devoured my house, and made suit to my wife while I yet lived, and feared
not the gods nor regarded men. Therefore a sudden destruction is come
upon you all.”
Then when all the others trembled for fear, Eurymachus said, “If thou be
indeed Ulysses of Ithaca, thou hast said well. Foul wrong has been done
to thee in the house and in the field. But lo! he who was the mover of
it all lies here, even Antinoüs. Nor was it so much this marriage that
he sought as to be king of this land, having destroyed thy house. But we
will pay thee back for all that we have devoured, even twenty times as
much.”
But Ulysses said, “Speak not of paying back. My hands shall not cease
from slaying till I have taken vengeance on you all.”
Then said Eurymachus to his comrades, “This man will not stay his hands.
He will smite us all with his arrows where he stands. Let us win the
door, and raise a cry in the city; then will this archer have shot his
last.”
And he rushed on, with his two-edged knife in his hand. But as he rushed,
Ulysses smote him on the breast with an arrow, and he fell forwards. And
when Amphinomus came on, Telemachus slew him with his spear, but drew not
the spear from the body, lest some one should smite him unawares.
Then he ran to his father and said, “Shall I fetch arms for us and our
helpers?”
“Yea,” said he, “and tarry not, lest my arrows be spent.”
So he fetched from the armory four shields and four helmets and eight
spears. And he and the servants, Eumæus and Philætius, armed themselves.
Ulysses also, when his arrows were spent, donned helmet and shield and
took a mighty spear in each hand. Melanthius, the goatherd, crept up
to the armory and brought down therefrom twelve helmets and shields and
spears. And when Ulysses saw that the suitors were arming themselves, he
feared greatly, and said to his son—
“There is treachery here. It is one of the women, or, it may be,
Melanthius, the goatherd.”
And Telemachus said, “This fault is mine, my father, for I left the door
of the chamber unfastened.”
Soon Eumæus spied Melanthius stealing up to the chamber again, and
followed him, and Philætius with him.
There they caught him, as he took a helmet in one hand and a shield in
the other, and bound his feet and hands.
Then these two went back to the hall, and there also came Minerva, having
the shape of Mentor. Still, for she would yet further try the courage of
Ulysses and his son, she helped them not as yet, but changing her shape,
sat on the roof-beam like unto a swallow.
And then cried Agelaus, “Friends, Mentor is gone, and helps them not.
Let us not cast our spears at random, but let six come on together, if
perchance we may prevail against them.”
Then they cast their spears, but Minerva turned them aside, one to the
pillar and another to the door and another to the wall. But Ulysses and
Telemachus and the two herdsmen slew each his man; and yet again they did
so, and again. And all the while Minerva waved her flaming shield from
above, and the suitors fell as birds are scattered and torn by eagles.
Then Leiodes, the priest, made supplication to Ulysses, saying, “I never
wrought evil in this house, and would have kept others from it, but they
would not. Naught have I done save serve at the altar; wherefore slay me
not.”
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.