Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy

           Nature is firm, not riches: she remains           For ever, and triumphant lifts her head.           But unjust wealth, which sojourns with the base,           Glitters for some short space, then flies away.

His effeminate manners are more than maiden tongue may speak of; beauty graced his perfect form:

           But be not mine a husband, whose fair face           In softness with a virgin's vies, but one           Of manly manners; for the sons of such           By martial toils are trained to glorious deeds;           The beauteous only the dance give grace.

Let the wicked in future learn they are not secure till the goal of life is reached. {1092}

Clytaemnestra is then seen approaching: they hurry Orestes in; his heart fails him at the thought of his mother; with difficulty Electra rouses him to his appointed vengeance. [Exeunt all but Electra into the Cottage. Enter Clytaemnestra in a Chariot and splendid array.] The Chorus welcome her, and she begs their aid to alight. —Electra thrusts herself forward clad in rags as she is, and begs that she too may assist. —Clyt. feels the impropriety of the scene, and falls into an apologetic tone; it was Electra's father who, by his injustice to Iphigenia, was the real cause of Electra's trouble. This leads to the usual judicial disputation: Clyt. pleading that this sacrifice of her daughter was done not for a good cause, but for the wanton Helen; this sacrifice she had avenged, and to avenge it must join an enemy, not a friend, of Agamemnon. —Electra, getting permission, replies: Helen was not the only wanton one of her family; if no motive but vengeance, why begin to adorn as soon as Agamemnon was out of the way, why rejoice whenever the Trojans prospered, why go on to persecute Orestes and herself, nay, why not slay Aegisthus for persecuting these her children? The sight of Electra's miserable condition makes even Clyt. feel compunction: she has been too harsh, she will be kinder now, and so shall Aegisthus – Electra replying to all that it is too late. At last Clyt. prepares to go within the house and perform the rite for Electra; then she will join her husband. Exeunt Attendants with Chariot, and Electra ushers Clytaemnestra into the Cottage.

           Let my poor house receive thee: but take heed           Lest thy rich vests the blackening smoke denies. —           There shalt thou sacrifice, as to the gods           Behoves thee sacrifice: the basket there           Is for the rites prepared, and the keen blade           Which struck the bull; beside him shalt thou fall           By a like blow; in Pluto's courts his bride           He shall receive, with whom in heav'n's fair light           Thy couch was shared: to thee this grace I give,           Thou vengeance for my father shalt give me. {1274}CHORAL INTERLUDE III

The waves of mischief are flowing back, the gale of Violence is veering: Vengeance for the crime of old standing is come at last. {1298}

EXODUS, OR FINALE

Cries are heard from within: the Chorus know that the deed is done.

By the machinery of the roller-stage the interior of the Cottage is displayed, with Orestes and Electra standing over the corpse of Clytaemnestra.

A revulsion of feeling has come over them; they did the deed in frenzy; now, instead of triumph, they have no thoughts but for the act they have done, and how they will carry a curse with them ever after, and all will shun them. With horror they recall the details of the scene:

Ores. Didst thou see her when she drew {1338}

           Her vests aside, and bared her breasts, and bow'd           To earth her body whence I drew my birth,           Whilst in her locks my furious hand I wreath'd?

Elec. With anguish'd mind, I know, thou didst proceed,

           When heard thy wailing mother's piteous cries.

Ores. These words, whilst with her hands she strok'd my cheeks,

           Burst forth, "Thy pity I implore, my son;"           Soothing she spoke, as on my cheeks she hung,           That bloodless from my hand the sword might fall.

Chor. Wretched Electra, how could'st thou sustain

           A sight like this? How bear thy mother's death,           Seeing her thus before thine eyes expire?

Ores. Holding my robe before mine eyes, I rais'd

           The sword and plung'd it in my mother's breast.

Elec. I urged thee to it, I too touch'd the sword.

Chor. Of deeds most dreadful this which thou hast done.

           Cover thy mother's body; in her robes           Decent compose her wounded limbs. – Thou gav'st           Being to those who were to murder thee.DIVINE INTERVENTION

Suddenly over the Permanent Scene two Supernatural Beings appear and move along, recognized by the Chorus as Castor and Pollux, the Family Deities. {1364}

           Hear, son of Agamemnon: for to thee           Thy mother's brothers, twin-born sons of Jove           Castor, and this my brother Pollux, speak.           Late, having calmed the ocean waves, that swell'd           The lab'ring vessel menacing, we came           To Argos, where our sister we beheld,           Thy mother, slain: with justice vengeance falls           On her; in thee unholy is the deed.           Yet Phoebus, Phoebus – but, my king is he;           I will be silent: yet, though wise, he gave           To thee response not wise; but I must praise           Perforce these things. Thou now must do what Fate           And Jove decree.

Electra is to marry Pylades, and Orestes to flee to Athens and be purified by the Court on the Hill of Mars: Apollo assisting. Orestes' future life is foretold [thus working out various details of the Orestes legends]. – With awe Orestes, Electra, and Chorus enter into converse with the gods, and the word is confirmed. They failed to avert the trouble from their house on account of dire Fate and 'the voice unwise of Phoebus from his shrine.' There has been a Demon hostile to Electra's parents. – Then the brother and sister's thoughts turn to the life-long separation, and the painful wandering, sorrows e'en to the gods mournful to hear. Farewell to Argos: the Gods hurry Orestes away for the Furies are already on his track, and conclude:

           To the impious thro' the ethereal tract           We no assistance bring: but those to whom           Justice and sanctity of life is dear,           We from their dangerous toils relieve and save.           Let no one then unjustly will to act,           Nor in one vessel with the perjured sail:           A god to mortals this monition gives.

Chor. Oh, be you blest! And those, to whom is given

           Calmly the course of mortal life to pass,           By no affliction sunk, pronounce we blest.

THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES7

MEMORANDUM

Of the Story as it would be traditionally familiar to the Audience before-hand. – Admetus was the splendid King of Pherae, so famous for the sacred rites of Hospitality that he had Sons of the Gods for Guests, and the God of Brightness, Apollo, himself while he sojourned on earth chose Admetus's household to dwell in. In the full tide of his greatness the time came for him to die: Apollo interposed for his chief votary, and won from the Fates that he might die by substitute. But none was found willing to be the victim, not even his aged parents: at last Alcestis his wife, young and bright as himself, gave herself for her husband and died. Then another Guest-Friend of Admetus came to the rescue, Jupiter's own son Hercules, and by main force wrested Alcestis from the grasp of Death, and restored her to her husband.

PROLOGUE

Scene: Pherae in Thessaly. The early morning sunshine blazes full on the Royal Palace of the Glorious Admetus, and on the statues, conspicuous in front of it, of Jupiter Lord of Host and Guest, and Apollo: nevertheless the Courtyard is silent and deserted. – At last Apollo himself is seen, not aloft in the air as Gods were wont to appear, but on the threshold of the Central Gate.

APOLLO meditates on his happy associations with the house he is quitting. How when there was trouble in heaven, and he himself, for resisting Jove's vengeance on the Healer Aesculapius, was doomed to a year's slavery amongst mortal men, he had bound himself as herdsman to Admetus, and Admetus exercised his lordship with all reverence:

A holy master o'er his holy slave. {13}

How again when trouble came to Admetus he had saved him from the day of death, on condition that another would die in his stead.

          His friends, his father, e'en the aged dame {19}          That gave him birth were asked in vain: not one          Was found, his wife except.

The dreadful day has come, and Alcestis is at this moment breathing her last in the arms of her husband: and he himself must leave his loved friend, for Deity may not abide in the neighborhood of death's pollution. {27}

Suddenly, the hideous Phantom of Death becomes visible, ascending the Steps of the Dead [from below the Orchestra on to the Stage]: his pace never flags, yet he cowers, like all things of darkness, before the Bow of Apollo.

Death reproaches Apollo with haunting the dwellings of mortals, and with seeking by that Bow of his to defraud the Infernal Powers of their due. Apollo defends himself: he is but visiting friends he loves: he has no thought of using force. But would he could persuade Death to choose his victims according to the law of nature, and slay ripe lingering age instead of youth!

Death. Greater my glory when the youthful die! {58}

Apollo appeals to self-interest: more sumptuous obsequies await the aged dead. – That, answers Death, were to make laws in favor of the rich. —Apollo condescends to ask mercy for his friend as a favor; but favors, Death sneers, are not in keeping with his manners; and taunts Apollo with his helplessness to resist fate. The taunt rouses Apollo to a flash of prophecy (which is one of his attributes), giving (as the Greek stage loved to do) a glimpse into the end of the story.

Apollo. Yet, ruthless as thou art, soon wilt thou cease {67}             This contest; such a man to Pherae's house             Comes… He, in this house             A welcome guest to Admetus, will by force             Take his wife from thee; and no thanks from me             Will be thy due; yet what I now entreat             Then thou wilt yield, and I shall hate thee still.

Apollo moves away and disappears in the distance [by Left Side-door], while Death, hurling defiance after him, waves his fatal sword and crosses the threshold. {81}

PARODE, OR CHORUS-ENTRY

Enter the Orchestra [by the Right Archway, as from the neighborhood] the Chorus: Old Men of Pherae, come to enquire how it is with the Queen on the morning of this appointed day of her death. As usual in such Chorus-Entries their chanting is accompanied with music and gesture-dance to a rhythm traditionally associated with marching. But by a very unusual effect they enter in disordered ranks, moving in two loosely-formed bodies towards the Central Altar. {82}

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