Chapter D: Penelope Recognizes Ulysses (3)

With sorrowful thoughts Æneas, closely followed by Achates, now withdrew from the shrine, and took the way to the shore. Both were greatly perplexed to know what was the corpse needing burial of which the Sibyl had spoken. But while they were wondering they came to the beach, and there, before them, they saw lying the body of Misenus, who had come to a lamentable end. Misenus was the most skilled among all the Trojans in the art of blowing the trumpet. He had been, besides, a famous warrior, and during the siege of Troy was accustomed to be the companion of Hector in the field, and to fight by his side. When Hector fell, he attached himself to Æneas, scorning to follow any less illustrious chief, and so had formed one of the band which the hero was conducting to Latium. But he was inordinately vain of his skill with the trumpet, and believed himself superior even to the Tritons, the sea-deities whose especial province it was to lull the seas at the command of Neptune by blowing upon instruments made of shells. These Tritons Misenus had challenged to a trial of skill, and by way of defiance had blown so loud a note that the deities were afraid to respond to his challenge; but being full of jealousy, they had now contrived to lure him into the sea and drown him. The discovery of his lifeless body filled all his comrades with sadness. They gathered about him with loud lamentations, and then prepared to erect his funeral pyre, hastening with axes into the thick surrounding woods, and cutting down huge oaks and pines and ash-trees.

Æneas himself led the way in the performance of this task, and while he was engaged in it he could not help exclaiming, as his glance surveyed the wide forest, "Would that I could now perceive the golden bough which I must find before entering Hades; for in this ample forest, how can I begin to search for it?" Scarcely had he spoken when two pigeons suddenly swooped down from the upper air and alighted at his feet. He guessed at once that these doves, his mother's favorite birds, had been sent for his guidance, and he entreated them to conduct him to the place where the precious bough was growing. The doves, feeding and flying by turns, advanced through the wood at such a speed that Æneas could easily keep them in sight, and presently, having reached the very edge of Lake Avernus, both rose at once into the air, and settled on a great tree of very dense foliage. The hero hastened to the spot, and there indeed, on one of the lower limbs of the tree, gleamed the bough, the rich yellow lustre of its leaves and twigs contrasting vividly with the deep green of the surrounding foliage. Æneas with delight grasped it, and plucked it from its place, and, bearing it carefully in his hand, hastened to rejoin his companions.

They, in the mean time, had reared on the shore a vast pile of logs of pine and oak, the sides of which they had interlaced with smaller boughs. After having carefully washed and purified the body of Misenus, they first made a couch upon the pyre, with the apparel of the dead man, and then, with renewed cries of grief, placed the body upon it. His arms, too, they laid beside him, and having poured incense and oil abundantly upon the pile, they set it on fire. When only smouldering embers were left, these were quenched with wine, and the ashes of the dead were carefully collected and placed in a brazen urn. This urn was afterwards deposited in a lofty tomb which Æneas erected on a promontory that henceforth bore the name of Misenus.

The funeral ceremonies having thus duly been performed, the hero proceeded to the cave of the Sibyl, and called upon her to fulfill her promise, and accompany him to the kingdom of the dead. She led him to the mouth of the black cavern at the side of Lake Avernus, and there offered up sacrifices of black cattle and sheep, uttering various invocations. Presently the ground began to rumble beneath their feet; upon which the Sibyl ordered those of Æneas's followers who had attended him to withdraw from the spot, and exhorted the chief himself, drawing his sword from its sheath, to march firmly forward. So saying she plunged into the cave, nor did he hesitate to follow.

At first they moved along through a region that was utterly waste, void, and covered with an intense gloom, deep as that of a winter's night when the moon is obscured by clouds. But this desolate tract was not wholly untenanted, for Æneas saw flitting about certain hideous shadowy forms. The spirits of Grief and Revenge and pale Disease, Fear and Famine and deformed Indigence, had their abode in this vestibule of Hades; and so, too, Death and Toil, and murderous War, and frantic Discord, her head crowned with curling vipers and bound by a blood-dyed fillet. Here, also, were the iron chambers in which dwelt the terrible Furies. In the midst rose a gloomy elm, which was the haunt of vain Dreams, who dwelt under every leaf. Beyond this tree were many huge and misshapen monsters,--Centaurs, and double-formed Scyllas, and the great dragon of the Lernæan lake, which, when it plagued the upper earth, was slain by Hercules. Here, also, was the huge Chimæra, with its three heads vomiting flames; Gorgons, Harpies, and other ghastly forms flitted about. At so fearful a sight. Æneas was seized with sudden fear; he drew his sword, and would have struck at the monsters, if the Sibyl had not restrained his hand and reminded him that they were but disembodied shadows.

The path now led them to a place where the three infernal rivers, Acheron, Cocytus, and Styx, met in one deep, black, and boiling flood. Here there kept guard the grim ferryman Charon, an infernal deity of fearful aspect. A long gray beard fell all tangled and neglected from his chin; his filthy and ragged garments were knotted over his shoulders; his eyes glittered with baleful light. He sat on a great black barge, which he pushed to and fro across the river with a pole. An immense crowd of shades was incessantly pouring to the banks,--young and old, matrons and virgins, warriors who had endured the toils of a long life and tender boys who had died while yet under the care of their parents. All were eager to cross the stream, and stretched their hands in earnest entreaty to Charon to admit them into his boat. But the sullen ferryman only consented to receive some; others he drove back with his pole, and would on no account permit them to cross.

Æneas was amazed at this scene, and asked the Sibyl to explain to him its meaning. "You see before you," she replied, "the deep pools of Cocytus, and the Stygian lake, by which the Gods are accustomed to swear when they take an oath which they dare not violate. All that crowd which Charon will not ferry across is composed of persons who after death received not the rites of burial; those only are permitted to enter the boat who have been interred with proper ceremonies. As for the others, they wander unquiet about these shores for a hundred years before they are allowed to cross to the regions beyond."

When Æneas heard this he was filled with sadness, for among the spectres of the unburied who crowded on the bank he saw many of his own comrades who had perished during the storms he had had to encounter during his long voyages. As he looked, there advanced, slow and mournful, the pilot Palinurus, who had been thrown overboard by Somnus during the recent voyage from Sicily. The hero accosted him, and asked him what god had torn him from his post and overwhelmed him in the midst of the ocean. The oracle of Apollo, he said, had assured him that Palinurus would be safe on the sea, and would arrive on the Italian coast; and yet it would seem that the oracle had been falsified. The shade of Palinurus, knowing nothing of the enchantment which had been wrought on him by Somnus, replied that no god had destroyed him, and that the oracle had spoken truly. He had fallen into the sea through being overcome by slumber, and having kept afloat for three days and nights, had on the fourth day reached the Italian shore alive, but had been cruelly murdered by the savage people while clambering up the cliffs. Now his body was tossing on the waves, sometimes thrown on the shore and then washed off again. But he passionately entreated Æneas either to find his corpse and inter it with proper solemnities, or else to contrive some means of taking him as his companion across the black waters of Styx, unburied as he was, that at last his soul might find rest. The Sibyl, however, rebuked him for expressing so impious a desire, and for hoping that the fixed decrees of the Gods could be violated for the benefit of one insignificant mortal. But by way of consolation she informed him that the people of the country where he had met with his death, compelled by terrible plagues sent by Jupiter, would offer solemn atonement to his remains, erect a tomb to his memory, and give his name to the place where it stood.

Æneas and the Sibyl now advanced toward the river; but when Charon saw them approaching, he called out, "Whoever thou mayest be that art now coming armed and in life to our rivers, say quickly on what errand thou art coming. This is the region of ghosts and death; to waft over the bodies of the living in my boat is not permitted. Nor was it joyful to me to receive Hercules when he came, nor Theseus and Pirithous, though they were descendants of the Gods and unconquerable in war. Hercules dared to bind in chains Cerberus himself, the keeper of the gate of Tartarus, and dragged him trembling from the very throne of Pluto. The others attempted a feat scarcely less perilous, for they sought to carry off our queen Proserpine."

"Be not disturbed," answered the Sibyl; "we at least meditate no such plots, nor does this mortal bring with him his arms for any purpose of violence. He is Æneas of Troy, illustrious for piety and skill in arms, and he penetrates these gloomy abodes to have converse with his father Anchises. If your compassion is not moved by his filial devotion, at least pay regard to this branch." And so saying, she produced the golden bough. The surly ferryman, though filled with rage at being forced to obey, was at once silenced. He brought his boat to the bank, and silently received into it Æneas and his companion, driving back the ghosts that at the same time eagerly strove to enter the vessel. It was old and leaky, and sank deep in the black flood under the unaccustomed weight of living mortals; but Charon ferried them safely across, and landed them on the farther side, where, in a huge den at the gate of the infernal regions, lay Cerberus, the terrible three-headed dog which was the guardian of the place--a ferocious brute which only Hercules among living men had been able to subdue. When Æneas approached he opened his huge jaws and made all Hades resound with his barking; but the Sibyl threw to him a medicated cake, which he at once devoured, and was thereby lulled into profound sleep. The way was now safe; the Trojan chief and his companion passed quickly through the open gate, and entered the dread region where Minos and his fellow judges pronounced on the fate of each ghost that came before them.

The first place within the gate was assigned to the shades of infants, cut off in the very beginning of life, who filled their allotted region with loud wailings and weeping. Beyond these were placed persons who had been put to death in consequence of false accusations. Not even the unjust suffering which such persons had endured on earth could at once procure for them a place among those happy spirits declared free of guilt. Here they were doomed to wait till the inexorable Minos examined each case and gave his award. Immediately adjoining was the place allotted to those who, though unstained by crime, had become weary of life and had committed self-destruction. Gladly, indeed, would they have now returned to the upper world they had despised, but no such return was possible to them.

Æneas and his companion next viewed a region named the Fields of Mourning,--a wide tract, with shady paths and thick myrtle groves, dedicated to those who had died through unrequited love, and were held to have been emancipated by the miseries they had endured on earth from suffering any punishment below. Here were to be seen, wandering disconsolately, many women of whom Æneas had heard in old legends of Greece and Troy. Among them he beheld, with sorrow and pity, the ill-starred Queen of Carthage, the wound she had herself inflicted yet gaping in her fair bosom. "Dido!" he exclaimed with tears, "was it then a true rumor that reached me of your having died after my departure, and by your own hand? If I have been the cause of your death, I am indeed unhappy. By all I hold sacred, fair queen, I swear to you that it was against my own will I quitted Carthage. The will of the Gods, which now has brought me, while yet living, into these melancholy realms, drove me from you; but I dreamt not that our separation would bring upon you such extreme suffering. Why will you not speak to me? Why do you fly from me? Never again will the Fates permit us to meet together." But all his entreaties and his tears were vain. The spectre gazed upon him awhile with eyes of inexorable hate, and then turned away, with a gesture of unrelenting aversion, to a shady recess near by, where she was joined by the ghost of her first lord, Sichæus, who by the compassion of Pluto had been permitted to bear her company. Æneas resumed his journey, pondering sadly over the fate of the woman who but a little since had loved him so ardently and to whom he had unwillingly brought such misfortunes. He and his guide now came to a place dedicated to the shades of renowned warriors. Here he saw numbers of those brave Trojans, once his companions in arms, who had fallen before Troy. They eagerly crowded around him, pressed his hands, and questioned him as to the circumstances which had brought him, while yet alive, amongst them. There, too, were many Greeks who had perished during the Trojan war; but when they beheld the hero in the flesh, and wearing his gleaming armor, they fled from him in dismay. As he passed on, after exchanging affectionate words with many of his old comrades, he met Deïphobus, that son of Priam who, after the death of Paris, became the husband of Helen. The spectre of the prince was cruelly mutilated,--so that Æneas scarcely knew him. "Who, O Deïphobus," he exclaimed, "could have inflicted such shameful wounds upon you? After I had escaped from Troy a story was brought to me that you had indeed perished, but honorably and in fair fight, having slain many of the enemy. Then I erected in your honor an empty tomb on the shore under Mount Ida, and offered proper funeral rites, for your body I was unable to find."

"You, my friend," answered Deïphobus, "omitted no duty towards my corpse that you could perform. But I owe my death and these infamous wounds to the wickedness of Helen; they are the marks of her love. On the night after the fatal horse was brought into Troy, I was lying asleep in my chamber, enjoying needful repose. Then my faithless wife removed all the arms from my palace, and even took away my sword from the side of my couch. That done, she threw open the gates, and herself summoned her former husband, Menelaus, and he and Ulysses burst into my apartment and inflicted on me these wounds, for which I pray the Gods that they may be requited."

Æneas would have spent yet more time in conversing with the shades of his former comrades; but the Sibyl reminded him that the hour was approaching when he must return to the upper world. "Here," she said, "the path is divided. To the right, past the palace of Pluto, lies our way to the Elysian Fields; on the left is the way to Tartarus, the place of punishment for the wicked."

As they proceeded toward Elysium, Æneas looked around him, and beheld to the left a vast prison, enclosed by mighty walls, at the foot of which ran Phlegethon, the river of fire, whirling along great rocks in its furious current. Across the stream, just opposite to where he was standing, was a lofty gate, with columns of solid adamant. In an iron tower adjoining sat Tisiphone, the eldest of the Furies, watching the gate. From within sounds were heard--groans of pain, the sound of cruel lashes, and the clanking of chains. Æneas asked his companion what punishments were being inflicted within, and who were the sufferers. "This," replied the Sibyl, "is Tartarus, whereinto no righteous person can enter. Here Rhadamanthus presides: he searches into the deeds of all who are sent hither, obliges them to confess all the crimes they have committed in the upper world, and awards the punishment. As soon as the sentence is pronounced, Tisiphone scourges the doomed one with a whip of scorpions, and then consigns him to the fierce attendants of her sister Furies. Immediately the gates, creaking on their hinges, fly open. Within, the entrance is guarded by a hideous Hydra, with fifty black and gaping mouths. In the pit of Tartarus beyond, the giants who waged war against the ruler of the Gods lie prostrated by his thunderbolts. Beside them, enduring terrible tortures, is Salmoneus. He was a king of Elis in Greece, and was so puffed up by pride that he rode through his city on a high chariot drawn by four prancing horses, waving in his hand a torch, and pretending to be Jupiter himself, wielding his thunderbolts. The Almighty Sire punished his impiety by hurling from Olympus a real thunderbolt, which deprived him of life; and now he pays the penalty of his mad pride by eternal sufferings in Tartarus. There also lies Tityus, the huge giant who, having insulted the goddess Latona, was slain by the darts of her children, Apollo and Diana, and whose writhing body now lies extended over nine acres of ground, while insatiable vultures perpetually prey on his vitals, that are renewed as fast as they are devoured. Beyond him is Ixion, bound to a wheel that never ceases to revolve, while he is scourged by attendant Furies. He it was who, being admitted to Olympus by the generosity of Jupiter himself, dared to seek the love of the queen of the Gods. Not less dreadful is the punishment allotted to Pirithous, who, along with Theseus, endeavored to carry off the Queen of Hades, Proserpine, from the side of Pluto. Over his head hangs a huge rock, which every moment seems about to fall and crush him, but yet never actually descends; moreover, he is plagued with a gnawing hunger, and a rich banquet is always before him, which yet he is never able to reach. Myriads of other unhappy shades, whose course on earth has been stained by detestable crime, here expiate the evil they have done; but had I a hundred mouths and a hundred tongues, I could not recount all their offenses and the varieties of their punishment. It is necessary that we should go forward, since yonder stands the palace of Pluto, where thou, O Æneas, must deposit the bough which has gained thee admission here."

Obedient to his guide, Æneas advanced to the vast portals of the palace where Pluto, the brother of Jupiter and monarch of the infernal kingdom, had his abode with his lovely queen Proserpine, the daughter of Ceres, whom ages before he had carried off from the upper world. There he made due reverence before the goddess, and deposited the golden bough at her feet. Advancing beyond, Æneas and the Sibyl came at last to the Elysian Fields,--the abode of joy assigned to those who during life had been distinguished for piety, virtue, and heroic actions. Here were lovely green fields and pleasant groves; the air was pure and balmy, the sky was blue, and all was glowing-in the light of the blessed sun. Some of the happy spirits who dwelt in this region were amusing themselves by wrestling on the greensward, and other sports in which they had delighted on earth, such as chariot-racing, exercises with the spear and the bow. Others were dancing and singing to the delicious notes which Orpheus, the most skillful of musicians, produced from his lyre. On the bank of the river Eridanus, which pours its clear waters through Elysium over sands of gold, were gathered a band whose heads were adorned with snow-white fillets. These were priests who had kept unstained the purity and sanctity of their office; poets who had sung the praises of the Gods in immortal verse; and those who had made human life more happy by the invention of useful arts. Among them the Sibyl sought out Musseus, the father of the poets, and besought him to reveal in what retreat they should find Anchises, on whose account she and her companion had traversed all the regions of the shades.

"None of us," answered the venerable shade, "have here any fixed abode. We wander at our will among the shady groves and by the pleasant banks of the river. But if you mount with me this little eminence, I will show you him whom you seek."

As he spoke, he led them to a spot where they could survey all the shining plains around, and pointed to where Anchises, reclined in a secluded vale, was surveying the souls of his descendants who were destined in future times to visit the earth, and were enacting beforehand the achievements they were fated to accomplish during life. As soon as he saw Æneas advancing toward him, he rose with hands stretched out and joyful tears pouring down his face.

"Are you indeed," he exclaimed, "come to me at last, my son? Am I permitted once more to see your face, and to listen to the tones of your dear voice? Now indeed the hopes which I cherished are fulfilled. By how many dangers have you been threatened since we parted! I was filled with dread lest you should be prevented from accomplishing your task by the temptations which beset you at Carthage."

"Thy apparition, beloved father," answered Æneas, "continually appearing to me in dreams, urged me forward even to these regions. Permit me now to clasp thee in my arms, and do not withdraw from my embrace." Thrice did he attempt to throw his arms about the shade, which being only composed of thin air, was not perceptible to his touch. While the two conversed together, Æneas observed at no great distance from them a stream, at which prodigious numbers of ghosts were incessantly crowding to drink, swarming like bees round their hive. Astonished at this spectacle, the hero inquired of his father what that stream was, and why those spectres were so eager to drink of it. "These," answered Anchises, "are souls destined by fate to occupy other bodies in the upper world; and the stream is Lethe, one draught of which is sufficient to destroy all recollection of their former condition."

"But surely," said Æneas, "it is not to be believed that any souls which have tasted the delights of this abode will be desirous to return again to the life of earth, with its uncertainties and its miseries. How comes it that this impulse possesses them?"

In reply to this question, Anchises entered into a long explanation, the substance of which was that all the spirits of the departed had to endure in the regions below a process of expiation for their earthly sins, longer or shorter according to the nature of their transgressions. Those that were not consigned to the pains of Tartarus entered the Elysian Fields, where, after they had remained a thousand years, they were summoned to drink of the waters of Lethe, and thus lose all recollection of their former lives; after which, being purified from all stain, they were fitted to return to the upper world and inhabit new bodies. Anchises added that he would show to his son the forms of his own descendants in the Italian kingdom he was destined to establish, and would trace for him their achievements. Leading Æneas and the Sibyl onto a rising ground, in the midst of the souls which were crowding about the magic stream of Lethe, he pointed out to him a long array of future kings of Latium,--Silvius, who was to be the son of Æneas's old age by his consort Lavinia; Procas, Capys, and Numitor, destined to be monarchs of Alba Longa; and Romulus, the future founder of the great city of Rome, which would extend over seven hills, and would spread her dominion over the whole earth. Not far from these were the souls of Romulus's successors in the' early days of Rome,--Numa Pompilius, who first would give his country laws, and encourage the arts of peace; Tullus Hostilius, who would wage victorious wars, and extend the territories of Rome; Ancus Martius, not less successful in the field; and Tarquin, destined to lose the throne through his oppressive reign. Anchises proceeded to indicate to his wondering son many of the patriots and generals who in future years were to contribute to the glory and power of the Roman State,--more especially the great Julius Caesar, the lineal descendant of Æneas himself; and Augustus, who would once more establish the golden age in Latium, and whose empire would extend to countries as yet unknown. The venerable shade concluded his forecast of the future with a splendid description of the part which Rome was destined to play in the world's history:--

"Let others better mould the running mass
Of metals, and inform the breathing brass,
And soften into flesh a marble face;
Plead better at the bar; describes the skies,
And when the stars descend, and when they rise:
But Rome! 'tis thine alone, with awful sway
To rule mankind, and make the world obey,
Disposing peace and war thy own majestic way;
To tame the proud, the fettered slave to free,--
These are imperial arts, and worthy thee."

Having thus inspired Æneas with renewed determination by showing him the brilliant future that was awaiting his descendants, Anchises conducted him over those parts of the Elysian Fields which he had not yet visited, and showed him everything that was of peculiar interest. As they went, he discoursed to him respecting the wars which he would have to wage in Latium, and gave him counsel as to the means by which he should overcome every difficulty. Then at last, having brought him to the ivory gate whence the gods were accustomed to send false dreams to the upper world, he bade him farewell. By that gate Æneas and the Sibyl quitted the abodes of the dead, and ascended without difficulty or adventure to the cave of the oracle, whence the hero hastened at once to his ships. Without loss of time he ordered the sails to be spread, and the ships were steered along the coast, drawing nearer ever hour to their final destination.

ÆNEAS'S FIRST GREAT BATTLE WITH THE LATINS

By Charles Henry Hanson

[Æneas finally lands in Italy, the country promised him by the
Gods as a home for his race. The Italian king, Latinus, has been
warned by signs and omens that the hand of his daughter Lavinia
must not be given to an Italian prince, but to a stranger coming
from a far country. He believes that Æneas is the hero chosen by
the Fates as her husband, and greets him in most friendly manner.
Queen Amata, however, is influenced by the Trojan-hating Juno to
oppose this marriage. Turnus, chief of the Rutuli, a suitor of
Lavinia, is next aroused, and soon the whole kingdom is in a
turmoil. A fierce battle ensues.]

Turnus, having brought the bulk of his forces from before the beseiged camp, hurled them against the army of Æneas before its ranks were properly formed, and a furious conflict at once began to rage. The Trojan hero, rejoicing to find himself once more on a field of battle, first encountered the Latian warriors, who chanced to be in his front. Their leader was Theron, a man of gigantic stature, who did not hesitate to engage Æneas hand to hand; but he paid dearly for his rashness, for the sword which Vulcan had forged--so keen was its edge, so excellent its temper--pierced through his brazen buckler and his tunic stiffened by bars of gold, and penetrating his side, drained the life-blood. Next the hero struck down Lycas; and rushing onward, encountered two stalwart rustics, Cisseus and Gyas, who were making havoc among the Trojans by beating them down with ponderous clubs. On the divine armor the heavy blows of these rude weapons fell harmless, while the spear of Æneas proved fatal to both those who wielded them. An insolent warrior named Pharus was defying the hero from a short distance with taunting speech, when he hurled a javelin, which struck the boaster full in the mouth, and transfixing the throat, silenced him forever. Now a band of seven brothers, the sons of Phorcus, all at once attacked Æneas with darts, throwing them together. Some of the weapons struck his helmet and shield, and rebounded; others, turned aside by the care of Venus, grazed his skin. Æneas called to Achates to bring him more spears, and snatching one as soon as it was offered, hurled it against Mæon, one of the brothers, with such force that it penetrated his shield and corselet, and inflicted a mortal wound in his breast. Another brother, Alcanor, hurrying up to Mæon's assistance, he smote with a second spear, just where the arm and shoulder join, leaving the arm hanging to the body only by two or three shreds of skin and muscle. Seeing the slaughter that Æneas was spreading around him, Halæsus and Messapus hurried up with their bands to confront him, and so in that part of the field the battle grew still more furious.

In another part, where Pallas was fighting at the head of his Arcadian horsemen, the ground had been rendered so uneven by the winter torrents that they were obliged to dismount, and being unaccustomed to fight on foot, they began to retreat before the fierce assault of the Rutulians. At this sight their brave young leader was overwhelmed with shame and mortification. "Whither," he cried, "my fellow countrymen, do you fly? I implore you, by the memory of your gallant deeds in the past, by the name of Evander, the king you love, by my own hopes of glory, not to flee. Your way lies through your foes, not from them; with your swords must you cut a passage where they crowd most densely. These are not gods who pursue us; they are mortals, like ourselves, and they are not stronger or more numerous than we. The ocean hems us in with an impassable barrier on the one side; the enemy confronts us on the other, and separates us from our friends. Whether shall we fly into the sea, or force our way toward the Trojans?" So saying, he turned, and dashed into the midst of the hostile ranks. Tagus was the first who fell a victim to his noble wrath; for as he was stooping to pick up a heavy stone, the spear of Pallas struck him in the middle of the back, and shattered the spine and ribs. As the young hero was withdrawing the weapon, Hisbon rushed on and struck at him from above; but the blow fell short, and before he could recover his guard Pallas buried his sword deep in his body. Warrior after warrior he struck down, restored the confidence of his followers, and spread confusion and dismay in the opposite ranks, raging among them as the flames lit by the husbandman in the autumn spread through the stubble, and destroy everything in their path. But now the Auruncian chief, Halæsus, summoned by some of his followers to their aid, opposed the advance of the Arcadians. He was a tried and fierce warrior, and he slew five of the bravest of Pallas's men before the young chief could confront him. Then, however, the son of Evander hurled a spear with such skill and certainty of aim that he pierced Halæsus's heart, and the grim leader of the Aurunci sank lifeless on the field. His fall was a sore discouragement to the troops of Turnus, which would have sought safety in flight, had not Lausus, the gallant son of Mezentius,--noble and upright offspring of an unworthy father,--suddenly come to their aid. First encountering Abas, leader of the Populonians, he slew him with a single blow of his sword, and followed up his success with a furious slaughter of Arcadians and Etrurians. Thus the battle continued: on the one side Pallas impetuously urged the attack; on the other Lausus not less obstinately maintained the defense. They were equal in years, and in beauty and grace of form; and to both alike the Fates had assigned a place among the victims of the war. But the Gods had ordained that they should not encounter hand to hand; each was destined to succumb to a superior foe.

Turnus was leading his troops in another quarter of the field, when he was summoned to hasten to the assistance of Lausus, who alone was bearing up the battle against Pallas and his Arcadians. Quickly he turned his chariot in that direction, and as soon as he reached the spot, called on his warriors to withdraw from the conflict. "I alone," he said, "will encounter Pallas; to me his life is given. Would to Heaven his father were here to witness our combat." The Rutulians obeyed the command of their king, and fell back; while Pallas, amazed at their retreat and the sudden appearance of Turnus, gazed on his opponent. Then, in reply to his vaunting speech, he said, "Now, either by carrying off thy spoils or by a noble death at thy hands, I shall be rendered famous. My sire knows how to bear either extremity of fortune. Cease thy threatenings and let us engage." As he spoke, the hearts of the Arcadians, who loved him, were filled with fear and sorrow. Turnus sprang from his chariot, and came forward to the encounter on foot, advancing as a lion bounds toward his prey. As soon as Pallas thought him within reach of his spear, he prepared to throw it, and uttered this prayer to Hercules: "By my father's hospitality, and that abode which thou, his guest, didst visit, O Alcides, aid, I implore thee, my arduous attempt. May the dying eyes of Turnus behold me strip him, expiring, of his bloody armor, and endure the sight of a victorious foe." Hercules, from his place on Olympus, heard the prayer, and knowing that the decree of Fate was otherwise, answered with heavy groans and unavailing tears. These were not unseen by Jupiter, who strove to console his immortal son. "To every one," he said, "his day is fixed; a short and irretrievable term of life is given to all; but to lengthen out fame by heroic deeds is the best that man can do. Under the lofty walls of Troy many sons of gods themselves perished,--among them the heroic Sarpedon, my own offspring, perished; Turnus, too, is summoned by the Fates, and has nearly reached his term of life." He spoke, and turned away his gaze from the battlefield, himself pitying the untimely death of Pallas.

And now the brave son of Evander with his utmost force hurled his spear, and then hastened to draw his sword from its scabbard. The weapon struck Turnus where the shoulder was protected by the corselet, and piercing through the solid brass, slightly grazed the hero's body. Then Turnus, poising a steel-tipped javelin, darted it at Pallas, exclaiming, "See whether mine be not the more penetrating shaft." Cast with irresistible might, it tore its way through the youth's shield, composed though it was of thick plates of brass and iron, and through his cuirass, and inflicted a ghastly wound in his breast. In vain he wrenched out the deadly missile from his body; even as he withdrew it life deserted his quivering form, and he fell to the ground. Bestriding the corpse, Turnus cried, "Ye Arcadians, faithfully report to Evander this message,--I send him back his Pallas in such a plight as he deserved. Whatever honor is in a tomb, whatever solace in the performance of funeral rites, I freely grant him. His league with the Trojan intruder shall cost him dear." So saying, he pressed his foot on the body, and tore away a massive belt, adorned with figures richly carved in gold. This spoil Turnus exultingly clasped around his own body, little dreaming that the time would come when he would wish that he had never taken it, and that he and Pallas had never met. But now the lifeless corpse of the youth, stripped of its arms and still bleeding from the fatal wound inflicted by the Rutulian chief, was laid on a shield and borne away by his weeping followers. Thus the first day on which he took a part in war saw also the young hero's death, though not, indeed, before he had strewn the plain with Rutulian corpses.

Speedily the news of this sad disaster, and of the consequent retreat of his forces in that part of the field, was borne to Æneas. Rendered furious by the event, he impetuously mowed with his sword a bloody passage through the hostile ranks in search of Turnus, on whom he was eager to avenge the death of his friend. The thought of the bright youth who had thus perished in his cause, of the hoary father bereaved of all that made life dear to him, filled his heart with sorrow as he recalled the kindness which both had shown to him, and the pledges of enduring friendship he had exchanged with them. Eight Rutulian warriors he struck down, and captured them alive, destining them as victims to be offered to the shade of Pallas, and to drench with their blood the flames of the hero's funeral pyre. Next, Æneas having hurled a javelin at a Latian named Magus, the trembling wretch evaded the dart by stooping, and as Æneas rushed upon him with uplifted sword, he clasped his knees, and implored him to spare his life, proffering a large ransom of silver and gold which lay concealed underground in his house. Sternly the Trojan chief bade him keep his treasures for his sons; as for showing mercy, that was forbidden to him from the moment that Pallas fell by the hand of Turnus. Then grasping the suppliant's helmet, and forcing back his head so as to expose the neck, even as Magus renewed his petition he plunged the sword into his body to the hilt. Near by, the luckless Æmonides, a priest of Apollo and Diana, who wore a sacred fillet on his temples and shone in burnished armor, fell a victim to his relentless spear, and the splendid arms he had worn were carried off by Serestus as an offering to Mars. The Rutulians fled in terror before the raging chief; but King Cæculus of Præneste, and Umbro, the leader of the Marsians, renewed the struggle. A huge warrior named Tarquitus, the son of the nymph Dryope, dared to oppose himself to Æneas, but his fate was soon decided. The hero first pierced his corselet with a spear, and then, as he lay wounded and imploring mercy, smote off his head with his sword. Spurning the bleeding trunk, he furiously cried, "Lie there, haughty champion! Thee no tender mother shall lodge in the earth, or place a tomb above thy body; to birds of prey thou shalt be left, or cast in the sea to be devoured by fishes." Still insatiable of slaughter, he drove into terrified flight Antæus and Lycas, two of Turnus's bravest followers. But now the fierce Lucagus approached in a chariot drawn by two snow-white coursers. These were guided by his brother Liger, while he himself flourished his sword in the air, and prepared to encounter Æneas, who on his part rushed forward to meet them. "These," cried Liger, "are not the steeds of Diomedes, nor this the plain of Troy. Here an end shall be put at once to thy life and to the war." Against these insults Æneas prepared to give an answer otherwise than in words, and as Lucagus bent forward in readiness for the fight, the Trojan javelin whizzed through the rim of his shield, smote him in the groin, and hurled him, quivering in the pangs of death, out of the chariot. Æneas assailed his dying ears with a bitter scoff: "It is not, O Lucagus, the slowness of thy steeds in flight that hath lost thee thy chariot, but thou thyself, springing from thy seat, hast abandoned it." So saying, he seized the chariot; and now the miserable Liger, extending his hands in supplication, begged for his life. "It was not in this fashion that thou spokest a little while since," replied the relentless hero. "It would not be fitting that thou shouldst desert thy brother. Die, therefore, and attend him to the shades." With that he thrust the avenging sword through his heart, whence the trembling soul fled with a shriek.

So Æneas spread havoc amid the hostile ranks, and drove the forces of Turnus back in headlong rout, so that Ascanius and those who had hitherto been shut up in the fortifications were able to issue forth into the field. Meanwhile Jupiter, watching from Olympus the fortunes of the day, accosted his consort. "Thou art in the right, my cherished queen, in alleging that Venus gives her aid to the Trojans; for without divine aid, how would it be possible for any mortal to achieve such deeds as Æneas is now accomplishing?" "Why," submissively answered Juno, "dost thou tease me, who am already oppressed with anguish for the fate of the people I befriend? Had I that share in your love which I once enjoyed, and which it is fitting for me to possess, thou surely couldst not refuse me this much, that I might have permission to rescue Turnus from the fate that threatens him, and restore him safe to his father Daunus. But since that cannot be, let him die, and glut the vengeance of the Trojan with his blood; yet his origin is divine, and often has he piled thy altars with sacrifices." Not unmoved, the ruler of the Gods replied, "If you plead for a respite from immediate death, and a little breathing-time for the youth, I grant you to bear him from the field, and for a short time to preserve him. So far I will indulge you; but if you hope to gain any greater favor, and imagine that the whole predetermined course of the war is to be altered at your entreaty, you delude yourself with empty hopes." With tears Juno responded, "What if thou shouldst grant in thy heart what in words thou dost refuse, and continue the life of Turnus for its natural duration? I fear much that a speedy end awaits the brave youth; but oh! I pray that I may be misled by groundless alarms, and that thou, to whom all power belongs, may alter thy purpose for the better."

Not daring to say more, the queen of heaven hastily descended from Olympus towards the contending armies. Then she devised an airy phantom, wearing armor which exactly resembled that of Æneas, and imitating to the life his walk and mien. This shadow she caused to flutter in the forefront of the battle, full in the view of Turnus, and to provoke him with darts and insolent words. The enraged Rutulian eagerly pressed upon it, and from a distance hurled against it a spear. Immediately the spectre, wheeling about, took to flight. Turnus, imagining that in very truth it was the Trojan chief who feared to meet him, and filled with baseless exultation, cried out, "Æneas, whither dost thou fly? Desert not thus thy promised bride; with this right hand will I bestow upon thee the settled abode thou hast sought in vain through so many lands and seas." Thus vociferating, he madly pursued the deceitful phantom. It chanced that near the shore there lay a vessel, joined to the land by a temporary bridge of planks. Hither Juno led the shadow, and caused it in seeming fear to leap on board and throw itself into a hiding-place. With not less speed Turnus followed, bounded along the bridge, and mounted to the lofty prow of the ship in search of the supposed fugitive. Instantly the goddess severed the cable, and drove the vessel over the foaming waves. Then the phantom melted into the air, and the Rutulian, utterly bewildered, gazed about him in despair, nor did he feel at all thankful to the guardian deity for having thus preserved him from the arms of Æneas. "Almighty Father," he cried, raising his eyes and hands towards heaven, "why dost thou think me worthy of such shame as this? What have I done to merit such a punishment? whither am I borne? How shall I venture again to enter the walls of Laurentum or look upon my camp? What will be said of me by the warriors who have followed me into this war, and whom--unutterable shame!--I have abandoned to the bloodthirsty Trojans! O winds! take pity on me, I entreat you; dash this vessel on some rugged crag, and overwhelm me so that I can no longer be conscious either of my humiliation or of the reproaches of my Rutulians." While he thus lamented, he was uncertain whether he should put an end to his own life with his sword or plunge into the sea and endeavor to regain the land by swimming. Three times he attempted each expedient, and as often Juno, full of pity, restrained him. Carried along by a favorable wind, the ship bore him safely to the capital of his father, King Daunus.

Meanwhile Æneas raged through the battle-field in search of the victim whom the queen of the Gods had thus snatched from his conquering hands. Under his leadership the Trojans and their allies, flushed with success, pressed more eagerly on their discomfited foe; but Mezentius now advanced to restore the courage of the Rutulians. The Etrurians, as soon as they saw their expelled monarch, out of hostility to whom they had engaged in the war, rushed upon him with shouts of rage; but he, as fearless as he was wicked, stood as firmly against them as a great rock on the shore meets all the fury of the winds and waves. Three warriors he overthrew in quick succession: Hebrus he cut down with his sword, Latagus he slew by hurling a great stone which battered in his face, and at Palmus he threw a javelin which pierced his thigh and extended him helpless on the ground. Then the raging king slew Evas the Phrygian, and a Trojan named Mimas, who in former days had been the companion of Paris, having been born in Troy on the same night that gave to the light the ill-starred son of Priam. Paris now lay in eternal repose amid the ruins of his native city, while to Mimas the sword of Mezentius assigned an unknown grave on the distant shore of Italy. And just as when an old wild boar, chased from his retreat amid the wooded Alps, stands at bay among the underwood, and the hunters, afraid to approach him, ply him with darts from a distance, while he gnashes his tusks with rage and faces them undaunted, so stood Mezentius; while his former subjects, though filled with just anger against him, and eager for his destruction, dare not come within reach of his dreaded sword, but galled him with spears and useless clamor. It chanced that a Greek from Corytus, named Acron, presented himself in the front, conspicuous in nodding plumes, and in purple trappings that had been worked for him by his betrothed wife. His gay attire caught the eye of Mezentius, who rushed forward and smote down the luckless Greek; then, as the others fell back, he cut off the retreat of an Etrurian chief, Orodes, forced him to engage hand to hand, and speedily slew him. Pressing his foot on the expiring warrior to draw out his lance from his body, Mezentius cried to his followers, "Behold, friends! Orodes has fallen--not the meanest of our foes." The Rutulians raised a joyful shout, but the dying Orodes faintly answered, "Not long shall thou rejoice with impunity over me; a similar fate awaits thyself, and soon shalt thou also be stretched lifeless on this same field." Smiling scornfully, Mezentius returned, "Die thou, and leave my fate to the Gods, in whose hands it rests." His example inspired other of the Rutulians; they pressed fiercely forward and drove back the troops of Æneas. Mezentius advanced at their head, and as he strode along, the Trojan hero espied him, and hastened towards him. Unawed by the prospect of an encounter even with so terrible a foe, Mezentius stood firm, and poising a huge spear in his hand, exclaimed,--for he was a contemner of the Gods, and never offered invocations to them,--"Now let this right hand and this good dart be my aid; and then I vow that my son, my dear Lausus, shall be clad in the bright arms torn from the body of yon Trojan pirate." With these words he drew the spear. Sent with a true aim, it struck the shield of Æneas, but glanced from the hardened surface, and turning aside, pierced the side of Antores, a faithful follower of Evander, who had come with Pallas to the war. Thus died Antores, by a weapon never aimed at him, but he was speedily avenged. Æneas, putting all his might into the cast, now in his turn hurled his spear. It tore its way through the triple plates of Mezentius' shield, through his corselet, and inflicted a severe wound in his groin, though its force was so far spent that the injury was not mortal.