The Collected Short Plays of Thornton Wilder, Volume II

by Thornton Wilder

  (Enter Admetus, wearing on his right shoulder a light blue cloak like Apollo’s. He stands watching from the top step.)

  And wouldn’t that be, maybe, the way those unhappy lovers (He points upward) would try to throw a bridge across the gulf I was talking about?

  (He becomes aware of Admetus. Obsequiously bowing his head, and pulling his forelock, murmuring) We wish you all happiness . . . many years.

  (He goes back to his place. The sun is setting. The sky behind the palace roof is filled with color.)

  ADMETUS (With set face): Aglaia has told me of your wish to leave, Princess Alcestis. You are, of course, free to go. There are no constraints here. There are no slaves in Thessaly, Princess—not even its queen. I have just given orders that your drivers and your maids be prepared for the journey. (He takes one step down) Before you leave, I wish to say one thing. I do not say this in order to win your pity, nor to dissuade you from what you have planned to do. I say this because you and I are not children; and we should not conceal from one another what is in our hearts.

  (Slight pause) It is still a great wonder to me that I was able to yoke the lion and the boar. But I am in no doubt as to why I was able to do it: I loved you. I shall never see you again. I shall never marry. And I shall never be the same. From now on I shall know that there is something wrong and false in this world into which we have been born. I am an ordinary man, but the love that filled me is not an ordinary love. When such love is not met by a love in return, then life is itself a deception. And it is best that men live at random, as best they may. For justice . . . and honor . . . and love are just things we invent for a short time, as suits the moment. May you have a good journey, Princess Alcestis.

  (Alcestis has been standing with raised head but lowered eyes. She now puts out her hand.)

  ALCESTIS: Admetus. (Slight pause) Admetus, ask me again to marry you.

  (He takes one quick step toward her; she again puts out her hand quickly to stop him.)

  Ask me to love all the things that you love . . . and to be the queen of your Thessaly. Ask me in pain to bear you children. To walk beside you at the great festivals. To comfort you when you are despairing. To make sure that when you return from a journey the water for your bath will be hot, and that your house, Admetus, will be as well ordered as your mind. To live for you and for your children and for your people—to live for you as though every moment I were ready to die for you . . .

  ADMETUS (Joyously and loudly): No—no Alcestis! It is I . . . (He takes her outstretched hand. They do not embrace) Alcestis, will you be the wife of Admetus, King of Thessaly?

  ALCESTIS: With my whole self, Admetus . . .

  (They go into the palace.)

  ACT II

  The same scene, twelve years later.

  Again first dawn. The same Watchman comes around the palace. He does not shake his rattle. He speaks softly, slowly and dejectedly.

  WATCHMAN: The watch before dawn . . . the palace of Admetus the Hospitable, King of Thessaly, rich in horses. (He stands a moment, his eyes on the ground; then to the audience) And all is as bad as it possibly could be . . . as it possibly could be.

  (He goes to the gate, which is ajar, and talks to a whispering crowd outside) No, my friends. There is no news. The king is still alive; he has lived through another night. The queen is sitting by his bed. She is holding his hand . . . No news. No change . . . Take that dog away; we must have no barking. Yes, the king drank some ox blood mixed with wine.

  (He returns to the center of the stage and addresses the audience) Our king is at the point of death, there is no doubt about it. You remember those herdsmen, twelve years ago, that Teiresias brought here, saying that one of them was Apollo—and that Apollo would live here as a servant for a year? You remember all that? Well, at the end of the year did they go away? No; all four of them are still here. Was Apollo in one of them? Nobody knows. Don’t try to think about it; you’ll lose your senses if you try to understand things like that. But, friends, that first year was a wonderful year. I cannot explain this to you: it was no more or less prosperous than other years. To a visitor, to a passerby, everything would have appeared the same. But to us who were living it, everything was different. The facts of our human life never change; it is our way of seeing them that changes. Apollo was certainly here.

  (Pause) What? How did King Admetus come by his illness? Well, as I say, those four herdsmen stayed on. They were good fellows and good workers—though they talked south-country Greek. But two of them—eh!—drank their wine without water. And one evening at sunset time those two were sitting drinking—there, right there!—and a quarrel arose between them. There was shouting and chasing about, and King Admetus came out to put a stop to it. Then—oh, my friends—one of the herdsmen whipped out his knife and stabbed King Admetus by mistake, stabbed him from here (Points to his throat) right down his side to the waist. You could put your hand in it. That was weeks ago. The wound didn’t heal. It got angry and boiled and watered and boiled and watered, and now the king must surely die. No one’s wanted to punish the herdsman whose body held Apollo—you see? And the crime may have been Apollo’s will—try to think that through! And that herdsman’s outside the gate now—is always there—flat on the ground, flat on his face, wishing he were dead.

  (There is a rising murmur of excited voices at the gate.)

  Now what’s all that noise about?

  (Aglaia comes hurriedly out of the palace.)

  AGLAIA: What’s all that noise? Watchman, how can you allow that noise?

  WATCHMAN (Hobbling to the gate): They’ve only just begun it.

  AGLAIA (At the gate): What’s all this cackling about? Don’t you know you must be quiet?

  WATCHMAN: Have you no sense? Have you no hearts? What? What?

  AGLAIA: What? What messenger? Tell him to go around to the front of the palace and to go quietly. What messenger? Where’s he from?

  (Enter Alcestis, from the palace.)

  ALCESTIS: There must be no noise. There must be no noise. Aglaia, how can you allow this noise?

  AGLAIA: Queen Alcestis, they say that a messenger has come.

  ALCESTIS: What messenger?

  (The Watchman has received through the gate a small rectangular leaf of gold, which he gives to Alcestis.)

  WATCHMAN: They are saying that a messenger came during the night and left this.

  (Alcestis stands looking at it in her hand. The Watchman leans over and examines it in her hand and continues talking officiously.)

  It is of gold, lady. See, those are the signs—that is the writing—of the Southland. There is the sun . . . and the tripod . . . and the laurel . . . Queen Alcestis, it is from Delphi. It is a message from Delphi!

  (Alcestis suddenly performs the ritual: she places the leaf first to her forehead, then on her heart, then on her lips.)

  ALCESTIS: Where is the messenger?

  (The Watchman goes to the gate—now slightly open—and holds a whispered colloquy.)

  WATCHMAN (Turning back toward Alcestis): He went away—hours ago, they say.

  ALCESTIS: Who can read this writing? Watchman, go call those four herdsmen!

  WATCHMAN: They are here, lady—all four of them.

  (Again a busy colloquy at the gate. It opens further to admit the four Herdsmen. The Herdsman who held the long conversation with Alcestis in Act I flings himself on the ground, face downward, holding his head in his hands.)

  ALCESTIS: Can one of you read the writing of the Southland?

  HERDSMAN (Raising his head): I can . . . a little, Queen Alcestis.

  ALCESTIS: Then stand. Stand up.

  (He rises. She puts the leaf in his hand. He looks at it a moment, then puts it to his forehead, heart and lips; and says in awe:)

  HERDSMAN: It is from the temple of Apollo at Delphi.

  (Some Townspeople have pressed through the gate. The Herdsman starts reading with great difficulty.)

  “Peace . . . and long life . . . to Admetus the Hos
pitable, King of Thessaly, rich in horses.”

  ALCESTIS: Long life?

  HERDSMAN: “Peace and long life to Admetus the Hospitable—”

  ALCESTIS: —Stop.

  (To the Watchman) Close the gate.

  (The Watchman pushes the Townspeople off the stage, and after a glance at Alcestis, also drives off the three other Herdsmen. He closes the gate. Alcestis returns to the reader, who has been trying to decipher the text.)

  HERDSMAN: “King Admetus . . . not . . . will not . . . die.”

  AGLAIA: Great is Apollo! Great is Apollo!

  HERDSMAN: “Will not die . . . if . . . if . . . because . . . no, if . . . another . . . if someone else . . . if a second person . . . desires . . . (He points to his heart) wishes . . . longs . . . desires to die . . .” Lady, I do not know this last word.

  ALCESTIS: I know it.

  HERDSMAN (Struggling, finds it): “In his place . . . in his stead.” Great is Apollo!

  AGLAIA: What does it say? What does it say?

  WATCHMAN: I. I shall die. (Starting left) My sword, where is my sword?

  AGLAIA (Getting the idea): No. (Strongly to the Watchman) No. This message is for me. I was there when he was born: I shall die for him. I shall throw myself in the river.

  WATCHMAN (Returning to Aglaia): This is not for a woman to do.

  HERDSMAN (Kneeling, his fists pressed against his eyes in concentration): I have begun to die already.

  AGLAIA: Queen Alcestis, tell me . . . I must do it properly: how does one die for King Admetus?

  WATCHMAN (Self-importantly, placing himself between Aglaia and Alcestis): Give your orders to me, Queen Alcestis. It is very clear that this message was meant for me.

  HERDSMAN (Again throwing himself full length on the ground): I struck him. I am to blame for all!

  ALCESTIS (Who has waited, motionless, for silence): How would you die in his stead?

  (Pause) Do you think it is enough to fling yourself into the river—or to run a sword through your heart?

  (Pause) No—the gods do not ask what is easy for us, but what is difficult.

  AGLAIA (Sobbing): Queen Alcestis, how does one die for King Admetus?

  HERDSMAN: I know. I know. (He turns and starts to go to the gate) Peace and long life to King Admetus!

  ALCESTIS (To the Herdsman): Wait!

  (They all watch her. She says quietly:) Aglaia, go and lay out the dress in which I was married.

  AGLAIA (Stares at her in sudden realization; horrified whisper): No. No . . . you must not . . .

  ALCESTIS: Tell the children I am coming to see them. Tell the king the sun is warm here. He must come out and sit in it.

  (Sudden clamor from the others.)

  AGLAIA: No. No, Queen Alcestis. We are old. Our lives are over.

  WATCHMAN: Lady, look at me—I am an old man.

  AGLAIA: You cannot do this. He would not wish it. You are queen; you are mother.

  ALCESTIS (Restraining their noise by voice and gesture): First! First I order you to say nothing of this to anyone. Aglaia, do you hear me?

  AGLAIA: Yes, Queen Alcestis.

  ALCESTIS: Watchman!

  WATCHMAN: Yes, Queen Alcestis.

  ALCESTIS: To no one—until tomorrow. No matter what takes place here, you will show no surprise, no grief. Now leave me alone with this man. (Pointing to the Herdsman)

  (Aglaia goes into the palace; the Watchman out left. The Herdsman stands with one fist on his forehead in concentration, and suddenly cries:)

  HERDSMAN: King Admetus—rise up! Rise up!

  ALCESTIS: You cannot save him.

  HERDSMAN: I have begun to die already.

  ALCESTIS: Yes, maybe you could do it. But you would do it imperfectly. You wish to die, yes . . . not for love of Admetus, but to lift the burden of that crime from off your heart. This is work of love, Herdsman; not work of expiation, but of love.

  HERDSMAN (Almost angrily): I, too, love Admetus.

  ALCESTIS: Who does not love Admetus? But your death would be a small death. You long to die: I dread, fear, hate to die. I must die from Admetus—(She looks upward) —from this sunlight. Only so will he be restored. Can you give him that? (He is silent)

  (She continues, as though talking to herself) I know now what I have to do and how to do it. But I do not know why . . . why this has been asked of me. You . . . you can help me to understand why I must die.

  HERDSMAN: I?

  ALCESTIS: Yes, you—who came from Delphi; in whom Apollo—

  HERDSMAN (In sincere repudiation): —Lady . . . Princess, I told you—again and again. If Apollo was in us herdsmen, he was not in me!

  ALCESTIS (Softly and lightly): You made clear to me that Apollo willed my marriage.

  HERDSMAN (Still almost angrily): No. No. You asked me questions. I answered as any man would answer. You know well that I am an ordinary man.

  (Alcestis turns in suffering frustration toward the palace door; then turns back again to the Herdsman.)

  ALCESTIS: Then speak again as an ordinary man, and tell me why Apollo asks me to die.

  HERDSMAN (Still with a touch of anger): Then as an ordinary man I answer you—as many an ordinary man would: Delphi has said that one of us must die. I am ready to die. Why should I try to understand it?

  ALCESTIS: But if we do not understand, our lives are little better than those of the animals.

  HERDSMAN: No! Princess, to understand means to see the whole of a thing. Do we men ever see the whole of a story, the end of a story? If you let me die now for Admetus, I would not know what followed after my death, but I would die willingly. For I have always seen that there are two kinds of death: one which is an end; and one which is a going forward, which is big with what follows after it. And I would know that a death which had been laid on me by Delphi would be a death which led on to something. For if the gods exist, that is their sign: that whatever they do is an unfolding—a part of something larger than we can see. Let me die this death, Princess—for it would save me from that other death which I dread and which all men dread: the mere ceasing to be; the dust in the grave.

  (Alcestis has received his words as full answer and solution. Her mood changes; she says lightly and quickly:)

  ALCESTIS: No, Herdsman, live—live for Admetus, for me, and for my children. Are you not the friend of Epimenes—he who hates you now because you struck his father? You have almost broken his heart. He thought you were his friend—you who taught him to swim and to fish. Before I go I shall tell Epimenes that you have done me a great kindness.

  (In silence the Herdsman goes out the gate. Alcestis again makes the ritual gesture with the gold leaf—forehead, heart, lips. Enter Aglaia from the palace.)

  AGLAIA (With lowered head): The dress is ready, Queen Alcestis.

  ALCESTIS: Aglaia, for what I have to do now I cannot—I must not—see the children. Their heads smell so sweet. Do you understand?

  AGLAIA: Yes, Queen Alcestis.

  ALCESTIS: You are to tell Epimenes—from me—that he is to go to the herdsman who struck his father . . . that he is to forgive him, and to thank him for a great kindness which he has done me.

  AGLAIA: I shall tell him.

  ALCESTIS: You are to cut a lock of my hair. Say nothing to anyone, and place it on the altar (Pointing to the gate) in the grove of Apollo, across the road. Aglaia, after I am gone, you are to tell King Admetus that I have said that I wish him to marry again.

  AGLAIA: Queen Alcestis!

  ALCESTIS: A man must have that comfort. But oh, Aglaia! They say that stepmothers often bear ill will toward the children of the former wife. Stay by them! Stay near them! And oh, Aglaia—from time to time recall me to him. (Her voice breaking) Recall me to him!

  (She rushes into the palace. Aglaia is about to follow when she is stopped by excited whispering and talking at the gate. Some Townspeople take a few steps into the court. Rhodope, a young girl of the palace servants, smothering her happy giggling, runs from the gate to the palace door.) />
  AGLAIA: What is this? What is this noise? Rhodope!

  RHODOPE: He’s coming along the road!

  AGLAIA: Who?

  RHODOPE AND TOWNSPEOPLE: Hercules is coming! He’s down the valley! Hercules, son of Zeus!

  AGLAIA: Hush, all of you. Go out of the court. Have you forgotten that there is sickness in this house! Rhodope, go in the house and hold your tongue!

  (Townspeople disappear. Rhodope slips through the palace door as it is opened by the Watchman, who enters, preceding two Servants, who are not yet seen with a day bed. Then to Aglaia, whose head is lowered in anxiety:)

  WATCHMAN: Hercules! Today of all days!

  AGLAIA (In a bad humor): Yes. Yes. And every year. Why does he come every year? Do we know?

  WATCHMAN: But . . . so great a friend!

  AGLAIA: Yes, but great friends can sometimes make us a present of their absence.

  WATCHMAN: Aglaia, I don’t understand you!

  AGLAIA (Irritably): I know what I know.

  (From the palace come two Servants. They are bearing a day bed and a low stool.)

  WATCHMAN (To the Servants): Come on . . . put them down here. You know where.

  AGLAIA (Taking over the ordering, while the Watchman turns back to help Admetus): Here, right here! (Getting her bearings by the sun) Turn it so. (She takes the cushions from them) So. There. And the queen likes to sit here.

  (Enter Admetus, supported, his arms around the shoulders of the Watchman and a Guard.)

  ADMETUS: The sun is already halfway up the sky.

  (To the Watchman) You have watched all night. You should be asleep.

  WATCHMAN: Oh, we old men, King Admetus, we sleep very little. Gently. Gently now.

  ADMETUS: I don’t know where the queen is, Aglaia.

  AGLAIA (Busies herself with the cushions): She’ll be here in a minute, King Admetus. You can be sure of that.

  (She goes quickly into the palace.)

  WATCHMAN: Now, sire, when you’re comfortably settled on that couch, I have some news for you. You’ll scarcely believe it.

  (He squints up at the sun) Yes, sire, it will be a very hot day. We are in the solstice. The sailors say that the sun swings low, that he is very near us these days. That’s what they say.