Chapter 11

Beguile the mind Of Philoctetes by thy wily words. When he asks who thou art, and whence, reply Achilles' son; no lie is needed here. But say thou'rt sailing homeward, having left The Achaean host in mortal enmity, Since, when their prayers had drawn thee from thy home, They having no hope else of taking Troy, They did refuse the arms Achilles bore To the right heir, when he demanded them, And gave them to Ulysses, heaping all The foul reproaches that thou wilt on me, For they'll not hurt me. If thou dost this not, Thou wilt bring woe on the whole Argive host, For if we fail yon archer's bow to win, Thou ne'er shalt conquer the Dardanian land. That thou canst safely and with confidence Approach him, while I cannot, this will prove: Thou didst not sail constrained by any oath, Nor by compulsion, nor in the first fleet; But I can nothing of all this deny. Me if, still master of his arms, he sees, I am undone, and shall undo thee too. Thy task, then, is out of his hands to steal By subtlety, the unconquerable bow. Well do I know thy nature is not formed For falsehood, nor for treacherous device, But still success is sweet; stretch but a point, To-morrow we'll return to righteousness. For a small part of one brief day consent To play the knave, then to the end of life Be virtue's paragon and cynosure.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Son of Laertes, what my ears abhor To hear, my hand abhors to execute. So was it, as they tell me, with my sire. To take the man by force and not by guile I am prepared: he is alone and lame, While we are many: he would strive in vain. Commissioned as I am to second thee, I must be loyal, but would rather lose With honour, than dishonourably win.

ULYSSES.

Son of a glorious sire, myself in youth Was ready with my hand, and slow of tongue. Experience has taught me that the tongue Is a man's leading member, not his hand.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

What is it thou dost bid me do but lie?

ULYSSES.

I bid thee Philoctetes circumvent.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Will not persuasion work as well as guile?

ULYSSES.

He will not yield, and force him thou canst not.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Has he such might as to defy us all?

ULYSSES.

He has the unerring arrows winged with death.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Is it not safe e'en to encounter him?

ULYSSES.

Only if thou canst snare him as I say.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Seems it not shameful to thee thus to lie?

ULYSSES.

No, if the lie alone can do our work.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

How look him in the face and say such things?

ULYSSES.

With gain in view our scruples must give way.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Suppose him brought to Troy, what gain to me?

ULYSSES.

Troy can be taken only by his bow.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

I, then, am not to be her conqueror.

ULYSSES.

Not by thyself, nor without thee the bow.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

If so it be, the bow must be secured.

ULYSSES.

Secure it and a double meed is thine.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Prove this to me, and I will do thy will.

ULYSSES.

Thou wilt be hailed at once as wise and brave.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Well, I will do it; all my qualms are gone.

ULYSSES.

Canst thou remember what erewhile I taught?

NEOPTOLEMUS.

That can I, since my word has once been passed.

ULYSSES.

Then bide thou here, and wait for his approach: I will withdraw, lest I should meet his eye. Our sentinels shall to the ship return, And if ye seem to me to tarry long, I will despatch the same man back again, Having disguised him as a shipmaster, That unsuspect he may my bidding do. My son, in riddles he will speak to thee, And see that thou dost read his riddle right. I'll to the ship and leave the rest to thee. May Hermes, god of cunning, help his own, And may Athene, Queen of victory And cities, save her votary once more.

* * * * *

_THE HERO BETRAYED._

Neoptolemus, having filched the bow of Philoctetes, Philoctetes prays him to restore it.

LINES 927-962.

PHILOCTETES

O pest, O bane, O of all villainy Vile masterpiece, what hast thou done to me? How am I duped? Wretch, hast thou no regard For the unfortunate, the suppliant? Thou tak'st my life when thou dost take my bow. Give it me back, good youth, I do entreat. O by thy gods, rob me not of my life. Alas! he answers not, but as resolved Upon denial, turns away his face. O havens, headlands, lairs of mountain beasts, That my companions here have been, O cliffs Steep-faced, since other audience have I none, In your familiar presence I complain Of the wrong done me by Achilles' son. Home he did swear to take me, not to Troy. Against his plighted faith the sacred bow Of Heracles, the son of Zeus, he steals, And means to show it to the Argive host. He fancies that he over strength prevails, Not seeing that I am a corpse, a shade, A ghost. Were I myself, he had not gained The day, nor would now save by treachery. I am entrapped. Ah me! what can I do? Yet be thyself and give me back my bow. Say that thou wilt. He speaks not; I am lost. O rock, with twofold doorway, I return To thee disarmed, bereft of sustenance. Deserted, I shall wither in that cell, No longer slaying bird or sylvan beast With yonder bow. Myself shall with my flesh Now feed the creatures upon which I fed, And be by my own quarry hunted down. Thus shall I sadly render blood for blood, And all through one that seemed to know no wrong. Curse thee I will not till all hope is fled Of thy repentance; then accursed die.

End of Project Gutenberg's Specimens of Greek Tragedy, by Goldwin Smith