Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy

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[8 - 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.]

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].