were still rowing a keen race, and as they neared the turning point the
_Centaur_ was leading by half a length. Seeing the wild steering of the
_Chimæra_, which was yawing and losing way under the unskilful hand of
Gyas, Mnestheus strode up and down the gangway, calling loudly to his
crew: “Now show your mettle, my braves! Ye who have fought at Hector’s
side, and defied a thousand perils on land and sea, save your captain
from the dishonor of coming in last.” His men respond gallantly to the
call; the huge hull of the _Pristis_ trembles under their mighty strokes,
and the white wake boils and foams behind them. And as they strain and
tug at their ponderous oars, with parched throats and heaving chests,
suddenly a loud crash announces that fortune has come to their aid; for
the _Centaur_, taking the curve too short, has stuck fast on a projecting
ridge, and hangs, with shattered prow and broken oars, on the rocks.
While the crew are busy with long poles, trying to get her off, the rival
_Pristis_ sweeps triumphantly past her, clears the dangerous shallows,
and enters deep water again, homeward bound. And first she passes the
_Chimæra_, who has lost her helmsman, and cannot keep a straight course;
then hard after the _Scylla_ she flies, and seems gaining on her with
every stroke.
Nearer and nearer creeps the _Pristis_; louder and louder grow the shouts
of the waiting multitude on the shore, whose feelings have been wound
up to the wildest excitement by the sudden changes of fortune and the
startling incidents of this memorable race. Already the prow of the
_Pristis_ is overlapping the stern of the _Scylla_, when a sudden fury
seems to enter into the crew of the leading vessel, and, as if thrust
forward from below by a giant’s hand, she makes a great bound in advance
of her pursuer, and gains the harbor.
The race was over, and the victorious captains, crowned with laurel, were
flaunting their honors proudly before their admiring comrades. Cloanthus,
the captain of the _Scylla_, received as first prize a rich mantle, with
a double waving border of Tyrian purple, on which was embroidered the
story of the rape of Ganymede—a living picture, showing the lovely boy,
seized in the midst of his woodland sports, and borne skyward in the
talons of a gigantic eagle; while below him were seen his dogs, leaping
and baying in wild excitement, and a group of aged attendants, with hands
uplifted, and lips parted in speechless dismay.
A hundred eyes were curiously scanning this rare device when a loud
laugh from the crowd on the shore announced the return of the unlucky
_Centaur_. Like a wounded snake, crushed by the wheel of a passing
wagon, she came crawling slowly through the harbor mouth, and landed her
crestfallen crew, among whom was Menœtes, the _Chimæra’s_ helmsman, still
damp from his involuntary bath.
[1] Shark.
THE FOOT RACE
By H. L. Havell
Æneas now led the way to a level, grassy plain, surrounded by hills, and
displayed the prizes for the next event, which was the foot race. Every
competitor was to receive two arrows, the choice workmanship of Cretan
armorers, and a battle-axe chased with silver; and besides these three
special prizes were offered—a war horse, splendidly caparisoned, for the
first; a quiver of Thracian arrows, with a rich baldric of gold work
fastened by a jewelled buckle, for the second; and for the third a helmet
won in battle from the Greeks.
Quite a crowd of runners assembled at the starting-place; and conspicuous
among them was seen Euryalus, a boy of great beauty, and Nisus, his
friend, who loved him as a father. The long line was brought level, the
signal was given, and away they went, Nisus taking the lead, followed
at a long interval by Salius, a youth of Greek descent; Euryalus, again
at some distance, held the third place; and after him came Helymus, a
Sicilian, hotly pursued by Diores, a Trojan of the royal race of Priam.
Nisus, still keeping the lead, was already within sight of the goal,
when he unwarily trod on a muddy place, wet with the blood of oxen which
had been offered in the late sacrifice. He stumbled, reeled, recovered
himself, and then fell headlong in the mire. But even at that moment he
did not forget his friend Euryalus, but, staggering to his feet, flung
himself in the way of Salius as he came up, and both rolled together on
the ground. The field was thus left open for Euryalus, who flew past the
winning-post an easy victor, amidst a thunder of applause, for his youth
and beauty had won all hearts. Helymus came in second, and Diores third.
Æneas was engaged in bestowing the prizes on the three winners, as the
custom was, at the conclusion of the race, when Salius came up, and began
to stun the ears of the judges with his complaints. “The first prize is
mine,” he protested, laying his hand on the bridle of the horse, in spite
of the tearful remonstrances of Euryalus and the loud clamor of Diores,
who saw himself threatened with the loss of his prize. The dispute was
stopped by the authority of Æneas, and the ruffled Salius was soothed by
the gift of a magnificent lion-skin with gilded claws. Hereupon Nisus
came limping up, daubed from head to foot with mud. “If you pity the
fallen,” said he to Æneas, “what am I to have as a consolation prize?”
Æneas smiled graciously at the rueful figure of Nisus, and presented him
with a shield, richly chased by a Grecian artist; and thus both winners
and losers were sent away happy and satisfied.
THE BOXING MATCH
By H. L. Havell
A young bull, with gilded horns, and a fine sword and helmet, were
next displayed, as prizes for the boxing match. This was a terrible
and murderous struggle, fraught with peril to life and limb; for the
boxers fought with their hands encased in gloves of hard leather, often
weighted with iron and lead, called the _cæstus_. One champion alone
appeared ready to bear his part in this heroic sport; he was a Trojan
named Dares, and the son of the famous boxer Amycus, who had been killed
by Pollux during the voyage of the Argonauts. The fame of Dares was well
known among his comrades, and no one seemed inclined to dispute his
supremacy in the ring. Accordingly Dares, who had been showing off his
muscle before the crowd, and dealing tremendous buffets to an imaginary
antagonist, strutted up to Æneas, and, laying his hand on the bull,
claimed him as his lawful prize.
But he was not to be allowed to triumph so easily. Among the spectators
there stood a man already advanced in years, but of gigantic stature and
massive build. Acestes, who was standing near him, now addressed him in
terms of reproach: “Entellus, wilt thou suffer this braggart to carry
off the prize without a blow? Hast thou forgotten thy divine master,
Eryx? Or fearest thou the face of this blustering bully?” “I fear no
man,” answered Entellus; “but I am old, and my joints are stiff, while
that fellow is young and lusty. The greedy knave, he cares for nothing
but the prize! What do you think of these?” he cried, stepping into the
ring, and flinging down a ponderous pair of _cæstus_ of tough bull’s
hide, stiffened with lead and iron. Dares recoiled at the sight of these
frightful weapons, and refused to face an opponent armed in such fashion.
“What would you have thought if you had seen the gauntlets with which
Hercules fought?” asked Entellus, turning to Æneas, who had picked up the
formidable gloves, and was examining them with amazement. “These which
you see were worn by your brother Eryx when he stood up against Hercules.
But I will take no advantage; lend me another pair, and we will fight
with equal weapons.”
The change was made, Entellus stripped, and took up his station in the
middle of the arena confronting Dares, who, powerful as he was, looked a
mere stripling as he faced the athletic veteran. Then the boxers raised
themselves to their full height, with heads drawn back, and the battle
began. Dares was far superior in speed and agility, while Entellus, who
could have crushed him in his arms, was slow on his feet, and short of
wind. There was a rapid interchange of blows, and the air rang with the
clatter of the hard gauntlets, as Dares manœuvred nimbly round his huge
antagonist, who stood rooted like an oak in his place, parrying the
blows. Suddenly Entellus saw an opening, and put in a heavy stroke, with
all the force of his ponderous right arm. Dares stepped lightly aside,
and Entellus, carried forward by the impetus of his own blow, lost his
balance, and came down with a sounding thud on the turf. A shout of
mingled triumph and dismay greeted the fall of the Sicilian champion, and
his friends rushed forward to help him to his feet.
But, neither dulled nor dismayed by his fall, that mighty man returns
keener to the battle, and kindles strength with rage. All the vigor of
his youth comes back to him, and he chases Dares headlong round and
round the ring, now with his right hand raining blows, now with his
giant left. No rest, no pause; like hailstones rattling on the roof,
so shower the strokes of those iron hands on the head of the hapless
Dares. At last Æneas interposed, and stopped the unequal combat. Dares
was borne, shattered and fainting, from the ring, and Entellus, crowned
with the victor’s wreath, took possession of the bull. “Now mark,” he
said, “Æneas, and learn, ye Trojans, what force was in this arm in the
days of my prime, and what death Dares has escaped.” Saying this, he
planted himself firmly in front of the bull, and slowly drawing back his
gauntleted fist poised it like a club, and dashed it with all his force
between the horns of the beast. The skull was splintered as if by a
sledge-hammer, and prostrate, lifeless, quivering, on earth lay the bull.
“That was the blow which I designed for Dares,” said the giant, “but
the bull is a worthier sacrifice to the shade of my master Eryx. I have
fought my last round, and now I will hang up my gauntlets in his shrine.”
THE CONTEST OF THE ARCHERS
By H. L. Havell
“Now, gallant archers, try your skill,” said Æneas, pointing to a tall
mast, which had been set up in the middle of the plain, with a dove
fluttering above it fastened by the leg with a slender cord. Lots were
drawn to determine the order of shooting, and the archers, among whom
were Mnestheus, winner of the third prize in the boat race, Eurytion,
brother of the famous Pandarus, and the aged Acestes, took up their
stations. The first arrow struck the mast. Then Mnestheus, who had
drawn the second place, took steady aim, but, missing the bird, chanced
to sever the cord which bound her to the mast; up flew the dove, and
remained hovering in the air above their heads. Eurytion now raised his
bow high above his head, and, calling on his brother’s name, sent an
arrow straight into the air, and brought down the bird, just as she was
preparing for a distant flight.
“You have left me no mark to aim at,” said Acestes; “but see, there is
vigor left still in these old arms of mine.” And he drew his arrow to
the head, and sent an arrow whizzing towards the cloud. Then followed a
strange portent, which kept all the prophets busy for many a day; for
as they watched the flying shaft, it burst into flames, and, shooting
across the sky with a trail of light, burnt away, and vanished from view
like a meteor in the nights of winter. “Hail, fiery messenger of Heaven’s
will!” cried Acestes joyfully. “And hail to thee, father and friend!”
repeated Æneas, grasping his hand. “Thine was the best shot of all, and
I will bestow on thee a gift of honor, since by thy hand was wrought
this wonder, and Jove himself has blessed thine archery.” And he gave
him a silver goblet, embossed with choice designs, which was a treasured
heirloom in his family.
The great multitude now stood hushed in expectation, for the most
brilliant event of the day was reserved to the last. As soon as the
arena was cleared Æneas gave a sign to Epytides, the faithful guardian
and companion of the young Iulus; and presently a murmur arose on the
outskirts of the crowd, swelling to a great shout, as a troop of youthful
horsemen rode into the arena in three divisions. In each division were
twelve boys, all armed with javelins, all crowned with olive wreaths,
and all wearing chains of gold. At the head of each band rode its boyish
captain. First was seen the son of Polites, named after his grandsire
Priam, mounted on a brave chestnut with white markings on forehead
and fore-hoof; then followed the second line, led by Atys, whose name
descended to a noble Roman house—little Atys, loved in his boyhood by the
young Iulus; and last and fairest of all came Iulus himself, riding a
gallant steed of Arab race, which he had received as a gift from the fair
hand of Dido.
Loud was the applause among the Trojans as they watched that pretty
pageant of childish chivalry and traced their fathers’ likeness on the
blushing faces of the happy boys. Having ridden slowly round the arena
they drew up in a body, facing the spot where Æneas and the Trojan
nobles were seated round their host. Then Eyptides gave the signal with
a loud crack of his whip, and, parting again into three separate troops,
they couched their weapons, and made a mimic charge, but, avoiding the
shock at the moment of meeting, rank passed through rank, wheeled again,
and returned to the encounter. And so they threaded all the mazes of
a warlike dance, in which attack and retreat, rally, and hand-to-hand
assault, were pictured in living colors on the level green.
THE SIBYL SPEAKS TO ÆNEAS
By Alfred J. Church
Æneas finally came to the land of Italy, nigh unto Cumæ, which was the
dwelling-place of the Sibyl. The men turned the forepart of the ships to
the sea, and made them fast with anchors. Then they leapt forth upon the
shore, and kindled a fire; and some cut wood in the forest, or fetched
water from the stream. But Æneas went up to the great cave of the Sibyl,
where, by the inspiration of Apollo, she foretelleth things to come.
Now the temple was a marvellous place to look upon. On the doors thereof
was set forth, graven in stone, the death of Androgeos, and the men of
Attica choosing by lot seven of their children who should be given as a
ransom yearly; and, rising from the sea upon the other side, the land
of Crete. Likewise the Labyrinth was there and its winding ways; but
Icarus they saw not, for when his father would have wrought the manner
of his death in gold his hands failed him: twice he strove, and twice
they failed. And when Æneas would have looked further, the priestess
said, “Linger not with these things, but slay forthwith seven bullocks
from the herd, and seven sheep duly chosen out of the flock.” And when
they came to the cave—now there are a hundred doors, and a voice cometh
forth from each—the Sibyl cried, “It is time. Lo! the god, the god!” And
even as she spake her look was changed and the color of her face; also
her hair was loosened, and her breast panted, and she waxed greater than
is the stature of a man. Then she cried, “Delayest thou to pray, Æneas
of Troy? delayest thou? for the doors open not but to prayer.” Nor said
she more. Then Æneas prayed, saying, “O Phœbus, who didst always pity
the sorrows of Troy, and didst guide the arrow of Paris that it slew
the great Achilles, I have followed thy bidding, journeying over many
lands, and now I lay hold on this shore of Italy, which ever seemed to
fly before me. Grant thou that our ill fortune follow us no more. And all
ye gods and goddesses who loved not Troy, be merciful to us. And thou,
O prophetess, give, if it may be, such answer as I would hear. So will
I and my people honor thee forever. And write it not, I pray thee, upon
leaves, lest the winds carry them away, but speak with thy voice.”
And for a while the prophetess strove against the spirit; but at the
last it mastered her, and the doors flew open, and she spake, saying,
“The perils of the sea thou hast escaped, but there await thee yet
worse perils upon the land. The men of Troy shall come to the kingdom
of Lavinium. Fear not for that; yet will they fain not have come. I see
battles, and the Tiber foaming with blood, and a new Xanthus and Simoïs,
and another Achilles, himself also goddess-born. Juno also shall be ever
against thee. And thou shalt be a suppliant to many cities. And the cause
of all these woes shall be again a woman. Only yield not thou, but go
ever more boldly when occasion shall serve. Little thinkest thou that thy
first succor shall be from a city of the Greeks.”
And when she had ended these words, Æneas made answer: “O lady, no toil
or peril shall take me unawares; for I have thought over all things in
my heart. But one thing I ask of thee. Here is the door of the dwellings
of the dead. Fain would I pass thereby, that I may visit my father. I
carried him on my shoulders out of the fires of Troy, and with me he
endured many things by land and sea, more than befitted his old age.
Likewise he bade me ask this boon of thee. Do thou therefore pity both
father and son, for thou hast the power, if only thou wilt. Did not
Orpheus bring back his wife from the dead, having his harp only? Also
Pollux goeth many times this same path, redeeming his brother from death.
And why should I tell of Theseus and Hercules? And I also am of the
lineage of Jupiter.”
Then the Sibyl spake, saying, “Son of Anchises, it is easy to go down to
hell. The door is open day and night. But to return, and struggle to the
upper air, that is the labor. Few only have done it, and these of the
lineage of the gods and dear to Jupiter. Yet if thou wilt attempt it,
hearken unto me. There lieth hid in the forest a bough of gold which is
sacred to the Queen of Hell. Nor may any man go on this journey till he
have plucked it, for the queen will have it as a gift for herself. And
when the bough is plucked, there ever groweth another; and if it be the
pleasure of the gods that thou go, it will yield to thy hand. But know
that one of thy companions lieth dead upon the shore. First must thou
bury him and after offer due sacrifice, even black sheep. So shalt thou
approach the dwellings of the dead.”
Then Æneas departed from the cave, and Achates went with him, and much
they wondered who it might be that was dead. And when they came to the
shore, lo! Misenus lay there, than whom no man was more skilful to call
men to battle with the voice of the trumpet. Hector’s companion he had
been in old time and then followed Æneas. And now, blowing his trumpet
on the shore, he had challenged the gods of the sea to compare with him;
wherefore a Triton caught him and plunged him into the sea, so that he
died. Then did Æneas and his companions prepare for the burial, cutting
ilex and oak and mountain-ash from the wood. But when Æneas beheld the
forest, how vast it was, he said, “Now, may the gods grant that in this
great forest the bough of gold discover itself.” And as he spake, lo! two
doves flew before his face, and settled on the grass, and he knew them to
be the birds of his mother, and cried saying, “Guide me now to the bough
of gold, and thou my mother help me as before.” Then the birds flew so
that he could still see them with his eyes, and he followed after them.
But when they came to the mouth of Avernus, they sat both of them on the
tree. And lo! the bough of gold glittered among the branches and rustled
in the wind. Right gladly did Æneas break it off, and carry it to the
dwelling of the Sibyl.
In the meantime the men of Troy made a great burial for Misenus on the
shore, building a pile of wood, and washing and anointing the body. Also
they laid the body on a bier, and on it the garments which he had worn
being yet alive. Then others, with faces turned away, held a torch to
the wood, whereon also were burnt incense and offerings of oil. And when
the burning was ended they quenched the ashes with wine. And Corynæus
gathered the bones into an urn of bronze, and purified the people,
sprinkling them with water with a bough of an olive-tree. Then Æneas made
a great mound, and put thereon the trumpet of the man and his bow; and
the mountain is called Misenus, after him, to this day.
But when the burial was ended he did as the Sibyl had commanded. A great
cavern there is, from which cometh so evil a stench that no bird may fly
across. There they brought four black oxen, and the priestess poured wine
upon their heads and cut hairs from between the horns. And when they had
burned these they slew the oxen, holding dishes for the blood. And Æneas
offered a black lamb to the Furies and a barren heifer to the Queen of
Hell, smiting them with his sword. Then they burned the entrails with
fire, pouring oil upon them. Then did the ground give a hollow sound
beneath them, and the dogs howled, for the goddess was at hand. And the
priestess cried, “Go ye who may not take part in this matter. And thou,
Æneas, draw thy sword from its sheath and follow. Now hast thou need of
all thy strength and courage.” Then she plunged into the cave, and Æneas
went with her.
THE DWELLINGS OF THE DEAD
By Alfred J. Church
So they went together through the land of shadows, like unto men who walk
through a wood in a doubtful light, when the moon indeed hath risen,
but there are clouds over the sky. And first they came to where, in
front of the gates of hell, dwell Sorrow and Remorse, and pale Disease
and Fear, and Hunger that tempteth men to sin, and Want, and Death, and
Toil, and Slumber, that is Death’s kinsman, and deadly War; also they
saw the chambers of the Furies, and Discord, whose hair is of snakes
that drip with blood. And in this region there is an ancient elm, in the
boughs whereof dwell all manner of dreams, and shapes of evil monsters,
as many as have been, such as were the centaurs, half man, half horse,
and Briareus with the hundred hands, and others also. These Æneas, when
he saw them, sought to slay, rushing upon them with the sword, but his
guide warned him that they were shadows only.
After this they came to the river of hell, whereon plies the boatman
Charon. A long white beard hath he and unkempt; and his eyes are fixed in
a fiery stare, and a scarf is knotted upon his shoulder, as is a pilot’s
wont. An old man he seemeth to be, but hale and ruddy. Now there was ever
rushing to the bank a great crowd, wives and mothers, and valiant men of
war, boys and girls dead before they were given in marriage, and young
men laid on the funeral pile before their parents’ eyes. Thick they were
as the leaves that fall to the earth at the first frost of autumn, or as
the swallows, when they gather themselves together, making ready to fly
across the sea to the lands of the sun. And of these Charon would take
some into his boat; but others he would forbid, and drive from the shore.
This when Æneas saw, he marvelled, and said: “O lady, what meaneth this
concourse at the river? What seek these souls? Why be some driven from
the bank and some ferried across?”
And the Sibyl made answer: “This river that thou seest is the Styx, by
which the gods in heaven swear, and fear to break their oath. Those whom
thou seest to be driven from the bank are such as have lacked burial,
but those who are ferried across have been buried duly; for none pass
this stream till their bodies have been laid in the grave, otherwise they
wander for a hundred years, and so at last may cross over.”
Much did Æneas pity their ill fortune, and the more when he beheld
Orontes and his Lycians whom the sea had swallowed up alive before his
eyes. Here likewise there met him his pilot Palinurus, to whom, when he
knew him, for indeed he scarce could see him in the darkness, he said:
“What god took thee from us and drowned thee in the sea? Surely, in this
one matter, Apollo hath deceived me, saying that thou shouldst escape the
sea and come to the land of Italy.”
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.”