University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Pheræ—a Street. Enter a Citizen and a Sailor.
Citizen.

They say the King must die.

Sailor.

Die? Ay, we must all die—kings and cow boys, princes and pettifoggers, we must all one day tussle for stowage-room in old Charon's cargo.

Citizen.

But this is death upon strange conditions—thou hast seen the proclamation?

Sailor.

Ay.

Citizen.

Then here's a chance for thee: to die and save the King! How often hast thou pulled death by the beard upon mean occasions, and this would be thy

immortal honour—a statue of gold to thee, and wealth to thy posterity. Thou shouldst have a talent in thy hand, to drink such a rouse with father Charon that he would clap thee on the back, and ferry thee over Styx in the barge he keeps newcushioned for demi-gods. What sayest thou?

Sailor.

I had rather be chained to the rowers' benches of this good ship Life. For the statue of gold, its gleam would send small candlelight of honour into the nether darkness; and for my posterity, they are so scattered over this wench-bearing earth that they are beyond knowledge of their roving ancestor. Grant me to live till I can bring my family within the castigation of a single rope's end, and I will die for the King, and welcome. But just now I am in no dying vein. Since Admetus beached the Tisiphone, my old war galley, I have no business with death. Go die thyself, man. The King will father thy children, and thou may'st reign in Hades.

Citizen.

Better be a farmer's slave in Bœotia. Besides it would smack of presumption in me to call myself the King's friend.

Sailor.

I marvel how the Queen can be so fond as to make this proclamation. A man will face some smart chance of death, d'ye see, in the rash heat of life—for his own sake, for his private ends, renown, or duty, or mere love of danger. He would be no man else. But die for another in cold blood—no, by Hercules, not I! But should not old Pheres be content, think you, to hide his palsied head, at this hour of the day, and for his son?

Citizen.

Not he; not he; why, the old cling to life as men sliding over a precipice to every bush. They drop into the grave with its rotten twigs clutched in their feeble fists. No, he'll not die.

Sailor.

But what of his mother, Clymene?

Citizen.

The mother's love, says the saw, thins with the mother's milk. Their embrace is life to us at first: but at last the narrow gripe of their kindness would strangle us.

Sailor

Or the Queen Alcestis?

Citizen.

Her children will cause the perdition of their father, weighed in an even scale. Trust me, I know the appetites of these women. They hold us mere appendages of our children, once we are fathers.

Sailor.

You think so?

Citizen.

I know it, by Zeus! and to my cost.

Sailor.

Then farewell, poor Admetus! Hath he no mistress, who in the first heat of her affection might e'en die for him?

Citizen.

Not one sweet morsel of Aphrodite's flesh; the chaste husband of a chaste wife—they tell me.

Sailor.

A wonder among kings! How many men in his place would now so dangerously hang by a single woman's hair!

Citizen.

One of his royal whims, sir—peace be with him!

Sailor.

A king to be more constant than a god!

Citizen.

Or a sailor—eh?

Sailor.

But this queen of his might fix the wandering fancy of Zeus himself?

Citizen.

A paragon, a paragon! Shall we go? Business must march, though monarchs die.

Sailor.

Well he was a good king, say I—always stirring— his sails are on all seas.

Citizen.

A good king, as kings go, I grant you; but full of notions—a meddler with old customs—a bringer in of strange cattle.

Sailor.

What, Apollo's sheep?

Citizen.

Ay, sir, I remember our old mountaineers. I have dealt in wool myself in my day. These sheep of Apollo's breed will shew you a heavy fleece, a fine long-stapled wool—I grant you that; but they are given to the rot beyond all beasts of their kind.

Sailor.

Is that so?

Citizen.

Most certain. Come, I can tell you more secrets than this.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—Nuptial Chamber of Alcestis. Admetus in his trance. Enter Alcestis.
Alcestis.
The hour approaches. Dear my Lord, I come
To break thy three days' trance. Thou mighty dæmon
Of love, whom, trembling at the gloomy gate
Of Hades' realm, I once had vision of,
Sustain me now! O give me back the glow
Of self-devoting rage, that made the pangs
Of death so died seem life's last ecstacy!
I am filled with fighting since—a pent-up storm,
A fire beneath my snow. The rebel brood
Of solitary thoughts have torn my breast,
Crying against the unjust decrees of heaven
That puff away my life; for, not to die—
Pah! the vile thought but whispered in my soul
Were tenfold death. While thou liest there, my dear,
And I stand here, that thought can never rise;
No, though the tender arms of dearest hopes,
Cling round my neck soliciting me. Now
Admetus, take my life, from lips more fond
Than were thy virgin bride's, which press to thine
This more than nuptial kiss!

[Kisses him. He wakes.
Admetus.
Do I still dream?
Methought I waited by the gloomy coast,
For Charon's dismal ferrying, till there came
A winged thing, and rapt me home again.
Mine eyes are dim; but art not thou Alcestis?

Alcestis.
I am, I am! O my most dear Admetus!

Admetus.
My true Alcestis! What, am I restored
To thee and the world?

Alcestis.
Thou hast thy life once more,
To make a stair of perdurable deeds,
By which the world shall mount.

Admetus.
Ha! then the gods
Bear us some love indeed. Life, blessed life!
How fresh thy fields look now, to one returned
From a so perilous voyage! My Alcestis,
Thou art my saviour; thy prevailing prayers
Have been as gentle winds to waft me back
To thy sweet bosom. Thou didst smooth my way
To bitter death; be then this holier life
All dedicate to thee.

Alcestis.
Nay, dearest, think
Of other claims than mine. Thy people hang,
As mellowing grapes upon a vigorous vine,
On thy rich life; thy children grow from thee
Like tender suckers—and a day may come
When thou must be their mother.

Admetus.
Never dawn
A day so drear!

Alcestis.
My root, like thine, may be
Untimely nipt. Last night I saw a star,
Bright as the brightest orb that rides in heaven,
Leap suddenly into darkness.

Admetus.
Slay me not
Once more with evil boding. Be to-day
A festival of life.

[Enter Euphranor.
Euphranor.
All hail, great King!
Long may'st thou live the favourite of the gods!

Admetus.
Welcome old friend. Am I not much beholden
To this sweet pleader's prayers?

Euphranor.
Thou art indeed
But I come now, the herald of a crowd
That waits without to see thee, thus restored.
Wilt thou not show thyself?

Admetus.
Ay, with glad heart
That I am here to show. Come, my Alcestis!

Alcestis.
Grant me a moment's pause. I have a word
For this kind ear.

Admetus.
Well, then, be brief, be brief!

[Exit Admetus.
Euphranor.
As jocund as the morning! Knows he naught?

Alcestis.
What hand will dare to stab him? Would that all
Were done, and this could hide unknown, unsaid!
Death were no dying then—I tremble now
As though I did some crime. When shall I die?

Euphranor.
Alas! sweet Queen—

Alcestis.
My hour-glass is run out?
'Tis better so—no more delays. The thing
Is fixed, irrevocable? Nought he can do
Will thrust me back on life, while he expires?

Euphranor.
Nothing. No second compact holds with Death.

Alcestis.
I thank the gods for that!

[Re-enter Admetus.
Admetus.
Still in close talk!
Come, dearest, come; the people wait for thee,
With such a light of gladness in their eyes
As might make flush a monarch's dying face
With pride to have lived. What, tears? O shame, my love!
On such a day!

Alcestis.
Forgive me, my dear Lord,
My nerves are shaken. O I cannot face
This shouting crowd!

Admetus.
One moment. To refuse
The pledge of such a love were churlish.

Alcestis.
Well,
One moment, for love's sake.

[Exeunt Admetus and Alcestis.
Euphanor.
With what a sweet and melancholy grace
She bears this pinch of torture! In that pale
And martyred face, where pain itself becomes
An aureole of more tenderness, and makes
Beauty twice beautiful, I see the soul
Of womanhood incarnate. Strange, most strange,
That when strong men but rage and curse, weak women
Will smileand bless—'tis strange! Well, pain and death
Are mysteries of the gods; but such a face
Is as an azure glimpse of ether, seen
Above dark storms that shake the mountain-tops.
I can but weep and bow. O gentle Queen,
Lady of sorrows, how I worship thee!

[Re-enter Admetus and Alcestis.
Admetus.
This is no common weakness. On my life,
There's something hidden here! I charge you both
By your allegiance, speak! Why do ye glance
Each at the other in a furtive fear?

Euphranor.
O King—

Admetus.
Can there be yet a woe so dire
Its face should make me blench?

Euphranor.
Thou knowest, O King,
Thy life, in forfeit to the Fates, was spared—

Admetus.
Ay, at her intercession.

Euphranor.
O, my Lord
Apollo's self, a suppliant at their throne,
As none before, could barely wring from them
This boon, upon condition—

Admetus.
Ha! condition?
Will the great gods be factors for their favours,
And have their usury? What condition?—come!

Euphranor.
That one should die for thee.

Admetus.
That one should die!
What, life for life? O monstrous; I'll not set
My seal to such a pact! And yet—I live—
What have ye made of me? Who's slain for me,
While I stand chattering?

Alcestis.
None is slain—be calm.
A soldier dies for thee, more cheerfully,
Out of pure love, than ever on the field
He had died for duty.

Admetus.
Duty?—love?—a soldier?
My brain begins to swim. Thou, thou, Alcestis,
Deny, for love's sweet sake, that thou hast stabbed
So horribly at my soul. Thou hast not played
The whore with death? Thou'rt pale, but thou'rt not weak.
Thou breathest, speakest, movest—never fairer—
And thine eye sparkles, thy pulse plays, thy hand—
That's cold—that's cold—

Alcestis.
O look not in my face
With such a piteous rage! Ah! dear, what soldier
Should claim to die for thee from me, thy wife,
Thy own true, loyal, and much-loving wife,
To whom thy death were tenfold death?

Admetus.
And I,
Have I no voice in this? It shall not be.
I who had died with honour, to drink out
The dregs of a mean life—the mock of men—
A craven vampire of the dearest blood
Of earth's most noble veins! I trusted thee
Beyond all trust; and thou betrayest me thus,
To a base fall. Is this thy love to me,
Or a most cruel wrong? It shall not be.
I fling their boon back to the envious gods,
And count death luxury.

Alcestis.
It is too late.
My choice is made, and ratified above,
By those who change not twice. O pardon me
This sin of my love—break not this dying heart
With thy reproachful eyes! 'Twas not thy wont
Under the guise of tender care for me,
To be the jailor of my happiness,
Like husbands I have known. O play not now
The loving tyrant! Count the deed as done,
As, ill or well, 'tis done; and done so simply,
In such a frank outleaping of the soul,
That I have happy confidence it is blest
With sanction of the gods.

Admetus.
The gods! the gods!
Name not these gods to me! O for a curse,
Direr than death—a Titan, to drag down
The dark, almighty, and iniquitous power
That plagues the world with evil; for a chain,
Stronger than hell, to bind him! O that once
I might but meet him naked, man to man,
And face to face; that my weak weaponless hands
Were at his throat! The fury of my hate,
Which turns my blood to lava, would so steel
And sinew their tight grasp, that he should strangle,
Though all the bolts of Zeus in horrible flight
Crashed on my head at once. What, shall we kneel,
And praise the gods, when our most innocent hopes
Are made the food for grim despair to prey on;
When the fair smiling promises of our life,
Like child-voiced sirens, lure us to the embrace
Of perilous reefs; when love itself betrays
Our best to death and pain, and one by one
Makes bleed with torturing rods before our eyes
Our delicate-winged affections? For this boon,
What a vile mock of mercy have we here!
To rise from out the grave, its bitterness
Once tasted bitterly, and watch the face
That life alone made life become the prey
Of pale disfeaturing death! O! O!

Alcestis.
(to Euphranor).
Go thou,
Gently dismiss the people. Say I am sick,
Or what thou wilt; and let the children wait
Here within call. Pardon me that I make
Thy goodness tend on me. And so farewell!

Euphranor.
O my sweet Queen!

[Exit Euphranor.
Alcestis.
Admetus, hearken to me—
To the last words that ever I may speak.
Thou taughtest me to die, let me teach thee
To live—that's harder.

Admetus.
I'll not live! If still
Death leaves me drugs, steel, water, in the world,
That speedily will end me?

Alcestis.
O for shame!
Can such a soul as thine, so firm and pure,
That like a noble column it upheld
The temple of thy time, be grown so weak
That this poor shock will shatter it? Then farewell
The hopes of lost mankind! Wilt thou so let
Self-pity's weeping mist extinguish all
The field of wholesome life? Think of thy children.

Admetus.
My children—Oh!—I had forgot them. Ay,
Let them die too—now, ere they know the taste
Of heaven's bleak tender mercies! Let the race
Of miserable men, sickened with tears,
Go to the rest of Hades, and contend
No more with the strong lords of life! Our backs
Are broken with their bounties. We are crushed
Like flowers in eager children's glowing hands,
When most they favour us.

Alcestis.
Alas! thy words
Are like the angry and rebellious tears
Of children—reckless and most profitless.
My dearest husband; thou who wast to me
The rock to the weak clinger, fail me not
In my sore need—O be a man again,
And comfort the last glimpses of my day!
Look in my face, and see its sunset glow
Take ashen hues.

Admetus.
My dearest, O my dearest!

Alcestis.
So, thou art close to me; and I can speak
Things in thine ear which hardly to thy face
I had dared to say. Now, when the gloom begins
To gather round my soul, great visions come
Of new unfathomed deeps. Night, that doth cloak
With shadowy wings the world's familiar face,
Undraws with her chaste hand the glittering veil
Of day that hid the stars. I blame thee not
For grief, who with her weeping sisterhood
Have made my home these three long dreary days;
Nor count I sudden woe, and timeless death
Less than enormous ills; but evil's self,
Like the chameleon, dyes its reptile form,
Colourless else, in the life-tinctured hues
Of hearts that beat beneath its wildering weight.

Admetus.
In my perplexèd ear thou speakest riddles.
Word it more plainly for me. I am dazed
And deafened by this stroke. Thy voice sounds far,
And hath strange tones in it, like music heard
O'er water through the night.

Alcestis.
Ah, dear! thy grief
Lies sore upon me. Would that I could carry
Its burthen to my grave! But thou must live
And bear this burthen bravely. What I speak,
Which now sounds thus remote, will come to thee
When I am gone, like echoes soft and clear,
To bring thee peace and trust. I am at peace,
My peace would leave to thee.

Admetus.
What peace or trust
Can live in this bad world? The grave is peace—
The gods, who mock our strife, permit none else.

Alcestis.
The gods reign but their day. Hear me once more,
And let me seek to render to thine ear
The vision that I see. Words are but dim
To paint the auroral mysteries of the dawn;
But I would fain essay it. Pain and death
Seem to me now but flickering shadows, flung
Athwart the mortal field by joy and life.
Look down, the shade is an abyss of gloom,
Yawning to gulf us; but look up, we see
The sun that casts it; and that sun is—nay,
I dare not call it Love; yet it is love
That draws our eyes to it.

Admetus.
I hear thy words,
Their sense I cannot hear. Vague oracles
And windy phrases cannot murder death,
And evil make no evil.

Alcestis.
Nay; but yet—
Ah, trust me, I beseech thee! Flout not thus
My weak and fleeting words; the images—
Vague images—of some eternal truth
Whereby we live, which else were imageless;
But ponder well their echoes. I am set
Here on this couch of death, Death's Pythoness,
Scorn not my tripod.

Admetus.
Scorn it! O, my love,
I feed upon thy breath! But speak to me
Some comfort for to-day—some dovelike word
Which, nestling in my bosom, may bring forth
A brood of peace, if thou would'st leave me peace.

Alcestis.
There weeps a human patience, with such tears
As fill the eyes of meek Apollo's flowers
What time their lord's away. Tender and true,
If I had never loved thee till this hour,
My shroud were woven of love. The sun I see,
That knows not day nor night, will rise for thee,
And shine on thee with comfort; will transmute
The essence of thy grief to something rare
As the balsamic tears that wood-nymphs weep
When their loved pines are wounded; to a balm
Of virtue med'cinal.

Admetus.
Thou art my balm;
And thou art breathed into the wandering air,
That keeps no record of the sweets it steals.

Alcestis.
Not so; I am a leaf that withering woos
Out of the air some subtle alchemy
Which turns decay to odour. I will lie
Still in thy bosom, breathing sweeter balm
Than e'er I breathed alive.

Admetus.
Vain dreams, vain dreams

Alcestis.
Nay, dearest, look no more into the shade,
Where the dull asp despair, the subtle snake
Rebellion, and the chill toad apathy
Perversely gender, and with venomous breath
Pollute the azure heaven. These are the Furies
Whose fangs make evil evil. Hope the lark,
And peace the dove, and the strong eagle love
Companion thee for ever. In their eyes
There is no evil.

Admetus.
Would I had their eyes,
So they see truth. Thy words are wonderful
And sweet—I see a glory in thy face
Which I must worship, though it severs thee
From my old knowledge.

Alcestis.
Dearest, such a death
Is as a second birth for thee and me;
For me, because I rise into an air
Which else I ne'er were winged for; and for thee,
Because that like a mother for her babe
I die to give thee life. Thou art my child,
Pledged to live bravely for me, or I die
In vain, and Death stands victor. Thou wilt live
As though I saw thee? Promise me!

Admetus.
Freely, freely,—

Alcestis.
Nay, I do wrong to pledge thee. I demand
No stoic vows, no wild ascetic rites
Of self-repression. Be what thou hast been—
A glorious cedar, in whose fostering shade
All beauteous things may flourish, but more strong,
And richer, in the life of her whose leaves
Decay to feed thy root.

Admetus.
This love of thine
Is as a wind of autumn in my soul,
Destroying and preparing. I am bowed,
Moaning, before its strength, and quailing.

Alcestis.
Nay,
Be it unto thy heart a wind of spring,
Expanding and awaking. Comforted,
Not desolate would I leave thee—even to this:
That if, when cold I leave my nuptial bed,
As I must leave it, thou should'st find a maid,
Worthy thy love, to be—what I have been—

Admetus.
What have I done to merit this from thee?
What sacrilege were this—another bride,
To fill Alcestis' place! O cold, cold, cold,
Shall be thy bed, till I am cold as thou!
I live but as thy freedman. Canst thou deem
Me, who have known thy love, and loved thee—me
Thou hast saved, of such frail, tepid, amorous nature,
So impotent in passion, as to lose
Thine image from my arms, and sink upon
The bosom of some girl? Am I indeed
So praised—and by my wife?

Alcestis.
Forgive the thought,
If such there be—there is not—in my mind,
Which wears the cloudy semblance of a doubt
Of thy heart's purity. I doubt thee not:
I know thy love is steadfast as the star
That mariners make their lamp. But men are men,
Adventurous sailors on the deep of life,
Achieving and acquiring, here to-day
And gone to-morrow—homeless voyagers,
Who cannot cast their anchor in some port
Of the loved past, and ride their life out there,
Content, like women.

Admetus.
Who has taught thee this?

Alcestis.
Thyself, the world, and death. Thou art to-day
My husband; thou wilt be my son to-morrow—
A man, to whom Alcestis is a dream,
A legend, loved but faded.

Admetus.
O no, no!

Alcestis.
'Tis but the law of our life. A woman's love,
Being a thing of visions and surrenders,
Will live on relics, and maintain its bliss
By communing with ghosts. A man's must have
A visible handmaid, for its daily wants
And passionate exactions.

Admetus.
Nay, my love!
I seem to see myself reflected here
In a distorting mirror. I have slaked
My heart's deep thirst in one so perfect draught
A second would be gall—the thought breeds loathing.

Alcestis.
Would I were worth such love! It may be so;
Yet I'll not make an idol for thy life
Of an o'erstrainéd constancy. If ever—
I do not say it will be—but if ever
The new Admetus of the days to come
Shall find a new Alcestis, who will take
My children—my one fear—into her heart
And be to them a mother, loving me
For what I have done for thee; to such an one
Methinks I dare commend thee freely. Thou
Art mine for ever—fostered by my love;
And I shall still possess thee in her arms,
And love her for thy sake.

Admetus.
Can all the world
Produce a new Alcestis? Never, never!
Thou art a marvel—what, can love o'erfly
The walls of jealousy thus, and still be love?

Alcestis.
No marvel, dear. Thou art no vulgar man,
Nor I no vulgar woman. Never, never
Wilt thou, who hast known my love, pollute my place
With some bold-browed adventuress, rashly clasped
Through sheer incontinence—some harlot thing
Whom their base father's haste makes step-mother
To his abandoned babes. My motherly curse,
Could this bad dream come true, would have the power
Of searing thunderbolts to strike her dead.

Admetus.
And me as well. Put by such horrible dreams!

Alcestis.
I have no fear of this; nor yet that thou,
Like the vain bulk of outward-seeming men,
Wilt purchase some meek slave to tend on thee
And be thy children's mock. Her I could hate,
Through mere excess of pity. Thou hast loved,
And therefore thou canst love—walk freely forth
Where love shall lead thee, and return to me
Pure, by whatever path. I have lived too long
With love myself to fear that it can stain.
It justifies its deeds, blesses, and saves.
'Tis its dull-eyed and wingless opposite,
Whose ever-smouldering torch, with ashy tip,
Kindles no flame of passion, that doth make
This world the lazar-house of joy. Enough,
Death chides my long leave-taking. I must kiss
My children—

Admetus.
Wilt thou go? O not so soon!
Not yet, not yet!

Alcestis.
Alas! I feel the clutch
Of icy hands that draw my feet away.
The cold mounts!

Admetus.
O great gods, thou art cold indeed!

Alcestis.
The children, let them come.

Admetus.
They are here, they are here.

[Enter children, with Nurse.
Alcestis.
My dearest, I must leave you.

Clymene.
Dost thou go
Into a trance, as father did?

Alcestis.
I go
A long, long journey.

Clymene.
Will it last three days—
Three long, long dreary days?

Alcestis.
I cannot tell
How long 'twill last; but thou must promise me
Thou wilt be good till I come back again,
And never vex thy father.

Clymene.
I'll be good.
And wilt thou bring me then some pretty thing
From the new place thou goest to?

Alcestis.
I'll remember
My little Clymene. Kiss me, my darling,
And love me always.

Clymene.
Must thou go away?

Alcestis.
Yes, I must go.

Clymene.
So many dreadful things
Are happening now! It used not to be so—
Long ago—when my birthday was—O mother
I'll not have my new birthday, nor be glad
Till thou art home again! 'Twould break my heart.
O come back soon!

Alcestis.
There, there—kiss me once more.
Farewell, my child—be good, and love thy father.
[Exit with Nurse.
And now, my son—

Eumelus.
O mother, mother, mother!

Alcestis.
Ay, here's the pinch of parting.

Admetus.
This will break
Again my broken heart.

Alcestis.
My boy, my boy,
Kill me not with thy grief! Thou must be brave
And help thy father.

Eumelus.
O, I cannot bear it!
I'll lie down, like a dog, and die!

Alcestis.
Nay, nay,
Live like a man—that's nobler—for my sake,
And for thy father's. He will live for thee
And Clymene; live thou for him. Farewell—
While I have strength to kiss thee, take this kiss,
And seal thyself my son, pledged to live nobly,
As though my eye were on thee.

Eumelus.
I will, I will.

Alcestis.
My veins grow ducts of death. O my Admetus,
Farewell, farewell! My eyes are full of gloom;
I see the dreadful river, and the barge,
Waiting my coming.

[A pause.
Alcestis.
O I am suddenly caught—
Hurried away—Farewell, farewell, farewell!—
Live in my love!

Admetus.
Alcestis, O Alcestis!
She hears no more—her eyes are imageless—
Her breast is cold, her lips too weak to kiss—
O, this is death indeed!

Eumelus.
O mother, mother!

Alcestis.
If thou should'st see Admetus—

Admetus.
I am here;
Thou'rt in my arms, my own—

Alcestis.
Tell him—

Admetus.
O, what?

Alcestis.
I see Love standing at the gates of Death.

[Dies.
Admetus.
She's gone from us—she's gone, she's gone, she's gone!

Eumelus.
O mother, mother, mother!

Admetus.
O, my boy,
We are companions in the dearest loss
That ever can befall! What have we left
But in the sad remainder of our days
To live as she would have us? Leave me now
A moment. My poor boy! This binds us two
With bonds that but our sin can sunder—Go!
Thou shalt come back anon.
[Exit Eumelus.
Alcestis dead!—Is it true?—At peace, at peace—
Thou would'st leave me at peace! Alas! I see
This desolation is a sort of peace.
The tempest's past—Dread calm!—Ah, cold, cold, cold!
No sense, no breath—thou who an hour ago
Wast my life's breath of life. When thy heart's ice
The world should freeze. Yet vilest things live on:
The traitorous kind live on; old lechery
Lives on; the wife unloved, the husband hated
Lives on; all human nothings thrive apace:
Hate lets its votaries live, but love hath made
An ancient pact with death. O speak once more,
And wake some faith in me!
[Enter Œnanthus.
Sirrah, what now?

Œnanthus.

Admetus! O my sweet lady! My dear lady! O piteous sight! A heavy day for us all! This unroofs the house indeed.

Admetus.

Come, stint thy lamentation, man! What now?

Œnanthus.

Alas! my dear master, this is a blow indeed—this is a stroke indeed. But I crave pardon, I come to notify a thing unto thee.

Admetus.

What thing?

Œnanthus.

Hercules stands without, newly arrived, and would see thee.

Admetus.

What Hercules?

Œnanthus.

Why, Hercules himself—the great Hercules. He with the lion's fleece on his back, and the mighty club in his fist.

Admetus.

I cannot see him now—I cannot see him now.

Œnanthus.

Shall I so report thee to him?

Admetus.

Nay, nay—what do I say? To let grief murder hospitality, that were not thy way. Say I'll be with him straight.

Œnanthus.

Ay, my Lord.

Admetus.

And set the banqueting-hall in order; prepare the garlands; uncellar my choicest wines.

Œnanthus.

The banqueting-hall, my Lord! Thou wilt not drink with him—to-night—with—

Admetus.

Do as I bid thee—hence—I'll come to him straight.

Œnanthus.

Ay, my Lord.

Admetus.

And light a good fire—methinks 'tis very chilly.

Œnanthus.

Chilly, my lord?

Admetus.

Ay, is the day not cold?

Œnanthus.

Nay, my Lord, 'tis warm enough—a fine warm evening, in respect of the season.

Admetus.

So? Then 'tis well enough—'tis well enough. And, hark thee, not a word of my trouble.

Œnanthus.

No, my Lord.

Admetus.

We must make him welcome.

Œnanthus.

Ay, my Lord.

[Exit Œnanthus.
Admetus.
Ah! yes my love! Thy cold lips counsel patience,
And I'll be very patient for thy sake,
And the day's work do well. Thou art not gone.
Thou hast become a presence in my soul,
And I henceforth am dedicate to thee.

[Exit.

Scene III.

—Before the Palace of Admetus.
Hercules.
By Hera's eyes, a pleasant nook o' the world,
This nest of our Admetus! All the long years,
That I've been vermin-killing, he's been planting
A garden for the Muses. Well, why not?
Each man his function—so the world goes round.
This wife of his, they say, is something rare—
A thing divine; and he a constant man—
That's rarer yet. How many wives have I had?
All fair and—little else. O woman, woman,
What should we be without thee; and what things
Thy wantonness makes of us! They are burrs not anchors—
They cannot hold us long. [Enter Œnanthus.

Well, my good fellow,
What of Admetus?

Œnanthus.
He'll be here anon.

Hercules.
You have here a pleasant site, a pleasant air.
What water's that?

Œnanthus.
Bœbeis Lake.

Hercules.
Bœbeis?
A very pleasant lake—and boats upon it?

Œnanthus.
Ay, sir, there be some boats. The farmers keep
Their sheep-boats on it, and the King doth keep
His boats of pleasure on it.

Hercules.
Those are sheep
On yonder hillside? Sheep are they, or goats?

Œnanthus.
Sheep, sir; there are flocks about— there are flocks about.

Hercules.
And cows too?

Œnanthus.
Cows, sir, too—a many cows.

Hercules.
Why this is richer than Arcadia—eh?

Œnanthus.
I never saw Arcadia; but the place
Is rich enough, for that. Here comes the King.

[Enter Admetus.
Admetus.
Hail to thee, son of Zeus! Fair welcome here!
We are too long strangers, Hercules.

Hercules.
And all hail,
My dear Admetus! Thy Thessalian land's
The daintiest nook of Greece.

Admetus.
'Tis well enough.

Hercules.
But what is this? What means this robe of grief
Which ill becomes the sunshine? Thou look'st pale,
Thine eyes are red with weeping, and thy locks
Shorn—but for whom? If for thy father, surely
He dies at a ripe age. Death comes to all,
And coming late's a friend.

Admetus.
My father lives.

Hercules.
Thy mother, then?

Admetus.
Lives too.

Hercules.
What! not thy wife?
Nay, not Alcestis?

Admetus.
She is very well—
I thank the gods, my wife is very well.

Hercules.
Why then these mournful shews?

Admetus.
I mourn for one,
Not born within our house, and yet a friend—
A very faithful friend—a kinswoman
To whom I am much beholden. She lived here,
Her parents dead, an orphan—

Hercules.
Well, man, well,
This is a stroke of sorrow, to be sure,
Yet such as may be borne. A little time,
And a few tears, and thou wilt laugh again.
Man was not made for grief, say I. It eats
The sinews very shrewdly, nips the heart,
And scants the tale of daily work. The man
Who gives the flout to sorrow is a god.

Admetus.
Then I'm no god.

Hercules.
Thou takest it heavily
In sooth. I would that I could cheer thee, man—
If I could slay a monster now, or crack
The ribs of some tough giant for thy sake,
I'd do it, as soon as eat; but sorrow, sorrow,
That Hydra of the water of the eyes
Baffles my club.

Admetus.
I thank thee heartily,
And welcome thee to all the best I have.

Hercules.
Nay, to bring feasting to the house of mourning
Were but a sorry trick. I'll e'en push on,
And hope to laugh with thee when next I pass.

Admetus.
By Bacchus and Demeter, thou shalt tarry
Nowhere but here! Admetus' doors stand wide
To every stranger; and for such a guest
As Hercules their widest is too narrow.
The banquet-hall's apart. Thou wilt not hear
The women cry; and thou shalt eat and drink,
With hearty welcome, and be merry. I
Can but set lips unto thy loving cup,
And then must crave thy pardon. There are things
That ask my overlooking. This, my steward
Will give thee careful tendance. Go before
And see the lamps are lighted.
[Exit Œnanthus.
Shall we in?

Hercules.
I trouble thee too much; but take thy welcome
As freely as 'tis given; for, to speak truth,
I have scarce touched bread to-day.

Admetus.
Then let us enter.

Hercules.
When shall I see Alcestis? All the land
Sings but her praises. I am hungrier far
To see this peerless wife of thine than eat.

Admetus.
Well, after supper, after supper. Come,
All's ready. Thou must taste our wines. Come in.

[Exeunt.