then
represents it in his own way. When the tradition in question is really
heroic, we know what his way is. He preserves, and even emphasizes, the
stateliness and formality of the Attic stage conventions; but, in the
meantime, he has subjected the story and its characters to a keener study
and a more sensitive psychological judgment than the simple things were
originally meant to bear. So that many characters which passed as heroic,
or at least presentable, in the kindly remoteness of legend, reveal some
strange weakness when brought suddenly into the light. When the tradition
is Satyric, as here, the same process produces almost an opposite effect.
It is somewhat as though the main plot of a gross and jolly farce were
pondered over and made more true to human character till it emerged as a
refined and rather pathetic comedy. The making drunk of the Three Grey
Sisters disappears; one can only just see the trace of its having once
been present. The revelling of Heracles is touched in with the lightest of
hands; it is little more than symbolic. And all the figures in the story,
instead of being left broadly comic or having their psychology neglected,
are treated delicately, sympathetically, with just that faint touch of
satire, or at least of amusement, which is almost inseparable from a close
interest in character.

What was Admetus really like, this gallant prince who had won the
affection of such great guests as Apollo and Heracles, and yet went round
asking other people to die for him; who, in particular, accepted his
wife's monstrous sacrifice with satisfaction and gratitude? 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; bu