One feels that
Alcestis
herself, for
all her tender kindness, has seen through him.
all her tender kindness, has seen through him.
Euripides - Alcestis
The play
portrays him well. Generous, innocent, artistic, affectionate, eloquent,
impulsive, a good deal spoilt, unconsciously insincere, and no doubt
fundamentally selfish, he hates the thought of dying and he hates losing
his wife almost as much. Why need she die? Why could it not have been some
one less important to him? He feels with emotion what a beautiful act it
would have been for his old father. "My boy, you have a long and happy
life before you, and for me the sands are well-nigh run out. Do not seek
to dissuade me. I will die for you. " Admetus could compose the speech for
him. A touching scene, a noble farewell, and all the dreadful trouble
solved--so conveniently solved! And the miserable self-blinded old man
could not see it!
Euripides seems to have taken positive pleasure in Admetus, much as
Meredith did in his famous Egoist; but Euripides all through is kinder to
his victim than Meredith is. True, Admetus is put to obvious shame,
publicly and helplessly. The Chorus make discreet comments upon him.
The Handmaid is outspoken about him.
One feels that Alcestis herself, for
all her tender kindness, has seen through him. Finally, to make things
quite clear, his old father fights him openly, tells him home-truth upon
home-truth, tears away all his protective screens, and leaves him with his
self-respect in tatters. It is a fearful ordeal for Admetus, and, after
his first fury, he takes it well. He comes back from his wife's burial a
changed man. He says not much, but enough. "I have done wrong. I have only
now learnt my lesson. I imagined I could save my happy life by forfeiting
my honour; and the result is that I have lost both. " I think that a
careful reading of the play will show an almost continuous process of
self-discovery and self-judgment in the mind of Admetus. He was a man who
blinded himself with words and beautiful sentiments; but he was not
thick-skinned or thick-witted. He was not a brute or a cynic. And I think
he did learn his lesson . . . not completely and for ever, but as well as
most of us learn such lessons.
The beauty of Alcestis is quite untouched by the dramatist's keener
analysis.
portrays him well. Generous, innocent, artistic, affectionate, eloquent,
impulsive, a good deal spoilt, unconsciously insincere, and no doubt
fundamentally selfish, he hates the thought of dying and he hates losing
his wife almost as much. Why need she die? Why could it not have been some
one less important to him? He feels with emotion what a beautiful act it
would have been for his old father. "My boy, you have a long and happy
life before you, and for me the sands are well-nigh run out. Do not seek
to dissuade me. I will die for you. " Admetus could compose the speech for
him. A touching scene, a noble farewell, and all the dreadful trouble
solved--so conveniently solved! And the miserable self-blinded old man
could not see it!
Euripides seems to have taken positive pleasure in Admetus, much as
Meredith did in his famous Egoist; but Euripides all through is kinder to
his victim than Meredith is. True, Admetus is put to obvious shame,
publicly and helplessly. The Chorus make discreet comments upon him.
The Handmaid is outspoken about him.
One feels that Alcestis herself, for
all her tender kindness, has seen through him. Finally, to make things
quite clear, his old father fights him openly, tells him home-truth upon
home-truth, tears away all his protective screens, and leaves him with his
self-respect in tatters. It is a fearful ordeal for Admetus, and, after
his first fury, he takes it well. He comes back from his wife's burial a
changed man. He says not much, but enough. "I have done wrong. I have only
now learnt my lesson. I imagined I could save my happy life by forfeiting
my honour; and the result is that I have lost both. " I think that a
careful reading of the play will show an almost continuous process of
self-discovery and self-judgment in the mind of Admetus. He was a man who
blinded himself with words and beautiful sentiments; but he was not
thick-skinned or thick-witted. He was not a brute or a cynic. And I think
he did learn his lesson . . . not completely and for ever, but as well as
most of us learn such lessons.
The beauty of Alcestis is quite untouched by the dramatist's keener
analysis.
