Chapter 17

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? 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 Herculean 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, 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. 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-pestilent 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[2], 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, Chiefly through longing for my father's corse, To see him yet unburied,--for I ne'er Had seen him[3]. 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, Laertes' 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, '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[4]. Yet less I blame him than the men in power. 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 Laertes 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.

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, 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[5] 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. 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 mislikest 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 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?

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, 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, Laertes' 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, Laertes' 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; 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_

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. Like infant whom the nurse lets go, With tottering movement here and there, He crawled for comfort, whensoe'er His soul-devouring plague relaxed its cruel strain.

Not fed with foison of all-teeming Earth II 1 Whence we sustain us, ever-toiling men, But only now and then With winged things, by his wing'd shafts brought low, He stayed his hunger from his bow. Poor soul, that never through ten years of dearth Had pleasure from the fruitage of the vine, But seeking to some standing pool, Nor clear nor cool, Foul water heaved to head for lack of heartening wine.