No More Learning

I have told thee now. I have taught thee. After this
Eat, drink, make thyself merry. Count the bliss
Of the one passing hour thine own; the rest
Is Fortune's. And give honour chiefliest
To our lady Cypris, giver of all joys
To man. 'Tis a sweet goddess. Otherwise,
Let all these questions sleep and just obey
My counsel. . . . Thou believest all I say?
I hope so. . . . Let this stupid grieving be;
Rise up above thy troubles, and with me
Drink in a cloud of blossoms. By my soul,
I vow the sweet plash-music of the bowl
Will break thy glumness, loose thee from the frown
Within. Let mortal man keep to his own
Mortality, and not expect too much.
To all your solemn dogs and other such
Scowlers--I tell thee truth, no more nor less--
Life is not life, but just unhappiness.

[_He offers the wine-bowl to the_ SERVANT, _who avoids it_. ]

SERVANT.
We know all this. But now our fortunes be
Not such as ask for mirth or revelry.

HERACLES.
A woman dead, of no one's kin; why grieve
So much? Thy master and thy mistress live.

SERVANT.
Live? Man, hast thou heard nothing of our woe?

HERACLES.
Yes, thy lord told me all I need to know.

SERVANT.
He is too kind to his guests, more kind than wise.

HERACLES.
Must I go starved because some stranger dies?

SERVANT.
Some stranger? --Yes, a stranger verily!

HERACLES (_his manner beginning to change_).
Is this some real grief he hath hid from me?

SERVANT.
Go, drink, man! Leave to us our master's woes.

HERACLES.
It sounds not like a stranger. Yet, God knows. . .

SERVANT.
How should thy revelling hurt, if that were all?

HERACLES.
Hath mine own friend so wronged me in his hall?

SERVANT.
Thou camest at an hour when none was free
To accept thee. We were mourning. Thou canst see
Our hair, black robes. . .

HERACLES (_suddenly, in a voice of thunder_).
Who is it that is dead?

SERVANT.
Alcestis, the King's wife.

HERACLES (_overcome_).
What hast thou said?
Alcestis? . . . And ye feasted me withal!

SERVANT.
He held it shame to turn thee from his hall.

HERACLES.
Shame! And when such a wondrous wife was gone!

SERVANT (_breaking into tears_).
Oh, all is gone, all lost, not she alone!

HERACLES.
I knew, I felt it, when I saw his tears,
And face, and shorn hair. But he won mine ears
With talk of the strange woman and her rite
Of burial. So in mine own heart's despite
I crossed his threshold and sat drinking--he
And I old friends! --in his calamity.
Drank, and sang songs, and revelled, my head hot
With wine and flowers! . . . And thou to tell me not,
When all the house lay filled with sorrow, thou!
(_A pause; then suddenly_)
Where lies the tomb? --Where shall I find her now?

SERVANT (_frightened_).
Close by the straight Larissa road. The tall
White marble showeth from the castle wall.

HERACLES.
O heart, O hand, great doings have ye done
Of old: up now, and show them what a son
Took life that hour, when she of Tiryns' sod,
Electryon's daughter, mingled with her God!
I needs must save this woman from the shore
Of death and set her in her house once more,
Repaying Admetus' love. . . . This Death, this black
And winged Lord of corpses, I will track
Home. I shall surely find him by the grave
A-hungered, lapping the hot blood they gave
In sacrifice. An ambush: then, one spring,
One grip! These arms shall be a brazen ring,
With no escape, no rest, howe'er he whine
And curse his mauled ribs, till the Queen is mine!
Or if he escape me, if he come not there
To seek the blood of offering, I will fare
Down to the Houses without Light, and bring
To Her we name not and her nameless King
Strong prayers, until they yield to me and send
Alcestis home, to life and to my friend:
Who gave me shelter, drove me not away
In his great grief, but hid his evil day
Like a brave man, because he loved me well.
Is one in all this land more hospitable,
One in all Greece? I swear no man shall say
He hath cast his love upon a churl away!

[_He goes forth, just as he is, in the direction of the grave.
The_ SERVANT _watches a moment and goes back into the hall. _]

[_The stage is empty; then_ ADMETUS _and the_ CHORUS
_return. _]

ADMETUS.
Alas!
Bitter the homeward way,
Bitter to seek
A widowed house; ah me,
Where should I fly or stay,
Be dumb or speak?
Would I could cease to be!

Despair, despair!
My mother bore me under an evil star.
I envy them that are perished; my heart is there.
It dwells in the Sunless Houses, afar, afar.

I take no joy in looking upon the light;
No joy in the feel of the earth beneath my tread.
The Slayer hath taken his hostage; the Lord of the Dead
Holdeth me sworn to taste no more delight.

[_He throws himself on the ground in despair. _]

CHORUS.
[_Each member of the_ CHORUS _speaks his line severally, as he
passes_ ADMETUS, _who is heard sobbing at the end of each line. _]

--Advance, advance;
Till the house shall give thee cover.
--Thou hast borne heavy things
And meet for lamentation.
--Thou hast passed, hast passed,
Thro' the deepest of the River.
--Yet no help comes
To the sad and silent nation.
--And the face of thy beloved, it shall meet thee never, never!

ADMETUS.
Ye wrench my wounds asunder. Where
Is grief like mine, whose wife is dead?
My wife, whom would I ne'er had wed,
Nor loved, nor held my house with her. . . .

Blessed are they who dare to dwell
Unloved of woman! 'Tis but one
Heart that they bleed with, and alone
Can bear their one life's burden well.

No young shall wither at their side,
No bridal room be swept by death. . . .
Aye, better man should draw his breath
For ever without child or bride.

CHORUS (_as before_).
--'Tis Fate, 'tis Fate:
She is strong and none shall break her.
--No end, no end,
Wilt thou lay to lamentations?
--Endure and be still:
Thy lamenting will not wake her.
--There be many before thee,
Who have suffered and had patience.
--Though the face of Sorrow changeth, yet her hand is on all nations.

ADMETUS.
The garb of tears, the mourner's cry:
Then the long ache when tears are past! . . .
Oh, why didst hinder me to cast
This body to the dust and die
With her, the faithful and the brave?
Then not one lonely soul had fled,
But two great lovers, proudly dead,
Through the deep waters of the grave.

LEADER.
A friend I knew,
In whose house died a son,
Worthy of bitter rue,
His only one.
His head sank, yet he bare
Stilly his weight of care,
Though grey was in his hair
And life nigh done.

ADMETUS.
Ye shapes that front me, wall and gate,
How shall I enter in and dwell
Among ye, with all Fortune's spell
Dischanted? Aye, the change is great.

That day I strode with bridal song
Through lifted brands of Pelian pine;
A hand beloved lay in mine;
And loud behind a revelling throng

Exalted me and her, the dead.
They called us young, high-hearted; told
How princes were our sires of old,
And how we loved and we must wed. . . .

For those high songs, lo, men that moan,
And raiment black where once was white;
Who guide me homeward in the night,
On that waste bed to lie alone.

SECOND ELDER.
It breaks, like strife,
Thy long peace, where no pain
Had entered; yet is life,
Sweet life, not slain.
A wife dead; a dear chair
Empty: is that so rare?
Men live without despair
Whose loves are ta'en.

ADMETUS (_erect and facing them_).
Behold, I count my wife's fate happier,
Though all gainsay me, than mine own. To her
Comes no more pain for ever; she hath rest
And peace from all toil, and her name is blest.
But I am one who hath no right to stay
Alive on earth; one that hath lost his way
In fate, and strays in dreams of life long past. . . .
Friends, I have learned my lesson at the last.
I have my life. Here stands my house. But now
How dare I enter in? Or, entered, how
Go forth again? Go forth, when none is there
To give me a parting word, and I to her? . . .
Where shall I turn for refuge? There within,
The desert that remains where she hath been
Will drive me forth, the bed, the empty seat
She sat in; nay, the floor beneath my feet
Unswept, the children crying at my knee
For mother; and the very thralls will be
In sobs for the dear mistress that is lost.
That is my home! If I go forth, a host
Of feasts and bridal dances, gatherings gay
Of women, will be there to fright me away
To loneliness. Mine eyes will never bear
The sight. They were her friends; they played with her.
And always, always, men who hate my name
Will murmur: "This is he who lives in shame
Because he dared not die! He gave instead
The woman whom he loved, and so is fled
From death. He counts himself a man withal!
And seeing his parents died not at his call
He hates them, when himself he dared not die! "
Such mocking beside all my pain shall I
Endure. . . . What profit was it to live on,
Friend, with my grief kept and mine honour gone?

CHORUS.
I have sojourned in the Muse's land,
Have wandered with the wandering star,
Seeking for strength, and in my hand
Held all philosophies that are;
Yet nothing could I hear nor see
Stronger than That Which Needs Must Be.
No Orphic rune, no Thracian scroll,
Hath magic to avert the morrow;
No healing all those medicines brave
Apollo to the Asclepiad gave;
Pale herbs of comfort in the bowl
Of man's wide sorrow.
She hath no temple, she alone,
Nor image where a man may kneel;
No blood upon her altar-stone
Crying shall make her hear nor feel.
I know thy greatness; come not great
Beyond my dreams, O Power of Fate!
Aye, Zeus himself shall not unclose
His purpose save by thy decerning.
The chain of iron, the Scythian sword,
It yields and shivers at thy word;
Thy heart is as the rock, and knows
No ruth, nor turning.

[_They turn to_ ADMETUS. ]

Her hand hath caught thee; yea, the keeping
Of iron fingers grips thee round.
Be still. Be still. Thy noise of weeping
Shall raise no lost one from the ground.
Nay, even the Sons of God are parted
At last from joy, and pine in death. . . .
Oh, dear on earth when all did love her,
Oh, dearer lost beyond recover:
Of women all the bravest-hearted
Hath pressed thy lips and breathed thy breath.

Let not the earth that lies upon her
Be deemed a grave-mound of the dead.
Let honour, as the Gods have honour,
Be hers, till men shall bow the head,
And strangers, climbing from the city
Her slanting path, shall muse and say:
"This woman died to save her lover,
And liveth blest, the stars above her:
Hail, Holy One, and grant thy pity! "
So pass the wondering words away.

LEADER.
But see, it is Alcmena's son once more,
My lord King, cometh striding to thy door.

[_Enter_ HERACLES; _his dress is as in the last scene, but shows
signs of a struggle. Behind come two Attendants, guiding between them a
veiled Woman, who seems like one asleep or unconscious. The Woman remains
in the background while_ HERACLES _comes forward. _]

HERACLES.
Thou art my friend, Admetus; therefore bold
And plain I tell my story, and withhold
No secret hurt. --Was I not worthy, friend,
To stand beside thee; yea, and to the end
Be proven in sorrow if I was true to thee?
And thou didst tell me not a word, while she
Lay dead within; but bid me feast, as though
Naught but the draping of some stranger's woe
Was on thee. So I garlanded my brow
And poured the gods drink-offering, and but now
Filled thy death-stricken house with wine and song.
Thou hast done me wrong, my brother; a great wrong
Thou hast done me. But I will not add more pain
In thine affliction.
Why I am here again,
Returning, thou must hear. I pray thee, take
And keep yon woman for me till I make
My homeward way from Thrace, when I have ta'en
Those four steeds and their bloody master slain.
And if--which heaven avert! --I ne'er should see
Hellas again, I leave her here, to be
An handmaid in thy house. No labour small
Was it that brought her to my hand at all.
I fell upon a contest certain Kings
Had set for all mankind, sore buffetings
And meet for strong men, where I staked my life
And won this woman. For the easier strife
Black steeds were prizes; herds of kine were cast
For heavier issues, fists and wrestling; last,
This woman. . . . Lest my work should all seem done
For naught, I needs must keep what I have won;
So prithee take her in. No theft, but true
Toil, won her. . . . Some day thou mayst thank me, too.

ADMETUS.
'Twas in no scorn, no bitterness to thee,
I hid my wife's death and my misery.
Methought it was but added pain on pain
If thou shouldst leave me, and roam forth again
Seeking another's roof. And, for mine own
Sorrow, I was content to weep alone.
But, for this damsel, if it may be so,
I pray thee, Lord, let some man, not in woe
Like mine, take her. Thou hast in Thessaly
Abundant friends. . . . 'Twould wake sad thoughts in me.
How could I have this damsel in my sight
And keep mine eyes dry? Prince, why wilt thou smite
The smitten? Griefs enough are on my head.
Where in my castle could so young a maid
Be lodged--her veil and raiment show her young:
Here, in the men's hall? I should fear some wrong.
'Tis not so easy, Prince, to keep controlled
My young men. And thy charge I fain would hold
Sacred. --If not, wouldst have me keep her in
The women's chambers . . . where my dead hath been?
How could I lay this woman where my bride
Once lay? It were dishonour double-dyed.
These streets would curse the man who so betrayed
The wife who saved him for some younger maid;
The dead herself . . . I needs must worship her
And keep her will.

[_During the last few lines_ ADMETUS _has been looking at the
veiled Woman and, though he does not consciously recognize her,
feels a strange emotion overmastering him. He draws back. _]


Aye. I must walk with care. . . .
O woman, whosoe'er thou art, thou hast
The shape of my Alcestis; thou art cast
In mould like hers. . . . Oh, take her from mine eyes!
In God's name!

[HERACLES _signs to the Attendants to take_ ALCESTIS _away again.
She stays veiled and unnoticing in the background. _]

I was fallen, and in this wise
Thou wilt make me deeper fall. . . . Meseems, meseems,
There in her face the loved one of my dreams
Looked forth. --My heart is made a turbid thing,
Craving I know not what, and my tears spring
Unbidden. --Grief I knew 'twould be; but how
Fiery a grief I never knew till now.

LEADER.
Thy fate I praise not. Yet, what gift soe'er
God giveth, man must steel himself and bear.

HERACLES (_drawing_ ADMETUS _on_).
Would God, I had the power, 'mid all this might
Of arm, to break the dungeons of the night,
And free thy wife, and make thee glad again!

ADMETUS.
Where is such power? I know thy heart were fain;
But so 'tis writ. The dead shall never rise.

HERACLES.
Chafe not the curb, then: suffer and be wise.

ADMETUS.
Easier to give such counsel than to keep.

HERACLES.
Who will be happier, shouldst thou always weep?

ADMETUS.
Why, none. Yet some blind longing draws me on. . .

HERACLES.
'Tis natural. Thou didst love her that is gone.

ADMETUS.
'Tis that hath wrecked, oh more than wrecked, my life.

HERACLES.
'Tis certain: thou hast lost a faithful wife.

ADMETUS.
Till life itself is dead and wearies me.

HERACLES.
Thy pain is yet young. Time will soften thee,

[_The veiled Woman begins dimly, as though in a dream, to hear the words
spoken. _]

ADMETUS.
Time? Yes, if time be death.

HERACLES.
Nay, wait; and some
Woman, some new desire of love, will come.

ADMETUS (_indignantly_).
Peace!
How canst thou? Shame upon thee!

HERACLES.
Thou wilt stay
Unwed for ever, lonely night and day?

ADMETUS.
No other bride in these void arms shall lie.

HERACLES.
What profit will thy dead wife gain thereby?

ADMETUS.
Honour; which finds her wheresoe'er she lies.

HERACLES.
Most honourable in thee: but scarcely wise!

ADMETUS.
God curse me, if I betray her in her tomb!

HERACLES.
So be it! . . .
And this good damsel, thou wilt take her home?

ADMETUS.
No, in the name of Zeus, thy father! No!

HERACLES.
I swear, 'tis not well to reject her so.

ADMETUS.
'Twould tear my heart to accept her.

HERACLES.
Grant me, friend,
This one boon! It may help thee in the end.

ADMETUS.
Woe's me!
Would God thou hadst never won those victories!

HERACLES.
Thou sharest both the victory and the prize.

ADMETUS.
Thou art generous. . . . But now let her go.

HERACLES.
She shall,
If go she must. Look first, and judge withal.

[_He takes the veil off_ ALCESTIS. ]

ADMETUS (_steadily refusing to look_).
She must. --And thou, forgive me!

HERACLES.
Friend, there is
A secret reason why I pray for this.

ADMETUS (_surprised, then reluctantly yielding_).
I grant thy boon then--though it likes me ill.

HERACLES.
'Twill like thee later. Now . . . but do my will.

ADMETUS (_beckoning to an Attendant_).
Take her; find her some lodging in my hall.

HERACLES.
I will not yield this maid to any thrall.

ADMETUS.
Take her thyself and lead her in.

HERACLES.
I stand
Beside her; take her; lead her to thy hand.