Chapter 3

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

[_The Attendant leads_ HERACLES _into the house_.]

LEADER. How, master? When within a thing so sad Lies, 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 thereby No whit less, only the more friendless I. And more, when bards tell tales, were it not worse My house should lie beneath the stranger's curse? Now he is my sure friend, if e'er I stand Lonely in Argos, in a thirsty land.

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

ADMETUS. He never would have entered, had he known My grief.--Aye, men may mock what I have done, And call me fool. My house hath never learned To 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 song There 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 reign By thy Lake with honey flowing, By thy sheepfolds and thy grain; Where the Sun turns his steeds To the twilight, all the meads Of 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 just And to pity them that wander, God will raise him from the dust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ADMETUS. Dishonoured thou shalt die when death shall come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_The_ SERVANT _reluctantly comes close._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HERACLES. Must I go starved because some stranger dies?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SERVANT. Alcestis, the King's wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_They turn to_ ADMETUS.]

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

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

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

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