_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._