hood that Arcas was not ignorant that his master's name was Agamemnon?"
One other instance may he noticed of the false views of Greek tragedy, which the criticisms and analyses of Voltaire on that subject are calculated to convey. He is giving an account of that scene in the Alcestis of Euripides, where the servant describes the conduct of Hercules, who had been received as a guest by Admetus into the mansion of death, after the death of his wife.
"A servant enters alone, speaking of the arrival of Hercules: he describes him as a stranger who opens the door for himself, places himself immediately at table, grumbles that his repast is not served soon enough, fills his cup incessantly with wine, drinks long draughts of white and red, and bellows forth bad songs that resemble howlings, without troubling himself about the king and his wife, whom we are lamenting. He must be some rascal, some vagabond, some assassin."
"There is no disputing about tastes," adds Voltaire; "but it is certain that with us such scenes would not be suffered at the Foire," (a second-rate theatre, chiefly frequented by the lower classes.) And La Harpe, who really seems to have formed his idea of the Alcestis from this travestie of Voltaire, expresses a similar opinion.
Now first, let it be kept in view that the scene is not represented at all, but merely described by the servant; for Sophocles would have no more thought of actually introducing such a scene as passing on the stage, than Voltaire himself; and, next, (although we fairly admit the scene even as described by Euripides appears singular,) the ironical description of Voltaire is very far from giving an idea of the reality.
Most readers will recollect under what circumstances the scene to which Voltaire alludes takes place. Overpowered with grief for the loss of his wife, who has just expired, Admetus sees a stranger approaching his threshold. According to the ideas of the ancients, there was something sacred in the presence of a guest; he was considered as a man sent by Jupiter and the gods to receive the rites of hospitality. Admetus tries to disguise his grief from the stranger; he excuses the disorder in which every thing appears, by alleging the death of a female inmate of the family; but he conceals the fact that this was Alcestis. Hercules, unconscious of the grief under which Admetus labours, accepts the invitation; and, it must be admitted, takes his ease in his apartment, in a manner not very consistent with modern usages, which is thus described by the servant who had attended him:
"To many strangers and from various lands,
On their arrival at Admetus' house,
I well remember serving up the feast;
But never till this hour have introduced
So profligate a guest, who, though he saw
Our master sad, advancing, dared to pass
The threshold, and without discretion took
Whate'er our hospitality to him
Presented, though apprised of our distress.
Moreover, were there aught we did not bring,
He call'd for it: a goblet in his hands
With ivy wreathed, uplifting, quaff'd the juice
Of the black grape unmingled, till his veins
Were heated with the flames of wine, and bound
The sprays of verdant myrtle on his brow,
Filling the palace with a clamorous howl
Of dissonance; while twofold sounds were heard,
Regardless of Admetus' woes he sung,—
While for our mistress wail'd the menial train,
But to the stranger did not show their eyes
Swimming with tears,—for such injunction
Admetus."[1]
- ↑ Wodhull's Euripides—Alcestis.
