Hippolytus - Euripides

Euripides entered his play Hippolytus into the drama competition of 428 B.C. and won first prize; since then the story of Hippolytus and Phaedra has gone through many reiterations by many playwrights including Sophocles, Seneca, Racine, O'Neill in his Desire under the Elms and Jeffers in his Cawdor.

The story is as follows: Theseus, King of Athens has an illegitimate son by an Amazonian woman, named Hippolytus, who is sworn by his love for Artemis to a life of chastity. Some time later Theseus takes a Cretan wife named Phaedra, and it is not long before Phaedra, under the unfortunate spell of Aphrodite, is struck with Cupid's arrow and overcome with heartsickness over her unrequited love for Hippolytus. Although she recognizes the perfidy of this feeling of love, she is unable to continue living with the hopelessness of misplaced affection.

According to David Grene (1942) unlike other traditions, such as the biblical story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife, where the woman figures only as a one-dimensional temptress, "Euripides has gone with great sympathy into the feelings of Phaedra, a helpless victim of her passions (Aphrodite) whose mind clings despite all its integrity. Hippolytus too has his ideals. His seraphic love for the unattainable Artemis displays at the same time his admiration for beauty and his dislike of sex. But the quarrel between sacred and profane love, represented by Artemis and Aphrodite, thwarts the good purpose of the human persons and wrecks both lives."

The play opens with a prologue by Aphrodite:

"I am called the Goddess Cypris: I am mighty among men and they honor me by many names...Such as worship my power in all humility, I exalt in honor. But those whose pride is stiff-necked against me I lay by the heels..."

Hippolytus would fall in the "stiff-necked" category. Not only does he reserve no honor for her, but he actually goes so far as to blaspheme her, counting her "vilest of the Gods in Heaven." Rather than love and romance etc. he would rather spend his days with Artemis, the Maiden Goddess, hunting and running through the green, "mortal and immortal in companionship." Many things about this particular relationship infuriates Aphrodite, so she make it her personal goal to destroy him. But not only destroy him, Aphrodite would like to have as much carnage as possible in the wake of Hippolytus' destruction, so she includes a few curses into the mix of her cocktail of misery.

First, Phaedra, the unsuspecting victim and step-mother will be stricken with the bitterness of love for her stepson. "The goads of love" will prick her cruelly and continuously until she kills herself. And second, Theseus, not believing his sons innocence will "slay the son with curses" before realizing they have all been hopelessly caught in the snare of an angry fouler.

As the prologue ends, Aphrodite spits her last bitter lines, the abhorrence dripping from every word:

"Look, here is the son of Theseus, Hippolytus! He has just left his hunting. I must go away. See the great crowd that throngs upon his heels and shouts praise of Artemis in hymns?! He does not know that the doors of death are open for him, that he is looking at his last sun."

Enter Hippolytus, singing platonic love songs to his best friend/goddess Artemis. "Maiden Goddess most beautiful of all the Heavenly Host that live in Olympus..." You can almost see Aphrodite becoming more and more apoplectic. Peppered throughout his ode to Artemis, Hippolytus is sure to include stanzas devoted to his chastity. His love for Artemis is pure and unsullied by the degrading physical act of love.

Scene II. We are introduced to Phaedra's misery as her nurse tries to comfort her with such uplifting tidbits like the misery and hopelessness of childbirth and the suspicious mercurial nature of love:

Nurse: "...The life of a man entire is misery: he finds no resting place, no haven from calamity. But something other dearer still than life the darkness hides and mist encompasses; we are proved luckless lovers of this thing that glitters in the underworld: no man can tell us of the stuff of it, expounding what is, and what is not: we know nothing of it. Idly we drift, on idle stories carried."

While Phaedra, in agony, her spirit crushed by the weight of her unfortunate love, her nurse again cautions: "Love must not touch the marrow of the soul. Our affections must be breakable chains that we can cast off or tighten them." But the chains of Cupid are less tensile than ordinary love and uneasily cast off.

Finally as Phaedra wastes away, ("the tides of love, at its full surge are not withstandable") the nurse concocts a terrible scheme, but the only one she hopes will save her mistress. She will go to Hippolytus and try to persuade him to carry out the only deed certain to save Phaedra's life. Hippolytus, as expected is offended and disgusted. He has promised not to reveal his stepmother's shameful secret, but that's the only compliance he makes and as he turns to leave the nurse grabs a hold of his robe, an interesting parallel to the Joseph story.

At last, Phaedra has no other option than to kill herself, but she takes the time to write a note for Theseus to find, accusing Hippolytus of raping her and setting in motion the avalanche that will lead to the consummation of Aphrodite's curse.

Naked Masks - Luigi Pirandello (Part 1: Liola)

According to Eric Bently (1952) Liola is a dream play. It takes place in an imagined vacuum, isolated from the horrors of a world war, presenting at the surface, a discussion about paternity; but between the lines is an ontological query into how and what we perceive as truth and the impact this has on our philosophy of life.

"Pirandello has dreamed himself away from the problems of Agrigento in 1916 it is back into the Agrigento of another day. The breath of happy paganism is felt in his play, which is the last Sicilian pastoral."(Bently, 1952) Pirandello's greatest creation is the character of Liola, a joyful, passionate, idealist and perhaps the only morally positive (ie being an agent rather than victim to fate) character Pirandello breathed life into.

To say Liola is a bit of a ladies man would be an understatement, it seems like he can't sashay into a room without impregnating all women in his path. He is a free spirit, whistling a tune wherever he goes, unshackled to societal demands or expectations. He pursues love, but has no interest in commitment and as the play opens, his three little sons, each from a different mother sit helping their grandmother shell almonds.

Ostensibly the play is about Tuzzu's  attempt to take revenge on Mita, who has been blessed with both a rich husband (Uncle Simone), and the gallant lover (Liola.) Tuzza of course is ignoring the constant abuse Mita must endure from Simon for her inability to produce an heir and overlooking the fact that while Mita might be enjoying the attentions from Liola that she wishes were hers, the only reason Liola is pursuing Mita is because she is practically speaking unavailable.

Tuzza's plan, now that she has become pregnant, is to claim that the father is Uncle Simone. Simone, so desperate for an heir will publicly acknowledge the child as his own and then Mita will be cast off leaving all the wealth, power and glamour for Tuzza alone. All goes according to plan and Tuzza, steeping in the bitterness of unrequited love eases her heartache with a little guile.

As Liola comes waltzing into the scene, a tune on his lips, a trails of maidens in his wake, he's asked if this is how he intends to find his queen, his flagrant disregard for conventional romance being overlooked. His response and the fulcrum on which the play hinges is:

"Who says I haven't found her already and she simply doesn't know why I laugh and sing this way? Pretending is a virtue. 'If you can't pretend, you can't be king.'"

Liola is the expert pretender. The only moment of transparency comes when he dutifully goes to Tuzza's mother to ask for her hand in marriage, knowing that yet another son is destined to be born and unaware of her sinister plot.

"...I can't live caged up, Aunt Crice, I'm a bird that must fly - here today, there tomorrow, in the sun, the water, the wind. I sing and am drunk - on song and sun - I hardly know which affects me more. Far all that, here I am: clipping my wings and have come to shut myself in a cage of my own making. I am asking for your daughter Tuzza's hand."

Tuzza refuses to have anything to do with him. What good is a nomadic idealist when she can have wealth and stability. Love is just a feeling destined to ruin all in its path.

After a few impassioned speeches between Liola and Tuzza's mother, Liola professing the enormity of his love for his young sons and assuring Tuzza's mother he will provide for Tuzza and her child, Tuzza's mother tells him that Tuzza doesn't want him, which Liola demands that Tuzza, herself proclaim, in the presence of Uncle Simone.

Liola says he wouldn't want to commit an outrage, but he also wouldn't like others to commit an outrage and make use of him, which is exactly what Tuzza has planned. She has successfully turned Simone against Mita, and now Mita has nowhere to turn, floating precariously on the flotsam of uncertainty.

Liola has a plan. Since he's given Tuzza a child destined to take over Simone's estate...why not give Mita one as well? At first outraged by this plan, Mita soon realizes that this is her only hope and after a short time she reclaims her place in her husbands house, pregnant with another mans child. Simone is only too happy to have an heir and despite the subterfuge, chooses to believe the child is his despite his record of impotence.

Act II ends with Uncle Simone muttering under his breath: "In the country when it is dark, a man is easily deceived!" Thinking he had seen someone creeping into the house (Liola) that Mita is staying at, but quickly reassuring himself that he was just seeing things. Again, belief is what you choose it to be. It is not a fundamental, universal fact, but rather, like Proteus, an amorphous, shape shifting water demon.

As the play comes to an end, one deceit piled high upon another, Simone has renounced Tuzza's child and happily accepts Mita's in its stead. While love between a man and a woman can be tempestuous and opaque, the love Liola has for his son is transparent and constant. Despite his many flaws, Pirandello presents Liola as an archetype for fatherhood.

Helen - Euripides

Unlike the widely accepted legend of Helen making her single-handedly responsible for the woe and misery of the Trojan War, Euripides presents us with Helen's own version of how things actually happened.

First Helen brings up the matter of her birth, one day her mother was courted unsuspectingly by a swan, and 9 months later a little demi-god is born in the form of Helen...

"...a legend tells how Zeus winged his way to my mothers Leda's breast, in the semblance of a bird, even a swan, and thus as he fled from an eagle's pursuit, achieved by guile his amorous purpose..."

Her beauty is unsurpassed and legendary. She is wed to Menelaus and all goes smoothly until three goddesses, Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena put together a beauty pageant and challenge Paris to decide which of them is the most beautiful. Aphrodite, says that if Paris will choose her, then he can have Helen as his bride; so of course Paris chooses Aphrodite as the most beautiful of all the goddesses, and leaving his sheep and the shores of Ida makes his way to Sparta to claim his prize.

"But Hera, indignant at not defeating the goddesses, brought to naught my marriage with Paris, and gave to Priam's princely son not Helen, but a phantom endowed with life, that she made in my image out of the breath of heaven..."

So that's basically Helen's excuse. While she sat by, a victim to this mercurial world, a phantom went in her place and caused 10 years of bloodshed, while Hermes caught her up in the "embracing air" and set her down far away, in the Egyptian house of Proteus. Proteus, being virtuous, respected her marriage to Menelaus, so she has remained faithful to him these past 17 years.

As the play opens, Proteus has died, leaving Theoclymenus in his stead. Theo, is a little less "respectful" of Helen's claim to a previous marriage and plans on marrying Helen as soon as possible. Helen, alone more than ever sees only a hopeless future. The world hates her and curses her for the countless lives lost, the countless mothers, wives and daughters grieving all because of her alleged harlotry.

"Woe is thee, unhappy Troy! Thou through deeds not done by thee art ruined, and hast suffered direst woe; for the gift that Aphrodite gave to me, hath caused a sea of blood to flow and many an eye to weep, with grief on grief and tear on tear."

After a brief encounter with the exiled Teucer who claims that Menelaus is dead, Helen ponders the most honorable way to kill herself. What to do. If only Menelaus were here, in Egypt, with her, instead of dead on the far from glorious field of battle.

Enter Menelaus. A little worse for wear. These past 17 years have not been kind to him and at present he looks like a shipwrecked beggar. After a few moments of confusion, they finally recognize each other and after the momentary joy of being reunited, Menelaus is quick to ask about her fidelity, which she assures him is intact. The next order of business is how to escape, when a wedding is impending and Theo has a particular distaste for Spartans...

The first scheme is a gruesome Romeo and Juliet type. If they can not escape...Menelaus will slaughter his wife, laying her body upon an alter and then climb up and kill himself as well. After a little consideration they come up with a better scheme where they both get to live.

They will tell Theo that Menelaus' body has been found. Helen the faithful wife, now widowed, must perform the customary Spartan burial, which will involve Theo giving them a ship, a crew to sail and basic provision to that Helen can take his body to its watery grave. If Theo complies, Helen will be the most respectful and dutiful future wife, and the wedding can take place the moment she returns. Theo, decides that a compliant wife is better than a sullen and brooding wife, so he approves their plan and they sail out to sea, and begin their journey home.

 "What mortal claims, by searching to the utmost limit, to have found out the nature of God, or of his opposite, or of that which comes between, seeing as he does this world of man tossed to and fro by waves of contradiction and strange vicissitudes?...That which gods pronounce have I found true."

A Hand Full of Dust - Evelyn Waugh

"I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust"

T.S. Eliot - The Wasteland


Reading this book was like watching a car wreck in slow motion, just when you think everything has hit rock bottom, the bottom drops out into an entirely new level of hell reserved for jaded cuckolds and their promiscuous counterparts.

Tony and Brenda Last have a modest estate in the country, a quiet repose that they share with their little boy John Andrew. Life is calm and predictable, until one day they have a guest, a Mr. John Beaver, and their life of solitude is forever changed.

Brenda is left to entertain Mr. Beaver, an uninteresting-non-entity of a man who still lives with his mother, has no income to speak of and is of little interest to anyone; whether it is the change of pace, or just having the taste of something different, Brenda, who is at first nonplussed, decides maybe there is something fascinating about this Mr. Beaver after all, and so begins a nose-dive into a midlife crisis.

Quickly she decides to take up economics as a pretext for staying in London, a flat is rented and she finds herself untethered from the chains of domesticity. Tony is left alone at the estate with their son, as Brenda's visits home become less and less frequent.  As a proper English gentlemen, Tony never doubts his wife's character and as her affair becomes more and more flagrant, he dutifully puts on his rose colored glasses.

Days turn into weeks, and while Brenda flits from one high society gathering to the next, with the vapid Mr. Beaver on her arm, life at the estate remains virtually unchanged, until their son, going out on his first fox hunt is kicked off his horse by an unruly mare and instantly killed. When Brenda hears the news her first response is "Thank God." The last bastion of domesticity has been surmounted and she is now free to pursue her quest of John Beaver's personality wholeheartedly. In her note to her husband, offering condolences for their loss, she simultaneously requests a divorce, saying she has been in love with Mr. Beaver and there is now no reason to pretend otherwise; although divorces can be unpleasant and unsightly, she promises for her part to end things as amicably as possible. Yet within a nano-second she is nonchalantly challenging Tony for an income he could never pay, as the victim of his fictitious infidelity.

Tony, compliant and gentlemanly as ever goes along with the plan. He hires a woman to go away with him to the sea side to build evidence of his alleged infidelities, but when Brenda's solicitors demand that he sell his estate to provide for his wife's income, he for once musters a bit of a spine and puts his foot down.  Quickly writing up a new will and setting his affairs in order he leaves for Brazil with a certain Dr. Messenger of somewhat reputable character.

Brenda, cut off from an income, becomes less and less of an interest for Mr. Beaver, if in fact she ever was; when his mother suggest they go to America, he quickly and without hesitation decides to join her, leaving Brenda alone, without income, family or society; she no longer has the means to afford the level of conspicuous consumption demanded.

As Tony's adventure begins well, slowly things begin to become dire. Stranded without guides, in search of an obscure city, with their rations quickly depleting; Tony becomes ill. Racked with fever, he is incapable of journeying on, and while the rations are quickly disappearing Dr. Messenger sets out to find help, only to disappear in the rapids.

Tony somehow manages to deliriously make his way through the jungle to a small village, where he is found and looked after by Mr. Todd, a kindly old man, who dabbles in herbal remedies. As Tony is nursed back to health, Mr. Todd's turpitude is quietly uncovered, and as he requests that Tony read a few chapters in Dickens, it is not long before Tony realizes he is a captive, destined to live out the rest of his days stranded somewhere in the middle of Brazil with Mr. Todd and Charles Dickens.

The Cyclops - Euripides

A satyr-play, not divorced from tragedy, but in a considerably lighter tone, The Cyclops is perhaps the closest thing to a comedy we have from Euripides. The playwright elaborates a story well known to contemporary Greeks from the ninth book of the Odyssey.  While not straying too far from the story-line, Euripides adds the somewhat reprehensible character of Silenus.   

The Trojan War has finally ended, and on their way home, Odysseus and his men stop in Sicily to scavenge for food. Unfortunately they have stopped before the great cave of the Cyclops, at the foot of Mt. Aetna, where the Cyclops has in his service a poor captive, who plays the jester and comedic relief, Silenus. The play opens with Silenus bemoaning his woesome life:

"Polyphemus they call him whom we serve; and instead of Bacchic revelry we are herding a godless Cyclops's flocks; and so it is my children, striplings as the are, tend the young thereof on the edge of the downs; while my appointed task is to stay here and fill the troughs and sweep out the cave, or wait upon the ungodly Cyclops at his impious feast."

As Odysseus and his men find Silenus at the mouth of the cave, bedraggled and estranged, they beg him for food and water. Silenus, not used to visitors, begins sparring with his guests. When Odysseus tells him his name, Silenus replies: "I know him for a prating knave, one of Sisyphus' shrewd offspring." Odysseus, in good humor or pacified by hunger, ignores this slur. When Odysseus says they have unintentionally sailed here "From Illium and the toils of Troy," Silenus asks him how he could get lost on his way home. Looking about themselves, they ask what there is to eat. Silenus, tells them there is little besides sheep. That doesn't sound too bad to the weary voyagers. They ask if the residents of this cave are hospitable to strangers. Silenus, always the provocateur, replies "Strangers, they say, supply the daintiest meat." 

Odysseus, again ignoring this rather poor etiquette from a host, says his ship ran into some tempestuous wind, and they have arrived ashore with little besides a great deal of wine, which he would like to barter for food, they will take their chances with the cannibalistic Cyclops. 

Silenus, as it turns out, has quite the predilection for alcohol. As he hastily agrees to their every demand, bringing out cheeses and lambs he proclaims:

"I will do so, with small thought of any master. For let me have a single cup of that and I would turn madman, giving in exchange for it the flocks of every Cyclops and then throwing myself into the sea from the Leucadian rock, once I have been well drunk and smoothed out my wrinkled brow. For if a man rejoice not in his drinking, he is mad;  for in drinking it's possible for this to stand up straight, and then to fondle breasts, and to caress well tended locks, and there is dancing withal, and oblivion of woe. Shall I not then purchase such a rare drink, bidding the senseless Cyclops and his central eye go hang?"

As Odysseus and his men enjoy their feast, their happiness is short lived, for along comes the Cyclops, wondering who has been eating his food, but more to the point, who these tasty strangers might be. Somehow, in a feat of strength, surprising for someone disabled with such a narrow field of vision, the Cyclops manages to drive Odysseus and his men into the cave and to their certain death. 

Thankfully, the blood and gore happens off stage, but we are told that the Cyclops has begun to roast some of Odysseus' men over an open fire, choosing a pair "on whom the flesh was fattest and in best condition," all the while being egged on by Silenus, who has quickly changed his tune from the vigorous speech previously given; in fact he suggests the Cyclops eat out the tongue of Odysseus and thereby glean the gift of clever speech, after of course he eats the rest of him, being sure not to spare a morsel. 

As cruel as Silenus seems, he's really just an alcoholic, and will stop at nothing to get a drink.

Odysseus concocts a plan to get the Cyclops drunk and then blind him with a molten iron rod. As Odysseus convinces the Cyclops not to share his bountiful wine supply, they catch Silenus taking little sips. 

Cyclops (to Odysseus): I will feast of thee last, after all thy comrades.
Odysseus: Fair indeed the honor thou bestowest on thy guest, sir Cyclops!
Cyclops (turning suddenly to Silenus): Ho! Sirrah! What art thou about? taking a stealthy pull at the wine?
Silenus: No, but it kissed me for my good looks.
Cyclops: Thou shalt smart, if thou kiss the wine when it kisses not thee.
Silenus: Oh! but it did, for it says it is in love with my handsome face. 

This excuse seems plausible enough, and the Cyclops goes back to getting totally sloshed. Silenus does not technically get away with his turncoat / alcoholism without a bit of a penalty, and while the drunk Cyclops looks around for an amorous playmate, he decides Silenus will have to do for the time being, and Silenus is dragged into the cave a Ganymede to the Cyclops' Zeus.

The moment has come for a valiant warrior to now volunteer to sneak into the cave and brand the Cyclops. The men quickly back away from the honor, one has just recently developed a lameness, another seems to have dust or ashes in his eye, another openly admits he is a coward; so Odysseus, being the truly brave and fearless warrior that he is sneaks into the cave and burns the Cyclops with the blazing bar, rendering him sightless and non-threateningly disabled.   

Badenheim 1939 - Appelfeld

Badenheim 1939 takes place during the intermission between the quiet reality of prewar Vienna and the unimaginable horror about to be unleashed by WWII. The story unfolds throughout a series of character studies and vignettes, each moment a pause filled with anticipation and the anxiety that comes with endless waiting.

It is spring in Badenheim, a quiet little summer resort community. As the town hurries and bustles about readying itself for a new season, there is the low ominous rumblings that all is not right. The only ones able to pick up the slight seismic shifts of a new impending world order and identify the poisoned and diseased world for what it is, are the chronically ill. Trude and Martin, together run the town's pharmacy, but since Trude developed a nervous disorder, all she can do is stand by the window uttering vague and cryptic prophecies of the days to come, as her illness seeps into Martin's soul drop by drop.

Slowly, one by one, guests arrive, bringing with them the "moist breath of the big city and the smell of excitement and anxiety." This year, the highly anticipated summer festival is destined to amaze, and as the organizers organize, and the porters unload luggage and musical instruments; the musicians stand by the gate "like tame birds on a stick" waiting for orders and a season of frenzied practice and preparation.  

As more participants make their way to Badenheim, a strange quiet monster in the guise of the Sanitation Department, begins setting up a camp of its own. It is a quiet, initially unobtrusive behemoth, with rules, obligations and creeping demands. First, all those of Jewish origins must register with the sanitation department, although the Jewish inhabitants seem beleaguered  by yet another census, they are not distrustful.

"A strange night descended on Badenheim. The cafes were deserted and the people walked the streets silently. There was something unthinking about their movements, as if they were being led. It was as if some alien spirit had descended on the town."

After everyone has complied with the obligatory registration, one by one the town amenities begin to become more and more restricted. The water is turned off and the city pool is eventually emptied. The post office no longer delivers mail. A sentry is posted at the entrance to the town, and while people still wander in, no one is allowed out. Food becomes scarce and the people quietly wait for their fate.

They are told that they must all go to Poland. Those from Polish descent are overjoyed and quickly begin to create an esparanto of sorts from the smattering of Polish words they remember from their youth. The others, nervous about assimilating into a new country are regaled with the national pride and glorious past from its lost citizens.  All pack. And in a moment all are ready and waiting for the journey to begin. But as the civic noose gets tighter and tighter, they are left in limbo, to wait and worry.

Slowly the endless waiting and monotony begins to gnaw at the souls of the citizens. Some go insane; others, that seemed steeped in insanity become lucid. There is fighting and bickering. Although they share a common ancestry, they are a palimpsest of diversity. Yet all, despite wealth or birthright they have one thing in common, and that is the shared belief in humanity and a naive hope that all will turn out well.  One red flag after another is forcibly overlooked and explained away until they are led by guards to an empty train station to await their fate. As the train pulls up with its cattle cars Dr. Pappenheim remarks:

"If the coaches are so dirty it must mean that we have not far to go."

Philoctetes - Sophocles

Philoctetes centers around two interrelated themes; first, to what extent does an individual owe his society? Despite being jaded, neglected or abused is the individual responsible for the life and happiness of his fellow citizens? Second, to what extent do the ends justify the means? Does the harm of one outweigh the benefit of saving many?

During the height of the Trojan War, while guiding his fellow chieftains to a particular altar along their way to Troy, Philoctetes is bitten by a snake which leaves him crippled and repugnant to those around him who must continually be subjected to his festering and noxious wound. While the chieftains attempt to prepare their sacrifices and pay homage to the gods, none can concentrate with the perpetual cries of anguish coming from Philoctetes, a soundtrack that does not create an atmosphere of confidence and victory.

At last, Odysseus can no longer handle the constant barrage of screams, and the never ending foul smell and he maroons Philoctetes on the deserted island of Lemnos, where Philoctetes is left to live in a cave for ten years, with only the bow of Heracles as a companion. His lot is truly dire, and as he sits in his little cave, his snake bitten heal isn't the only thing that festers; his heart has become a cesspool of hate which he nourishes with a monologue of  bitterness.

And then the Greeks receive an oracle that the only way Troy can be taken is with the help of Philoctetes and his bow, so Odysseus (who Philoctetes hates more than anyone else) and Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles are sent to fetch the castaway. This is problematic, because as mentioned above, Philoctetes hates Odysseus...so how than can they convince him to let bygones be bygones and come along to save a country that has abandoned him? Odysseus believes the only way to convince Philoctetes to either come along or give up his weapons is to be cunning with a touch of guile and he debates with Neoptolemus who would rather be upfront and let the art of persuasion work its magic. Neoptolemus, the son of a hero, who has grown up listening to tales of his fathers chivalry, must now, as his first assignment, cheat a helpless cripple. And as he embarks on his mission, he is nervous and conscious stricken.  

As Neoptolemus slowly makes his way along the beachy shore of Lemnos, he ruminates over his recent debate with Odysseus.

Neoptolemus: When counsels pain my ear, son of Laertes, then I abhor to aid them with my hand. It is not in my nature to compass anything by evil arts, nor was it, as men say, in my sire's. But I am ready to take a man by force, not by fraud; having the use of one foot only he cannot prevail in fight against us who are so many. And yet, having been sent to act with you, I am loth to be called traitor. But my wish, O King, is to do right and miss my aim rather than succeed by evil ways.
Odysseus: Son of brave sire, time was when I too, in my youth, had a slow tongue and a ready hand; but now, when I come forth to the proof, I see that words, not deeds, are ever the masters among men.
Neoptolemus: What then is your command? What but that I should lie?
Odysseus: I say that you are to take Philoctetes by guile.

So Neoptolemus crafts a story of betrayal and as he finds the crippled Philoctetes he begins his narrative. He too has been deceived by Odysseus and he has fled the Greeks. Philoctetes does not need much encouragement, after being alone for ten years anyone speaking Greek within a proximity of five miles is destined to be his new BFF. After listening to his new friend's tale of betrayal and woe, Philoctetes says it is a story remarkably similar to his own, mentioning "well I know that (Odysseus) would lend his tongue to any base pretext, to any villainy, if thereby he could hope to compass some dishonest end." This last barb hits a little too close to home...isn't this exactly what Neoptolemus is in the process of doing? And in a moment, after fully gaining the trust of Philoctetes, while he is in a paroxysm of pain, Philoctetes hands his bow to Neoptolemus who now find himself in possession of the only thing that has kept this helpless cripple alive and his only belonging besides his rags and festering wounds that he can call his own.

He is about to run back to the ship that is quietly waiting along the coast for him and the bow of Heracles, when he is overcome by the suffering and heartache of Philoctetes. He instead tells him of the plot against him and after a bit of hesitation gives the bow back and tries to persuade Philoctetes to come with him to Troy where his victory has already been prophesied, but to no avail. Philoctetes is enraged by the audacity of a further betrayal, by taking his bow Neoptolemus has despoiled him of life and its return is only the merest salve on a gaping wound.

Odysseus eventually shows up and tries to persuade Philoctetes to put this recent betrayal behind him and return with them to Troy where he will "be the peer of the bravest, with whom you are destined to take Troy by storm and raze it to dust"...but the flattery and promises of grandeur do little to assuage his cosmic black hole of bitterness.

At the last minute Heracles shows up and convinces Philoctetes to go where mythic tradition requires him to go.

Heracles:...You shall go with yonder man to the Trojan city, where, first, you shall be healed of your sore malady. Then chosen out as foremost in prowess of the host, with my bow you shall slay Paris, the author of these ills. You shall sack Troy; you shall carry the spoils to your home, for the joy of Poeas your sire, even to your own Oetaean heights. And whatever spoils you receive from the host, take from them a thank offering for my bow to my pyre...

Heracles makes a compelling argument/ he's a god and no one can really argue with him, so Philoctetes, being persuaded,  puts his bitterness aside and makes his way to Troy for his glory and vindication.

According to Simon Goldhill, in his essay "The Language of Tragedy: rhetoric and communication" (The Cambridge Companion to Greek Tragedy, edited by P.E. Easterling) Goldhill says "Deception, persuasion, and the morality of how language is to be used are constant subjects of discussion in the play: it is a key sign of how men interrelate. Significantly, Philoctete's first delight in meeting Neoptolemus after many years of solitude is 'to hear a Greek voice again': that this voice should be a lure in a deceptive plot is typical of the ironies, powers and deception of language..."