Philoctetes the Malian, son of Poeas, had accompanied the Grecian expedition to Troy, but on visiting the temple of the goddess Chryse had been bitten in the foot by a venomous serpent, the guardian of the shrine. His noxious and incurable wound aroused so much revulsion among his former comrades that they banished him to the uninhabited island of Lemnos, where he eked out a wretched existence throughout the ten years of the Trojan war. At length it was revealed to the Greek leaders that Troy could only be taken by the help of the invincible bow and arrows of Heracles, and these were in the possession of Philoctetes, having been given to him by Heracles at his death.
Odysseus and Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, are sent to recall Philoctetes from his exile and bring him with the bow and arrows to Troy. But Philoctetes is unwilling to make peace with those who treated him so cruelly, and only by the intervention of the deified Heracles is he persuaded to return and help the Greeks to victory.
*
CHARACTERS
Odysseus
Neoptolemus
Philoctetes
Heracles
A Sailor
Chorus of Sailors
*
The scene represents a desolate part of the coast of Lemnos. A rocky path leads upwards to the half-hidden entrance to a cave.
Enter ODYSSEUS and NEOPTOLEMUS, with a SAILOR following.
ODYSSEUS: This is the coast of Lemnos, a desolate island
In the midst of the sea, where no man walks or lives.
Now, young Neoptolemus, son of the great Achilles,
This is the place where, many years ago,
Acting on the orders of our overlords,
I left Philoctetes the Malian, Poeas’ son,
Lamed by a festering ulcer in his foot,
At which he would moan and howl incessantly;
Our camp was never free of his frantic wailing –
Never a moment’s pause for libation or prayer,
But the silence was desecrated by his tortured cries.
The story’s a long one; I cannot tell it now.
If he once finds out I’m here, my clever device
To capture him will fall to the ground. To work!
I need your help.
First, see if you can find
A cave with a double entrance, the sort of place
To afford two sun-traps on a chilly day
Or a cool retreat for sleep in the height of summer,
Fanned by a current of air. A little below,
To the left, there should be a spring of running water,
Unless it’s now dried up. Go quietly,
And see if there’s any sign of the fellow still
In his old accustomed haunts; and bring me word;
And then I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do,
And we’ll go to work together.
NEOPTOLEMUS climbs the rock.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Odysseus, sir!
We haven’t far to look. There is a cave,
Just as you say.
ODYSSEUS: Above you or below?
I cannot see from here.
NEOPTOLEMUS: It’s rather high.
I hear no sign of anyone moving about.
ODYSSEUS: Perhaps he’s asleep inside. Look in and see.
NEOPTOLEMUS: The place seems empty; not a man in sight.
ODYSSEUS: Is there any sign of human habitation?
NEOPTOLEMUS: There’s a pile of leaves pressed down, as if someone had slept on it.
ODYSSEUS: And nothing else? Is the rest of the chamber empty?
NEOPTOLEMUS: There’s a rough wooden cup, some clumsy person’s handiwork
By the look of it. And here’s some tinder-wood.
ODYSSEUS: That sounds like the fellow’s goods and chattels.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Hullo!
Here’s something else: rags hanging out to dry,
Stained, it appears, with the flux of a nasty wound.
ODYSSEUS: The man is here all right, no doubt about it.
This is his home; he can’t be far away;
How could he be, crippled with that old sore?
He’ll be out hunting for his dinner, or for some herb
He’s discovered to soothe his pain.
(Calling to NEOPTOLEMUS)
Send your man
To scout around. I mustn’t be caught by surprise;
He’d rather catch me than any Greek alive.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I will (he sends the Sailor out of sight).
He’s going to keep an eye on the path.
(Coming down to join ODYSSEUS)
Now, what’s the next move?
ODYSSEUS: Listen, son of Achilles:
You’ve come on a mission that calls for all your strength –
Not only bodily strength. If you are surprised
At anything I say, remember you are here to help me.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What do you want me to do?
ODYSSEUS: To trick Philoctetes
By a tale you must tell him. When he asks you who you are
And where you come from, say you’re the son of Achilles –
No need for a lie so far. You’re homeward bound,
Tell him, and have left the Greek invading force
With a mighty grudge against them; they begged and prayed you
To come from home, as if the capture of Troy
Depended on you alone; and when you came
And asked for your father’s arms, as was your right,
Refused to give them, and gave them instead to Odysseus…
Oh yes, you may call me any names you like,
The viler the better – I shan’t mind – but remember,
If you fail us now, the wrath of all the Greeks
Will be on your head. You’ve got to get that bow
From Philoctetes, or never capture Troy.
And listen –
Here is the reason why you can approach him
Rather than I, without arousing suspicion.
You made this voyage of your own accord, not bound
By oath to anyone, under no compulsion,
Having taken no part in the original expedition.
I have no such excuse. If he catches sight of me
While he still holds the bow, it means my death,
And yours as well. No; this is our only chance.
The weapon is irresistible, and we must plan
A stratagem to steal it.
Of course, my boy,
I know it goes against the grain with you
To lie, or act deceitfully; but then,
Success is worth an effort, make it now.
We shall be justified in the end; for the present
Let honesty go hang, only for a day,
I beg you; and then you can live for ever after
A paragon of virtue. Will you do it?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I confess, sir, there are things that offend my conscience
Even in hearing, and therefore still more in action.
Deceit is not my nature; nor, I am told,
Was it my father’s. I’d rather beat this man
By force than by deception. In any case,
One against many, and with only one sound foot,
He isn’t likely to get the better of us.
I know I’ve been sent to help you in this mission.
And I’d hate to fail you now; but really, sir,
I’d rather lose by fair means than win by foul.
ODYSSEUS:
My lad, you’re your father’s son. When I was your age,
My hand was readier than my tongue; but now
I’ve learnt by much and bitter experience
Words count for more than deeds in the world of men.
Have you any orders for me, other than to tell a lie?
ODYSSEUS: Just to use a little deception to entrap Philoctetes.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Is it necessary? Might not persuasion be sufficient?
ODYSSEUS:
You will never persuade him, still less take him by force.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Why, has he such terrible strength at his command?
ODYSSEUS: Arrows that never miss, flying to kill.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I see: so it’s dangerous even to approach the man?
ODYSSEUS: It is; unless, as I say, you use some stratagem.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Don’t you believe it wrong to tell a lie, sir?
ODYSSEUS: No, if success and safety depend upon it.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I don’t know if I could do it; my face would betray me.
ODYSSEUS:
It’s for your own good; you can’t afford to be squeamish.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
What good will it do me for him to come to Troy?
ODYSSEUS: Without those arrows Troy will never be ours.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I thought it was I that was to win that victory.
ODYSSEUS: You and the arrows: neither without the other.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
In that case, there’s nothing for it; we must make them ours.
ODYSSEUS: Two prizes await you when you’ve done the deed.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What? Tell me, and I might do it.
ODYSSEUS: A prize for intelligence,
And a prize for courage.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Say no more. I’ll do it,
And conscience can be hanged!
What I advised you to do?
NEOPTOLEMUS: I know. I’ll do it,
Now I’ve made up my mind.
ODYSSEUS: Wait for him here.
I’ll keep away, not to be seen with you;
And I’ll send our watcher back to the ship. Later,
If you seem to be taking longer than I expect,
I’ll send the fellow out again, disguised
(To aid the deception) as a merchant skipper.
He’ll spin some suitable yarn, so you watch out
And take your cue from him. Now I’ll be off,
And leave the rest to you. May we be guided
By Hermes the subtle, the finder of ways, and victory,
And Athena Polias, always at my side!
Exit.
Enter the CHORUS of sailors from
NEOPTOLEMUS’ ship.
CHORUS: Captain, this is a strange
And lonely piece of land.
What are the orders, sir?
’Tis a canny creature, I reckon,
We’ve come to meet.
Do we tell him all, or no?
’Tis the power of God Almighty
Quickens the wits of a man,
As it has in you, lad, filled
With power and strength sent down
From eternal ages.
Give us our orders, sir.
NEOPTOLEMUS: First, you will want to see for yourselves
The place he lives in, here by the shore.
Look, there it is. There’s nothing to fear.
The monster’s not at home at present.
He’s out for a walk. When he returns,
Come forward carefully. Watch my signals,
And be ready to give me any assistance.
CHORUS: Trust us for that, Captain.
We’ll keep an eye on you,
As we always do.
(NEOPTOLEMUS climbs up to the cave.)
What sort of a place has he got
To make a home in here?
And – which is more important –
Where is he now, I wonder?
He might spring suddenly on us
If we don’t know where he is hiding,
Whether he’s gone away, or
Is biding his time somewhere
Inside or out.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Look, here’s his house, this crib in the rock.
Front door, back door –
CHORUS: Where can he be?
Poor devil.
NEOPTOLEMUS: He cannot be far away.
He’ll have hobbled off to look for food.
They say that’s how he lives, poor creature,
Painfully hunting with bow and arrows,
And no one to help him cure his trouble.
CHORUS: ’Tis a pitiful life for a man,
And no mistake. Lonesome.
Not a living soul to talk to;
No one to help him bear his pains;
Pitiful. Suffering like that.
Pretty near out of his mind,
I should say, with all he has to put up with.
You’d wonder a man could stand it.
To think the gods could send
Such mischief to man!
’Tis ever a curse for a man to be marked
Above the common lot.
Son of a high-born house,
Likely as not, as good as the best;
And now, lost and alone
With the furred and feathered creatures,
Tortured with want and the pain
He can never cure;
And none to answer his cries
But the echo in far-off hills.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I know his story. It is not strange.
I think it is under the will of heaven
He suffers, and by the anger of Chryse.
His torments now, and his loneliness,
Are the work of a god; he has those arrows
Holy and invincible, and must not use them
On Trojan soil, till the due time comes
When they are to compass the city’s fall.
CHORUS: Hark! What was that?
NEOPTOLEMUS: What now?
CHORUS: A sound like the weary cry
Of a man in pain.
Was it there? No, there.
I can hear it again.
A dragging step, surely, and the voice
Of a suffering creature,
As plain as plain.
Come, sir –
NEOPTOLEMUS: What shall we do?
CHORUS: Look alive, the man is near.
And that’s no ditty or shepherd-song
He sings, but the desperate moan
Of a stumbling wounded castaway
Looking out on an empty sea.
Enter PHILOCTETES, a pitiful figure in ragged garments, the famous bow in his hand, and his wounded foot swathed in crude bandages.
PHILOCTETES: Ahoy there!…
Men, who are you? What country is it you come from
To this strange coast? There is no harbour here,
No home for any man… What blood? What city?
I cannot guess. Greeks surely, though, I’d say,
By the look of your clothes – and God be thanked for that.
If I could hear your language… Have no fear!
You’re scared at my looks, more like a savage creature
Than a man. But have no fear; pity me rather.
I am a poor lonely creature, a castaway
Without a friend in the world, much wronged…
Speak, men!
Speak, if you come as friends. Answer, O answer!
We must not part without a word.
NEOPTOLEMUS: My friend,
We are Greeks. That question can be answered first.
PHILOCTETES: O lovely sound! After so many years
To hear that greeting! O my lad, my son,
What brings you here? What errand? What blessed wind?
Who are you? Tell me. Let me hear you speak.
NEOPTOLEMUS: The island of Scyros is my homeland. Home
Is where I am bound for now. My name, Neoptolemus,
Son of Achilles. There you have it all.
PHILOCTETES: Achilles’ son! I knew him. He was my friend.
And Scyros – lovely country! You, his child:
Old Lycomedes was your foster-father.
How come you to this coast, then? And from where?
NEOPTOLEMUS: From Troy, this voyage.
PHILOCTETES: Troy? But how is that?
You were not with us when we sailed there first.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
‘We’? What, were you one of that gallant band?
PHILOCTETES: O lad, can it be you don’t know whom you’re talking to?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Someone I’ve never seen before, surely.
PHILOCTETES: You never heard my name? You never heard
Anything of the calamity that has kept me here
More dead than alive?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Nothing at all, I assure you.
PHILOCTETES: O my misery! How the gods must hate me!
Left in this plight, and never a word of it
Brought to my home or to any corner of Greece.
They enjoy their joke in silence, who infamously
Cast me away; while here my old infirmity
Thrives undiminished, ever-increasing. Son,
Son of Achilles, you know me, you must have heard
Of the man who was master of the weapons of Heracles,
Poeas’ son, Philoctetes. I am he,
Whom our two captains, with the Cephallenian,
Marooned here by a devilish trick; helpless
They left me, wasting with a deadly wound,
A venomous serpent’s bite, searing my flesh;
Left me with it alone, lad; cast me ashore
And went upon their way. It was when their fleet
Was sailing from Chryse and chanced to put in here.
And thankful they must have been to see me sleeping
– We’d had a stormy passage – in the lee of a rock
On shore, where they left me and went, giving me nothing
But a handful of beggarly rags and a morsel of food.
May heaven serve them the like!
Think what I felt, lad,
Waking to find them gone; what an awakening!
O, how I wept and cursed my fate! Imagine
How I felt when I saw that every ship was gone
Of those I sailed with, not a man on the island,
Not one to befriend me or lend me a helping hand
In the trouble that racked me. Whichever way I looked,
There was nothing, nothing beside me but misery,
And that in abundance, lad.
So time and time went on, and all alone
Here in this little crib, day after day,
I had to manage as best I might. This bow
Was servant to my belly; many a bird
It has brought to the ground; and mind you, every time
I killed with an arrow from this string, it was I
That had to crawl and drag myself along,
With this wretched foot, to where the quarry fell.
And then for water, or wood to burn – the frost
Is sharp in winter – out I had to go
In search of it. I would have had no fire,
But that I managed to coax its secret out
Laboriously rubbing stone on stone.
And so I kept alive. Roof and a fire:
What more could I want? – save healing of my pain.
But now to tell you of the island, lad.
’Tis a place no man afloat would choose to run to;
Here is no anchorage, much less port or market
For a man of business, nothing at all to give
A visitor welcome. No man in his senses
Makes this a port of call. Now and again
Some accident would bring a man this way –
Such things must happen in a lifetime – well,
What do my visitors do? Talk kindly to me,
Give me a little charity, food maybe,
Or bits of clothing, but, if I mention it,
A passage home – no; anything but that.
Ten years a-dying of hunger and wretchedness,
To keep alive this glutton pain!
(A spasm of agony.)
The hand of Odysseus, the hands of the sons of Atreus
Did this to me, boy. May the gods of heaven
Pay them in full with sufferings like mine!
CHORUS: Truly we are as sorry for you, son of Poeas,
As any that ever came to visit you.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Indeed, yes; I myself can testify
You speak the truth, for I have suffered too
At the hands of the sons of Atreus, and the hand of Odysseus.
PHILOCTETES: You too? Have you a cause for indignation,
A score against those villains?
NEOPTOLEMUS: That I have,
And long for the day when I shall pay it off
And let Mycenae know, and Sparta know
That Scyros is the mother of brave sons.
PHILOCTETES:
Bravo, lad! Well then, tell us, what is the reason,
This mighty grudge you bear against them?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Sir,
I’ll tell you as well as I can, though it won’t be easy.
I came to Troy, and they insulted me.
The end appointed for my father’s life –
PHILOCTETES: Achilles? The son of Peleus? No, not dead?
Tell me again, before anything else. Achilles?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Yes, dead; not killed by any mortal hand –
A god’s. They say he fell to an arrow of Phoebus.
PHILOCTETES: Great victim of the great destroyer! O son,
Shall I ask more of you, or weep for him?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Sir, you have enough to suffer and to weep for;
You need not weep for others.
PHILOCTETES: That is true.
On with your tale, then. They insulted you?
NEOPTOLEMUS: This is the story. They came for me; the great Odysseus himself, and Phoenix, my father’s former guardian, came in a ship with colours flying, to bring the message (whether true or false, I do not know) that, my father being dead, it was foretold that no one but I should accomplish the capture of Troy. Hearing this news, I lost no time in setting sail to return with them – chiefly for love of my dead father, and wishing to see him once before his burial. It was the only time I ever saw him. And there was glamour in their promise – the promise that I was to be the taker of the Trojan fortress.
Two days at sea, and wind and oar brought us to Sigeum, a land of sad memories for me. As I stepped ashore, the whole army gathered round me with joyful greetings; they could have sworn, they said, that the lost Achilles stood before them alive again. But he was dead. When I had mourned for him, I went, as soon as might be, to the sons of Atreus – my friends, as I supposed – and asked for my father’s arms and all that had been his. And this, O God, this was their outrageous answer: ‘Son of Achilles’ they said, ‘all that your father left behind him is yours to take, except his weapons; these we have already given to someone else – to Odysseus, the son of Laertes.’ I sprang up with tears in my eyes, and bitter anger in my heart, and in my rage I said: ‘How dare you make so bold as to give my arms to anyone but me, without my leave?’ Odysseus himself was there. ‘Young man’ he said, ‘they did quite right to give them to me; for as it happened it was I that saved them from capture, and their owner too.’ I was so enraged, I called down every curse on him that I could think of – that he should rob me of my armour! At that, though not a choleric man as a rule, he angrily replied: ‘When your place was here along with us, you chose to be elsewhere; and let me tell you this, boast as you will, you’re mistaken if you think you’ll ever take those weapons back to Scyros.’ This was enough. Outraged, insulted, I sailed for home; cheated and robbed by that scheming son of evil, Odysseus. And yet I blame him less than those in command. As a state depends on its leaders, so does an army; when men do wrong, the teachers that have corrupted them are to blame.
Well, that’s the story. Heaven bless, as I do, every man that hates the sons of Atreus!
CHORUS: Ay, by the Mother of All, Mother of Zeus himself,
Goddess of Earth and Hills, Queen of the Mighty River
Pactolus of the golden sands;
It was to her we prayed that day
When the sons of Atreus did this thing to him
And took his father’s arms away
(Great Goddess, throned upon
The Lion that devours the Bull!)
To give Laertes’ son
A gift so wonderful!
PHILOCTETES: Sir, the credentials of your tale of injury
Seem unmistakable; the very counterpart
Of mine. I recognize the handiwork
Of the brothers and Odysseus. He’s a fellow
With a ready tongue for any wicked speech
Or mischief, to achieve his evil purposes.
I know him well. There’s nothing new in this.
But what of Ajax the Great? I am surprised
That he could bear to see such insult done.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Ah, he was gone, my friend. Had he been there,
I should have had my rights.
PHILOCTETES: Ajax dead too?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Ay, gone into the darkness.
PHILOCTETES: O, the pity!
And those two worthless ones – the spawn of Sisyphus
Bought by Laertes, and the son of Tydeus –
They will not die. They never should have lived.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Not they. Make no mistake, they live and thrive,
High personages in the Grecian army.
PHILOCTETES: And is my good old friend, Nestor of Pylos,
Alive still? He could always find a way
To check their knavish tricks.
NEOPTOLEMUS: He is alive,
But in sad case, since he has lost his son
Whom he had with him, Antilochus.
PHILOCTETES: I’m sorry.
Two good men gone, whose loss comes nearer to me
Than any other. Well, well; what can we hope for
With these gone, and Odysseus still among us,
Whom we could well have spared?
NEOPTOLEMUS: The artful schemer!
But remember, Philoctetes, the cleverest rogue
Must meet his match some day, and bite the dust.
PHILOCTETES: But, heavens above, was not Patroclus there
To help you? He was your father’s dearest friend.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Dead too. Yes, that’s the way of it, Philoctetes.
War never picks the worst men for his victims,
But always the best.
PHILOCTETES: I know it. And, by the by,
What of that worthless creature, shrewd of tongue
And cunning? What of him?
NEOPTOLEMUS: You mean Odysseus?
PHILOCTETES: No, no, not him. Thersites was his name;
One who would always be talking, and wouldn’t be quiet
For anyone under the sun. Is he still living?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I have heard that he is; though I didn’t see him.
Does nothing evil ever die? It seems
A special providence protects all such.
I think the gods delight to turn away
All deep-dyed villains from the door of death
And hale in all the good men. Why, then, why
Praise we the gods, when, even while we praise,
We find them evil?
NEOPTOLEMUS: For my part, from now on
I shall steer clear of Troy and the sons of Atreus,
And take good care never to choose my friends
Where evil has the whip-hand over good
And decent men are floored by cowards. Yes,
From this time on I shall be satisfied
With home and rocky Scyros. Now to my ship.
Good-bye, and luck be with you, son of Poeas!
I pray, as you do, that the blessed gods
May soon relieve you of your suffering.
We must be on our way, and ready to sail
Whenever heaven permits.
PHILOCTETES: So soon, my son?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Why, yes. Watch for the weather on the spot,
Not at a distance – that’s the wisest way.
PHILOCTETES: Son, for your father’s and your mother’s sake,
For the sake of all that’s dear to you at home,
Son, I beseech you, do not leave me here
Alone and helpless in the sorry state
In which you see me now – this wretched life
That I have told you of! Do something, anything!
I’m not an easy cargo – well I know it.
But try to bear with me; a noble nature
Must hate mean action and delight in good.
Think of the shame if you refuse! O son,
Think of the honour that will crown your action
If I am brought alive to Oeta. O, do it!
Take me and stow me anywhere you will,
The hold, the bows, the steerage, anywhere
Where I shall give least trouble to the crew.
Say yes! I kneel before you, poor lame wretch
And crippled as I am…
(NEOPTOLEMUS draws away from him.)
No! Do not leave me
Alone again, so far from the track of man.
Take me but to your home, or to Euboea,
The home of Chalcodon; I will make my way,
Not far, to Oeta and the hills of Trachis,
Ay, to Spercheus, lovely river, there to see
My father – ah, but I fear, and long have feared
That I have lost him. Many and many a time
I sent him messages by those who passed,
Urgently praying him to send an escort
And fetch me home. But either he is dead,
Or else my messengers, as well may be,
Made light of my affair, and hurried home.
Now you can be my escort and my messenger.
Save me, for pity’s sake! You must have pity
If you but think how all our mortal lives
Are set in danger and perplexity:
One day to prosper, and the next – who knows?
When all is well, then look for rocks ahead;
Look well to your life, when life runs easily;
Death may be waiting for you.
CHORUS: You cannot leave him, master,
It’s a pitiful tale he’s told us
Of pain past man’s endurance.
God keep the like from any friend of mine!
For your grudge against your enemies,
For helping him, to spite them.
I’d take him aboard, sir, if I were you,
And ship him quick to the home he longs for,
Not tempt the anger of heaven.
NEOPTOLEMUS: It’s all very well to be sympathetic now.
What if you change your mind on closer acquaintance,
Finding this pestilence more than you can bear?
CHORUS: No, sir, I’ll never do that, I promise you.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Well then, it shan’t be said that I was less ready
Than you to help a friend in need. Come on, then.
We sail. He’d better follow as quick as he can.
The ship will hold him right enough. Pray God
We get off safe from here, then home at last.
PHILOCTETES: O joyful day! Kind sailors! Dearest friend!
If I could prove my gratitude in deeds –
But come, let’s kiss goodbye to my old home:
Was ever such a home? See for yourself
The way I lived, and what I have endured.
The sight of it alone had been enough
For any lesser man. Only sheer need
Has taught me patience.
He draws NEOPTOLEMUS towards the cave.
CHORUS: But stay, sir! What is this?
Two men approaching; one of ours, I think;
The other a stranger. Stay and hear their news
Before you go in yonder.
Enter a MERCHANT SEAMAN, whom we know to be ODYSSEUS’S man in disguise, with another sailor.
MERCHANT: Son of Achilles? (NEOPTOLEMUS stops and moves towards him, leaving PHILOCTETES at a distance). My friend here that’s come along with me – one of three watchers by your ship – was good enough to tell me where you’d be. ’Tis only by chance I’ve fallen in with you, when least expecting it, through happening to put in at this same coast. I’m homeward bound from Troy, sailing as master of a small freighter to Peparethus, the vineyard island; and when I heard that all these fellows were of your crew, I thought I couldn’t go on my way without telling you some news I have, which you may think worth while to thank me for. Maybe you don’t know the latest turn in your affairs; the Greeks have got new schemes against you; ay, more than schemes – deeds a-doing and moving fast.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I hope I shall not be ungrateful for your kindness, my friend. Tell me more. What are these Grecian schemes?
MERCHANT: Pursuers are already at sea and on your track, old Phoenix and the sons of Theseus.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Meaning to force me or to entice me back?
MERCHANT: I couldn’t say. I only tell you what I have heard.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I suppose it is on behalf of the sons of Atreus that Phoenix and his crew are giving chase?
MERCHANT: Whether or no, it’s being done, and quickly.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Strange that Odysseus was not ready to sail on the errand himself. What kept him back? Fear, eh?
MERCHANT: No; he and the son of Tydeus are gone in pursuit of someone else. They were setting out as I weighed anchor.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Whom were they after?
MERCHANT: A certain person – (pretending to spy PHILOCTETES for the first time). But who’s that yonder?
NEOPTOLEMUS: That –
MERCHANT: Speak low, sir.
NEOPTOLEMUS (still for PHILOCTETES to hear): That is none other than the famous Philoctetes.
MERCHANT (feigning alarm): Say no more, sir! Quick! Out of this country as soon as you can!
PHILOCTETES (having by now dragged himself closer): What is it, son? What bargain is he making there with you behind my back?
NEOPTOLEMUS: I don’t know yet. Whatever it is, he’ll have to make it openly to both of us.
MERCHANT (pretending to cringe): You’ll not betray me to our people for saying more than I ought? I’m a poor man, and much beholden to them for fair treatment for my services.
NEOPTOLEMUS: But I am sworn enemy to the Atreidae, and this man is my dearest friend, because he hates them too. If you’re here to do me good, you must tell us all you know and keep back nothing. Come, out with it.
MERCHANT: I warn you, young man.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I’m used to being on my guard.
MERCHANT: You’ll only have yourself to blame.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Be it so. But speak.
MERCHANT: I will. These two I spoke of – the son of Tydeus
And great Odysseus – this is the man they’re after,
Sworn by an oath to bring him, no matter how,
By force or by persuasion. Odysseus swore it
For all the Achaeans to hear, as bold as brass,
Cocksure he could do it – more so than the other.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What made the Atreidae, after all this time,
Think of this man whom they had cast away
So many years ago? What could they want?
Or was it the avenging power of the gods
Who punish wickedness?
MERCHANT: I can answer that.
Perhaps you never heard of a certain man
Born of the royal house, and skilled in prophecy,
Helenus, son of Priam? Well, one dark night,
Out goes the sly Odysseus by himself
(Was ever anything but evil said of him?),
Captures this Helenus by some trick or other,
And makes a public show of him to the Achaeans.
He, after prophesying this and that,
Tells them they’ll never sack the towers of Troy
Until they’ve lured your friend by winning words
Back from this island where he makes his home.
Odysseus heard him and at once declared
He’d fetch the man, for all the Achaeans to see,
Thinking, most likely, he’d agree to come;
If not, he’d force him. ‘This I’ll do,’ he said,
‘Or any man of you can chop my head off.’
That’s all, young man. If you take my advice,
You’ll lose no time in getting on your way,
You and… anyone else you care about.
PHILOCTETES: O misery! That man, that prince of evil,
Swore he’d persuade me to go back with him,
Did he indeed? He might as soon persuade me
Back from the grave, the way his father came!
MERCHANT: Well, that’s for you to say. I must be going
Back to my ship. Good luck be with you both.
Exit.
PHILOCTETES:
To think of the son of Laertes hoping to charm me
With subtle words, and bring me off his ship
In triumph before the eyes of all the Achaeans!
I’d sooner listen to my deadliest enemy
The viper, that did this mischief to my foot.
But he’d say anything, and dare to do it.
I know he’ll soon be here. Come on, my son.
Oceans must separate us from Odysseus’ ship;
And speed in season brings sound sleep at the end,
When the journey’s over. Let us be going, my son.
NEOPTOLEMUS: All in good time. We cannot put to sea
Until this headwind drops. It’s dead in our teeth.
All winds are fair, when death is on your heels.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
What keeps us back, keeps back the enemy too.
PHILOCTETES: No adverse wind keeps back the buccaneer
Bent upon robbery and plunder.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Well,
We’ll go, then, as soon as you’ve got whatever you need
Or want to bring from yonder.
PHILOCTETES: There isn’t much!
But some few things I need.
NEOPTOLEMUS: IS there anything
We can’t supply on board?
PHILOCTETES: A certain herb
I have, which I mostly use to soothe this wound.
It gives me much relief.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Yes, bring it. What else?
PHILOCTETES: I may have left some arrows lying about.
I wouldn’t like anyone else to pick them up.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Is that the famous bow you have in your hand?
PHILOCTETES: It is – none other – this very one I hold.
NEOPTOLEMUS: May I look at it closer, handle it myself?
Salute it, rather, as a holy thing.
PHILOCTETES:
Of course; I would do anything for your satisfaction.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I’d dearly like to touch it; but–are you sure?
Is it permitted? If not, then… let it be.
PHILOCTETES:
You speak with reverence, my son. It is permitted.
You are my saviour; you have given me life,
Given me the hope of seeing my home again,
My friends, my father; you have raised me up
Above the enemies who trod me down.
Yes, you shall take the bow into your hands:
Touch it. Hold it. Now give it back to me.
(This little ceremony is solemnly performed, NEOPTOLEMUS almost hypnotized into obeying PHILOCTETES’ instructions.)
And live to remember you are the only man
Thought worthy, for your goodness, so to do.
It was for goodness I myself was given it.
NEOPTOLEMUS: How glad I am to have found you, and made you my friend!
To render kindness in return for kindness received
Is friendship above all price. Shall we go in?
PHILOCTETES: Yes, come. My sickness needs your care.
They go into the cave.
CHORUS:
The story was told
Of the fate that fell,
In an ancient time,
On a ravisher bold;
Whom the Father of All
For his impious crime
Bound fast on a wheel
In the fires of hell.
No other again
Has yet come near
To such misery,
Such endless pain;
Never has been
Such an agony
As the man we have seen
Has suffered here.
This wickedness,
Who had done no wrong
By force or fraud
To any on earth
His whole life long,
A lover of truth
And gentleness.
’Tis a wonder to know
How patiently
Year after year,
As the days of woe
Dragged slowly on,
He has lingered here,
Listening alone
To the sound of the sea.
Year after year,
In his empty lair,
Lamed and alone;
Not a creature near
To head his cry;
Not a friend, not one
In the agony
His flesh must bear.
When the venomous brand
Burned hot in the veins
Of his ulcered limb,
No friend was at hand
To relieve that torture
And comfort him
With simples of nature
Soothing his pains.
On the barren ground,
Like a child without nurse
He would slowly go
When the fit of his fever
Had run its course,
Seeking whatever
Might there be found.
No fruit of the earth
For him might grow,
Such as human toil
Brings yearly to birth
For our livelihood
From the gentle soil;
His only food
What fell to his bow.
Never a taste,
These ten years long,
Of gladdening wine
To quench his thirst;
Seeking some pool
Of stagnant brine
For a draught to cool
His parching tongue.
But the time is accomplished, a hero of noble birth is his friend,
Who shall carry him over the sea, to be happy and safe at the end,
In the house of the Malian maidens, Spercheus, and Oeta’s height,
Where the Lord of the Bronze Shield reigns in the splendour of heavenly light.
Presently NEOPTOLEMUS and PHILOCTETES return from the cave. PHILOCTETES is seized with a spasm of pain, and stops. NEOPTOLEMUS, ahead of him, does not at first notice this, but after a moment he turns.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Come on, then. Why do you stand there dumb?
PHILOCTETES: Ah!
NEOPTOLEMUS: What is it?
PHILOCTETES: Nothing; go on, my boy.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Is the old wound troubling you again?
PHILOCTETES: No, nothing. It’s better now… O gods!
NEOPTOLEMUS: Why do you call so loud on the gods?
PHILOCTETES: I pray for their help and guidance… Oh!
NEOPTOLEMUS: What is it? Tell me… you must be in pain.
PHILOCTETES (collapsing to the ground):
I’m done for… no use trying to hide it.
Oh! Oh!… it goes right through me like a knife.
I’m done for, boy… it’s come for me now… (racked with agony) Pfff!
Your sword, if you have it… For God’s sake, boy.
Cut off my foot! Off with it! Quick!
O son, O son! O let me die!
NEOPTOLEMUS: What is it? So suddenly coming upon you… These terrible cries…
PHILOCTETES: You know!
NEOPTOLEMUS: What is it?
PHILOCTETES: You know…
NEOPTOLEMUS: Tell me, what is it?
PHILOCTETES: You must… Ah!
NEOPTOLEMUS: It tortures you…
PHILOCTETES: Torture… I cannot tell you… O for pity!
NEOPTOLEMUS: What can I do?
PHILOCTETES (recovering a little): Don’t leave me now.
There’s nothing to fear.
The demon comes from time to time
After letting me alone for a little while.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I’m sorry to see you in such distress.
There seems no end to your troubles. Come,
Shall I give you a hand, or help you somehow?
PHILOCTETES: No. Take my bow, as you asked to do
Just now. Take it, and keep it for me
Until this bout of my pain is over.
As it passes, I shall fall into a sleep…
It is only then that the fever leaves me…
You must let me sleep it out. Remember,
If they come meanwhile, on your oath I bid you
Not give them the bow, on any account,
Nor ever let anyone take it from you.
If you do, it will mean your death and mine.
I am in your power: remember, I beseech you.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I’ll take good care of it, never fear.
No one but you or I shall touch it.
Give it to me, and your blessing with it.
PHILOCTETES: Take it, my son. And pray that the gods,
In their jealousy, bring no such evil
On you, as they have dealt to me
And dealt to him that had it before me.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
May the gods hear both our prayers; and grant us
Sure sailing and swift to what place soever
Their favour and our set purpose guides us.
PHILOCTETES: My son, I fear that prayer will not be answered.
The dark blood oozes still from the deep vein.
I think there is more pain to come.
Oh! Oh!…
Curse you, foot; must you torment me so!
There it is again… now!… O the agony!…
You see how it is. No, do not run away.
O would to God this torment might be yours,
Odysseus of Cephallenia, piercing you
Through to the very heart! O there again!
If you could have been in my place, generals both,
Agamemnon and Menelaus, all this time!
O death, death, death, why can you never come?
Daily I call for you. O take me, son,
Kind son, take me and throw me into the flames
Of the fire that lights up Lemnos. It was there
I steeled myself to do the same to Heracles,
The son of Zeus; those weapons which you hold
I won for the service. What do you say, my son?
Nothing? Are you there? Do you say nothing, son?
NEOPTOLEMUS: I am too much troubled at your suffering.
PHILOCTETES:
Let it not trouble you. It comes upon me suddenly,
Then goes as quickly. Only, I beseech you,
Don’t leave me alone.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I won’t, I promise you.
PHILOCTETES: You’ll stay?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Of course.
PHILOCTETES: You swear? I must not ask it.
NEOPTOLEMUS: It is impossible I should go without you.
PHILOCTETES: Your hand on it.
NEOPTOLEMUS: My hand. I stay with you.
PHILOCTETES (rolling his eyes feebly towards the cave):
Up there! Up there!
NEOPTOLEMUS: Where? What do you mean?
PHILOCTETES: Up there!
NEOPTOLEMUS: Why do you gaze upon the sky above us?
PHILOCTETES: I must go there… let me go.
NEOPTOLEMUS: (restraining him): Where?
PHILOCTETES: Let me go.
NEOPTOLEMUS: No, no.
PHILOCTETES: Do you want to kill me? Let me go.
NEOPTOLEMUS (releasing him):
Go, then, if you can manage by yourself.
PHILOCTETES (falling to the ground again):
O Earth, receive me, I must die this instant.
I can stand no longer… O the pain, the pain!
NEOPTOLEMUS: I think he will soon sleep. His head droops.
He sweats from head to foot, and the blood wells in a dark
stream from his heel. Let us leave him in peace, men; leave
him to sleep.
CHORUS: Come down, sweet sleep,
Wherein there is no memory of pain,
No suffering.
Come, happy, happy sleep
All-conquering.
Hold thou before his eyes
The light of peace that now begins to fill them.
Come, sleep, we pray, O come
With healing wing.
(PHILOCTETES sleeps.)
Now, sir, what will you do?
What shall our plan be now?
Look, sir, he sleeps; why do we wait?
Luck’s the master of all; take it and win.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
He does not hear us, certain; and we have got his bow;
But that’s no use to us, if we sail off without him.
The victory must be his; the god said we must bring him.
How shall we look, our task half done, and that by fraud?
CHORUS: Leave that to heaven.
But softly, softly; better not speak so loud
Lest he should stir.
For often after pain
The sufferer
And who knows what he may not hear or see
In his uneasiness?
Speak softly, sir.
Do what you have to do
While he’s asleep, say I.
You know my meaning. The other way,
It’s plain to see, brings mischief on us all.
The wind is ours, the man lies here asleep,
Ay, sound asleep in the sun, blind and helpless,
As good as dead. He can’t move hand or foot,
Defenceless.
What are you thinking of?
Go while the going’s good,
Is my advice.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Be silent, fool! His eyes are opening. He moves.
PHILOCTETES: The light… I am awake again…
And O, more than I hoped… my faithful friends
Still watching over me. I had not dared,
My son, to think that you would still be here
Patiently waiting on my sufferings,
Ready to help and pity me. This was more
Than our good lords, the Atreidae, ever did.
They could not bear it. You are a true nobleman
To endure it all so bravely, the cries, the foulness,
Which I have afflicted you with.
Come then, my son;
Now that I am allowed a little breathing-space
To forget the demon, lift me – you, my son –
And set me on my feet. As soon as may be,
If the weakness leaves me, we’ll away to ship,
And then to sea.
NEOPTOLEMUS: O my good friend, I’m glad.
I never thought to see you alive again
And free from pain. To all appearances,
With all you had suffered, you were marked for death.
Stand up. Or shall these fellows carry you?
If you and I desire it, they’ll be ready.
PHILOCTETES:
Thanks, son. Yes, lift me up – but you, not they –
They need not bear with my condition yet;
Living on board with me will be their trial.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Just as you will. Stand up. Give me your hand.
PHILOCTETES:
You’ll see. I’ll stand as well as ever… There!
NEOPTOLEMUS: But now… O now, what shall I do?
PHILOCTETES: Why, son?
What do you mean?
NEOPTOLEMUS: How can I tell you, how?
PHILOCTETES:
How tell me what? My son, you cannot mean –
NEOPTOLEMUS:
But something must be told. Now is the time.
PHILOCTETES: Is it my wounds – the intolerable offence
Has proved too much for you – you cannot take me?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
The offence is here! A man betraying himself
To do such deeds as are not of his nature!
PHILOCTETES: You? But all you have done, all you have said
To help your honest friend, is true to yourself
And to your noble father.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I shall be known
For the wretched thing I am: this was my torment.
PHILOCTETES: Not in this action. But I fear your meaning.
NEOPTOLEMUS: O God, what shall I do? Deceitful twice,
Twice false, whether I speak or hold my tongue.
PHILOCTETES: I do believe the man will go and leave me!
NEOPTOLEMUS:
No! Leave you, never! No, this is my torment,
That I must take you, it may be to your death.
PHILOCTETES: My son, I do not understand.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Then plainly:
It is to Troy that you must sail, to the Achaeans,
To the army which the Atreidae lead.
PHILOCTETES: No, no!
NEOPTOLEMUS: But listen –
PHILOCTETES: Why? What will you do with me?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
First, save you from this wretchedness; and then –
Then we must make Troy tremble, you and I.
PHILOCTETES: You mean to do this?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Forgive me; I have no choice.
PHILOCTETES: O, I am lost, betrayed! By you, sir! Why?
Come, give me back my bow.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I cannot do that. I must obey my masters
For duty’s sake and for my own.
PHILOCTETES: O fiend!
Monster, quintessence of vilest duplicity!
Have you done this to me? Played me this trick?
And can you face me unashamed, your suppliant
Who crawled to you for pity? Heart of stone!
You take my bow from me, you take my life.
O give it back to me, son, give it back to me!
(Gods of our fathers!) Give me back my life!…
He will not hear… not speak… he turns away.
He will not give it back…
Then I must speak to you, seas, rocks and headlands,
And all my creatures of the hills; to you,
My old companions, I must cry again;
Who else will hear?
Hear what Achilles’ son will do to me!
He swore his oath that he would take me home;
To Troy he takes me. Swore with his hand in mine;
And now that hand has robbed me of my bow,
The immortal bow I had from Heracles
The son of Zeus; and he will flourish it
Boasting among the Argives.
As if I had the power to struggle against him,
He drags me forcibly away. Does he not see
He fights a ghost, a shadow that has no substance?
If only I had my strength! Even as I am,
It needed treachery to take me. Tricked,
And beaten! Tell me, tell me what to do!…
(Again to NEOPTOLEMUS)
O be yourself again. Give it me back…
No answer?… Silent?… This, then, is the end.
Back to my cranny in the rocks, up there,
Back I must go, disarmed, to wither up
And die alone there, if I have no bow
To kill a bird or beast with. I shall be
The prey now, carrion food for those I fed on.
The hunted will come hunting for my carcase,
Demanding blood for blood, the price of murder.
This is my reward for trusting one who seemed
Incapable of guile.
(To NEOPTOLEMUS)
Die! Die!
Unless I may yet see you change your purpose?
No? Then die a coward’s death!
CHORUS: What now, sir?
’Tis you to give the word: are we to sail,
Or listen to his prayers?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Strange, how I pity him,
PHILOCTETES: Have mercy, son!
By all the gods, have mercy; or the world
Will hate you for the trick you play on me.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What shall I do? Why did I ever leave
Scyros, to come to this predicament?
PHILOCTETES: I know there is no wickedness in you.
The part you have come here to play was taught you,
I think, by wicked men. Leave it to them.
Give me my weapon, and go.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What think you, friends?
ODYSSEUS, who has come upon the scene in time to
see NEOPTOLEMUS on the point of yielding, now intervenes with a shout.
ODYSSEUS: Traitor! What are you at? Give me the bow.
Stand back!
PHILOCTETES: Great heaven! Odysseus do I hear?
ODYSSEUS: You do, and see him.
PHILOCTETES: Sold to my death! O God!
I knew it, he worked this scheme to rob me.
ODYSSEUS: Yes! I did it; who else?
PHILOCTETES (to NEOPTOLEMUS); The bow, lad! Give
me the bow.
ODYSSEUS: Never. And you must go where it goes. March!
Or must we force you?
PHILOCTETES: Force me, insolent!
ODYSSEUS: Come willingly, then.
PHILOCTETES: O Lemnos, and almighty king Volcano,
Do you see this? Must I be dragged away
A prisoner before your eyes?
ODYSSEUS: The will of Zeus.
He is this country’s king, and I am his officer.
PHILOCTETES:
You lie, foul villain, making God’s word a lie
ODYSSEUS: No lie, sir. March!
PHILOCTETES: Never.
ODYSSEUS: You shall. And I must be obeyed.
PHILOCTETES: There is no help then. To this end was I born, a slave for all my days.
ODYSSEUS: That is not so. You are, and shall be, the equal of the bravest, with whom you are to conquer Troy and bring it to destruction.
PHILOCTETES: No, I say; let me suffer what I may; this island’s highest pinnacle shall serve me yet.
ODYSSEUS: What now?
PHILOCTETES: What if I leap from a rocky height to dash myself to pieces on the rocks below?
ODYSSEUS: Hold him! Prevent him!
PHILOCTETES (overpowered after a brief struggle): Ah, helpless hands; a prisoner. O my beloved bow, where are you?… So, sir, once again you have stolen a march on me; when was there anything but deceit and depravity in your soul? Once again you have trapped me, making this boy your stalking-horse. I did not know him till today, but now I know he is one of my sort, not of yours. He had no thought but to carry out his orders; and already it is plain he is sorry for his error and for the wrong done to me. It was your vile mind that lurked behind the loophole and schooled his unwilling innocence to this proficiency in guile. Once you flung me, a helpless homeless outcast on this shore, flung me into a living death; and now you mean to drag me back, a prisoner. May the gods destroy you! How often have I prayed it. But the gods have no good gifts for me; and there you stand, rejoicing in life, while every breath of life I draw is agony and torment, my sufferings your sport – you and the Atreid pair, your masters in this business. And how came you to be harnessed to their team? Only by force and a cunning trick; while I, fool that I was, came of my own free will, with my seven ships, only to be abused and thrown aside; their work, say you – they call it yours. And now, what do you want of me? Why do you seize me and carry me away? I am nothing, long dead to you. God’s plagues upon you, am I not still the poisonous infected wretch I was? What of your sacrifices to the blessed gods, if I am of your crew? What of the pollution of your drink-offerings? Such was the pretext on which you banished me; does it not still hold good? Go to your miserable death, as surely you will, for what you did to me, if there is any justice in heaven. Ay, and I know there is. Only the whip in the hand of God could have driven you on this quest for one so wretched as I. O my country, and you unsleeping gods, if you have any pity still, bring vengeance, vengeance, late though it be, on all my persecutors! Misery is my life, yet if I might but live to see them perish, I could believe my torture ended.
CHORUS: Stubborn as ever, sir; and these stubborn words Show that he’s in no mind to accept defeat.
ODYSSEUS: I could answer him; but this is not the time.
(To PHILOCTETES)
This will I say: I am as I need to be;
Where honour and truth are at stake, I can show myself
The equal of any. Whatever the contest be,
I must have victory – except in this one;
Here I give way to you.
– Release him, then.
Let no one touch him; leave him where he is –
We have your weapon, that is all we want.
Teucer is with us, and he will know how to use it;
Or my own hand and eye may prove to be
No worse than yours. We need not trouble you.
You’re welcome to the length and breadth of Lemnos;
And we must go. Since you refuse the honour
Your treasure should have brought you, let it be mine.
PHILOCTETES: What shall I do? Am I to think of you
Parading my weapons among the Greeks?
ODYSSEUS: Enough. I am going.
PHILOCTETES (to NEOPTOLEMUS):
Son of Achilles, will you go too
Without a word?
ODYSSEUS: Not a look, or we lose our fortune;
I know your noble nature.
PHILOCTETES (to the sailors): And you, my friends?
Have I lost your pity? Will you desert me too?
CHORUS: This lad is our master, sir, his word is ours.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Stay here, men. I shall be called too tender-hearted
By my commander; but stay, if he will allow you,
Till the crew have got our gear in order for sailing
And we have made our prayers. Maybe our friend
By that time will have come to think better of us.
We two will go, and you be ready to follow
As soon as we send you word; come quickly then.
Exeunt ODYSSEUS and NEOPTOLEMUS.
PHILOCTETES: My stony house, my cave,
Sun-hot, ice-cold, to be
My dwelling-place for ever,
And now my grave.
Home of my misery,
How shall I live, where turn
For my provisioning?
The birds above my head
Are free as the winds that sing,
And my strength fled.
CHORUS: It was your doing, unhappy man;
No other forced you to it, none.
You could have chosen a wiser way;
You chose the worse.
PHILOCTETES: This is the fate that I
Must live with here, alone
In pain and wretchedness
Until I die.
My arrows fly no more,
My hand is powerless
To find my daily bread.
Tricked by a hidden lie!
O that my enemy, day for day,
Might bear my agony!
CHORUS; The act of heaven, no treachery
Of ours, has brought you to this end.
Curse others if you will; my wish
Is still to be your friend.
PHILOCTETES: And he
Sits laughing by the sea,
My weapon in his hands,
My darling bow
Which no man ever touched
But I. Beloved bow,
Torn from these hands that loved you,
Do you not know,
Not feel with sadness
That the friend of Heracles
Shall never handle you again?
Now a new master, master of deceit,
Is yours to serve.
And O, what treachery,
What wickedness
You must now see –
That hated man,
A thousand times, O God,
Has here tormented me!
CHORUS: A man should speak up for the right,
I’d say, but not unleash his tongue
To spiteful insults. He you revile
Came at the bidding of his people
To do a service for his friends.
PHILOCTETES: You birds that fly,
Whom once I made my sport,
And beasts that stare
Bright-eyed upon the hills,
No longer do I hunt you down,
No longer bear
The arrows in which I trusted.
This is my end,
And you are free;
Here is no more to fear;
Here is your just revenge,
Blood for the blood I shed,
My rotting flesh
For you to feed on.
How shall I live? Will air
Support me, having no power
To win life from the lap of mother earth?
CHORUS: Man, by whatever gods you fear,
You cannot turn from such a friend
Who comes to treat you kindly. Think,
Freedom is in your hands,
Escape from the devil that drives you, devours you
Will endless torture beyond endurance.
PHILOCTETES:
Must you, my kindest friend, torture me again and again
With the old scourge? Why must you treat me so?
PHILOCTETES: You talk of the hated land of Troy
And mean to take me there.
CHORUS: We think it best.
PHILOCTETES: Away, away!
CHORUS: So be it. We’re ready enough.
There’s work for us.
Come, lads, away.
PHILOCTETES: Stay!
O, as you fear God’s wrath –
CHORUS: Gently, sir.
PHILOCTETES: Stay; for God’s sake, stay.
CHORUS: What now?
PHILOCTETES: O, I am in hell.
What shall I do, accursed foot,
What shall I do with you
From now until I die?…
Come back, my friends, come back!
CHORUS: Have you changed your mind?
You told us to go. What now?
PHILOCTETES: I don’t know what I am saying.
Pain drowns my senses.
Do not be angry, friends.
CHORUS: Come now, do as we say, poor man.
PHILOCTETES: No, no! That’s certain; I will not go,
Though thunder and lightning burn me up.
Cursed be Troy and the men that fight there,
The men that could fling me helpless here!…
Do one thing for me.
CHORUS: What?
PHILOCTETES: A sword,
An axe, a weapon of any sort,
If you have one, quickly –
CHORUS: What to do? Some violence, I’ll be bound.
PHILOCTETES: Yes! Hack myself to pieces, limb from limb!
What should I want but death –
CHORUS: Why?
PHILOCTETES: And to find my father –
CHORUS: Where?
PHILOCTETES: In the land of the dead, for there he surely is.
O home and country! Never to see you again!
Fool, to have left that holy river; fool,
To join myself to the Greeks, my hated enemies!
Now let me die…
He crawls away to his cave.
CHORUS:
We should have been off and away to the ship by now:
But look, here comes Odysseus, and the Captain.
Enter ODYSSEUS and NEOPTOLEMUS.
ODYSSEUS: Why have you hurried back again like this?
NEOPTOLEMUS: To undo the wrong that I have already done.
ODYSSEUS:
I don’t understand. What wrong are you talking about?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
In obeying your orders and those of all the army –
ODYSSEUS:
In obeying them you did nothing you need be ashamed of.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I used base treachery against a fellow-creature.
ODYSSEUS:
What! Heavens! You mean you’ve got some crazy scheme–
NEOPTOLEMUS:
No crazy scheme; but a debt to the son of Poeas.
ODYSSEUS: My God! Can I believe my ears? You mean –
NEOPTOLEMUS:
To restore this bow to the man I took it from.
ODYSSEUS: You’re mad. You cannot be going to give it back.
I am, for I got it unfairly, and have no right to it.
ODYSSEUS: Are you joking?
NEOPTOLEMUS: One doesn’t speak the truth for a joke.
ODYSSEUS:
Neoptolemus, what do you mean? Tell me what you mean.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I’ve told you. How many more times must I repeat it?
ODYSSEUS: Once is enough: too much.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Then that is all.
ODYSSEUS:
There is a power that can stop you doing this crazy thing.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What power? Who’ll stop me?
ODYSSEUS: The whole Achaean army,
And I among them.
NEOPTOLEMUS: The wise Odysseus is talking like a fool.
ODYSSEUS: You’re not only talking but acting like a fool.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Justice is sometimes better than wisdom.
ODYSSEUS: Justice!
To throw away what I have helped you to win?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I have acted unjustly and mean to make amends.
ODYSSEUS:
And don’t you fear the wrath of the Achaean army?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
With justice on my side, I don’t fear anything
That you can do.
ODYSSEUS: Indeed!
NEOPTOLEMUS: Do what you will.
ODYSSEUS: So I must fight with you, instead of with Trojans?
NEOPTOLEMUS: I am ready.
ODYSSEUS: With the sword, then. Here is mine (drawing).
NEOPTOLEMUS: And mine (drawing).
A pause: ODYSSEUS sheathes his sword.
ODYSSEUS: I’ll not waste time with you. I’m going back.
Our men shall hear of this; yes, every man,
And they’ll know how to deal with you.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Much wiser.
Be so in future, and keep clear of trouble.
(Exit ODYSSEUS.)
Philoctetes! Philoctetes, are you there
In your sepulchre? Come out!
PHILOCTETES appears at the mouth of the cave.
PHILOCTETES: Who calls me now?
Who is it? What do you want?… O, more iniquity!
Have you come to torment me again?
NEOPTOLEMUS: There’s nothing to fear.
Listen –
PHILOCTETES: I listened to you once before,
And what but evil came of all your talking?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Is not repentance possible?
PHILOCTETES: You said as much
When you planned to steal my bow; your seeming honesty
Was all deception.
NEOPTOLEMUS: It is not so now.
Tell me, are you still determined to remain,
Or will you come with me?
PHILOCTETES: I’ll hear no more!
You waste your breath.
NEOPTOLEMUS: You are determined?
PHILOCTETES: Yes;
More than determined.
NEOPTOLEMUS: I wish I could persuade you;
But if I cannot – (he turns away).
PHILOCTETES: No, nothing that you can say
Can turn me now. You take away my life,
Rob me by trickery, and back you come again
To give me advice. The son of such a father!
Go to your deaths, the pack of you, Atreus’ sons,
Laertes’ son, and you!
NEOPTOLEMUS: Stop. Curse no more.
Here is your bow…
PHILOCTETES: What?… Is this another trick?
NEOPTOLEMUS: No trick, I swear by God in his heaven.
PHILOCTETES: If true,
This is most wonderful.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
The deed will prove it true. Here is your bow.
Take it. It is yours.
As PHILOCTETES takes the bow, ODYSSEUS reappears at a distance.
ODYSSEUS: By God, he shall not have it!
I speak for the Atreidae and all the Grecian army;
And I forbid it.
PHILOCTETES: Is that Odysseus’ voice?
ODYSSEUS: It is. Let the son of Achilles say what he will,
This time I mean to take you back to Troy.
PHILOCTETES (preparing to shoot):
Not if this arrow finds its mark.
NEOPTOLEMUS (arresting his hand): No, no!
For God’s sake!
PHILOCTETES: Let me go, I say!
For God’s sake, boy!
NEOPTOLEMUS: I cannot.
ODYSSEUS escapes.
PHILOCTETES: Ah, too late.
You let my bitterest enemy escape.
This arrow could have killed him.
NEOPTOLEMUS: To have done it
Would have been unworthy of yourself or me.
PHILOCTETES: Well, well It’s easy to see what cowards they are,
These officers, self-styled ambassadors,
When it comes to a fight, for all their mighty talk.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
True. And the bow is yours. Am I forgiven?
PHILOCTETES: You are; and once more true to your parentage,
Not like a son of Sisyphus, but of Achilles.
No name stood higher than his, of all men living,
Nor now of all the dead.
NEOPTOLEMUS:
I am grateful for your praise of my father, and of myself.
But now I must ask you to listen to a request.
Each one of us must live the life God gives him;
It cannot be shirked; but there is no excuse,
Nor pity, for those who choose to cling to suffering
And hardship of their own making, as you would do.
You have shut your heart, and will listen to no advice;
Those who attempt to persuade you, in all goodwill,
Are met with hostility, hatred, and suspicion.
Even so, I’ll say what I have to say, God help me.
Mark it, and write it on your soul.
This plague you suffer is a judgement sent from heaven,
For having trespassed on the domain of Chryse,
And encountered her sentinel, the secret watcher,
The serpent that guards her open sanctuary.
From this affliction there is no escape for you,
So long as the sun travels from east to west,
Until you come, of your own accord, to Troy.
There you will find the sons of Asclepius,
Who are with us, and there you will find relief from pain.
And then, with this bow, and in alliance with me,
Troy’s fall must be your triumph, for all to see.
How do I know it? We have a Trojan prisoner,
Helenus, a notable prophet, who has pronounced
That this must come to pass; and furthermore,
That Troy is doomed to fall this very summer;
He has staked his life on it.
Now, knowing this,
Refuse no longer. Think what you have to gain;
You are chosen champion of the Greeks; skilled hands
Will heal your trouble, and then – the glorious honour
Of ending the dolorous tale of Troy with victory.
PHILOCTETES: O why am I condemned to live so long?
Can I not die? Ye gods, can I not die?
What can I do? I cannot turn deaf ears
To my kind counsellor. But can I go
From this long wretchedness back to the light of day,
Back to the sight of men? Can eyes of mine,
Seeing such things as they have seen, see this,
My meeting again those two, my murderers,
And the evil-hearted son of Laertes?… No,
It is not the thought of what is past that sours me,
But what is yet to come. I can foresee it.
The soul that has conceived one wickedness
Can nurse no good thereafter.
What of yourself?
Your motive in this business
Is strange. You never should have gone to Troy,
Much less attempt to get me there. They mocked you,
You said, refusing you your father’s arms,
And even put poor Ajax below Odysseus;
And now you want to go and fight for them,
And make me do the same? You cannot do it.
My son, you swore upon your solemn oath
To take me home. Do that. Then go to Scyros,
And leave these wretches to their wretched deaths.
For this I shall be twice indebted to you,
As will my father. Do you want to brand yourself
With the villainy to which you lend your aid?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Believe me, I understand. But yet I beg you
To trust in the gods, and in my promises,
And come with me, as with a friend.
PHILOCTETES: TO Troy?
To meet a son of Atreus? And in this state,
Cursed with this foulness in my foot?
NEOPTOLEMUS: But no,
You will find there those who will heal the ulcered limb,
And set you free.
PHILOCTETES: Do you mean that, serpent’s tongue?
NEOPTOLEMUS: I mean what I judge best for both of us.
PHILOCTETES: Shameless as ever?
NEOPTOLEMUS: Why should I be ashamed
To help my friends?
PHILOCTETES: What friends? The Atreidae? Or me?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
Why, you. Have I not told you I am your friend?
PHILOCTETES: And mean to give me over to my enemies?
NEOPTOLEMUS:
So obstinate still, in the face of all misfortune?
PHILOCTETES: I know you; you want to lure me to my death.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Not I; you do not understand.
PHILOCTETES: Who else,
If not the sons of Atreus, banished me?
Not understand, indeed!
NEOPTOLEMUS: I know they banished you:
But now, you’ll see, they’ll bring you back to life.
PHILOCTETES: Not if I know it. I’ll not set eyes on Troy
For anything in the world.
NEOPTOLEMUS (giving it up): What is the use, then,
Of all my talking, if nothing I can say
Will change your mind? I’d better say no more,
And you must go on living, as you are,
PHILOCTETES: As for my sufferings, let me bear them still,
So far as is appointed. But once again,
I ask you this, my son: you have given your promise,
Our hands on it, to see me safely home.
Will you do this, my son? You promised it.
Will you do it now, and never speak again
The name of Troy? For I have wept enough…
NEOPTOLEMUS is torn for some moments by an inward struggle: at last he speaks with a changed and resolute tone.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Yes, let us go.
PHILOCTETES: O bravely spoken!
NEOPTOLEMUS: Step out, then, firmly.
PHILOCTETES: As well as I can.
NEOPTOLEMUS: The Achaeans will make it hot for me!
PHILOCTETES: You needn’t fear.
NEOPTOLEMUS: They’ll sack my country.
PHILOCTETES: I shall be there.
NEOPTOLEMUS: What can you do?
PHILOCTETES: The arrows of Heracles –
NEOPTOLEMUS: The bow!
PHILOCTETES: The bow will keep them at their distance.
They are now on the point of disappearing from the scene: HERACLES appears above.
NEOPTOLEMUS: So, take your last farewell of Lemnos.
HERACLES: Stay! Son of Poeas, stay and hear!
It is the voice of Heracles,
It is his form you see.
I am come from my high seat
In heaven above.
This is the will of Zeus:
The journey which you now intend,
You must not go.
Hear me.
Hear first my history; glorious immortality
Is mine, won by great labours bravely borne;
And I am as you see me now. So you
Must win, it is ordained, through suffering
Glory in life. You are to go to Troy
With him; you are to have your sickness cured;
You are to be the chosen champion
Of that great army; you are to seek out Paris,
First cause of all this wickedness, and destroy him
With those, my weapons; you are to sack the city
And carry home the spoils, the award of honour,
To Oeta, to delight your father’s eyes;
And there, upon my altar, dedicate
A portion, in remembrance of the bow.
Son of Achilles, here are words for you:
You cannot conquer Troy without his help,
Nor he without you. Guard each other’s life,
Like lions hunting together. Asclepius,
Whom I shall send to Troy, will be your healer.
And then, for the second time, as is ordained,
My arrows bring the city down. Remember,
In the hour of victory, reverence to the gods.
This is the thing our Father holds most precious;
And piety does not perish when men die;
They live and die, but it must live for ever.
PHILOCTETES: The very voice
That I have longed to hear!
The face
As once I knew it!
I shall not disobey.
NEOPTOLEMUS: Nor I.
HERACLES: Then lose no time; the wind is fair
For your adventure.
He disappears.
To Lemnos, and my cave, my watchtower.
Farewell to Nymphs of riverside
And field; and to the deep male music
Of sea and rock, where winds have driven
The spray in showers about my head
Beneath my very roof, and yonder
The Hill of Hermes heard my voice
Echo above the storm. Farewell,
Fresh brooks, and Lycian spring, farewell.
At last I leave you. This is the day
I never thought to see. Goodbye,
Lemnos, my island; wish me well
And speed this voyage which I must make
Obedient to my fate, my friends,
And the Great God who wills it so.
CHORUS:
Come all; and let us pray
The Nymphs that rule the sea
This day
To guard and guide us happily
Upon our homeward way.
EXEUNT