Chapter XV: Part 15

Then answered Palinurus: “Not so, great Æneas. For indeed to the land of Italy I came. Three nights the south wind carried me over the sea, and on the fourth day I saw the land of Italy from the top of a wave. And when I swam to the shore, and was now clinging to the rocks, my garments being heavy with water, the savage people came upon me, and took me for a prey, and slew me. And now the winds and waves bear me about as they will. Wherefore I pray thee, by thy father, and Iulus, the hope of thy house, that thou deliver me from these woes. Go, therefore, I beseech thee, to the haven of Velia, and cast earth upon me for burial; or give me now thy hand, and take me with thee across this river.”

Then said the priestess: “O Palinurus, what madness is this? Wilt thou without due burial cross the river, and look upon the awful faces of the Furies? Think not that the Fates can be changed by prayers. Yet hear this, and be comforted. They that slew thee, being sore troubled by many plagues, shall make due expiation to thee, and build a tomb, and make offerings thereon year by year; and the place where they slew thee shall be called after thy name.”

Then he took comfort and departed. But when they came near to the river, the boatman beheld them, and cried: “Stay thou, whoever thou art, that comest armed to this river, and tell me what thou seekest. This is the land of Shadows, of Sleep, and of Night. The living may not be ferried in this boat. An evil day it was when I carried Hercules, and Theseus, and Pirithoüs, though they were children of the gods. For Hercules chained the watch-dog of hell, and dragged him trembling from his master’s seat. And Theseus and his friend sought to carry away the queen even from the chamber of her husband.”

Then the Sibyl made answer: “Be not troubled. We come not hither with evil thoughts. Let the watch-dog of hell make the pale ghosts afraid; let your queen abide in her husband’s palace; we will not harm them. Æneas of Troy cometh down to hell that he may speak with his father. And if thou takest no account of such piety, yet thou wilt know this token.”

And she showed him the bough of gold. And when he saw it he laid aside his anger, rejoicing to behold, now after many years, the marvellous gift. Then he brought near his boat to the bank, and drave out the souls that were therein, and took on board Æneas and the priestess. Much did it groan with the weight, and the water poured apace through the seams thereof. Yet did they come safe across.

Then they saw Cerberus, the watch-dog, in his cave. And to him the Sibyl gave a cake of honey and poppy-seed, causing sleep. And this he swallowed, opening wide his three ravenous mouths, and straightway stretched himself out asleep across the cave.

After this they heard a great wailing of infants, even the voices of such as are taken away before they have had lot or part in life. And near to these were such as have died by false accusation; yet lack they not justice, for Minos trieth their cause. And yet beyond, they that, being guiltless, have laid hands upon themselves. Fain would they now endure hardships, being yet alive, but may not, for the river keeps them in with his unlovely stream as in a prison. Not far from these are the Mourning Fields, where dwell the souls of those that have died of love, as Procris, whom Cephalus slew in error, and Laodamia, who died of grief for her husband. And among these was Dido, fresh from the wound wherewith she slew herself. And when Æneas saw her darkly through the shadows, even as one who sees, or thinketh that he sees, the new moon lately risen, he wept, and said: “O Dido, it was truth, then, that they told me, saying that thou hadst slain thyself with the sword. Tell me, was I the cause of thy death? Loath was I, O queen—I swear it by all that is most holy in heaven or hell—to leave thy land. But the gods, at whose bidding I come hither this day, constrained me; nor did I think that thou wouldst take such sorrow from my departure. But stay; depart not; for never again may I speak to thee but this once only.”

So he spake, and would fain have appeased her wrath. But she cast her eyes to the ground, and her heart was hard against him, even as a rock. And she departed into a grove that was hard by, wherein was her first husband, Sichæus, who loved her even as he was loved. After this they came to the land where the heroes dwell. And there they saw Tydeus, who died before Thebes; and Adrastus, and also many men of Troy, as the three sons of Antenor, and Idæus, who was the armor-bearer of King Priam, and bare the arms and drave the chariot yet. All these gathered about him and would fain know wherefore he had come. But when the hosts of Agamemnon saw his shining arms through the darkness, they fled, as in old days they had fled to the ships; and some would have cried aloud, but could not, so thin are the voices of the dead.

Among these he saw Deïphobus, son of Priam. Cruelly mangled was he, for his hands had been cut off, and his ears and his nostrils likewise. Scarce did Æneas know him, and he himself in shame would have hidden his wounds; but the son of Anchises spake to him, saying: “Who hath dealt so foully with thee, great Deïphobus? Men told me that on the last night of Troy thou didst fall dead on a heap of Greeks whom thou hadst slain. Wherefore I built thee a tomb by the sea, and thrice called aloud thy name. But thee I found not, that I might lay thee therein.”

Then Deïphobus made answer: “Thou hast left nothing undone, but hast paid me all due honor. But my ill fate and the accursed wickedness of the Spartan woman have destroyed me. How we spent that last night in idle rejoicings thou knowest. And she, while the women of Troy danced before the gods, stood holding a torch on the citadel, as though she were their leader, yet in truth she called therewith the Greeks from Tenedos. But I lay overcome with weariness in my chamber. Then did she, a noble wife, forsooth! take all the arms out of the house, and my trusty sword also from under my head; and after brought thereunto Menelaus, so hoping to do away her sin against him; and Ulysses also, always ready with evil counsels. What need of more? May the gods do so and more also to them. But tell me why hast thou came hither?”

And it was now past noonday, and the two had spent in talk all the allotted time. Therefore the Sibyl spake: “Night cometh, Æneas, and we waste the day in tears. Lo! here are two roads. This on the right hand leadeth to the palace of Pluto and to the Elysian plains; and that on the left to Tartarus, the abode of the wicked.” And Deïphobus answered: “Be not wroth, great priestess; I depart to my own place. Do thou, my friend, go on and prosper.”

But as Æneas looked round he saw a great building, and a threefold wall about it, and round the wall a river of fire. Great gates there were, and a tower of brass, and the Fury Tisiphone sat as warder. Also he heard the sounds of those that smote upon an anvil, and the clanking of chains. And he stood, and said: “What mean these things that I see and hear?” Then the Sibyl made answer: “The foot of the righteous may not pass that threshold. But when the Queen of Hell gave me this office she herself led me through the place and told me all. There sitteth Rhadamanthus, the Cretan, and judgeth the dead. And them that he condemned Tisiphone taketh, and the gate which thou seest openeth to receive them. And within is a great pit, and the depth thereof is as the height of heaven. Herein lie the Titans, the sons of Earth, whom Jupiter smote with the thunder; and herein the sons of Alœus, who strove to thrust the gods from heaven; and Salmoneus, who would have mocked the thunder of Jupiter, riding in his chariot through the cities of Elis, and shaking a torch, and giving himself out to be a god. But the lightning smote him in his pride. Also I saw Tityos, spread over nine acres of ground, and the vulture feeding on his heart. And over some hangs a great stone ready to fall; and some sit at the banquet, but when they would eat the Fury at their side forbids, and rises and shakes her torch and thunders in their ears. These are they who while they were yet alive hated their brothers, or struck father or mother, or deceived one that trusted to them, or kept their riches for themselves nor cared for those of their own household (a great multitude are they), or stirred up civil strife. And of these some roll a great stone and cease not, and some are bound to wheels, and some sit forever crying: ‘Learn to do righteousness and to fear the gods.’”

And when the priestess had finished these words they hastened on their way. And, after a while, she said: “Lo! here is the palace which the Cyclopes built for Pluto and the Queen of Hell. Here must we offer the gift of the bough of gold.” And this being accomplished, they came to the dwellings of the righteous. Here are green spaces, with woods about them; and the light of their heaven is fuller and brighter than that which men behold. Another sun they have and other stars. Some of them contend together in wrestling and running; and some dance in measure, singing the while a pleasant song; and Orpheus, clad in a long robe, makes music, touching his harp, now with his fingers and now with an ivory bow. Here did Æneas marvel to see the mighty men of old, such as were Ilus, and Dardanus, builder of Troy. Their spears stood fixed in the earth, and their horses fed about the plain; for they love spear and chariot and horses; even as they loved them upon earth. And others sat and feasted, sitting on the grass in a sweet-smelling grove of bay, whence flows the river which men upon the earth call the Po. Here were they who had died for their country, and holy priests, and poets who had uttered nothing base, and such as had found out witty inventions, or had done great good to men. All these had snow-white garlands on their heads. Then spake the Sibyl to Musæus, who stood in the midst, surpassing them all in stature: “Tell me, happy souls, where shall we find Anchises.” And Musæus answered: “We have no certain dwelling place; but climb this hill, and ye can see the whole plain below, and doubtless him whom ye seek.”

Then they beheld Anchises, where he sat in a green valley, regarding the spirits of those who should be born in after-time of his race. And when he beheld Æneas coming, he stretched out his hands and cried: “Comest thou, my son? Hast thou won thy way hither to me? Even so I thought that it would be, and lo! my hope hath not failed me.”

And Æneas made answer: “Yea, I have come a long way to see thee, even as thy spirit bade me. And now let me embrace thee with my arms.”

But when he would have embraced him it was as if he clasped the air.

Then Æneas looked and beheld a river, and a great company of souls thereby, thick as the bees on a calm summer day in a garden of lilies. And when he would know the meaning of the concourse, Anchises said: “These are souls which have yet to live again in a mortal body, and they are constrained to drink of the water of forgetfulness.” And Æneas said: “Nay, my father, can any desire to take again upon them the body of death?” Then Anchises made reply: “Listen, my son, and I will tell thee all. There is one soul in heaven and earth and the stars and the shining orb of the moon and the great sun himself; from which soul also cometh the life of man and of beast, and of the birds of the air, and of the fishes of the sea. And this soul is of a divine nature, but the mortal body maketh it slow and dull. Hence come fear and desire, and grief and joy, so that, being as it were shut in a prison, the spirit beholdeth not any more the light that is without. And when the mortal life is ended yet are not men quit of all the evils of the body, seeing that these must needs be put away in many marvellous ways. For some are hung up to the winds, and with some their wickedness is washed out by water, or burnt out with fire. But a ghostly pain we all endure. Then we that are found worthy are sent unto Elysium and the plains of the blest. And when, after many days, the soul is wholly pure, it is called to the river of forgetfulness, that it may drink thereof, and so return to the world that is above.”

Then he led Æneas and the Sibyl to a hill whence they could see the whole company, and regard their faces as they came; and he said: “Come, and I will show thee them that shall come after thee. That youth who leans upon a pointless spear is Silvius, thy youngest child, whom Lavinia shall bear to thee in thy old age. He shall reign in Alba, and shall be the father of kings. And many other kings are there who shall build cities great and famous. Lo! there is Romulus, whom Ilia shall bear to Mars. He shall build Rome, whose empire shall reach to the ends of the earth and its glory to the heaven. Seest thou him with the olive crown about his head and the white beard? That is he who shall first give laws to Rome. And next to him is Tullus, the warrior. And there are the Tarquins; and Brutus, who shall set the people free, aye, and shall slay his own sons when they would be false to their country. See also the Decii; and Torquatus with the cruel axe; and Camillus winning back the standards of Rome. There standeth one who shall subdue Corinth; and there another who shall avenge the blood of Troy upon the race of Achilles. There, too, thou mayest see the Scipios, thunderbolts of war, whom the land of Africa shall fear; and there Regulus, busy in the furrows; and there the Fabii, chiefly him, greatest of the name, who shall save thy country by wise delay. Such, my son, shall be thy children’s children. Others with softer touch shall carve the face of man in marble or mould the bronze; some more skilfully shall plead, or map the skies, or tell the rising of the stars. ’Tis time, man of Rome, to subdue the world. This is thy work, to set the rule of peace over the vanquished, to spare the humble, and to subdue the proud.”

Then he spake again: “Regard him who is the first of all the company of conquerors. He is Marcellus; he shall save the state in the day of trouble, and put to flight Carthaginian and Gaul.”

Then said Æneas, for he chanced to see by his side a youth clad in shining armor, and very fair to look upon, but sad, and with downcast eyes: “Tell me, father, who is this? How noble is he! What a company is about him! But there is a shadow of darkness round his head.”

And Anchises made answer: “O my son, seek not to know the greatest sorrow that shall befall thy children after thee. This youth the Fates shall only show for a brief space to man. Rome would seem too mighty to the gods should he but live! What mourning shall there be for him! What a funeral shalt thou see, O river of Tiber, as thou flowest by the new-made tomb! No youth of the race of Troy shall promise so much as he. Alas! for his righteousness, and truth and valor unsurpassed! O luckless boy, if thou canst haply break thy evil doom thou shalt be a Marcellus. Give handfuls of lilies. I will scatter the bright flowers and pay the idle honors to my grandson’s shade.”

Thus did Anchises show his son things to be, and kindled his soul with desire of glory. Also he showed him what wars he must wage, and how he should endure, or, if it might be, avoid the evils to come.

There are two gates of Sleep, of horn the one, by which true dreams go forth; of ivory the other, by which the false. Then did Anchises send forth his son and the Sibyl by the ivory gate. And Æneas returned to the ships, and making sail came to the cape which was afterwards called Caieta.

THE ORACLE FORETELLS THE COMING OF ÆNEAS

By H. L. Havell

While Æneas is on his way from Cumæ to the mouth of Tiber we will take a brief glance at the state of things in Latium, and see what sort of reception is awaiting him there. The King of Latium at this time was Latinus, who drew his descent from Saturn, an ancient pastoral deity of Italy. His daughter, and only child, Lavinia, was betrothed to Turnus, and the match was strongly favored by Amata, queen and wife of Latinus, whose heart had been won by the princely form and high ancestry of the youthful suitor. But just before the arrival of the Trojans strange portents had occurred, which seemed to forbid the union of Lavinia and Turnus. In the central courtyard of the royal palace there was an ancient laurel-tree, found growing on the spot by Latinus when he began to build the city, which was named from this circumstance Laurentum. One morning the whole courtyard was besieged by a buzzing swarm of bees, which settled on the laurel, and hung in a dense cluster from its topmost bough. “A stranger is coming,” declared the seers, “from the same quarter whence flew the bees, and he shall hold sway in this royal citadel.” Another time, when Lavinia was taking part in the sacrifice which was offered at her betrothal, the flame caught her long hair, and in a moment she was wrapped from head to foot in a mysterious fire, which smoked and blazed and roared, but did her no harm. “O king,” proclaimed the seer again, “thy daughter is destined to high renown, but she shall bring on this people a wide-wasting war.”

Alarmed by these portents Latinus went to consult the oracle of Faunus, his father, in the sacred grotto near the burning spring of Albunea, which is the Delphi of Latium. Wrapped in the skins of sheep which had been offered in sacrifice (for so the custom was) he lay all night at the mouth of the cavern. “In the dead vast and middle of the night” he heard a voice which said: “Seek not in Latium a bridegroom for thy daughter; from a distant land there cometh one who shall mingle his blood with thine, and out of that union a race shall arise before which all peoples of the earth shall bow the knee.”

This answer of the oracle was soon noised abroad, and caused throughout Latium a fever of expectation at the moment when the ships of Æneas were first sighted off the coast.

ÆNEAS AND HIS COMPANIONS EAT THEIR TABLES

By H. L. Havell

The distant crests of the Apennines are tipped with crimson light; every wind is hushed to rest, and land and sea lie sleeping in the hallowed stillness of the dawn. But hark! the silence is broken by the measured beat of a thousand oars, and into the mouth of Tiber sweeps the Trojan fleet. As if they had been waiting for that signal, a multitude of birds at the same moment burst into song, and all the woods by the river-side ring with melody. Æneas is the first to leap ashore; and soon all his fleet lies moored on the yellow sand.

Under the spreading boughs of an ancient oak sat Æneas with the young Iulus and those next to him in rank. Before them was spread a rustic feast of fruits plucked from the neighboring trees; and flat cakes, hastily prepared with meal and eggs and cheese, served them for dishes. When all their fruit was consumed they finished their meal by devouring the flat squares of cake. “Behold, we are eating our tables!” cried Iulus, laughing; and before he could add another word Æneas laid a warning finger on his lips. “No more, my child,” he said. “Thy words have a deeper meaning than thou deemest. Long ago I heard an oracle from my father, foretelling that in the place where hunger compelled us to devour our tables we should find a settled home and an abiding city. Here, then, our wanderings are at an end.” And thus the prophecy of Celæno, uttered in malice, was brought to a happy fulfilment, and turned into a matter of light jesting by an innocent child.

On the day following Æneas chose out a hundred men from all his company, and sent them as envoys to the court of Latinus. Crowned with olive wreaths, to show that they came in peace, they set forth on their mission, and soon reached the open plain which lies before the gates of Laurentum, where the youth of Latium were assembled for the practice of archery, horsemanship, and other warlike exercises. Here they halted, and sent forward a messenger to announce their coming to the king. Permission being granted, they entered the gates under an escort, and were conducted to the royal palace, which stood on a hill, commanding the city, and surrounded by a hallowed grove. Here they were first ushered into an ante-chamber filled with warlike trophies—chariots and the beaked prows of ships, battle-axes, helmets, shields, and spears; while round the walls were ranged statues of the ancient kings and warriors of Latium. From here, with all due ceremony, they were brought into the presence of the king.

Benign was the face of the venerable Latinus, and gracious were his words, as he gave welcome to his guests. “Children of Dardanus,” he said, “I know both your name and your fame, and ye come not hither as strangers. Whether ye come to this land of set purpose, or driven by adverse winds, I regard you as friends, and in some wise as kinsmen. Was not Dardanus, your ancestor, whose seat is now in heaven, a son of Italy?”

Ilioneus, the leader of the embassy, replied: “Illustrious son of Saturn, it was no accident of wind or weather which brought us to thy shores. Thou knowest—as who doth not, dwell he never so remote from the paths of men?—thou knowest the tempest which gathered at Mycenæ and swept over the plains of Asia. Saved from that deluge and the havoc of our homes we have passed the wide waste of waters, following the voice of Apollo, which called us to the Tuscan Tiber and the cradle of our race. We ask but a little gift—a small plot of earth for our country’s gods to dwell in, and the common boon of water and air. And despise us not, nor think that we come as beggars and outcasts; many are the nations who would have given us an honorable portion in their land and received us as friends and allies, but fate suffered it not. Receive us, then, and take these gifts from the hands of Æneas, a hand never stained by treachery or cowardice. This is the golden goblet from which his sire Anchises was wont to pour the drink-offering; here is the royal robe and the scepter and tiara of Priam; and these vestments were wrought by the hands of noble Trojan dames.”

For a while Latinus sat silent, pondering on the strange event, which seemed to fulfil the oracle of ancient Faunus. This, thought he, is the foreign bridegroom of which the oracle spoke. Presently he raised his head, and answered, with a look of glad assurance: “Trojan, thou hast thy wish; and may the gods speed our designs! I have a daughter who, by many sure tokens, is destined to wed a stranger from a distant country, and, unless my mind deceives me, your King Æneas is called by fate to be her husband. Bid him seek my presence with all speed, and doubt not of his welcome.”

Such was the reply of Latinus; and his actions were as kind as his words.…

Finding that Latinus was not to be shaken in his resolve, Amata gave the reins to her frenzy, and going forth into the city, sped from house to house and poured her tale of wrong into the ears of all whom she met.…

Thus what had begun as a petty brawl soon grew into a regular battle, in which the whole Trojan force found itself confronted by a strong muster from the field of Latium.…

Æneas received an embassy sent by Latinus to ask a truce for the burial of the slain. The envoys were courteously received, and after granting their request Æneas addressed them in terms of grave and dignified remonstrance. “Why,” he asked, “has your king broken faith with me thus, and brought on Trojans and Latins this lamentable war? If Turnus complains that I am robbing him of his promised bride, let him make good his right in single combat, and not sacrifice the lives of thousands in a private quarrel. Tell him that I am ready to meet him when and where he will.”

THE FIGHT BETWEEN ÆNEAS AND TURNUS

By H. L. Havell

Turnus had declared himself ready to decide the struggle in single combat with Æneas. The time had now come for him to redeem his pledge. The Latins were beaten and discouraged, and all eyes were fixed upon him as the author and cause of the war. The fiery spirit of the young Rutulian rose under this trial; he sought an interview with Latinus, and bade him send a herald to demand a truce and arrange the preliminaries of his duel with Æneas.

Latinus strove in vain to deter him from his purpose; in vain Amata besought him with tears and prayers not to drive matters to so desperate an issue. Turnus fixed his eyes on the lovely form and blushing features of Lavinia, who was standing a silent witness of the scene, and, carried away by passion, he answered in excited tones: “Urge me no further, dear lady! The die is cast; I have given my word, and cannot draw back now.” Then he called an officer, and sent him with a flag of truce to the Trojan camp, appointing the next day for the encounter which was to settle his claim to the hand of Lavinia and the scepter of Latium.

* * * * *

The fatal day is come, and with the first gleam of light Turnus leaps from his couch and prepares himself for battle. Every tone and gesture of the turbulent Rutulian betray wild exaltation of spirits. “Come,” he cries, seizing a ponderous lance, which quivered like a reed in his powerful grasp, “come, good spear, that hast never failed me yet! To-day thou shalt drink deep of a coward’s blood, and the curled darling of Venus shall stain his scented locks in the dust of Latium.”

On the other side Æneas armed himself with calm confidence, secure in the sense of his lofty mission. The lists were measured, and altars of turf erected for the customary sacrifice. On either side of the field the Trojans and Latins were drawn up in battle array, and the walls of Laurentum were thronged with women and old men, the passive spectators of the approaching combat.

A loud shout from the ranks of the Latins announces that the king is at hand, and soon Latinus appears in the center of the arena, seated in a four-horse car, and wearing his royal crown. Turnus follows close behind, sheathed in complete armor, and drawn by two snow-white steeds. Æneas stands ready to receive them; the victims are brought, the salted meal is sprinkled, and the sacred forelock cut off from the forehead of the victims. Then Æneas lifts up his hands, and makes a solemn appeal to Jupiter and Juno and Mars, and all the powers of earth and sky and sea: “Witness, all ye eternal gods, and hear my vow: if Turnus gains the mastery to-day the Trojans shall go back to Evander’s city, and never bear arms against this realm again; but if, as I hope and believe, Heaven favors my sword, I claim not the sovereignty of Latium, nor seek aught for myself and my people but the right to dwell here in peace as a friend and ally of the old inhabitants.” The oath was solemnly repeated by Latinus and ratified by sacrifice and prayer.

But the combat was not to proceed without interruption. On a lofty hill, known in after days as the Alban Mount, sat Juno, watching the scene with jealous eyes. She observed with pity the pale and downcast face of Turnus, whose courage began to fail him as the fatal moment drew near; and, resolved to make one more effort on his behalf, she went in search of Juturna, a sister of Turnus, who had been raised to divine honors by the special favor of Jove, and made a presiding deity over the fountains and rivers of Latium. “Up, Juturna,” said the goddess, when she had found her sitting pensively by a dear fountain-head; “go help thy brother in his dire need. I can do no more.”

Starting up at the summons Juturna made haste to obey, and a moment after she was standing invisible among the Rutulians who fought under Turnus. By their looks and words she soon perceived that they were ripe for mischief; and putting on the likeness of Camers, a brave warrior, and friend of Turnus, she gave voice to the general sentiment thus: “Are ye not ashamed, Rutulians, that one man should give his life for you all? Shall we, who outnumber the enemy by two to one, sit idly by and see our leader slain and a chain forged for our own necks?”

The words were caught up, and passed from rank to rank; threatening murmurs arose among the Rutulians, and even the Latins began to regret that they had left their fate to be decided by the sword of Turnus. In the midst of this excitement a flight of wild swans was seen passing overhead, pursued by an eagle, who swooped suddenly on one of the finest of the birds, and began to bear him off in his talons. Hereupon the whole troop rallied to the rescue of their comrade, and so belabored and buffeted the robber with their powerful wings that he was compelled to drop his prey and seek safety in flight. “Hear me,” cried Tolumnius, a famous augur, “while I read you the omen. The eagle is Æneas, and the swans who beat him off are ourselves, the free sons of Italy, who will forthwith drive this marauder across the sea again.”

Suiting the action to the word he ran forward, and flung his spear. It flew hissing across the open space which separated the two armies, and struck a tall Arcadian, one of nine brothers, in the side. He fell, mortally wounded, and his brethren, with a cry of rage and grief, seized their weapons, and rushed to avenge him. A general advance now began on both sides; thick and fast flew the javelins; and Latinus left the field in haste to escape from that iron shower.

Æneas made desperate efforts to check the furious passions which were raging around him. Bareheaded and unarmed he flung himself into the thick of the combatants, crying: “Are ye mad, good people? Drop your weapons, and leave me to seal the treaty with the blood of Turnus; his life is now forfeited to me.” While thus he pleaded and protested there came an arrow, shot by an unknown hand, and struck him in the hip. Grievously hurt Æneas was compelled to seek shelter behind a friendly shield, and retired to the rear, leaving the field open to Turnus.

Great was the joy of the fierce Rutulian when he saw his enemy disabled and the bravest of the Trojan leaders withdrawn from the conflict, in anxious attendance on their injured chief. Mounting his car he lashed his coursers to a gallop, and scoured the plain, ravaging the ranks of the Trojans and trampling them down by scores.

Meanwhile Æneas had retreated to the camp, and was standing, surrounded by his friends, with the arrow still planted deep in his flesh. The most skilful leech in the Trojan army was a certain Iapis, whom Apollo had loved in his youth, and offered to endow with his own gifts as archer, harper, and seer; but he, that he might prolong the life of his father, who was sick unto death, chose rather to learn the virtues of healing herbs and all the physician’s lore. He now arrived, in answer to a hasty summons, and employed all his skill to draw the barbed arrow from the wound. But all his efforts were in vain; the arrow clung fast, and refused to stir. Louder and louder grew the roar of battle; nearer and nearer came the dense columns of the enemy, and their javelins began to fall thick in the very center of the camp.

Venus saw her son’s dire strait, and came to his aid, bearing in her hand a bunch of dittany, a plant of wondrous healing powers, with downy leaves and purple flower, often cropped by the wild goats when they are wounded by the hunter’s shaft. Unseen of any Venus drew near, and dropped the magic herb into the vessel containing the water with which Iapis was bathing the wound. The leech, all unknowing, continued his ministrations; and instantly, at the first touch of that powerful remedy, all pain departed, the flow of blood was stanched, and the arrow dropped harmless to the ground. “This is no work of my skill,” said Iapis in a voice full of awe; “the hand of a god has been here.” Completely healed, with all his pristine vigor restored, Æneas resumed his armor, and kissing Iulus, who was standing near, he seized his spear, and charged into the thickest of the fight, followed close by the other Trojan chiefs.

Juturna saw him coming, and, trembling for her brother’s life, she approached the car of Turnus, and flinging Metiscus, his charioteer, in the dust, herself put on his likeness, and seized the reins. Driven now by no mortal hand, the car flew hither and thither with miraculous speed, wheeling and darting in giddy circles, like a swallow pursuing her tiny prey. Æneas panted in pursuit, scorning every other foe, with eye and foot and hand all directed against Turnus, and Turnus alone; now he seemed to be gaining, and pressed forward, calling on his enemy to stand; and the next moment his prey was snatched from his grasp, like a hare doubling to avoid the fangs of a hound. Messapus, seeing him absorbed in the chase, and thinking to catch him unawares, flung a javelin, and struck off the plumes from his helmet. Then at last Æneas gave reins to his anger, and, abandoning the pursuit of Turnus, fell upon the foes who were nearest, and strewed the field with indiscriminate carnage.

Thus fate for the moment kept the two rivals apart, and they fought in different parts of the field, like devastating fires which fall upon a forest from opposite quarters, wasting the timber, till with a roar they meet. At length Æneas paused from the work of destruction, and, glancing backward at the city, saw the walls feebly manned and the path to the gates lying open. Such an opportunity was not to be neglected. Hastily summoning those next to himself in command he pointed to the walls, and said: “There is the point at which we must strike, and that speedily. If the Latins will not confess themselves beaten, this day I will raze their city to the ground. Gather your men, and prepare to carry the place by storm.”

Wild was the dismay among the inhabitants of Laurentum when they saw the Trojans and Tuscans advancing in full force, with scaling ladders, battering-rams, and torches, to the assault. Some rushed to the battlements, determined to resist to the last; others cried that the gates must be opened to the enemy; and a third party broke into the palace, and dragged the unhappy Latinus into the streets, vowing that they would hand him over to the vengeance of Æneas. All was panic, confusion, and uproar, as in a nest of wild bees smoked to death by a shepherd who seeks to rifle their store. In the midst of this disorder an event occurred which gave the last blow to those who still favored the cause of Turnus. When the queen saw the approaching attack on the city she at once concluded that Turnus had fallen, and, full of remorse for the part which she had played, she went and hanged herself from a high beam in her chamber.

THE DEATH OF TURNUS

By H. L. Havell

Turnus, whose car was still driven by the disguised Juturna, had been carried in pursuit of some straggling Trojans to the farthest verge of the plain. Suddenly his ears were caught by a wild, tumultuous cry from the distant city, and, laying his hand on the reins, he brought the chariot to a stand. “Why haltest thou?” asked the pretended Metiscus. “Leave thy comrades to defend the walls, and continue the work of slaughter here, where there is none to oppose thee.” Turnus answered: “Sister, I knew thee from the first, and recognized thy hand in all the wild havoc of this day. But vain are all thy labors; Heaven is against me, and I must bow to the will of fate. I have seen all the noblest of my comrades slain before my eyes; shall I suffer this royal city to be given up to fire and slaughter for my sake? Shall I play coward, and make my name a byword for Drances and his crew? No, if Heaven is against me, be ye at least with me, ye noble spirits of the dead! Prepare to receive me, a stainless soul, worthy to be numbered among the mightiest of my line.”

Scarcely had he spoken when a Rutulian horseman, wounded in the face by an arrow, came galloping towards him, shouting: “Turnus, what doest thou here? Thou art our last hope and refuge; the city is beset, Amata has died by her own hand; but few of thy friends remain to keep up a desperate defence. Come quickly, for dire is the need.” As if to give point to his words, at this very moment the flames were seen leaping from a huge wooden tower built on a projection of the walls. For a while Turnus stood as if stupefied, overcome by the conflicting passions which surged within him. Then, collecting himself with a strong effort, he said: “’Tis enough; my fate calls me, and I obey. Let me strike one good blow first, and then let death take his due.” Thereupon he sprang from the chariot, and, running at full speed, broke his way through the fighting lines, like a great boulder sapped in its foundations by the winter rains and toppled from a mountain’s crest. “Make way,” he cried; “drop your weapons, ye Rutulians and Latins. This is my quarrel, not yours, and I am come to pay the price.”

Both sides fell back, and left an open space for the final encounter between the two great champions. “At last!” murmured Æneas as he came towering on, and took his stand, “like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved,” face to face with his giant foe. First they flung their spears, and, these not taking effect, they drew their swords, and engaged hand to hand. Loud clashed the steel, and a stream of lightning seemed to play about their heads, so fast and furious were the strokes. Like two bulls fighting for the sovereignty of the herd, while the kine stand lowing near, so strove the Italian and the Trojan for the mastery, foot to foot and shield to shield. At length Turnus lifted high his sword, and, coming down with the whole weight of his body, discharged a tremendous blow at the crest of Æneas. The weapon belonged to Metiscus, his charioteer, and he had snatched it up in mistake for his own good blade, which had been tempered by the hand of Vulcan himself. And now the faithless sword proved its mortal temper, and was shivered to the hilt like glass. With a bitter curse the Rutulian turned his back, and fled, and Æneas followed close, though still somewhat disabled by his recent wound. Hither and thither they sped, pursuer and pursued, as a keen hound chases the flying deer, brought to bay by a high rocky mountain-side; the stag wheels and doubles, and the hound’s jaws close with a snap, as his quarry eludes him again.

Turnus shouted to his comrades, imploring them to bring his sword, but Æneas warned them off with threatening gestures; and so the race went on, which was run for no common stake, but for the very life blood of Turnus.

When Æneas flung his spear at the beginning of the duel the weapon had sunk deep into the stump of an olive-tree; the tree itself, which was sacred to Faunus, had been felled by the Trojans, and rolled out of the way, on the morning before the battle. Catching sight of the spear as he ran past in pursuit of Turnus, Æneas paused, and strove to tear it out. In wild terror Turnus watched his efforts, and cried: “Faunus, god of my fathers, hold the weapon fast, and preserve thy worshiper!” Faunus heard his prayer, and kept the iron point close pinned in the knotted roots of his sacred tree; and while Æneas was still tugging and straining at the shaft, Juturna, again disguised as Metiscus, ran up to Turnus, and gave him back his sword. Thereupon Venus, angered by the presumption of the nymph, drew near in her turn, wrenched out the lance, and handed it to her son. Their weapons thus restored the champions stood face to face once more, prepared to renew the battle.

But the end was now at hand. Jove sat watching the rival warriors, and weary that the inevitable issue should be so long delayed he thus addressed his haughty consort: “Juno, how long must I suffer thee to thwart my high purpose? Thou knowest that it is in vain. Surely thy hate should now be satisfied, after so many years in which thy malice has ranged unchecked and strewn the path of Æneas with death and disaster. The word must now be spoken: Cease; I forbid thee to go further.” Juno answered humbly: “Be it so! I also am weary of the fray, and will resist no more. One thing only I ask, which fate forbids thee not to grant: when the two peoples have united into one, let the language and the dress and the customs of Italy survive, and let the whole nation be called the Latins. Troy has perished; let her name perish also.” Jove smiled indulgently as he replied: “True daughter of Saturn, still unappeasable in thine ire, it shall be as thou sayest. Latins they shall be called, and they shall be thy people, mighty in word and deed, and laud and honor thy name for ever.”

The old quarrel thus happily concluded, Jove prepared to end the conflict between Æneas and Turnus. Close by his throne two hideous warders lie couched day and night, sisters of the Furies, and armed with the same attributes of terror, with serpent tresses, and windy wings. One of these the monarch of heaven sent to warn Juturna that she must leave her brother’s side. Like a poisoned arrow shot from a Parthian’s bow the daughter of Night sped down to earth, and as she came in sight of the Trojan and Latin armies, she took the shape of that ill-omened bird who sits among tombs and ruined towers, and sends her moaning cry through the darkness. In such shape the fiend dashed herself against the face of Turnus, and buffeted his shield with her wings.

Turnus was paralyzed with horror; his hair bristled, and the passage of his voice was choked. But when Juturna heard the beating of those fatal pinions she tore her hair, and beat her breast, knowing that her brother’s hour was come. “Turnus, I can do no more,” she cried. “Would that I might die with thee! But, alas! Jove has made me immortal, and doomed me to eternal sorrow.” Then, veiling her face in her azure mantle, the nymph left the battlefield, and sat rocking herself in anguish by the river-side.

Æneas came on, brandishing his massy spear, and crying: “Now at last thou art delivered into my hands, unless thou canst fly up to heaven or dig thee a burrow in the earth.” “Thy words have no terrors for me,” replied Turnus, “but much I fear that Heaven is against me.” And without more words he looked round him, and saw a huge ancient stone, set up long ago as a boundary mark. Stooping he caught up the ponderous mass, which scarce twelve men could lift, as men are in our times; with one hand he heaved it above his head, and poised and flung it, running at full speed. It was his last effort, and he felt as he made it that his powers were failing. The stone fell short, and Turnus stood gazing, struck with a strange impotence, like one in a trance; the whole scene swam before his eyes, woods, hills, and city walls, and the faces of his friends, like visions in a fevered dream.

While thus he faltered Æneas poised his lance, took steady aim and flung. Like some vast missile hurled by a siege engine the giant spear rushed to its mark, pierced through the lower edge of the sevenfold shield, and, rending the border of the corslet with a grating sound, transfixed the middle of his thigh. A deep groan went up from the ranks of the Rutulians when they saw their young hero lying, helpless and bleeding, on the sand.

With hands outstretched and eyes imploring mercy Turnus uttered this humble prayer: “Thou hast conquered; Lavinia is thine; now pity my father’s gray hairs, and give him back his son, or if thou must have my life at least restore my body to him for burial.” Æneas paused, lowering his sword and rolling his eyes, in doubt whether to strike or spare; and pity began to prevail more and more in his heart when his gaze fastened on the fatal belt, which Turnus had won from the youthful Pallas, and was wearing on his shoulder. Then grief and anger blazed up in his soul, and he cried in a terrible voice: “Wretch, dost thou ask for mercy with that emblem of sorrow on thy breast? Pallas, Pallas claims thee as his victim, and cries aloud for thy guilty blood.”

The avenging steel was lifted, and flashed, and fell; and that mighty frame lay shuddering in death, while his soul, indignant, fled moaning to the shades.

STORIES FROM ROMAN HISTORY

FROM LIVY

THE STORY OF ROMULUS AND OF NUMA

By Alfred J. Church

Æneas of Troy, coming to the land of Italy, took to wife Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus, and built him a city, which he called Lavinium, after the name of his wife. And, after thirty years, his son Ascanius went forth from Lavinium with much people, and built him a new city, which he called Alba. In this city reigned kings of the house and lineage of Æneas for twelve generations. Of these kings the eleventh in descent was one Procas, who, having two sons, Numitor and Amulius, left his kingdom, according to the custom, to Numitor, the elder. But Amulius drave out his brother, and reigned in his stead. Nor was he content with this wickedness, but slew all the male children of his brother. And the daughter of his brother, that was named Rhea Silvia, he chose to be a priestess of Vesta, making as though he would do the maiden honor, but his thought was that the name of his brother should perish, for they that serve Vesta are vowed to perpetual virginity.