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

PROLOGUE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PARODE, OR CHORUS-ENTRY

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

1st Semichorus. What a silence encloses the Palace!
What a hush in the house of Admetus!
2nd Semichorus. Not a soul is at hand of the household
To answer our friendly enquiry—
Is it over, all over but weeping?
Or sees she the light awhile longer,
Our Queen, brightest pattern of women
The wide world through,
Most devoted of wives, our Alcestis?

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

Strophe

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

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

1st Semi. Were she dead, could they keep such a silence? {94}
2nd Semi. May it be—she is gone from the Palace?
1st Semi. Never!
2nd Semi. Nay, why so confident answer?
1st Semi. To so precious a corpse could Admetus
Give burial bare of its honours?

They reunite in Choral order and work back to the Altar.

Antistrophe

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

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

2nd Semi. Yet to-day is the dread day appointed— {105}
1st Semi. Speak not the word!
2nd Semi. The day she must pass into Hades—
1st Semi. I am cut to the heart!
I am cut to the soul!
2nd Semi. When the righteous endure tribulation,
Avails nought long-tried love
Nought is left to the friendly—but mourning!

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

CHORAL INTERLUDE I

Strophe

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

Antistrophe

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

EPISODE I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strophe

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

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

Antistrophe

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

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

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

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

Strophe I

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

Antistrophe I

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

Strophe II

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

Antistrophe II

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

EPISODE II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHORAL INTERLUDE III

Evolutions, etc., as usual.

Strophe I

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

Antistrophe I

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

Strophe II

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

Antistrophe II

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

EPISODE III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cho. Too much of ill already hath been spoken: {750}
Forbear, old man, nor thus revile thy son.

Admetus says if his father does not like to hear the truth he should not have done the wrong.

Pher. Had I died for thee, greater were the wrong.
Adm. Is death alike then to the young and old?
Pher. Man's due is one life, not to borrow more.
Adm. Thine drag thou on and out-tire heaven's age!
Pher. Darest thou to curse thy parents, nothing wrong'd?
Adm. Parents in dotage lusting still to live! {760}
Pher. And thou—what else but life with this corpse buyest?
Adm. This corpse—the symbol of thy infamy!
Pher. For us she died not; that thou canst not say!
Adm. Ah! mayst thou some time come to need my aid!
Pher. Wed many wives that more may die for thee!
Adm. On thee rests this reproach—thou daredst not die!
Pher. Sweet is this light of heav'n! sweet is this light!
Adm. Base is thy thought, unworthy of a man!
Pher. The triumph is not thine to entomb my age.
Adm. Die when thou wilt, inglorious wilt thou die. {770}
Pher. Thy ill report will not affect me dead.
Adm. Alas, that age should outlive sense of shame!
Pher. But lack of age's wisdom slew her youth.
Adm. Begone, and suffer me to entomb my dead.
Pher. I go: no fitter burier than thyself
Her murderer! Look for reckoning from her friends:
Acastus is no man, if his hand fails
Dearly to avenge on thee his sister's blood.
Adm. Why, get you gone, thou and thy worthy wife:
Grow old in consort—that is now your lot—
The childless parents of a living son:
For never more under one common roof
Come you and I together: had it needed,
By herald I your hearth would have renounced.

Pheres and his train withdraw along the Stage [to the Right Side-door]. The interrupted Funeral Procession is continued, filing amidst lamentations of the Chorus, down the steps from the Stage into the Orchestra: there the Chorus join it and the whole passes out [by the Right Archway] to the royal sepulchre in the neighbourhood.

Stage and Orchestra both vacant for a while.

STAGE EPISODE[2]

Enter the Stage [by one of the Inferior Doors of the Palace] the Steward of Admetus: he has stolen away to get a moment's respite from the hateful hilarity of this strange visitor—some ruffian or robber he supposes—on whom his office has condemned him to wait, and thereby to miss paying the last offices to a mistress who has been more like a mother to him. The guest has been willing to enter, and though he saw the mourning of the household, he did not allow it to make any difference to his mirth:

Grasping in his hands {804}
A goblet wreath'd with ivy, fill'd it high
With the grape's purple juice, and quaff'd it off
Untemper'd, till the glowing wine inflamed him;
Then binding round his head a myrtle wreath,
Howls dismal discord:—two unpleasing strains
We heard, his harsh notes who in nought revered
Th' afflictions of Admetus, and the voice
Of sorrow through the family that wept
Our mistress. Yet our tearful eyes we showed not,
Admetus so commanded, to the guest. {814}

He starts as he feels on his shoulder the huge hand of Hercules, who has followed him, and now appears on the Stage goblet in hand, wreathed and attired like a reveller in full revel. Hercules good-humouredly scolds him for letting a remote family bereavement hinder him from showing a sociable countenance to his lord's guest. He lectures him on the easy ethics of the banquet-hour:

Come hither, that thou mayst be wiser, friend: {832}
Knowst thou the nature of all mortal things?
Not thou, I ween: how shouldst thou? hear from me.
By all of human race death is a debt
That must be paid; and none of mortal men
Knows whether till to-morrow life's short space
Shall be extended: such the dark events
Of fortune, never to lie learn'd or traced
By any skill. Instructed thus by me {840}
Bid pleasure welcome, drink; the life allow'd
From day to day esteem thine own; all else
Fortune's.

The Steward receives his lecture with a bad grace: he knows all that—but there is a time for all things. His manner raises Hercules' suspicions that Admetus has been keeping something back:

Herc. Is it some sorrow which he told not me? {866} Stew. Go thou with joy: ours are our lord's afflictions. Herc. These are not words that speak a foreign loss. Stew. If such, thy revelry had not displeased me.

The secret is not long kept against the questioning of Hercules. When the truth comes out Hercules drops the goblet: he might have known all from so grief-worn a face! All the lightness of the reveller disappears, and the godlike bearing returns to Hercules' figure as he catches the full dignity of his friend's hospitable feat: he is fired to essay a rival deed of nobility.

Now, my firm heart, and thou, my daring soul, {894}
Show what a son the daughter of Electryon,
Alcmena of Tirynthia, bore to Jove!
This lady, new in death, behoves me save,
And, to Admetus rendering grateful service,
Restore his lost Alcestis to his house.
This sable-vested tyrant of the dead
Mine eye shall watch, not without hope to find him
Drinking th' oblations nigh the tomb. If once
Seen from my secret stand I rush upon him,
These arms shall grasp him till his panting sides
Labour for breath; and who shall force him from me
Till he gives back this woman? {906}

If he fails to find Death elsewhere he will descend to the dark world of spirits itself, rather than fail in making a fit return to his friend:

Whose hospitable heart {913}
Receiv'd me in his house, nor made excuse
Though pierc'd with such a grief; this he conceal'd
Through generous thought, and reverence to his friend.
Who in Thessalia bears a warmer love
To strangers? Who, through all the realms of Greece?
It never shall be said this noble man
Received in me a base and worthless wretch!

Exit [through the Stage Right Side-door] in the direction of the tomb.

Stage and Orchestra vacant for a while.

EPISODE V

Return of the Funeral Procession, headed by the Chorus who remain in the Orchestra; the rest file up the steps onto the stage, Admetus last. The Episode is technically a 'Dirge' between Admetus, whose speeches fall into the rhythm of a Funeral March, and the Chorus, who speak in Strophes and Antistrophes of more elaborate lyric rhythm, often interrupted by the wails of Admetus.

Admetus reaching the top of the Steps from the Orchestra stands face to face with the splendid facade of his Palace. Hateful entrance, hateful aspect of a widowed home! How find rest there, in the heavy woes to which he is now doomed? It is with the dead that rest is found: his heart is in their dark houses, where he has placed a loved hostage torn from him by fate! {931}

Chorus [in Strophe]. Nevertheless he must go forward; he must hide him in the deepest recesses of his Palace with his grief, the helpless groans that yet will nothing aid her whom he will never see more! {938}

Admetus cries that that is the deepest wound of all! Would he had never wedded! To mourn single is pain endurable; to see children wasting with disease, to see death invading the nuptial bed—that is the pang unbearable! {950}

Chorus [in Antistrophe]. Fate is resistless: shall sorrow then have no bounds? Other men have known what it is to lose a wife: and in one or other of innumerable forms misery has found out every son of mortality. {956}

Admetus begins to speak of the life-long mourning for the lost—but the thought is too much for him; why did they hold him back when he would have cast himself into the gaping tomb, and gone the last journey with his love? {963}

The Chorus [in Strophe] think of one they knew who lost a son in the flower of his age, an only son and well worthy of tears: yet he bore his lonely burden like a man, and—courage! his hair is white and he is nearing the end. {969}

Admetus moves a few steps forward and the Procession, advances towards the portal: but the contrast catches his thought between this and another procession towards the same threshold, when, amidst blazing torches of Pelian pine and bridal dances, he led his new wife by the hand, and shouts wished their union happy. Now wails for shouts, black for glistening raiment, and before him the solitary chamber! {983}

Chorus [in Antistrophe]. Trouble has come upon their master all at once, in the midst of prosperity, and on one unschooled in misfortune. But if the wife is gone the love is left. Many have had Admetus's loss: but his gain let him remember: a rescued life. {988}

As if this jarred upon his mind, Admetus turns round and addresses the Chorus, his whole tone changed [the dirge measures giving place to blank verse].

Adm. My friends, I deem the fortune of my wife
Happier than mine, though otherwise it seems. {990}
For nevermore shall sorrow touch her breast,
And she with glory rests from various ills.
But I, who ought not live, my destined hour
O'erpassing, shall drag on a mournful life,
Late taught what sorrow is. How shall I bear
To enter here? To whom shall I address
My speech? Whose greeting renders my return
Delightful? Which way shall I turn? Within
In lonely sorrow shall I waste away,
As, widowed of my wife, I see my couch, {1000}
The seats deserted where she sat, the rooms
Wanting her elegance. Around my knees
My children hang, and weep their mother lost:
The household servants for their mistress sigh.
This is the scene of misery in my home:
Abroad the nuptials of Thessalia's youth
And the bright circles of assembled dames
Will but augment my grief: how shall I bear
To see the lov'd companions of my wife!
And if one hates me, he will say: Behold {1010}
The man who basely lives, who dared not die,
But giving, through the meanness of his soul,
His wife, avoided death—yet would be deem'd
A man: he hates his parents, yet himself
Had not the spirit to die. These ill reports
Cleave to me: why then wish for longer life,
On evil tongues thus fallen, and evil days!

Admetus sinks down on the threshold and buries his face in his robe. The Chorus gather up the feeling of the situation in a full Choral Ode, celebrating the natural topics of consolation; the stern laws of Necessity, the fair memory of the dead.

CHORAL INTERLUDE IV

Strophe I

My venturous foot delights {1018}
To tread the Muses' arduous heights;
Their hallow'd haunts I love t' explore,
And listen to their lore:
Yet never could my searching mind
Aught, like Necessity, resistless find.
No herb of sovereign pow'r to save,
Whose virtues Orpheus joy'd to trace,
And wrote them in the rolls of Thrace;
Nor all that Phoebus gave,
Instructing the Asclepian train,
When various ills the human frame assail,
To heal the wound, to soothe the pain,
'Gainst Her stern force avail.

Antistrophe I

Of all the Pow'rs Divine {1032}
Alone none dares t' approach Her shrine;
To Her no hallow'd image stands,
No altar She commands.
In vain the victim's blood would flow,
She never deigns to hear the suppliant's vow.
Never to me mayst Thou appear,
Dread Goddess, with severer mien
Than oft in life's past tranquil scene
Thou hast been known to wear.
By Thee Jove works his stern behest:
Thy force subdues e'en Scythia's stubborn steel;
Nor ever does Thy rugged breast
The touch of pity feel.

Strophe II

And now, with ruin pleas'd, {1046}
On thee, O King, her hands have seiz'd,
And bound thee in her iron chain:
Yet her fell force sustain.
For from the gloomy realms of night
No tears recall the dead to life's sweet light.
No virtue, though to heav'n allied,
Saves from the inevitable doom:
Heroes and sons of gods have died,
And sunk into the tomb.
Dear, whilst our eyes her presence blest,
Dear, in the gloomy mansions of the dead:
Most generous she, the noblest, best,
Who graced thy nuptial bed.

Antistrophe II

Thy wife's sepulchral mound {1060}
Deem not as common, worthless ground
That swells their breathless bodies o'er
Who die, and no are more.
No, be it honor'd as a shrine;
Raised high, and hallow'd to some Pow'r Divine:
The traveller, as he passes by,
Shall thither bend his devious way,
With reverence gaze, and with a sigh,
Smite on his breast, and say:
"She died of old to save her lord;
Now blest among the blest; Hail, Pow'r revered,
To us thy wonted grace afford!"
Such vows shall be preferred.

EXODUS, OR FINALE

Re-enter Hercules, leading a veiled woman

Herc. I would speak freely to my friend, Admetus,
Nor what I blame keep secret in my breast.
I came to thee amidst thy ills, and thought
I had been worthy to be proved thy friend.
Thou told'st me not the obsequies prepared {1080}
Were for thy wife; but in thy house receiv'dst me
As if thou griev'dst for one of foreign birth.
I bound my head with garlands, to the gods
Pouring libations in thy house with grief
Oppress'd. I blame this: yes, in such a state
I blame this: yet I come not in thine ills
To give thee pain; why I return in brief
Will I unfold. This woman from my hands
Receive to thy protection, till return'd
I bring the Thracian steeds, having there slain {1090}
The proud Bistorian tyrant; should I fail—
Be that mischance not mine, for much I wish
Safe to revisit thee—yet should I fail,
I give her to the safeguard of thy house.
For with much toil she came unto my hands.
To such as dare contend some public games,
Which well deserv'd my toil, I find propos'd;
I bring her thence, she is the prize of conquest:
For slight assays each victor led away
A courser; but for those of harder proof {1100}
The conqueror was rewarded from the herd,
And with some female graced; victorious there,
A prize so noble it were base to slight.
Take her to thy protection, not by stealth
Obtain'd, but the reward of many toils:
The time, perchance, may come when thou will thank me.
Adm. Not that I slight thy friendship, or esteem thee
Other than noble, wished I to conceal
My wife's unhappy fate; but to my grief
It had been added grief, if thou had'st sought
Elsewhere the rites of hospitality;
Suffice it that I mourn ills which are mine.
This woman, if it may be, give in charge,
I beg thee, king, to some Thessalian else,
That hath not cause like me to grieve; in Pherae
Thou may'st find many friends; call not my woes
Fresh to my memory; never in my house
Could I behold her, but my tears would flow:
To sorrow add not sorrow; now enough
I sink beneath its weight. Where should her youth
With me be guarded? for her gorgeous vests
Proclaim her young; if mixing with the men
She dwell beneath my roof, how shall her fame,
Conversing with the youths, be kept unsullied?
It is not easy to restrain the warmth
Of that intemperate age; my care for thee
Warns me of this. Or if from them remov'd
I hide her in th' apartments late my wife's,
How to my bed admit her? I should fear
A double blame: my citizens would scorn me
As light and faithless to the kindest wife
That died for me, if to her bed I took
Another blooming bride; and to the dead
Behoves me pay the highest reverence
Due to her merit. And thou, lady, know,
Whoe'er thou art, that form, that shape, that air
Resembles my Alcestis! By the Gods,
Remove her from my sight! it is too much,
I cannot bear it; when I look on her,
Methinks I see my wife; this wounds my heart
And calls the tears fresh gushing from my eyes.
This is the bitterness of grief indeed!
Chor. I cannot praise thy fortune; but behoves thee
To bear with firmness what the gods assign.
Herc. O that from Jove I had the pow'r to bring
Back from the mansions of the dead thy wife
To heav'n's fair light, that grace achieving for thee!
Adm. I know thy friendly will; but how can this
Be done? The dead return not to this light.
Herc. Check then thy swelling griefs; with reason rule them.
Adm. How easy to advise, but hard to bear!
Herc. What should it profit should'st thou always groan?
Adm. I know it; but I am in love with grief.
Herc. Love to the dead calls forth the ceaseless tear.
Adm. O, I am wretched more than words can speak.
Herc. A good wife hast thou lost, who can gainsay it?
Adm. Never can life be pleasant to me more.
Herc. Thy sorrow now is new; time will abate it.
Adm. Time say'st thou? Yes, the time that brings me death.
Herc. Some young and lovely bride will bid it cease.
Adm. No more: What say'st thou? Never could I think—
Herc. Will thou still lead a lonely widow'd life?
Adm. Never shall other women share my bed.
Herc. And think'st thou this will aught avail the dead?
Adm. This honor is her due, where'er she be.
Herc. This hath my praise, though near allied to frenzy.
Adm. Praise me or not, I ne'er will wed again.
Herc. I praise thee that thou'rt faithful to thy wife.
Adm. Though dead, if I betray her, may I die!
Herc. Well, take this noble lady to thy house. {1170}
Adm. No, by thy father Jove, let me entreat thee.
Herc. Not to do this would be the greatest wrong.
Adm. To do it would with anguish rend my heart.
Herc. Let me prevail; this grace may find its meed.
Adm. O that thou never had'st receiv'd this prize!
Herc. Yet in my victory thou art victor with me.
Adm. 'Tis nobly said: yet let this woman go.
Herc. If she must go, she shall! but must she go?
Adm. She must, if I incur not thy displeasure.
Herc. There is a cause that prompts my earnestness. {1180}
Adm. Thou hast prevailed, but much against my will.
Herc. The time will come when thou wilt thank me for it.
Adm. Well, if I must receive her, lead her in.
Herc. Charge servants with her! No, that must not be.
Adm. Lead her thyself, then, if thy will incline thee.
Herc. No, to thy hand alone will I commit her.
Adm. I touch her not; but she hath leave to enter.
Herc. I shall entrust her only to thy hand.
Adm. Thou dost constrain me, king, against my will.
Herc. Venture to stretch thy hand, and touch the stranger's. {1190}
Adm. I touch her, as I would the headless Gorgon.
Herc. Hast thou her hand?
Adm. I have.
Herc. (lifting the veil) Then hold her safe.
Hereafter thou wilt say the son of Jove
Hath been a generous guest; view now her face,
See if she bears resemblance to thy wife,
And thus made happy bid farewell to grief.
Adm. O, Gods, what shall I say? 'Tis marvelous,
Exceeding hope. See I my wife indeed?
Or doth some god distract me with false joy?
Herc. In very deed dost thou behold thy wife. {1200}
Adm. See that it be no phantom from beneath.
Herc. Make not thy friend one that evokes the shades.
Adm. And do I see my wife, whom I entomb'd?
Herc. I marvel not that thou art diffident.
Adm. I touch her; may I speak to her as living?
Herc. Speak to her: thou hast all thy heart could wish.
Adm. Dearest of women, do I see again
That face, that person? This exceeds all hope;
I never thought that I should see thee more.
Herc. Thou hast her; may no God be envious of thee. {1210}
Adm. O be thou blest, thou generous son of Jove!
Thy father's might protect thee! Thou alone
Hast rais'd her to me; from the realms below
How hast thou brought her to the light of life?
Herc. I fought with him that lords it o'er the shades.
Adm. Where with the gloomy tyrant didst thou fight?
Herc. I lay in wait and seized him at the tomb.
Adm. But wherefore doth my wife thus speechless stand?
Herc. It is not yet permitted[3] that thou hear
Her voice addressing thee, till from the Gods {1220}
That rule beneath she be unsanctified
With hallow'd rites, and the third morn return.
But lead her in; and as thou'rt just in all
Besides, Admetus, see thou reverence strangers.
Farewell: I go t' achieve the destined toil
For the imperial son of Sthenelus.
Adm. Abide with us, and share my friendly hearth.
Herc. That time will come again; this demands speed.
Adm. Success attend thee: safe may'st thou return.
Now to my citizens I give in charge, {1230}
And to each chief, that for this blest event
They institute the dance; let the steer bleed,
And the rich altars, as they pay their vows,
Breathe incense to the gods; for now I rise
To better life, and grateful own the blessing.

THE CHORUS, RETIRING:

Our fates the Gods in various shapes dispose: {1236}
Heaven sets the crown on many a hopeless cause:
That which is looked for
Fails in the issue.
To goals unexpected
Heav'n points out a passage.
And this is the end of the matter.

[1] The quotations are from Potter's Translation, in Routledge's Universal Library, freely altered in parts for the purpose of bringing out changes of metre, etc., in the original. The References are to the numbering of the lines in Potter.

[2] That is, a scene carried on upon the Stage without the presence of the Chorus in the Orchestra,—a very rare effect in Greek Drama.

[3] The fact was that the Alcestis was represented in place of a 'Satyric Drama,' which only allowed two (speaking) personages on the Stage at the same time.