Chapter XIII: Part 13

And Ulysses made reply, “That thou hast served at the altar of these men is enough, and also that thou wouldst wed my wife.” So he slew him; but Phemius, the minstrel, he spared, for he had sung among the suitors in the hall, of compulsion, and not of good will; and also Medon, the herald, bidding them go into the yard. There they sat, holding by the altar and looking fearfully every way, for yet they feared that they should die.

And now Ulysses bade cleanse the hall and wash the benches and the tables with water, and purify them with sulphur; and when this was done, that Euryclea, the nurse, should go to Penelope and tell her that her husband was indeed returned. So Euryclea went to her chamber and found the queen newly awoke from slumber, and told her that her husband was returned, and how he had slain the suitors, and how she had known him by the scar where the wild boar had wounded him.

And yet the queen doubted, and said, “Let me go down and see my son, and these men that are slain, and the man who slew them.”

So she went, and sat in the twilight by the other wall, and Ulysses sat by the pillar, with eyes cast down, waiting till his wife should speak to him. She was sore perplexed; for now she seemed to know him, and now she knew him not, for he had not suffered that the women should put new robes upon him.

And Telemachus said, “Mother, sittest thou apart from my father, and speakest not to him? Surely thy heart is harder than a stone.”

But Ulysses said, “Let be, Telemachus. Thy mother will know that which is true in good time. But now let us hide this slaughter for a while, lest the friends of these men seek vengeance against us. Wherefore let there be music and dancing in the hall, so that men shall say, ‘This is the wedding of the queen, and there is joy in the palace,’ and know not of the truth.”

So the minstrel played and women danced. And meanwhile Ulysses went to the bath, and clothed himself in bright apparel, and came back to the hall, and Minerva made him fair and young to see. Then he sat him down as before, near his wife, and said—

“Surely, O lady, the gods have made thee harder of heart than all women besides. Would other wife have kept away from her husband, coming back now after twenty years?”

And when she doubted yet, he spake again. “Hear thou this, Penelope, and know that it is I myself, and not another. Dost thou remember how I built up the bed in our chamber? In the court there grew an olive tree, stout as a pillar, and round it I built a chamber of stone, and spanned the chamber with a roof; and I hung also a door, and then I cut off the leaves of the olive, and planed the trunk, to be smooth and round; and the bed I inlaid with ivory and silver and gold, and stretched upon it an ox-hide that was ornamented with silver.”

Then Penelope knew that he was her husband indeed, and ran to him, and threw her arms about him and kissed him, saying, “Pardon me, my lord, if I was slow to know thee; for I feared, so many wiles have men, that some one would deceive me, saying that he was my husband. But now I know this, that thou art he and not another.”

And they wept over each other and kissed each other. So did Ulysses come back to his home after twenty years.

THE WANDERINGS OF ÆNEAS

FROM VIRGIL

THE REMNANT OF THE DEFEATED ARMY SEEKS A NEW HOME

By Thomas Bulfinch and Alfred J. Church

We have followed one of the Grecian heroes, Ulysses, in his wanderings on his return home from Troy, and now we propose to share the fortunes of the remnant of the _conquered_ people, under their chief Æneas, in their search for a new home, after the ruin of their native city.

On that fatal night when the wooden horse disgorged its contents of armed men, and the capture and conflagration of the city were the result, Æneas beheld these things, but could not help them, being one against many. But when he saw King Priam lying dead before him, and Troy in flames, he bethought him of his father Anchises, and his wife Creüsa, and of his little son Ascanius, and how he had left them without defense at home. But as he turned to seek them, the night being now, by reason of many fires, as clear as the day, he espied Helen sitting in the temple of Vesta, where she had sought sanctuary; for she feared the men of Troy, to whom she had brought ruin and destruction, and not less her own husband, whom she had deceived.

Then was his wrath kindled, and he spake to himself, “Shall this evil woman return safe to Sparta? Shall she see again her home and her children, with Trojan women to be her hand-maidens? Shall Troy be burnt and King Priam be slain, and she take no harm? Not so; for though there be no glory to be won from such a deed, yet shall I satisfy myself, taking vengeance upon her for my kinsmen and my countrymen.” But while he thought these things in his heart, lo! there appeared unto him Venus, his mother, as fair and as tall as the dwellers in heaven behold her. Then Venus spake thus, “What meaneth all this rage, my son? Hast thou no care for me? Hast thou forgotten thy father Anchises, and thy wife, and thy little son? Of a surety the fire and the sword had consumed them long since, but that I cared for them and saved them. It is not Helen; no, nor Paris, that hath laid low this great city of Troy, but the wrath of the gods. See now, for I will take away the mist that covers thine eyes; see how Neptune with his trident is overthrowing the walls and rooting up the city from its foundations; and how Juno stands with spear and shield in the Scæan Gate, and calls fresh hosts from the ships; and how Pallas sits on the height with the storm-cloud about her and her Gorgon shield; and how Father Jupiter himself stirs up the enemy against Troy. Fly, therefore, my son. I will not leave thee till thou shalt reach thy father’s house.” And as she spake she vanished in the darkness.

Then did Æneas see dreadful forms and gods who were the enemies of Troy, and before his eyes the whole city seemed to sink down into the fire. Even as a mountain oak upon the hills on which the woodmen ply their axes bows its head while all its boughs shake about it, till at last, as blow comes after blow, with a mighty groan it falls crashing down from the height, even so the city seemed to fall. Then did Æneas pass on his way, the goddess leading him, and the flames gave place to him, and the javelins harmed him not.

But when he was come to his house he bethought him first of the old man his father; but when he would have carried him to the hills, Anchises would not, being loath to live in some strange country when Troy had perished. “Nay,” said he, “fly ye who are strong and in the flower of your days. But as for me, if the gods had willed that I should live, they had saved this dwelling for me. Enough it is, yea, and more than enough, that once I have seen this city taken, and lived. Bid me, then, farewell as though I were dead. Death will I find for myself. And truly I have long lingered here a useless stock and hated of the gods since Jupiter smote me with the blast of his thunder.”

Nor could the old man be moved from his purpose, though his son and his son’s wife, and even the child Ascanius, besought him with many tears that he should not make yet heavier the doom that was upon them. Then was Æneas minded to go back to the battle and die. For what hope was left? “Thoughtest thou, my father,” he cried, “that I should flee and leave thee behind? What evil word is this that has fallen from thy lips? If the gods will have it that naught of Troy should be left, and thou be minded that thou and thine should perish with the city, be it so. The way is easy; soon will Pyrrhus be here; Pyrrhus, red with Priam’s blood; Pyrrhus, who slays the son before the face of the father, and the father at the altar. Was it for this, kind Mother Venus, that thou broughtest me safe through fire and sword, to see the enemy in my home, and my father and my wife and my son lying slaughtered together? Comrades, give me my arms, and take me back to the battle. At the least I will die avenged.”

But as he girded on his arms and would have departed from the house, his wife Creüsa caught his feet upon the threshold, staying him, and held out the little Ascanius, saying, “If thou goest to thy death, take wife and child with thee; but if thou hopest aught from arms, guard first the house where thou hast father and wife and child.”

And lo! as she spake there befell a mighty marvel, for before the face of father and mother there was seen to shine a light on the head of the boy Ascanius, and to play upon his waving hair and glitter on his temples. And when they feared to see this thing, and would have stifled the flame or quenched it with water, the old man Anchises in great joy raised his eyes to heaven, and cried aloud, “O Father Jupiter, if prayer move thee at all, give thine aid and make this omen sure.” And even as he spake the thunder rolled on his left hand, and a star shot through the skies, leaving a long trail of light behind, and passed over the house-tops till it was hidden in the woods of Ida. Then the old man lifted himself up and did obeisance to the star, and said, “I delay no more: whithersoever ye lead I will follow. Gods of my country, save my house and my grandson! This omen is of you. And now, my son, I refuse not to go.”

Then said Æneas, and as he spake the fire came nearer and the light was clearer to see, and the heat more fierce, “Climb, dear father, on my shoulders; I will bear thee, nor grow weary with the weight. We will be saved or perish together. The little Ascanius shall go with me, and my wife follow behind, not over near. And ye, servants of my house, hearken to me; ye mind how that to one who passes out of the city there is a tomb and a temple of Ceres in a lonely place, and an ancient cypress tree hard by. There will we gather by divers ways. And do thou, my father, take the holy images in thy hands, for as for me, who have but newly come from battle, I may not touch them till I have washed me in the running stream.”

And as he spake he put a cloak of lion’s skin upon his shoulders, and the old man sat thereon. Ascanius also laid hold of his hand, and Creüsa followed behind. So he went in much dread and trembling. For, indeed, before sword and spear of the enemy he had not feared, but now he feared for them that were with him. But when he was come nigh unto the gates, and the journey was well-nigh finished, there befell a grievous mischance, for there was heard a sound as of many feet through the darkness; and the old man cried to him, “Fly, my son, fly; they are coming. I see the flashing of shields and swords.” But as Æneas hasted to go, Creüsa his wife was severed from him. But whether she wandered from the way or sat down in weariness, no man may say. Only he saw her no more, nor knew her to be lost till, all his company being met at the temple of Ceres, she only was found wanting. Very grievous did the thing seem to him, nor did he cease to cry out in his wrath against gods and men. Also he bade his comrades have a care of his father and his son, and of the household gods, and girded him again with arms, and so passed into the city. And first he went to the wall and to the gate by which he had come forth, and then to his house, if haply she had returned thither. But there, indeed, the men of Greece were come, and the fire had well-nigh mastered it. And after that he went to the citadel and to the palace of King Priam. And lo! in the porch of Juno’s temple, Phœnix and Ulysses were keeping guard over the spoil, even the treasure of the temples, tables of the gods, and solid cups of gold, and raiment, and a long array of them that had been taken captive, children and women. But not the less did he seek his wife through all the streets of the city, yea, and called her aloud by name. But lo! as he called, the image of her whom he sought seemed to stand before him, only greater than she had been while she was yet alive. And the spirit spake, saying, “Why art thou vainly troubled? These things have not befallen us against the pleasure of the gods. The ruler of Olympus willeth not that Creüsa should bear thee company in thy journey. For thou hast a long journey to take, and many seas to cross, till thou come to the Hesperian shore, where Lydian Tiber flows softly through a good land and a fertile. There shalt thou have great prosperity, and take to thyself a wife of royal race. Weep not then for Creüsa, whom thou lovest, nor think that I shall be carried away to be a bond-slave to some Grecian woman. Such fate befits not a daughter of Dardanus and daughter-in-law of Venus. The mighty Mother of the Gods keepeth me in this land to serve her. And now, farewell, and love the young Ascanius, even thy son and mine.”

So spake the spirit, and when Æneas wept and would have spoken, vanished out of his sight. Thrice he would have cast his arms about her neck, and thrice the image mocked him, being thin as air and fleeting as a dream. Then, the night being now spent, he sought his comrades, and found with much joy and wonder that a great company of men and women were gathered together, and were willing, all of them, to follow him whithersoever he went.

And now the morning star rose over Mount Ida, and Æneas, seeing that the Greeks held the city, and that there was no longer any hope of succor, went his way to the mountains, taking his father with him.

THE ADVENTURE WITH THE HARPIES

By H. L. Havell

It was the first dawn of summer, and the green herb was already beginning to shoot among the blackened ruins of Troy, when the little fleet, bearing that shattered remnant of a mighty nation, put out into the deep. Tears dimmed the eyes of Æneas and his men as they saw their native shores fade away into the distance behind them. The past was all sorrow and the future was veiled in mystery and terror; but Heaven’s eternal eye was watching them, and a divine hand was held over them.

* * * * *

The mountains of Crete have sunk beneath the horizon, and nothing appears but sea and sky, now black with clouds and lowering with impending storm. Down comes the wind, with sheets of rain, blotting out the view, so that the helmsmen lose their bearings, and drive at random before the tempest. Three days and three nights they are thus hurled along at the mercy of the gale; and when the weather begins to clear Æneas finds himself under the lee of a rocky island, one of the group called Strophades, in the Ionian Sea. One by one his vessels come struggling in, sorely battered by the heavy weather; and at length they all cast anchor in a sheltered inlet, and the weary multitude seeks repose and refreshment in the green meadows which run down to the beach, while the more active beat the bushes in search of game.

Soon the welcome sound of lowing and bleating is heard, and a herd of fat oxen and a flock of goats are seen feeding near at hand. The choicest of the herd are speedily hemmed in and slaughtered, providing the materials for a joyful feast. But in the midst of the banquet all the air grows loud with the sound of whirring wings, and three monstrous creatures, with the bodies of birds and the faces of women, swoop down from the mountains, uttering discordant cries. The presence of these hideous beings brings pollution to all around them, and the very meat which the Trojans are eating grows tainted in their mouths; for these are the foul Harpies, who once dwelt on the shores of Thrace and tormented the unhappy Phineus, but being driven away by the sons of Boreas, when the Argonauts passed that way on their voyage, they had taken up their abode on this lonely island.

Æneas and his company gave way before these revolting assailants, and resumed their interrupted meal in a spot sheltered by rocks and trees; but again the Harpies came down upon them, and turned their meat into carrion. They drew their swords, and strove to beat off these importunate guests; but their blows fell harmless, as if they had struck upon mail of proof; and the Harpies took wing again, and were seen towering, like vultures, high in air—all but one, who alighted on a neighboring rock, and shrieked at the discomfited Trojans with a voice as frightful as her face.

“Accursed breed of an ancestor accursed, would ye add violence to robbery, and drive the Harpies from their home? Then hear this oracle, which I heard from Apollo, and he from Jupiter: Your voyage is to Italy, and to Italy shall ye come; but, ere ever ye shall found a city there, dire hunger shall compel you to devour your tables, in vengeance for the wrong which ye have wrought upon me and my sisters.”

With prayer and sacrifice they sought to avert the evil foretold them; and when these were ended they went on board their ships, and the south wind bore them from that inhospitable shore. Then Ithaca looms in view, the rugged nurse of cruel Ulysses, and many a brow is bent, and many a curse is muttered, at the mention of that hated name. At last a cloud-capped peak appears, and, sweeping through a rocky and perilous channel, they cast anchor beneath the shadow of Apollo’s temple in the bay of Actium.

Winter is now approaching, and for some time their travels are at an end. The winter was passed in rest and recreation. At the first dawn of spring they broke up their camp, and skirting the coast of Epirus, put into the harbor of Buthrotum, on the mainland, opposite the blue mountains of Corfu.

PURSUED BY THE CYCLOPS

By H. L. Havell

Laden with rich gifts, and pursued by their kind hosts with blessings and tears, the children of destiny launch their ships, and at the fall of evening anchor under the towering headland which juts out into the Adriatic to meet the opposite cliffs of Italy. Here they intend to pass the night and cross the narrow waters next day. But at midnight Palinurus, the captain of Æneas’s vessel, wakes suddenly, and, seeing that the night is calm and the wind fair, gives the signal to start. With level sails they bound swiftly over the softly heaving, starlit waters, and every heart beats high as they draw nearer and nearer to the land of their adoption. And now the stars grew pale, and dawn flushed rosy red on the Acroceraunian heights, while before them, in the west, appeared a low line of misty hills. “Italy!” cried Achates, the trusty squire of Æneas; and all the fleet took up the cry, till the air rang with the magic name of Italy. Then Anchises filled a golden goblet with wine, and, standing high on the after-deck of the vessel, poured a drink-offering to the powers of land and sea, praying for a prosperous voyage and a safe landing. The wind blew stronger, in answer to his prayer, and speedily they saw before them an opening in the rock-bound coast, leading by a narrow channel into a land-locked basin. On a lofty height, commanding the haven, stood the columned temple of Minerva, and on a meadow near the shore four snow-white steeds were grazing. “It is a message of war,” said Anchises; for the horse is a warlike beast.

Here they may not linger, for all the coast bristles with foes. But before they turn their prows southward they veil their faces, as is the fashion of the Trojans, and with bowed knee and suppliant hands breathe the dreaded names of Juno and Minerva.

The shores of Italy begin to fade, and far away, on the southern horizon, rises the fiery crest of Ætna. To the right they hear an angry, moaning sound, which warns them that they are on the threshold of the dreaded Sicilian strait, the abode of Scylla and Charybdis. Even at this distance the billows rise to a gigantic height, threatening to swamp their vessels. Palinurus calls to his men to take to their oars; the rest of the fleet follow his example, and, borne forward by oars and sails, they are soon out of the reach of danger. With sunset the wind dropped, and after hours of weary toil they landed in the darkness beneath the black shadow of Ætna, where the giant Enceladus lies chained on his uneasy couch. For after the defeat of the Titans, the enormous brood of Earth, who had risen up in revolt against Jove, Enceladus, the most violent of these fierce rebels, was confined in a subterranean dungeon, and the huge mass of Ætna was flung upon his bruised limbs to keep him fast; and whenever he stirs in that living grave the whole mountain quakes and trembles, and fire and smoke and molten rocks are belched up through the throat of the furnace.

Fevered was the sleep and troubled the dreams of the Trojans while their fleet lay moored in that fearful neighborhood. The night was black and starless, and the air was full of strange sounds, as if some vast, primeval monster were groaning and gasping for breath. The day dawned red and threatening, and Æneas had given the order to embark, when out of the woods which clothe the lower slopes of Ætna a man came slowly limping, whose appearance showed him to be in the last extremity of want and misery. He was covered with mire, and clothed in rags, scarce held together with thorns, and his face was almost hidden by a matted growth of hair and beard. In such guise he came on with feeble steps, holding out his hands like one imploring pity and protection. When he recognized the Trojan arms and dress he halted suddenly, and seemed to hesitate; then, summoning resolution, he came on again with quickened steps, and flung himself at the knees of Æneas, who had advanced to meet him. “Save me,” he cried, speaking in the Greek language, with sobs and tears; “only take me from this horrible place, and then use me as ye will. I am a Greek, as ye hear, and I fought with the other Greeks against Troy. If that is a crime past forgiveness let me suffer for it; tear me limb from limb, and fling the fragments on the waves—it will be something to be slaughtered by human hands.”

Touched to the heart by that speaking image of wretchedness and despair Æneas raised the poor outcast from the ground, comforted him with gentle words, and encouraged him to tell his story. Reassured by this kind reception he informed them that he was one of the comrades of Ulysses, left behind in their hasty flight from the cave of the Cyclops Polyphemus. For the hardy Ithacan had visited this island in his wanderings, and had put out the single eye of Polyphemus, which flamed like the sun in the center of his forehead, in revenge for the murder of his comrades, whom the cannibal monster had slain and devoured. For three months the unhappy castaway had skulked in the woods, supporting life on berries and roots, and affrighted by the ponderous tread of Polyphemus and his brethren, and their mighty voices, which rumbled like thunder over his head. Then, catching sight of the Trojan vessels, he had crept from his hiding-place, determined to trust himself to the mercy of the new-comers, whoever they might be.

He had just finished his story when a sound of crashing boughs was heard, as if some great beast were advancing through the jungle; and in a moment the giant shepherd came into view, supporting his footsteps on the trunk of a tall pine. Slowly he felt his way towards the sea, that monster horrible, misshapen, huge, and sightless; and when he reached the margin of the bay he knelt down, and washed the oozing gore from the gaping pit in his brow, while groans, as of some wounded leviathan, made the very waters tremble.

In wild panic the people of Æneas fled to their ships, and the hollow cliffs resounded to the beat of a thousand oars as they made haste to reach the open sea. Polyphemus heard, and waded out into deep water in the direction of the sound, with arms outstretched, to seize one of the flying vessels. But, finding himself outpaced, he lifted up his voice, and sent forth a colossal shout, which was bellowed back from the caverns of Ætna, and reached the far-off shores of Italy. Roused by that tremendous signal his brethren came rushing from the woods, and gathered in dread conclave, filling all the beach. Like towering oaks they stood, or tall cypress-trees, glaring with orbs of fire at the Trojan fleet and the dashing oars. But the wind blew fair, and soon that tall cohort dwindled to pigmy size in the distance, and the rugged outlines of Ætna grew fainter and fainter.

Along the eastern and southern shore of Sicily they fly, where the blue waters lap softly round the feet of gently sloping hills, one day to be the site of many a famous city—Syracuse and Agrigentum and Gela. Having rounded the western cape of the island they come to anchor in the harbor of Drepanum.

Here a great sorrow fell upon Æneas; his aged father, Anchises, who had followed him through all his wanderings, and cheerfully endured many perils and privations, passed gently away, worn out with years and sorrows; and his bones were laid in foreign soil, far from the land of his birth.

So far the Trojan emigrants have been suffered to proceed, slowly and by winding ways, but without any direct hindrance, towards their destined goal. But now a new power appears on the scene, and a hostile influence begins to work against them, which will henceforth dog their footsteps for many years. That power is Juno, who had ever been Troy’s bitterest and most implacable enemy.

Many causes concurred to keep alive her hatred against that devoted race—the judgment of Paris, who had given the prize of beauty to her rival, Venus; the high favor shown to Ganymede, a lovely Trojan boy, whom Jupiter had made immortal, and exalted to be his cup-bearer; and the ten long years of hope deferred and anxious toil when the Greeks were fighting against Troy. Besides all these bitter memories, a new and pressing occasion had lately arisen to fan the smouldering embers of her resentment into a blaze. On the northern coast of Africa, fronting the shores of Sicily, a colony from Tyre had recently founded the city of Carthage, and the capricious Queen of Heaven had centered all her affections on the Tyrian settlement, forgetting the ancient ties which bound her to the Grecian states. And now she had heard a prophecy, foretelling that a great nation was fated to spring from the blood of the Trojan exiles which should one day level the towers of Carthage with the dust and found a new empire upon her ruins.

Seated on her heavenly car the goddess was speeding on her way from Carthage, full of ambitious schemes for the rising city, when, turning her eyes earthward, she saw the fleet of Æneas putting out from the shore of Sicily and heading for the Italian coast. At this unwelcome sight she checked the flight of her airy steeds, and communed thus with her heart: “There goes the Prince of Troy, the child of fortune, and thinks to thwart my purpose, and bring all my plans to naught. Powers less august than I can work their will, and vindicate their insulted majesty; Ajax blasphemed against Pallas, and in the midst of his boastings was blasted by Jove’s fiery bolt—and I, the high Queen of Heaven, the consort of heaven’s king, must war in vain for years against this broken remnant of a ruined race.”

VENUS SENDS ÆNEAS TO QUEEN DIDO

By Alfred J. Church

Not many days after Æneas and his companions set sail. But scarce were they out of sight of the land of Sicily when Juno had espied them. Very wroth was she that they should be now drawing near to the end of their journey, and she smote the ship with the thunderbolts of Jupiter.…

Then Æneas and his companions, being sore wearied with the storm, made for the nearest shore, even Africa, where they found a haven running far into land, into which the waves come not till their force be spent.…

Now it came to pass on the next day that Æneas, having first hidden his ships in a bay that was well covered with trees, went forth to spy out the new land whither he was come, and Achates only went with him. And Æneas had in each hand a broad-pointed spear. And as he went there met him in the middle of the wood his mother, but habited as a Spartan virgin, for she had hung a bow from her shoulders after the fashion of a huntress, and her hair was loose, and her tunic short to the knees, and her garments gathered in a knot upon her breast. Then first the false huntress spake, “If perchance ye have seen one of my sisters wandering hereabouts, make known to me the place. She is girded with a quiver, and is clothed with the skin of a spotted lynx, or, may be, she hunts a wild boar with horn and hound.”

To whom Æneas, “I have not seen nor heard sister of thine, O virgin—for what shall I call thee? for, of a surety, neither is thy look as of a mortal woman, nor yet thy voice. A goddess certainly thou art, sister of Phœbus, or, haply, one of the nymphs. But whosoever thou art, look favorably upon us and help us. Tell us in what land we be, for the winds have driven us hither, and we know not aught of place or people.”

And Venus said, “Nay, stranger I am not such as ye think. We virgins of Tyre are wont to carry a quiver and to wear a buskin of purple. For indeed it is a Tyrian city that is hard by, though the land be Libya. And of this city Dido is queen, having come hither from Tyre, flying from the wrong-doing of her brother. And indeed the story of the thing is long, but I will recount the chief matter thereof to thee. The husband of this Dido was one Sichæus, richest among all the men of Phœnicia, and greatly beloved of his wife. Now the brother of this Sichæus was Pygmalion, the king of the country, and he exceeded all men in wickedness. And when there arose a quarrel between them, the king, being exceedingly mad after gold, took him unaware, even as he did sacrifice at the altar, and slew him. And the king hid the matter many days from Dido, and cheated her with false hopes. But at the last there came to her in her dreams the likeness of the dead man, baring his wounds and showing the wickedness which had been done. Also he bade her make haste and fly from that land, and, that she might do this the more easily, told her of great treasure, gold and silver, that was hidden in the earth. And Dido, being much moved by these things, made ready for flight; also she sought for companions, and there came together to her all as many as hated the king or feared him. Then did they seize ships that chanced to be ready and laded them with gold, even the treasure of King Pygmalion, and so fled across the sea. And in all this was a woman the leader. Then came they to this place, where thou seest the walls and citadel of Carthage, and bought so much land as they could cover with a bull’s hide. And now do ye answer me this, Whence come ye, and whither do ye go?”

Then answered Æneas, “Should I tell the whole story of our wanderings, and thou have leisure to hear, evening would come ere I could make an end. We are men of Troy, who, having journeyed over many seas, have now been driven by storms to this shore of Libya. And as for me, men call me Prince Æneas. The land I seek is Italy, and my race is from Jupiter himself. With twenty ships did I set sail, going in the way whereof the gods sent me. And of these scarce seven are left. And now, seeing that Europe and Asia endure me not, I wander over the desert places of Africa.”

But Venus suffered him not to speak more, but said, “Whoever thou art, stranger, that art come to this Tyrian city, thou art surely beloved by the gods. And now go, show thyself to the queen. And as for thy ships and thy companions, I tell thee that they are safe in the haven, if I have not learnt augury in vain. See those twenty swans, how joyously they fly! And now there cometh an eagle swooping down from the sky, putting them to confusion, but now again they move in due order, and some are settling on the earth and some are preparing to settle. Even so doth it fare with thy ships, for either are they already in the haven or enter thereinto with sails full set.”

And as she spake she turned away, and there shone a rosy light from her neck, also there came from her hair a sweet savor as of ambrosia, and her garments grew under her feet; and Æneas perceived that she was his mother and cried aloud—

“O my mother, why dost thou mock me so often with false shows, nor sufferest me to join my hand onto thy hand, and to speak with thee face to face?”

And he went towards the walls of the city. But Venus covered him and his companions with a mist, that no man might see them, or hinder them, or inquire of their business, and then departed to Paphos, where was her temple and also many altars of incense. Then the men hastened on their way, and mounting a hill which hung over the city, marveled to behold it, for indeed it was very great and noble, with mighty gates and streets, and a multitude that walked therein. For some built the walls and the citadel, rolling great stones with their hands, and others marked out places for houses. Also they chose those that should give judgment and bear rule in the city. Some, too, digged out harbors, and others laid the foundations of a theatre, and cut out great pillars of stone. Like to bees they were, when, the summer being newly come, the young swarms go forth, or when they labor filling the cells with honey, and some receive the burdens of those that return from the fields, and others keep off the drones from the hive. Even so labored the men of Tyre. And when Æneas beheld them he cried: “Happy ye, who even now have a city to dwell in!” And being yet hidden by the mist, he went in at the gate and mingled with the men, being seen of none.

Now, in the midst of the city was a wood, very thick with trees, and here the men of Carthage, first come to the land from their voyage, had digged out of the ground that which Juno had said should be a sign to them, even a horse’s head; for that, finding this, their city would be mighty in war, and full of riches. Here, then, Dido was building a temple to Juno, very splendid, with threshold of bronze, and many steps thereunto; of bronze also were the doorposts and the gates. And here befell a thing which gave much comfort and courage to Æneas; for, as he stood and regarded the place, waiting also for the queen, he saw set forth in order upon the walls the battles that had been fought at Troy, the sons of Atreus also, and King Priam, and fierce Achilles. Then said he, not without tears, “Is there any land, O Achates, that is not filled with our sorrows? Seest thou Priam? Yet withal there is a reward for virtue here also, and tears and pity for the troubles of men. Fear not, therefore. Surely the fame of these things shall profit us.”

Then he looked, satisfying his soul with the paintings on the walls. For there was the city of Troy. In this part of the field the Greeks fled and the youth of Troy pursued them, and in that the men of Troy fled, and Achilles followed hard upon them in his chariot. Also he saw the white tents of Rhesus, King of Thrace, whom the fierce Diomed slew in his sleep, when he was newly come to Troy, and drave his horses to the camp before they ate of the grass of the fields of Troy or drank the waters of Xanthus. There also Troïlus was pictured, ill-matched in battle with the great Achilles. His horses bare him along; but he lay on his back in the chariot, yet holding the reins, and his neck and head were dragged upon the earth, and the spear-point made a trail in the dust. And in another place the women of Troy went suppliant-wise to the temple of Minerva, bearing a great and beautiful robe, sad and beating their breasts, and with hair unbound; but the goddess regarded them not. Also Achilles dragged the body of Hector three times round the walls of Troy, and was selling it for gold. And Æneas groaned when he saw the man whom he loved, and the old man Priam reaching out helpless hands. Also he knew himself, fighting in the midst of the Grecian chiefs; black Memnon also he knew, and the hosts of the East; and Penthesilea leading the army of the Amazons with shields shaped as the moon. Fierce she was to see, with one breast bared for battle, and a golden girdle beneath it, a damsel daring to fight with men.

QUEEN DIDO WELCOMES ÆNEAS

By Alfred J. Church

But while Æneas marvelled to see these things, lo! there came, with a great throng of youths behind her, Dido, most beautiful of women, fair as Diana, when, on the banks of Eurotas or on the hills of Cynthus, she leads the dance with a thousand nymphs of the mountains about her. On her shoulder she bears a quiver, and overtops them all, and her mother, even Latona, silently rejoices to behold her. So fair and seemly to see was Dido as she bare herself right nobly in the midst, being busy in the work of her kingdom. Then she sat herself down on a lofty throne in the gate of the temple, with many armed men about her. And she did justice between man and man; also she divided the work of the city, sharing it equally or parting it by lot.

Then of a sudden Æneas heard a great clamor, and saw a company of men come quickly to the place, among whom were Antheus and Sergestus and Cloanthus, and others of the men of Troy that had been parted from him in the storm. Right glad was he to behold them, yet was not without fear; and though he would fain have come forth and caught them by the hand, yet did he tarry, waiting to hear how the men had fared, where they had left their ships, and wherefore they were come.

Then Ilioneus, leave being now given that he should speak, thus began: “O queen, whom Jupiter permits to build a new city in these lands, we men of Troy, whom the winds have carried over many seas, pray thee that thou save our ships from fire, and spare a people that serveth the gods. For, indeed, we are not come to waste the dwellings of this land, or to carry off spoils to our ships. For, of a truth, they who have suffered so much think not of such deeds. There is a land which the Greeks call Hesperia, but the people themselves Italy, after the name of their chief; an ancient land, mighty in arms and fertile of corn. Hither we were journeying, when a storm arising scattered our ships, and only these few that thou seest escaped to the land. And can there be nation so savage that it receiveth not shipwrecked men on its shore, but beareth arms against them, and forbiddeth them to land? Nay, but if ye care not for men, yet regard the gods, who forget neither them that do righteously nor them that transgress. We had a king, Æneas, than whom there lived not a man more dutiful to gods and men, and greater in war. If indeed he be yet alive, then we fear not at all. For of a truth it will not repent thee to have helped us. And if not, other friends have we, as Acestes of Sicily. Grant us, therefore, to shelter our ships from the wind; also to fit them with fresh timber from the woods, and to make ready oars for rowing, so that, finding again our king and our companions, we may gain the land of Italy. But if he be dead, and Ascanius his son lost also, then there is a dwelling ready for us in the land of Sicily, with Acestes, who is our friend.”

Then Dido, her eyes bent on the ground, thus spake: “Fear not, men of Troy. If we have seemed to deal harshly with you, pardon us, seeing that, being newly settled in this land, we must keep watch and ward over our coasts. But as for the men of Troy, and their deeds in arms, who knows them not? Think not that we in Carthage are so dull of heart, or dwell so remote from man, that we are ignorant of these things. Whether, therefore, ye will journey to Italy, or rather return to Sicily and King Acestes, know that I will give you all help, and protect you; or, if ye will, settle in this land of ours. Yours is this city which I am building. I will make no difference between man of Troy and man of Tyre. Would that your king also were here! Surely I will send those that seek him in all parts of Libya, lest haply he should be gone astray in any forest or strange city of the land.”

And when Æneas and Achates heard these things they were glad, and would have come forth from the cloud, and Achates said, “What thinkest thou? Lo, thy comrades are safe, saving him whom we saw with our own eyes drowned in the waves; and all other things are according as thy mother said.”

And even as he spake the cloud parted from about them, and Æneas stood forth, very bright to behold, with face and breast as of a god, for his mother had given to him hair beautiful to see, and cast about him the purple light of youth, even as a workman sets ivory in some fair ornament, or compasseth about silver or marble of Paros with gold. Then spake he to the queen, “Lo! I am he whom ye seek, even Æneas of Troy, scarcely saved from the waters of the sea. And as for thee, O queen, seeing that thou only hast been found to pity the unspeakable sorrows of Troy, and biddest us, though we be but poor exiles and lacking all things, to share thy city and thy home, may the gods do so to thee as thou deservest. And, of a truth, so long as the rivers run to the seas, and the shadows fall on the hollows of the hills, so long will thy name and thy glory survive, whatever be the land to which the gods shall bring me.” Then gave he his right hand to Ilioneus, and his left hand to Sergestus, and greeted them with great joy.

And Dido, hearing these things, was silent for a while, but at the last she spake: “What ill fortune brings thee into perils so great? What power drave thee to these savage shores? Well do I mind me how in days gone by there came to Sidon one Teucer, who, having been banished from his country, sought help from Belus that he might find a kingdom for himself. And it chanced that in those days Belus, my father, had newly conquered the land of Cyprus. From that day did I know the tale of Troy, and thy name also, and the chiefs of Greece. Also I remember that Teucer spake honorably of the men of Troy, saying that he was himself sprung of the old Teucrian stock. Come ye, therefore, to my palace. I, too, have wandered far, even as you, and so have come to this land, and having suffered much have learnt to succor them that suffer.”

So saying she led Æneas into her palace; also she sent to his companions in the ships great store of provisions, even twenty oxen and a hundred bristly swine and a hundred ewe sheep with their lambs. But in the palace a great feast was set forth, couches covered with broidered purple, and silver vessels without end, and cups of gold, whereon were embossed the mighty deeds of the men of old time.

And in the meantime Æneas sent Achates in haste to the ships, that he might fetch Ascanius to the feast. Also he bade that the boy should bring with him gifts of such things as they had saved from the ruins of Troy, a mantle stiff with broidery of gold and a veil bordered with yellow acanthus, which the fair Helen had taken with her, flying from her home; but Leda, her mother, had given them to Helen; a scepter likewise which Ilione, first-born of the daughters of Priam, had carried, and a necklace of pearls and a double crown of jewels and gold.

But Venus was troubled in heart, fearing evil to her son should the men of Tyre be treacherous, after their wont, and Juno remember her wrath. Wherefore, taking counsel with herself, she called to the winged boy, even Love, that was her son, and spake, “My son, who art all my power and strength, who laughest at the thunders of Jupiter, thou knowest how Juno, being exceedingly wroth against thy brother Æneas, causeth him to wander out of the way over all lands. This day Dido hath him in her palace, and speaketh him fair; but I fear me much how these things may end. Wherefore hear thou that which I purpose. Thy brother hath even now sent for the boy Ascanius, that he may come to the palace, bringing with him gifts of such things as they saved from the ruins of Troy. Him will I cause to fall into a deep sleep, and hide in Cythera or Idalium, and do thou for one night take upon thee his likeness. And when Queen Dido at the feast shall hold thee in her lap, and kiss and embrace thee, do thou breathe by stealth thy fire into her heart.”

Then did Love as his mother bade him, and put off his wings, and took upon him the shape of Ascanius, but on the boy Venus caused there to fall a deep sleep, and carried him to the woods of Idalium, and lapped him in sweet-smelling flowers. And in his stead Love carried the gifts to the queen. And when he was come they sat down to the feast, the queen being in the midst under a canopy. Æneas also and the men of Troy lay on coverlets of purple, to whom serving-men brought water and bread in baskets and napkins; and within fifty handmaids were ready to replenish the store of victuals and to fan the fire; and a hundred others, with pages as many, loaded the tables with dishes and drinking-cups. Many men of Tyre also were bidden to the feast. Much they marvelled at the gifts of Æneas, and much at the false Ascanius. Dido also could not satisfy herself with looking on him, nor knew what trouble he was preparing for her in the time to come. And he, having first embraced the father who was not his father, and clung about his neck, addressed himself to Queen Dido, and she ever followed him with her eyes, and sometimes would hold him on her lap. And still he worked upon her that she should forget the dead Sichæus and conceive a new love in her heart.

But when they first paused from the feast, lo! men set great bowls upon the table and filled them to the brim with wine. Then did the queen call for a great vessel of gold, with many jewels upon it, from which Belus, and all the kings from Belus, had drunk, and called for wine, and having filled it she cried, “O Jupiter, whom they call the god of hosts and guests, cause that this be a day of joy for the men of Troy, and for them of Tyre, and that our children remember it forever. Also Bacchus, giver of joy, be present, and kindly Juno.” And when she had touched the wine with her lips, she handed the great cup to Prince Bitias, who drank thereout a mighty draught, and the other princes after him. Then the minstrel Iopas, whom Atlas himself had taught, sang to the harp, of the moon, how she goes on her way, and of the sun, how his light is darkened. He sang also of men, and of the beasts of the field, whence they come; and of the stars, Arcturus, and the Greater Bear and the Less, and the Hyades; and of the winter sun, why he hastens to dip himself in the ocean; and of the winter nights, why they tarry so long. The queen also talked much of the story of Troy, of Priam, and of Hector, asking many things, as of the arms of Memnon, and of the horses of Diomed, and of Achilles, how great he was. And at last she said to Æneas, “Tell us now thy story, how Troy was taken, and thy wanderings over land and sea.” And Æneas made answer, “Nay, O queen, but thou biddest me renew a sorrow unspeakable. Yet, if thou art minded to hear these things, hearken.” And he told her all that had befallen him, even to the day when his father Anchises died.

THE LOVE AND DEATH OF QUEEN DIDO

By Alfred J. Church