XV.
All men are the same by virtue of
reason and the divine spark
In the country of the Quadi at Granua,
these. Betimes in the morning say to thyself, This day I shalt have to do with
an idle curious man, with an unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an
envious man; an unsociable uncharitable man. All these ill qualities have
happened unto them, through ignorance of that which is truly good and truly
bad. http://louishjhsheehan.blogspot.com/
But I that understand the nature of
that which is good, that it only is to be desired, and of that which is bad,
that it only is truly odious and shameful: who know moreover, that this
transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same blood and seed,
but by participation of the same reason, and of the same divine particle; How
can I either be hurt by any of those, since it is not in their power to make me
incur anything that is truly reproachful? or angry, and ill affected towards
him, who by nature is so near unto me? for we are all born to be
fellow-workers, as the feet, the hands, and the eyelids; as the rows of the
upper and under teeth: for such therefore to be in opposition, is against
nature; and what is it to chafe at, and to be averse from, but to be in
opposition?
XVI.
Don't be distracted by books
Whatsoever I am, is either flesh, or
life, or that which we commonly call the mistress and overruling part of man;
reason. Away with thy books, suffer not thy mind any more to be distracted, and
carried to and fro; for it will not be; but as even now ready to die, think
little of thy flesh: blood, bones, and a skin; a pretty piece of knit and
twisted work, consisting of nerves, veins and arteries; think no more of it,
than so. And as for thy life, consider what it is; a wind; not one constant
wind neither, but every moment of an hour let out, and sucked in again. The
third, is thy ruling part; and here consider; Thou art an old man; suffer not
that excellent part to be brought in subjection, and to become slavish: suffer
it not to be drawn up and down with unreasonable and unsociable lusts and
motions, as it were with wires and nerves; suffer it not any more, either to
repine at anything now present, or to fear and fly anything to come, which the
destiny hath appointed thee.
XVII.
What comes from god is full of
providence
Whatsoever proceeds from the gods
immediately, that any man will grant totally depends from their divine
providence. As for those things that are commonly said to happen by fortune,
even those must be conceived to have dependence from nature, or from that first
and general connection, and concatenation of all those things, which more
apparently by the divine providence are administered and brought to pass. All
things flow from thence: and whatsoever it is that is, is both necessary, and
conducing to the whole (part of which thou art), and whatsoever it is that is
requisite and necessary for the preservation of the general, must of necessity for
every particular nature, be good and behoveful. And as for the whole, it is
preserved, as by the perpetual mutation and conversion of the simple elements
one into another, so also by the mutation, and alteration of things mixed and
compounded. Let these things suffice thee; let them be always unto thee, as thy
general rules and precepts. As for thy thirst after books, away with it with
all speed, that thou die not murmuring and complaining, but truly meek and well
satisfied, and from thy heart thankful unto the gods.
Sophocles
Born at Colonos probably 495 B.C. Died 406 B.C.
PHILOCTETES
THE PERSONS
ODYSSEUS.
NEOPTOLEMUS.
CHORUS of Mariners.
PHILOCTETES.
Messenger, disguised as a Merchantman.
HERACLES, appearing from the sky.
SCENE. A desert shore of the Island of
Lemnos.
PHILOCTETES
ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS.
ODYSSEUS. This coast of sea-girt
Lemnos, where we stand,
Is uninhabited, untrodden of men.
And here, O noble son of noblest sire,
Achilles-born Neoptolemus, I erewhile,
--
Ordered by those who had command, --
cast forth
Trachinian Philoctetes, Poeas' son,
His foot dark-dripping with a rankling
wound;
When with wild cries, that frighted
holy rest,
Filling the camp, he troubled every
rite,
That none might handle sacrifice, or
pour
Wine-offering, but his noise disturbed
our peace.
No moment this for talk,
Lest he discern my coming, and I lose
The scheme, wherewith I think to catch
him soon.
Now most behoves thy service, to
explore
This headland for a cave with double
mouth,
Whose twofold aperture, on wintry
days,
Gives choice of sunshine, and in
summer noons
The breeze wafts slumber through the
airy cell.
Then, something lower down, upon the
left,
Unless 'tis dried, thine eye may note
a spring.
Go near now silently, and make me know
If still he persevere, and hold this
spot,
Or have roamed elsewhere, that
informed of this
I may proceed with what remains to
say,
And we may act in concert.
NEOPTOLEMUS. Lord Odysseus,
Thy foremost errand will not task me
far.
Methinks I see the cave whereof thou
speakest.
OD. Where? let me see it. Above there,
or below?
NEO. Yonder, above. And yet I hear no
tread.
[Neoptolemus climbs up to the cave]
OD. Look if he be not lodged in
slumber there.
NEO. I find no inmate, but an empty
room.
OD. What? no provision for a
dwelling-place?
NEO. A bed of leaves for some one
harbouring here.
OD. Nought else beneath the roof? Is
all forlorn?
NEO. A cup of wood, some untaught craftsman's
skill,
And, close at hand, these embers of a
fire.
OD. That store is his. I read the
token clear.
NEO. Oh! and these festering rags give
evidence,
Steeped as with dressing some
malignant sore.
OD. The man inhabits here: I know it
now.
And sure he's not far off. How can he
range,
Whose limb drags heavy with an ancient
harm?
But he's gone, either to bring forage
home,
Or where he hath found some plant of
healing power.
Send therefore thine attendant to look
forth,
Lest unawares he find me. All our host
Were not so fair a prize for him as I.
NEO. My man is going, and shall watch
the path.
What more dost thou require of me?
Speak on.
OD. Son of Achilles, know that thou
art come
To serve us nobly, not with strength
alone,
But, faithful to thy mission, if so
be,
To do things strange, unwonted to
thine ear.
NEO. What dost thou bid me?
OD. 'Tis thy duty now
To entrap the mind of Poeas' son with
words.
When he shall ask thee, who and whence
thou art,
Declare thy name and father. 'Tis not
that
I charge thee to conceal. But for thy
voyage,
'Tis homeward, leaving the Achaean
host,
With perfect hatred hating them,
because
They who had drawn thee with strong
prayers from home,
Their hope for taking Troy, allowed
thee not
Thy just demand to have thy father's arms,
But, e'er thy coming, wrongly gave
them o'er
Unto Odysseus: and thereon launch
forth
With boundless execration against me.
That will not pain me, but if thou
reject
This counsel, thou wilt trouble all
our host,
Since, if his bow shall not be ta'en,
thy life
Will ne'er be crowned through Troy's
discomfiture.
Now let me show, why thine approach to him
Is safe and trustful as mine cannot be
Thou didst sail forth, not to redeem
thine oath,
Nor by constraint, nor with the
foremost band.
All which reproaches I must bear: and
he,
But seeing me, while master of his
bow,
Will slay me, and my ruin will be
thine.
This point then craves our cunning, to
acquire
By subtle means the irresistible bow
--
Thy nature was not framed, I know it
well,
For speaking falsehood, or contriving
harm.
Yet, since the prize of victory is so
dear,
Endure it -- We'll be just another day
But now, for one brief hour, devote
thyself
To serve me without shame, and then
for aye
NEO. The thing that, being named,
revolts mine ear,
Son of Laërtes, I abhor to do
'Tis not my nature, no, nor, as they
tell,
My father's, to work aught by craft
and guile.
I'll undertake to bring him in by
force,
Not by deceit. For, sure, with his one
foot,
He cannot be a match for all our crew
Being sent, my lord, to serve thee, I
am loth
To seem rebellious. But I rather
choose
To offend with honour, than to win by
wrong.
OD. Son of a valiant sire, I, too, in
youth,
Had once a slow tongue and an active
hand.
But since I have proved the world, I
clearly see
Words and not deeds give mastery over
men.
NEO. What then is thy command? To lie?
No more?
OD. To entangle Philoctetes with
deceit.
NEO. Why through deceit? May not
persuasion fetch him?
OD. Never. And force as certainly will
fail.
NEO. What lends him such assurance of
defence?
OD. Arrows, the unerring harbingers of
Death.
NEO. Then to go near him is a perilous
thing.
OD. Unless with subtlety, as I have
said.
NEO. And is not lying shameful to thy
soul?
OD. Not if by lying I can save my
soul.
NEO. How must one look in speaking
such a word?
OD. Where gain invites, this shrinking
is not good.
NEO. What gain I through his coming
back to Troy?
OD. His arms alone have power to take
Troy-town.
NEO. Then am not I the spoiler, as ye
said?
OD. Thou without them, they without
thee, are powerless.
NEO. If it be so, they must be sought
and won.
OD. Yea, for in this two prizes will
be thine.
NEO. What? When I learn them, I will
not refuse.
OD. Wisdom and valour joined in one
good name.
NEO. Shame, to the winds! Come, I will
do this thing.
OD. Say, dost thou bear my bidding
full in mind?
NEO. Doubt not, since once for all I
have embraced it.
OD. Thou, then, await him here. I will
retire,
For fear my hated presence should be
known,
And take back our attendant to the
ship.
And then once more, should ye appear
to waste
The time unduly, I will send again
This same man hither in disguise,
transformed
To the strange semblance of a
merchantman;
From dark suggestion of whose crafty
tongue,
Thou, O my son, shalt gather timely
counsel.
Now to my ship. This charge I leave to thee.
May secret Hermes guide us to our end,
And civic Pallas, named of victory,
The sure protectress of my devious
way.
CHORUS (entering).
Strange in the stranger land,
What shall I speak? What hide
From a heart suspicious of ill?
Tell me, O master mine!
Wise above all is the man,
Peerless in searching thought,
Who with the Zeus-given wand
Wieldeth a Heaven-sent power.
This unto thee, dear son,
Fraught with ancestral might,
This to thy life hath come.
Wherefore I bid thee declare,
What must I do for thy need?
NEO. Even now methinks thou longest to
espy
Near ocean's marge the place where he
doth lie.
Gaze without fear. But when the
traveller stern,
Who from this roof is parted, shall
return,
Advancing still as I the signal give,
To serve each moment's mission thou
shalt strive.
CH. That, O my son, from of old
Hath been my care, to take note
What by thy beck'ning is told;
Still thy success to promote.
But for our errand to-day
Behoves thee, master, to say
Where is the hearth of his home;
Or where even now doth he roam?
O tell me, lest all unaware
He spring like a wolf from his lair
And I by surprise should be ta'en,
Where doth he move or remain,
Here lodging, or wandering away?
NEO. Thou seëst yon double doorway of
his cell,
Poor habitation of the rock.
CH. 2. But tell
Where is the pain-worn wight himself
abroad?
NEO. To me 'tis clear, that, in his
quest for food,
Here, not far off, he trails yon
furrowed path.
For, so 'tis told, this mode the
sufferer hath
Of sustenance, oh hardness! bringing
low
Wild creatures with wing'd arrows from
his bow;
Nor findeth healer for his troublous
woe.
CH. I feel his misery.
With no companion eye,
Far from all human care,
He pines with fell disease;
Each want he hourly sees
Awakening new despair.
How can he bear it still?
O cruel Heavens! O pain
Of that afflicted mortal train
Whose life sharp sorrows fill!
Born in a princely hall,
Highest, perchance, of all,
Now lies he comfortless
Alone in deep distress,
'Mongst rough and dappled brutes,
With pangs and hunger worn;
While from far distance shoots,
On airy pinion borne,
The unbridled Echo, still replying
To his most bitter crying.
NEO. At nought of this I marvel -- for
if I
Judge rightly, there assailed him from
on high
That former plague through Chrysa's
cruel sting[1]:
And if to-day he suffer anything
With none to soothe, it must be from
the will
Of some great God, so caring to fulfil
The word of prophecy, lest he should
bend
On Troy the shaft no mortal may
forfend,
Before the arrival of Troy's destined
hour,
When she must fall, o'er-mastered by
their power.
CH. 1. Hush, my son!
NEO. Why so?
CH. 1. A sound
Gendered of some mortal woe,
Started from the neighbouring ground.
Here, or there? Ah! now I know.
Hark! 'tis the voice of one in pain,
Travelling hardly, the deep strain
Of human anguish, all too clear,
That smites my heart, that wounds mine
ear.
CH. 2. From far it peals. But thou, my
son!
NEO. What?
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
Hercúlean 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
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
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, Laërtes'
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,
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
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
Laërtes 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.
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