Chapter 16

HER. O altar on the Euboean strand, High-heaped with offerings from my hand, What meed for lavish gifts bestowed From thy new sanctuary hath flowed! Father of Gods! thy cruel power Hath foiled me with an evil blight. Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night Ere madness in a fatal hour Had burst upon them with a blaze, No help or soothing once allays!

What hand to heal, what voice to charm, Can e'er dispel this hideous harm? Whose skill save thine, Monarch Divine? Mine eyes, if such I saw, Would hail him from afar with trembling awe. Ah! ah! O vex me not, touch me not, leave me to rest, To sleep my last sleep on Earth's gentle breast. You touch me, you press me, you turn me again, You break me, you kill me! O pain! O pain! You have kindled the pang that had slumbered still. It comes, it hath seized me with tyrannous will!

Where are ye, men, whom over Hellas wide This arm hath freed, and o'er the ocean-tide, And through rough brakes, from every monstrous thing? Yet now in mine affliction none will bring A sword to aid, a fire to quell this fire, O most unrighteous! nor to my desire Will come and quench the hateful life I hold With mortal stroke! Ah! is there none so bold?

OLD M. Son of our hero, this hath mounted past My feeble force to cope with. Take him thou! Fresher thine eye and more the hope thou hast Than mine to save him.

HYL. I support him now Thus with mine arm: but neither fleshly vest Nor inmost spirit can I lull to rest From torture. None may dream To wield this power, save he, the King supreme.

HER. Son! Where art thou to lift me and hold me aright? It tears me, it kills me, it rushes in might, This cruel, devouring, unconquered pain Shoots forth to consume me. Again! again! O Fate! O Athena!--O son, at my word Have pity and slay me with merciful sword!

Pity thy father, boy; with sharp relief Smite on my breast, and heal the wrathful grief Wherewith thy mother, God-abandoned wife, Hath wrought this ruin on her husband's life. O may I see her falling, even so As she hath thrown me, to like depth of woe! Sweet Hades, with swift death, Brother of Zeus, release my suffering breath!

CH. Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe, Racking our mighty one with mightier pain.

HER. Many hot toils and hard beyond report, With sturdy thews and sinews I have borne, But no such labour hath the Thunderer's wife Or sour Eurystheus ever given, as this, Which Oeneus' daughter of the treacherous eye Hath fastened on my back, this amply-woven Net of the Furies, that is breaking me. For, glued unto my side, it hath devoured My flesh to the bone, and lodging in the lungs It drains the vital channels, and hath drunk The fresh life-blood, and ruins all my frame, Foiled in the tangle of a viewless bond. Yet me nor War-host, nor Earth's giant brood, Nor Centaur's monstrous violence could subdue, Nor Hellas, nor the Stranger, nor all lands Where I have gone, cleansing the world from harms. But a soft woman without manhood's strain Alone and weaponless hath conquered me. Son, let me know thee mine true-born, nor rate Thy mother's claim beyond thy sire's, but bring Thyself from out the chambers to my hand Her body that hath borne thee, that my heart May be assured, if lesser than my pain It will distress thee to behold her limbs With righteous torment agonized and torn. Nay, shrink not, son, but pity me, whom all May pity--me, who, like a tender girl, Am heard to weep aloud! This none could say He knew in me of old; for, murmuring not, I went with evil fortune, silent still. Now, such a foe hath found the woman in me! Ay, but come near; stand by me, and behold What cause I have for crying. Look but here! Here is the mystery unveiled. O see! Ye people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh, Look with compassion on my misery! Ah me! Ah! ah! Again! Even now the hot convulsion of disease Shoots through my side, and will not let me rest From this fierce exercise of wearing woe. Take me, O King of Night! O sudden thunderstroke. Smite me! O sire, transfix me with the dart Of thy swift lightning! Yet again that fang Is tearing; it hath blossomed forth anew, It soars up to the height!

O breast and back, O shrivelling arms and hands, ye are the same That crushed the dweller of the Nemean wild, The lion unapproachable and rude, The oxherd's plague, and Hydra of the lake Of Lerna, and the twi-form prancing throng Of Centaurs,--insolent, unsociable, Lawless, ungovernable:--the tusked pest Of Erymanthine glades; then underground Pluto's three-headed cur--a perilous fear, Born from the monster-worm; and, on the verge Of Earth, the dragon, guarding fruits of gold. These toils and others countless I have tried, And none hath triumphed o'er me. But to-day, Jointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked Thus utterly by imperceptible woe; I, proudly named Alcmena's child, and His Who reigns in highest heaven, the King supreme! Ay, but even yet, I tell ye, even from here, Where I am nothingness and cannot move, She who hath done this deed shall feel my power. Let her come near, that, mastered by my might, She may have this to tell the world, that, dying, As living, I gave punishment to wrong.

CH. O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress! How thou wilt mourn in losing him we see!

HYL. My father, since thy silence gives me leave, Still hear me patiently, though in thy pain! For my request is just. Lend me thy mind Less wrathfully distempered than 'tis now; Else thou canst never know, where thou art keen With vain resentment and with vain desire

HER. Speak what thou wilt and cease, for I in pain Catch not the sense of thy mysterious talk

HYL. I come to tell thee of my mother's case, And her involuntary unconscious fault.

HER. Base villain! hast thou breathed thy mother's name, Thy father's murderess, in my hearing too!

HYL. Her state requires not silence, but full speech.

HER. Her faults in former time might well be told.

HYL. So might her fault to day, couldst thou but know.

HER. Speak, but beware base words disgrace thee not.

HYL. List! She is dead even now with new-given wound.

HER. By whom? Thy words flash wonder through my woe.

HYL. Her own hand slaughtered her, no foreign stroke.

HER. Wretch! to have reft this office from my hands.

HYL. Even your rash spirit were softened, if you knew.

HER. This bodes some knavery. But declare thy thought!

HYL. She erred with good intent. The whole is said.

HER. Good, O thou villain, to destroy thy sire!

HYL. When she perceived that marriage in her home, She erred, supposing to enchain thy love.

HER. Hath Trachis a magician of such might?

HYL. Long since the Centaur Nessus moved her mind To work this charm for heightening thy desire.

HER. O horror, thou art here! I am no more. My day is darkened, boy! Undone, undone! I see our plight too plainly. woe is me! Come, O my son! --thou hast no more a father,-- Call to me all the brethren of thy blood, And poor Alcmena, wedded all in vain Unto the Highest, that ye may hear me tell With my last breath what prophecies I know.

HYL. Thy mother is not here, but by the shore Of Tiryns hath obtained a dwelling-place; And of thy sons, some she hath with her there, And some inhabit Thebe's citadel. But we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught That may by us be done, will hear, and do.

HER. Then hearken thou unto this task, and show If worthily thou art reputed mine. Now is time to prove thee. My great father Forewarned me long ago that I should die By none who lived and breathed, but from the will Of one now dwelling in the house of death. And so this Centaur, as the voice Divine Then prophesied, in death hath slain me living. And in agreement with that ancient word I now interpret newer oracles Which I wrote down on going within the grove Of the hill-roving and earth-couching Selli,-- Dictated to me by the mystic tongue Innumerous, of my Father's sacred tree; Declaring that my ever instant toils Should in the time that new hath being and life End and release me. And I look'd for joy. But the true meaning plainly was my death.-- No labour is appointed for the dead.-- Then, since all argues one event, my son, Once more thou must befriend me, and not wait For my voice goading thee, but of thyself Submit and second my resolve, and know Filial obedience for thy noblest rule.

HYL. I will obey thee, father, though my heart Sinks heavily in approaching such a theme.

HER. Before aught else, lay thy right hand in mine.

HYL. Why so intent on this assurance, sire?

HER. Give it at once and be not froward, boy.

HYL. There is my hand: I will gainsay thee nought.

HER. Swear by the head of him who gave me life.

HYL. Tell me the oath, and I will utter it.

HER. Swear thou wilt do the thing I bid thee do.

HYL. I swear, and make Zeus witness of my troth.

HER. But if you swerve, pray that the curse may come.

HYL. It will not come for swerving:--but I pray.

HER. Now, dost thou know on Oeta's topmost height The crag of Zeus?

HYL. I know it, and full oft Have stood there sacrificing.

HER. Then even there, With thine own hand uplifting this my body, Taking what friends thou wilt, and having lopped Much wood from the deep-rooted oak and rough Wild olive, lay me on the gathered pile, And burn all with the touch of pine-wood flame. Let not a tear of mourning dim thine eye; But silent, with dry gaze, if thou art mine, Perform it. Else my curse awaits thee still To weigh thee down when I am lost in night.

HYL. How cruel, O my father, is thy tongue!

HER. 'Tis peremptory. Else, if thou refuse, Be called another's and be no more mine.

HYL. Alas that thou shouldst challenge me to this, To be thy murderer, guilty of thy blood!

HER. Not I, in sooth: but healer of my pain, And sole preserver from a life of woe.

HYL. How can it heal to burn thee on the pyre?

HER. If this act frighten thee, perform the rest.

HYL. Mine arms shall not refuse to carry thee.

HER. And wilt thou gather the appointed wood?

HYL. So my hand fire it not. In all but this, Not scanting labour, I will do my part.

HER. Enough. 'Tis well. And having thus much given Add one small kindness to a list so full.

HYL. How great soe'er it were, it should be done.

HER. The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween.

HYL. Of Iole thou speak'st, or I mistake.

HER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son. When I am dead, if thou wouldst show thy duty, Think of thine oath to me, and, on my word, Make her thy wife: nor let another man Take her, but only thou; since she hath lain So near this heart. Obey me, O my boy! And be thyself the maker of this bond. To spurn at trifles after great things given, Were to confound the meed already won.

HYL. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill! But who could bear to see thee in this mind?

HER. You murmur, as you meant to disobey.

HYL. How can I do it, when my mother's death And thy sad state sprang solely from this girl? Who, not possessed with furies, could choose this? Far better, father, for me too to die, Than to live still with my worst enemy.

HER. This youth withdraws his reverence in my death. But, if thou yield'st not to thy father's best, The curse from Heaven shall dog thy footsteps still.

HYL. Ah! thou wilt tell me that thy pain is come.

HER. Yea, for thou wak'st the torment that had slept.

HYL. Ay me! how cross and doubtful is my way!

HER. Because you will reject your father's word.

HYL. Must I be taught impiety from thee?

HER. It is not impious to content my heart.

HYL. Then you require this with an absolute will?

HER. And bid Heaven witness to my strong command.

HYL. Then I will do it, for the act is thine. I will not cast it off. Obeying thee, My sire, the Gods will ne'er reprove my deed.

HER. Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son, Add the performance swiftly, that, before Some spasm or furious onset of my pain Have seized me, ye may place me on the pyre. Come, loiter not, but lift me. Now my end Is near, the last cessation of my woe.

HYL. Since thy command is urgent, O my sire! We tarry not, but bear thee to the pyre.

HER. Stubborn heart, ere yet again Wakes the fierce rebound of pain, While the evil holds aloof, Thou, with bit of diamond proof, Curb thy cry, with forced will Seeming to do gladly still!

HYL. Lift him, men, and hate not me For the evil deeds ye see, Since the Heavens' relentless sway Recks not of the righteous way. He who gave life and doth claim From his seed a Father's name Can behold this hour of blame. Though the future none can tell, Yet the present is not well: Sore for him who bears the blow, Sad for us who feel his woe, Shameful to the Gods, we trow.

CH. Maidens from the palace-hall, Come ye forth, too, at our call! Mighty deaths beyond belief, Many an unknown form of grief, Ye have seen to-day; and nought But the power of Zeus hath wrought.

* * * * *

PHILOCTETES

THE PERSONS

ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS. CHORUS _of Mariners_. PHILOCTETES. Messenger, _disguised as a Merchantman_. HERACLES, _appearing from the sky_.

SCENE. A desert shore of the Island of Lemnos.

It was fated that Troy should be taken by Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, assisted by the bow of Heracles in the hands of Philoctetes.

Now Philoctetes had been rejected by the army because of a trouble in his foot, which made his presence with them insufferable; and had been cast away by Odysseus on the island of Lemnos.

But when the decree of fate was revealed by prophecy, Odysseus undertook to bring Philoctetes back, and took with him Neoptolemus, whose ambition could only be gratified through the return of Philoctetes with the bow.

Philoctetes was resolutely set against returning, and at the opening of the drama Neoptolemus is persuaded by Odysseus to take him with guile.

But when Philoctetes appears, the youth's ingenuous nature is so wrought upon through pity and remorse, that his sympathy and native truthfulness at length overcome his ambition.

When the inward sacrifice is complete, Heracles appears from heaven, and by a few words changes the mind of Philoctetes, so that all ends well.

PHILOCTETES

ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS.

ODYSSEUS. This coast of sea-girt Lemnos, where we stand, Is uninhabited, untrodden of men. And here, O noble son of noblest sire, Achilles-born Neoptolemus, I erewhile,-- Ordered by those who had command,--cast forth Trachinian Philoctetes, Poeas' son, His foot dark-dripping with a rankling wound; When with wild cries, that frighted holy rest, Filling the camp, he troubled every rite, That none might handle sacrifice, or pour Wine-offering, but his noise disturbed our peace. But why these words? No moment this for talk, Lest he discern my coming, and I lose The scheme, wherewith I think to catch him soon. Now most behoves thy service, to explore This headland for a cave with double mouth, Whose twofold aperture, on wintry days, Gives choice of sunshine, and in summer noons The breeze wafts slumber through the airy cell. Then, something lower down, upon the left, Unless 'tis dried, thine eye may note a spring. Go near now silently, and make me know If still he persevere, and hold this spot, Or have roamed elsewhere, that informed of this I may proceed with what remains to say, And we may act in concert.

NEOPTOLEMUS. Lord Odysseus, Thy foremost errand will not task me far. Methinks I see the cave whereof thou speakest.

OD. Where? let me see it. Above there, or below?

NEO. Yonder, above. And yet I hear no tread. [NEOPTOLEMUS _climbs up to the cave_

OD. Look if he be not lodged in slumber there.

NEO. I find no inmate, but an empty room.

OD. What? no provision for a dwelling-place?

NEO. A bed of leaves for some one harbouring here.

OD. Nought else beneath the roof? Is all forlorn?

NEO. A cup of wood, some untaught craftsman's skill, And, close at hand, these embers of a fire.

OD. That store is his. I read the token clear.

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 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 Laertes, 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.

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.

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 old I 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 seest 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, 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[1]: 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, 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.