 | The Philoctetes of Sophocles |  |
SCENE I.
Enter Ulysses.Ul.
Now are we landed on the Lemnian Coast,
Encompass'd by the Ocean's rolling Waves,
Where not a Print of human Foot is seen,
Nor House, nor Hut; where, Neoptolemus,
Thou blooming Branch of the renown'd Achilles,
I left expos'd the Melian Son of Pæan.
2
Because a dreadful, nauseous, ranckling Wound
Eat thro' his Foot, and made him rend the Skies
With Shrieks, and loud Laments, which much disturb'd
The Army; no Religious Rites cou'd be
Perform'd in Peace; of which I'll say no more;
For Time contracts my Tale, and Dread of him,
Lest he shou'd find me here; and so confound
My secret Wiles to apprehend his Person.
The rest is thine. With careful Search explore
A pervious Rock, so form'd as to receive
The comfortable Beams of Winter-Suns,
And the cool Breezes from the Sea in Summer,
With fanning Wings inviting gentle Sleep.
Fast by this Rock, upon the Left, you'll find
A Spring, if still it's living Stream be fed;
To this repair with silent Pace, and see
Whether he lies conceal'd within these Bounds
Advance with cautious Steps, and let me know;
Then we'll consult what next is to be done.
Neop.
Short is your Errand; for I now descry
The Cave which you express—
Ul.
—above? below?
Or where? in vain I cast my Eyes around.
Neop.
'Tis there above; but not a single Trace
Of any Path conducts us tow'rds the Rock.
Ul.
Go search, perhaps he is to Sleep reclin'd.
Neop.
There's not a human Creature in this Place.
Ul.
Nor fit Provision for a human Creature?
Neop.
Some gather'd Leaves which by Impression shew
They have been lain on.
Ul.
Is there nothing more?
Neop.
Yes. I observe a wooden Vessel, fram'd
By some unskilful Hand, a little Pot
To boil his Food is all that I can see.
Ul.
These then are all the Utensils he has?
Neop.
Alas! they're all, except some Rags a-drying,
Which by their Stains denote his fester'd Wound.
3
Then I'm convinc'd he dwells in this Abode,
And can't be far from hence; his Wounds forbid
A distant Walk. Perhaps he went for Food,
Or Herbs to ease his Pains; but send this Man
To watch his Motion, lest by a Surprize
He takes me here; for justly I suspect
He'd gladly seize Me above all the Greeks.
Neop.
I'll send him straight to execute your Will—
Speak, is there any more you'd have me do?
Ul.
Son of the great Achilles, it behoves thee
To use thy Prudence here, as well as Valour;
Whatever farther Counsel I shall give,
Perform, and with a chearful Mind assist.
Neop.
What's your Command?—
Ul.
—To Philoctetes go,
With soothing Speeches his Belief betray;
When he enquires your Name, and whence you come,
Tell him Pelides is your Sire; so far
Tell Truth; and that you now are homeward bound—
Disgusted at the Greeks you fly their Fleet.
That by Entreaties, and incessant Prayers,
They flatter'd you from home, to conquer Troy;
But now your Father's Armour they deny,
Which by Hereditary Right you claim.
Tell him they're giv'n to me; abuse and rail
With all the Malice of an injur'd Foe;
Speak what you please of Me, you can't offend.
If this Advice you spurn, you bring to all
The Greeks one great and universal Sorrow;
For if you don't contrive to get his Arrows,
You never can be conquerour of Troy.
Besides, you had a former Friendship with him,
Which makes you now the fitter to betray.
You went a Voluntier, not with the first,
Who bound by Oaths and fatal Influence,
4
So that my Life's in Danger, your's no less,
If while he's arm'd with them he sees me here.
Your Bus'ness then is to deceive him straight,
And steal th'unconquerable Weapons from him.
I know by Nature you are much averse
To Artifice, but think how sweet it is
To bear such Arrows as are sure of Conquest.
Then bravely dare to do what I advise,
The Time will come, the World will think you just
For this Exploit; lay by your Shame one Hour,
And give yourself to me, and ever hence
You shall be deem'd the justest Man on Earth.
Neop.
Son of Laertes, I am griev'd to hear
Such Words from thee; to practise them is Death.
I was not born to stoop to such vile Arts,
Nor he from whom I glory to be sprung.
If open Force or Fortitude require
My Aid, I'll venture; but I scorn Deceit.
Sure one poor maimed Wretch can't overthrow
Such as we are, and since I'm sent with thee
To join in this Adventure, I will use
My utmost Force to help thee, nor betray
The Trust repos'd—but let me speak my mind—
I'd rather bravely die, than basely conquer.
Ul.
Son of the greatest Man, when I was young
My Tongue was less employ'd, my Hands were more;
But now, by long Experience, I'm convinc'd
That Language more than Action can prevail.
Neop.
But you a lying Language recommend.
Ul.
I urge it still, this Man you must deceive.
Neop.
But why deceive, can't I as well perswade.
Ul.
Force and Perswasion are to him the same.
Neop.
Has he so great a Confidence in Strength?
Ul.
Where'er his Arrows fly they carry Death.
5
Who can with Safety then approach his Presence?
Ul.
You can't, except you circumvent him first.
Neop.
Do you not think it base to forge a Lie?
Ul.
No; when your Safety on a Lie depends.
Neop.
Who when he lies can see another's Face?
Ul.
When for your Gain you act, you shou'd not scruple.
Neop.
Where is my Gain to make him go to Troy?
Ul.
Because his Weapons must o'erthrow the Town.
Neop.
Then, as you said, the Conquest can't be mine.
Ul.
In vain his Arrows fly without your Aid,
And you attack without their Aid in vain.
Neop.
If so, I must deceive—
Ul.
—and well you do,
For two Rewards you're sure of—
Neop.
—what are they?
Ul.
Wisdom and Fortitude will both be thine.
Neop.
Farewel then Modesty, for once farewel.
Ul.
Do you remember all my Counsels?
Neop.
Yes.
I can't forget where once I give Assent.
Ul.
Here wait his coming, I must hence withdraw
Lest I be seen; back to the Ship I send
Our Spy, and if I find a long Delay
I'll send him hither, dress'd in such Disguise
That he shall pass for Captain of the Ship.
His very Language too shall be disguis'd;
Not so but you shall plainly understand
What is convenient to be done; hence then
In haste I go, and leave the rest to thee.
May Mercury assist, God of Deceit,
And wise Minerva, on whose Care depend
Whole States; for she is still Ulysses' Friend.
6
Strophe.
Chorus.
What shall I do a Stranger here?
Or what conceal?
Or what reveal?
Behold I see the Man appear!
Instruct me then; for well I know
That Arts may Arts excell,
As well
Counsels Counsels overthrow.
Among the Sceptred Great,
Few can fathom the Designs of State.
To thee, my Son, this princely Pow'r is given;
A Pow'r deriv'd from Heav'n.
How far subservient I must be, relate.
Neop.
Perhaps you, willingly wou'd trace,
With long expecting Eyes,
The wretched solitary Place
Where Philoctetes lies.
Then look around and do not fear,
And when he comes this way,
A dreadful Sight approaching near,
What I command obey.
ANTISTROPHE.
Chorus.
I was determin'd long before
To fix my Eyes on thine,
Whatever Object they explore
To view the same is mine.
But tell me where this wretched Creature lives,
Or in what Field he lies,
Such Information much Advantage gives;
For much I dread Surprize.
What Place? what Path? what Seat?
Is it an open or a close Retreat?
7
No Place to rest his weary Head,
A pervious Rock you see is both his House and Bed.
Chorus.
Where is the friendless Creature then?
The most unfortunate of Men!
Neop.
Not far from hence, to find him Food,
The poor dejected Soul
Is gone to shed the harmless Blood
Of some unguarded Fowl:
He lives on present Chance they say,
His winged Arrows fly,
To bring the Food of ev'ry Day
Down flutt'ring from the Sky.
But what avail him all the slain!
For still he feels a sleepless Pain.
Chorus.
Much I lament his dismal Case,
Without the Sight of human Face;
Unhappy, and alone!
Whole Nights and Days
Rack'd with Disease!
To sigh, to grieve, to groan!
How can he bear the dreadful Shock of Fate?
What num'rous Woes
Encompass those,
Who live not in a middle State.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Chorus.
Shou'd you the noblest ancient Lineage trace,
You'll find him of an equal Race;
And yet behold him of all Joy bereft,
Behold him solitary left!
No Friend, no kind Companion to relieve his Pain.
The spotted and the shagged Beasts around
Unheeding graze;
Hunger and Torment he must both sustain;
For both at once the wretched Mortal seize.
With piercing Shouts and Cries
He rends the Skies,
And Eccho faithfully returns the Sound.
8
Nothing of this my Breast can move,
If I in things divine am skill'd,
Whatever is decreed above,
Must be on Earth fulfill'd.
At Chrysa first his Malady began,
'Twas there the angry Gods attack'd the wretched Man.
Nor can we think they plac'd him here alone,
Without a Friend,
For any other End,
But that they fix'd a Season of their own,
When ev'ry Wall,
Of Troy shou'd fall,
And Troy no longer be a Town.
Chorus.
Be silent for a while—
Neop.
—For what I pray?
Chorus.
His piteous Groans afflict my Ear,
I hear them now approaching near.
Neop.
What here? or there? or in what Place?
Methinks I hear a mournful Cry
Of one, who moves a wretched Pace,
And dreads his maimed Foot to try.
'Tis he instructed by his Voice I know;
I feel the murth'ring Language of his Woe.
Chorus.
But have my Son—
Neop.
—have what?
Chorus.
Some other Thoughts; you see him near at Hand,
Not like a Shepherd with a tuneful Reed;
But one who dreads upon his Foot to stand,
Because the lightest Pressure makes it bleed.
If by ill chance he trips against a Stone,
With loud lamenting Voice he shrieks and roars;
And when he spies a Ship; he cries, begone!
Fly far from these inhospitable Shores!
Phil.
Alas, ye Strangers! tell me whence ye come,
Whence to these wild, these unfrequented Shores?
9
Ye come? your Country and your Names: I see
You're Greeks in Dress, a lovely Dress to me.
Delight my Ears for once with welcome Sounds;
My native Tongue; ah! don't ye start, or dread
To see me thus grown savage; rather shew
Compassion to a poor unfortunate,
Friendless, forsaken Wretch; speak if you're Friends.
O! answer me in haste, it is not meet
A mutual Conversation shou'd be wanting.
Neop.
Know we are Greeks; for this you want to know.
Phil.
O dearest Voice, after ten long years Silence,
To hear the Words of such a Man! what Joy!
What Rapture does it give! my Son, tell who
Has brought you hither? what Necessity?
What Expectations? or what friendly Wind
Has wafted you to us? O! tell us all,
For much I long to know the happy Cause.
Neop.
My Country's Scyros; homewards I am bound;
My Sire's Achilles; Neoptolemus
My Name; thus I have told you all in short.
Phil.
Son of my dearest Friend, and dearest Country;
Of Lycomedes the peculiar Care
When young; what Fleet has brought thee here? or whence?
Neop.
From Troy directly, thence I steer my Course.
Phil.
What's this you say? when first we went to Troy
You were not with us on that Expedition.
Neop.
Why, were you one of that advent'rous Fleet?
Phil.
Know you me not, my Son?
10
—How shou'd I know
A Person whom I never saw before?
Phil.
Did you not hear my Name, or the Report
Of all the Torments which have rack'd my Soul?
Neop.
No not one single Word of Name or Torments.
Phil.
Ah! wretched me!—odious to Heav'n's great Powers!—
My woful Cafe was neither heard at Home,
Nor ev'n among the Greeks,—but those who cast
Me out smile at my Wrongs, and keep them secret.
My Wounds still ranckle, and encrease my Pain.
Beloved Youth, Son of the fam'd Pelides,
I the Successor of great Hercules
Possess his Arrows: I'm the Son of Pæan,
Call'd Philoctetes, whom two Grecian Chiefs,
Join'd with the subtle Cephalenian Prince
Basely cast out into this desert Isle;
Torn with wild Anguish, with Impressions dire
Of Vipers Teeth all burning; thus they left me
Forlorn, when hither they from Chrysa sail'd;
Tir'd with the Agitation of the Waves,
And sunk to Sleep profound; rejoic'd to find
This cruel Opportunity, they fled
And laid me in the hollow of a Rock;
A few small Rags to bind my noisome Wounds,
And present Food a little, all they left me.
I wak'd! O Heavens! my Son, what Tongue can tell
The Sorrows of my Soul? what Floods of Tears
Flow'd down my Cheeks! what Sighs! what Groans!
To see them sailing off; and not one Soul
With solitary mourning Philoctetes.
No Help, no friendly Care, no kind Relief
To my distracting Sores; I look'd around,
And found not one Companion but my Pain;
Which ne'er remits. Day after Day went on,
I saw my little Cave must be supply'd
By my own Care, and Hunger be subdu'd
By the wild Doves my faithful Arrows slew.
What Birds I shot I crawl'd along with Pain
To bring them home, and dragg'd my bleeding Foot
With Anguish great. When to the limpid Spring
I crept to cool my parching Thirst, or went
To gather Fewel for my Fire, (the same
Affliction seiz'd me as I limp'd along)
This by repeated Stroaks of Flints I kindled,
But long before the little Seeds of Fire,
Scarce visible, became a living Flame.
This is my chief Support, my Cave's best Comfort;
It grants me all but a Release from Pain.
My woful Cafe was neither heard at Home,
Nor ev'n among the Greeks,—but those who cast
Me out smile at my Wrongs, and keep them secret.
My Wounds still ranckle, and encrease my Pain.
Beloved Youth, Son of the fam'd Pelides,
I the Successor of great Hercules
Possess his Arrows: I'm the Son of Pæan,
Call'd Philoctetes, whom two Grecian Chiefs,
Join'd with the subtle Cephalenian Prince
Basely cast out into this desert Isle;
Torn with wild Anguish, with Impressions dire
Of Vipers Teeth all burning; thus they left me
Forlorn, when hither they from Chrysa sail'd;
Tir'd with the Agitation of the Waves,
And sunk to Sleep profound; rejoic'd to find
This cruel Opportunity, they fled
And laid me in the hollow of a Rock;
A few small Rags to bind my noisome Wounds,
And present Food a little, all they left me.
I wak'd! O Heavens! my Son, what Tongue can tell
The Sorrows of my Soul? what Floods of Tears
Flow'd down my Cheeks! what Sighs! what Groans!
To see them sailing off; and not one Soul
With solitary mourning Philoctetes.
No Help, no friendly Care, no kind Relief
To my distracting Sores; I look'd around,
11
Which ne'er remits. Day after Day went on,
I saw my little Cave must be supply'd
By my own Care, and Hunger be subdu'd
By the wild Doves my faithful Arrows slew.
What Birds I shot I crawl'd along with Pain
To bring them home, and dragg'd my bleeding Foot
With Anguish great. When to the limpid Spring
I crept to cool my parching Thirst, or went
To gather Fewel for my Fire, (the same
Affliction seiz'd me as I limp'd along)
This by repeated Stroaks of Flints I kindled,
But long before the little Seeds of Fire,
Scarce visible, became a living Flame.
This is my chief Support, my Cave's best Comfort;
It grants me all but a Release from Pain.
But now, my Son, 'tis Time I should relate
The Nature of this Place. No Sailor steers
With willing Sails to these inhuman Shores;
No Trade; no Harbours; here no Mortal dwells
With hospitable Care to tend a Stranger;
None in their Senses will approach this Place.
If hither by tempestuous waves they're driven
(As oft it happens in the length of Time)
To soft Compassion mov'd, my sad Condition
They pity, and some Food and Raiment give;
But not a Soul will take me home, but here
I'm left to perish in the desert Wilds.
For ten long Years of Hunger and of Pain,
I fed the Wounds, that feed themselves on me.
This the Atridæ did, and this Ulysses;
For which may Heav'n inflict like Woes on them.
The Nature of this Place. No Sailor steers
With willing Sails to these inhuman Shores;
No Trade; no Harbours; here no Mortal dwells
With hospitable Care to tend a Stranger;
None in their Senses will approach this Place.
If hither by tempestuous waves they're driven
(As oft it happens in the length of Time)
To soft Compassion mov'd, my sad Condition
They pity, and some Food and Raiment give;
But not a Soul will take me home, but here
I'm left to perish in the desert Wilds.
For ten long Years of Hunger and of Pain,
I fed the Wounds, that feed themselves on me.
This the Atridæ did, and this Ulysses;
For which may Heav'n inflict like Woes on them.
12
Like those by chance who hither sail,
I feel Compassion rise;
Thy Suff'rings force me to bewail,
They pierce my wounded Heart and melt my Eyes.
Neop.
I am a Witness of thy sad Complaint;
The Truth of what you say I cannot doubt;
I by Experience know, how violent
The Sons of Atreus and Ulysses are.
Phil.
Have you then felt their curst, destructive Power,
That with a just Resentment you accuse them?
Neop.
I wish my Passion were with Arms supply'd,
That Sparta and Mycenæ both might know,
What valiant Heroes Scyros can produce.
Phil.
Well said, my Son, what is your Cause of Anger?
Neop.
Thou Son of Pæan, I'll impart it all,
Tho' Words are wanting justly to describe
The injur'd Neoptolemus, when he
Had lost his best Defence, his martial Father.
Phil.
Alas! proceed no farther 'till I hear
Whether the Son of Peleus be no more.
Neop.
He fell, but by no mortal hand; they say
It was Apollo sent the fatal Shaft.
Phil.
Great was the Hand that slew! and great the slain!
But now, my Son, I am divided much
Between thy Suff'rings and his Death to know
Whether to hear thy Griefs, or wail his Fate.
Neop.
Thy own Misfortunes bring sufficient Pains,
And leave no room to think of any others.
Phil.
You reason well. Then to yourself proceed,
And let me know the Injuries you bear.
Neop.
Ulysses and my Tutour Phœnix came
Both in one Ship to me, and this their Message;
Both in one Ship to me, and this their Message;
13
That now my Father was no more, my Help
Was requisite to conquer Troy; none else
Alive could do. For so the Fates decreed.
How true or false I shan't presume to say.
With quick Perswasion off I went, but more
Desirous far to see my Father's Body;
But saw it not. Yet still Ambition fir'd
My gen'rous Soul with glorious Thoughts of Conquest.
In two days Time on the Sigeian Shore
I landed; wretched was that Shore to me!
While the whole Army stood around to pay
Their due Respect, and all did loudly swear
They saw Achilles still alive in me;
But he, alas! was dead; unhappy I
Let fall some silent Tears, and so retir'd
A while to think of him, and grieve alone.
To the Atridæ, whom I thought my Friends,
I went, demanding my dead Father's Treasures,
Among the rest his Armour; when, alas!
How great my Sorrow! this the dismal Answer.
Was requisite to conquer Troy; none else
Alive could do. For so the Fates decreed.
How true or false I shan't presume to say.
With quick Perswasion off I went, but more
Desirous far to see my Father's Body;
But saw it not. Yet still Ambition fir'd
My gen'rous Soul with glorious Thoughts of Conquest.
In two days Time on the Sigeian Shore
I landed; wretched was that Shore to me!
While the whole Army stood around to pay
Their due Respect, and all did loudly swear
They saw Achilles still alive in me;
But he, alas! was dead; unhappy I
Let fall some silent Tears, and so retir'd
A while to think of him, and grieve alone.
To the Atridæ, whom I thought my Friends,
I went, demanding my dead Father's Treasures,
Among the rest his Armour; when, alas!
How great my Sorrow! this the dismal Answer.
“Son of Achilles, all the rest is thine;
“The Armour is dispos'd of to Ulysses.
At this Intelligence I griev'd; and wept.
At length my Passion struggling broke its way,
And thus I spoke; Injurious Prince, who durst
Without my Leave dispose of what was mine?
“The Armour is dispos'd of to Ulysses.
At this Intelligence I griev'd; and wept.
At length my Passion struggling broke its way,
And thus I spoke; Injurious Prince, who durst
Without my Leave dispose of what was mine?
Then said Ulysses, standing near, they're mine;
“And justly were they given: I sav'd your Sire
“From being stript of them; and dragg'd him off,
“When hostile Foes wou'd make his Coarse a Prey.
“And justly were they given: I sav'd your Sire
“From being stript of them; and dragg'd him off,
“When hostile Foes wou'd make his Coarse a Prey.
Now much enrag'd, my swelling Anger burst,
And out in dreadful Imprecations flew
Upon them all, for such injurious Treatment.
Ulysses then advanc'd, suppress'd his Anger;
But stung at what he heard, he thus reply'd.
You ran no Risk, but staid behind at Home;
Rant as you please, you ne'er shall bear it hence.
And out in dreadful Imprecations flew
Upon them all, for such injurious Treatment.
Ulysses then advanc'd, suppress'd his Anger;
But stung at what he heard, he thus reply'd.
14
Rant as you please, you ne'er shall bear it hence.
Thus injur'd and repuls'd, I homeward sail'd,
Spoil'd of my native Right, by one I deem
The worst of Men, I mean the base Ulysses.
But yet I blame the chief Commanders more;
The Army and the Civil Pow'r is theirs;
Their Orders all obey; when Wrongs are done,
It is by their Connivance, or Example.
I've told you all; whoever hates th'Atridæ,
I hold him dear both to the Gods and me.
Spoil'd of my native Right, by one I deem
The worst of Men, I mean the base Ulysses.
But yet I blame the chief Commanders more;
The Army and the Civil Pow'r is theirs;
Their Orders all obey; when Wrongs are done,
It is by their Connivance, or Example.
I've told you all; whoever hates th'Atridæ,
I hold him dear both to the Gods and me.
Chorus.
All feeding Mother Earth,
On whom the lofty Mountains stand,
From thee great Jove derives his Birth,
Supported by thy bounteous Hand.
Thou who dost dwell where rich Pactolus shines
With Wealth exhausted from the Golden Mines,
Shall I invoke thy Name
Within that Stream?
And tell what Injuries are done
To Neoptolemus, the Son
Of great Pelides, that great Man of Fame?
His Armour to Ulysses given,
And he the Son from his own native Right is driven.
Thee, mighty Goddess, we invoke,
Who dost Bull-slaught'ring Lyons Yoke,
And drawn by them in Car-triumphant ride,
Humble th'Atridæ and pull down their Pride.
Lemnos is an Island in the Ægean Sea, South of Thrace, in the Latitude of 41 Deg. now called Stalimene by the Turks: The Form of it is Quadrangular, it is 25 Miles over, which makes it 100 Miles about.
King of Scyros, (one of the Cyclades) to whom the Goddess Thetis gave her Son Achilles in Charge, having stoln him from his Master Chiron, as he was asleep; because she foresaw that he would never return alive from the Siege of Troy. For this Reason he was kept at the Court of Lycomedes, in a Woman's Dress, among his Daughters, the better to conceal him. He was at last discover'd by a Stratagem of Ulysses.
Agamemnon and Menelaus, the two Sons of Atreus. One was King of Mycenæ, and the other of Sparta. They were the chief Commanders of the Greeks who went upon the Trojan Expedition.
| The Philoctetes of Sophocles | |