Chapter 7

_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