Balaustion's Adventure/III

"I understand," slow the words came at last. "Nor of a sudden did the evil here Fly on me: I have known it long ago, Ay, and essayed myself in misery; Nothing is new. You have to stay, you friends, Because the next need is to carry forth The corpse here: you must stay and do your part, Chant proper pæan to the God below; Drink-sacrifice he likes not. I decree That all Thessalians over whom I rule Hold grief in common with me; let them shear Their locks, and be the peplos black they show! And you who to the chariot yoke your steeds. Or manage steeds one-frontleted, — I charge, Clip from each neck with steel the mane away! And through my city, nor of flute nor lyre Be there a sound till twelve full moons succeed. For I shall never bury any corpse Dearer than this to me, nor better friend: One worthy of all honour from me, since Me she has died for, she and she alone."

With that, he sought the inmost of the house, He and his dead, to get grave's garniture, While the friends sang the pæan that should peal. "Daughter of Pelias, with farewell from me, I' the house of Hades have thy unsunned home! Let Hades know, the dark-haired deity, — And he who sits to row and steer alike, Old corpse-conductor, let him know he bears Over the Acherontian lake, this time, I' the two-oared boat, the best — oh, best by far Of womankind! For thee, Alkestis Queen! Many a time those haunters of the Muse Shall sing thee to the seven-stringed mountain-shell, And glorify in hymns that need no harp, At Sparta when the cycle comes about, And that Karneian month wherein the moon Rises and never sets the whole night through: So too at splendid and magnificent Athenai. Such the spread of thy renown, And such the lay that, dying, thou hast left Singer and sayer. O that I availed Of my own might to send thee once again From Hades' hall, Kokutos' stream, by help O' the oar that dips the river, back to day!"

So, the song sank to prattle in her praise: "Light, from above thee, lady, fall the earth, Thou only one of womankind to die, Wife for her husband! If Admetos take Anything to him like a second spouse — Hate from his offspring and from us shall be His portion, let the king assure himself! No mind his mother had to hide in earth Her body for her son's sake, nor his sire Had heart to save whom he begot, — not they, The white-haired wretches! only thou it was, I' the bloom of youth, didst save him and so die! Might it be mine to chance on such a mate And partner! For there's penury in life Of such allowance: were she mine at least, So wonderful a wife, assuredly She would companion me throughout my days And never once bring sorrow!" A great voice — "My hosts here!" Oh, the thrill that ran through us! Never was aught so good and opportune As that great interrupting voice! For see! Here maundered this dispirited old age Before the palace; whence a something crept Which told us well enough without a word What was a-doing inside, — every touch O' the garland on those temples, tenderest Disposure of each arm along its side, Came putting out what warmth i' the world was left. Then, as it happens at a sacrifice When, drop by drop, some lustral bath is brimmed: Into the thin and clear and cold, at once They slaughter a whole wine-skin; Bacchos' blood Sets the white water all a-flame: even so, Sudden into the midst of sorrow, leapt Along with the gay cheer of that great voice, Hope, joy, salvation: Herakles was here! Himself, o' the threshold, sent his voice on first To herald all that human and divine I' the weary happy face of him, — half God Half man, which made the god-part God the more.

"Hosts mine," he broke upon the sorrow with, "Inhabitants of this Pheraian soil, Chance I upon Admetos inside here?"

The irresistible sound wholesome heart O' the hero, — more than all the mightiness At labour in the limbs that, for man's sake, Laboured and meant to labour their life long, — This drove back, dried up sorrow at its source. How could it brave the happy weary laugh Of who had bantered sorrow "Sorrow here? What have you done to keep your friend from harm? Could no one give the life I see he keeps? Or, say there's sorrow here past friendly help, Why waste a word or let a tear escape While other sorrows wait you in the world, And want the life of you, though helpless here?" Clearly there was no telling such an one How, when their monarch tried who loved him more Than he loved them, and found they loved, as he, Each man, himself, and held, no otherwise, That, of all evils in the world, the worst Was — being forced to die, whate'er death gain: How all this selfishness in him and them Caused certain sorrow which they sang about, — I think that Herakles, who held his life Out on his hand, for any man to take — I think his laugh had marred their threnody.

"He is i' the house," they answered. After all, They might have told the story, talked their best About the inevitable sorrow here, Nor changed nor checked the kindly nature, — no! So long as men were merely weak, not bad, He loved men: were they Gods he used to help? "Yea, Pheres' son is in-doors, Herakles: But say, what sends thee to Thessalian soil, Brought by what business to this Pherai town?" "A certain labour that I have to do Eurustheus the Tirunthian," laughed the God. "And whither wendest — on what wandering Bound now?" (they had an instinct, guessed what meant Wanderings, labours, in the God's light mouth.) "After the Thracian Diomedes' car With the four horses."

"Ah, but canst thou that? Art inexperienced in thy host to be?"

"All-inexperienced: I have never gone As yet to the land o' the Bistones."

"Then, look By no means to be master of the steeds Without a battle!"

"Battle there may be: I must refuse no labour, all the same."

"Certainly, either having slain a foe Wilt thou return to us, or, slain thyself, Stay there!"

"And, even if the game be so, The risk in it were not the first I run."

"But, say thou over-power the lord o' the place, What more advantage dost expect thereby?"

"I shall drive off his horses to the king."

"No easy handling them to bit the jaw!"

"Easy enough; except, at least, they breathe Fire from their nostrils!"

"But they mince up men With those quick jaws!"

"You talk of provender For mountain-beasts, and not mere horses' food!"

"Thou may'st behold their mangers caked with gore!"

"And of what sire does he who bred them boast Himself the son?"

"Of Ares, king o' the targe — Thrakian, of gold throughout."

Another laugh. "Why, just the labour, just the lot for me Dost thou describe in what I recognize! Since hard and harder, high and higher yet, Truly this lot of mine is like to go If I must needs join battle with the brood Of Ares: ay, I fought Lukaon first, And again, Kuknos: now engage in strife This third time, with such horses and such lord. But there is nobody shall ever see Alkmené's son shrink, foemen's hand before!" — "Or ever hear him say" (the chorus thought) "That death is terrible; and help us so To chime in — 'terrible beyond a doubt. And, if to thee, why, to ourselves much more: Know what has happened, then, and sympathize!' " Therefore they gladly stopped the dialogue, Shifted the burthen to new shoulder straight, As, "Look where comes the lord o' the land, himself, Admetos, from the palace!" they out-broke In some surprise, as well as much relief. What had induced the king to waive his right And luxury of woe in loneliness?

Out he came quietly; the hair was dipt, And the garb sable; else no outward sign Of sorrow as he came and faced his friend. Was truth fast terrifying tears away? "Hail, child of Zeus, and sprung from Perseus too!" The salutation ran without a fault.

"And thou, Admetos, King of Thessaly!"

"Would, as thou wishest me, the grace might fall! But my good-wisher, that thou art, I know."

"What's here? these shorn locks, this sad show of thee?"

"I must inter a certain corpse to-day."

"Now, from thy children God avert mischance!"

"They live, my children; all are in the house!"

"Thy father — if 't is he departs indeed, His age was ripe at least."

"My father lives, And she who bore me lives too, Herakles."

"It cannot be thy wife Alkestis gone?"

"Two-fold the tale is, I can tell of her."

"Dead dost thou speak of her, or living yet?"

"She is — and is not: hence the pain to me!"

"I learn no whit the more, so dark thy speech!"

"Know'st thou not on what fate she needs must fall?"

"I know she is resigned to die for thee."

"How lives she still, then, if submitting so?"

"Eh, weep her not beforehand! wait till then!"

"Who is to die is dead; doing is done."

"To be and not to be are thought diverse."

"Thou judgest this — I, that way, Herakles!"

"Well, but declare what causes thy complaint! Who is the man has died from out thy friends?"

"No man: I had a woman in my mind."

"Alien, or someone born akin to thee?"

"Alien: but still related to my house."

"How did it happen then that here she died?"

"Her father dying left his orphan here."

"Alas, Admetos — would we found thee gay, Not grieving!"

"What as if about to do Subjoinest thou that comment?"

"I shall seek Another hearth, proceed to other hosts."

"Never, O king, shall that be! No such ill Betide me!"

"Nay, to mourners, should there come A guest, he proves importunate!"

"The dead— Dead are they: but go thou within my house!"

"'T is base carousing beside friends who mourn."

"The guest-rooms, whither we shall lead thee, lie Apart from ours."

"Nay, let me go my way! Ten thousandfold the favor I shall thank!"

"It may not be thou goest to the hearth Of any man but me!" so made an end Admetos, softly and decisively, Of the altercation. Herakles forbore: And the king bade a servant lead the way, Open the guest-rooms ranged remote from view O' the main hall, tell the functionaries, too, They had to furnish forth a plenteous feast: And then shut close the doors o' the hall, midway, "Because it is not proper friends who feast Should hear a groaning or be grieved," quoth he.

Whereat the hero, who was truth itself, Let out the smile again, repressed awhile Like fountain-brilliance one forbids to play. He did too many grandnesses, to note Much in the meaner things about his path: And stepping there, with face towards the sun, Stopped seldom to pluck weeds or ask their names. Therefore he took Admetos at the word: This trouble must not hinder any more A true heart from good will and pleasant ways. And so, the great arm, which had slain the snake, Strained his friend's head a moment in embrace On that broad breast beneath the lion's-hide, Till the king's cheek winced at the thick rough gold; And then strode off, with who had care of him, To the remote guest-chamber: glad to give Poor flesh and blood their respite and relief In the interval 'twixt fight and fight again — All for the world's sake. Our eyes followed him, Be sure, till those mid-doors shut us outside. The king, too, watched great Herakles go off All faith, love, and obedience to a friend.

And when they questioned him, the simple ones, "What dost thou? Such calamity to face, Lies full before thee — and thou art so bold As play the host, Admetos? Hast thy wits?" He replied calmly to each chiding tongue: "But if from house and home I forced away A coming guest, would'st thou have praised me more? No, truly! since calamity were mine, Nowise diminished; while I showed myself Unhappy and inhospitable too: So adding to my ills this other ill, That mine were styled a stranger-hating house. Myself have ever found this man the best Of entertainers when 1 went his way To parched and thirsty Argos." "If so be — Why didst thou hide what destiny was here, When one came that was kindly, as thou say'st?" "He never would have willed to cross my door Had he known aught of my calamities. And probably to some of you I seem Unwise enough in doing what I do; Such will scarce praise me: but these halls of mine Know not to drive off and dishonour guests."

And so, the duty done, he turned once more To go and busy him about his dead. As for the sympathizers left to muse, There was a change, a new light thrown on things, Contagion from the magnanimity O' the man whose life lay on his hand so light, As up he stepped, pursuing duty still "Higher and harder," as he laughed and said. Somehow they found no folly now in the act They blamed erewhile: Admetos' private grief Shrank to a somewhat pettier obstacle I' the way o' the world: they saw good days had been, And good days, peradventure, still might be; Now that they over-looked the present cloud Heavy upon the palace opposite. And soon the thought took words and music thus:—

"Harbour of many a stranger, free to friend, Ever and always, O thou house o' the man We mourn for! Thee, Apollon's very self, The lyric Puthian, deigned inhabit once, Become a shepherd here in thy domains, And pipe, adown the winding hill-side paths, Pastoral marriage-poems to thy flocks At feed: while with them fed in fellowship, Through joy i' the music, spot-skin lynxes; ay, And lions too, the bloody company, Came, leaving Othrus' dell; and round thy lyre, Phoibos, there danced the speckle-coated fawn, Pacing on lightsome fetlock past the pines Tress-topped, the creature's natural boundary, Into the open everywhere; such heart Had she within her, beating joyous beats, At the sweet reassurance of thy song! Therefore the lot o' the master is, to live In a home multitudinous with herds, Along by the fair-flowing Boibian lake, Limited, that ploughed land and pasture-plain, Only where stand the sun's steeds, stabled west I' the cloud, by that mid-air which makes the clime Of those Molossoi: and he rules as well O'er the Aigaian, up to Pelion's shore, — Sea-stretch without a port! Such lord have we: And here he opens house now, as of old, Takes to the heart of it a guest again: Though moist the eyelid of the master, still Mourning his dear wife's body, dead but now!"

And they admired: nobility of soul Was self-impelled to reverence, they saw: The best men ever prove the wisest too: Something instinctive guides them still aright. And on each soul this boldness settled now, That one, who reverenced the Gods so much Would prosper yet: (or — I could wish it ran — Who venerates the Gods i' the main, will still Practise things honest though obscure to judge.)

They ended, for Admetos entered now; Having disposed all duteously indoors, He came into the outside world again, Quiet as ever: but a quietude Bent on pursuing its descent to truth, As who must grope until he gain the ground O' the dungeon doomed to be his dwelling now. Already high o'er head was piled the dusk, When something pushed to stay his downward step, Pluck back despair just reaching its repose. He would have bidden the kind presence there Observe that, — since the corpse was coming out, Cared for in all things that befit the case, Carried aloft, in decency and state, To the last burial place and burning pile, — 'T were proper friends addressed, as custom prompts, Alkestis bound on her last journeying.

"Ay, for we see thy father," they subjoined, "Advancing as the aged foot best may; His servants, too: each bringing in his hand Adornments for thy wife, all pomp that's due To the downward-dwelling people." And in truth, By slow procession till they filled the stage, Came Pheres, and his following, and their gifts. You see, the worst of the interruption was, It plucked back, with an over-hasty hand, Admetos from descending to the truth, (I told you) — put him on the brink again, Full i' the noise and glare where late he stood: With no fate fallen and irrevocable, But all things subject still to chance and change: And that chance, — life, and that change, — happiness. And with the low strife came the little mind: He was once more the man might gain so much, Life too and wife too, would his friends but help! All he felt now was, that there faced him one Supposed the likeliest, in emergency. To help: and help, by mere self-sacrifice So natural, it seemed as if the sire Must needs lie open still to argument, Withdraw the rash decision, not to die But rather live, though death would save his son: — Argument like the ignominious grasp O' the drowner whom his fellow grasps as fierce, Each marvelling that the other needs must hold Head out of water, though friend choke thereby.

And first the father's salutation fell. Burthened, he came, in common with his child, Who lost, none would gainsay, a good chaste spouse: Yet such things must be borne, though hard to bear. "So, take this tribute of adornment, deep In the earth let it descend along with her! Behoves we treat the body with respect — Of one who died, at least, to save thy life, Kept me from being childless, nor allowed That I, bereft of thee, should peak and pine In melancholy age; she, for the sex, All of her sisters, put in evidence, By daring such a feat, that female life Might prove more excellent than men suppose. O thou Alkestis!" out he burst in fine, "Who, while thou savedst this my son, didst raise Also myself from sinking, — hail to thee! Well be it with thee even in the house Of Hades! I maintain, if mortals must Marry, this sort of marriage is the sole Permitted those among them who are wise!"

So his oration ended. Like hates like: Accordingly Admetos, — full i' the face Of Pheres, his true father, outward shape And inward fashion, body matching soul, — Saw just himself when years should do their work And reinforce the selfishness inside Until it pushed the last disguise away: As when the liquid metal cools i' the mould, Stands forth a statue: bloodless, hard, cold bronze. So, in old Pheres, young Admetos showed, Pushed to completion: and a shudder ran, And his repugnance soon had vent in speech: Glad to escape outside, nor, pent within, Find itself there fit food for exercise.

"Neither to this interment called by me Comest thou, nor thy presence I account Among the covetable proofs of love. As for thy tribute of adornment, — no! Ne'er shall she don it, ne'er in debt to thee Be buried! What is thine, that keep thou still! Then it behoved thee to commiserate When I was perishing: but thou, who stood'st Foot-free o' the snare, wast acquiescent then That I, the young, should die, not thou, the old — Wilt thou lament this corpse thyself hast slain? Thou wast not, then, true father to this flesh; Nor she, who makes profession of my birth And styles herself my mother, neither she Bore me: but, come of slave's blood, I was cast Stealthily 'neath the bosom of thy wife! Thou showedst, put to touch, the thing thou art, Nor I esteem myself born child of thee! Otherwise, thine is the preeminence O'er all the world in cowardice of soul: Who, being the old man thou art, arrived Where life should end, didst neither will nor dare Die for thy son, but left the task to her, The alien woman, whom I well might think Own, only mother both and father too! And yet a fair strife had been thine to strive, — Dying for thy own child; and brief for thee In any case, the rest of time to live; While I had lived, and she, our rest of time, Nor I been left to groan in solitude. Yet certainly all things which happy man Ought to experience, thy experience grasped. Thou wast a ruler through the bloom of youth, And I was son to thee, recipient due Of sceptre and demesne, — no need to fear That dying thou should'st leave an orphan house For strangers to despoil. Nor yet wilt thou Allege that as dishonouring, forsooth, Thy length of days, I gave thee up to die, — I, who have held thee in such reverence! And in exchange for it, such gratitude Thou, father, — thou award'st me, mother mine! Go, lose no time, then, in begetting sons Shall cherish thee in age, and, when thou diest, Deck up and lay thee out, as corpses claim! For never I, at least, with this my hand Will bury thee: it is myself am dead So far as lies in thee. But if I light Upon another saviour, and still see The sunbeam, — his, the child I call myself, His, the old age that claims my cherishing. How vainly do these aged pray for death, Abuse the slow drag of senility! But should death step up, nobody inclines To die, nor age is now the weight it was!"

You see what all this poor pretentious talk Tried at, — how weakness strove to hide itself In bluster against weakness, — the loud word To hide the little whisper, not so low Already in that heart beneath those lips! Ha, could it be, who hated cowardice Stood confessed craven, and who lauded so Self-immolating love, himself had pushed The loved one to the altar in his place? Friends interposed, would fain stop further play O' the sharp-edged tongue: they felt love's champion here Had left an undefended point or two. The antagonist might profit by; bade "Pause! Enough the present sorrow! Nor, O son, Whet thus against thyself thy father's soul!"

Ay, but old Pheres was the stouter stuff! Admetos, at the flintiest of the heart, Had so much soft in him as held a fire: The other was all iron, clashed from flint Its fire, but shed no spark and showed no bruise. Did Pheres crave instruction as to facts? He came, content, the ignoble word, for him, Should lurk still in the blackness of each breast, As sleeps the water-serpent half-surmised: Not brought up to the surface at a bound, By one touch of the idly-probing spear, Reed-like against the unconquerable scale. He came pacific, rather, as strength should, Bringing the decent praise, the due regret, And each banality prescribed of old. Did he commence "Why let her die for you?" And rouse the coiled and quiet ugliness "What is so good to man as man's own life?" No: but the other did: and, for his pains, Out, full in face of him, the venom leapt.

"And whom dost thou make bold, son — Ludian slave, Or Phrugian whether, money made thy ware. To drive at with revilings? Know'st thou not I, a Thessalian, from Thessalian sire Spring and am born legitimately free? Too arrogant art thou; and, youngster-words Casting against me, having had thy fling, Thou goest not off as all were ended so! I gave thee birth indeed and mastership I' the mansion, brought thee up to boot: there ends My owing, nor extends to die for thee! Never did I receive it as a law Hereditary, no, nor Greek at all, That sires in place of sons were bound to die. For to thy sole and single self wast thou Born, with whatever fortune, good or bad; Such things as bear bestowment, those thou hast; Already ruling widely, broad lands, too, Doubt not but I shall leave thee in due time: For why? My father left me them before. Well then, where wrong I thee? — of what defraud? Neither do thou die for this man, myself, Nor let him die for thee! — is all I beg. Thou joyest seeing daylight: dost suppose Thy father joys not too? Undoubtedly, Long I account the time to pass below, And brief my span of days; yet sweet the same: Is it otherwise to thee who, impudent, Didst fight off this same death, and livest now Through having sneaked past fate apportioned thee, And slain thy wife so? Cryest cowardice On me, I wonder, thou — the poor poltroon A very woman worsted, daring death Just for the sake of thee, her handsome spark? Shrewdly hast thou contrived how not to die For evermore now: 't is but still persuade The wife, for the time being, to take thy place! What, and thy friends who would not do the like These dost thou carp at, craven thus thyself? Crouch and be silent, craven! Comprehend That, if thou lovest so that life of thine, Why, everybody loves his own life too: So, good words, henceforth! If thou speak us ill, Many and true an ill thing shalt thou hear!"

There you saw leap the hydra at full length! Only, the old kept glorying the more, The more the portent thus uncoiled itself, Whereas the young man shuddered head to foot, And shrank from kinship with the creature. Why Such horror, unless what he hated most, Vaunting itself outside, might fairly claim Acquaintance with the counterpart at home? I would the Chorus here had plucked up heart, Spoken out boldly and explained the man, If not to men, to Gods. That way, I think, Sophokles would have led their dance and song. Here, they said simply "Too much evil spoke On both sides!" As the young before, so now They bade the old man leave abusing thus.

"Let him speak, — I have spoken!" said the youth: And so died out the wrangle by degrees, In wretched bickering. "If thou wince at fact, Behoved thee not prove faulty to myself!"

"Had I died for thee I had faulted more!"

"All's one, then, for youth's bloom and age to die?"

"Our duty is to live one life, not two!"

"Go then, and outlive Zeus, for aught I care!"

"What, curse thy parents with no sort of cause?"

"Curse, truly! All thou lovest is long life!"

"And dost not thou, too, all for love of life,

Carry out now, in place of thine, this corpse?"

"Monument, rather, of thy cowardice. Thou worst one!"

"Not for me she died, I hope! That, thou wilt hardly say!"

"No; simply this: Would, some day, thou may'st come to need myself!"

"Meanwhile, woo many wives — the more will die!"

"And so shame thee who never dared the like!"

"Dear is this light o' the sun-god — dear, I say!"

"Proper conclusion for a beast to draw!"

"One thing is certain: there's no laughing now, As out thou bearest the poor dead old man!"

"Die when thou wilt, thou wilt die infamous!"

"And once dead, whether famed or infamous, I shall not care!"

"Alas and yet again! How full is age of impudency!"

"True! Thou could'st not call thy young wife impudent: She was found foolish merely."

"Get thee gone! And let me bury this my dead!"

"I go. Thou buriest her whom thou didst murder first; Whereof there's some account to render yet Those kinsfolk by the marriage-side! I think, Brother Akastos may be classed with me, Among the beasts, not men, if he omit Avenging upon thee his sister's blood!"

"Go to perdition, with thy housemate too! Grow old all childlessly, with child alive, Just as ye merit! for to me at least, Beneath the same roof ne'er do ye return. And did I need by heralds' help renounce The ancestral hearth, I had renounced the same! But we — since this woe, lying at our feet I' the path, is to be borne — let us proceed And lay the body on the pyre."

I think, What, thro' this wretched wrangle, kept the man From seeing clear — beside the cause I gave — Was, that the woe, himself described as full I' the path before him, there did really lie — Not roll into the abyss of dead and gone. How, with Alkestis present, calmly crowned, Was she so irrecoverable yet — The bird, escaped, that's just on bough above. The flower, let flutter half-way down the brink? Not so detached seemed lifelessness from life But — one dear stretch beyond all straining yet — And he might have her at his heart once more, When, in the critical minute, up there comes The father and the fact, to trifle time! "To the pyre!" an instinct prompted: pallid face, And passive arm and pointed foot, O friends, — When these no longer shall absorb the sight, Admetos will begin to see indeed Who the true foe was, where the blows should fall!

So, the old selfish Pheres went his way, Case-hardened as he came; and left the youth, (Only half selfish now, since sensitive) To go on learning by a light the more, As friends moved off, renewing dirge the while: "Unhappy in thy daring! Noble dame, Best of the good, farewell! With favouring face May Hermes the infernal, Hades too, Receive thee! And if there, — ay, there, — some touch Of further dignity await the good, Sharing with them, may'st thou sit throned by her The Bride of Hades, in companionship!"

Wherewith, the sad procession wound away, Made slowly for the suburb sepulchre. And lo, — while still one's heart, in time and tune, Paced after that symmetric step of Death Mute-marching, to the mind's eye, at the head O' the mourners — one hand pointing out their path With the long pale terrific sword we saw, The other leading, with grim tender grace, Alkestis quieted and consecrate, — Lo, life again knocked laughing at the door! The world goes on, goes ever, in and through, And out again o' the cloud. We faced about, Fronted the palace where the mid-hall-door Opened — not half, nor half of half, perhaps — Yet wide enough to let out light and life, And warmth, and bounty, and hope, and joy, at once. Festivity burst wide, fruit rare and ripe Crushed in the mouth of Bacchos, pulpy-prime, All juice and flavour, save one single seed Duly ejected from the God's nice lip, Which lay o' the red edge, blackly visible — To wit, a certain ancient servitor: On whom the festal jaws o' the palace shut, So, there he stood, a much-bewildered man. Stupid? Nay, but sagacious in a sort: Learned, life-long, i' the first outside of things, Though bat for blindness to what lies beneath And needs a nail-scratch ere 't is laid you bare. This functionary was the trusted one We saw deputed by Admetos late To lead in Herakles and help him, soul And body, to such snatched repose, snapped-up Sustainment, as might do away the dust O' the last encounter, knit each nerve anew For that next onset sure to come at cry O' the creature next assailed, — nay, should it prove Only the creature that came forward now To play the critic upon Herakles!

"Many the guests" — so he soliloquized In musings burdensome to breast before, When it seemed not too prudent, tongue should wag — "Many, and from all quarters of this world, The guests I now have known frequent our house, For whom I spread the banquet; but than this, Never a worse one did I yet receive At the hearth here! One who seeing, first of all, The master's sorrow, entered gate the same, And had the hardihood to house himself. Did things stop there! But, modest by no means, He took what entertainment lay to hand, Knowing of our misfortune, — did we fail In aught of the fit service, urged us serve Just as a guest expects! And in his hands Taking the ivied goblet, drinks and drinks The unmixed product of black mother-earth, Until the blaze o' the wine went round about And warmed him: then he crowns with myrtle sprigs His head, and howls discordance — two-fold lay Was thereupon for us to listen to — This fellow singing, namely, nor restrained A jot by sympathy with sorrows here — While we o' the household mourned our mistress — mourned, That is to say, in silence — never showed The eyes, which we kept wetting, to the guest — For there Admetos was imperative. And so, here am I helping make at home A guest, some fellow ripe for wickedness, Robber or pirate, while she goes her way Out of our house: and neither was it mine To follow in procession, nor stretch forth Hand, wave my lady dear a last farewell, Lamenting who to me and all of us Domestics was a mother: myriad harms She used to ward away from every one, And mollify her husband's ireful mood. I ask then, do I justly hate or no This guest, this interloper on our grief?"

"Hate him and justly!" Here's the proper judge Of what is due to the house from Herakles! This man of much experience saw the first O' the feeble duckings-down at destiny, When King Admetos went his rounds, poor soul, A-begging somebody to be so brave As die for one afraid to die himself — "Thou, friend? Thou, love? Father or mother, then! None of you? What, Alkestis must Death catch? O best of wives, one woman in the world! But nowise droop: our prayers may still assist: Let us try sacrifice; if those avail Nothing and Gods avert their countenance, Why, deep and durable the grief will be!" AVhereat the house, this worthy at its head, Re-echoed "deep and durable our grief!" This sage, who justly hated Herakles, Did he suggest once "Rather I than she!" Admonish the Turannos — "Be a man! Bear thine own burden, never think to thrust Thy fate upon another, and thy wife! It were a dubious gain could death be doomed That other, yet no passionatest plea Of thine, to die instead, have force with fate; Seeing thou lov'st Alkestis: what were life Unlighted by the loved one? But to live — Not merely live unsolaced by some thought, Some word so poor — yet solace all the same — As 'Thou i' the sepulchre, Alkestis, say! Would I, or would not I, to save thy life, Die, and die on, and die for ever more?' No! but to read red-written up and down The world 'This is the sunshine, this the shade, This is some pleasure of earth, sky or sea, Due to that other, dead that thou may'st live!' Such were a covetable gain to thee? Go die, fool, and be happy while 't is time!" One word of counsel in this kind, methinks, Had fallen to better purpose than Ai, ai, Pheu, pheu, e, papai, and a pother of praise O' the best, best, best one! Nothing was to hate In king Admetos, Pheres, and the rest O' the household down to his heroic self! This was the one thing hateful: Herakles Had flung into the presence, frank and free, Out from the labour into the repose, Ere out again and over head and ears I' the heart of labour, all for love of men: Making the most o' the minute, that the soul And body, strained to height a minute since, Might lie relaxed in joy, this breathing-space, For man's sake more than ever; till the bow, Restrung o' the sudden, at first cry for help, Should send some unimaginable shaft True to the aim and shatteringly through The plate-mail of a monster, save man so. He slew the pest o' the marish yesterday: To-morrow he would bit the flame-breathed stud That fed on man's-flesh: and this day between — Because he held it natural to die, And fruitless to lament a thing past cure, So, took his fill of food, wine, song and flowers, Till the new labour claimed him soon enough, — "Hate him and justly!"

True, Charopé mine! The man surmised not Herakles lay hid I' the guest; or knowing it, was ignorant That still his lady lived — for Herakles; Or else judged lightness needs must indicate This or the other caitiff quality: And therefore — had been right if not so wrong! For who expects the sort of him will scratch A nail's depth, scrape the surface just to see What peradventure underlies the same?