by Sophocles
‘Yea, child, and justly have they given me these.
I saved them and their master in the field.’
Then in fierce anger all at once I launched
All terms of execration at his head,
Bating no word, being maddened by the thought
That I should lose this heirloom, — and to him!
He, at this pass, though not of wrathful mood,
Stung by such utterance, made rejoinder thus:
‘Thou wast not with us here, but wrongfully
Didst bide afar. And, since thou mak’st so bold,
I tell thee, never shalt thou, as thou sayest,
Sail with these arms to Scyros.’ — Thus reviled,
With such an evil echo in mine ear,
I voyage homeward, robbed of mine own right
By that vile offset of an evil tree.
Yet less I blame him than the men in power.
[386-423] For every multitude, be it army or state,
Takes tone from those who rule it, and all taint
Of disobedience from bad counsel springs.
I have spoken. May the Atridae’s enemy
Be dear to Heaven, as he is loved by me!
CH. Mother of mightiest Zeus,1
Feeder of all that live,
Who from thy mountainous breast
Rivers of gold dost give!
To thee, O Earth, I cried that shameful day,
When insolence from Atreus’ sons went forth
Full on our lord: when they bestowed away
His father’s arms to crown Odysseus’ worth;
Thou, whom bull-slaughtering lions yoked bear,
O mighty mother, hear!
PHI. Your coming is commended by a grief
That makes you kindly welcome. For I feel
A chord that vibrates to your voice, and tells,
Thus have Odysseus and the Atridae wrought.
Full well I know, Odysseus’ poisoned tongue
Shrinks from no mischief nor no guileful word
That leads to bad achievement in the end.
This moves not my main marvel, but if one
Saw this and bore it, — Aias of the shield.
NEO. Ah, friend, he was no more. Had he but lived,
This robbery had ne’er been wrought on me.
PHI. What? Is he too departed?
NEO. He is dead.
The light no more beholds him.
PHI. Oh! alas!
But Tydeus’ offspring, and the rascal birth
Laërtes bought of Sisyphus, they live:
I know it. For their death were to be wished.
NEO. Yea, be assured, they live and flourish high
Exalted in the host of Argive men.
PHI. And Nestor, my old friend, good aged man,
Is he yet living? Oft he would prevent
Their evils, by the wisdom of his thought.
[424-461] NEO. He too is now in trouble, having lost
Antilochus, the comfort of his age.
PHI. There, there! In one brief word thou hast revealed
The mournful case of twain, whom I would last
Have chosen to hear of as undone. Ah me!
Where must one look? when these are dead, and he,
Odysseus, lives, — and in a time like this,
That craves their presence, and his death for theirs.
NEO. He wrestles cleverly; but, O my friend,
Even ablest wits are ofttimes snared at last.
PHI. Tell me, I pray, what was become of him,
Patroclus, whom thy father loved so well?
NEO. He, too, was gone. I’ll teach thee in a word
One truth for all. War doth not willingly
Snatch off the wicked, but still takes the good.
PHI. True! and to prove thy saying, I will inquire
The fate of a poor dastard, of mean worth,
But ever shrewd and nimble with his tongue.
NEO. Whom but Odysseus canst thou mean by this?
PHI. I meant not him. But there was one Thersites,
Who ne’er made conscience to stint speech, where all
Cried ‘Silence!’ Is he living, dost thou know?
NEO. I saw him not, but knew he was alive.
PHI. He must be: for no evil yet was crushed.
The Heavens will ever shield it. ’Tis their sport
To turn back all things rancorous and malign
From going down to the grave, and send instead
The good and true. Oh, how shall we commend
Such dealings, how defend them? When I praise
Things god-like, I find evil in the Gods.
NEO. I, O thou child of a Trachinian sire,
Henceforth will take good care, from far away
To look on Troy and Atreus’ children twain.
Yea, where the trickster lords it o’er the just,
And goodness languishes and rascals rule,
— Such courses I will nevermore endure.
But rock-bound Scyros henceforth shall suffice
To yield me full contentment in my home.
Now, to my vessel! And thou, Poeas’ child,
[462-499] Farewell, right heartily farewell! May Heaven
Grant thy desire, and rid thee of thy plague!
Let us be going, that when God shall give
Fair voyage, that moment we may launch away.
PHI. My son, are ye now setting forth?
NEO. Our time
Bids us go near and look to sail erelong.
PHI. Now, by thy father, by thy mother, — nay,
By all thy love e’er cherished in thy home,
Suppliant I beg thee, leave me not thus lone,
Forlorn in all my misery which thou seest,
In all thou hast heard of here surrounding me!
Stow me with other freightage. Full of care,
I know, and burdensome the charge may prove.
Yet venture! Surely to the noble mind
All shame is hateful and all kindness blest.
And shame would be thy meed, didst thou fail here
But, doing this, thou shalt have glorious fame,
When I return alive to Oeta’s vale.
Come, ’tis the labour not of one whole day.
So thou durst take me, fling me where thou wilt
O’ the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or wheresoe’er
I least may trouble those on board with me.
Ah! by great Zeus, the suppliant’s friend, comply,
My son, be softened! See, where I am fall’n
Thus on my knees before thee, though so weak,
Crippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me not
Thus far from human footstep. Take me, take me!
If only to thy home, or to the town
Of old Chalcodon in Euboea. — From thence
I have not far to Oeta, and the ridge
Of Trachis, and Spercheius’ lordly flood.
So thou shalt bless my father with my sight.
And yet long since I fear he may be gone.
For oft I sent him suppliant prayers by men
Who touched this isle, entreating him to fetch
And bear me safely home with his own crew.
But either he is dead, or else, methinks,
It well may be, my messengers made light
Of my concerns, and hastened onward home.
[500-536] But now in thee I find both messenger
And convoy, thou wilt pity me and save.
For, well thou knowest, danger never sleeps,
And fear of dark reverse is always nigh.
Mortals, when free, should look where mischief lurks,
And in their happiest hour consider well
Their life, lest ruin unsuspected come.
CH. Pity him, O my king!2
Many a crushing woe
He telleth, such as I pray
None of my friends may know.
And if, dear master, thou mi
slikest sore
Yon cruel-hearted lordly pair, I would,
Turning their plan of evil to his good,
On swift ship bear him to his native shore,
Meeting his heart’s desire; and free thy path
From fear of heavenly wrath.
NEO. Thou mak’st small scruple here; but be advised:
Lest, when this plague on board shall weary thee,
Thy voice should alter from this liberal tone.
CH. No, truly! Fear not thou shalt ever have
Just cause to utter such reproach on me.
NEO. Then sure ‘twere shame, should I more backward prove
Than thou, to labour for the stranger’s need.
Come, if thou wilt, let us make voyage, and he,
Let him set forth with speed. Our ship shall take him.
He shall not be refused. Only may Heaven
Lead safely hence and to our destined port!
PHI. O morning full of brightness! Kindest friend,
Sweet mariners, how can I make you feel,
In act, how dearly from my heart I love you!
Ye have won my soul. Let us be gone, my son, —
First having said farewell to this poor cave,
My homeless dwelling-place, that thou may’st know,
How barely I have lived, how firm my heart!
Methinks another could not have endured
[537-572] The very sight of what I bore. But I
Through strong necessity have conquered pain.
CH. Stay: let us understand. There come two men
A stranger, with a shipmate of thy crew.
When ye have heard them, ye may then go in.
Enter Messenger, disguised as a merchantman.
MERCHANTMAN. Son of Achilles, my companion here,
Who with two more remained to guard thy ship,
Agreed to help me find thee where thou wert,
Since unexpectedly, through fortune’s will,
I meet thee, mooring by the self-same shore.
For like a merchantman, with no great sail,
Making my course from Ilion to my home,
Grape-clustered Peparethos, when I heard
The mariners declare that one and all
Were of thy crew, I would not launch again,
Without a word, till we had told our news. —
Methinks thou knowest nought of thine own case,
What new devices of the Argive chiefs
Surround thee; nor devices only now,
But active deeds, no longer unperformed.
NEO. Well, stranger, for the kindness thou hast shown, —
Else were I base, — my heart must thank thee still.
But tell me what thou meanest, that I may learn
What new-laid plot thou bring’st me from the camp.
MER. Old Phoenix, Acamas and Demophon
Are gone in thy pursuit with ships and men.
NEO. To bring me back with reasons or perforce?
MER. I know not. What I heard, I am here to tell.
NEO. How? And is this in act? Are they set forth
To please the Atridae, Phoenix and the rest?
MER. The thing is not to do, but doing now.
NEO. What kept Odysseus back, if this be so,
From going himself? Had he some cause for fear?
MER. He and the son of Tydeus, when our ship
Hoist sail, were gone to fetch another man.
NEO. For whom could he himself be sailing forth?
[573-607] MER. For some one, — but first tell me, whispering low
Whate’er thou speakest, — who is this I see?
NEO. (speaking aloud).
This, sir, is Philoctetes the renowned.
MER. (aside to NEOPTOLEMUS).
Without more question, snatch thyself away
And sail forth from this land.
PHI. What saith he, boy?
Through what dark traffic is the mariner
Betraying me with whispering in thine ear?
NEO. I have not caught it, but whate’er he speaks
He must speak openly to us and thee.
MER. Seed of Achilles, let me not offend
The army by my words! Full many a boon,
Being poor, I reap from them for service done.
NEO. The Atridae are my foes; the man you see
Is my fast friend, because he hates them sore.
Then, if you come in kindness, you must hide
Nothing from him or me of all thou hast heard.
MER. Look what thou doest, my son!
NEO. I mark it well.
MER. Thou shalt be answerable.
NEO. Content: but speak.
MER. Then hear me. These two men whom I have named,
Diomedes and Odysseus, are set forth
Engaged on oath to bring this man by force
If reasons fail. The Achaeans every one
Have heard this plainly from Odysseus’ mouth.
He was the louder and more confident.
NEO. Say, for what cause, after so long a time,
Can Atreus’ sons have turned their thoughts on him,
Whom long they had cast forth? What passing touch
Of conscience moved them, or what stroke from Heaven,
Whose wrath requites all wicked deeds of men?
MER. Methinks thou hast not heard what I will now
Unfold to thee. There was a princely seer,
A son of Priam, Helenus by name,
Whom he for whom no word is bad enough,
[608-645] Crafty Odysseus, sallying forth alone
One night, had taken, and in bonds displayed
‘Fore all the Achaeans, a right noble prey.
He, ‘mid his other prophecies, foretold
No Grecian force should sack Troy’s citadel,
Till with fair reasons they had brought this man
From Lemnos isle, his lonely dwelling-place.
When thus the prophet spake, Laërtes’ son
Straight undertook to fetch this man, and show him
To all the camp: — he hoped, with fair consent:
But else, perforce. — And, if he failed in this,
Whoever would might smite him on the head.
My tale is told, dear youth. I counsel speed
To thee and to the friend for whom thou carest.
PHI. Ah me, unhappy! has that rascal knave
Sworn to fetch me with reasons to their camp?
As likely might his reasons bring me back,
Like his begetter, from the house of death.
MER. You talk of what I know not. I will go
Shipward. May God be with you for all good.[Exit
PHI. Is not this terrible, Laërtes’ son
Should ever think to bring me with soft words
And show me from his deck to all their host?
No! Sooner will I listen to the tongue
Of the curs’d basilisk that thus hath maim’d me.
Ay, but he’ll venture anything in word
Or deed. And now I know he will be here.
Come, O my son, let us be gone, while seas
And winds divide us from Odysseus’ ship.
Let us depart. Sure timely haste brings rest
And quiet slumber when the toil is done.
NEO. Shall we not sail when this south-western wind
Hath fallen, that now is adverse to our course?
PHI. All winds are fair to him who flies from woe.
NEO. Nay, but this head-wind hinders them no less.
PHI. No head-wind hinders pirates on their way,
When violence and rapine lead them on.
NEO. Well, then, let us be going, if you will;
[646-675] When you have taken from within the cave
What most you need and value.
PHI. Though my all
Be little, there is that I may not lose.
NEO. What can there be that we have not
on board?
PHI. A leaf I have found, wherewith I still the rage
Of my sore plague, and lull it quite to rest.
NEO. Well, bring it forth. — What? Is there something more?
PHI. If any of these arrows here are fallen,
I would not leave them for a casual prey.
NEO. How? Do I see thee with the marvellous bow?
PHI. Here in my hand. The world hath only one.
NEO. And may one touch and handle it, and gaze
With reverence, as on a thing from Heaven?
PHI. Thou mayest, my son. This and whate’er of mine
May stead thee, ’tis thy privilege to enjoy.
NEO. In very truth I long for it, but so,
That longing waits on leave. Am I permitted?
PHI. Thou art, my son, — and well thou speakest, — thou art.
Thou, that hast given me light and life, the joy
Of seeing Mount Oeta and my father’s home,
With all I love there, and his aged head, —
Thou that hast raised me far above my foes
Who triumphed! Thou may’st take it in thine hand,
And, — when thou hast given it back to me, — may’st vaunt
Alone of mortals for thine excellence
To have held this in thy touch. I, too, at first,
Received it as a boon for kindness done.
NEO. Well, go within.
PHI. Nay, I must take thee too.
My sickness craves thee for its comforter.
[PHILOCTETES and NEOPTOLEMUS go into the cave
[676-711]
CHORUS.
In fable I have heard,I 1
Though sight hath ne’er confirmed the word,
How he who attempted once the couch supreme,
To a whirling wheel by Zeus the all-ruler bound,
Tied head and heel, careering ever round,
Atones his impious unsubstantial dream.
Of no man else, through eye or ear,
Have I discerned a fate more full of fear
Than yonder sufferer’s of the cureless wound:
Who did no violence, defrauded none: —
A just man, had he dwelt among the just
Unworthily behold him thrust
Alone to hear the billows roar
That break around a rugged shore!
How could he live, whose life was thus consumed with moan?
Where neighbour there was none:I 2
No arm to stay him wandering lone,
Unevenly, with stumbling steps and sore;
No friend in need, no kind inhabitant,
To minister to his importunate want,
No heart whereto his pangs he might deplore.
None who, whene’er the gory flow
Was rushing hot, might healing herbs bestow,
Or cull from teeming Earth some genial plant
To allay the anguish of malignant pain
And soothe the sharpness of his poignant woe.