Ajax

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 264 sections

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Ah! You paths of the sounding sea, you tidal caves and wooded pastures by the shore, long, long, too long indeed
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have you detained me here at Troy. But no more will you hold me, no more so long as I have the breath of life. Of that much let sane men be sure. O neighboring streams of Scamander,
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kindly to the Greeks, no more shall you look on Ajax, whose equal in the army—here I will boast—
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Troy has never seen come from the land of Hellas. But now deprived of honor I lie low here in the dust!
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In truth I do not know how to restrain you, nor how to let you speak further, when you have fallen on such harsh troubles.
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Aiai! Who would ever have thought that my name would so descriptively suit my troubles? For well now may Ajax cry Aiai—yes, twice and three times. Such are the harsh troubles with which I have met. Look, I am one whose father’s
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prowess won him the fairest prize of all the army, whose father brought every glory home from this same land of Ida; but I, his son, who came after him to this same ground of Troy with no less might and proved the service of my hand in no meaner deeds,
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I am ruined as you see by dishonor from the Greeks. And yet of this much I feel sure: if Achilles lived, and had been called to award the first place in valor to any claimant of his arms, no one would have grasped them before me.
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But now the Atreidae have made away with them to a man without scruples and thrust away the triumphs of Ajax. And if these eyes and this warped mind had not swerved from the purpose that was mine, they would have never in this way procured votes in judgment against another man.
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As it was, the daughter of Zeus, the grim-eyed, unconquerable goddess, tripped me up at the instant when I was readying my hand against them, and shot me with a plague of frenzy so that I might bloody my hands in these grazers. And those men exult to have escaped me—
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not that I wanted their escape. But if a god sends harm, it is true that even the base man can elude the worthier. And now what shall I do, when I am plainly hated by the gods, abhorred by the Greek forces and detested by all Troy and all these plains?
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Shall I leave my station at the ships and the Atreidae to their own devices in order to go home across the Aegean? And how shall I face my father Telamon, when I arrive? How will he bear to look on me, when I stand before him stripped, without that supreme prize of valor
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for which he himself won a great crown of fame? No, I could not bear to do it! But then shall I go against the bulwark of the Trojans, attacking alone in single combats and doing some valuable service, and finally die? But, in so doing I might, I think, gladden the Atreidae.
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That must not happen. Some enterprise must be sought whereby I may prove to my aged father that in nature, at least, his son is not gutless. It is a stain upon a man to crave the full term of life, when he finds no variation from his ignominious troubles.
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What joy is there in day following day, now advancing us towards, now drawing us back from the verge of death? I would not buy at any price the man who feels the glow of empty hopes.
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The options for a noble man are only two: either live with honor, or make a quick and honorable death. You have heard all.
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No man shall say that you have spoken a bastard word, Ajax, or one not bred of your own heart. Yet at least pause; dismiss these thoughts, and grant friends the power to rule your purpose.
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Ajax, my lord, the fortune that humans are compelled to endure is their gravest evil. I was the daughter of a free-born father mighty in wealth, if any Phrygian was. Now I am a slave, for somehow the gods so ordained,
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and even more so did your strong hand. Therefore, since I have come into your bed, I wish you well, and I do beg you, by the Zeus of our hearth, by your marriage-bed in which you coupled with me, do not condemn me to the cruel talk
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of your enemies, do not leave me to the hand of a stranger! On whatever day you die and widow me by your death, on that same day, be sure, I shall also be seized forcibly by the Greeks and, with your son, shall obtain a slave’s portion.
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Then one of my masters will name me bitterly, shooting me with taunts: See the concubine of Ajax, who was the mightiest man in the army. See what menial tasks she tends to, in place of such an enviable existence! Such things will men say, and so will destiny afflict me
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while the shame of these words will stain you and your family. Show respect to your father, whom you abandon in miserable old age, and respect your mother with her share of many years, who often prays to the gods that you may come home alive.
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Pity, too, my king, your son. Pity him the great sorrow which at your death you will bequeath both to him and to me, if robbed of nurturing care he must spend his days apart from you, an orphan tended by guardians who are neither family nor friends. I have nothing left to which I can look,
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save you, and you are the reason. Your spear ravaged my country to nothingness, and another fate has brought down my mother and father, giving them a home in Hades in their death. What homeland, then, could I have without you? What wealth? My welfare is entirely in your hands.
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So remember me, too. A true man should cherish remembrance, if anywhere he takes some pleasure. It is kindness that always begets kindness. But whoever lets the memory of benefits seep from him, he can no longer be a noble man.
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Ajax, I wish that pity touched your heart as it does mine. Then you would approve her words.
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She will have approval as far as I am concerned, if only she takes heart and graciously does my bidding.
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Dear Ajax, I will obey you in everything.
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Then bring me my son, so that I may see him.
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But in my fear I released him from my keeping.
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Because of these troubles of mine? Or what do you mean?
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Yes, for fear that somehow the poor child would get in your way, and die.
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Yes, that would have been truly worthy of my destiny.
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Well, at least I took care to avert that disaster.
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I approve of your action and of your foresight.
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How, then, can I serve you, as things stand now?
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Let me speak to him and see him face to face.
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Oh, yes—he is close by, watched by our servants.
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Then why is his presence delayed?
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My child, your father calls you. Bring him here, servant, whichever of you is guiding his steps.
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Is the man coming? Or has he missed your call?
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Here now one of the servants approaches with him.
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Lift him; lift him up here. Doubtless he will not shrink to look on this newly-shed blood, if he is indeed my true-born son and heir to his father’s manners. But he must at once be broken into his father’s harsh ways and moulded to the likeness of my nature.
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Ah, son, may you prove luckier than your father, but in all else like him. Then you would not prove base. Yet even now I may well envy you on this account, that you have no perception of these evils about us. Yes, life is sweetest when one lacks sense, for lack of sensation is a painless evil
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that is, until one learns to know joy or pain. But when you come to that knowledge, then you must be sure to prove among your father’s enemies of what mettle and of what lineage you are. Meanwhile feed on light breezes, and nurse your tender life for your mother’s joy.
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There is no Greek—I know it for certain—who will do violence to you with hard outrages, even when you are without me. So trusty is the guard, Teucer himself, whom I will leave at your gates. He will not falter in his care for you, although now he walks a far path, busied with the hunt of enemies.
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O my warriors, my seafaring comrades! On you as on him, I lay this shared task of love: give my command to Teucer! Let him take this child to my home and set him before the face of Telamon, and of my mother, Eriboea,
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so that he may become the comfort of their age into eternity until they come to the deep hollows of the god below. And order him that no commissioners of games, nor he who is my destroyer, should make my arms a prize for the Greeks. No, you take this for my sake, Son, my broad shield from which you have your name.
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Hold it and wield it by the sturdy thong, this sevenfold, spear-proof shield! But the rest of my arms shall be my gravemates.
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Come, take the child right away, shut tight the doors and make no laments before the house.
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God, what a weepy thing is woman. Quick, close the house! It is not for a skilful doctor to moan incantations over a wound that craves the knife.
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I am afraid when I hear this eager haste. Your tongue’s sharp edge does not please me.
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Ajax, my lord, what can you have in mind?
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Do not keep asking me, do not keep questioning. Self-restraint is a virtue.
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Ah, how I despair! Now, by your child, by the gods, I implore you, do not betray us!
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You annoy me too much. Do you not know
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that I no longer owe any service to the gods?
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Hush, no impiety!
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Speak to those who hear.
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You will not listen?
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Already your words have been too many.
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Yes, because I am afraid, my king!
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Close the doors this instant!
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In the name of the gods, be softened!
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You have foolish hope, I think,
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if you plan so late to begin schooling my temper.
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O famous Salamis, you, I know, have your happy seat among the waves that beat your shore, eternally conspicuous in the eyes of all men.
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But I, miserable, have long been delayed here, still making my bed through countless months in the camp on the fields of Ida.
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I am worn by time and with anxious expectation still of a journey to Hades the abhorred, the unseen.
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And now a new struggle awaits me, ah, me!—a match with
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Ajax, hard to cure, sharing his tent with a madness of divine origin. It is he whom mighty in bold war you dispatched from you once far in the past. But now he is changed; he grazes his thoughts in isolated places
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and has been found a heavy sorrow for his friends. His hands’ former achievements, deeds of prowess supreme,
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have fallen without friends, without friends, before the unfriendly, miserable Atreidae.
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Surely his mother, companion of antiquity and
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grey with age, when she hears that he has been afflicted with the ruin of his mind will raise a loud cry of wailing. It is not the nightingale’s piteous lament
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that she, unhappy, will sing. Rather in shrill-toned odes the dirge will rise, while the hollow sound of beating hands and the shredding of grey hair will fall upon her breast.
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Yes, better hid in Hades is the man plagued by foolishness, who by the lineage from where he springs is noblest of the enduring Achaeans, yet now is
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constant no more in his inbred temperament, but wanders outside himself. O Telamon, unhappy father, how heavy a curse upon your son awaits your hearing, a curse which never yet has
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any life-portion of the heirs of Aeacus nourished but his!
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All things the long and countless years first draw from darkness, and then bury from light; and there is nothing which man should not expect: the dread power of oath is conquered, as is unyielding will.
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For even I, who used to be so tremendously strong—yes, like tempered iron—felt my tongue’s sharp edge emasculated by this woman’s words, and I feel the pity of leaving her a widow and the boy an orphan among my enemies. But I will go to the bathing-place and
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the meadows by the shore so that by purging my defilements I may escape the heavy anger of the goddess. Then I will find some isolated spot, and bury this sword of mine, most hateful weapon, digging down in the earth where none can see.
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Let Night and Hades keep it underground! For ever since I took into my hand this gift from Hector, my greatest enemy, I have gotten no good from the Greeks. Yes, men’s proverb is true:
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the gifts of enemies are no gifts and bring no good. And so hereafter I shall, first, know how to yield to the gods, and, second, learn to revere the Atreidae. They are rulers, so we must submit. How could it be otherwise? Things of awe and might
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submit to authority. So it is that winter with its snow-covered paths gives place to fruitful summer; night’s dark orbit makes room for day with her white horses to kindle her radiance; the blast of dreadful winds
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allows the groaning sea to rest; and among them all, almighty Sleep releases the fettered sleeper, and does not hold him in a perpetual grasp. And we men—must we not learn self-restraint? I, at least, will learn it, since I am newly aware that an enemy is to be hated only as far as
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suits one who will in turn become a friend. Similarly to a friend I would wish to give only so much help and service as suits him who will not forever remain friendly. For the masses regard the haven of comradeship as treacherous. But concerning these things it will be well. You, wife,
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go inside and pray to the gods that the desires of my heart be completed to the very end. Exit Tecmessa. You also, my comrades, honor my wishes just as she does, and command Teucer, when he comes, to take care of us, and to be kind to you at the same time.
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I am going to where my journey inexorably leads. But you do as I say, and before long, perhaps, though I now suffer, you will hear that I have found rest and peace.
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I shiver with rapture; I soar on the wings of sudden joy!
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O Pan, O Pan, appear to us, sea-rover, from the stony ridge of snow-beaten Cyllene. King, dancemaker for the gods, come, so that joining with us you may set on the Nysian and the Cnosian steps,
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your self-taught dances. Now I want to dance. And may Apollo, lord of Delos, step over the Icarian sea
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and join me in his divine form, in eternal benevolence!
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Ares has dispelled the cloud of fierce trouble from our eyes. Joy, joy! Now, Zeus, now can the white radiance of prosperous days approach
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our swift, sea-speeding ships, since Ajax forgets his pain anew, and has instead fully performed all prescribed sacrifices to the gods with worship and strict observance. The strong years make all things fade.
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And so I would not say that anything was beyond belief, when beyond our hopes, Ajax has been converted from his fury and mighty struggles against the Atreidae.
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Toil follows toil yielding toil! Where, where have I not trudged? And still no place can say that I have shared its secret.
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Listen! A sudden thud!
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We made it, we shipmates of your voyage.
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What news, then?

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