No More Learning

. some Lydian thrall,
Or Phrygian, bought with cash? . . . to affright withal
By cursing? I am a Thessalian, free,
My father a born chief of Thessaly;
And thou most insolent. Yet think not so
To fling thy loud lewd words at me and go.
I got thee to succeed me in my hall,
I have fed thee, clad thee. But I have no call
To die for thee. Not in our family,
Not in all Greece, doth law bid fathers die
To save their sons. Thy road of life is thine
None other's, to rejoice at or repine.
All that was owed to thee by us is paid.
My throne is thine. My broad lands shall be made
Thine, as I had them from my father. . . . Say,
How have I wronged thee? What have I kept away?
"Not died for thee? ". . . I ask not thee to die.
Thou lovest this light: shall I not love it, I? . . .
'Tis age on age there, in the dark; and here
My sunlit time is short, but dear; but dear.
Thou hast fought hard enough. Thou drawest breath
Even now, long past thy portioned hour of death,
By murdering her . . . and blamest my faint heart,
Coward, who hast let a woman play thy part
And die to save her pretty soldier! Aye,
A good plan, surely! Thou needst never die;
Thou canst find alway somewhere some fond wife
To die for thee. But, prithee, make not strife
With other friends, who will not save thee so.
Be silent, loving thine own life, and know
All men love theirs! . . . Taunt others, and thou too
Shalt hear much that is bitter, and is true.

LEADER.
Too much of wrath before, too much hath run
After. Old man, cease to revile thy son.

ADMETUS.
Speak on. I have spoken. . . . If my truth of tongue
Gives pain to thee, why didst thou do me wrong?

PHERES.
Wrong? To have died for thee were far more wrong.

ADMETUS.
How can an old life weigh against a young?

PHERES.
Man hath but one, not two lives, to his use.

ADMETUS.
Oh, live on; live, and grow more old than Zeus!

PHERES.
Because none wrongs thee, thou must curse thy sire?

ADMETUS.
I blest him. Is not life his one desire?

PHERES.
This dead, methinks, is lying in _thy_ place.

ADMETUS.
A proof, old traitor, of thy cowardliness!

PHERES.
Died she through me? . . . That thou wilt hardly say.

ADMETUS (_almost breaking down_).
O God!
Mayst thou but feel the need of me some day!

PHERES.
Go forward; woo more wives that more may die.

ADMETUS.
As thou wouldst not! Thine is the infamy.

PHERES.
This light of heaven is sweet, and sweet again.

ADMETUS.
Thy heart is foul. A thing unmeet for men.

PHERES.
Thou laugh'st not yet across the old man's tomb.

ADMETUS.
Dishonoured thou shalt die when death shall come.

PHERES.
Once dead, I shall not care what tales are told.

ADMETUS.
Great Gods, so lost to honour and so old!

PHERES.
She was not lost to honour: she was blind.

ADMETUS.
Go! Leave me with my dead. . . . Out from my mind!

PHERES.
I go. Bury the woman thou hast slain. . . .
Her kinsmen yet may come to thee with plain
Question. Acastus hath small place in good
Men, if he care not for his sister's blood.

[PHERES _goes off, with his Attendants_. ADMETUS _calls after him
as he goes. _]

ADMETUS.
Begone, begone, thou and thy bitter mate!
Be old and childless--ye have earned your fate--
While your son lives! For never shall ye be
From henceforth under the same roof with me. . . .
Must I send heralds and a trumpet's call
To abjure thy blood? Fear not, I will send them all. . . .

[PHERES _is now out of sight;_ ADMETUS _drops his defiance and
seems like a broken man. _]

But we--our sorrow is upon us; come
With me, and let us bear her to the tomb.

CHORUS.
Ah me!
Farewell, unfalteringly brave!
Farewell, thou generous heart and true!
May Pluto give thee welcome due,
And Hermes love thee in the grave.
Whate'er of blessed life there be
For high souls to the darkness flown,
Be thine for ever, and a throne
Beside the crowned Persephone.

[_The funeral procession has formed and moves slowly out, followed
by_ ADMETUS _and the_ CHORUS. _The stage is left empty, till a
side door of the Castle opens and there comes out a_ SERVANT, _angry
and almost in tears. _]

SERVANT.
Full many a stranger and from many a land
Hath lodged in this old castle, and my hand
Served them; but never has there passed this way
A scurvier ruffian than our guest to-day.
He saw my master's grief, but all the more
In he must come, and shoulders through the door.
And after, think you he would mannerly
Take what was set before him? No, not he!
If, on this day of trouble, we left out
Some small thing, he must have it with a shout.
Up, in both hands, our vat of ivy-wood
He raised, and drank the dark grape's burning blood,
Strong and untempered, till the fire was red
Within him; then put myrtle round his head
And roared some noisy song. So had we there
Discordant music. He, without a care
For all the affliction of Admetus' halls,
Sang on; and, listening, one could hear the thralls
In the long gallery weeping for the dead.
We let him see no tears. Our master made
That order, that the stranger must not know.
So here I wait in her own house, and do
Service to some black thief, some man of prey;
And she has gone, has gone for ever away.
I never followed her, nor lifted high
My hand to bless her; never said good-bye. . . .
I loved her like my mother. So did all
The slaves. She never let his anger fall
Too hard. She saved us alway. . . . And this wild beast
Comes in our sorrow when we need him least!

[_During the last few lines_ HERACLES _has entered, unperceived by
the_ SERVANT. _He has evidently bathed and changed his garments and
drunk his fill, and is now revelling, a garland of flowers on his head. He
frightens the_ SERVANT _a little from time to time during the
following speech. _]

HERACLES.
Friend, why so solemn and so cranky-eyed?
'Tis not a henchman's office, to show pride
To his betters. He should smile and make good cheer.
There comes a guest, thy lord's old comrade, here;
And thou art all knitted eyebrows, scowls and head
Bent, because somebody, forsooth, is dead!
Come close! I mean to make thee wiser.

[_The_ SERVANT _reluctantly comes close. _]

So.
Dost comprehend things mortal, how they grow? . . .
(_To himself_) I suppose not. How could he? . . .
Look this way!
Death is a debt all mortal men must pay;
Aye, there is no man living who can say
If life will last him yet a single day.
On, to the dark, drives Fortune; and no force
Can wrest her secret nor put back her course. . . .
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.