcestiscertainly makes is not so much due to any words of her own as to what theHandmaid and the Serving Man say about her. In the final scene she issilent; necessarily and rightly silent, for all tradition knows that thosenew-risen from the dead must not speak. It will need a long _rite depassage_ before she can freely commune with this world again. It is astrange and daring scene between the three of them; the humbled andbroken-hearted husband; the triumphant Heracles, kindly and wise, yetstill touched by the mocking and blustrous atmosphere from which hesprang; and the silent woman who has seen the other side of the grave. It was always her way to know things but not to speak of them. 

The other characters fall easily into their niches. We have only toremember the old Satyric tradition and to look at them in the light oftheir historical development. Heracles indeed, half-way on his road fromthe roaring reveller of the Satyr-play to the suffering and erringdeliverer of tragedy, is a little foreign to our notions, but quiteintelligible and strangely attractive. The same historical method seems tome to solve most of the difficulties which have been felt about Admetus'shospitality. Heracles arrives at the castle just at the moment whenAlcestis is lying dead in her room; Admetus conceals the death from himand insists on his coming in and enjoying himself. What are we to think ofthis behaviour? Is it magnificent hospitality, or is it gross want oftact? The answer, I think, is indicated above. 

In the uncritical and boisterous atmosphere of the Satyr-play it wasnatural hospitality, not especially laudable or surprising. From theanalogy of similar stories I suspect that Admetus originally did not knowhis guest, and received not so much the reward of exceptional virtue asthe blessing naturally due to those who entertain angels unawares. If weinsist on asking whether Euripides himself, in real life or in a play ofhis own free invention, would have considered Admetus's conduct toHeracles entirely praiseworthy, the answer will certainly be No, but itwill have little bearing on the play. In the _Alcestis_, as it stands, thefamous act of hospitality is a datum of the story. Its claims are admittedon the strength of the tradition. It was the act for which Admetus wasspecially and marvellously rewarded; therefore, obviously, it was an actof exceptional merit and piety. Yet the admission is made with a smile, and more than one suggestion is allowed to float across the scene that inreal life such conduct would be hardly wise. 

Heracles, who rose to tragic rank from a very homely cycle of myth, wasapt to bring other homely characters with him. He was a great killer notonly of malefactors but of "kêres" or bogeys, such as "Old Age" and "Ague"and the sort of "Death" that we find in this play. Thanatos is not a god, not at all a King of Terrors. One may compare him with the dancingskeleton who is called Death in mediaeval writings. When such a figureappears on the tragic stage one asks at once what relation he bears toHades, the great Olympian king of the unseen. The answer is obvious. Thanatos is the servant of Hades, a "priest" or sacrificer, who is sent tofetch the appointed victims. 

The other characters speak for themselves. Certainly Pheres can be trustedto do so, though we must remember that we see him at an unfortunatemoment. The aged monarch is not at his best, except perhaps in merefighting power. I doubt if he was really as cynical as he here professesto be. 

 * * * * *

In the above criticisms I feel that I may have done what critics are soapt to do. I have dwelt on questions of intellectual interest and perhapsthereby diverted attention from that quality in the play which is the mostimportant as well as by far the hardest to convey; I mean the sheer beautyand delightfulness of the writing. It is the earliest dated play ofEuripides which has come down to us. True, he was over forty when heproduced it, but it is noticeably different from the works of his old age. The numbers are smoother, the thought less deeply scarred, the languagemore charming and less passionate. If it be true that poetry is bred outof joy and sorrow, one feels as if more enjoyment and less suffering hadgone to the making of the _Alcestis_ than to that of the later plays. 

ALCESTIS

CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

ADMÊTUS, _King of Pherae in Thessaly_. ALCESTIS, _daughter of Pelias, his wife_. PHERÊS, _his father, formerly King but now in retirement_. TWO CHILDREN, _his son and daughter_. A MANSERVANT _in his house_. A HANDMAID. 

The Hero HERACLES. The God APOLLO. THANÁTOS _or_ DEATH. CHORUS, _consisting of Elders of Pherae_. 

"_The play was first performed when Glaukînos was Archon, in the 2ndyear of the 85th Olympiad_ (438 B. C. ). _Sophocles was first, Euripides second with the Cretan Women, Alcmaeon in Psophis, Telephus andAlcestis. . . . The play is somewhat Satyric in character. _"

ALCESTIS

_The scene represents the ancient Castle of_ ADMETUS _near Pheraein Thessaly. It is the dusk before dawn_; APOLLO, _radiant in thedarkness, looks at the Castle. _

APOLLO. Admetus' House! 'Twas here I bowed my headOf old, and chafed not at the bondman's bread, Though born in heaven. Aye, Zeus to death had hurledMy son, Asclepios, Healer of the World, Piercing with fire his heart; and in mine ireI slew his Cyclop churls, who forged the fire. Whereat Zeus cast me forth to bear the yokeOf service to a mortal. To this folkI came, and watched a stranger's herd for pay, And all his house I have prospered to this day. For innocent was the Lord I chanced uponAnd clean as mine own heart, King Pheres' son, Admetus. Him I rescued from the grave, Beguiling the Grey Sisters till they gaveA great oath that Admetus should go free, Would he but pay to Them Below in feeAnother living soul. Long did he proveAll that were his, and all that owed him love, But never a soul he found would yield up lifeAnd leave the sunlight for him, save his wife:Who, even now, down the long galleriesIs borne, death-wounded; for this day it isShe needs must pass out of the light and die. And, seeing the stain of death must not come nighMy radiance, I must leave this house I love. But ha! The Headsman of the Pit, aboveEarth's floor, to ravish her! Aye, long and lateHe hath watched, and cometh at the fall of fate. 

_Enter from the other side_ THANATOS; _a crouching black-haired andwinged figure, carrying a drawn sword. He starts in revulsion onseeing_ APOLLO. 

THANATOS. Aha!Why here? What mak'st thou at the gate, Thou Thing of Light? Wilt overtreadThe eternal judgment, and abate And spoil the portions of the dead?'Tis not enough for thee to have blocked In other days Admetus' doomWith craft of magic wine, which mocked The three grey Sisters of the Tomb; But now once more I see thee stand at watch, and shake That arrow-armèd hand to makeThis woman thine, who swore, who swore, To die now for her husband's sake. 

APOLLO. Fear not. I bring fair words and seek but what is just. 

THANATOS (_sneering_)And if words help thee not, an arrow must?

APOLLO. 'Tis ever my delight to bear this bow. 

THANATOS. And aid this house unjustly? Aye, 'tis so. 

APOLLO. I love this man, and grieve for his dismay. 

THANATOS. And now wilt rob me of my second prey!

APOLLO. I never robbed thee, neither then nor now. 

THANATOS. Why is Admetus here then, not below?

APOLLO. He gave for ransom his own wife, for whom . . . 

THANATOS (_interrupting_). I am come; and straight will bear her to the tomb. 

APOLLO. Go, take her. --I can never move thine heart. 

THANATOS (_mocking_). To slay the doomed?--Nay; I will do my part. 

APOLLO. No. To keep death for them that linger late. 

THANATOS (_still mocking_). 'Twould please thee, so?. . . I owe thee homage great. 

APOLLO. Ah, then she may yet . . . She may yet grow old?

THANATOS (_with a laugh_). No!. . . I too have my rights, and them I hold. 

APOLLO. 'Tis but one life thou gainest either-wise. 

THANATOS. When young souls die, the richer is my prize. 

APOLLO. Old, with great riches they will bury her. 

THANATOS. Fie on thee, fie! Thou rich-man's lawgiver!

APOLLO. How? Is there wit in Death, who seemed so blind?

THANATOS. The rich would buy long life for all their kind. 

APOLLO. Thou will not grant me, then, this boon? 'Tis so?

THANATOS. Thou knowest me, what I am: I tell thee, no!

APOLLO. I know gods sicken at thee and men pine. 

THANATOS. Begone! Too many things not meant for thineThy greed hath conquered; but not all, not all!

APOLLO. I swear, for all thy bitter pride, a fallAwaits thee. One even now comes conqueringTowards this house, sent by a southland kingTo fetch him four wild coursers, of the raceWhich rend men's bodies in the winds of Thrace. This house shall give him welcome good, and heShall wrest this woman from thy worms and thee. So thou shalt give me all, and thereby winBut hatred, not the grace that might have been. [_Exit_ APOLLO. ]

THANATOS. Talk on, talk on! Thy threats shall win no brideFrom me. --This woman, whatsoe'er betide, Shall lie in Hades' house. Even at the wordI go to lay upon her hair my sword. For all whose head this grey sword visitethTo death are hallowed and the Lords of death. 

 [THANATOS _goes into the house. Presently, as the day grows lighter, the_ CHORUS _enters: it consists of Citizens of Pherae, who speakseverally. _]

CHORUS. 

LEADER. Quiet, quiet, above, beneath!

SECOND ELDER. The house of Admetus holds its breath. 

THIRD ELDER. And never a King's friend near, To tell us either of tears to shedFor Pelias' daughter, crowned and dead; Or joy, that her eyes are clear. Bravest, truest of wives is sheThat I have seen or the world shall see. 

DIVERS CITIZENS, _conversing_. (The dash -- indicates a new speaker. )

--Hear ye no sob, or noise of hands Beating the breast? No mourners' cries For one they cannot save?--Nothing: and at the door there stands No handmaid. --Help, O Paian; rise, O star beyond the wave!

--Dead, and this quiet? No, it cannot be. --Dead, dead!--Not gone to burial secretly!

--Why? I still fear: what makes your speech so brave?--Admetus cast that dear wife to the grave Alone, with none to see?

--I see no bowl of clear spring water. It ever stands before the dread Door where a dead man rests. --No lock of shorn hair! Every daughter Of woman shears it for the dead. No sound of bruisèd breasts!

--Yet 'tis this very day . . . --This very day?--The Queen should pass and lie beneath the clay. --It hurts my life, my heart!--All honest hearts Must sorrow for a brightness that departs, A good life worn away. 

LEADER. To wander o'er leagues of land, To search over wastes of sea, Where the Prophets of Lycia stand, Or where Ammon's daughters threeMake runes in the rainless sand, For magic to make her free-- Ah, vain! for the end is here; Sudden it comes and sheer. What lamb on the altar-strand Stricken shall comfort me?

SECOND ELDER. Only, only one, I know: Apollo's son was he, Who healed men long ago. Were he but on earth to see, She would rise from the dark below And the gates of eternity. For men whom the Gods had slain He pitied and raised again;Till God's fire laid him low, And now, what help have we?

OTHERS. All's done that can be. Every vowFull paid; and every altar's brow Full crowned with spice of sacrifice. No help remains nor respite now. 

_Enter from the Castle a_ HANDMAID, _almost in tears. _

LEADER. But see, a handmaid cometh, and the tearWet on her cheek! What tiding shall we hear?. . . Thy grief is natural, daughter, if some illHath fallen to-day. Say, is she living stillOr dead, your mistress? Speak, if speak you may. 

MAID. Alive. No, dead. . . . Oh, read it either way. 

LEADER. Nay, daughter, can the same soul live and die?

MAID. Her life is broken; death is in her eye. 

LEADER. Poor King, to think what she was, and what thou!

MAID. He never knew her worth. . . . He will know it now. 

LEADER. There is no hope, methinks, to save her still?

MAID. The hour is come, and breaks all human will. 

LEADER. She hath such tendance as the dying crave?

MAID. For sure: and rich robes ready for her grave. 

LEADER. 'Fore God, she dies high-hearted, aye, and farIn honour raised above all wives that are!

MAID. Far above all! How other? What must she, Who seeketh to surpass this woman, be?Or how could any wife more shining makeHer lord's love, than by dying for his sake?But thus much all the city knows. 'Tis here, In her own rooms, the tale will touch thine earWith strangeness. When she knew the day was come, She rose and washed her body, white as foam, With running water; then the cedarn pressShe opened, and took forth her funeral dressAnd rich adornment. So she stood arrayedBefore the Hearth-Fire of her home, and prayed:"Mother, since I must vanish from the day, This last, last time I kneel to thee and pray;Be mother to my two children! Find some dearHelpmate for him, some gentle lord for her. And let not them, like me, before their hourDie; let them live in happiness, in ourOld home, till life be full and age content. " To every household altar then she wentAnd made for each his garland of the greenBoughs of the wind-blown myrtle, and was seenPraying, without a sob, without a tear. She knew the dread thing coming, but her clearCheek never changed: till suddenly she fledBack to her own chamber and bridal bed:Then came the tears and she spoke all her thought. "O bed, whereon my laughing girlhood's knotWas severed by this man, for whom I die, Farewell! 'Tis thou . . . I speak not bitterly. . . . 'Tis thou hast slain me. All alone I goLest I be false to him or thee. And lo, Some woman shall lie here instead of me--Happier perhaps; more true she cannot be. " She kissed the pillow as she knelt, and wetWith flooding tears was that fair coverlet. At last she had had her fill of weeping; thenShe tore herself away, and rose again, Walking with downcast eyes; yet turned beforeShe had left the room, and cast her down once moreKneeling beside the bed. Then to her sideThe children came, and clung to her and cried, And her arms hugged them, and a long good-byeShe gave to each, like one who goes to die. The whole house then was weeping, every slaveIn sorrow for his mistress. And she gaveHer hand to all; aye, none so base was thereShe gave him not good words and he to her. So on Admetus falls from either sideSorrow. 'Twere bitter grief to him to have diedHimself; and being escaped, how sore a woeHe hath earned instead--Ah, some day he shall know!

LEADER. Surely Admetus suffers, even to-day, For this true-hearted love he hath cast away?

MAID. He weeps; begs her not leave him desolate, And holds her to his heart--too late, too late!She is sinking now, and there, beneath his eyeFading, the poor cold hand falls languidly, And faint is all her breath. Yet still she fainWould look once on the sunlight--once againAnd never more. I will go in and tellThy presence. Few there be, will serve so wellMy master and stand by him to the end. But thou hast been from olden days our friend. [_The_ MAID _goes in_. ]

CHORUS. 

THIRD ELDER. O Zeus, What escape and where From the evil thing?How break the snare That is round our King?

SECOND ELDER. Ah list!One cometh?. . . No. Let us no more wait; Make dark our raiment And shear this hair. 

LEADER. Aye, friends!'Tis so, even so. Yet the gods are great And may send allayment. To prayer, to prayer!

ALL (_praying_). O Paian wise!Some healing of this home devise, devise!Find, find. . . . Oh, long ago when we were blind Thine eyes saw mercy . . . Find some healing breath!Again, O Paian, break the chains that bind; Stay the red hand of Death!

LEADER. Alas!What shame, what dread, Thou Pheres' son, Shalt be harvested When thy wife is gone!

SECOND ELDER. Ah me;For a deed less drear Than this thou ruest Men have died for sorrow; Aye, hearts have bled. 

THIRD ELDER. 'Tis she;Not as men say dear, But the dearest, truest, Shall lie ere morrow Before thee dead!

ALL. But lo! Once more!She and her husband moving to the door!Cry, cry! And thou, O land of Pherae, hearken! The bravest of women sinketh, perisheth, Under the green earth, down where the shadows darken, Down to the House of Death!

[_During the last words_ ADMETUS _and_ ALCESTIS _have entered_. ALCESTIS _is supported by her Handmaids and followed by hertwo children. _]

LEADER. And who hath said that Love shall bring More joy to man than fear and strife?I knew his perils from of old, I know them now, when I behold The bitter faring of my King, Whose love is taken, and his life Left evermore an empty thing. 

ALCESTIS. O Sun, O light of the day that falls!O running cloud that races along the sky!

ADMETUS. They look on thee and me, a stricken twain, Who have wrought no sin that God should have thee slain. 

ALCESTIS. Dear Earth, and House of sheltering walls, And wedded homes of the land where my fathers lie!

ADMETUS. Fail not, my hapless one. Be strong, and prayThe o'er-mastering Gods to hate us not alway. 

ALCESTIS (_faintly, her mind wandering_). A boat two-oared, upon water; I see, I see. And the Ferryman of the Dead, His hand that hangs on the pole, his voice that cries;"Thou lingerest; come. Come quickly, we wait for thee. " He is angry that I am slow; he shakes his head. 

ADMETUS. Alas, a bitter boat-faring for me, My bride ill-starred. --Oh, this is misery!

ALCESTIS (_as before_). Drawing, drawing! 'Tis some one that draweth me . . . To the Palaces of the Dead. So dark. The wings, the eyebrows and ah, the eyes!. . . Go back! God's mercy! What seekest thou? Let me be!. . . (_Recovering_) Where am I? Ah, and what paths are these I tread?

ADMETUS. Grievous for all who love thee, but for meAnd my two babes most hard, most solitary. 

ALCESTIS. Hold me not; let me lie. --I am too weak to stand; and Death is near, And a slow darkness stealing on my sight. My little ones, good-bye. Soon, soon, and mother will be no more here. . . . Good-bye, two happy children in the light. 

ADMETUS. Oh, word of pain, oh, sharper ache Than any death of mine had brought! For the Gods' sake, desert me not, For thine own desolate children's sake. Nay, up! Be brave. For if they rend Thee from me, I can draw no breath; In thy hand are my life and death, Thine, my belovèd and my friend!

ALCESTIS. Admetus, seeing what way my fortunes lie, I fain would speak with thee before I die. I have set thee before all things; yea, mine ownLife beside thine was naught. For this aloneI die. . . . Dear Lord, I never need have died. I might have lived to wed some prince of pride, Dwell in a king's house. . . . Nay, how could I, tornFrom thee, live on, I and my babes forlorn?I have given to thee my youth--not more nor less, But all--though I was full of happiness. Thy father and mother both--'tis strange to tell--Had failed thee, though for them the deed was well, The years were ripe, to die and save their son, The one child of the house: for hope was none, If thou shouldst pass away, of other heirs. So thou and I had lived through the long years, Both. Thou hadst not lain sobbing here aloneFor a dead wife and orphan babes. . . . 'Tis doneNow, and some God hath wrought out all his will. Howbeit I now will ask thee to fulfillOne great return-gift--not so great withalAs I have given, for life is more than all;But just and due, as thine own heart will tell. For thou hast loved our little ones as wellAs I have. . . . Keep them to be masters hereIn my old house; and bring no stepmotherUpon them. She might hate them. She might beSome baser woman, not a queen like me, And strike them with her hand. For mercy, spareOur little ones that wrong. It is my prayer. . . . They come into a house: they are all strifeAnd hate to any child of the dead wife. . . . Better a serpent than a stepmother!A boy is safe. He has his father thereTo guard him. But a little girl! (_Taking the_ LITTLE GIRL _to her_) What goodAnd gentle care will guide thy maidenhood?What woman wilt thou find at father's side?One evil word from her, just when the tideOf youth is full, would wreck thy hope of love. And no more mother near, to stand aboveThy marriage-bed, nor comfort thee pain-tossedIn travail, when one needs a mother most!Seeing I must die. . . . 'Tis here, across my way, Not for the morrow, not for the third day, But now--Death, and to lie with things that were. Farewell. God keep you happy. --Husband dear, Remember that I failed thee not; and you, My children, that your mother loved you true. 

LEADER. Take comfort. Ere thy lord can speak, I swear, If truth is in him, he will grant thy prayer. 

ADMETUS. He will, he will! Oh, never fear for me. Mine hast thou been, and mine shalt ever be, Living and dead, thou only. None in wideHellas but thou shalt be Admetus' bride. No race so high, no face so magic-sweetShall ever from this purpose turn my feet. And children . . . If God grant me joy of these, 'Tis all I ask; of thee no joy nor easeHe gave me. And thy mourning I will bearNot one year of my life but every year, While life shall last. . . . My mother I will knowNo more. My father shall be held my foe. They brought the words of love but not the deed, While thou hast given thine all, and in my needSaved me. What can I do but weep alone, Alone alway, when such a wife is gone?. . . An end shall be of revel, and an endOf crowns and song and mirth of friend with friend, Wherewith my house was glad. I ne'er againWill touch the lute nor ease my heart from painWith pipes of Afric. All the joys I knew, And joys were many, thou hast broken in two. Oh, I will find some artist wondrous wiseShall mould for me thy shape, thine hair, thine eyes, And lay it in thy bed; and I will lieClose, and reach out mine arms to thee, and cryThy name into the night, and wait and hearMy own heart breathe: "Thy love, thy love is near. "A cold delight; yet it might ease the sumOf sorrow. . . . And good dreams of thee will comeLike balm. 'Tis sweet, even in a dream, to gazeOn a dear face, the moment that it stays. O God, if Orpheus' voice were mine, to singTo Death's high Virgin and the Virgin's King, Till their hearts failed them, down would I my pathCleave, and naught stay me, not the Hound of Wrath, Not the grey oarsman of the ghostly tide, Till back to sunlight I had borne my bride. But now, wife, wait for me till I shall comeWhere thou art, and prepare our second home. These ministers in that same cedar sweetWhere thou art laid will lay me, feet to feet, And head to head, oh, not in death from theeDivided, who alone art true to me!

LEADER. This life-long sorrow thou hast sworn, I too, Thy friend, will bear with thee. It is her due. 

ALCESTIS. Children, ye heard his promise? He will wedNo other woman nor forget the dead. 

ADMETUS. Again I promise. So it shall be done. 

ALCESTIS (_giving the children into his arms one after the other_). On that oath take my daughter: and my son. 

ADMETUS. Dear hand that gives, I accept both gift and vow. 

ALCESTIS. Thou, in my place, must be their mother now. 

ADMETUS. Else were they motherless--I needs must try. 

ALCESTIS. My babes, I ought to live, and lo, I die. 

ADMETUS. And how can I, forlorn of thee, live on?

ALCESTIS. Time healeth; and the dead are dead and gone. 

ADMETUS. Oh, take me with thee to the dark below, Me also!

ALCESTIS. 'Tis enough that one should go. 

ADMETUS. O Fate, to have cheated me of one so true!

ALCESTIS (_her strength failing_). There comes a darkness: a great burden, too. 

ADMETUS. I am lost if thou wilt leave me. . . . Wife! Mine own!

ALCESTIS. I am not thy wife; I am nothing. All is gone. 

ADMETUS. Thy babes! Thou wilt not leave them. --Raise thine eye. 

ALCESTIS. I am sorry. . . . But good-bye, children; good-bye. 

ADMETUS. Look at them! Wake and look at them!

ALCESTIS. I must go. 

ADMETUS. What? Dying!

ALCESTIS. Farewell, husband! [_She dies. _]

ADMETUS (_with a cry_). Ah!. . . Woe, woe!

LEADER. Admetus' Queen is dead!

[_While_ ADMETUS _is weeping silently, and the_ CHORUS _veiltheir faces, the_ LITTLE BOY _runs up to his dead Mother_. ]

LITTLE BOY. Oh, what has happened? Mummy has gone away, And left me and will not come back any more!Father, I shall be lonely all the day. . . . Look! Look! Her eyes . . . And her arms not like before, How they lie . . . Mother! Oh, speak a word!Answer me, answer me, Mother! It is I. I am touching your face. It is I, your little bird. 

ADMETUS (_recovering himself and going to the Child_). She hears us not, she sees us not. We lieUnder a heavy grief, child, thou and I. 

LITTLE BOY. I am so little, Father, and lonely and cold Here without Mother. It is too hard. . . . And you, Poor little sister, too. Oh, Father!Such a little time we had her. She might have stayed On till we all were old. . . . Everything is spoiled when Mother is dead. 

[_The_ LITTLE BOY _is taken away, with his Sister, sobbing_. ]

LEADER. My King, thou needs must gird thee to the worst. Thou shalt not be the last, nor yet the first, To lose a noble wife. Be brave, and knowTo die is but a debt that all men owe. 

ADMETUS. I know. It came not without doubts and fears, This thing. The thought hath poisoned all my years. Howbeit, I now will make the burial dueTo this dead Queen. Be assembled, all of you;And, after, raise your triumph-song to greetThis pitiless Power that yawns beneath our feet. Meantime let all in Thessaly who dreadMy sceptre join in mourning for the deadWith temples sorrow-shorn and sable weed. Ye chariot-lords, ye spurrers of the steed, Shear close your horses' manes! Let there be foundThrough all my realm no lute, nor lyre, nor soundOf piping, till twelve moons are at an end. For never shall I lose a closer friend, Nor braver in my need. And worthy is sheOf honour, who alone hath died for me. 

[_The body of_ ALCESTIS _is carried into the house by mourners;_ADMETUS _follows it. _]

CHORUS. Daughter of Pelias, fare thee well, May joy be thine in the Sunless Houses!For thine is a deed which the Dead shall tell Where a King black-browed in the gloom carouses; And the cold grey hand at the helm and oar Which guideth shadows from shore to shore, Shall bear this day o'er the Tears that Well, A Queen of women, a spouse of spouses. 

Minstrels many shall praise thy name With lyre full-strung and with voices lyreless, When Mid-Moon riseth, an orbèd flame, And from dusk to dawning the dance is tireless; And Carnos cometh to Sparta's call, And Athens shineth in festival;For thy death is a song, and a fullness of fame, Till the heart of the singer is left desireless. 

LEADER. Would I could reach thee, oh, Reach thee and save, my daughter, Starward from gulfs of Hell, Past gates, past tears that swell, Where the weak oar climbs thro' The night and the water!

SECOND ELDER. Belovèd and lonely one, Who feared not dying:Gone in another's steadAlone to the hungry dead:Light be the carven stone Above thee lying!

THIRD ELDER. Oh, he who should seek again A new bride after thee, Were loathed of thy children twain, And loathed of me. 

LEADER. Word to his mother sped, Praying to her who bore him;Word to his father, old, Heavy with years and cold;"Quick, ere your son be dead! What dare ye for him?"

SECOND ELDER. Old, and they dared not; grey, And they helped him never!'Twas she, in her youth and pride, Rose up for her lord and died. Oh, love of two hearts that stay One-knit for ever. . . . 

THIRD ELDER. 'Tis rare in the world! God send Such bride in my house to be;She should live life to the end, Not fail through me. 

[_As the song ceases there enters a stranger, walking strongly, buttravel-stained, dusty, and tired. His lion-skin and club show him tobe_ HERACLES. ]

HERACLES. Ho, countrymen! To Pherae am I comeBy now? And is Admetus in his home?

LEADER. Our King is in his house, Lord Heracles. --But say, what need brings thee in days like theseTo Thessaly and Pherae's wallèd ring?

HERACLES. A quest I follow for the Argive King. 

LEADER. What prize doth call thee, and to what far place?

HERACLES. The horses of one Diomede, in Thrace. 

LEADER. But how. . . ? Thou know'st not? Is he strange to thee?

HERACLES. Quite strange. I ne'er set foot in Bistony. 

LEADER. Not without battle shalt thou win those steeds. 

HERACLES. So be it! I cannot fail my master's needs. 

LEADER. 'Tis slay or die, win or return no more. 

HERACLES. Well, I have looked on peril's face before. 

LEADER. What profit hast thou in such manslaying?

HERACLES. I shall bring back the horses to my King. 

LEADER. 'Twere none such easy work to bridle them. 

HERACLES. Not easy? Have they nostrils breathing flame?

LEADER. They tear men's flesh; their jaws are swift with blood. 

HERACLES. Men's flesh! 'Tis mountain wolves', not horses' food!

LEADER. Thou wilt see their mangers clogged with blood, like mire. 

HERACLES. And he who feeds such beasts, who was his sire?

LEADER. Ares, the war-lord of the Golden Targe. 

HERACLES. Enough!--This labour fitteth well my largeFortune, still upward, still against the wind. How often with these kings of Ares' kindMust I do battle? First the dark wolf-man, Lycaon; then 'twas he men called The Swan;And now this man of steeds!. . . Well, none shall seeAlcmena's son turn from his enemy. 

LEADER. Lo, as we speak, this land's high governor, Admetus, cometh from his castle door. 

_Enter_ ADMETUS _from the Castle_. 

ADMETUS. Zeus-born of Perseid line, all joy to thee!

HERACLES. Joy to Admetus, Lord of Thessaly!

ADMETUS. Right welcome were she!--But thy love I know. 

HERACLES. But why this mourning hair, this garb of woe?

ADMETUS (_in a comparatively light tone_). There is a burial I must make to-day. 

HERACLES. God keep all evil from thy children!

ADMETUS. Nay, My children live. 

HERACLES. Thy father, if 'tis he, Is ripe in years. 

ADMETUS. He liveth, friend, and sheWho bore me. 

HERACLES. Surely not thy wife? 'Tis notAlcestis?

ADMETUS (_his composure a little shaken_). Ah; two answers share my thought, Questioned of her. 

HERACLES. Is she alive or dead?

ADMETUS. She is, and is not; and my heart hath bledLong years for her. 

HERACLES. I understand no more. Thy words are riddles. 

ADMETUS. Heard'st thou not of yoreThe doom that she must meet?

HERACLES. I know thy wifeHas sworn to die for thee. 

ADMETUS. And is it life, To live with such an oath hung o'er her head?

HERACLES (_relieved_). Ah, Weep not too soon, friend. Wait till she be dead. 

ADMETUS. He dies who is doomed to die; he is dead who dies. 

HERACLES. The two are different things in most men's eyes. 

ADMETUS. Decide thy way, lord, and let me decideThe other way. 

HERACLES. Who is it that has died?Thou weepest. 

ADMETUS. 'Tis a woman. It doth takeMy memory back to her of whom we spake. 

HERACLES. A stranger, or of kin to thee?

ADMETUS. Not kin, But much beloved. 

HERACLES. How came she to be inThy house to die?

ADMETUS. Her father died, and soShe came to us, an orphan, long ago. 

HERACLES (_as though about to depart_). 'Tis sad. I would I had found thee on a happier day. 

ADMETUS. Thy words have some intent: what wouldst thou say?

HERACLES. I must find harbour with some other friend. 

ADMETUS. My prince, it may not be! God never sendSuch evil!

HERACLES. 'Tis great turmoil, when a guestComes to a mourning house. 

ADMETUS. Come in and rest. Let the dead die!

HERACLES. I cannot, for mere shame, Feast beside men whose eyes have tears in them. 

ADMETUS. The guest-rooms are apart where thou shalt be. 

HERACLES. Friend, let me go. I shall go gratefully. 

ADMETUS. Thou shalt not enter any door but mine. (_To an Attendant_)Lead in our guest. Unlock the furthest lineOf guest-chambers; and bid the stewards thereMake ready a full feast; then close with careThe midway doors. 'Tis unmeet, if he hearsOur turmoil or is burdened with our tears. 

[_The Attendant leads_ HERACLES _into the house_. ]

LEADER. How, master? When within a thing so sadLies, thou wilt house a stranger? Art thou mad?

ADMETUS. And had I turned the stranger from my door, Who sought my shelter, hadst thou praised me more?I trow not, if my sorrow were therebyNo whit less, only the more friendless I. And more, when bards tell tales, were it not worseMy house should lie beneath the stranger's curse?Now he is my sure friend, if e'er I standLonely in Argos, in a thirsty land. 

LEADER. Thou callest him thy friend; how didst thou dareKeep hid from him the burden of thy care?

ADMETUS. He never would have entered, had he knownMy grief. --Aye, men may mock what I have done, And call me fool. My house hath never learnedTo fail its friend, nor seen the stranger spurned. 

[ADMETUS _goes into the house_]

CHORUS. Oh, a House that loves the stranger, And a House for ever free!And Apollo, the Song-changer, Was a herdsman in thy fee; Yea, a-piping he was found, Where the upward valleys wound, To the kine from out the manger And the sheep from off the lea, And love was upon Othrys at the sound. 

And from deep glens unbeholden Of the forest to his songThere came lynxes streaky-golden, There came lions in a throng, Tawny-coated, ruddy-eyed, To that piper in his pride;And shy fawns he would embolden, Dappled dancers, out along The shadow by the pine-tree's side. 

And those magic pipes a-blowing Have fulfilled thee in thy reignBy thy Lake with honey flowing, By thy sheepfolds and thy grain; Where the Sun turns his steeds To the twilight, all the meadsOf Molossus know thy sowing And thy ploughs upon the plain. Yea, and eastward thou art free To the portals of the sea, And Pelion, the unharboured, is but minister to thee. 

 He hath opened wide his dwelling To the stranger, though his ruth For the dead was fresh and welling, For the loved one of his youth. 'Tis the brave heart's cry: "I will fail not, though I die!" Doth it win, with no man's telling, Some high vision of the truth? We may marvel. Yet I trust, When man seeketh to be justAnd to pity them that wander, God will raise him from the dust. 

[_As the song ceases the doors are thrown open and_ ADMETUS _comesbefore them: a great funeral procession is seen moving out. _]

ADMETUS. Most gentle citizens, our dead is hereMade ready; and these youths to bear the bierUplifted to the grave-mound and the urn. Now, seeing she goes forth never to return, Bid her your last farewell, as mourners may. 

[_The procession moves forward, past him_. ]

LEADER. Nay, lord; thy father, walking old and grey;And followers bearing burial gifts and braveGauds, which men call the comfort of the grave. 

_Enter_ PHERES _with followers bearing robes and gifts_. 

PHERES. I come in sorrow for thy sorrow, son. A faithful wife indeed thou hast lost, and oneWho ruled her heart. But, howso hard they be, We needs must bear these griefs. --Some gifts for theeAre here. . . . Yes; take them. Let them go beneathThe sod. We both must honour her in death, Seeing she hath died, my son, that thou mayst liveNor I be childless. Aye, she would not giveMy soul to a sad old age, mourning for thee. Methinks she hath made all women's life to beA nobler thing, by one great woman's deed. Thou saviour of my son, thou staff in needTo our wrecked age, farewell! May some good lifeBe thine still in the grave. --Oh, 'tis a wifeLike this man needs; else let him stay unwed!

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

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 dayWe craved thy love, when I was on my wayDeathward--thy love, which bade thee stand asideAnd 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 beguiledThy folly with some bastard of a thrall. Here is thy proof! This hour hath shown me allThou art; and now I am no more thy son. 'Fore God, among all cowards can scarce be oneLike thee. So grey, so near the boundaryOf mortal life, thou wouldst not, durst not, dieTo save thy son! Thou hast suffered her to doThine office, her, no kin to me nor you, Yet more than kin! Henceforth she hath all the partOf 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 hadAbundance of the things that make men glad;A crown that came to thee in youth; a sonTo do thee worship and maintain thy throne--Not like a childless king, whose folk and landsLie 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 sonTo foster thy last years, to lay thee onThy bier, when dead, and wrap thee in thy pall. _I_ will not bury thee. I am, for allThe care thou hast shown me, dead. If I have foundAnother, true to save me at the boundOf 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 daresTo die; age is forgot and all its cares. 

LEADER. Oh, peace! Enough of sorrow in our pathIs 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 withalBy cursing? I am a Thessalian, free, My father a born chief of Thessaly;And thou most insolent. Yet think not soTo 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 callTo die for thee. Not in our family, Not in all Greece, doth law bid fathers dieTo save their sons. Thy road of life is thineNone 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 madeThine, 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 hereMy sunlit time is short, but dear; but dear. Thou hast fought hard enough. Thou drawest breathEven now, long past thy portioned hour of death, By murdering her . . . And blamest my faint heart, Coward, who hast let a woman play thy partAnd die to save her pretty soldier! Aye, A good plan, surely! Thou needst never die;Thou canst find alway somewhere some fond wifeTo die for thee. But, prithee, make not strifeWith other friends, who will not save thee so. Be silent, loving thine own life, and knowAll men love theirs!. . . Taunt others, and thou tooShalt hear much that is bitter, and is true. 

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

ADMETUS. Speak on. I have spoken. . . . If my truth of tongueGives 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 plainQuestion. Acastus hath small place in goodMen, if he care not for his sister's blood. 

[PHERES _goes off, with his Attendants_. ADMETUS _calls after himas 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 beFrom henceforth under the same roof with me. . . . Must I send heralds and a trumpet's callTo abjure thy blood? Fear not, I will send them all. . . . 

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

But we--our sorrow is upon us; comeWith 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 throneBeside the crowned Persephonê. 

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

SERVANT. Full many a stranger and from many a landHath lodged in this old castle, and my handServed them; but never has there passed this wayA scurvier ruffian than our guest to-day. He saw my master's grief, but all the moreIn he must come, and shoulders through the door. And after, think you he would mannerlyTake what was set before him? No, not he!If, on this day of trouble, we left outSome small thing, he must have it with a shout. Up, in both hands, our vat of ivy-woodHe raised, and drank the dark grape's burning blood, Strong and untempered, till the fire was redWithin him; then put myrtle round his headAnd roared some noisy song. So had we thereDiscordant music. He, without a careFor all the affliction of Admetus' halls, Sang on; and, listening, one could hear the thrallsIn the long gallery weeping for the dead. We let him see no tears. Our master madeThat order, that the stranger must not know. So here I wait in her own house, and doService to some black thief, some man of prey;And she has gone, has gone for ever away. I never followed her, nor lifted highMy hand to bless her; never said good-bye. . . . I loved her like my mother. So did allThe slaves. She never let his anger fallToo hard. She saved us alway. . . . And this wild beastComes in our sorrow when we need him least!

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

HERACLES. Friend, why so solemn and so cranky-eyed?'Tis not a henchman's office, to show prideTo 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 headBent, 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 sayIf life will last him yet a single day. On, to the dark, drives Fortune; and no forceCan wrest her secret nor put back her course. . . . I have told thee now. I have taught thee. After thisEat, drink, make thyself merry. Count the blissOf the one passing hour thine own; the restIs Fortune's. And give honour chiefliestTo our lady Cypris, giver of all joysTo man. 'Tis a sweet goddess. Otherwise, Let all these questions sleep and just obeyMy counsel. . . . Thou believest all I say?I hope so. . . . Let this stupid grieving be;Rise up above thy troubles, and with meDrink in a cloud of blossoms. By my soul, I vow the sweet plash-music of the bowlWill break thy glumness, loose thee from the frownWithin. Let mortal man keep to his ownMortality, and not expect too much. To all your solemn dogs and other suchScowlers--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 beNot such as ask for mirth or revelry. 

HERACLES. A woman dead, of no one's kin; why grieveSo 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 freeTo accept thee. We were mourning. Thou canst seeOur 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 earsWith talk of the strange woman and her riteOf burial. So in mine own heart's despiteI crossed his threshold and sat drinking--heAnd I old friends!--in his calamity. Drank, and sang songs, and revelled, my head hotWith 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 tallWhite marble showeth from the castle wall. 

HERACLES. O heart, O hand, great doings have ye doneOf old: up now, and show them what a sonTook life that hour, when she of Tiryns' sod, Electryon's daughter, mingled with her God! I needs must save this woman from the shoreOf death and set her in her house once more, Repaying Admetus' love. . . . This Death, this blackAnd wingèd Lord of corpses, I will trackHome. I shall surely find him by the graveA-hungered, lapping the hot blood they gaveIn sacrifice. An ambush: then, one spring, One grip! These arms shall be a brazen ring, With no escape, no rest, howe'er he whineAnd curse his mauled ribs, till the Queen is mine! Or if he escape me, if he come not thereTo seek the blood of offering, I will fareDown to the Houses without Light, and bringTo Her we name not and her nameless KingStrong prayers, until they yield to me and sendAlcestis home, to life and to my friend:Who gave me shelter, drove me not awayIn his great grief, but hid his evil dayLike 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 sayHe 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 hepasses_ 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 aloneCan 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 breathFor 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 castThis body to the dust and dieWith 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 bareStilly 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 spellDischanted? 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 painHad entered; yet is life, Sweet life, not slain. A wife dead; a dear chairEmpty: 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 herComes no more pain for ever; she hath restAnd peace from all toil, and her name is blest. But I am one who hath no right to stayAlive on earth; one that hath lost his wayIn 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 nowHow dare I enter in? Or, entered, howGo forth again? Go forth, when none is thereTo give me a parting word, and I to her?. . . Where shall I turn for refuge? There within, The desert that remains where she hath beenWill drive me forth, the bed, the empty seatShe sat in; nay, the floor beneath my feetUnswept, the children crying at my kneeFor mother; and the very thralls will beIn sobs for the dear mistress that is lost. That is my home! If I go forth, a hostOf feasts and bridal dances, gatherings gayOf women, will be there to fright me awayTo loneliness. Mine eyes will never bearThe sight. They were her friends; they played with her. And always, always, men who hate my nameWill murmur: "This is he who lives in shameBecause he dared not die! He gave insteadThe woman whom he loved, and so is fledFrom death. He counts himself a man withal!And seeing his parents died not at his callHe hates them, when himself he dared not die!" Such mocking beside all my pain shall IEndure. . . . 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 seeStronger than That Which Needs Must Be. No Orphic rune, no Thracian scroll, Hath magic to avert the morrow;No healing all those medicines braveApollo 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 greatBeyond 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 partedAt 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 showssigns of a struggle. Behind come two Attendants, guiding between them aveiled Woman, who seems like one asleep or unconscious. The Woman remainsin the background while_ HERACLES _comes forward. _]

HERACLES. Thou art my friend, Admetus; therefore boldAnd plain I tell my story, and withholdNo secret hurt. --Was I not worthy, friend, To stand beside thee; yea, and to the endBe proven in sorrow if I was true to thee?And thou didst tell me not a word, while sheLay dead within; but bid me feast, as thoughNaught but the draping of some stranger's woeWas on thee. So I garlanded my browAnd poured the gods drink-offering, and but nowFilled thy death-stricken house with wine and song. Thou hast done me wrong, my brother; a great wrongThou hast done me. But I will not add more painIn thine affliction. Why I am here again, Returning, thou must hear. I pray thee, takeAnd keep yon woman for me till I makeMy homeward way from Thrace, when I have ta'enThose four steeds and their bloody master slain. And if--which heaven avert!--I ne'er should seeHellas again, I leave her here, to beAn handmaid in thy house. No labour smallWas it that brought her to my hand at all. I fell upon a contest certain KingsHad set for all mankind, sore buffetingsAnd meet for strong men, where I staked my lifeAnd won this woman. For the easier strifeBlack steeds were prizes; herds of kine were castFor heavier issues, fists and wrestling; last, This woman. . . . Lest my work should all seem doneFor naught, I needs must keep what I have won;So prithee take her in. No theft, but trueToil, 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 painIf thou shouldst leave me, and roam forth againSeeking another's roof. And, for mine ownSorrow, I was content to weep alone. But, for this damsel, if it may be so, I pray thee, Lord, let some man, not in woeLike mine, take her. Thou hast in ThessalyAbundant friends. . . . 'Twould wake sad thoughts in me. How could I have this damsel in my sightAnd keep mine eyes dry? Prince, why wilt thou smiteThe smitten? Griefs enough are on my head. Where in my castle could so young a maidBe 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 controlledMy young men. And thy charge I fain would holdSacred. --If not, wouldst have me keep her inThe women's chambers . . . Where my dead hath been?How could I lay this woman where my brideOnce lay? It were dishonour double-dyed. These streets would curse the man who so betrayedThe wife who saved him for some younger maid;The dead herself . . . I needs must worship herAnd keep her will. 

[_During the last few lines_ ADMETUS _has been looking at theveiled 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 hastThe shape of my Alcestis; thou art castIn 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 wiseThou wilt make me deeper fall. . . . Meseems, meseems, There in her face the loved one of my dreamsLooked forth. --My heart is made a turbid thing, Craving I know not what, and my tears springUnbidden. --Grief I knew 'twould be; but howFiery a grief I never knew till now. 

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

HERACLES (_drawing_ ADMETUS _on_). Would God, I had the power, 'mid all this mightOf 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 wordsspoken. _]

ADMETUS. Time? Yes, if time be death. 

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

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

HERACLES. Thou wilt stayUnwed 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 isA 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 standBeside her; take her; lead her to thy hand. 

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

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

HERACLES. I am lothTo 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 handAnd 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 graceIn God's son, Heracles! Look in her face;Look; is she like. . . ?

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

ADMETUS. O ye Gods! What meaneth this?A marvel beyond dreams! The face . . . 'tis she;Mine, verily mine! Or doth God mock at meAnd 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 deceiveThee not; nor wonder thou canst scarce believe. 

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

HERACLES. Greet her. Thy desire is won. 

ADMETUS (_approaching with awe_), Beloved eyes; beloved form; O thouGone 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 deadI 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 heardEre to the Lords of Them Below she payDue 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 restOf 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 spellThat binds me to my master; forth I fare. 

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

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

[HERACLES _departs_. ]

ADMETUS. Farewell! All victory attend thy nameAnd safe home-coming! Lo, I make proclaimTo the Four Nations and all Thessaly;A wondrous happiness hath come to be:Therefore pray, dance, give offerings and make fullYour altars with the life-blood of the Bull!For me . . . My heart is changed; my life shall mendHenceforth. 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, thehero-physician, by his miraculous skill healed the dead. This transgressedthe divine law, so Zeus slew him. (The particular dead man raised by himwas Hippolytus, who came to life in Italy under the name of Virbius, andwas worshipped with Artemis at Aricia. ) Apollo in revenge, not presumingto attack Zeus himself, killed the Cyclopes, and was punished by beingexiled from heaven and made servant to a mortal. There are several suchstories of gods made servants to human beings. 

P. 3, l. 12, Beguiling. ]--See Preface. In the original story he made themdrunk with wine. (Aesch. _Eumenides_, 728. ) As the allusion woulddoubtless be clear to the Greek audience, I have added a mention of winewhich is not in the Greek. Libations to the Elder Gods, such as the Fatesand Eumenides, had to be "wineless. " Historically this probably means thatthe 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. ]--CompareArtemis in the last scene of the _Hippolytus_. The presence of a deadbody would be a pollution to Apollo, though that of Thánatos (Death)himself seems not to be so. It is rather Thánatos who is dazzled andblinded 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 difficultlittle dialogue I follow the readings of my own text in the _BibliothecaOxoniensis_. 

P. 7, l. 74, To lay upon her hair my sword. ]--As the sacrificing priestcut 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 issome general dissatisfaction in the town at Admetus's behaviour (l. 210ff. ). 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 personsconversing with one another; the treatment in the _Rhesus_ is similarbut even bolder. See _Rhesus_, pp. 28-31, 37-42. Cf. Also theentrance-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, ThirdCitizen, and so on, I have put a "paragraphus" (--), the ancient Greeksign 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 forhelp and as an epithet or title of Apollo or Asclepios. "Paian, " LatinPaean, is also a cry of victory; but the relation of the two meanings isnot 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 asick person by appealing to an oracle, such as that of Apollo in Lycia orof Zeus Ammon in the Libyan desert; but now no sacrifice will help. OnlyAsclepios, were he still on earth, might have helped us. (See on thePrologue. )

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

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

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

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

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

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

P. 17, l. 259, Drawing, drawing. ]--The creature whom she sees drawing herto "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; norcan he be Hades, the throned King to whose presence she must eventuallygo. Apparently, therefore, he must be Thanatos, whom we have just seen onthe stage. He was evidently supposed to be invisible to ordinary humaneyes. 

P. 18, l. 280, Alcestis's speech. ]--Great simplicity and sincerity are thekeynotes of this fine speech. Alcestis does not make light of hersacrifice: she enjoyed her life and values it; she wishes one of the oldpeople had died instead; she is very earnest that Admetus shall not marryagain, chiefly for the children's sake, but possibly also from some littleshadow of jealousy. A modern dramatist would express all this, if at all, by a scene or a series of scenes of conversation; Euripides always usesthe long self-revealing speech. Observe how little romantic love there isin 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 usknow Alcestis, this makes us know Admetus fully as well. At one time thebeauty and passion of it almost make us forget its ultimate hollowness; atanother this hollowness almost makes us lose patience with its beautifullanguage. In this state of balance the touch of satire in l. 338 f. ("Mymother I will know no more, " etc. ), and the fact that he speaksimmediately after the complete sincerity of Alcestis, conspire to weighdown the scale against Admetus. There can be no doubt that he means, andmeans passionately, all that he says. Only he could not quite manage todie 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 andPersephonê, spell-bound by his music, granted his prayer that Eurydicêshould 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 atthe end of the journey he looked back, and she vanished. The story is toldwith overpowering beauty in Vergil's fourth Georgic. 

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

P. 23, l. 393 ff. , The Little Boy's speech. ]--Classical Greek sculptureand vase-painting tended to represent children not like children but likediminutive men; and something of the sort is true of Greek tragedy. The stately tragic convention has in the main to be maintained; the childmust 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 ofchild-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 thelanguage is in the regular tragic diction, and some of it doubtless seemsto 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 twostyles, the heroic and the childlike, depends on questions of linguistictact, and can hardly be judged with any confidence by foreigners. But Ithink we can see Euripides here, as in other places, reaching out at aneffect which was really beyond the resources of his art, and attaining aresult which, though clearly imperfect, is strangely moving. He gets greateffects from the use of children in several tragedies, though he seldomlets 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 thatwhere his children do speak, they speak only in lyrics, never in ordinarydialogue. This is very significant, and clearly right. 

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

P. 25, l. 428, Ye chariot-lords. ]--The plain of Thessaly was famous forits 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, " themore 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 theCarneia, a great Spartan festival held at the full moon in the monthCarneios (August-September). Who the ancient hero Carnos or Carneios wasis not very clearly stated by the tradition; but at any rate he waskilled, and the feast was meant to placate and perhaps to revive him. Resurrection is apt to be a feature of both moon-goddesses and vegetationspirits. 

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

P. 27, l. 481, The Argive King. ]--It was the doom of Heracles, from beforehis birth, to be the servant of a worser man. His master proved to beEurystheus, King of Tiryns or Argos, who was his kinsman, and older by aday. See _Iliad_ T 95 ff. Note the heroic quality of Heracles'sanswer 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 fromthe Diomede of the _Iliad_, was a savage king who threw wayfarers tohis man-eating horses. Such horses are not mere myths; horses have oftenbeen 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 wildtyrants 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 astrange visitor to me, but I know you mean kindly. "

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

As to Admetus's motive, we must remember that the entertaining of Heraclesis a datum of the story in its simplest form. See Preface, pp. Xiv, xv. InEuripides, Admetus is perhaps actuated by a mixture of motives, realkindness, pride in his ancestral hospitality, and a little vanity. Helikes having the great Son of Zeus for a friend, and he has never yetturned any one from his doors. 

Euripides passes no distinct judgment on this act of Admetus. The Leaderin the dialogue blames him ("Art thou mad?") and so does Heracleshereafter, p. 56. But the Chorus glorifies his deed in a very delightfullyric. 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 ofimaginative poetry it was magnificent. 

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

P. 37, l. 614, Scene with Pherês. ]--Pherês is in tradition the "eponymoushero" of Pherae, _i. E. _ the mythical person who is supposed to havegiven his name to the town. It is only in this play that he has anyparticular character. The scene gives the reader a shock, but is abrilliant piece of satirical comedy, with a good deal of pathos in it, too. The line (691) [Greek: chaireis horon phos, patera d' ou chaireindokeis]; ("Thou lovest the light, thinkest thou thy father loves it not?")seems to me one of the most characteristic in Euripides. It has a peculiarmordant beauty in its absolutely simple language, and one cannot measurethe intensity of feeling that may be behind it. Pheres shows great powerof 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 followin reading, though in acting the sense would be plain enough. Admetuscries angrily, "Oh, live a longer life than Zeus!" "Is that a curse?" saysPheres; "are you cursing because nobody does you any harm?" (_i. E_. Since you clearly have nothing else to curse for). Admetus: "On thecontrary 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 thestage altogether in the middle of a play. But they do so, for example, inthe _Ajax_ of Sophocles. Ajax is lost, and the Sailors who form theChorus go out to look for him; when they are gone the scene is supposed toshift and Ajax enters alone, arranging his own death. This very effectivescene of the revelling Heracles is to be explained, I think, by theSatyr-play tradition. See Preface. 

P. 45, ll. 782-785. There are four lines rhyming in the Greek here; an oddand 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 moredelicacy when he was sober. 

P. 48, l. 837 ff. A fine speech, leaving one in doubt whether it is theoutburst of a real hero or the vapouring of a half-drunken man. Just theeffect 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 Delivererof mankind whom he was resolved to beget. She was married to Amphitryon ofThebes. 

P. 49, l. 860 ff. If Heracles set out straight to the grave and Admetuswith the procession was returning from the grave, how was it they did notmeet? The answer is that Attic drama seldom asked such questions. 

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

P. 53, l. 945 ff. , The floor unswept. ]--Probably the floor really would beunswept in the house of a primitive Thessalian chieftain whose wife wasdead and her place unfilled; but I doubt if the point would have beenmentioned 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 inThrace. Orphic literature and worship had a strong magical element inthem. 

P. 55, l. 995 ff. , A grave-mound of the dead. ]--Every existing Greektragedy has somewhere in it a taboo grave--a grave which is eitherworshipped, or specially avoided or somehow magical. We may conjecturefrom this passage that there was in the time of Euripides a sacred tombnear Pherae, which received worship and had the story told about it thatshe who lay there had died for her husband. 

Pp. 56-67, ll. 1008-end. This last scene must have been exceedinglydifficult to compose, and some critics have thought it ineffective orworse. To me it seems brilliantly conceived and written, though of courseit needs to be read with the imagination strongly at work. One must neverforget the silent and veiled Woman on whom the whole scene centres. I havetried conjecturally to indicate the main lines of her acting, but, ofcourse, others may read it differently. 

To understand Heracles in this scene, one must first remember thetraditional connexion of Satyrs (and therefore of satyric heroes) with there-awakening of the dead Earth in spring and the return of human souls totheir tribe. Dionysus was, of all the various Kouroi, the one most widelyconnected with resurrection ideas, and the Satyrs are his attendantdaemons, who dance magic dances at the Return to Life of Semele orPersephone. And Heracles himself, in certain of his ritual aspects, hassimilar functions. See J. E. Harrison, _Themis_, pp. 422 f. And 365ff. , or my _Four Stages of Greek Religion_, pp. 46 f. This traditionexplains, to start with, what Heracles--and this particular sort ofrevelling Heracles--has to do in a resurrection scene. Heracles bringingback the dead is a datum of the saga. There remain then the more purelydramatic questions about our poet's treatment of the datum. 

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

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

P. 57, l. 1051, Where in my castle, etc. ]--The castle is divided into twomain parts: a public _megaron_ or great hall where the men liveduring; the day and sleep at night, and a private region, ruled by thequeen and centring in the _thalamos_ or royal bed-chamber. If the newwoman 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 afterthis not to take liberties with other guests"? It is hard to say. 

P. 66, l. 1152, The feasting day shall surely come; now I must needsaway. ]--A fine last word for Heracles. We have seen him feasting, but thatmakes a small part in his life. His main life is to perform labour uponlabour in service to his king. Euripides occasionally liked this method ofending a play, not with a complete finish (Greek _catastrophê_), butwith the opening of a door into some further vista of endurance oradventure. The _Trojan Women_ ends by the women going out to theGreek ships to begin a life of slavery; the _Rhesus_ with the doomedarmy of Trojans gathering bravely for an attack which we know will bedisastrous. Here we have the story finished for Admetus and Alcestis, butno rest for Heracles. See the note at the end of my _Trojan Women_. 

THE END