so!' This man has no love for the pious Admetus, and does not conceal his sentiments[1].
That Alcestis is apprised of the plan to precipitate her burial, or acts under suggestion from those who are, is neither indicated nor likely; it is conceivable that, had she known it, she would have seen her self-sacrifice in a new light. Rather it is an enhancement of our pity, that without any suspicion she is furthering by all that she does the plan of a husband who, in the midst of professing eternal gratitude, is preparing so promptly to insult her memory. However that may be, it is the joint result of his proceedings and hers that, when she lies inanimate at the portal, there is literally nothing left to be done before the funeral starts, except to shave her husband and slip on his black; and this is the whole programme of the pomp, as it is actually carried out. In no way perhaps can the monstrosity of the performance be more clearly realized, than by asking ourselves what is the proper costume for the Chorus. It is certain that they follow the corpse in the same which they wear when first they come as visitors. They have no chance of changing. Admetus does change and, as was the custom of the Greek dramatists for practical reasons, matters are so arranged that verbal as well as visible intimation should be given of the significant alteration[2]. But what of his friends? When they come to the house ostensibly to enquire of the queen's condition, do they come with close-cut hair and sable vest? We are informed of the contrary—'Must we change to black? Is the time already come?'[3] exclaims one of them oddly, as an expression of despair; and we should presume it without information. What could be more repugnant to humanity and decency, than to surround with anticipatory emblems the couch of the dying heroine? Or what more offensive to the public, than to parade the street clad in mourning for a benefactress, for whom it was still possible to hope and to pray, and whose
