CHORUS

I pity him for all his woes, for his distress, for his loneliness, with no countryman at his side; he is accursed, always alone, brought down by bitter illness; he wanders, distraught, thrown off balance by simple needs.

How can he withstand such ceaseless misfortune?

O, the violent snares laid out by the G.o.ds!

O, the unhappy human race, living always on the edge, always in excess.

He might have been a well-born man, second to none of the n.o.ble Greek houses.

Now he has no part of the good life, and he lies alone, apart from others, among spotted deer and s.h.a.ggy, wild goats.

His mind is fixed on pain and hunger.

He groans in anguish, and only a babbling echo answers, poured out from afar, in answer to his lamentations.

NEOPTOLEMOS

None of this amazes me.

It is the work of divine Fate, if I understand rightly.

Savage Chryse set these sufferings on him, the share of sufferings he must now endure.

His torments are not random.

The G.o.ds, surely, must heap them on him, so that he cannot bend the invincible bow until the right time comes, decreed by Zeus, and as it is promised, Troy is made to fall.

CHORUS

Be quiet, boy.

NEOPTOLEMOS

What is it?

CHORUS

A clear groan--- the steadfast companion of one walking in pain.

Where is it?

Now comes a noise: a man writhes along his path, from afar comes the sigh of a burdened man--- the cry has carried.

Pay attention, boy.

NEOPTOLEMOS

To what?

CHORUS

To my second explanation. He is not so far away.

He is inside his cave. He is not walking abroad to his panpipe's doleful song, like a shepherd wandering with his flocks.

Rather he has b.u.mped his wounded leg and shouts as if to someone far away, as if to someone he has seen at the harbor.

The cry he makes is terrible.

PHILOKTETES

You there, you strangers: who are you who have landed from the sea on an island without houses or fair harbor?

From what country should I think you, and guess it correctly? You look Greek to me.

You wear Greek clothes, and I love to see them.

I want to hear you speak my tongue.

Do not shun me, amazed to face a man who has become so wild.

Pity one who is d.a.m.ned and alone, wasted away by his sufferings.

Speak. Speak, if you come as friends.

Answer me. It is unreasonable not to answer each other's questions.

NEOPTOLEMOS

We are Greeks. You wanted to know.

PHILOKTETES

O, beloved tongue! I understand you!

That I should hear Greek words after so many years!

Who are you, boy? Who sent you? What brought you?

What urged you here? What lucky wind?

Answer. Let me know who you are.

NEOPTOLEMOS

My people are from wavebound Skyros, an island.

I am sailing homeward.

I am called Neoptolemos, Achilles's son.

Now you know everything.

PHILOKTETES

Son of a man whom I once loved, son of my beloved country, nursed by ancient Lykomedes--- what business brought you here?

Where is it that you sail from?

NEOPTOLEMOS

I sail from Troy.

PHILOKTETES

What? You sail away from Troy?

You were not there with us at the start.

NEOPTOLEMOS

Did you take part in that misery?

PHILOKTETES

Then you do not know who stands before you?

NEOPTOLEMOS