by Sophocles
NEO. Oh! and these festering rags give evidence,
Steeped as with dressing some malignant sore.
OD. The man inhabits here: I know it now.
And sure he’s not far off. How can he range,
Whose limb drags heavy with an ancient harm?
But he’s gone, either to bring forage home,
Or where he hath found some plant of healing power.
Send therefore thine attendant to look forth,
Lest unawares he find me. All our host
Were not so fair a prize for him as I.
NEO. My man is going, and shall watch the path.
What more dost thou require of me? Speak on.
OD. Son of Achilles, know that thou art come
To serve us nobly, not with strength alone,
But, faithful to thy mission, if so be,
To do things strange, unwonted to thine ear.
NEO. What dost thou bid me?
OD. ’Tis thy duty now
To entrap the mind of Poeas’ son with words.
When he shall ask thee, who and whence thou art,
Declare thy name and father. ’Tis not that
I charge thee to conceal. But for thy voyage,
’Tis homeward, leaving the Achaean host,
With perfect hatred hating them, because
They who had drawn thee with strong prayers from home,
Their hope for taking Troy, allowed thee not
Thy just demand to have thy father’s arms,
But, e’er thy coming, wrongly gave them o’er
[64-101] Unto Odysseus: and thereon launch forth
With boundless execration against me.
That will not pain me, but if thou reject
This counsel, thou wilt trouble all our host,
Since, if his bow shall not be ta’en, thy life
Will ne’er be crowned through Troy’s discomfiture.
Now let me show, why thine approach to him
Is safe and trustful as mine cannot be
Thou didst sail forth, not to redeem thine oath,
Nor by constraint, nor with the foremost band.
All which reproaches I must bear: and he,
But seeing me, while master of his bow,
Will slay me, and my ruin will be thine.
This point then craves our cunning, to acquire
By subtle means the irresistible bow —
Thy nature was not framed, I know it well,
For speaking falsehood, or contriving harm.
Yet, since the prize of victory is so dear,
Endure it — We’ll be just another day
But now, for one brief hour, devote thyself
To serve me without shame, and then for aye
Hereafter be the pearl of righteousness.
NEO. The thing that, being named, revolts mine ear,
Son of Laërtes, I abhor to do
’Tis not my nature, no, nor, as they tell,
My father’s, to work aught by craft and guile.
I’ll undertake to bring him in by force,
Not by deceit. For, sure, with his one foot,
He cannot be a match for all our crew
Being sent, my lord, to serve thee, I am loth
To seem rebellious. But I rather choose
To offend with honour, than to win by wrong.
OD. Son of a valiant sire, I, too, in youth,
Had once a slow tongue and an active hand.
But since I have proved the world, I clearly see
Words and not deeds give mastery over men.
NEO. What then is thy command? To lie? No more?
OD. To entangle Philoctetes with deceit.
[102-134] NEO. Why through deceit? May not persuasion fetch him?
OD. Never. And force as certainly will fail.
NEO. What lends him such assurance of defence?
OD. Arrows, the unerring harbingers of Death.
NEO. Then to go near him is a perilous thing.
OD. Unless with subtlety, as I have said.
NEO. And is not lying shameful to thy soul?
OD. Not if by lying I can save my soul.
NEO. How must one look in speaking such a word?
OD. Where gain invites, this shrinking is not good.
NEO. What gain I through his coming back to Troy?
OD. His arms alone have power to take Troy-town.
NEO. Then am not I the spoiler, as ye said?
OD. Thou without them, they without thee, are powerless.
NEO. If it be so, they must be sought and won.
OD. Yea, for in this two prizes will be thine.
NEO. What? When I learn them, I will not refuse.
OD. Wisdom and valour joined in one good name.
NEO. Shame, to the winds! Come, I will do this thing.
OD. Say, dost thou bear my bidding full in mind?
NEO. Doubt not, since once for all I have embraced it.
OD. Thou, then, await him here. I will retire,
For fear my hated presence should be known,
And take back our attendant to the ship.
And then once more, should ye appear to waste
The time unduly, I will send again
This same man hither in disguise, transformed
To the strange semblance of a merchantman;
From dark suggestion of whose crafty tongue,
Thou, O my son, shalt gather timely counsel.
Now to my ship. This charge I leave to thee.
May secret Hermes guide us to our end,
And civic Pallas, named of victory,
The sure protectress of my devious way.
[135-162]
CHORUS (entering).
Strange in the stranger land,I 1
What shall I speak? What hide
From a heart suspicious of ill?
Tell me, O master mine!
Wise above all is the man,
Peerless in searching thought,
Who with the Zeus-given wand
Wieldeth a Heaven-sent power.
This unto thee, dear son,
Fraught with ancestral might,
This to thy life hath come.
Wherefore I bid thee declare,
What must I do for thy need?
NEO. Even now methinks thou longest to espy
Near ocean’s marge the place where he doth lie.
Gaze without fear. But when the traveller stern,
Who from this roof is parted, shall return,
Advancing still as I the signal give,
To serve each moment’s mission thou shalt strive.
CH. That, O my son, from of oldI 2
Hath been my care, to take note
What by thy beck’ning is told;
Still thy success to promote.
But for our errand to-day
Behoves thee, master, to say
Where is the hearth of his home;
Or where even now doth he roam?
O tell me, lest all unaware
He spring like a wolf from his lair
And I by surprise should be ta’en,
Where doth he move or remain,
Here lodging, or wandering away?
NEO. Thou seëst yon double doorway of his cell,
Poor habitation of the rock.
CH. 2. But tell
Where is the pain-worn wight himself abroad?
NEO. To me ’tis clear, that, in his quest for food,
[163-204] Here, not far off, he trails yon furrowed path.
For, so ’tis told, this mode the sufferer hath
Of sustenance, oh hardness! bringing low
Wild creatures with wing’d arrows from his bow;
Nor findeth healer for his troublous woe.
CH. I feel his misery.II 1
With no companion eye,
Far from all human care,
He pines with fell disease;
Each want he hourly sees
Awakening new despair.
/>
How can he bear it still?
O cruel Heavens! O pain
Of that afflicted mortal train
Whose life sharp sorrows fill!
Born in a princely hall,II 2
Highest, perchance, of all,
Now lies he comfortless
Alone in deep distress,
‘Mongst rough and dappled brutes,
With pangs and hunger worn;
While from far distance shoots,
On airy pinion borne,
The unbridled Echo, still replying
To his most bitter crying.
NEO. At nought of this I marvel — for if I
Judge rightly, there assailed him from on high
That former plague through Chrysa’s cruel sting:
And if to-day he suffer anything
With none to soothe, it must be from the will
Of some great God, so caring to fulfil
The word of prophecy, lest he should bend
On Troy the shaft no mortal may forfend,
Before the arrival of Troy’s destined hour,
When she must fall, o’er-mastered by their power.
CH. 1. Hush, my son!III 1
NEO. Why so?
CH. 1. A sound
Gendered of some mortal woe,
[205-237] Started from the neighbouring ground.
Here, or there? Ah! now I know.
Hark! ’tis the voice of one in pain,
Travelling hardly, the deep strain
Of human anguish, all too clear,
That smites my heart, that wounds mine ear.
CH. 2. From far it peals. But thou, my son!III 2
NEO. What?
CH. 2. Think again. He moveth nigh:
He holds the region: not with tone
Of piping shepherd’s rural minstrelsy,
But belloweth his far cry,
Stumbling perchance with mortal pain,
Or else in wild amaze,
As he our ship surveys
Unwonted on the inhospitable main.
Enter PHILOCTETES.
PHILOCTETES. Ho!
What men are ye that to this desert shore,
Harbourless, uninhabited, are come
On shipboard? Of what country or what race
Shall I pronounce ye? For your outward garb
Is Grecian, ever dearest to this heart
That hungers now to hear your voices’ tune.
Ah! do not fear me, do not shrink away
From my wild looks: but, pitying one so poor,
Forlorn and desolate in nameless woe,
Speak, if with friendly purpose ye are come.
Oh answer! ’Tis not meet that I should lose
This kindness from your lips, or ye from mine.
NEO. Then know this first, O stranger, as thou wouldest,
That we are Greeks.
PHI. O dear, dear name! Ah me!
In all these years, once, only once, I hear it!
My son, what fairest gale hath wafted thee?
What need hath brought thee to the shore? What mission?
[238-273] Declare all this, that I may know thee well.
NEO. The sea-girt Scyros is my native home.
Thitherward I make voyage: — Achilles’ son,
Named Neoptolemus. — I have told thee all.
PHI. Dear is that shore to me, dear is thy father
O ancient Lycomedes’ foster-child,
Whence cam’st thou hither? How didst thou set forth?
NEO. From Troy we made our course in sailing hither.
PHI. How? Sure thou wast not with us, when at first
We launched our vessels on the Troyward way?
NEO. Hadst thou a share in that adventurous toil?
PHI. And know’st thou not whom thou behold’st in me,
Young boy?
NEO. How should I know him whom I ne’er
Set eye on?
PHI. Hast not even heard my name,
Nor echoing rumour of my ruinous woe?
NEO. Nay, I know nought of all thy questioning.
PHI. How full of griefs am I, how Heaven-abhorred,
When of my piteous state no faintest sound
Hath reached my home, or any Grecian land!
But they, who pitilessly cast me forth,
Keep silence and are glad, while this my plague
Blooms ever, and is strengthened more and more.
Boy, great Achilles’ offspring, in this form
Thou seest the man, of whom, methinks, erewhile
Thou hast been told, to whom the Hercúlean bow
Descended, Philoctetes, Poeas’ son;
Whom the two generals and the Ithacan king
Cast out thus shamefully forlorn, afflicted
With the fierce malady and desperate wound
Made by the cruel basilisk’s murderous tooth.
With this for company they left me, child!
Exposed upon this shore, deserted, lone.
From seaward Chrysa came they with their fleet
And touched at Lemnos. I had fallen to rest
From the long tossing, in a shadowy cave
On yonder cliff by the shore. Gladly they saw,
And left me, having set forth for my need,
[273-314] Poor man, some scanty rags, and a thin store
Of provender. Such food be theirs, I pray!
Imagine, O my son, when they were gone,
What wakening, what arising, then was mine;
What weeping, what lamenting of my woe!
When I beheld the ships, wherewith I sailed,
Gone, one and all! and no man in the place,
None to bestead me, none to comfort me
In my sore sickness. And where’er I looked,
Nought but distress was present with me still.
No lack of that, for one thing! — Ah! my son,
Time passed, and there I found myself alone
Within my narrow lodging, forced to serve
Each pressing need. For body’s sustenance
This bow supplied me with sufficient store,
Wounding the feathered doves, and when the shaft,
From the tight string, had struck, myself, ay me!
Dragging this foot, would crawl to my swift prey.
Then water must be fetched, and in sharp frost
Wood must be found and broken, — all by me.
Nor would fire come unbidden, but with flint
From flints striking dim sparks, I hammered forth
The struggling flame that keeps the life in me.
For houseroom with the single help of fire
Gives all I need, save healing for my sore.
Now learn, my son, the nature of this isle.
No mariner puts in here willingly.
For it hath neither moorage, nor sea-port,
For traffic or kind shelter or good cheer.
Not hitherward do prudent men make voyage.
Perchance one may have touched against his will.
Many strange things may happen in long time.
These, when they come, in words have pitied me,
And given me food, or raiment, in compassion.
But none is willing, when I speak thereof,
To take me safely home. Wherefore I pine
Now this tenth year, in famine and distress,
Feeding the hunger of my ravenous plague.
Such deeds, my son, the Atridae, and the might
Of sage Odysseus, have performed on me.
[315-349] Wherefore may all the Olympian gods, one day,
Plague them with stern requital for my wrong!
CH. Methinks my feeling for thee, Poeas’ child,
Is like that of thy former visitants.
NEO. I, too, a witness to confirm his words,
Know them for verities, since I have found
The Atridae and Odysseus evil men.
PHI. Art thou, too, wroth with the all-pe
stilent sons
Of Atreus? Have they given thee cause to grieve?
NEO. Would that my hand might ease the wrath I feel!
Then Sparta and Mycenae should be ware
That Scyros too breeds valiant sons for war.
PHI. Brave youth! I love thee. Tell me the great cause
Why thou inveighest against them with such heat?
NEO. O son of Poeas, hardly shall I tell
What outrage I endured when I had come;
Yet I will speak it. When the fate of death
O’ertook Achilles —
PHI. Out, alas! no more!
Hold, till thou first hast made me clearly know,
Is Peleus’ offspring dead?
NEO. Alas! he is,
Slain by no mortal, felled by Phoebus’ shaft:
So men reported —
PHI. Well, right princely was he!
And princely is he who slew him. Shall I mourn
Him first, or wait till I have heard thy tale?
NEO. Methinks thou hast thyself enough to mourn,
Without the burden of another’s woe.
PHI. Well spoken. Then renew thine own complaint,
And tell once more wherein they insulted thee.
NEO. There came to fetch me, in a gallant ship,
Odysseus and the fosterer of my sire,
Saying, whether soothly, or in idle show,
That, since my father perished, it was known
None else but I should take Troy’s citadel.
Such words from them, my friend, thou may’st believe,
Held me not long from making voyage with speed,
[350-385] Chiefly through longing for my father’s corse,
To see him yet unburied, — for I ne’er
Had seen him. Then, besides, ’twas a fair cause,
If, by my going, I should vanquish Troy.
One day I had sailed, and on the second came
To sad Sigeum with wind-favoured speed,
When straightway all the host, surrounding me
As I set foot on shore, saluted me,
And swore the dead Achilles was in life,
Their eyes being witness, when they looked on me.
He lay there in his shroud: but I, unhappy,
Soon ending lamentation for the dead,
Went near to those Atridae, as to friends,
To obtain my father’s armour and all else
That had been his. And then, — alas the while,
That men should be so hard! — they spake this word:
‘Seed of Achilles, thou may’st freely take
All else thy father owned, but for those arms,
Another wields them now, Laërtes’ son.’
Tears rushed into mine eyes, and in hot wrath
I straightway rose, and bitterly outspake:
‘O miscreant! What? And have ye dared to give
Mine arms to some man else, unknown to me?’
Then said Odysseus, for he chanced to be near,
